#dead flat clear coat

[idkstudyblr]

Porch Orange County

Inspiration for a mid-sized modern tile front porch remodel with a roof extension

[kazuos]

Orange County Front Yard Porch A medium-sized island-style tile front porch image with an addition to the roof

[chocolatespacemuffins]

Front Yard Orange County This is an illustration of a small, extended front porch made of tropical tiles.

[aspenmissing]

Hello hello!

I've been thoroughly enjoying your Arcane works and thought I'd pop by with a request!

Quite specifically Jayce, Viktor, and Vander and their reactions to accidental pregnancy (by them, no infidelity here) and reader is very nervous to tell them.

ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ ||

9822 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ (ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʙᴇ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ!), ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ (ᴅᴜʜ), ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ɪɴꜰᴇʀᴛɪʟᴇ, ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ/ʙɪʀᴛʜ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ʏᴀʀɴ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ!! ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

JAYCE

It had been a week since that passionate night where logic had given way to raw emotion. Jayce and Y/N had always been cautious, understanding the weight of their work, their ambitions, their lives. But that night... it had been just the two of them—no barriers, no interruptions, no thought of consequences. Now, as Y/N splashed cold water on her face after another wave of nausea, the memory felt heavier.

Jayce stood close by, his brows knit in worry, his arms folded across his broad chest like he was trying to hold himself together. “Are you sure you’re alright? That’s the third time today.” His voice was soft, but his tone betrayed his concern.

Y/N braced herself against the counter, her skin pale, her hair slightly damp from the water she had run over her face. “I don’t know, Jayce. I might’ve caught something. Or... it could just be stress.” Her voice wavered on that last word, and she avoided his eyes.

Jayce stepped closer, his large, warm hand finding her shoulder. “You’ve been overworking yourself,” he said gently. “Maybe you should take the day off tomorrow. Rest.” His thumb brushed lightly over her shoulder in a small, soothing gesture.

Her stomach churned again, but this time it wasn’t nausea—it was a gnawing sense of unease. What if...? The thought clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. She hadn’t voiced it yet, but it lingered, heavy and insistent.

=

All day, the possibility loomed over her. By the time the sun had set, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. They were sitting together in the workshop, Jayce distractedly fiddling with a new design, his brow furrowed in concentration. She looked at him, her heart racing.

“Jayce,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I think... I need to take a test.”

Jayce looked up, confused. “A test?” He set down his tools, his full attention now on her. “What kind of—”

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “A pregnancy test.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Jayce stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. Slowly, he stood, nearly knocking over his stool. “Oh. Oh.” His eyes widened, and his expression shifted from shock to something softer, something unreadable. “You think...?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. Her voice cracked as she continued. “But I need to know.”

Jayce was already reaching for his coat. “I’ll go get one.”

“No,” Y/N said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I need the air. I need to clear my head.” Before he could protest, she grabbed her bag and slipped out the door, leaving him standing there, concern etched into his features.

=

When Y/N returned, the flat felt oppressively quiet. Jayce had been pacing back and forth in the living room, his brow furrowed in deep worry. The moment he heard the door open, he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face her. She stepped inside, clutching the small pharmacy bag in both hands, her knuckles white from how tightly she held it.

“Did you—?” Jayce began, his voice tentative, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

She held up the bag, swallowing hard. “Not yet.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, wordlessly, Jayce stepped forward, his concern softening into a quiet determination. He trailed behind her as she walked to the bathroom, his footsteps heavier than usual. When she reached the door, she hesitated.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Jayce murmured, his voice low and steady, like an anchor in her storm of nerves. “I’ll be right here.”

She gave him a small nod, her throat too tight to speak. Closing the door behind her, Y/N unwrapped the test with shaky hands. Each crinkle of the plastic felt deafening in the silence of the flat. Finally, after doing what needed to be done, she placed the test carefully on the sink and washed her hands, her fingers trembling under the stream of water.

When Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, the test sat on the sink behind her, the weight of it feeling heavier than it had any right to. She closed the door quietly, her movements slow and deliberate, as if making too much noise would shatter her fragile composure.

Jayce was sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom, his back against the wall, his head resting against it as he stared up at the ceiling. His broad shoulders seemed tense, his hands resting loosely on his thighs, but when he heard her approach, he turned his head towards her. His eyes softened the moment they met hers, filled with concern and unwavering support.

Without a word, Y/N slid down the wall beside him, her back pressing against the cool plaster. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she let out a shaky breath. Her head dipped forward slightly, her hair falling into her face as she tried to hold herself together.

Jayce shifted closer, his knee brushing hers. “Hey,” he murmured gently, his voice like a balm to her frayed nerves. “You alright?”

She let out a bitter laugh, though it was choked with emotion. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like... like I can’t breathe. Like I’m trying to hold it all in, but it’s too much.” Her arms tightened around her knees as her voice cracked. “I’m scared, Jayce.”

Jayce turned to face her fully, his expression softening even further. “It’s okay to be scared,” he said quietly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “I’m scared too.”

That admission made her look up, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You are?”

“Of course I am,” he said with a small, rueful smile. “This... this wasn’t exactly in the plans, was it?” He paused, letting out a soft exhale. “But, Y/N, I know one thing for sure—whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

She sniffled, her head tilting to rest against the wall as a tear slipped down her cheek. “What if we’re not ready? What if it’s positive and... and everything changes? What if we mess this up?”

Jayce reached over, his large hand covering hers, gently prying it away from where she clutched at her knees. He held her hand between both of his, warm and steady. “Y/N, we’ve been through so much already—together. We’ve faced challenges, taken risks, made sacrifices. And we’ve come out stronger every time.” His thumbs brushed over her knuckles as he continued, his voice unwavering. “This? If it’s positive... we’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work. And if it’s not, then we keep moving forward, just like we always have.”

Tears spilled freely now, but her lips quirked into a small, trembling smile. “You always know what to say.”

“Not always,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “But I know how I feel about you, and that’s enough for me. I love you, Y/N. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She turned her head, pressing her face into her knees for a moment as a soft sob escaped her. Then, she lifted her head and looked at him, her voice unsteady but determined. “I love you too.”

Jayce smiled at her, his hand still holding hers. “Then that’s all we need.”

The timer on her phone buzzed from inside the bathroom, its sound sharp and intrusive in the quiet. They both froze, their eyes locking for a moment. Y/N’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Do you want to check it?” Jayce asked softly, his voice free of any pressure.

“No,” she whispered, but then stopped herself, glancing at him. “Actually... can we look together?”

Jayce nodded, helping her to her feet. Their fingers laced together as they stepped back into the bathroom. The small plastic test sat on the edge of the sink, waiting like some harbinger of their future.

Y/N reached for it, her hand trembling, and Jayce covered her hand with his, steadying her. “Ready?” he asked gently. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely think, and her vision blurred slightly from the tears she hadn’t realised were still falling. But she nods to him, and they both tilted the test to see the result.

Two clear lines.

“It’s positive,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. She looked up at Jayce, her wide eyes brimming with disbelief and overwhelming emotion. “We’re... I’m... we’re going to be parents.”

Jayce’s face broke into a grin so wide it was almost boyish, his eyes lighting up with pure joy. He let out a breathy laugh, pulling her into his arms. “We’re going to be parents,” he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with wonder and emotion. “Y/N, we’re really doing this.”

She clung to him, her tears flowing freely now as a laugh bubbled out of her, shaky but genuine. “We’re really doing this.”

Jayce pulled back just enough to cup her face in his large hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. His eyes searched hers, filled with so much love it made her heart ache. “I promise, Y/N, you’re not doing this alone. Every step, every moment, I’ll be right here with you.”

Y/N nodded, her lips curving into a smile even as more tears fell. “I know. And I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jayce said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “We’re going to be alright. All three of us.”

She let out a watery laugh, her heart feeling lighter for the first time all day. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she knew she wouldn’t face them alone, they would face it together—hand in hand, heart to heart.

VIKTOR

The streets of Piltover shimmered with the afterglow of celebration. The unveiling of Jayce and Viktor’s latest hextech invention had drawn everyone out in droves, and the air buzzed with the electric thrill of triumph. Viktor rarely indulged in such festivities, but Y/N had insisted, tugging him away from his desk and into the sea of light and laughter.

For once, Viktor had allowed himself to let go, sharing drinks and stolen moments with Y/N as the night stretched into early morning. The wine was sweeter than usual, their laughter softer, and the pull between them impossible to resist. When they stumbled back home together, all inhibitions faded into the haze of celebration, and what followed was a night of passion, their usual caution slipping away in the haze of their intoxicated bliss.

=

Weeks passed, and the memory of that night had become a fond, fleeting moment amidst their busy lives. But Y/N couldn't ignore the shift in her body. Mornings had turned unbearable—nausea clawed at her stomach, leaving her pale and unsteady on her feet. It wasn’t just one morning, but day after day of the same relentless sickness.

That morning had been the worst. She barely made it to the sink before she was retching, gripping the counter for support as she tried to catch her breath.

Viktor had already left for the workshop, sparing her the embarrassment of him seeing her like this. This has to stop, she thought, wiping her face with a damp cloth. But the nagging thought at the back of her mind wouldn’t go away.

What if…?

The idea sent her stomach into even tighter knots, and not from nausea. Y/N slipped out later that day to a chemist’s shop, her scarf pulled tightly around her face as she nervously purchased a pregnancy test. She didn’t want to worry Viktor. There was no need to, not yet. She told herself it was just a precaution.

The flat was silent when she returned, her heart pounding as she read the instructions and waited. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as she stared at the little test strip on the bathroom counter. When the result finally came through, she felt her knees buckle.

Negative.

The relief hit her like a wave. She exhaled deeply, leaning against the wall with a hand on her chest. “I’m just overthinking,” she whispered aloud. “It’s nothing.”

But the relief was fleeting. The nausea continued, her appetite vanished, and sharp, twisting pains began to plague her abdomen. At first, she tried to hide it, brushing off Viktor’s gentle questions and insistence that she rest. She smiled through the discomfort, telling herself it would pass.

Until one evening, when Viktor’s patience wore thin.

“Miláčku,” he said, setting down a delicate hextech component with more force than usual. His sharp gaze softened as he looked at her, concern etching lines into his face. “You’ve been unwell for days. This isn’t a simple illness. Please, let me take you to a doctor.” (Darling)

She opened her mouth to protest, but the sight of him—leaning heavily on his cane, his brow furrowed with worry—made her heart clench. He rarely took time away from his work, but here he was, prioritising her.

“Alright,” she relented quietly.

=

The clinic was eerily calm, the faint hum of machinery the only sound in the sterile room. Viktor sat beside Y/N, his golden-brown eyes locked onto hers, his hand resting gently atop hers. His touch was steady, even as his own concern simmered beneath the surface.

Y/N’s fingers curled tightly around his, her knuckles white. The anxiety she’d tried to keep at bay was now an overwhelming storm, twisting her stomach in knots. When the doctor suggested an ultrasound to investigate further, her heart skipped a beat. She nodded reluctantly, her voice caught in her throat.

“This will help us get a clearer picture of what’s causing your symptoms,” the doctor explained in a calm, measured tone, motioning for her to lie back.

The paper sheet crinkled beneath her as she settled onto the examination table. Viktor stood as close as his cane allowed, leaning forward slightly to remain within reach. The cold gel spread across her abdomen startled her, and she instinctively tensed, her free hand gripping Viktor’s tightly. He squeezed back, his thumb brushing soothing circles against her skin.

The doctor moved the ultrasound wand across her abdomen, his focus fixed on the screen. The room seemed to hold its breath, the quiet humming of the machine the only sound. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, each second stretching into eternity.

Then the doctor paused. His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face.

“What is it?” Viktor’s voice broke the silence, sharper than usual, his worry laced into every syllable.

The doctor hesitated briefly before turning the screen towards them, pointing to a small, flickering shape. “It appears you’re pregnant.”

Y/N blinked, her mind grinding to a halt as she tried to process the words. Her breath hitched, and she turned to Viktor, her wide eyes mirroring the disbelief etched across his face. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to shrink to the size of the room, the tiny shape on the screen the only thing that mattered.

“Pregnant?” she finally whispered, her voice shaky and barely audible.

“Yes,” the doctor confirmed gently, glancing between them. “Based on the size, you’re about eight weeks along.”

Her gaze snapped back to the monitor, where the faint flicker of movement glowed on the screen. Her chest felt tight, her breaths shallow as her thoughts spiralled. Eight weeks? How? The night of the celebration surfaced in her memory, but she shoved it aside, still unable to grasp what she was seeing.

“That… that can’t be,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I—I took a test. It said I wasn’t. It was negative.” (If you are taking a pregnancy test, please do more than one!)

The doctor offered her a patient smile, his tone calm and reassuring. “False negatives can happen, especially in the early stages of pregnancy. Hormone levels vary from person to person, and over-the-counter tests aren’t always accurate. An ultrasound or blood test is much more reliable.”

Y/N’s head spun as she tried to reconcile the doctor’s words with what she was feeling. She glanced at Viktor, her wide eyes searching his face for answers. His expression was one of quiet shock, but as his gaze shifted to the screen, a flicker of something softer—almost awe—crossed his features.

“Pregnant,” she whispered again, the word foreign and heavy on her tongue.

Y/N’s mind went blank, her thoughts dissolving into a hollow void as the weight of the revelation pressed down on her. The room around her seemed to blur, the doctor’s words fading into indistinct murmurs. Even Viktor’s voice, usually so grounding, felt distant and muffled, like she was underwater. She stared at the flickering shape on the screen, her chest tight, her breaths shallow. Her body felt disconnected, like she was floating somewhere far away from it all.

=

The walk back to their flat was quiet. Viktor stayed close to her, his hand brushing hers occasionally as though to remind her he was there. Y/N moved on autopilot, her legs carrying her forward while her mind lagged behind, still caught in the haze of the doctor’s office. The cool evening air did little to ground her.

When they reached the flat, Y/N dropped onto the couch, her body sinking into the cushions as though weighed down by the enormity of everything. Viktor sat beside her, leaning his cane against the armrest before turning his full attention to her.

For a long moment, there was only silence between them. Viktor didn’t rush her; he simply took her hand in his, his warm palm enveloping her cold fingers. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles over her skin.

“Miláčku,” he said softly, his voice breaking through the fog that clouded her mind.

She blinked, her gaze slowly refocusing as she looked at him. His expression was tender, his golden-brown eyes filled with a mixture of concern and patience. It was the way he said her name, like he was pulling her back from the edge of whatever abyss she was teetering on, that finally brought her back to herself.

“I...” she began, her voice faltering as she tried to find the words. She looked down at their joined hands, her chest tightening. “Viktor, I’m scared.”

He nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “I know,” he said gently, his tone inviting her to continue.

Her lips trembled as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always been scared of this—of pregnancy, of birth. The idea of... of something growing inside me, changing my body, the risks...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It terrifies me. And now it’s real, Viktor. It’s happening, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

His grip on her hand tightened just slightly, steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to handle it alone,” he said, his voice firm yet kind. “We will face this together, no matter what you decide.”

She met his gaze, tears welling in her eyes. “But what if I can’t do it? What if I can’t go through with it? I don’t even know if I want this.”

Viktor’s expression softened further, and he reached up to brush a stray tear from her cheek. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “This is a decision we will make together, but ultimately, it’s yours to make. Whatever you choose, I will support you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at his words, the kindness and understanding in his tone threatening to break the dam holding back her emotions. She inhaled shakily, her free hand coming to rest on her stomach as though the gesture might somehow provide clarity.

“What if I keep it?” she asked, her voice wavering. “What if I try? But what if I can’t handle it, Viktor? What if it’s too much?”

His eyes softened, and he leaned closer, his free hand resting gently over hers on her stomach. “If you want to keep it, we will find a way,” he said quietly. “I will be with you every step of the way. You are stronger than you think, Y/N. And if it becomes too much, we will ask for help. You will never face this alone.”

Her tears spilled over then, rolling down her cheeks as she let out a shaky breath. “And if I can’t?”

“Then we will make that decision together too,” Viktor said firmly. “There is no shame in choosing what is best for you. Your health—both physical and mental—is what matters most to me.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart swelling with gratitude for him even as the weight of the decision loomed over her. “I’m scared, Viktor,” she admitted again, her voice barely audible.

“I know,” he said, squeezing her hand once more. “But no matter what, I will be here. We will figure this out. Together.”

For the first time since the doctor’s office, Y/N felt the faintest flicker of calm break through the storm inside her. She wasn’t ready to make a decision yet, but she knew one thing for certain—she didn’t have to face it alone.

VANDER

It was another usual evening at The Last Drop. The soft hum of the bar filled the air, a gentle mix of chatter, clinking glasses, and laughter. The kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—were bouncing around, as they often did, laughing and chasing each other between tables, sneaking sips of drinks from unsuspecting patrons or sneaking into the kitchen to steal leftovers. Vander was behind the bar, wiping down a glass with a rag, when the door to the bar swung open with an intensity that rattled the hinges and sent the door slamming against the wall.

A hush fell over the room. Everyone, from the rough-looking patrons to the kids, froze, their eyes darting to the entrance. There stood Y/N, storming in like a tempest, her expression fierce and determined. The sudden silence in the bar was thick, heavy with anticipation. Her sharp, purposeful steps echoed on the wooden floor as she marched straight toward Vander, her eyes locked on him with an intensity that left no room for escape.

“Vander!” she shouted, her voice booming across the room. The sound made every patron shrink back slightly, not out of fear, but the sheer authority in her tone. The entire bar fell into a stunned silence, and every eye followed her as she marched forward, her pace unrelenting.

Vander, who was used to the chaos of the bar and the antics of the kids, froze behind the counter as Y/N approached with alarming speed. His eyes widened slightly, but before he could even register what was happening, she reached him, grabbed him by the ear, and yanked him away from the bar. He let out a surprised yelp as he was pulled forward, causing the patrons to glance at each other, confused and mildly concerned.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Love, watch the ear, ow!!” Vander blurted out, wincing as her grip on his ear tightened. The crowd looked from Vander to Y/N, unsure whether to laugh, panic, or simply stay out of it.

“Let’s go!” Y/N snapped, her voice low but forceful, her grip never loosening. Without another word, she dragged him through the back door, hauling him into the alley behind The Last Drop. As they stepped into the cool evening air, the sounds of the bar faded behind them, replaced by the quiet of the night.

=

Once outside, Y/N finally released his ear with a sharp tug, and Vander staggered back a step, rubbing the sore spot with a grimace. “What in Zaun’s name has gotten into you? You can’t just—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Y/N shoved something directly in his face, blocking his view of anything else. Vander blinked in confusion, his mind racing, trying to understand what was happening. His eyes fell on the small, white object she was holding—then it clicked. The familiar lines, the small window, the clear blue results.

It was a pregnancy test.

Vander’s jaw went slack, his mind stalling for a moment as he tried to process what he was seeing. His face drained of colour, and his mouth opened and closed as he tried to form words. “W-What’s this? Y/N, you… You didn’t—"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest, her posture unwavering. “Oh, I didn’t? Really? Because it sure looks like I did. I’m pregnant, Vander. Pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, and Vander’s eyes darted to the test again, then back to her, as if hoping it would somehow change. “But… But you said you couldn’t… I thought—”

Y/N’s face hardened, the frustration in her voice palpable. “Yeah, well, that’s what I thought too! But here we are, Vander. I’m pregnant. And to top it all off, we’ve been living in this little corner of Zaun like we’re invincible. But guess what? I’m not invincible, and neither are you. We can’t just rely on nothing to protect us forever, especially with all that muck down in the mines.”

Vander’s face morphed from confusion to concern, and he rubbed his face with both hands, as though trying to scrub away the reality of the situation. He’d spent so many years raising his “adoptive” kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of having a biological child of his own. It was all so sudden, so unexpected.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” Y/N continued, her voice cutting through his thoughts. Her tone had softened slightly, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Do you know how much more work this is going to be? The kids are already the kids, Vander! And now, I’ve got this surprise to figure out. How are we even supposed to—”

Vander blinked, still processing, and then his face softened. A small, awkward smile appeared on his lips. “You’re telling me you’re going to have a baby? Our baby?”

Y/N’s eyes softened, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she gazed at him, trying to gauge his reaction. She had expected more panic, more shock, maybe even more anger, but there was something different about his response—tenderness. Maybe even acceptance.

“Well, it seems like it, yes,” she replied, her tone quieter now, though still tinged with frustration.

For a moment, there was a heavy silence between them, the weight of the news settling in. Vander let out a soft, nervous laugh, as if to ease the tension. “I guess we’ll need a bigger place then, huh? And maybe a bigger kitchen, too. You know how Powder gets when there’s food.”

Y/N stared at him for a long, exasperated moment, before letting out a slow, drawn-out sigh, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say? Not ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen,’ or something?”

Vander raised his hands in defence, looking apologetic. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Y/N. But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work. I swear. We’ve handled worse, and we’ll handle this too. Together.”

Y/N’s expression softened, but she gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, we will. And you’re going to help me break the news to the kids.”

Vander’s face fell slightly, his eyes widening in trepidation. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. You saw how they react when they get a surprise.”

“Oh, trust me,” Y/N grinned, the tension melting away as she saw his discomfort. “They’re going to love it. Vi will probably be the first to start throwing questions about what it’s going to be like. You just wait.”

Vander groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Why do I feel like I’m the one who’s about to get interrogated?”

As they stood there in the alley, the silence between them lingered for a moment, before Vander’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “I guess this is what happens when we stop worrying about protection.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah, well, we’ll see if your sense of humour survives when I’m waddling around in nine months, complaining about everything.”

Vander smirked, his confidence returning as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll just make sure I’m there to help. After all, you’ve got me. We’ll handle this, Y/N. We always do.”

And despite the chaos of the situation, the two of them shared a quiet moment of understanding. Maybe they weren’t ready for this new chapter, maybe it was going to be more challenging than anything they had faced before—but they had always faced the unexpected together. And that, more than anything, gave them the strength to know that they would make it work, just like they always did.

=

The quiet of the alley seemed to stretch for an eternity before Vander and Y/N returned to the bustling warmth of The Last Drop. Vander’s nerves were still on edge, his mind spinning with the unexpected news he was about to deliver. Y/N, on the other hand, was a bit calmer—she had faced surprises and chaos all her life, but she couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of telling the kids. They were practically family, but that didn’t mean this would be easy.

They made their way to the living space upstairs, a modest area furnished with mismatched chairs and tables, the place where the kids often gathered after their adventures. The moment they entered, the kids—all four of them—looked up from where they were sprawled out, playing cards, doing homework, or lounging around in their usual chaotic manner.

Vi was the first to notice their expressions. She looked between them with a raised eyebrow. "What’s going on? You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N shot her a weary glance, then glanced over at Vander. He looked back at her with a slightly panicked expression, as if hoping she had some sort of divine inspiration on how to approach this. But after a long pause and a deep breath, Y/N knew it was time to face the music.

"Alright, kids," Y/N started, trying to sound as casual as possible, which, in reality, wasn’t very casual at all. She paced slightly, as if finding the words wasn’t an easy task. “We’ve got something to tell you. And, uh, it’s kind of... important.”

Claggor sat up from where he was leaning against the wall, a concerned look in his eyes. “What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

Vander shuffled his feet nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the moment. “It’s just… well, we need to talk.”

Vi’s eyes narrowed, her gaze moving between Vander and Y/N with a knowing look. "What? Are you guys getting married or something?”

Y/N and Vander exchanged a quick glance, unsure whether they should just throw out the big reveal or ease into it. Vi had always been perceptive—far more than any of them sometimes.

Y/N shakes her head, "Uhm, well no. But - uhm, there’s no easy way to say this, so we’re just going to say it. Vander and I are… uh…" She trailed off, struggling to find the words. The kids looked at each other, curious but not entirely sure what was going on.

“We’re having a baby,” Vander finally blurted out, the words tumbling out much faster than he’d intended. He winced, as if waiting for an explosion of chaos. The room went completely silent for a moment. The kids blinked, exchanging confused looks.

Before anyone could respond, Powder, who had been sitting on the floor with a toy in her lap, piped up with the innocence only a child like her could muster. “You're having a baby?” she asked, her tone filled with pure curiosity.

The room fell silent, the air thick with shock. Powder's eyes were wide with genuine intrigue as she stared between Y/N and Vander. Her innocent face broke through the tension in the room, and she tilted her head. “How do babies get made, though?”

Claggor’s head jerked toward her, and his cheeks flushed bright red. "Powder, you—!" he started, but Powder cut him off with a confused look.

"Well, you said I should ask if I didn’t know, so how does it happen?" She then turned back to Y/N and Vander, waiting for an answer, completely unfazed.

Vander's face went the colour of a ripe tomato, and he looked like he wanted to vanish into the floor. Y/N, on the other hand, pressed a hand to her face, fighting back a laugh. “Powder... you—” She shook her head, still struggling to find the right words. She wasn’t prepared for that question today.

Vi, realising what was happening, started snickering, her face flushed with embarrassment as she tried to stifle her laughter. "Oh, Powder, that's..." She couldn't finish her sentence, instead burying her face in her hands, shaking with laughter.

Claggor, though still awkward about the whole thing, glanced at Mylo, who had yet to catch on. "Wait, are you... Are you serious? This is actually happening?" he said, eyes wide, still confused.

Mylo’s gaze flickered between them, then at Powder, then back to Y/N and Vander. He scratched his head. "So... what? You’re really having a baby? Like... a real one?"

Y/N nodded with a weary sigh, trying to keep her tone serious despite everything. “Yes, Mylo. A real one.”

Mylo blinked. “Wait, so that means... we’re getting a little sibling? How’s that going to work? Can we teach it how to fight like Vi does?”

Y/N snorted, her lips curling into a grin. "Yeah, I'm sure we can start baby combat training right away."

Powder, still completely innocent, leaned in, her eyes full of wonder. “Do we get to keep it? Can I play with it like a toy?”

Vi, now a bit more composed, raised an eyebrow. "Powder, you can't just play with a baby. They're fragile."

“But I could show it my toys, and I could give it all the best snacks,” Powder insisted, her voice full of excitement. “Maybe I can teach it to make explosions!”

Vander, who had been silently cringing, finally gave in and chuckled. “I think we might need to wait a little while before we get to the explosions part, Powder.”

At that moment, Mylo seemed to realise something. He stared at Y/N and Vander, wide-eyed. “Wait… so that’s why you two were acting so weird today? This whole time, I thought you were just arguing over something dumb." But you—” He pointed at Vander. “You’re going to be a dad again?”

Claggor looked between them with a raised brow. “So... you’re telling me we’re not just dealing with more trouble from you two... we’re dealing with a baby?”

Y/N nodded solemnly, her grin returning. “Yep. Trouble, but with a side of tiny socks and diapers.”

Powder, still processing, blinked slowly and then nodded sagely. “Well, okay then. I’ll just have to figure out how to teach it to make cookies. I bet it’ll be good at that.”

The entire room burst into laughter at Powder’s innocent musings. Even Vander, who had been anxious about this moment, couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well,” Y/N said, wiping a tear from her eye after laughing so much, “I guess that’s one way to look at it, Powder. But for now, let’s just figure out how to deal with the mess we’ve got right in front of us.”

Vander nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess we’ll need a bigger kitchen after all. And maybe some more seats around here.”

The kids were still laughing, though the tension had finally broken. Powder seemed content with her role as the unofficial "baby expert," and Mylo had come to terms with the fact that this was happening. Claggor, ever the pragmatic one, started planning how he could use his new “big sibling” status to boss everyone around.

Y/N and Vander exchanged a glance, feeling a sense of relief wash over them. The road ahead would be difficult—adjusting to the idea of a new addition, making room for the baby, and managing their already chaotic lives—but if there was one thing they knew, it was that they could do it together. And that, in the end, was enough.

The chaos and laughter of the children filled the air once again, and Vander, now with a chuckle in his voice, leaned over to Y/N. “We’ll figure this out, right?”

Y/N grinned. “Yeah. Together. We always do.”

BONUS: JAYVIK

It had been a few weeks since Y/N, Jayce, and Viktor had found their rhythm in their polyamorous relationship. The three of them shared a deep bond—both emotionally and physically. They balanced each other out, with Jayce’s impulsiveness, Viktor’s intellect, and Y/N’s warmth and intuition. However, there was one thing neither of them had anticipated: the whirlwind of consequences that followed the heat of the moment one fateful night.

Y/N had been feeling off for days, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. At first, it was just a general fatigue, a strange feeling of nausea every morning. She figured it was probably just stress from work and the tension from the city, but the pale face and nausea kept coming back.

Viktor, on the other hand, noticed the signs immediately. His sharp eyes couldn’t ignore the subtle differences. Her usual glow had faded, and every morning when he heard the faint sound of her throwing up in the bathroom, it only deepened his concern. He’d gently approach her afterward, bringing her water or tea, and making sure she rested properly. There was no way he could let her push herself through something if something wasn’t right.

“Y/N, you’ve not been yourself lately. You’re pale, and you’re barely eating,” Viktor said softly, sitting beside her on the couch one evening. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She hesitated, her thoughts swirling in her mind. She wasn’t sure how to even begin explaining the situation that had started to become more obvious with each passing day. But Viktor was relentless in his care, and she couldn't keep hiding it.

“I don’t know, Viktor…” she trailed off, her eyes averting to the floor. "I just feel... off."

Viktor’s concern deepened, but he held back from pushing further. He knew she needed time, but he wasn’t about to ignore it. His mind raced, but one thought kept returning—could she be…?

=

Days passed, and Viktor’s concern never waned. He could hear the faint sounds of Y/N being sick early in the mornings, the muffled sounds of her retching echoing from the bathroom. Each time she returned, she looked even more exhausted, trying to mask the weariness in her eyes with a forced smile. But Viktor knew better. He could see through the facade, and he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. The constant nausea, the pale complexion that seemed to grow worse each day—it wasn’t just a passing illness. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Viktor’s mind raced with possibilities, but there was only one thing that could give him the clarity he needed: a test. He could no longer sit idly by, pretending to be uncertain. He had to know for sure.

As always, Jayce was absorbed in his work, lost in the complexities of his latest project. Viktor watched him for a moment before he quietly pulled him away from his notes. The words were hard to say, but they were necessary. “Jayce, something’s wrong with Y/N. I think... I think she might be pregnant.”

Jayce’s brow furrowed, his confusion evident. “Pregnant? But how would you know that? She seems fine.”

Viktor sighed, his frustration becoming palpable. He hadn’t intended to sound accusatory, but Jayce’s obliviousness only deepened his concern. “You’ve noticed her feeling unwell, haven’t you? Her pallor, the nausea in the mornings, the fatigue—how can you not see it?”

Jayce blinked, taken aback by the sharpness in Viktor’s voice. The weight of Viktor’s words finally sank in, and his gaze softened with understanding. “Wait... are you serious?” he asked, disbelief still clinging to his tone. “You think Y/N...?”

Viktor nodded, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he spoke with quiet certainty. “I’m fairly certain. But we need to confirm it. We need a test.”

Jayce’s expression shifted, a mix of confusion and worry crossing his face. “Alright, if you say so. Let’s go.”

=

The two men made their way to the apothecary, where they quickly procured the necessary items. As they walked back to their shared home, the silence between them was thick with unspoken thoughts. Viktor couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

When they returned, the house felt unusually quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Y/N was sitting on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, an amused yet knowing expression on her face. Her eyebrow was arched, a hint of mischief in her gaze as she looked at them.

“Well, well,” she remarked with a playful smirk, “Took you long enough.”

Jayce’s heart skipped a beat as he realised she was looking directly at the pregnancy tests in their hands. A wave of realisation washed over him. Her knowing look, the twinkle in her eyes—she already knew. He felt a mix of awe and disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words.

Viktor sighed, both exasperated and relieved at the same time. “You knew?” he asked, shaking his head, his voice a mix of admiration and frustration. He didn’t know whether to be angry with her for not telling them sooner or grateful that she hadn’t let them spiral with worry.

Y/N shrugged, unbothered by their reactions. “I’m not blind, Viktor. I’ve been feeling off for a while now. The last thing I need is you two running around like headless chickens trying to figure it out. I wasn’t sure until now, but I’m guessing you’ve got it right. Yes, I’m pregnant.”

Viktor stepped closer to her, his eyes softening as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. His voice was quiet, almost tender. “You’re sure?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her gaze shifting from Viktor to Jayce. “Yeah, I’m sure. I haven’t told you guys because… well, I didn’t know how to bring it up. But now I’m scared. I don’t know what this means for us.”

Jayce’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. Without thinking, he dropped down beside her, his hand gently squeezing hers. “It means we’ll figure it out, Y/N. Together. You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll be with you, every step of the way.”

Viktor’s hand brushed a strand of hair from Y/N’s face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. His voice was low, filled with the promise of unwavering support. “We’ll do everything we can, Y/N. This isn’t just your burden. It’s ours. We’ll face it together, whatever it may be.”

Y/N felt the weight of their words sink in, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to relax. The tension in her shoulders eased, the fear that had gripped her heart lessened by their unwavering support. She had known, deep down, that they would stand by her, but hearing it from them, seeing their genuine concern, made all the difference.

The three of them sat there in silence for a few moments, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing second. The future was uncertain, yes, but one thing was clear: they were in this together. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them as a united front, and nothing could tear them apart.

Y/N finally let out a soft breath, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Alright then,” she said, her voice steadier now. “Let’s do this. Together.”

After a moment, Jayce broke the silence with a grin, his tone teasing. “So, if we’re doing this together, I guess we’ll have to figure out what the baby will look like, huh?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a knowing smirk. “I imagine it will look like one of us. After all, it couldn’t possibly be a combination of both of us.”

Jayce laughed softly. “Right. Well, if it does end up looking like me, I hope it inherits my good looks. You know, sharp jawline, tall, and—”

Viktor interrupted, a playful glint in his eye. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. If the baby’s got my brain and your looks, we’ll have a truly perfect child.”

Y/N chuckled at their bickering, a hint of affection in her smile. “I think the baby will be just fine, no matter whose features it takes. It’s going to be ours—yours, mine, and ours. And that’s enough for me.”

Jayce’s face softened at her words, and Viktor’s expression turned thoughtful as he gazed at her. For the first time in a while, they were all on the same page, sharing this moment of laughter and uncertainty together. Whatever challenges awaited them, they would face them as one, united and stronger than ever.

(REQUESTED -@drunkmysticsquirrel)

SILCO

Zaun’s air was heavy tonight, a mix of smog, ash, and the faint metallic tang that seemed to linger everywhere. The hum of Shimmer production filtered through the narrow alleyways, mingling with the faint echoes of laughter, shouting, and the clang of metal being worked. Y/N had always found comfort in Zaun’s chaos, a city alive and unapologetically itself. Yet tonight, it felt suffocating—a reflection of the storm raging in her own mind.

Her fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of the worn countertop in her dimly lit apartment. The single light bulb above flickered intermittently, casting the room in sporadic shadow. On the table before her lay the letter from the clinic. It was a simple sheet of paper, but its weight was crushing, the bold lettering at the top staring up at her like an accusation.

Positive.

Pregnant. With Silco’s child.

She pressed her lips together, a sharp breath escaping through her nose as she tried to steady herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What she and Silco had… it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a relationship. Just a series of fleeting nights where the weight of their respective lives became too much, and they found solace in each other. No strings, no promises, no expectations.

And yet here she was, standing at a crossroads she hadn’t planned for, a fragile string now tying her to a future she wasn’t prepared to face.

Y/N’s hands curled into fists, the letter crumpling slightly beneath her fingers. He won’t care. He won’t want this, she thought bitterly. Silco was a man consumed by ambition. His entire life revolved around one thing: Zaun’s independence. Every move he made, every word he spoke, was calculated with that goal in mind. And then there was Jinx—his volatile, unpredictable daughter who seemed to occupy whatever space his plans left in his heart.

The memory of Jinx flashed in Y/N’s mind—the way Silco spoke to her with surprising patience, the softness in his mismatched eyes when she needed reassurance. It was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating man who ruled Zaun with an iron will.

But he doesn’t feel that way about you, Y/N reminded herself.

She paced the small room, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear, doubt, and an unfamiliar ache she couldn’t quite name. Part of her wanted to keep the truth from him, to carry this burden alone. After all, what could he possibly say? Silco wasn’t the type to offer comfort, and she didn’t want to hear him dismiss her—or worse, the child.

But deep down, she knew she had to tell him.

=

It had been weeks since she’d learned the truth—weeks of carrying the weight alone, trapped between her own doubts and fears of what Silco might say. She had thought about telling him a dozen times, each attempt falling apart the moment she imagined his sharp, unreadable gaze.

Tonight wasn’t about confessions, though. It was about feeling something other than the crushing weight in her chest. She had stayed away from him long enough, her absence no doubt noticed, but the pull of his presence had grown too strong to ignore.

The night unfolded with a raw intensity that neither of them had planned, the barriers that had grown between them over the past weeks crumbling under the weight of unspoken emotions. Silco’s touch was both commanding and tender, a reminder of the strange, fragile connection they shared. For Y/N, it was a chance to lose herself, if only for a few fleeting hours, in something that felt steady amidst the chaos within her.

Afterwards, they lay in silence, the dim light casting soft shadows across the room. Silco's breathing was steady beside her, his arm draped across his chest as he stared at the ceiling, the faint scent of smoke and the warmth of their shared intimacy lingering in the air. Y/N turned her head slightly, watching him. For a moment, she let herself believe that everything could remain as it was—that she could keep her secret buried for just a little longer.

But the quiet of the room began to weigh on her, the emotions she had been suppressing threatening to claw their way to the surface. Slipping away as carefully as she could, Y/N padded across the cold floor to the adjoining washroom. The faint sound of running water filled the air as she leaned against the basin, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her fingers gripped the porcelain edge tightly, as though she could anchor herself to the moment.

She let out a shaky breath, splashing water on her face in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Just a little longer, she thought. I can carry this on my own. He doesn’t need to know yet.

=

Back in the main room, Silco lit another cigarette, the faint glow illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward as his mismatched eyes drifted lazily around the room. It was a habit of his, to notice every detail, every potential vulnerability in his space.

That’s when he saw it—a small paper bag tucked beneath the chair where Y/N’s belongings had been casually placed. It was partially hidden, the edge of it crumpled as though it had been hastily shoved aside.

Curiosity flickered in his gaze as he leaned forward, retrieving the bag with careful precision. His sharp fingers unfolded it, pulling out the contents inside. The faint crease of his brow deepened as he turned the object over in his hands.

Then he saw it.

Positive.

The word hit him like a silent blow, stark and unrelenting against the stark white of the test. Silco’s jaw tightened, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he stared at it, his mind working quickly to piece together the implications. He didn’t need confirmation; he knew. He could feel it in the way Y/N had been pulling away, in the tension that lingered in her every glance.

The faint sound of water in the adjoining washroom stopped, and he immediately slipped the test back into the bag, placing it exactly where he had found it. His expression remained unreadable as he leaned back in his chair, the cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers.

By the time Y/N emerged from the washroom, Silco’s features were as composed as ever, his mismatched gaze fixed on her as she crossed the room.

“You should rest,” he said, his voice low and smooth, betraying none of the revelation that now sat heavy in his chest.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his face, but she nodded, slipping back into the bed beside him. As she curled beneath the covers, Silco remained where he was, the glow of his cigarette the only light in the darkened room.

He didn’t sleep that night.

=

The following morning, Y/N woke to an empty bed, the space beside her already cold. It didn’t surprise her—Silco’s absence was as much a part of him as his sharp words and calculating mind. He wasn’t the type to linger, not when there was always something demanding his attention in the underbelly of Zaun.

Still, the faint scent of his cologne clung to the sheets, a reminder of the night before. She lay there for a moment, staring at the cracked ceiling as her thoughts tumbled over each other. Her chest felt heavy, the weight of the secret she’d been carrying for weeks pressing harder now than ever.

Finally, she sat up, the dim light filtering through the grimy windows casting muted shadows across the room. Her gaze fell on the table nearby, where a neatly folded piece of paper caught her attention. The handwriting, sharp and precise, was unmistakable.

“Come to my office when you're sorted.”

The words were simple, scrawled in his sharp, precise handwriting, but they landed in her chest like a stone sinking in water. Silco wasn’t the kind of man to waste time on pleasantries or meaningless gestures. If he had left her a note, it wasn’t out of politeness—it was deliberate, purposeful. It meant he was waiting for her, and not just in passing.

Her fingers tightened around the note as unease flickered in the pit of her stomach. She tried to push it aside, convincing herself it was nothing more than his usual air of cool detachment, the aloofness she had grown used to.

After all, she knew him. She had learned his habits, read his moods, and become familiar with the fortress he built around himself. Walls she could sometimes breach but never truly dismantle.

And yet, this time felt different. A tension hung in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore. She wasn’t sure if it was her own nerves twisting the moment or if something had shifted between them, but the weight of it pressed heavily on her.

One thing was certain: whatever awaited her in that office wouldn’t be simple.

=

Later that afternoon, Y/N found herself standing outside Silco’s office, her palms clammy despite her efforts to steady herself. She had known this conversation was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door, stepping inside. The space, familiar and yet foreign, felt colder than usual.

Silco sat behind his desk, as composed and commanding as ever. His mismatched eyes flicked up to meet hers, and while his expression remained unreadable, the air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words.

“Close the door,” he said, his voice calm but deliberate.

Y/N hesitated, her stomach twisting at the sharpness in his tone. She obeyed, the faint click of the latch feeling unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The distance between them seemed vast, even as she moved closer to his desk, her steps faltering.

“Y/N,” Silco began, his gaze unwavering. He gestured for her to approach. “We need to talk.”

Her heart thudded in her chest as she neared him. She froze when he opened a drawer and pulled out something small, placing it deliberately on the desk between them.

Her breath caught in her throat. The sight of it—the test—sent a jolt of panic through her, making her blood run cold. She had thought it hidden, had hoped she could put off this moment a little longer.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Silco said, his voice steady, but carrying an edge that made her pulse race.

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she gripped the back of the chair in front of her. “I—I was going to tell you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Silco raised an eyebrow, his calm composure unnervingly sharp. “When?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft. “After the child was born? Or perhaps never at all?”

“I didn’t know how,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to burden you with this—not when you have so much to deal with.”

He leaned forward, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. “You think I wouldn’t care?”

“I didn’t want to distract you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Zaun, Jinx, everything—your work... I thought it was all more important than me. More important than this.”

Silco’s expression hardened, but there was something more beneath the steel—something softer, something she hadn’t expected. “That was your first mistake,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “To assume I wouldn’t care. That I wouldn’t want to know.”

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. She had convinced herself for so long that she was alone in this, that Silco wouldn’t want to be burdened with a child—their child. But his words, his gaze, chipped away at those fears, piece by piece.

“I was scared,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I still am.”

Silco regarded her for a long moment, his mismatched eyes searching hers. Slowly, he rose from his chair, rounding the desk to stand before her. His hand reached out, gently tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You’ve faced worse than this, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice resolute. “And you didn’t run then. Don’t run now." He reached for her shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “This changes things,” he said, his tone firm but not harsh. “But it doesn’t change my priorities. You and this child—our child—are part of my future now. Do you understand?”

Her breath hitched as she nodded, the full weight of his words settling over her. For weeks, she had carried this secret, this fear, but now, with him standing there before her, she felt as though the weight had lifted. Slowly, she allowed herself to believe it—she wasn’t alone in this.

“I should have told you sooner,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Silco’s hand moved to rest lightly on her shoulder, his touch soft but resolute. “You should have,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “But I won’t hold it against you. From now on, Y/N, we face this together. No more secrets.”

The tension she had carried for so long finally began to ease, the walls she had built around herself cracking under the weight of his promise. Silco wasn’t perfect—far from it—but in that moment, she felt something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in far too long.

Hope.

[247-diaperboy]

All the way, Daddy’s Boy

The room was small, but quaint, with pale blue walls that reminded Max of the color of the sky in august, misted by hazy clouds. He smiled at that. The color was a little boyish. But, he hadn’t been able to repaint. Tom and Greg had been clear on that. They said that Mr. Jeremy Butler, the landlord, was very strict. Two months extra rent for repainting! And, they argued, Max was the youngest and newest – still a sophomore - so he chose last.

He had moved in last week, joining Tom and Greg, Seniors who had been there for 3 years. He had lived in Chandice Hall last year, a dorm building from the 1940s that could barely be called a dorm. Honestly, if it wasn’t torn down within the decade, it was in danger of falling down. By spring Max had decided to move off campus, and he heard that Tom and Greg were looking for a new roommate. They lived in an enviable 4 bedroom on a cul-de-sac a couple miles from campus. It was a ranch, all brick, in the post-war style. The house was low and flat, with a large yard and big, towering pines. The guys held barbeques in the summer.

Max stood up from his twin beg, stretching out his torso into a long sinuous arch, curling his toes and fingers. Just as his fingers hit their apex, his right hand rolled down brushing the top of his short cropped hair, and he rubbed his neck. He hitched his left hand in his boxers, which were loose and low. What a fucking color. He thought for the 100th time. Pale, baby blue. Oh well.

He looked morosely down at his short twin bed. Not much better. But, a twin was the only think that would fit in here, and it was a modified twin. Coated with annoying, crinkling, plastic! His dresser hadn’t fit, either, so he was using the built in wall drawers which lined one side of the room. Oddly, above these there was a seem in the wall, and a large thick wooden slat flipped down as a desk. A super long desk, Max thought again. Whatever. Greg had told him this was the office and the owner was an architect. He shrugged mentally. Max stripped, pulling on a pair of tight spandex briefs. He cupped his goods. Nice package, he thought and smiled to himself, my body is amaaazing, and he giggled at the self-flattery. He slipped on his jeans, and pulled on a faded green t-shirt. He stopped by the hall bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face on the way to the kitchen. He arrived to find Greg standing on the table. He looked up in consternation.

“What the hell is going on in here” he grumbled, with the tones of sleep still rounding the edges of his words.

Greg looked back, turning his muscled torso 90 degrees left, and flicked his head, and caught Max with his eyes. He was wearing only cut off painters shorts he had created from last year kakhis. He tilted his head, his floppy brown hair tilting to the side.

“Yeah. Light needs changing” he stated matter-of-factly. Greg was a no-nonsense guy. “Hand me that wire, would you Max”

“Sure” Max responded, picking up the wire and passing it up. “Where’s Tom?”

“Oh. He went to class about an hour ago. That history class he, um the …” Greg paused as he stuck out his tongue in concentration, wiring a connection while balancing the light. “ahhh. Got it. Um, the one he needs for his major. the one he’s always complaining about…. Italian history, I think”

“Oh yeah, yeah” Max paused, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. “Hey, Greg, you know that mattress of mine is really annoying. I mean it could wake the dead, man. And, it feels like I’m sleeping on a stiff plastic tarp – you know the camping ones? Its slick, crinkly. Super fucking annoying. I gotta change it.”

Greg stepped down from the table, having completed his task. On the ground, the height difference between Greg and Max was more obvious. Greg was 6 foot 2 inches, 190 lbs with broad shoulders. Max wasn’t tiny. He wasn’t! Max frowned at his own thought, and looked down at himself as if to re-enforce this. His Dad always said he was the tallest in their family! But at 5 foot 6 inches, and 150 lbs, he was slim and small compared to Greg. It made their 2 year age difference – 22 to 19 – seem much greater than it was. Although, he had heard rumors that Greg was older, he couldn’t confirm it.

“Max, buddy. You know we can’t get rid of Jeremy’s stuff, and we cant store it.” He glared “That was a condition of moving in. And, that’s part of the reason you’re paying so little”

Max sighed, and rolled his eyes dramatically. Whatever. He was never going to be able to find such affordable housing near campus. He grabbed his green book bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out, calling bye to Greg as he scampered out the door. Greg smiled faintly at the back of the closed door, and headed down to the 4th bedroom in the basement to get some supplies. The beginning of the process was always so much fun, Greg thought.

Max returned home to see his Dad in Septermber for a long weekend. The bus sucked. It was long, boring, and the guy next to him smelled like a garbage bag! Yuuuuuck. And, the bus had no bathroom, so the last 2 hours of the trip Max was certain he was going to piss himself. He sprinted off that bus and straight to the restroom. He had never been so happy to see a urinal in his life!

Weekend with Dad was great, but oddly, he didn’t sleep so well. He had started sleeping naked most nights in the last month depending on the temperature. It seemed that his room was really hot; much warmer then the rest of the house. And, somehow the fucking slick, crinkly, plastic sheet on his mattress stayed a little cooler, and so if he had his skin on it, it felt a little better. Max imagined he was quite a site: sleeping buck naked with no sheets on the plastic lined mattress. Oh well. It felt good. Anyways, at Dads the mattess just felt hot and soft. Weirdly, he had trouble sleeping on it.

On Sunday night, his Dad had noticed his fatigue, and asked. He reported dutifully about his new mattress in his rental room, and how it was odd to sleep on this one.

“You mean, plastic? Like, slick thick cold plastic encasing the mattress?” His dad asked, enthusiastically, his voice brimming with containing mocking humor.

Max answered slowly, fearing a trap “Uh, yeah. Just like that. It covered the whole thing. You cant even get it off”

His Dad threw back his head and laughed uproariously, a loud booming laugh. When the laughed turned to a chuckle he started: “That’s a mattress protector.” When Max looked over blankly he continued “Like, for a kid who wets his bed. Like pisses in it. You know, like pees in the bed…. so the piss doesn’t soak in just runs…”

Max cut him off “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks. I get it” he simmered. I guess for some reason Jeremy had a bed wetter mattress installed in his rental house. Fuck. And, Max couldnt get rid of it. Max groaned inwardly as his dad continued giggling. It didn’t occur to either of them to wonder if Greg or Tom know the purpose of the mattress.

The next week proceeded uneventfully. Max resigned himself to sleeping on the mattress, and strangely he enjoyed getting back to it. “I liked it before I knew its purpose, why should I change now?” Max thought.

It wasn’t until the start of October that things began getting weird. After it all went down, when Max became thoughtful, indeed, when he thought at all, he would think back to that week in particular. A cascade of events can start from such a random, little thing. Or, was it random?

In late September, Toms Grandma Jean came to visit them for a week. It was torture. Jean was 82, imperious, demanding, and set in her ways. Tom was running around the entire week. Max tried his best not to be at home at all. He would arrive late at night, drinking, studying, whatever. He would enter the house quietly and approach the fridge, quickly stealing food and drink, and taking it back to his room.

It so happened that on Monday he took a water bottle with an “JS” on top – or so he was later told. Grandma Jean apparently had trouble swallowing pills, and would melt her medications in water, and then drink the bottle.

It doesn’t matter what was in the bottle; Tom was never able to tell him that, and Jean didn’t really know. Some combination of her meds she said. Max went to sleep that night, and when he woke up next, he was naked, cold. Tom and Greg were both standing over him. He felt the air on his skin. As usual he was on his bed, naked, lying on the plastic coated mattress. He squirmed, and looked up at them. “Stop it!” Tom ordered, looking down, his blond hair spiked.

“Not again” Greg groaned simultaneously, sticking his hand under Max’s cold butt and tilting him to the side. Max barely reacted, but groaned. His hand feels so warm. Max could tell that Greg’s hand emerged glistening, wet, and a dribble ran down his forearm. He cursed loudly “Fucking piss soaked” and ran out of the room, while muffled the rest of his sentence.

Max struggled for coherence. His brain wrestled to make sense of the situation.

He hesitated and then lifted his head and looked down at his thin, tanned body. His lower abs and crotch and upper thighs were wet and shining, and there was a small puddle under his butt. He could smell it clearly. It was the shared smell of a urinal, a boy’s locker room, and a baby’s used diaper; it was stale urine. He groaned. The urine puddled under his butt, held out of the mattress by the plastic protector sheet. He lifted his hand to his chest, and unknowingly, he brought piss with it, and felt the piss run down his chest. Max was groggy. He wanted to cry. He looked up at Tom, who smoothed back his hair in a protective gesture.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” Tom declared. He began to roll Max to the side and toweled off under his butt. Max fell in and out of sleep, eventually waking up again in the morning. He could barely tell if that nights activities were a dream or not. But, from the smell of his room - still vaguely urine-tinged - he knew it was no dream. Remembering Tom and Greg seeing him piss-soaked and naked, he blushed red as he stood up and pulled on his boxers.

For several days thereafter, Max was groggy and tired. He was almost too sick to think. Greg threatened to take him to a doctor, but he just shrugged it off. The meds will pass he thought. Jean had long since left.

To his dismay, he continued to wake up in a wet bed. And, he was not pissing a little, but a lot. He would wake up with he naked butt in puddles of hot urine on the mattress. The air fresheners that Tom had strung up in his room did little to cover the scent. Greg and Tom were real sports about it. On the 5th day, when Max ran out of boxers, Tom lend him a small pair of his. On Friday, he woke up in the early morning hours, feeling again the piss around his crotch. He was laying face down on his mattress, and the piss extended up to his chest. He started sobbing. How had this happened to him? He had never pissed the bed! He sat up, and some of the urine sloshed onto the floor, which made him cry even harder.

That was how Greg found him, crying, naked, half covered in piss. Greg said nothing, but, walked slowly towards him and enfolded him in a powerful hug apparently disregarding the fact that urine was now covered Greg too.

“Shhhhh. Don’t cry Max. Shhhhh” he cooed as Max sobbed against his chest, heaving and shaking. “We’ll fix this buddy. Don’t worry” he continued in a low, calm voice, as if soothing a puppy. At some point he began to stroke the back of Max’s head, and Max’s sobs trailed off as he nestled his head against Toms warm neck. That morning, he followed Toms instructions as he was told to shower and get dressed. Maybe Tom could fix this mess, Max thought optimistically. Tom and Greg seemed like such good guys.

Weeks later, Max would have trouble recalling who first suggested the diapers. In truth, it may have been no one, or anyone. One day, he woke up in his puddle of urine, cold, shivering. And, the next day, in the afternoon, he found, at the foot of his closet, an unopened pack of adult diapers. He torn open the pack, and unfolded one. It was large (larger then he would have expected!) and thick, but soft. He needn’t have opened the pack. His underwear drawer was generously stocked with the folded diapers. The filled most of his underwear drawer, and his boxers had been stuffed in the side and in the next drawer down.

He mentioned these in passing to Tom and Greg; it was not a conversation really, but more of an acknowledgment; as if to say, I found these. The both nodded, studiously avoiding the issue. Only that night while they were all seated in the living room watching TV, did Greg say, “Remember to get one of those diapers on before bed, Max” Max looked over, but Greg had gone back to watching the show, as if the issue deserved no more comment. And, maybe it didn’t. Max had a problem, and the diapers were a simple solution. He tried to be a man about it.

That night, he put one on for the first time. He had unfolded one on the bed, fully open it took up a fair portion of the twin bed. He stripped to nothing and laid down butt first on the diaper. It took some doing, but he folded it up in place over his dick and crotch, securing the tapes. He closed his legs slowly, feeling the dense mass of stuffing that covered his butt, balls, and cock keeping his legs apart. It gave some when he brought his legs together, bunching and pushing out in the front. But, the mass was still present. He could almost feel how dry, and thirsty it was.

He stood up gingerly, feeling the diaper move with him. He moved carefully to his closet, as if the thick bundle around his crotch could break, but really, he moved slowly to lessen the creeping humiliation he felt. It is this way when a toddler first walks? He thought, the thick diaper making the act awkward and halting. Max was surprised but pleased to find a pair of baggy PJ bottoms to pull over the diaper, even if they were covered by baseballs in a too-boyish style. He hadn’t worn these in years.

When he emerged back out to sit on the couch and watch TV, the only mention of his new attire was a jest: “Max, you take the seat with the warn out cushion – you got extra padding!” Tom cracked, to Greg’s delight. The next morning, no one was surprised to find that Max had wet himself at night. Tom and Greg were up remarkably early, and Max’s door was open when he awoke. His stirring brought Tom and Greg both to the room, to stand over his bed. That would have been more unusual a couple months ago, but given his recent bed wetting, they seemed to be in his room nearly every morning. They stood shoulder to shoulder at the foot of his bed, both shirtless, as they often were; Greg had his fingers lightly on Toms waist.

Max’s PJ bottoms has slipped low in the night, and his diaper was mostly bare. Before Max could ask why Greg was touching Tom, Greg reached down and used one of his index fingers to tug them down the rest of the way, revealing the diaper totally. It was a mottled grey-yellow, indented and deformed. It looked nothing like the night before. Although none of the boys were used to seeing wet diapers, they knew that was what this way: a diaper used to capacity. Tom’s lips turned up in the corner, an almost smile.

“Looks like that diaper did its job chief” he declared. With that, Tom turned and walked out. Greg lingered, watching his diaper crotch just a little too long. Max looked at Greg awkwardly.

“Greg, do you need something?” Max asked quietly. Greg started.

“No, no” he said as he walked out of the small blue room.

At first, the used diapers went in the bathroom garbage. But, Greg soon complained about the smell. Even when Max folded them up well, they did smell. Soon, there was a garbage, really a diaper-pail, in the corner of his blue bedroom. At first, it was odd for Max to see his used diapers day after day. They were balled up tight, but yellow, used. They smelled faintly of piss, and his room did too. Nothing severe.

Max couldn’t tell if it was better or worse when he found a nursery-sent nightlight in his room after returning from class. Tom had good fun with him about it, but defended it by saying that Amazon had only small repository of get-rid-of-diaper-smell items, and they all were babyish. Indeed, Tom said he had tried to google “get rid of diaper smell” and “adult” in the same sentence, and got nothing. Oh well.

By that Christmas break that year, Max was wearing diapers every night regularly, and without thought. A couple times he stopped to wonder if the meds that he had involuntarily taken from Jean would wear off, or why they hadn’t. But, he didn’t dwell on this too much. Whenever he got the thought in his mind, it would slip away, fleeting.

The last order of diapers had been 2 cases – 100 in total. He had blanched slightly when they arrived, but they were cheaper this way, and Greg had helped him split the cost. Those diapers, when unpacked, had filled a couple drawers and lined several shelves extra.

Max decided to stay in town for Christmas while Greg and Tom when home. He hadn’t wanted to confront his Dad with his night-time-diapers. It seemed simpler this way. Those were the first days he started wearing diapers during the day. It started simply. One lazy morning he decided to eat before changing out of his diaper. Being familiar with the capcity of these diapers, he could tell now that this wet diaper could handle more. And, he had recently wet. It was warm, almost cozy. He squirted a little more piss into his diaper during breakfast. He thought about his diapers more recently. While at the kitchen table eating his oatmeal, he rubbing himself through the front of his diaper, feeling the soggy warm heavy diaper rub against his hard dick. Damn, he thought. That felt goooood. Pretty quickly, while eating, he cam into the front of his diaper. He rocked his crotch forward, clamping down on the spoon in his mouth. He felt the hot cum squirt out in his wet diaper. When he was done he panted slightly, and began to get up. He stopped, and laughed. There was no reason to get up. No cleanup. Oh shit; that was certainly a benefit to wearing diapers. He thought, remembering normal clean-up when he used to jack off. He careless rubbed his post-climax dick again through the diaper, shuddering.

That morning, at almost noon, he changed out of his wet diaper and into a dry one. He defended it to himself. He was going to be home all day. It was like wearing at night. And, there were so many diapers in his room, who would notice a missing one.

By the time Tom and Greg both returned from winter break, Max had been wearing diapers non-stop for almost 2 weeks. He would push them down to shit still, but wouldn’t really even clean himself up as much as he used to. It was a diaper, right? He’d think as he pulled the wet diaper from around his ankles after he shit. The guys got home at night, and it was not unexpected that Max was wearing, although he greeted them in just his diaper and short socks, which made them both grin broadly.

But, Max had not counted on how many diapers he had gone through. The next morning, Greg noted that almost 60 diapers had been used since before they left.

“Max, that’s like 4 per day, buddy” Greg said sternly for the 4th or 5th time. Max looked down. He had used every excuse he could think of, and the only thing left to him was the truth.

“Well, I’ve been wearing the diapers during the day. All day.” Max intoned, very slowly, pronouncing every word as if they were fragile strange things. Greg looked at him, sitting on the side of the bed – the sheet crinkling with his movements – his diaper wet, bulging at his crotch. It did not occur to Max to be embarrassed at his used diaper.

And, surprisingly, Greg smiled. He ruffled his hand through Max’s hair. “Look. Diapers are cheap. We can get more. Use as many as you want. If you want to wear all the time, Tom and I will totally support that” Greg said. As if on cue, Tom peaked his head it, and yelped “We sure will!” and then continued down the hall.

Max realized two things that day. He did feel more comfortable wearing diapers during he day. But, his clothes did not fit well over them. He had spent the holiday break at home, and now he was confronted with the prospect of going to class in diapers. He went through jeans, khakis, shorts. In all of them, the diaper was woefully obvious at least to his nervous eyes. He examined himself in the mirror again, his j-crew Khakis over his diaper… the diaper contour stretching the confines of his crotch and butt, and worse still, it rustled loudly, and peaked up above the too-low waist band.

Max eventually settled on sweat pants, through which the diaper was somewhat concealed in the folds of extra cloth. To his surprise, when he arrived in the kitchen that morning, Tom had packed him a lunch for class in a paper bag. He stuffed it into his bookbag and grinned as Tom slapped him on his diapered ass. He barely registered that Gregs hand came up and cradled Toms neck as he was walking out the door.

Those weeks, in the early winter were both easy and careless. Max was often seen around campus in his navy blue sweat pants, paired with all manner of t-shirts or Henley’s and an accompanying jacket. Some students who sat beside him swore he smelled odd, musky, stale. Others noticed nothing. Similarly, some talked about his growing crotch or enlarging butt. There were rumors, but they only skirted the truth. The rumors rarely reached Max’s ears. When Greg or Tom heard about them, they fed the rumors slightly, obliquely. The word diaper was only mentioned in passing, hushed whispers.

For himself, Max slept soundly at night and romped during the day. He was surprisingly happy. His thoughts had become strangely simplified. Sometimes he almost thought that his thought-process had become more child-like. He had altered his routine somewhat to accommodate the diapers, but that was greatly outweighed by the added security and comfort he got from them. This joy was not lost on Greg and Tom.

It was early in March when Max noticed that his closet was strangely empty. It was true that he was wearing only a small selection of clothes, but still, he was momentarily taken aback by the empty shelves and naked hangers. He was back early. He has stripped out of his sweats to get them a much needed wash, and was in a white printed t and his diaper, which was slightly used, and hung a little low on his waist. Greg returned from class first to find Max in the living room watching TV and having a beer.

“Hey Greg” Max voiced “What’s with my closet?”

Greg barely noticed Max as he was unpacking his book bag. “Tom and I took the clothes to good will this morning. You cant wear most of them anymore. The better pieces Tom took to consignment to get some extra money to buy you new shit.” He reported matter-of-factly as if stating a fact that did not concern Max.

“Oh” Max paused, taking in this news. “Well, I guess I could use some new clothes” he looked up at the TV as if nothing had happened, and took another sip of his beer. If Tom was going to get him a new wardrobe, great. Nice to have some more pants, he thought philosophically while looking down at his bare legs and exposed diaper. Prior to dinner, when Tom and Greg were in the kitchen, Max was sitting at the table chatting with them. He stood up slowly, and began to walk to the bathroom. Something in the way he walked, slightly bow legged, set Tom off. He walked so much like a toddler.

“He buddy” Tom called conspiratorially “Where you going?”

Max looked back. Strange. The hadn’t been this interested in his comings and goings before. He rubbed his flat stomach absent mindedly, and ran a hand along the waist band of his diaper. His stomach groaned, and he felt the familiar pressure building. “I’m heading to the bathroom Tom” he reported, turning to walk. “Stop!” Tom ordered, brokering no argument. “Greg and I have been talking. We think we’re spending almost $300 per month on your diapers. And, we think you should use them fully. Its just not fair” he reasoned “its like you’re throwing away half our money”

Max stopped, puzzled. Weird argument. He dismissed them and turned to head to the bathroom. He didn’t expect Greg to tackle him, pushing him onto the plush carpet, wrestling him to the ground playfully. They tousled for a couple minutes, laughing at the unexpected physicality of it.

Max was abruptly brought to the present when he felt the pressure in his stomach surge. He had a critical need to shit. He yelped this to Greg in a semi-strangled voice. Greg remained straddles across him, holding his arms to the floor. “Let me up Greg, I really, really gotta go” Max whined again, high pitched, which squirming. Greg paused, looking down. He mercilessly pressed a fist slowly into Maxes flat stomach. Max groaned audibly. Greg jumped off him as Max flipped over to his stomach and got himself up on his knees. His lips drew back from his teeth in nether a smile nor a grimace. Very slowly, he levered his butt out and up, his head down but his face out. Greg was kneeling beside him, and slipped a hand under the back of his t-shirt, rubbing his back from neck down to diaper butt.

He locked eyes with Max and spoke carefully. ��Don’t hold back Max. It’s OK. Do it.” In that moment, Max didn’t push – no – he simply let go the effort of holding back. And, with that, his bowels rumbled out into his waiting diaper. They filled his diapered seat. This was so much more then wetting. He thought as he felt the hot slimy mess fill his diaper and felt it continue coming out of him. Some part of him was conscious that he wet at the same time. As he continued soiling himself, he broke eye contact with Greg and closed his eyes. His diaper butt felt heavy, and sagged low between his legs.

He eventually laid down on the floor, somehow exhausted. He was all too conscious of the full diaper he wore. Full in every sense. He felt it – warm, wet, and heavy. He smelled it. When he moved it shifted. His cheeks blushed bright red as he thought about what he had done, what he was wearing. He looked up at Tom and Greg who now stood over him… his voice was almost tearful, “I shit in my diaper” he whispered, voice quavering.

That was when he discovered another use for the large levered desk in his room. Greg took him there, walking him gingerly. Tom and Greg had made clear he could not change himself out of this diaper. The “desk” flopped down out of the wall, and Max was stunned to see Tom quickly unfold a cushioned printing plastic mat. Even in his shocked state, standing in his full diaper, he looked at the board, covered in the white plastic mat printed with baseballs, mitts, and bats,

His eyes widened as he looked at Greg, “This is, uh, this is a baby changing table” He said. The sheltered cubbies in the wall were filled with diaper changing supplies; baby oil, and baby powder. Pampers wipes.

Greg paternalistically rubbed Max on the head. “No, buddy, its not a baby changing table. Its a changing table for adults who wear diapers” He reported. With that, he put his strong hands at Max’s waist and hoisted him onto the table, plopping him down on his butt. Max started. The force of him landing pushed his shit all over his backside, making him newly aware of his diaper. Strangely, his cock became hard.

Tom appeared, and pulled off his shirt, and pushed him flat onto his back. In the hours after, Max tried to forget the humiliation of that 15 minutes. He laid on that table with his butt in the air, and the smell of his shit, while Greg cleaned his butt and Tom rubbed his chest and soothed him. He cried softly through much of the change, but his dick remained hard. Greg teased him as he put him back into a dry diaper, this time liberally applying baby oil. When he stood up, he noticed that the baby oil and powder lent him a much more infantile smell.

It was no less then 2 months later that the first diaper-messing seemed a distant, foreign memory to Max. He tried to remember how and why it had felt so strange; this was the most natural of impulses. Letting go. He did it easily now. It just came out into his diaper. Wetting or messing. It was a diaper. It was to be used. He has wet and messed himself at breakfast yesterday, and told Tom this thought. Tom had praised him.

“Yeah, of course, Max. For you, using you diaper is and should be the most natural thing in the world. Its the same way for all little boys” Max lifted up his chin and grinned at Toms praise. It meant a lot to him, to have Tom or Greg praise him. He would glow for hours afterwards.

True to his word, Tom had stocked his closet with clothes that were much better suited to his attire. His jeans now were double stiched with a wide crotch and elastic waist. He had a couple pairs of overalls. Greg had even bought him a onsie recently, saying it was like an undershirt, but better for hiding his diaper. He cringed a little at that recent memory. It seemed more than a little infantile when Greg had snapped that onsie over his diaper. But, he did enjoy the way it had pushed up the diaper against his cock. He became hard just thinking about it. And, the diaper didn’t peak over his pants when he wore them. Practical, Max thought.

Around the house, Max had noticed small changes. Nothing he could put his finger on. He complained to Tom once, and even to his own ears, it sounding like the whining of a spoiled child. The chairs in the kitchen were being changed out, and while Tom and Greg used the two remaining wooden ones, Max was stuck with a smaller plastic one that had a seat belt in it. Of course, the guys never used the belt on him. But, the chair was small, blue and red, with high arms. And, it took him a couple days, but he noticed that he was always drinking out of plastic cups now with lids and straws.

When he mentioned it, Tom laughed “Its nothing. We’re just short on glass cups.” He almost complained when Greg wiped his mouth after dinner, but held himself back. Greg was so gentle with it, so caring, cupping the back of his head and gently wiping the wet wipe over his mouth. And, it felt nice to be touched like that by Greg.

Also, he couldn’t tell if it was just him, but Max noticed that Tom and Greg were increasingly touching or holding each other. Simple hugging, or having arms around each other. The other night, on the couch, Max was in his new onsie and diaper, and sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, and he looked up to see Tom lying with Gregs legs straddling him. When Max looked at them, they smiled and Tom winked. He shrugged, and went back to watching TV.

Max’s last day of class was in the first week of June. He was in his overalls, which he liked wearing now. They were blue-jean color, and cut slightly large. He wore a red onsie underneath them. Tom came with him to class sometimes now, and was with him today. He sat beside Tom in the back row. He set his backpack down by his feet. His sneakers were big, white hightops. He was quite wet, and knew it now that he felt his diaper, although he barely remembered wetting. He whispered this to Tom, who shrugged. He knew that the bathroom in the Carmichael building was a pissing trough with no privacy, and a couple small stalls. There was no place to change a diaper. Max silently cursed when he felt the need to mess half way through lecture. He tugged on Toms sleeve.

It was no use. While the professor talked about early agrarian economies, Max succumbed and soiled his diaper badly, feeling the hot mess and squirting piss assail his diaper simultaneously. Soon, the dirty diaper smell became obvious.

“Did you mess?” Tom queried, grimacing “Phewy, that stinks. Lift up, stinky butt, let me see. It smells like you leaked.” Max lifted his butt slightly for Tom, who saw the damp crescents across the back his butt. “Damn it! I knew we should have switched to those other diapers. Greg was right” Max dropped his head onto the desk, as nearby students started turning. In the preceding months, the rumors of a diaper-wearing student had solidified, and were now commonly known.

“Max, did you fucking mess you diaper again, baby?” a loud mouthed frat guy hooted from 2 rows in front. “I can smell that shit from here. Daddy’s gonna have to get you changed” he laughed, as a chorus of other students joined in giggling nervously and looking at Max. Kyle a sophomore seated beside Tom, was less forgiving.

“Damn it. It smells like a diaper-baby-fucking-nursery here. If you’re still wetting and shitting your diapers like a baby maybe you should be in nursery school and not a college seminar, and let us adults concentrate?” Kyle lectured.

To the sound of laughs, Max walked out of the lecture hall, his wet and messy diaper obvious as Tom walked beside him.

After that episode in lecture, the changes came quickly for Max throughout that spring and summer.

He was already diapered all the time, and, after his original diapers leaked occasionally, Greg had switched him to thicker diapers. He had seen the ordering site; these were diapers only worn by completely incontinent men. They were loud, thick, and impossible to hide. In order to compensate, his wardrobe had changed radically. The onsies had multiplied. They were perfect for fitting over the thick diapers. They held them up, and in place. And, Greg liked to say, they prevented Max from tampering with his own diapers. As if Max was going to. He was perfectly content with Greg and Tom handling that.

The story of his soiling his diaper in class had become common knowledge. Their school was not large, and now it seemed that every student knew that Max wore diapers. This was a blessing and a curse. After initial mocking and taunting, students seems to let him be. It was for the best, since his diapers were not easily concealable under his clothes. He was mostly in overalls now when he went out. On some of the overalls, there were leg snaps so that Tom or Greg could get to his diaper easier. With the leg snaps and the onsie, he was surprised to realized they could change his diapers without undressing him.

In addition to his onsies, he had sleepers for overnight – long tight playful printed things which exaggerated the contour of his diaper butt and his thin toned limbs. For the day, he had slowly built up a collection of toddlerish clothes: rompers for in the house – loose garments in which he could play. Greg had also bought him some shortalls, which were mostly for inside, but he had endured an embarrassing trip to the park in them once, where, blessedly, he had not been seen. But, often, he was in just a diaper or a t-shirt and diaper.

The other changes were incremental. The desk-changing table came down permanently, with a baby-boy printed covering, and became a changing table in truth.

He first had a towel around his neck, then, when the towel grew dirty with his food, he was given a bib. His plastic chair with a belt became a larger chair with a tray, and then a lockable high chair. His plastic-covered cup became a sippy cup.

It was this way that Max found himself near the end of the summer. He had been home from classes for 2 months, and his life had become, in reality, that of a kid. Maybe even that of a toddler he thought. He still had say over his actions. But, he was, in some ways confined by his diaper and clothing. And, in truth, he needed the diapers now, and had come to enjoy them.

It was a morning in late summer when Max stumbled from his bed – still plastic sheet covered, but now with short railings. He was clad in a tight white onsie which had small barely visible soccer ball prints. This onsie covered his engorged diaper. He waddled more then walked into the hallway. Sounds down the hall caught his attention and he wandered to them, opening the door to Greg’s room. He paused at the door. Greg and Tom were both naked, kneeling, Greg straddling Tom from the back. Toms dick was hard. Greg was behind him. They both looked up at Max. Their skin was glistened with sweat.

“Hi boy” Greg voiced, throaty, husky. “You come to play with your daddies?” he asked. Max looked over, and felt his cock hard in his diaper. Greg looked at Max “You know that inflatable stuffed horse we got you? Go get it, come back” Max scampered through the house, returning moments later. “Mount it at the foot of the bed” Greg ordered, while Tom moaned.

Max sat down at the foot of the bed and straddled his horse. His wet diaper, bound by his onsie, pushed up mightily against his cock.

“Now ride it until you cum” Greg ordered, and he continued taking Tom from behind. Max moved his hips back and forth, while looking at Tom and Greg, and feeling his cock trapped, hard, in the wet diaper. He was about to cum when Tom reached forward and slipped something into his mouth. It was long and plastic, and Max felt the guard around his mouth. It was a large pacifier. He sucked and sucked and watched the men above him gyrating as his dick exploded into his waiting diaper. He continued humping and moaning as he fell forward.

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo Ending Four: Little Omega

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

I am no longer doing tags. Tumblr hates me and I’d rather not waste my time when there are so many! You can keep up to date on Twisted Zoo on Tumblr, Quotev, Wattpad, or AO3.

WARNINGS: yandere themes, blood

Note: This is very late and not very good, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! 

The zoo was bathed in a pale white under the glow of the full moon. You had never been here this late and you were beginning to believe it was a bad idea. The lions and hyenas had kept you, and you had to feed the wolves still.

The door to the exhibit creaked noisily as you opened it, carrying a bucket of steaks. You had to hurry, the zoo had already closed an hour ago. 

Unsurprisingly, Jack was waiting for you. He paced in front of the door and, when it opened, he turned to face you with childlike excitement.

You laughed at his expression and pulled a steak out of the bucket, handing it over to him. “Look, Jack, I have to be fast tonight…”

Jack looked offended.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you guys,” you reassured him, “I’m just running late.”

You peered around the clearing, not surprised to see it deserted, “Where are the other wolves then? Are they in the woods or down by the river?”

Jack looked startled, “He didn’t tell you?”

“Who didn’t tell me what?” you blinked, confused.

Staring at the ground as though thinking something over, Jack finally said, “I take you to them. Follow me.”

“Okay!” you said cheerfully. You held the bucket in both hands as you followed Jack into the woods.

You were a little nervous to face the other wolves again. They didn’t seem to like you much, but you secretly trusted Jack to defend you if necessary.

The trek through the woods was a long one, since you kept tripping over exposed tree roots the deeper in you got. Finally, it opened up into a clearing overlooking the river.

“What the hell happened here?”

Copious amounts of blood coated the tree trunks, the large rock, and the grass of the clearing. The grass itself was soaked in it, turned entirely red in patches. There were streaks of blood as if something was dragged and the rock had an ominous dark patch as though someone’s head had been bashed against it.

You stared at the horrifying display, unable to scream like you so desperately wanted to due to the lack of air in your lungs. Seeing all the red made you feel as though the air had been punched out of you.

“Jack, what happened?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jack stared blankly at you, “They hurt you.”

“SO YOU KILLED THEM?” you screamed.

Jack looked like a kicked puppy, his ears flat against his head as he ducked, as though afraid you might hit him. A surge of guilt ran through you before you remembered what he did.

“This is insane,” you murmured, “Are all of them dead?”

“Yes,” Jack replied.

It was all so brutal… you felt yourself shutting down, gasping for breath as though there was little oxygen left in the air. Jack did this? Sweet Jack who followed you around like a lost puppy?

“Are you going to kill me?” you whimpered.

His eyes went wide, “No!”

Tears began to flow freely from your eyes and you let out a small sob. Sure, you hadn’t liked the other wolves much, but to think they were all dead…

“I need to go,” you whispered, dropping the bucket of steaks and running blindly back through the woods. You tripped over a tree root and went sprawling across the grass. To your horror, even here there were streaks of blood inches from your face, as though someone had been injured but tried to escape.

You picked yourself back up, feeling sick, and ran across the clearing to the exhibit door. You pulled hard on the handle but it refused to move. Suddenly, the floodlights to the zoo turned off, bathing you in moonlight alone.

Someone’s doing this. You realized quickly. It’s an electric lock, so someone manually locked the door from the control center.

Tearfully, you turned around and found yourself face to face with Jack. He looked like Christmas had come early.

His large hand took your smaller one into his own, his claws carefully moved out of the way so they did not scrape your skin. He examined your hand closely, intrigued by what he saw.

“Omega,” he supplied eagerly.

“Huh?”

“My little omega,” he crooned, a look on his face you’d never seen before. His pupils were dilated, eyes wide open, and a little drool ran down his chin. He leaned in close, trapping you against the door, and took a deep sniff of your scent.

“Mate,” he said, “My mate.”

“Jack, let me go,” you demanded as you tried to extract your hand from his tightening grip. But it was far too late, he had gone positively feral. His tail wagged and his ears were pricked, his dilated pupils trained on your face.

Suddenly, he lunged forward, sinking his fangs into your neck. You screamed like a banshee in both pain and surprise. You tried to push him away, but his fangs only sunk deeper. You wept bitterly, unable to push him off of you.

“My mate,” Jack pulled free of your neck and grinned down at you with bloody teeth, “Your turn.” He tilted his head to give you free access to his own neck.

Some sort of weird mating ritual… you realized quickly. You opened your mouth and pointed at your teeth, “I don’t have fangs, Jack.”

Jack didn’t look particularly bothered by this fact and merely reached down and picked you up, ignoring your squeak of fear. He held you like a baby, curling his claws into your skin, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to give a warning.

He headed back through the forest and entered a cave near the civilians’ path. It had one glass wall, so guests could see into the massive cave.

Come morning, they’d see one wolf and one broken human resting inside.

[azapofinspiration]

Okay, but we all talk about the big moments when it comes to Chuuya and Dazai’s trust in each other (Corruption, Dead Apple both during the DHC conflict and facing the singularity dragon, the fights against both Rimbaud and later Verlaine even when Chuuya said he doesn’t trust Dazai), but it’s in the little moments too.

The bickering, the way they know exactly how to provoke each other and get under the other’s skin, the teasing. It shows how well they know each other even after the 4 year separation and how they’re still the same when it comes to them. When it comes to Soukoku.

But what gets me is this:

Dazai asked for Chuuya’s knife.

And Chuuya — rightfully suspicious, guarded, supposedly untrusting to Dazai, who claims to hate him and wishes to get away from him ASAP — immediately went to hand it to him.

Chuuya was going to just hand over his knife to Dazai.

Just like, “Oh, okay.”

Chuuya, who’s been the most adamant that they are no longer partners.

Chuuya, who acknowledges the gap between four years ago and now and how things have changed.

Chuuya, who makes it clear that Dazai is an enemy even if they have to work together now.

That Chuuya was going to nonchalantly and with no hesitation hand over a weapon to Dazai aka an enemy.

It just blows my mind that Chuuya didn’t even seem to care about that because — even though he doesn’t want to admit it and even though Corruption and its lead-up were the biggest indicators of how he really feels for Dazai — he still trusts him.

And he doesn’t feel like his presence is a threat.

Because yes, Dazai managed to pickpocket it off Chuuya and he’s undoubtedly skilled in that sort of thing, but I’m pretty sure if literally anyone else tried reaching into Chuuya’s coat to try stealing it, the culprit would be flat on the ground one way or another.

But Dazai managed to get close enough to take it.

And it just never registered as a possible threat to Chuuya.

These two drive me up the wall.

[1989butcher]

All Night

daryl dixon x reader

accidentally injured on a run, daryl refuses to leave your side till you wake.

set in early alexandria era

3.5k words ! mostly fluff, maybe a bit of angst but just daryl being angry for a bit. enjoy!!

not my gif!

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You were running. Bags wrapped to your body, holding as much supplies as you possibly could as the building burned behind you. “Y/N! Come on!” Rosita yelled from the driver’s side of the truck. You were panting, and could feel blood dripping from your forehead. Just a bit further, you told yourself. You heard the dead right behind you, the ones that weren’t attracted to the fire that is. There were at least 100, maybe more. Abraham opened the door from the inside of the truck, extending his arm out for you to grab. His face was also coated in blood, but it was walker blood. You practically threw yourself at him, and he pulled you into the truck. Rosita floored the gas and sped back home.

Before you could even take the bags off, your head hit the back of the seat and you were out like a light. You had been in the building when Rosita threw the dynamite stick in. Not in an attempt to injure you, but to get the swarm of walkers that were surrounding you away. You had been scavenging the building a little longer than planned, but also none of you saw the dozens from behind the building file in. When the dynamite went off, you flew against the wall, your head throbbing and ears ringing. You were knocked flat on the ground, grabbing your head in. You shook yourself awake, hearing the growls of the dead, and grabbed your bags as fast as you could before running out.

What happened next are only the bits and pieces you remember, when your eyes would flutter open or when your hearing would return. While you were sleeping, more or less just passed out, Abraham had taken the bags off of you as your head rested against the window now. You slightly woke as he pulled each strap from over your head and the back pack off your back, but you never fully gained consciousness.

“Rosita, I’m gonna need you to step on the gas a little harder, my friend.” Abraham said, shooting a concerned look through the rear view mirror where Rosita made eye contact. She pressed her lips in a line and did just what he asked, Glenn turning to look at you. The four of you had only been out a few hours, but since the run wasn’t really planned, it was more of an exploration, you were all a little banged up. You had just unfortunately been in the line of fire. Glenn opened his backpack to reveal some gauze, handing it to Abraham. “Put this on her head to try and stop the bleeding.” He nodded, holding the gauze to your head for the entire duration of the car ride. He was the one that told Rosita to throw the dynamite in the room he had already cleared, or he thought he did. You had wandered back in there to look around a bit more, not realizing what was happening outside. It was a mistake, and you weren’t angry, you just didn’t think you were going to step so close to death today.

You remember feeling pressure on your forehead; you weren’t sure if it was pain or Abraham’s hand, but it just felt hot. The gates were pulled open and everyone opened their door to get out, except for you. “We need help! ” Glenn called out, heading to your side of the truck. Although Abraham had opened his door, he stayed inside, keeping his hand on your still bleeding head. You were losing the color in your face. “No dying today, Missy.” He whispered under his breath. Rosita slowly opened your door, catching your shoulder as it dropped. Glenn was next to her, the two of them carrying you on their shoulders. You were dead weight, honestly by the sheer amount of blood from your head and body, you looked to be dead too. The fear of losing you became all too real for the archer.

After Glenn called for help, a few people from your group came sprinting down the street. Maggie came from the garden, already coming to greet Glenn, but ran after he called out. Rick and Michonne came flying out of their house, and Daryl followed right behind them, running even faster as your seemingly lifeless body was removed from the car. His heart was pounding, it’s like he knew this would happen. Right when he lets someone in they go and leave him, happened to his brother first, then Beth, and now you. Glenn saw the look on his face when he came at them full speed as him and Rosita were slowly but surely carrying you to the infirmary. Daryl looked at him for answers after scanning you up and down. “She’s still breathing, dude. Got knocked out after a run in with a herd.” Glenn was out of breath, since his own body was aching from being hurt too. The archer didn’t respond, just nudged Rosita out of the way and picked you up bridal style.

He looked down at your face, your eyes still shut and your arm now hung over his. You were completely out of it and it terrified him. He could never stop you from going on runs, it was your favorite thing to do together, it added a little adventure after getting used to being so comfortable at Alexandria. He quickly carried you up the steps of the infirmary, kicking the door open with Denise sitting on one of the cots. “What happened?” She asked worriedly, placing her book down and rushing to your side. “Dunno-“ the archer was cut off by Rosita standing in the door frame. “A herd came when she was still in the building. We thought she was out and tossed an explosive in to distract the herd so we could leave.” Her voice wavered, she felt absolutely terrible. You were her friend, more so family now, and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt you. The fear that coursed through her veins when throwing that stick was a fear she had never felt before. Rosita didn’t see you exit the building, but if she waited another second it would be too late. Glenn and Abraham were fighting off walkers when ‘Big Red’ as you called him, cried out he was certain you exited and were making your way around. He swore he saw you right behind him.

Pure anger was all Daryl felt. He could’ve punched Rosita’s lights out right here, right now. He turned his head to meet Rosita when she spoke and when their eyes met she could feel his anger from across the room. She shook her head and broke the eye contact, but she could still feel his eyes burning into her skull. Denise listened intently to her words, before getting right to work on fixing you up. She also desperately wanted to ease the tension. “Daryl, can you please get some water. She’s dehydrated.” Denise didn’t even look at him, afraid of his eye contact in all honesty. He stood up without saying a word, walking right out the door to go grab water from the pantry, purposely slamming his shoulder into Rosita’s. Once he was gone, and would be back within a minute, Rosita sighed, and quickly came to assist Denise.

“Let me help, please.” She grabbed gauze and some alcohol, cleaning your other wounds and waiting for Denise’s instructions. You didn’t have any serious injuries, you needed some stitches, water, and rest. You maybe had a mild concussion, but until you woke there wouldn’t be much of a way to tell.

As Daryl stormed down the street, Rick saw the anger in his eyes. He quickly grabbed his wrist, Daryl pulling away as soon as he felt Rick’s touch. “Daryl, stop, you need to cool down.” He said calmly, jumping in front of his path. Daryl attempted to go around him, but Rick kept stepping in front. “Move.” He was about to blow. He needed to get back to you. Getting water was the only thing he could do for you. “It was an accident. They told me the whole thing.” Date cut him off, yelling “She could have died!” He took a step back, staring Rick down.

Rick placed his hands on his hip, sighing. “I know that, man, but she didn’t. It’s not anyone’s fault.” Daryl scoffed at his friend, someone he called his brother. “The hell it ain’t!” A few Alexandrians were watching the altercation now, along with Glenn and Maggie on the porch of their house, Carol was with Michonne and Abraham at the truck, a few of your other people scattered around. The pair could feel the eyes on them, but Daryl’s rage was fueling him. He couldn’t protect you, couldn’t fix what had happened, he needed someone to blame. As usual, he blamed himself. Rick was quiet for a second, knowing Daryl had something else to say.

“If I’d been there-“ the archer started, staring at the ground now. Rick shook his head, “Brother, do not do this.” Rick wanted to step closer to him, but talking with Daryl was not like any normal conversation, especially when he was angry, or when it came to you. “Nah! If I was there, nothin’ woulda happened to her!” He began to feel eyes on him now. Rick lowered his head, sighing “It’s not on you Daryl, it’s just not.” Daryl stepped back, anger still running rampant in him. Until you were awake, he would still be angry. He didn’t reply to Rick, instead he walked around him, bringing back the water he was asked for.

As he jogged up the steps, he saw Rosita at your side. He quickened his steps, making them louder so she would walk away. It worked. She looked at him and quickly stepped away and out of the room. You were cleaned up now, a handful of stitches were near your hairline where the large gash once was. Your other cuts were clean, some covered. He pulled a chair up to your bedside, not taking his eyes off of you for a second. “She should be okay, probably just going to sleep for a while.” Denise broke the silence, looking you over one more time to see if she missed anything. Daryl nodded in reply, a wave of slight relief washed over him, and the anger was quiet now. Since he laid eyes on you sleeping, he couldn’t hold on to the emotion. He just wanted you to open your pretty eyes.

Denise took some supplies and quietly walked out of the building, shutting the door behind her. The other three you were with sustained minor injuries, Rosita had informed her of this when the two were alone with you. She also knew Daryl so desperately craved privacy with you, although he’d never say it. He just had that look.

Once she was gone, he took your hand in his. He wasn’t much of a crier, but the fear of you being dead was way too real today. He was just staring at you as his mind raced. If you woke up, he would have no idea what to say. His immediate thoughts were ‘The hell were you thinkin’?’ Or ‘You coulda died’, but he knew better than to say these kind of things to you. You would always reply with something lighthearted as a way to ease the tension. Everyday was spent running from death, people died everyday before the apocalypse and they died everyday still, just even more so.

He brushed some hair out of your face, tucking some of it behind your ear as he always did. It was a habit he had. You two would be mid conversation whether it was in bed or out walking, and he would gently push some hair out of your face and behind your ear. It never failed to make you blush. He kept his hand near your face, gently rubbing his thumb on your cheek. “Need ya here. I need ya.” He whispered. The sun was setting when you had pulled up, and it was now pitch black in your community. He peered out the window at the sound of creeping on the porch. He pulled his hand away from your face, but not your hand. He was still as shy as every when it came to affection. It was Denise returned with the unused reply. “Sorry.” She muttered, leaving as quickly as she had come in.

Daryl sat there for hours, his hand in yours. He eventually turned the dimmed lights all the way off, as a way to conserve power and he thought it would help you sleep. You loved to sleep in total darkness, always had. He learned this about you one night, shortly after Terminus. He was on watch, and you had a habit of sleeping near him, since you would take watch often as well. You would wrap a t-shirt, or use the sleeve of your jacket to cover your eyes as you slept. One night, before you had fallen asleep, he playfully lifted the sleeve. “Hey,” your voice was groggy, “I’m using that.” You didn’t even open your eyes, just reached your arm up to pull his back down. He released the sleeve and let out a small chuckle. “Weirdo.” He said, under his breath of course. You heard it and shot your head up, this time removing the sleeve from your eyes and rested it on your forehead. “What did you say to me?” You snapped, jokingly of course. “Nothin’, nothin’ at all.” You rolled your eyes and laid back down before he mumbled another “Weirdo.” You sat right back up and attacked him with tickles and teases, the two of you exchanging kisses in between.

He missed you, your laugh and smile especially. It always managed to light up even the darkest situations. It annoyed him at first, but now he knew if you weren’t making a joke out of something, you were really fucked. After a few hours of sitting there and the night was slowly passing, Carol carefully entered the room. “You need anything?” She asked, staying near the door. Daryl turned to her, exhaustion all over his face, and boy she could read him like an open book. She sighed, “Y/N’s probably not going to be up for hours, you should get some rest.” He shook his head. “Not leaving her.” He looked right back at you, in the exact position you had been in for hours, your chest slowly rising and falling with your slow breaths.

Carol asked again if he needed anything, to which he replied “Nah. You should get some sleep.” Carol almost laughed, knowing the two of them probably get the least amount of sleep out of anyone here. She wished him a good night and closed the door, leaving the two of you alone again. The minutes felt like hours, and the hours felt like days. He rested his head next to the space below your hand and next to your body. He still held your hand, and found himself slowly drifting off to sleep.

Morning crept in as slow as ever, and as the sun reached your eyes, you let out a sigh. Your head was pounding, and the last thing you remember was being in that room. Everything felt heavy, but you thanked your lucky stars. You were alive. You wanted to stretch a bit, but you looked down at the figure draped over the side of your bed. He still held you hand. You deeply wished in that moment someone had a camera. Not that this was a moment you wanted to remember forever.

You attempted to speak but your mouth was paper dry, so instead you reached over your other hand and gently ran your fingers through his hair. He let out a small grunt in acknowledgment, since that was something you did often. Then it hit him. It was something you did. You were awake.

His head shot up and he stared at you with tired eyes. A million thoughts raced his mind again. He had a million questions, mostly because he knew you were more careful than that, you weren’t one to get injured on runs. “Hey.” was all he could manage. “Hi.” Your voice was raspy. He let go of your hand to crack open a water bottle that was on the floor, handing it to you. You drank as much as you could before handing it back to him. “Thank you.” You said weakly, but sounded more like yourself. His heart fluttered at the sound of your voice. You smiled at him, as wide as you could with the little energy you had. He returned it with a smaller smile, taking your hand again to kiss it about a million times.

“You stayed with me all night?” You asked, looking around the empty room and realized the sun was rising. “Mhm. Had to make sure you were alright.” He replied, still staring at you in disbelief. The image of you slung over Glenn and Rosita’s shoulders haunted his mind. “I think I’m ok.” You reached for your head, softly touching the stitches. You sighed, you deeply hated having stitches. You’ve only had them a few times, but it just grossed you out. You hated being hurt, too, just like Daryl you always wanted to tough it out.

“You should get some sleep.” Daryl said quietly, watching your every move. If you had the strength to laugh, you would’ve. He looked like shit, “You too.” You let out a small giggle. With this, he knew you were going to be okay. His tensed shoulders eased up at the sound of your quiet laughter. “Whatever.” Was all he said, before standing up and began looking for something. You frowned, assuming he was leaving. “Please don’t go.” Your voice was small, but Daryl didn’t turn to you. He was sifting through drawers until he found a small wash cloth that was clean. He returned to your side, laying your head back. “Not going anywhere, sunshine.” He placed the wash cloth over your eyes, blocking the sun out. You smiled, even though you couldn’t see it, he smiled at the sight of you. “I love you.” You said, before puckering up your lips. Daryl rolled his eyes, lovingly of course, before planting a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Love ya too, now sleep before you give me another heart attack.” His tone shifted on that last bit, it made you realize how scared he was. Your heart broke a bit, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. He returned to the position of sleeping at your side, this time one hand in his and the other draped over his head, you gently rubbing the back of his head till you both drifted off to sleep.

A few days pass and you were back home, just about fully recovered. You were recounting the story of what happened before the explosion when you remembered what you had been doing in that room. “Where’s my pack?” You asked mid-story. Daryl’s eyes squinted, confused at why you asked, but brought you your duffle from the kitchen to the couch. You excitedly unzipped it, holding onto what you had searched for. “I went back in that room because I found these.” You grinned, revealing a half a dozen arrows that you thought would work for Daryl’s crossbow. You handed them to him, letting him inspect the set carefully. He sighed in disbelief “Ya almost died for a couple o’ these?” He asked, still checking the set. You nodded, still beaming at the sight of him.

“Worth it to see that look on your face.” He was so damn happy, he just wouldn’t say it. He had been using the same, maybe four, arrows for two years. You couldn’t believe your eyes when you came across them, buried in a drawer. You remembered it was the last thing you had shoved in your bag before the flash of light. Daryl was afraid to hug you and thank you, the last thing he wanted to do was cause more pain. “Think they’ll work?” You asked as he put them down, along with moving the duffle from between you two. He nodded, carefully wrapping his arms around you. You welcomed the familiar feeling, pulling him into you even closer, resting your chin in the crook of his neck.

“Next time I’ll try harder not to get blown to bits.” You said, causing the both of you to laugh a bit. He pulled away. “That’d be good.” He agreed, before kissing you. “Thanks, for the set. Ya didn’t have to.” His cheeks were burning because of the gesture you had made. You shrugged. “I wanted to. I’d do it again if it came down to it.” Now, you wouldn’t want to get blown to smithereens again, but arrows were hard to come by, and now every time he used them he’d think of you. “Yea,” he scoffed, “Don’t do that again. Didn’t like sitting there all night thinkin’ I lost ya.” He stared at the ground, blaming himself as usual. The only way to get him to stop, you found, was not feeding into it. You took his face in your hands. “You sat there all night?” You assumed he did, but you weren’t certain. “Mhm, had to see those pretty eyes when they opened.” he blushed and so did you at the compliment. Your heart could’ve exploded right then and there. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” You said quietly, stroking his hair. He shook his head, “Sorry for not being there.” He replied, a sadness cloaking his usually rougher voice. You sighed, knowing damn well he would take the blame no matter what happened. “It’s not on you honey, I’m home. That’s all that matters now.” You stroked your thumbs on his cheeks, hoping to ease his pain. He looked back up at you, his eyes a bit glossy. Your heart sank, “Oh, Daryl.” You threw your arms back around him, pulling him close to you again, this time he held you as if you would disappear into thin air if he let go. You had no idea the state you were in when you had pulled up to those gates a few days ago. You had no idea Daryl thought you had died.

The two of you pulled away after awhile, placing a kiss on his lips before looking him in the eyes again. “Can’t believe I almost got blown up, how dumb was that?” You joked, knowing that was definitely one of Daryl’s thoughts hearing the story. He shook his head, laughing at you. There you were, cracking jokes about nearly dying.

That’s his girl. And there wasn’t another place on earth he’d want to spent his night.

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a/n - let me know your thoughts!! would love to take requests too in my ask <3 thank u for all the love on Boots!!

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2024) Day 28 - Sex Pollen

Kink: Sex Pollen

Pairing: F!Reader x F!Plant Monster

Other Kinks: Light Bondage, Slight Sweat Kink

Warnings: Dubious Consent

Word Count: 1457 words

Kinktober Masterlist

Sometimes, curiosity really does kill the cat.

That’s the last coherent thought you had when you stumbled onto the bush, falling to the ground as plumes of alien pollen quickly fill the air around you. Your panic makes you take in deep heaving breaths, practically snorting the foreign contaminant like a drug.That’s probably why they recommended wearing the gas mask at all times, even if that atmosphere on this planet was comparable to your own.

Fuck, fuck!

Maybe it’s just placebo, but already your body temperature has gone up, your heart rate increasing, more and more of the pollen stuffing up your nose. You have the wherewithal to shove your shirt collar over your face, but not before your legs give out from under you.

You lie flat on the ground, ensconced in ankle-height vegetation as the yellow dust settles onto your clothes, coating you like powdered sugar. Your vision is starting to haze, your body in an absolute panic as it tries to move, but can’t. Your muscles feel sluggish and heavy, some kind of burning sensation under the skin sapping all your energy.

It’s so….hot.

The panic begins to slip away. You’re still hot, your heart still beats, but it’s more…pleasant. It sends goosebumps down your spine, has your body relaxing and legs spreading open. Something long and slippery rubs at your thigh and you don’t even react, just sink into the touch.

“Well, aren’t you a cutie?”

Something in the shape of a hand grips your jaw, breath exhaling across your lips as your eyes struggle to catch focus.

The pollen must be a hallucinogenic, because your eyes swear there’s a woman on top of you. You can’t see her that well, vision still spotted and blurry, but her curvaceous form is unmistakable.

Your mouth is open, words dead in your mouth, only a faltered breath coming out. Something nudges against the crotch of your pants and makes your whole body flinch. Woah, since when have you been so sensitive?

“It must be my lucky day.” The seductive female voice purrs in your ear, chases away your anxiety as more and more tendrils wrap around your arms and legs, pulling you to lie spread eagle. You still struggle to see in her entirety, even when she straddles your waist. “I snared such an adorable little thing in my trap.”

The vines constrict, shooting an aching feeling straight down to your core. You become aware of just how wet you are, the center of your panties soaked through and sticking to your khakis. Your thighs try to close and rub together, provide some friction, but only makes the vines tighten. A keening whine comes from the back of your throat, your hips canting upward.

“So receptive already.” The figure lets out an airy chuckle. “You didn’t huff that much darling.”

The hand moves up the side of your face, the backs of knuckles brushing along your jaw. Your vision has begun to clear up, the vague shapes of a face registering in your mind. Just certainly not a human face.

The creature’s ‘skin’ is a light shade of green, her lips painted a sultry red, less like lipstick and more like a warning sign for wayward bugs. Something brushes against the side of your neck, hanging of her head like hair, but feeling far more like the leaves of weeping willow.

You’re more coherent mind would be fascinated, asking a billion questions about this new creature, about this new species you just discovered. But your drugged mind is a little more focused on one thing, and it's the vines currently trying to pry open your pants.

“A-ah!” something jolts up your stomach when a bold vine sneaks down the crotch of your underwear, slotting itself between your pussy lips. It writhes against your cunt like a massager, already drenched in your slick. Your hips roll against the pressure, your clit throbbing against it.

“Hmmm.” The creature licks her lips, revealing a long and ribbed purple tongue. The thought of that on you makes your thighs clenched, legs hugging the side of the vine like it’s a stripper pole. “You taste good.” The creature hums, licking a stripe up the side of your face. The entanglements of vines shudder around you, the connected whole of this creatures body soaking up every inch of you. Something not too different from a hand grabs at the bottom of your shirt, forcing it past your sports bra so more vines can encircle your waist. The creature moves her face down from yours to your chest, nostrils flaring as she takes a deep whiff of your pheromones. “So good.” She whispers to herself, tongueing at the sides of your bra. It’s the most soaked from your hike through the forest, the salty sweat clinging the fabric to your sides.

After she’s sucked on the fabric long enough, the creature pushes up the bra, mouth latching onto your perked nipples and swirling her tongue around. Like a kid in a candy shop, she indulges in her treat, more vines joining to grab at your other one.

“Mmmph.” The creature coos, nuzzling her face into your boobs. Nails dig into the fatty flesh, making you jolt and forcing your hips against the vines. Another shock travels up your core, fresh slick gushing from your cunt. You don’t think you ever been this wet in your entire life.

The creatures licks down and down your stomach, her eyes going cross as she tastes more and more of you. Once she reaches your mound she nuzzles into your pubic hair, taking a deep whiff before the vine on your pussy movies out of the way. All of the vines shudder, wrapping tight around your extremities and pulling you open.

“Eek!” You yelp when her hand pushes back at your labial hood, covetous eyes admiring your bulging clit. That swirling tongue taps at it, rewarded by another flood of your juices.

“All for me.” The creature purrs, diving tongue first into your pussy, only focused on getting more of the taste in her mouth.

“O-ohhh.” Your mouth hangs open, breaths heavy and panting as the alien feasts on your cunt. Those ribbed sides do just as intended, stimulating your gummy walls and making you gush onto her jaw. It feels like she’s setting off firecrackers in your belly, writhing that long tongue and trying to find your g-spot.

“Oh, fuck!” Your hips roll onto her face, your clit nudging right against her nose. You can feel her lips curling up into a smirk. Seems she found it.

Her tongue is just a prehensile as her vines, pressing hard onto the sensitive spot, curling backwards and making your vision go spotty. Vines curl around your tits, pressing them together, forcing your sweat to pool at the valley in between. Like snakes they slither in between, constricting and teasing your areolas. Your body feels like it’s melting, the heat slowly cooking your brain, a profound ache settling deep in your stomach. God, why does it feel so wonderful?

“Ah-ah-ah!” You desperately grind against her tongue, the creature and her vines letting you. She seems to enjoy watching you succumb to her trap, watch you come undone. Her nostrils flare against your pussy lips, tongue now drawing shapes onto your g-spot.

You’re so desperately close, the precipice of an explosive orgasm robbing you of words and coherent thought. The creature’s keen senses make her aware of it before you do, vines pulling taut and forcing your limbs to stay rigid, offering no escape from the overwhelming feeling. You’ll come on her tongue, that she is sure of.

“I-” You slur, the needed vocabulary robbed from your drunken mind. Vines tug at your perked nipples, make every hair on your body stand on end.

Cum.

Something whispers in the back of your mind, too delirious to realize it’s not your inner monologue but her, this fascinating creature. Another ability to add to the research log.

“Fuck!” Everything convulses when your climax hits, the sudden spray of your cum on the creature’s tongue making her wiggle with joy. You’ve never squirted before, but it seems this planet is introducing you to a lot of new experiences. The creature nuzzles her face into your pussy, coating her face in your juices, lapping at your spent hole like she’s in the desert and you’re her oasis.

Your senses return to you, but slowly. You vaguely recall the creature sidling up to your side, soft curves and vines wrapping you in an even softer embrace. Hands rub at your scalp, plush lips kissing the sude of your face. The pollen’s effects have weakened, but you’re still so hot.

“You’re all mine.”

[milunalupin]

helloooo, 33centaurrii here! Decided to ask anonymously (though announcing myself beforehand defeats the entire point of being anonymous) because secondary blogs can't be used to send asks. I think that's rubbish and a hassle and it's borderline criminal that Tumblr hasn't found a way to optimize that in several years from its conception

I really liked your post-azkaban Sirius and was wondering if you could write something regarding him escaping Azkaban and reuniting with reader ...the catch is that he reunites with them in his animagus form — his fur is matted and growing in odd ways, he looks and somehow smells like he's contacted some kind of disease and he's panting like crazy as a consequence of his sedentary lifestyle in Azkaban. Reader doesn't know this! Heck, reader thinks he's someone else's emaciated stray dog :')

How angsty or how funny or fluffy this goes is totally free reign to you! I've been thinking about adult Sirius way too much for wayyyy too long that I just HAD to request it

— 🌿

ty for the request ily <3 i hope you like it !

— homecoming

post azkaban!sirius x reader ★ 1k words

With a wave of your wand, the sign on the door turned from 'open' to 'closed' and the potion shop was closed for the night. You did a quick walkthrough one more time to make sure you weren't forgetting anything, and stocked up on a few potions that you were running low on at home. Once more you flicked your wand about and the lights in the shop were off. You walked out the back door and locked up, buttoning up your coat as you started your walk home. The night was chilly but the skies were clear, allowing you to see your favorite star, the brightest in the sky.

The walk to your home wasn't terribly far, and you quite enjoyed the peaceful walks down the empty trail. Suddenly a high pitched whine stopped you in your tracks, your eyes going to a wiggling bush on the side of the road. You crouched down and got closer, just to find a bloody lump of dark matted fur, it's tongue lolling out with heavy pants.

"Oh Merlin, look at you! You poor thing, can I please help you?" you gasped, tears already forming as you looked at the weary dog. You held your hand out near it's snout to let it sniff you first, but the dog pushed its face into you hand, whining as it used all its strength to lick your arm.

"Where's your owner, sweetheart?" You frowned, only receiving another whine in response. You looked around for someone who might be looking for him, but the village had been practically empty the past few hours. The dog nudged your hand again, his dry tongue scraping against your fingertips.

"Hold on tight puppy, sorry but this may feel weird." You apologized, wrapping an arm around the animal as you whipped out your wand and quickly apparated home.

The second you arrived in your flat, you rushed around to collect your healing supplies, dropping them in front of the dog, whose eyes drooped tiredly. You were lucky you saw him when you did, his injuries were terrible and he looked like he was going to pass out any moment.

He had gashes and cut all over him, some rashes and boils the result of intentional poisoning. You muttered a quick Reparifors to revert any poison in his system, the dog letting out a large sigh and few coughs. You got up and ran to and from the kitchen to set a bowl of water next to him to drink, so you could get started on healing his other injuries while he rehydrated. You dabbed a cloth with some Murtlap Essence, gently pressing it to his larger cuts, mumbling apologies as he cried underneath you.

You managed to get the dog onto the couch on you were done with the initial healing and laid a blanket over him. His larger wounds were dressed and he looked a little better after a few bowls of water. You gave him a few scratches under his chin and picked up his bowl before walking into the kitchen to refill it. Walking back into the living room you stopped dead, the metal bowl falling from your hands and clattering to the ground, water spilling onto your rug.

On your couch sat a naked Sirius Black, the blanket thankfully laying over his lap. You stood frozen with your eyes wide, your heartbeat picking up as he sat there just staring back at you, anxiously biting at his chapped lips.

"What are you- I don't- How-" you sputtered, your breaths getting quicker as your eyes watered, unable to look away from the man in front of you. He was supposed to be in Azkaban, for Godric's sake, what was he doing here?

"Hey hey, slow down poppet, take a deep breath for me, will you?" Sirius was at your side in a second, one hand holding the blanket around his bruised hips while the other hovered over your shoulder, his tired eyes staring down into your own. "You're alright."

"I- Are you alright? How are you here, Sirius?" you sniffled, raising your hand towards his face, fingertips lightly brushing over his cheekbones as you tried but failed to hold back a sob. "Merlin you're real, you're actually here."

His arm came around you in an instant, his own body shaking as he pulled you close to him, pressing kisses into your hair. "Oh please don't cry, lovely girl."

Sirius held onto you until you became too tired to cry anymore, guilty and ashamed of the man - or rather, dog - he came back to you as. It wasn't easy escaping, no it was complete and utter hell. But the first place he thought of to go was to you, how could it not be. You had been the one to dry his tears the summer after his little brother had surrendered to the pressure of his parents and received the Dark Mark, the one who held him late at night in the astronomy tower when the letters with the Black family seal were too much to handle on his own. Of course, you were just being a good friend, maybe too good. Sirius could've never confessed his true feelings back then, he didn't know if he was stable enough to hold a relationship, and he wasn't going to risk losing you in trying, so he kept quiet. But twelve years later, your hands were still just as kind and gentle holding him, his tears dripping from the tip of his nose onto your head that held the most beautiful and purest mind he knew.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You whispered, teary eyes looking up at him.

He sighed softly and shook his head. "Tomorrow love, I think we're both a little tired after tonight."

You nodded and led him to your bedroom, where you lent him some clothes to sleep in and pulled the bed covers back, sliding in and patting the space next to you. He slipped in beside you and let out a blissful sigh, closing his eyes for a moment to relish in the silkiness of your sheets and the plushness of your pillow. The two of you laid facing each other, studying the other's appearance. You reached for his hand and squeezed lightly, a sleepy smile on your face.

"Welcome home, Sirius."

[cryptidclownz]

updated ref of my oc naryn!

no bg + scarred alternate

i tried my hand at writing a little scene of the whole naryn/lamb backstory!! im not super proud of it but i dont usually share my writing so i figured i might as well!

—

Another crusade through Darkwood gave the lamb time to think. To unwind. Slaughtering beasts and heretics was a favorite pastime of theirs, but their followers grew ever needy. Demanding. They dreaded a request for materials that would be better spent on medicine and worship, but the scolding their god would give them if they refused was just as infuriating. A leader must provide, he would tell them. Your followers will dissent without proper care. Coddling, more like. Lambert was not a gentle leader, and they had no intention to be one. As much as they wished they could toss their flock to the wolves and go on about their life, The Lamb knew Narinder was right. Their flock would be rewarded for hard work and good behavior, any recruits would find their new life comfortable as long as they behaved. If they didn’t, The One Who Waits had no issue if a follower appeared in his realm in the middle of the night now and then.

Although they were out to gather camellias for a follower desperate to win one of their disciple’s affection, Lambert felt right at home in the dungeons. They handled heretics and monsters with relative ease, well acquainted with the tricks enemy cultists thought would fool them.

The Lamb walked, bored, through another few clearings, only sometimes remembering their original task and picking a few flowers to toss into the crown’s infinite storage. A soft rustling in the trees, the telling shuffling of feet on the ground. The Lamb’s sword was drawn before the ambush had even landed around them.

Boring. Predictable.

They went after the boldest attacker first; a smaller hooded figure than the others who carried an unproportionately large axe. It swung at them, but the weight of the axe slowed it down. The blade of The Lamb’s sword hit the axe’s hilt, slamming it down just inches away from their hooves with unexpected power. The heretic wasn’t given the time to pry its weapon out of the dirt before the Lamb swung at its neck, slicing past muscle and bone with a sickening slap.

The Lamb didn’t behead it, leaving the near-dead heretic to scream in agony for a few moments before it finally died. They were unphased by the rest of the troop storming toward them, having learned by now that heretics don’t take the time to mourn their fallen.

The sword almost seemed to move on its own; slicing through the throats of some and gutting others. Lambert cast a curse in the direction of the two remaining, though the tentacles that rose from the ground only caught one. The Lamb didn’t mind. They preferred to do the work themselves, anyway.

They gripped the handle of the crown’s sword tightly, taking chase after the last remaining heretic. The Lamb moved with powerful, calculated steps, letting the runner think it had a chance to get away. It wasn’t every day that an attacker would try to run, after all.

–

The heretic bolted.

He ran with all of his might, adrenaline willing his trembling body forward despite the gash in his side and the blood of his troop that stained his person. The uniformed hood he wore fell back with every desperate leap forward, and the cold air that rushed past his fur made the tips of his ears burn. He didn’t dare look back, too afraid to see the figure of that monster behind him. The heretic hardly noticed the tears that whipped past his cheeks, wet and sticky like the rest of the blood that coated him. Not his blood. He was alive, even if his friends weren’t. Gods, they were gone, weren’t they? They were-

His foot caught on a slippery root. The cat was flat on the ground before he could feel the sharp sting of pain from his ankle.

“No,” He choked out, voice hoarse. “No, no, no, no-”

Slow, heavy footsteps cut off his thoughts. The heretic kicked and clawed desperately at the dirt beneath him, but his movements were frantic and uncoordinated. The Lamb would have found it funny if they weren’t irritated by the sticky residue coating their arms and fleece. They approached the hooded figure so slowly it was cruel, listening to the panicked breaths and gasps that came from it.

“Rise, heretic,” Their voice was horrifyingly level, and the hooded figure could spot the glint of their sword out of the corner of his eye as they lifted it towards him. He was going to die.

“P-Please,” The voice that sounded from the heretic was quiet and shaky, but his limbs trembled more violently as he propped himself up on his forearms and cautiously turned. With his ankle still caught on the root, the cat was forced to twist his body to look up. His hood slowly fell from his ears, no longer casting any shadows on his face. He was going to die. “Please, spare me.”

The Lamb froze.

They stared down at the heretic before them, eyes widening in a state of shock that was entirely foreign to them.

A black cat stared back, the dark amber of his tear-filled eyes glinting red in the sparse lighting of the Darkwood forest. His long, pointed ears pinned back against his skull, the tips nearly pressing together. His fur was blood-splattered and matting in the direction of the drying redness, but the Lamb could still see that perfect black beneath it. Their eyes shifted to the heretic’s forehead, where a discolored splatter of blood stained the fur. At least, that’s what they thought it was.

Their eyes narrowed.

The Lamb moved closer, stepping over the root that the cowardly heretic was trapped underneath. They stood in front of him, sword lowered but still pointed near the cat’s head. Unsatisfied by what they saw, the Lamb lowered to a squat, causing him to gasp and flinch back. His eyes screwed shut, awaiting the same agonizing pain that he’d just witnessed his troop suffer.

And yet, it never came. Instead, he felt a hand on the top of his head, firmly planted but not suggesting any malice. The Lamb took a moment to feel his fur. Soft, they realized. Such a familiar texture.

Their hand moved further down, landing on the red blood on the heretic’s forehead. They pressed down and slid their hand to the side, expecting it to smear or crumble off entirely. When that didn’t happen, their breath quickened. The cat didn’t know why. He pried his eyes slowly open, pupils dilated about as far as they would go. He searched the Lamb’s expression warily, but he was about as lost as they were. It was hard to distinguish exactly what this was. Excitement? Fear? Confusion? Maybe it was a mix of everything. The source of their confliction, however, was no question.

This heretic was the spitting image of The One Who Waits, down to the most subtle stripes in his fur and the red in his eyes. The red mark on his forehead was distinctly eye-shaped, like some sort of mimic of their god’s divine features. It was almost revolting, the fact that a lowly heretic would be blessed with such features–- such mockery. The Lamb’s expression hardened, and the heretic noticed. He wanted to pull away, to scream, to plead for his life, but the heretic’s throat ran dry. He could only watch as the Lamb continued to inspect him as if they were searching for just one inconsistency; one reason to kill the vile mimic that tried to fool them. There were none.

“You...” The Lamb began, dropping their hand to the underside of his jaw and jerking his head up. There was no telling what went on in their head, even as their sword warped back into the shape of a crown and sat atop their head. Their glare seemed to soften a moment later. “Where have you been?”

[wordingg]

Revenge Is Cold Comfort

Dead Boy Ween Day Two ~ Prompt: Comfort

Summary: Charles and Edwin go to a park to see some ducks and Charles gets into a fight.

AN: check the tags on this one, just in case. there is comfort, but you gotta make it to the end!

It was a rare day that saw Charles and Edwin spending time together without Crystal about. But, as she had so firmly told them "these curls don't maintain themselves" and had warned them in no uncertain terms not to bother her while she was at the salon or she would "punt them directly into the sun" they decided to honor her wishes and give her a day to herself.

So, Charles and Edwin found themselves with a whole day to fill, with no pressing cases to work on and no Crystal to bother.

After a few minutes of the both of them puttering around the office uselessly, Charles said, "We haven't had a day out ourselves in, God..." Charles looked up at the ceiling like it would have his answer.

"Not since April," Edwin helpfully supplied. That day had been quite lovely. Charles and Edwin had attended a performance of Shakespeare in the park and then spent the afternoon in a nearby combination coffee shop / bookstore where Edwin was able to peruse both the interesting people and the new releases just put on the shelves.

"Right. That's way too long, probably," Charles said with a wrinkle of his nose. "Let's go out!" he said, clapping his hands and grinning at Edwin devilishly. Edwin firmly told his heart to go back where it belonged and stop trying to climb up his throat. Charles looked quite devious, but he often did. It didn't require that kind of reaction from him of all people.

Swallowing, Edwin turned on his heel to grab his coat and shrugged it on. "Capital idea, Charles. Lead the way."

They ended up in a park a bit farther away from the office than Edwin had expected. "I want to see the ducks!" Charles had insisted when Edwin asked why he had picked that particular park. He supposed that was as good a reason as any. Ducks were perfectly pleasant to look at.

It was a clear and warm autumn day, the strong buttery sunshine chasing off most of the chill. That being the case, the park was full of people, despite it being the middle of a weekday. True to his word, Charles went straight for the duck pond, crouching down at the edge and gazing intently at the ducks swimming in lazy curves along the flat mirror like surface of the water.

"D'you ever think it's odd that only cats can talk?" Charles asked idly as he frowned at a particularly round mallard duck that looped around to point one beady dark eye at him suspiciously. "I feel that if cats of all creature can talk, surely ducks can too."

Edwin frowned down at Charles. He looked again at the especially rotund duck who was apparently engaged in a serious staring competition with Charles. Sometimes, even after thirty-eight years of living together, Edwin still had no idea what went on inside Charles' head. When Charles wasn't speculating about the communication abilities of aquatic birds, Edwin could appreciate Charles' unique way of thinking as an asset to the agency and something to be admired. It was hard to remember that while he was staring down a duck.

"I'm certain I have no idea," Edwin muttered, despairing at the thought of what the rest of the day had in store for him. Hopefully not more ducks.

Whatever Charles was about to say in response was cut off by the sound of a loud smack just behind them. Before Edwin had even fully turned around, Charles was on his feet and walking fast.

Only a dozen feet away was the apparent source of the sound. A large man holding a now crying little girl by her upper arm and whispering fiercely at her. His free hand was still raised threateningly and she was holding her steadily reddening cheek in one little hand, her big brown eyes welling over with shining tears. It didn't take a detective to put the sound and the scene together and realize what had happened.

"Oi!" Charles shouted, still stalking toward the scene.

"Charles," Edwin called, hurrying after them. "They can't hear you," he said, already knowing that it didn't matter.

Charles got right up into the man's face, squaring up like he was ready for a fight. "Oi, you wanna do that again, mate?" he spat.

The man didn't react, of course. He couldn't see them. But, the little girls' eyes got even bigger as they focused on Charles and the way he had pushed himself between her and the man.

"Are you listening to me, you little brat?" the man shouted, giving the girl a hard shake.

"Get your FUCKING hands off her!" Charles shouted, giving the man a hard shove. The man went flying backward, his eyes now almost as big as the little girl.

When the girl stumbled, Edwin stepped in smartly to catch and right her before she could fall. She gasped at his touch and he took his hands away quickly. He understood that touching a ghost could be quite unpleasant for the living, but he didn't want to let the little girl fall either.

She turned her big wet brown eyes up at Edwin and he felt his heart melt a little despite himself. Her tears had stopped, but her cheek was already starting to swell, the poor thing. He tried his best to give her a reassuring smile and held his index finger up in front of his mouth.

"Oh," she said faintly and then nodded. She shuffled a little closer to him and Edwin tried not coo at her.

Just a few feet away, the man was shouting and cussing up a storm as Charles kicked his feet out from under him every time he tried to stand up. A small knot of people had gathered around to watch, a few of them with their smartphones out to record what to them likely looked like a man flailing about wildly and somehow failing over and over to gain his feet.

After almost a full two minutes of that, someone finally noticed the little girl standing back with a swollen red cheek and tear tracks on her face. A kind looking middle aged woman who had been watching the man in concern glanced over, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead as she saw the girl. She hurried over and physically put herself between the man and the girl, which Edwin approved of.

"Hello, dearie," she said as she knelt down to the little girl's level. She had a bit of a northern accent and she smiled kindly at the little girl. Edwin watched her closely, cataloging her appearance and temperament (the woman was wearing a cardigan, she had a purse and sensible shoes, she was wearing a wedding ring on her left hand third finger, the edge of a tattoo peaked out from beneath her collar) and found nothing to raise his concern. "How did you get hurt? Are you all right? Are your parents here somewhere?" the woman asked.

Behind them, Charles had stopped tripping the man and a few good samaritans had stepped forward to ask if he was having a seizure or a stroke and if they should call the paramedics. The man seemed shaken and confused and was having trouble answering.

The little girl looked up at Edwin questioningly. "I think you can trust her," Edwin said quietly. "Tell her the truth."

The little girl nodded seriously and then turned back to the woman. She was looking up at Edwin with a frown, but obviously couldn't see him. Her attention went right back to the girl when she looked at her.

"That's my uncle, Samuel," the girl said very clearly, pointing over the woman's shoulder at the man still slumped on the ground. "He smacked me for getting my dress dirty," she said sadly, fingering a little spot of mud on the end of her skirt.

"Wanker," Charles spat, stepping up behind Edwin. The girl's eyes flew to Charles and his own widened in surprise. "Oh! Uh, I mean. What a meanie?" Charles looked desperate to Edwin for help.

Edwin gave Charles an unimpressed look. "Really, Charles."

"Right. Sorry," Charles winced in apology. He turned back to the little girl to give her a big warm smile, the kind of smile that Edwin sometimes felt might be burnt onto the back of his eyelids because it was so bright and unforgettable. "Don't you worry about him, love. He won't be bothering you anymore, I don't think."

The woman, unaware of this little exchange, was already on her cellular device talking to emergency services. She had her arm tucked around the little girl's waist and was shooting nervous glances at the man who still seemed not to remember to look for his niece. Edwin thought this was quite right. It was gratifying to know that there were still good people in the world who would step in to do the right thing, whether he and Charles were there or not.

"Are you fairies?" the little girl asked Charles with her big shining eyes focused entirely on him.

"What?" the woman asked, a little shocked. She looked toward where Charles and Edwin were standing with concern and then demanded into her small rectangular telephone "Please hurry! She's in shock, the poor thing."

Edwin wrinkled his nose at the implication that he and Charles might be fey. "Absolutely not," he declared. "If you ever see a real fairy, do not speak to them. They are quite insufferable," Edwin informed her seriously. He and Charles had more than a few run in with fairies over the years of working cases and every one down the last was the most awful bit of nonsense he had ever had the misfortune of coming across.

"We're ghosts. Ghost detectives, actually," Charles explained. He then elbowed Edwin, which Edwin felt was quite uncalled for. "Give her our card, mate," he said with a smile.

Huffing, Edwin pulled one of their enchanted business cards from the inside pocket of his coat and offered it to the little girl. She took it very carefully, looking down at it like it was magic, which Edwin supposed it was. Luckily the woman had been too busy watching two police officers approach at a fast walk to notice the card appearing in the little girl's hand.

"You can tuck that business card into an envelope with a letter and then put it under your bed and it will be delivered to us," Edwin informed her.

"Or you can call the number on there," Charles said, pointing to the phone number printed neatly under their address. "We have one now. Right handy, it is," he said with a smile.

Edwin looked up at the clear blue sky and took a deep breath. A phone number just didn't have the same gravitas as a magical business card that could summon the dead postman who delivered their mail, but he couldn't begrudge Charles anything. Even ruining a good moment.

"Yes, or you can use the telephone number," Edwin sighed.

"Thank you," the little girl whispered, before the two police approached her and the woman and they were both pulled into a serious conversation about what had just happened.

Charles and Edwin stayed in the park for a long time. They watched the police talk to the little girl, and then more police arrived to speak to her uncle, and then more police arrived to put her uncle in the back of a vehicle in handcuffs, and finally the girl's mother, still dressed in an apron and non-slip shoes, ran crying through the park to scoop her daughter up in her arms. The nice older woman also stayed the whole time. Edwin had privately begun to think of the three of them as the little girl's volunteer security team. She certainly looked at all three of them like she trusted them to keep her safe. That was a feeling that Edwin would cherish for a long time.

The sun was setting by the time that the last of the police and the crowd of onlookers finally dispersed. The ducks, who had been avoiding the side of the duck pond that had been host to so much chaos, finally returned to swimming lazy half circles in the water near the edge.

Charles sat in the short brown grass watching them. Edwin wanted to scold him for sitting on the bank that was surely more duck feces than it was grass, but knew that it didn't really matter. It wasn't as if Charles' clothing could get dirty from something as mundane as duck poop.

After a long time spent with the two of them staring morosely at the ducks, Charles said, "Sorry for losing it there for a bit."

"Quite understandable," Edwin assured him quietly. He peaked at Charles from the corner of his eye. He was frowning at the shining surface of the pond, his eyes not tracking any of the ducks, his hands fisted in the material of his pants.

"It's not," he bit out. "If I was smart, I would have looked out for the little girl instead of just-" Charles bit off whatever he meant to say. Edwin actually heard his teeth click together as he did it. "You had your priorities straight. You kept her safe," Charles said, finally turning to look at Edwin. His eyes shined too much in the warm orange light of the sunset, betraying the tears swimming at the edges of his dark curling eyelashes.

Warning lights were going off in Edwin's head. This subject was a minefield and Edwin was uniquely unqualified to navigate it. He never knew what the right thing to say was, when emotions were involved. He barely knew the right thing to say when they weren't.

But, Charles looked so beautiful and tragic in the fading light of autumn, that Edwin knew he must try, come what may.

Hesitantly, Edwin reached out and placed his hand over Charles'. He carefully pulled the hand loose from his pants and weaved his fingers between his friend's. He looked down at their fingers twined together, because he felt if he looked at Charles' face he would never be able to put his thoughts together.

"Perhaps I stayed with the girl, but the only reason I could do that was because I knew I could trust you to keep that man away from her," Edwin said.

Charles made a strange sound and Edwin looked up at him. The tears had escaped and were running down Charles' cheeks, spectral fluid glowing a pale blue in the fading sunlight.

"Charles, you are kind, and strong, and most of all compassionate. I would never disparage you for being yourself, because I love the person that you are," Edwin said firmly.

And then he wrapped his arms around his best friend in the world and let him cry onto his shoulder as the sun sank below the horizon and the ducks finally left the pond to find their own place to roost.

[curioushappenstance]

fic title: do you like my dress? it's got pockets [chapter 1]

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Summary: 9:19 Dragon – Varric Tethras loses his virginity to a pretty dwarf girl at the bar. 9:41 Dragon - The consequence walks through the gates of Skyhold. - In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all. - aka, the fic where varric has a daughter that he didn't know about until five minutes ago.

My father was not what I expected him to be.

What had I expected? I knew his name first from the books in the local library, then later from whispers in back alleys or drunken merchants.

So––a sleazy businessman? A corrupt merchant prince who’d sold his soul for sovereigns? He was a dwarf. He was a womaniser. He wrote books, and I wasn’t allowed to read them, but I would stare at his author’s portrait with an intense vigour in the middle of the night when mother was asleep.

Seeing my face in that man––the hooked nose that was flat against my face, the underbite that made my teeth ache, the red hair that mother made me cover––him, all him. I didn’t like him. I didn’t like looking like the man that mother sneered at when she heard his name, a name I was forbidden from uttering aloud.

Varric Tethras. A merchant prince, a famous author, a rogue with a crossbow that could take down the carta.

My father.

Skyhold was much too grand for a man like that. I sneered passing through the gates, accidentally offending the human woman who took our names. Was I staying long, she asked? I told her I was here to deliver a message, nothing more, and it was the truth, but really, I didn’t know how long I would be staying. There was nothing for me in Kirkwall. Mother was dead, and the dwarves who killed her were after me, too. If Tethras was safe here, why couldn’t I be?

Something kept him here. It wasn’t the goodness of his heart. Security, coin, business, an opportunity to cosy up to important people like the Inquisitor or the Lady Ambassador.

But that vision––that imagined man, sneering in the back of my mind, shaking a bag of coin in his palm––wasn’t what I saw when I climbed the stairs to the main hall.

He was older. Wrinkly around the eyes, rosacea flaring on his cheeks. Pay an artist enough and you could have them paint you however you liked, such as surrounded by scantily clad dwarven women, but this was��� I didn’t know.

He hunched over a desk next to a roaring fireplace, scribbling fiercely on hastily torn parchment; his hands were stained in ink, and there was dirt under his nails, on his clothes, and in his hair. A muddy coat, which probably used to be hanging over the back of the chair, was splayed out on the stone tile.

He didn’t notice my shadowing presence. I was inclined to keep watching, in silence, until the sun set and he retired to bed.

What was that? Fear? My heart clenched at the sight of him, and I didn’t know why. What was so fearful about passing on a letter? I was a messenger, and he didn’t raise me; there was no reason for my throat to tighten, but it did.

I cleared my throat.

He looked up.

My hands shook as I held mother’s letter, but I held it nonetheless.

“Varric Tethras?” I asked, finding my voice weak.

“Yeah?”

If my voice was raspy, his was worse. It broke, and he winced, and licked his dry, cracked lips.

“I’m to deliver this message to you.” No. Too formal. Too distant. He was my father, whatever that meant, and he––he––

He had bloodshot eyes.

Ancestors, I had the worst timing.

I tried again.

“My mother,” I said, deciding that if I was going to do this, I would do it properly, “wrote you a letter before she died.”

It was actually many years ago. The parchment was old and torn by now, wrinkled then flattened again, stained with coffee and dried tears. Mother held onto it, and now here I was, her messenger after death. Her will forbade me from reading it. It felt wrong to give it to a stranger.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He took it, and put it on his desk, unopened. “Thanks.”

I stifled a sudden flash of anger. “I think you should read it. Messere.”

The honorific was an afterthought. Perhaps it would endear him to me, I thought, if I pretended to respect him… but he flinched instead.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s very important,” I said, feeling quite sorry after all. He looked down at what he was writing, then at the unbroken wax seal of mother’s letter, and picked it up with a sigh.

The crack of the wax snapping in two was like the dam that floods the river.

It didn’t belong to him––it belonged to mother! I should’ve buried it with her, the secret dying when she did, and with her gone, I’d pretend to live a normal, happy dwarf life with a caste boy husband and a dozen dwarf children.

How many bastards did Tethras have running around Kirkwall? How many were unwanted daughters? My mother could not have been the only whore he fucked. She was not special, I was not unqiue, and she made sure I knew it in my heart, body, and soul.

And yet; a letter.

A letter that he could read, but I could not.

How was that fair?

The wax seal broke. He thumbed open the letter. My head was heavy and my arms weak, or I’d have snatched it from him, because if there was anyone in this world who deserved my mother, it would not be him––

“Varric…”

Both of our heads snapped up. A human woman in Inquisition armour hovered over the desk, her expression taut and her hands linked together.

I watched many emotions sequentially pass through Tethras’s eyes, until a mask fell over them, and he grinned. “Seeker?”

Seeker. Seeker?

He dropped the letter, folding it again and using it as a cover what what he’d been writing. That was all it was to him.

“Varric,” she said again. She was blushing, but not in the romance way; I knew delicate, flushed glances, and this was something else. She shifted her feet. “I have come to… express my condolences.”

Tethras’s grin turned into more of a grimace. “Ah. Well. That’s…”

“And to apologise, for how I have treated you.”

“Uh.” He gave a stinted thumbs up. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I should not have blamed you. You have been a good friend, Varric, and…” She paused. I didn’t realise why until I caught her eye––staring me down, like the templars in the streets at night. “You have company. I will come back later.”

He looked at me, surprised––had he already forgotten I was here?

Of course he had.

What a fool I was.

A Maker-damned fool, clinging to the end of a rope that severed when mother’s blood ran rivers through the grout between the stones. She was gone, and this man, just as much a stranger to me as he was to any bastard child, was not my family, and could never become one.

Knowing this, accepting it, feeling it in my heart and allowing it to sink into my bones, did not stop the bitter tears when I lifted my hood and turned away.

-

What had I expected?

He didn’t know me. What I knew of him was imagined from long nights of rumination, roaming the back alleys in the aftermath of one of mother’s rages.

I met the Champion that way, once. He was not the Champion then, only Hawke, if you knew his name at all. I didn’t, as a child of yet twelve, but I remembered his face, the glint in his eye and the kind smile as he draped a blanket over my shoulders and ushered me into the warmth of the tavern.

I remembered red hair like mine, catching the light of the candles, and being struck with a fear so deep that I fled back into the streets, the blanket cocooning me from the wind.

This was not unlike that night. Though the magicks of its walls kept the snow at bay, Skyhold was imbued in a bitter cold, a chill that ran deep. And here I was again, fleeing from the warmth and the light, back into the fog to freeze, fearing what might await me when I stopped to breathe.

I still had that blanket.

It had smelled of alcohol, and smoke, and sex, but a child knew nothing of these things, and it was softer than mother’s hand.

Most things were softer than mother’s hand.

Skyhold’s tavern bustled, and that was where my stout legs carried me, with my mind wandering. I stared at the plaque on the door as it came into focus, feeling again like that child of twelve, gazing at The Hanged Man and wondering what it meant.

“Hey, Varric!”

My breath snagged against my ribs. The woman laughed when I turned my head.

“You’re not Varric. Sorry!”

Another dwarf. Red-haired, like me, but a darker shade. She had a kind smile, a pretty voice, and freckles like constellations amidst the stars. Did she know him? Were they friends? Were they…

“Hey, you okay?”

I had been staring, and though her smile still lingered, she stepped close with concern. Her eyes crinkled in the corners, and I didn’t realise how near she was until her hand grazed my elbow and her breath tickled my jaw.

“You’re freezing! Here,” she guided me to the door, shoving it open with her boot, “let’s get you warm. Not really dressed for the mountains, are you?”

“I couldn’t afford much better,” I admitted quietly. It was a half-truth. Kirkwall’s weather was mild, if you excused hurricane season, and merchants didn’t sell clothes built for the snow. I had spent most of the journey on the back of a cart, huddled between a dozen elven refugees who took it upon themselves to keep the ‘shivering dwarf girl’ warm.

It was more than humans had ever done for me. It was no surprise, then, that a dwarf such as her, saw a dwarf such as me, and thought; I want to protect her.

“I’m alright.” I stopped walking. The bar was warm, rowdy, smoky with the stench of alcohol, and at any moment I felt like Tethras might burst through the door still ajar behind me. “I lost my way. Do you know who I talk to about boarding?”

“You weren’t assigned quarters?”

I knew should’ve stuck around at the gate.

“Harding!”

A booming voice echoed above the noise and the music. I couldn’t imagine the type of man who could make that noise––until I looked up, and my legs went numb.

Horns like a dragon’s, peering over the crowds and the tables; attached to them, a grinning grey head, teeth glinting. In Kirkwall, the roar of the oxmen, mother’s hand clutched over my mouth, the closet’s spider crawling up my leg.

“Save my seat!” Harding called, so close yet far and muffled, and guided me to a far table closest to the bar, where the crowd was thin. Her warm smile as she tapped the bar shielded the qunari from my sight.

A Tal-Vashoth. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

“Cabot,” she signalled the bartender, who barely looked at me, but when he did, it was with a passing concern, “something warm?”

I failed to stifle my temor. “Is there something special about me in particular, or do you buy drinks for every passing dwarf girl?”

She smiled. “Just the half-dead ones. No offense, you know, if that’s what you’re going for.”

“Not typically.” But I wasn’t surprised. “I’m fine, I was just… delivering a message.”

“Oh yeah? Long-lost lover?”

“No! No.”

I knew flirting when I saw it, and Harding––flushed in the cheeks and smelling faintly of alcohol––was batting her eyelashes. It was not the first time a stranger had dragged me from one end of a bar to another in search of a tryst or a public rut, it’s just––usually they were men. And human. And old.

Harding was none of these, and she wasn’t grinding against me yet, either. I took small victories where I could find them.

Cabot thunked down an appropriately-sized dwarven mug that sloshed with the force of it. It was steaming and smelled like chocolate.

It was rude to reject gifts. I used it to warm my hands.

“Your accent’s familiar,” Harding said. “Reminds me of–hmmm. Free Marches?”

“Kirkwall,” I affirmed.

“How funny!”

“Is it?”

“Mm, you remind me of a friend, that’s all.”

My throat tightened again. I sipped the hot drink to burn the knot away. “The one who you mistook me for?”

“Mmm-hm. Sorry.” She looked sheepish. “Just from the side, you know––”

I did know. There was a bitter reminder of it hidden in the bottom of my pack, sketch after sketch that I would compare to myself in the mirror. I could never get my face right, but I always knew his.

“Who is he?” I asked, against my better judgement. Harding leaned forward, and I regretted it immediately, but it was too late to take it back just as it was always too late for anything else.

But she laughed. “Varric? He writes books––I didn’t have much time for reading, as a farm girl in Ferelden, but––when we first met, he said… what was it?” She paused, then with a deep breath and her best gruff, grumbly voice, “ ‘You ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?’   I said; no, why? And he said, ‘Because you’d be Harding in Hightown!’ I didn’t get it, though.”

“That’s awful,” I said.

“The Seeker thought so too.” Harding shrugged. “We struck a good rapport though. You look a lot like him!”

I sipped my drink. “How funny.”

“It is.”

And to her it was. To me––a roiling, boiling sensation in the pit of my stomach. The burn of my drink, the pain as it grazed my already scarred throat, not even that could distract me from it.

I felt sick.

“So––” She leaned back again, elbow against the bar, lightly tipsy. “You boated all the way from Kirkwall just for a message?”

“I suppose I did.”

“And you’re gonna go back to Kirkwall?”

I hesitated. “I suppose I will.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” After that––I didn’t know. It wouldn’t be safe there, but I didn’t want to stay here either. Either way, I wouldn’t miss mother’s funeral; I needed to be there when she was returned to the Stone.

Harding nodded, kohl smudged just below her eye where she’d rubbed at it. “I’ve never been to Kirkwall. I’ve heard it’s… well, in the words of Dorian Pavus, ‘a bit of a shithole’.”

I chuckled. “The understatement of the century. I grew up in Lowtown, which was…” No. Wait, what was I doing? About to spill my guts to this stranger, by virtue of our shared race? She was pretty, but nothing suggested trustworthy, and I knew enough about my kind to know you couldn’t trust a dwarf as far as you could throw one, which was not as far as most humans tend to think.

Harding looked lithe, though. I could probably pick her up.

I shook my head. “You know. Muddy.”

“Just like Ferelden, then,” she smiled. Then, before she could open her mouth again––

“Harding!” That booming voice. A deep growl that vibrated inside my skull, like a bug crawling into my ear. If I didn’t look, if I didn’t see, I could pretend it wasn’t–– “You joining us, or what?!”

“Just a minute!” She faced my again, sheepishly flustered. “I should go, or he’ll have me by the ear. Unless you wanna––”

One of the human men from the qunari’s table landed a heavy hand on her shoulder. The qunari’s horns shadowed him from far behind.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked. Harding grinned up at him. “She joining us?”

“No,” I said, too quickly.

“Shame. Lace and Rocky could use the competition.”

“Is Rocky…” I squinted, “a dwarf?” What kind of backwards, offensive to the point of non-offensive, ridiculous sort of nickname was that? The human chuckled.

“It’s not what you think. We all get nicknames. Part of the job. Lace, come on, Chief’s cracking open a new cask!”

“Didn’t you already burn through the last one?” She paused. “Literally?”

“Sacrifices had to be made.”

I stared incredulously between them. “You set your alcohol on fire?”

“Not me. Dalish did. With her––khm––bow.”

“...And I suppose Dalish is Dalish?”

“Well, yeah, she’s got the––tattoos, right?”

“That’s not a very creative nickname.” I was understanding ‘Rocky’ more now.

“Yeah, well, makes it easier for the Chief. Not like Varric’s. Half of his doesn’t even make sense.”

I couldn’t escape him. Varric this, Varric that. I turned away, suddenly bitter. The human dragged Harding away, and under his breath murmured to her, who’s she?

Damn, I forgot to ask, she said.

Most people did.

“Harding! Harding, hey have you seen––”

In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all.

“––red corset? Yeah, I was just––”

I downed the last of my drink.

“––thanks, I’ll catch up with––”

Some dreams were unattainable. I would never be the champion of anything; that was fine. But to beg and plead, my knees in the mud, for someone to want me for some reason other than pity…

“Isana?”

Why was that too much to ask?

A finger grazed my shoulder. I yelped like I was burned, and with my empty mug, snapped around and smashed it over their head.

One arm flung out to the bar, the other flew to catch a chair––I didn’t realise who it was until him, the chair, and several peoples’ drinks were askew on the tile floor, and a steady stream of blood began to soak his red hair.

I slammed my hands over my mouth.

No, no! I hadn’t meant to! Alive?! Yes, he was groaning and grasping at his skull, his gloves coming away red, the stone below him slowly stained––dying?! No, but breathing too fast, yes, and surrounding patrons rushed to him, closed in, panicked shouts that turned into whispers, whatever I’d done, it was bad.

Ancestors, I had truly done it now. Even if I hadn’t killed him––Maker fucking forbid––I had still lost him forever.

“Argh!” The qunari, high above the crowd, cut through it like butter, lumbering like one of the horned beasts I’d seen when coming up the mountainside, “Give the guy some air or you’ll trample him, fucks sake!”

I reached him when Harding did, and she helped him stand. With glazed eyes, blood caking his hair and streaming down the side of his face, Varric––he grinned at me.

“You… you hit hard, kid!”

[deanstead]

Model Husband

Pairing: Connor Rhodes x Reader

Requested: yes, by @lelaartt

Summary: Stressful day, but at least there's Connor.

Word Count: 819

Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, mentions of death

A/N: I know I haven't posted in a while, but this has been sitting in my drafts for... forever lol. Please bear with me, this semester is kinda crazed.

CONNOR RHODES MASTERLIST

It had been a long day. A long draining day and Connor was just looking forward to seeing you and having a quiet night together.

Figuring he’d check if you were ready, Connor left the doctor’s lounge still in his white coat, taking the lift right up to the ICU.

As he stepped in, he caught sight of you immediately, running towards one of the rooms where there was an obvious code blue, a rush of staff heading towards the room.

Connor stood to the side against an empty side of the station, quietly watching as you worked quickly to assist the doctor standing next to you.

It must have been a tough day for you too, Connor caught himself thinking as his eyes followed you. Anyone else would have missed it - the slight droop in your shoulders, or the way you stood telling him you had that persistent ache at that one point on your shoulders that kept coming back to haunt you.

Connor looked down as he picked up on the sounds of “Clear!” from the doctor that was working on the patient. But Connor also knew well enough the chances…

He held back an audible sigh as the faint sound of a flat line made its way out to him. Now, the look in your eyes told him he really needed to get you out of there.

You looked up, catching sight of your husband now. Even just seeing him from afar made you want to cry, so you gave him a small smile and he nodded, telling you not to worry and that he’d be right there waiting.

If anyone asked how you’d gotten from the hospital back home, you’d have to ask them to ask Connor.

You were drained, both physically and mentally. The knotted ache in your shoulder that was consistently giving you issues was acting up again, you felt dead on your feet and the ICU had lost three patients today.

You weren’t exactly emotionally attached. You were an experienced enough nurse to handle that well, but even so losing patients was draining no matter what.

“Here.”

Connor handed you a plate and you smiled up at your husband from where you were seated with your legs crossed on the couch.

Like a model husband, Connor had insisted on preparing dinner while you took a hot shower which had definitely made you feel a lot better even though the knot in your shoulder was still there.

“Thanks, babe.” You answered, not realizing how hungry you were until the smell of pasta reached you as you took the plate in your hands.

The both of you ate in mostly silence, but Connor sat close by and that in itself made you feel better and you glanced at your husband, who returned you a smile.

Connor took the empty plate out of your hands and you frowned.

“You already cooked.”

Connor shook his head. “Just fulfilling my husband duties.”

“I knew I married you for a reason.” You announced in a sort of teasing fashion that would have been more convincing if you weren’t so exhausted.

Connor just smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before you heard him patter off to the kitchen, flipping on the stereo on his way.

Music was now playing softly in the apartment and you closed your eyes for a while, the faint sound of running water from the kitchen mixing together with the soft music tones. This was the kind of evening you needed, especially today.

You opened your eyes again when you felt Connor’s hands touch your shoulder from behind you and you glanced up at him.

“What’s going on?” You asked with a smile. “Is today a special day I don’t know about?”

The words were barely out of your mouth before your brain started working, trying to figure out if you had forgotten a date or something.

Connor shook his head. “Relax. The ache’s been bothering you today, hasn’t it?”

You felt his thumb press firmly against the knot, and you exhaled, the stress seeming to leave your body almost instantaneously.

You closed your eyes, feeling Connor’s fingers seemingly press out all the negative feelings and stress from the day.

Angling your head upwards again, you reached up for his hand. “You must be tired too, come here.”

“You sure?”

You smiled, tugging gently so that Connor would make his way back around to the front of the couch and next to you.

“This is the best way you can help me recharge.” You said, fitting yourself right into his arms , both of you sprawled on the couch.

Connor smiled, his arms looping around your body. “Me too.”

You chuckled, resting the back of your head against his chest, feeling the edges of Connor’s stubble against your temple and knowing this was the perfect way to end a stressful day.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee!

[alexendria-rose]

Evermore~

Sherlock Holmes X Reader

Warnings: sad times, cussing

I was the one who had it all I was the master of my fate I never needed anybody in my life I learned the truth too late I'll never shake away the pain I close my eyes but she's still there I let her steal into my melancholy heart It's more than I can bear

He knew letting her in his life was a bad idea, he knew falling in love with her was his biggest weakness. Looking at her from afar seeing her having a coffee from the sidelines as it poured outside, seeing her smile and laugh with someone other then him made his stomach churn in ways he didn't think were possible. He didn't understand this feeling, he never needed anyone, he was content by himself, but maybe he was wrong. Just maybe... he felt his heart drop as he saw the love of his life kiss someone else in front of him. He knew he let her go... all because of his selfish reasons all because he lied to her that he could never fall in love knowing that he was really protecting her from more pain

Now I know she'll never leave me Even as she runs away She will still torment me Calm me, hurt me Move me, come what may

"Sherlock why are you doing this!" She cried loudly as his back was turned not daring to lock eyes with her.

"I don't have friends, just like I don't do relationships. This was a joke Y/n..." He whispered softly. Y/n tears were rolling down her face, fist clumped together as she stared at the man she stupidly fell in love with.

"You're lying to me and yourself. Why are you doing this!" She shouted the tears just coming down her cheeks faster. Sherlock cleared his throat... he had to have her disconnect from him because he knew what he was going to have to do was going to hurt her more.

"Y/n you were just an experiment and its done, I cannot continue to be in this thing called "love" because I'm not someone who is loved. You need to understand." He says his face and tone monotone as he stared at her. Her lip trembled as she looked at him wiping her tears as she grabbed her coat.

"I never want to see you again." Her last words were before she exited the flat, his legs gave out as soon as she left the flat. And he kept to her word... she would never see him again.

His hand shock when he thought of the memory of the last time he saw her, knowing breaking her heart before he jumped off that building would save her and here she was with another man in love with her life, happy just the way he hoped, it didn't mean he didn't hurt. He's learned a lot since he's been away for two years, how much he missed her, how much he missed not being lonely and now he had to deal with the consequences of his own actions of pushing away the people he loved the most.

Wasting in my lonely tower Waiting by an open door I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in And be with me for evermore

Sherlock stood by his window closing his eyes as he played the melody of what he was feeling in that moment on his violin. His melody was full of heart break, full of loneliness and regret. He hasn't told anyone but Mrs. Hudson that he was back, he couldn't bare seeing the betrayal from the ones he left to fend for themselves. He was so immersed with his playing he didn't hear the sound of the door opening but he did hear the sound of glass dropping which immediately made him stop his playing turning around to the source of the noise, his eyes widening at the beautiful eyes looking into his.

"Y/n.." He whispers softly his eyes darting over her features. Her face looked like she just saw a ghost. Sherlock slowly puts the violin down as he makes his way towards her.

"You're dead, you're supposed to be dead." She whispered softly his eyes darting towards the broken cup that sat next to her feet.

"I'm not, it was all fake. I had to take down moriarty's network. I had to protect you." He mumbles softly making his way towards her, but she just stepped back not allowing herself to get close to him.

"No no this can't be happening..." She says her eyes not believing that he was actually in front of her. He reaches up and grabs her hand to tell her that this was indeed happening. Her eyes snap down to their hands, her hand trembling in his.

"Y/n I'm here, I promise. I came back for you." Sherlock says his voice wavering just slightly. She drops his hand and scoffs.

"Came back for me? I needed you two years ago!" She sobs turning her back to him, her hands gripping her hair. "Two. Bloody. Years. You made me believe awful things about you. You said I was an experiment, someone you could just toy with until you had your fix of me." She whips her head towards him, her eyes red from anger and sadness. Sherlock heart dropped at the sight of her, he never wanted this to happen.

I rage against the trials of love I curse the fading of the light Though she's already flown so far beyond my reach She's never out of sight

He never wanted to fall so deep for her, for her touch but right now he just wanted to hold her, he craved her touch and warmth, but for some reason she was still so far from him, out of sight from him even though she was right here staring at him with those sad eyes, but also full of anger.

"Y/n I did it, so you could live your life without me... I didn't want you to miss me, to love me when I had to go." He said his eyes pleading with her. She shook her head and a dry laugh escaping her lips.

"I still did asshole! I mourned for you, I talked to your stupid gravestone." She started pacing the flat her arms crossed. "I loved you Sherlock, you hurt me, you broke me, but knowing you died.. you took a piece of me with you and knowing you didn't love me back, knowing I was just a game." Sherlock rushes up to her grabbing her shoulders.

"Fuckin hell Y/n I loved you, I still love you, you're all I think about. All I wanted when I was away. You weren't an experiment-"

"I'm engaged Sherlock." She whispered softly her eyes glossing with tears. His breath hitches hearing those words he was absolutely dreading to hear. "It's two years too late." She mumbled backing away from his touch. "I have to go, I came to visit Mrs. Hudson. I can't do this Sherlock." She turns away, the glass crunching under her shoes as she walked out the door in front of him.

Now I know she'll never leave me Even as she fades from view She will still inspire me Be a part of everything I do Wasting in my lonely tower Waiting by an open door

Sherlock stared at the open door in front of him watching her shadow fade away as she was completely out of his reach. His heart dropped, knowing he will never get her back because of what he did to her. Knowing what he knew now he wished he could go back in time and do everything differently.

I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in And as the long, long nights begin I'll think of all that might have been Waiting here for evermore

Later that night Sherlock sat on his chair his eyes never leaving the door as he idly played with his violin trying to distract himself that she will never come back, that she'll never love him the same way she used to. She was gone in an instant and even though it hurt the last time, it hit him harder this time. Knowing someone else had her heart. The door opens, his heart swelling but soon realizing it was Mrs. Hudson his heart dropped but he still smiled at the little woman.

"I've brought you some tea dear," Mrs. Hudson says with a small sad smile walking over handing him the tea before sitting on Johns old chair. "I'm assuming Y/n now knows you've been alive this whole time?"

"Assume, you mean you were eavesdropping," Sherlock says his face blank with emotions as he sipped his tea.

"I am the landlady I have a right to know." She grinned, Sherlock letting out a little chuckle.

"Ah there's a smile." She says staring at the man in front of her who she could tell was in a lot of pain, "You know dear, love comes in different forms. She'll come around, I promise." Sherlock shakes his head taking another sip before setting his tea down.

"She's engaged, it's never going to happen." He murmured his eyes looking anywhere but his landlady's eyes knowing he will break his emotional wall if he dared looked at her.

"Well you'll never know my dear. Now get some rest." She whispered softly before standing up and exiting out of the flat. Sherlock watched as she leaved his eyes back on the closed door, he rests his head back on the couch his hands resting on his face. He hears to door open again groaning,

"Mrs. Hudson really I'm fin-" He looks at the woman in front of him, his heart beating against his chest. Her clothes drenched in water, her hair stuck to her head as she was dripping from head to toe and her eyes red from crying.

"I can't marry him." Y/n whispered her hands balled up in firsts as her arms laid flat against her sides. Sherlock stands up from his chair walking over to her slowly, noting this time she wasn't walking backwards away from him.

"Why?" He whispered gently his body getting closer to hers. She sighs softly her eyes moving to her shoes back to his gaze.

"Because, I cannot marry someone that isn't you." Her eyes never wavering from his. His body is mere inches away from hers as he looks down at the woman in front of him.

"Good because I couldn't let you be with someone who wasn't me." He whispered before grabbing the sides of her face smashing his lips against hers, their mouths moving in need and passion. Her hands move up to his curls bringing his head closer to hers. He groans against her mouth moving his hands down to his hips. They both needed each other in that moment, afraid if they both pull away this moment would be gone forever, and for the rest of that night they did not leave each others embrace knowing they both needed each other and also needed to make up from those two years lost.

[sukunaslilgurl]

Blades of Betrayal

Chapter Nine: Comfort

The village was eerily quiet, the faint creak of wooden signs swaying in the cold night breeze the only sound to accompany Irene’s heavy breathing. She was exhausted, her legs numb from riding for days without rest. Her horse, equally fatigued, trudged beside her, its breaths labored and its coat damp with sweat. Irene’s vision blurred slightly from exhaustion, but she pushed herself forward, her sharp instincts overriding her body’s pleas to collapse. She needed shelter—for herself, and for the loyal creature that carried her this far.

The small village appeared deserted, the roads empty and shrouded in darkness. A handful of homes emitted dim, flickering light, their shutters tightly closed as if protecting the inhabitants from some unseen threat. Irene walked further until her eyes landed on a small shop tucked into the side of the road. Its modest structure gave away its purpose—a seller of hats, baskets, and simple goods. Her jaw tightened as she approached, every muscle in her body screaming for rest.

She raised her gloved hand and knocked on the door, her strikes firm but restrained. After a moment, she could hear the shuffle of movement from within. The door creaked open slightly, revealing a man and an older woman. The man was middle-aged, his face weathered with years of hard work. The woman beside him, perhaps his mother or aunt, squinted at Irene with cautious eyes, her hand gripping the edge of the door tightly.

Before they could speak, Irene fixed them with her sharp, icy gaze. Her voice, though quiet, carried the weight of her exhaustion and resolve. “Please let me in,” she said, her tone cold but sincere. “I’ve been traveling for days without pause. I haven’t slept in two nights. I need water—and my horse needs food.” She paused, her piercing eyes locking with the man’s. For the first time, her tone softened just slightly. “I beg you.”

The two villagers exchanged a wary glance. It was clear they were nervous, but Irene’s disheveled state and her pleading eyes seemed to sway them. The older woman hesitated before nudging the man forward. He sighed and opened the door wider, gesturing for her to step inside.

“Come in,” he muttered, his voice gruff but not unkind. “But keep your voice low. We don’t need any trouble.”

Irene nodded once, her expression unreadable as she led her horse to a post nearby and tied it securely. She patted its flank gently, whispering, “You’ll be fine soon.” Then she stepped inside the small, dimly lit shop, her boots scuffing softly against the wooden floor.

The older woman quickly brought out a bucket of water and placed it by the door for the horse. Irene’s cold demeanor melted just slightly as she murmured a small “Thank you.” She watched as the man prepared a few scraps of food for her animal—a handful of hay and an old carrot. The horse whinnied softly as it ate, and Irene felt a fleeting pang of relief.

Inside, the room was cramped but warm. A modest hearth glowed faintly in the corner, and shelves of woven baskets and straw hats lined the walls. Irene removed her gloves, revealing calloused hands, and flexed her fingers stiffly.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” the man commented, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.

“You could say that,” Irene replied, her voice flat as she sat down on a wooden stool near the fire. Her body felt as if it might give out, but her mind remained alert. She wouldn’t allow herself to relax completely. Not here. Not yet.

The woman handed her a small cup of water. Irene accepted it silently, drinking in slow, measured sips. She felt the liquid cool her parched throat, but it did little to ease the turmoil in her chest.

“Why are you traveling at this hour?” the man asked, his tone cautious. “There’s no one around these parts who rides in the dead of night unless they’re running from something—or someone.”

Irene’s eyes flickered to him, her expression hardening. “It’s better you don’t ask questions,” she said simply, her voice cutting like a blade. “I only needed water and food for my horse. I’ll be gone by morning.”

The man opened his mouth to press further, but the older woman touched his arm, shaking her head. “Leave it,” she whispered. “She’s not here to hurt us.”

Irene gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, her gaze falling to the flickering flames in the hearth. She stayed quiet, the weight of the past few days pressing heavily on her. Despite the warmth of the room, an icy resolve burned within her.

As the villagers quietly moved about, tending to their own evening tasks, Irene’s mind drifted back to Sukuna. She could feel the phantom weight of his presence, his fiery red gaze haunting her even now. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She didn’t have time to rest—not truly.

The man hesitated at Irene’s words, his eyes flickering to the weapons strapped to her back—the dark, imposing sword and the smaller, intricately designed dagger at her side. Both bore the marks of someone well-versed in battle, and the faint scars across her arms and hands only confirmed it. But her tone, while cold, carried no immediate threat.

The older woman glanced at her cautiously, then at her companion, before stepping forward. “You carry weapons like that, yet you call yourself a traveler?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with suspicion.

Irene met her gaze with a calmness that betrayed none of the turmoil roiling inside her. “Don’t be afraid of my weapons,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m not here to harm you. I’m just… passing through. A traveler, seeking shelter in small places like this.” She paused, her eyes lowering briefly to the fire as her voice grew quieter. “I don’t know where I’m going yet. It’s… complicated.”

The man furrowed his brow, studying her carefully. “Complicated, huh? You look like someone who’s seen their fair share of battles. A person like you doesn’t just wander without a purpose.”

Irene’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t lash out. She had no strength left for confrontation, and there was no point in antagonizing these villagers. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on her knees, and exhaled slowly. “You’re right,” she admitted, her voice low. “I’ve seen my share of battles. Too many. And maybe you’re right—maybe I do have a purpose. But not one I can share with you.”

The older woman frowned but seemed to sense the weight behind Irene’s words. She sighed and gestured for her to finish the water. “Well, traveler or not, you’re not going to get far in the state you’re in. Drink, rest. You can leave when you’re ready.”

Irene nodded slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Thank you,” she said simply, the words coming out more genuine than she expected. She glanced toward the door, where her horse stood quietly, its hunger and thirst finally sated.

But even as she sat there, allowing her muscles a brief reprieve from the strain, her mind refused to rest. The image of Sukuna’s fiery red eyes burned in her memory, his low, commanding voice echoing in her ears. She knew he wouldn’t stop. He was relentless, his pride and fury driving him forward like a storm.

As the flames in the hearth danced and flickered, Irene’s fingers absentmindedly brushed against the hilt of her dagger. Her expression hardened. Whatever complications lay ahead, she wouldn’t let him catch her.

The older woman approached Irene cautiously, her hands folded in front of her apron. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but laced with curiosity. “I’ve never seen a woman with these kinds of weapons,” she said, her gaze falling to the sword and dagger at Irene’s side. “That’s not usual. How does it come? Are you a foreigner? How? How do you wear such weapons?”

The woman’s eyes flickered with a mix of confusion and awe. “My daughter,” she continued, “I married her to a man here in the village. She tends the fields, raises their children. I could never imagine her… like you, carrying those weapons, walking into the dark like some kind of warrior. It’s… it’s unnatural.”

Irene’s cold eyes met the woman’s curious gaze, and for a moment, she hesitated. Her fingers curled slightly against the table’s edge, the ghost of a memory passing through her mind. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low, steady, and almost devoid of emotion.

“Unnatural, you say?” Irene repeated, the faintest edge of bitterness creeping into her tone. “Maybe it is. I wasn’t born for this. I didn’t ask to carry these weapons or walk the path I’ve walked. But the world doesn’t care about what’s natural. It cares about survival.”

The older woman’s lips parted, her curiosity now mingled with something deeper—perhaps unease or pity. Irene continued, her voice growing quieter but no less sharp.

“Your daughter married, settled down, and raised children because she could. She had that choice.” Irene’s gaze dropped to the blade at her side, her fingers brushing over its worn hilt. “I didn’t have that luxury. My weapons became my choice, or rather, my chains. And now, they’re the only thing keeping me alive.”

The older woman stepped back slightly, as though the weight of Irene’s words pushed her away. “That sounds… lonely,” she murmured.

Irene’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Lonely,” she repeated, as if testing the word on her tongue. For a moment, her expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability flashing across her face before the coldness returned. “Perhaps. But loneliness is better than weakness. Weakness gets you killed. I experienced it myself that’s why I am going far away from my weakness.”

The woman didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she simply stood there, staring at Irene as if trying to piece her together like a puzzle she couldn’t solve. Finally, with a slow nod, she turned back to the hearth.

“You’ve seen much more of the world than anyone in this village,” the woman said softly, stirring the embers. “But it’s a heavy price to pay, isn’t it? For survival.”

Irene said nothing, only looking down into her empty cup. The weight of the woman’s words settled in her chest, though she refused to let it show. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her icy composure unwavering.

“Some prices,” Irene murmured, more to herself than anyone else, “are worth paying. And some… are not.”

The older woman’s hands trembled slightly as she stirred the fire, her voice soft and concerned. “Please, my child, be careful. It’s better to stay with someone—maybe a man—who could save you, help you. It’s not safe to wander alone in the night like this. The world isn’t kind to women on their own.”

At those words, Irene froze for a moment before letting out a loud, sharp laugh that startled even the older woman. It wasn’t a laugh of amusement, but one filled with bitter irony. She leaned back in her chair, her lips curling into a smirk as her cold eyes glinted with something darker.

“A man? Are you sure about that?” Irene asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. She shook her head, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “No. I think it’s better not to have a man. They aren’t saviors. They’re destroyers.”

Her words were pointed, but deep inside her thoughts, a darker truth lingered. She thought of him—Sukuna. The man who was unlike any other. Tribal, vicious, and undeniably evil. A force of nature cloaked in a man’s form. If any man were capable of saving or destroying her, it was him. And yet, she had chosen to leave.

Irene’s gaze hardened as her laughter faded, and she leaned forward, her tone now sharper. “I’ve experienced men of all kinds,” she said, her voice low but steady. “I’ve seen the worst they have to offer. Greed, cruelty, violence. You think a man can protect me? No.” She shook her head again, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table.

“They drive us—women—to madness. All of them. Their egos, their need for control, their endless hunger for more. A man isn’t a protector. He’s a storm that tears through everything in his path, leaving nothing but ruins behind.”

The older woman opened her mouth to respond, but Irene cut her off, her voice now colder than before. “I will never belong to a man again. Never.”

The older woman stared at her, silent for a moment, her face pale in the dim firelight. There was no pity in Irene’s words, no plea for understanding. Just a simple, cold truth that she carried like armor.

The woman finally lowered her gaze, her tone soft. “You’ve been hurt,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Irene stood abruptly, brushing off her cape and turning toward the door. “Hurt doesn’t begin to describe it,” she said, her back to the woman. “But it’s nothing I can’t survive. I always survive.”

———————

The older woman froze, her hand halfway to her mouth as Irene’s words cut through the silence like a blade. Her tone was low but fierce, each word dripping with pain and bitterness. Irene stood straighter now, her sharp features illuminated by the dim firelight, her presence commanding the room in an almost intimidating way.

“This man I’m talking about,” Irene began, her voice unwavering, “he turned me into a monster.” She gestured down at herself, her gloved hands sweeping over her weapons—the katanas strapped to her back, the nigayata resting against the wall, the knives carefully secured to her belt. Her armor, once pristine black with intricate dragon carvings, was now dulled from battle, yet it still held a menacing beauty. “Take a good look at me. These weapons, this armor, my very being—everything you see on me is his doing.”

Her eyes narrowed, glinting with a mix of fury and something far more vulnerable. “He didn’t just teach me to fight. He showed me how to be cruel. How to find joy in it. How to let blood spill without hesitation. He turned me into something… unrecognizable. A whole demon. That’s what I am now.”

The older woman’s face paled, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Irene didn’t give her the chance to interrupt.

“And now,” Irene continued, her voice breaking slightly before hardening again, “now, I’ve made the choice to leave him. To leave behind the life he built for me, the life he controlled. I don’t want to be a monster anymore. I want to live like a normal villager. To have a simple, quiet life. I wanted to stop working for his bloodshed, stop killing for him, stop being his weapon.”

Irene’s voice dropped to a whisper, filled with a sorrow that made the older woman’s heart ache. “But the man I’m talking about… he’s a monster himself. He’s not human. He blinded me for years—blinded me with his care, his affection, his appreciation.” She shook her head, as if the memory disgusted her. “And I gave him loyalty in return. I gave him everything. And he turned me into this.”

Irene stepped closer to the woman, her shadow flickering in the firelight, her presence almost too much to bear. “It’s a curse, my dear woman,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less intense. “A curse that clings to me, that I can’t shake. So don’t tell me a man can help me. Don’t tell me that any man can protect me. Because the only thing they’ve done is destroy me.”

The older woman trembled, her hands gripping the edge of her shawl tightly as she tried to process Irene’s words. There was nothing she could say, no comfort she could offer to the fierce, broken woman standing before her.

Irene turned away, her shoulders stiff, her steps heavy as she walked toward the door. “I’m not in the mood to be with a man anymore,” she said coldly, not looking back. “And I don’t think I ever will be again.”