#must balance it with fluff and hurt/comfort

[shanastoryteller]

fics where i like castiel:

I have to live here by Goshen (applecrumbledore) summary: “Have you been doing laundry? Where are all my boxers?” Dean kept walking right into this stuff. Sam weighed his options and spoke carefully. “Half your boxers are in the second drawer of my dresser. You didn’t like going to get clean underwear, in the morning, so you made me clear out a drawer for you.” He paused. “I’ve got a drawer in your room, too.” Dean looked physically pained. “That… can’t be true.” Sam sighed and went back to his book. “I know you don’t remember, but we had a lot of sex. You’re gonna have to trust me.” comments: i assume goshen has some sort of satellite pointed at my brain because they hit the characters in exactly the way i like best. cas is a background character here, but he feels both authentic and likable and, in his last scene, fucking hysterical

Combat Medicine by Mollyamory (Molly)  summary: Castiel can't seem to quit his day job. They begin shouting at him -- or each other -- or both -- while his atoms are still settling into place. comments: short and sweet and utterly perfect. really balances the warrior angel of the lord against friend of brothers winchester in a way that's both satisfying and hilarious

Primary Care by Mollyamory (Molly)  summary: Written for spn_summergen, for Floranna -- for her prompt: "Castiel and Dean are both hurt and Sam must take care of them." This is very nearly that! Kind of hurt/comfort, kind of angst, kind of humor, kind of case-fic. Mostly banter and love. :) That was how they got you: turned you into a mushball, made you fetch blankets and Doritos and vodka, made you whine to Bobby Singer about the unfairness of your life. comments: fluff and comfort and familiarity. has them all in a place where they like each other and trust one another and very balmy to the soul

Any Witch Way by merle_p summary: “Let me get this straight,” Dean says, and takes another sip from his cup. He needs way more coffee if he’s expected to deal with this so early in the morning. “You – magicked up a chicken.” “Look, I don’t know either, man.” Sam throws up his hands, helplessly. “It’s just – I haven’t been sleeping and I’ve been trying to get some more practice, and … I don’t know, conjuring up poultry seemed safer than experimenting with dark blood magic at four in the morning, you know?” “Well, can’t argue with you there,” Dean concedes, and tilts his head to contemplate the chicken. The chicken stares back, unfazed. comments: cas's appearance is so brief i hesitated to include it, but he's there and likable, so.

do you like castiel?

no

[prismkith]

may I ask for a oneshot with jinx like introducing her girlfriend, fem!reader to vander/warwick? and for a while he's like just sniffing and eyeing her suspiciously or whatever until he sees her and jinx in a super like intimate and sincerely loving moment?

also! may I be 🫀 anon? :3

Hi! Yes you absolutely may! i loved this request, and I hope you love what I wrote based off of it!

'How I met your grandfather'

pairing: Jinx X Fem!Reader

genre: fluff, maybe a hint of hurt/comfort

Wc: 2835

You sigh as you enter Jinx’s hideout, shoulders sore and the bags under your eyes growing heavier and heavier. You'd been out with Sevika keeping the lanes in check after the Stillwater breakout, and it was tireless. Enforces had been down your throats the entire time, and balancing keeping the enforcers from beating angry zaunites while also wanting to beat the shit out of them yourself had taken its toll. 

The lanes have been a never-ending job since Silco died. 

You felt horrible for leaving jinx alone after the attack, but she understood. You worked for Silco when he was here, and now sevika. She knew what your job entailed and was used to you being gone for days at a time. 

Stepping onto the still wings of the fan, you were confused by the noise or lack thereof. Her hideout was never quiet, always the sound of her tinkering, or having dance parties and bug-boxing matches mixed with Ishas giggles. 

“I’m home! Anybody here?” you call out into the air. The only response is the echo of your own voice. “Isha? Jinx?” you call out once more. Confused, you walk up to her workstation, cluttered and disorganized as always. You're met with a note on her desk, your name in her distinctive scribbly handwriting on the front page. 

‘Hey trinket, we found Vander. Took him to some mystery healer on the edge of Zaun. Meet us there if we aren't back before you.

Love ya’ 

Your eyes widen as you scan the letter once more, her lack of detail slightly worrying. Questions flooded your brain as you flipped her vague note to find directions on the back. 

Scurrying to get your things together as quickly as possible, you take off in the direction of this ‘mystery healer’, your heavy boots loud as you run to find your girlfriend and her back from the dead dad

________________________________________________________________________

You're slightly panting as you reach the gates she directed you to, having sprinted half the way there, and jogged the other half. Pausing for a moment as you catch your breath, you make eye contact with a man standing in front of the gates. 

His eyes are white, and he's covered in these bubbly pearlescent patterns, donned in the strangest clothes you've seen. You manage to mutter “The fuck…” before he’d beckoning you closer. 

You slowly stand up straighter, distrust evident in your features as you begin to approach him. 

Deciding that you in fact, do not want to open the can of worms that is the freaky-looking man with a blank expression, you attempt to walk straight past him, eyes set on the entrance in front of you, searching for any sign of wild blue hair or large semi robot beast.

You're stopped by Mr. Freaky before you can waltz past, his thin frame swerving in front of you. “I must ask that you turn in any weapons before entering,” he says, an odd cadence in his voice that you've never heard from a zaunite. You scoff at this request, “yeah, no thanks” you reply before attempting to shove past once more. 

You stopped once again, his tone firmer this time. “I must insist, as it is the policy of the Machine Herald”. You consider just socking the guy in the face and making a run for it but decide that you don't know what kind of crazy superpowers this guy might have, and to be quite honest you don't want to find out. 

“Look, not gonna happen. Not sure who this ‘machine herald’ is, but I'm looking for someone else. Just let me pass, i’ll be on my merry way and you can keep doing whatever…. This is” the annoyance shameless drips from your voice now, you have places to be and this guy is single-handedly keeping you from said places. 

He once again denies you access, and you lose your shit. You're now (loudly) in a full-blown argument with this guy, neither of you budging. His voice is only starting to rile you up more, and you're an inch away from executing your hit-and-run plan from earlier when you hear the raspy voice of your lover calling your name. 

You freeze immediately, fist pausing mid-air as your eyes dart behind the man to see Jinx, leaning against the entrance, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face. 

“Stand down, sergeant. No beating the greeter.” her voice is sarcastic and teasing, and you sigh in defeat. Arms dropping and face annoyed as you reluctantly hand the man your pistol and several pocket knives that you keep strapped to you in various places. 

Once unarmed, the man simply smiles and steps aside, and you make sure to knock him in the shoulder before stomping over to your girlfriend. 

Your annoyance subsides as you see her smiling face, your arms immediately wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her close. You feel her relax into your embrace, strong arms circling your waist and giving you a good squeeze before pulling back. 

“What the hell is this place, and why did that fish-man never change his facial expression once?” you question your voice laced with confusion and slight concern. 

She simply shrugs her shoulders and turns to start guiding you through the odd community full of tents and more people with white eyes and pearlescent patterns. “Vi said she knew of a healer here in the lanes. Said he was performing some miracles or some magic bullshit.” she spins on her heel to look at you while continuing to walk backward. “Personally I think he's just some weird purple fortune teller, but Vi trusts him and Vanders actually getting better, so..” her voice softens during the last part of her sentence, voice trailing off as her eyes cast slightly downward. 

You pause in your tracks, shock evident on your features. “Wait, Vi’s here?” not even attempting to hide the surprise in your voice at the mention of her estranged sister. 

She sighs, once again avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, I mean, it's her dad too. Didn't feel right not letting her know that he's alive, at least.” you slowly nod as you come to terms with her reasoning. 

“Anywho! Now we're here at this weird commune run by a metal fortune cookie that can read minds and I dead honestly think this place is a cult. Everyone here is weird. And the only good food is the fruit. The only snacks are trail mix and it's all eighty percent raisins,” her lip curls in disgust, shaking her head slightly before continuing. “I fucking hate raisins. Just give me a grape, I don't want its juiceless corpse as an alternative.” 

You snort at her wording, but can't help yourself agreeing. Raisins suck and it's a crime to ruin perfectly good snacks with them. 

You continue to follow her, passing tents all full of people dressed similarly to the first man you met. Some were in tents that looked more like workshops, cooking, and sewing, and some in tents that looked more like homes, full of pillows and blankets and small furniture pieces. 

She continues to ramble about this place, she mentions that Isha is off in a tent somewhere helping a group of women weave a blanket (boring),  how the healer (who you figured out is the machine herald from earlier) somehow knew her childhood name, and how Vi had turned into some emo looking alcoholic and lost another fight to jinx in an underground tunnel. 

Finally, her walking begins to slow as you both reach a greenhouse near the middle of the village. It's a dome made of detailed stained glass, and you can vaguely make out the shape of the massive frame of Vander inside. You spot Vi sitting on the edge of what seems to be a water well, and Jinx’s description isn't too off. You make a mental note of the poorly done hair job and vow to make fun of her for it later. 

When Vi looks up and spots you, she sends you a nasty glare before stomping away with an excuse of finding Isha. You roll your eyes, so what if you've tried to kill each other a couple of times? No big deal, honestly. 

Jinx also rolled her eyes and dismissed her sister with a wave of her hand. “She’ll get over it, don't worry. She was just as dramatic when I went to find her.”

She simply crossed her arms, leading you to a bench outside the greenhouse. Once sat, she slumps into your side, shoulder pressing against yours and head leaning against the side of your own. 

“It's weird, you know? It's him, he remembers me and Vi but… he’s also part of this beast he's trapped in. Vi keeps asking for my opinion on… All of this, but I have no clue. I think I'm still in shock from when I realized it was him.” She shakes her head, letting her voice trail off. You sit in silence for a moment, letting her words marinate in your brain. 

You weren't sure how to respond, for Christ's sake, you barely even knew your own parents. What the hell do you say to someone who killed two of her dads, and then found out the first one is actually alive but trapped in the body of a hostile science experiment? 

Deciding that there was nobody on the planet who could find the words to comfort someone in this situation, you simply grab her hand instead and allow her to rest against you. She knew what your body language meant when words failed you. She always did. 

You sat like that for a while, enjoying each other's company and the quiet. It wasn't often that there was peaceful silence in Zaun, as silence usually meant danger. You both relished the feeling of letting your guard down for the first time in years. 

Eventually, a man… or.. Robot? You weren't sure, steps out of the greenhouse. His body is a mix of purples and blues, looking like a painted night sky, and he is adorned in a cloak similar to those worn by the others on the commune. He approaches the both of you, still sitting on the bench, an aura of confidence and peace to him. His accent is thick when he finally addresses Jinx. 

“I've decided to end our session today. Your father's condition is improving slowly but I can see him growing tired, and I fear pushing him too far may bear consequences.” he nods his head at you in a greeting as he finishes his sentence, before turning and walking away. 

Jinx grumbles a response, something of a ‘thank you’ mixed with some sarcastic remarks, and you think you hear an ‘aluminum psychic’ mixed in there, but before you can think too hard she grabs your hand pulling you towards the greenhouse. 

You stumble slightly, but follow her as she impatiently hops towards the door. Pushing the large door open, she drops your hand and runs inside. You're met with the smell of fresh plants and herbs as you follow her inside, slowly looking around the room and taking everything in as she runs over and wraps her arms around her father, asking how he's feeling. 

His eyes immediately snap to you, a look of distrust and unease in his eyes as he stares you down. Jinx notices, and slowly steps back from her hug. She keeps her eyes on vander as she backs towards you, grabbing your hand before speaking. 

“Vander, this is my girlfriend.” her voice is soft as she begins to slowly walk towards him, hand still locked in yours. 

Fuck, you were not prepared for the whole “meeting the dad” part of all of this. Sure, you've met one of her dads before, but that's because you worked for him, so the stereotypical introduction wasn't necessary at the time. 

Attempting to calm your nerves and make a good impression, you clear your throat and lift your hand as an offering for a handshake. “Hi- um, hello. Nice to meet you, sir. Big fan of your work. Both the daughter and the, uh, other stuff.” your voice shakes as you attempt a joke to try and relieve some of the tension growing in the small greenhouse. 

Your introduction is met with silence, and then more silence, as Vander just stares at you, occasionally glancing between you and Jinx. 

Finally, your girlfriend decides she's seen enough to rescue the situation, stepping between the two of you before breaking the screaming silence. “Well, this has been wonderful. We’ll let you get some rest for now, though.” she grabs your hand again, speedily leading you out of the greenhouse back into the peaceful village of tents. 

Once outside you feel her drop your hand and pause, looking over to see her with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised, amusement causing the corners of her lips to curl up. “Nice one! Real smooth, babe.” she teases. You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek and resting your hands on your hips. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

_____________________________________________________________

Vander glances around at the smiling faces surrounding him. Sat at a small picnic table outside the greenhouse sat his family. His eldest daughter to his right, and the miniature Powder to his left. A feast of fruits, salads, and roasted vegetables covered the table. A dinner cooked by a group of people on the commune. 

Across from him sat grownup Powder and her… girlfriend.

Vander was already struggling to come to terms with the fact that his daughters were now grown. It felt like no time had passed in his mind, but the years had left their mark on the girls nonetheless, and now he has to come to terms with his youngest daughter being out in the world of romance. His little girl, all grown up and dating women he'd never even met before. 

He continues to stare at the two of you, giggling and talking with the others at the table, shoulders occasionally brushing together. His eyes were weary as he watched you two, despite the fact that Powder seems to trust you with everything, nothing changes his distrust and distaste towards seeing his little girl all grown up. 

He continues this internal battle in his mind, struggling with the growing protectiveness only amplified by the traces of the beast still in his mind. Even the tiny powder trying to get him to eat and offering him water couldn't help distract him from the affection being shown from across the table. 

He could tell you knew he didn't trust you, as every time you made eye contact your eyes would dart away, face casting downwards. 

Eventually, the sun sets, and the conversation at the table begins to slow as the food in front of him is quickly destroyed by the hungry teens accompanying him, miniature powder having fallen asleep against his leg not too long after. 

He watches as Powder begins to grow tired next to you, her eyes drooping and shoulders slowly slouching as she tries to keep herself awake. You notice, and gently nudge her before deciding it's time to call it a night. You stand, and pull Powder up from the bench she's sat on. 

“C'mon, sleepyhead,” you grumble as you turn around and lean over. She turns around and throws herself onto your back, her legs going around your waist as you catch her and lift her until she's snuggly pressed into your back, her head leaning into your neck as her eyes close once more. 

His eyes soften as he watches you make your way to his side of the table to pick up the miniature powder from his lap and lift her to your front, one arm wrapped around her keeping her small frame firmly against your chest, the other arm still hooked under one of Powders knees to keep her balanced against your back. 

The act reminds him of when Powder and Vi were young and would fall asleep on the couch or at the barstools while he cleaned up the bar after a long night. The memories caused a pang in his heart, chest contracting at the memories of when they were young, reminding him of all the years he must have missed. 

As you slowly begin to walk away towards the tent Vi directed them to, he speaks up before you're too far away. 

His gravelly and deep voice calls out behind you, “It was nice meeting you too..” you pause in your steps, turning your head to look at the man behind you to confirm you weren't hearing things. Upon seeing your face, he glances down before continuing, “You seem like a good kid, you're, uh, good for Powder.” 

Your face slowly splits into a grin, simply nodding your head at him once, before turning and continuing your trek into the night. 

Meet the future father-in-law: check. 

____________________________________

A/N: ahhh first one shot let's go! hope you guys enjoy this one :3 luv my girl jinx that's my wife fr

[vunblr]

Masterlist

Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the journey through these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Bucky Barnes

The Weight of Choices (Smut. Slight angst.) Oneshot.

Summary: Torn between his instinct to protect his family and his desire to be a part of their lives, Bucky tries to deal with the reality of his ex-wife going on a date while he stays home caring for their son.

---

An Unfinished Goodbye (Slight Angst. Story before The Weight of Choices, still it would be good to read that one first.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky tells himself he’s only watching over his ex-wife and son for their safety. But when someone threatens to alter the status quo, his quiet vigilance falters.

The Memory Remains (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

Wounds and Walls (Smut. Slight angst.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.

Crumbs of Connection (Fluff.) Oneshot

Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.

A Heart in Hiding (Angst-Hurt/Comfort) Oneshot

Summary: Caught between the shadows of his past and an unexpected connection, Bucky wrestles with his demons and his growing feelings for a new Avenger.

Fangs and Spells (Smut. World of Warcraft AU) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky, a grumpy worgen warrior, and his sharp-tongued mage partner are sent on a relatively simple quest that quickly spirals into chaos.

To Mend a Soldier (Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.) Oneshot

Summary: Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

Toy Soldier (Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut) Ongoing

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Lumberjack Bucky Series

Roots and Branches (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

Heartwood (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: After Sam’s party, Bucky begins to navigate uncharted territory as he works to balance his growing feelings and lingering insecurities in his blooming relationship.

Threads and Timber (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky grapples with a questionable Christmas gift.

The Recipe for Us (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky sets out to surprise his girlfriend with a simple yet meaningful gesture, but quickly learns that some things are easier said than done.

Destroyer!Chris

Chains of Fate (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: A florist keeps having trouble with her bicycle, and Chris, her rugged mechanic neighbor, is always available to help. Or isn’t he?

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[the-traveling-poet]

House-Husband’s Love

When life becomes too overwhelming, maybe even simultaneously underwhelming at times, sometimes you just need a break. Just a day off to lay around and do nothing; give your brain a chance to calm down and reset. With Levi as your partner, you can bet he would be the one to ensure you got your breaks. And some attention, of course.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader (relationship isn’t specified, so imagine how you prefer!)

Warnings: SFW, hurt-to-comfort kinda, themes of depression/disassociation/sensory overload, fluff ending

A/N: Needing some modern!househusband!Levi rn cause I’m nearing my breaking point again and needed to write some brain rot to completely disassociate again. I guess also to distract myself from writing my fics? I dunno man.

1.2k words

It must have been one of those days; where everything felt off-balance. Levi always saw. He could tell by just a glance your way the morning before.

Another day of feeling as though every sight before you became dull and muted in appearance. Unnoticeable, nearly, while you disassociated. And yet somehow, all at once, the more noticeable everything became, making you paranoid and panicked.

He could figure out your tell-tale signs well enough by now, from his own curious observations over time. Occasionally, after some time of letting you sort it out yourself, he’d talked it over once or twice with you. He’d asked you how exactly you felt on days like these; days where your eyes stayed wide and brows raised in an expression of alertness, even as your jaw clenched and hands shook, your eyes glazed over as you kept yourself in near constant motion. He knew the signs, and what they meant.

You were spiraling again. Sensory overload, dissociation…He hadn’t seen it so bad in you before.

Always moving, always forcing yourself to focus no matter how shallow it made your breath...He hated seeing you in such a state, when you wanted to focus on anything but your own thoughts.

Sometimes these moments lasted a few hours, sometimes even just one. But often, they progressed into days of forced hyper focus and constant activity to draw yourself away from your own mind, busying it with tasks and work.

But this time…this time, it had been weeks.

It hurt him to see you so stressed, no matter the situation.

And so, one such morning, following another rough night, he took the liberty of disengaging your alarm for the morning. The simple press of a button, he hoped, would keep you asleep for just a tad longer. Your mind needed the rest of a couple more hours, he reasoned.

After only a second’s hesitation in which he still held your phone, he also sent a quick email to your employer; some excuse about being unwell enough to not clock in today, and warning about a possible similar hinderance for the following day.

'If you need more information, feel free to message my emergency contact, as he's looking after me today while I recover.'

He sent the email, slightly smirking to himself as he turned your phone off and set it back onto the nightstand.

He would handle it for you, as much as he could.

Pulling the covers up over your shoulder, Levi slid out of the bed soundlessly.

With you still soundly asleep, he went about tidying up what he could around the apartment, keeping any noise to a minimum to ensure you stayed asleep.

'A clean space helps clear the mind,' he'd always believed, and as such he wanted to provide you with such a fresh start today. Whenever you chose to wake up, that is. He wouldn’t enforce it today.

It wasn't until late morning he heard movement from the bedroom, your weight shifting over the creaking bed as you stumbled out in a panic moments later.

"My alarm, I must not have set it-" You'd started, obviously anxious as you raced to throw on a new top and a pair of jeans.

Before you could get to slip anything off, Levi’s hand found your shoulder, softly holding you in place.

"Don't worry about it, love. You have today off. Maybe even tomorrow, unless I get a call."

He mumbled, gently taking a jacket from your shaking hands.

You stared up at him blankly for a moment, completely in disbelief.

"...It's Wednesday. I work a 9-5, babe...I'm not off today; it's not a holiday." You tried to protest weakly, but once again were silenced by a slender finger against your lips.

"I know. I called off for you, though. Besides, the shift started three hours ago, so there's no need to bother going in now. Just take a seat, breakfast is half done."

Still regarding him in complete bewilderment, you hesitantly took a seat on the couch and watched him meander back towards the kitchen, returning his attention back to the stove. It was only then you noticed the array of pans neatly set on the hot surface, and the toaster on the counter already slotted with bread. The smell of frying foods wafting over to you, causing your stomach to protest weakly.

When was the last time you’d focused on a full meal, instead of eating a few small bites here and there throughout the day?

It wasn't long until he'd plated the meal, and brought you a plate with a cup of tea to pair it. Once you were settled in with your plate and utensils, he sat down on the couch beside you with his one of his own. He'd never been fond of eating on the couch, you knew, so this must be a 'special occasion' of sorts.

"...Why?" You eventually mumbled between bites of toast and sips of tea, digging in the moment he’d sat.

He swallowed the bite of scrambled eggs from his own plate before answering, a napkin already in hand to wipe away any invisible cooking greased from his lips.

"You're stressed out, baby. I've seen it for several days now. Relaxing evenings after work weren't doing it, so I wanted to give you a full day's worth, instead."

"...I'm fine. Life is just rough sometimes-"

You'd started, setting down your mug to weakly protest his concerns; but he easily held a hand over your wrist, lowering the warm beverage from your lips.

"Then isn't it my job to try and make life a little less strenuous? One day off won't kill you, and won't impact the income too greatly. We can manage; but your mental health can’t, not like this.”

He sighed, setting your mug down onto the coffee table for you.

“Just relax, yeah? Relax, and let me handle today for you. It’s the least I can do, for all that you always do.”

Huffing quietly in muted amusement, you smiled his way, eyes welling with unshed tears. Tears of silent relief.

“…I haven’t had a work day off in ages, maybe months. Two days a week are nice, but…”

“…But not enough sometimes. I know sweetheart. I know. I can see it in you. So just relax today. We don’t have to be productive every day.” Levi reassured softly, keeping his hand around yours.

“Hell, I’ll bully your boss into giving you another day off-“

“Levi I need this job, you can’t,” you giggled, leaning against his side and curling up onto the couch.

“…But thank you, my love. I think I needed this,” you finished in a whisper, briefly closing your eyes.

“I know you did.” Levi stated calmly, running his free hand’s fingers through your hair.

“Just rest…I’ve got everything else. I’ll deal with it for you.”

(A/N: I’m a whore for the idea of Levi calling us ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ leave me alONE-)

[noomeriff]

Ghostly Affection

Summary: You get separated from Mr. Crawling, will you be able to find him again?

Tags: Mr. Crawling x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Word count: 1849

A/n: Well, after literally years of not writing, guess I just needed a sweet ball of sunshine in the form of a creepy ghost man to make my inspiration come back. Hope you enjoy!^^

Bold: Other World Language

"Mr. Crawling?!"

The sound of your footsteps echoes in the empty hallways, your eyes frantically scanning every room you pass. 

"Mr. Crawling, can you hear me?!"

The dizziness starts again, your vision blurring as you lean on a wall to regain balance.

~~~

It all happened so quickly.

You were walking through the immense maze of hallways, trying to find your way back to the other friendly residents, hoping to find some clue that could help you return to your world. 

 

How long has it been since you've woken up in this place? Days? Weeks? You didn't know. What you did know was that the sound of clothes brushing against the cold floors was starting to become an anchor to your sanity, as crazy as it may sound. 

You smiled as you looked over your shoulder, the friendly ghost smiling in return. For some reason, the presence of Mr. Crawling was the only thing that could make you feel a little bit safer in this dangerous and unpredictable place.

You were passing through a big room, talking, or at least trying to communicate at the best of your abilities, pointing at the objects as he answered in an eager voice to your questions.

 

Then everything started moving. Cracks forming on the walls, pieces of the ceiling breaking down as you looked at Mr. Crawling in panic. The both of you darted forward, trying to reach for the exit.

 

You saw him make it to the doorway. 

 

Then you felt gravity pulling you down.

 

He tried to reach for your hand. Your fingertips brushed against each other for a brief second, but it was too late. 

 

You screamed as the floor crumbled under your feet.

~~~

You catch yourself before sliding down to the floor, using both your hands to get back up, "I should get going."

Really? And where will you go?

You look around, walking into the next hallway, your heart starting to beat irregularly, "I must keep moving, I'm sure I'll find him soon."

But what if you don't? This place changes, after all. 

You shake your head as you open another door, trying to suppress the intrusive thoughts, "Mr. Crawling!!"

What if you never find him? What if you can't find your way back to the others?

You mentally scold yourself, your breathing labored as you feel panic starting to invade your mind. Another door opens, welcoming you into a long, large tunnel.

You will forever walk through this hell alone.

All the strength you had left suddenly vanishes, your arms wrapping over your stomach as you fall on your knees. Dread starts to fill your chest like cold, sharp claws piercing your heart.

 

The only thing you had left was crying, to succumb to the harsh reality of this world. Tears stream down your cheeks, your voice feeble as you try to keep your last bit of hope close. 

"Mr. Crawling..."

 

Something moves at the end of the tunnel. 

Your head shoots up instinctively, your hand wrapping tighter on your crowbar, ready to swing at whatever hostile monster was there. 

You listen closely, keeping your breath steady at the best you could while your eyes squint in the darkness in front of you.

 

Then you hear it.

 

The familiar sound of fabric.

A wave of relief washes over you, so strong that your heart compresses in your chest.

Before you even realize it, you're running. The sound of your shoes echoes within the walls of the tunnel. You run until you can finally see the hunched over figure of your friend, who's looking around, confused and alarmed by the noise.

Tears well up in your eyes, the relief so intense that you can't contain it.

You instinctively throw your crowbar to the side, it was only slowing you down. The metal clings on the ground, catching his attention.

You fall on your knees, your arms wrapping tightly around his body as you bury your face into his chest, "Mr. Crawling!!"

He yelps in surprise, not realizing what's going on as he tries to keep his balance. After an infinite moment of silent, he giggles. The eerie but all too familiar giggle you've been longing to hear, the only thing that could cement in your mind that this is reality, you are not dreaming and you're not alone anymore.

In an instant his thin, but strong arms wrap around you, almost crushing you by the sheer intensity of it, "You find me!"

Tears fall faster as you reciprocate his hug, almost in fear that he could vanish as soon as you let go.

"Floor drop! You disappear! Me worry!!", Mr. Crawling basks in the sudden affection, his body swinging from side to side, unable to contain his happiness, "Me search! You find me! Me glad!"

He suddenly stills, your sobs finally reaching his ear. He quickly tries to take a better look at you, but he's met by your iron grip around his chest.

You feel his long, cold fingers rest on the top of your head, softly caressing your hair to soothe you.

"Pet, pet..."

He doesn't move, not entirely sure what to do, but trying his best to calm you down. 

As soon as you feel your breath steady a little, you feel his hands rest on your shoulders, gently pulling you away from him. Your tears run down your cheeks as he looks at you, his expression getting more worried by the second.

He slowly moves one of his hands close to your face, touching a tear with the tip of his finger, quickly retracting it as soon as it makes contact, "Eye...water?"

Do the other world entities even know what tears are?

His expression somehow turns even more worried, scanning your face and your arms, "You hurt? Pain?"

You take a deep breath, brushing away a streak of tears with the back of your hand, "No, no-" you try to remember the right words in the mess that is your mind at the moment, "Me not hurt."

A moment of silence falls as you search for the right words to use.

"Me...afraid. Many, many afraid...", you grab onto his clothes, "Me not know where you... Me alone..."

You yelp as you feel both of his hand hold the sides of your head, caressing you almost fervently. You're only able to notice his frown, his expression a mask of worry as he tries to make you feel better, "Pet, pet!!"

As your head bounces from side to side, you can't help the laugh that bubbles in your throat, your hair already a tangled mess.

You grab his wrists, fighting against him as he still tries to go on, "Mr. Crawling, wait-!" another chuckle escapes your lips as you look at him, "Stop!"

He stops, his attention turning on you as you lower his hands away from your head. You brush away the tears still on your face, your heart fluttering at the sweetness behind his action, "Me fine! Me not afraid! Me found you! You together me!"

Mr. Crawling takes a moment to understand your words, his smile returning as he giggles. His puts his hand back on top of your head, this time much more gentle as he pets you.

 

"Me glad! Eye water bad! Mouth happy! You ?????? !"

 

This time it's your turn to be caught off guard, your head tilting slightly in confusion as you try to translate his words.

Seeing your confusion, he repeats himself, this time gesturing with his hands to give you some help.

"Eye water-", he points his finger at your cheek, "bad!"

"Mouth happy," he points at his face, his grin stretching as he giggles again, "You ?????? !"

Is he... telling me to smile? 

Your eyebrows furrow at the unknown word as you try to replicate the sound, "??????..."

He nods vigorously, almost amused by your confusion.

You try your best to recall all your knowledge, it's been a while since you've heard a new word, but-.... wait a moment... no, this is not a new word, you've heard that sound before... but when was it?

Your eyes wander, looking down at your hands, now resting on your knees. Your new clothes catch your attention... of course! The Bride! You've heard that word when that kind ghost gave you these new clothes!

It was something that Mr. Crawling said in that occasion, but wasn't he talking about the dress that time...?

Your heart skips a beat as a thought crosses your mind, your eyes widening slightly.

 

No, that can't be the meaning... right? But... what if-

 

Your attention slowly returns on him, his expression almost gleeful as he watches you, waiting patiently for you to arrive at a conclusion.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry as your hand moves, pointing a single finger toward you, "Me..."

 

"...pretty?"

 

His delighted giggle is the only answer you need, "Mouth happy! You pretty! Pretty!"

Your can't help the blush that suddenly dusts your cheeks, the pure sweetness in his voice enough to make you feel butterflies in your stomach.

 

Wait- does that mean he's called you pretty before?!

 

As your face turns redder by the second, you're startled when you feel Mr. Crawling's cold hand against your cheek, "Face fire... why?"

You quickly grab his hand, pulling it away as your blush spreads further, "N-Nothing!!- I mean, No worry!!"

He tilts his head, beaming as he looks at you, his smile wide as he pats your head once more, "Me like face fire! You pretty!"

The moment you lean closer to hide your face in his chest, he wraps his arms around you, locking you in place. His laugh fills the silence, covering your voice as you sigh in both embarrassment and frustration.

He leans down, his cheek resting on top of your head as he pulls you closer, "Pretty! Pretty! ???? !"

You're not sure if you want to know the meaning behind that new word, or at least, you don't know if your heart is ready for it at the moment.

A few minutes pass as you let him shower you in affection, your heart finally calming down. You have to admit, he gives good hugs, even if his touch is cold.

You slowly pull away from him. He lets you, but you notice a hint of hesitation as his hands unwraps from you, but still resting on your shoulders.

Your eyes wander over to your crowbar, abandoned on the floor a few meters from you. You sigh, your mind finally at peace, "Maybe it's time for us to return to the others."

Mr. Crawling frowns, his grip on your shoulders tightening slightly, "You go?"

The look of disappointment on his face almost made your heart melt on the spot, your chest hurts at the thought of ending this precious moment between the two of you.

With a soft smile, you pull him closer once again, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Mr. Crawling chirps in delight, his hand resuming his soft caresses on your head, making you laugh with him.

"I guess a few more minutes won't hurt."

[kiwriteswords]

You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else

AN: Thank you to the anon who requested this!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Rating: Everyone!

Tags/TW:  canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, insecure!hotch, mentions of a one-night-stand.

Summary: In the midst of an already stressful workweek, you notice a troubling shift in Aaron Hotchner’s behavior. Once warm and attentive, Aaron has grown distant, leaving you questioning what went wrong. As you try to navigate his sudden coldness, a casual conversation with JJ and Penelope might hold the key—one you didn’t realize Aaron overheard. The revelation sends Aaron spiraling into insecurity, causing him to pull away, leaving you in the dark. Now, with your relationship hanging in the balance, you must figure out what’s troubling Aaron before it’s too late. Can you bridge the gap between you, or will unspoken fears drive you apart?

You'd noticed it for days now—Aaron was distant. The once comforting warmth of his presence had slowly turned cold, and his usual tender glances were now filled with something you couldn't quite place. He seemed distracted, pulling away in ways that left you feeling hollow.

At first, you thought it was work. The BAU's latest case had been tough, and the pressure on Aaron as Unit Chief was undeniable. But this... this felt different. His once soft, fleeting touches in passing—gentle fingers on your arm or a quick brush against your hand—had all but disappeared. Even his tone had shifted, more professional, less personal. The space between you had grown, and you didn’t understand why.

The two of you had always been able to communicate so well, one of the many things you cherished in your relationship. But now, Aaron had built a wall you couldn't seem to break through.

It was starting to hurt.

As you sat at your desk in the bullpen, fidgeting with the pen in your hand, your mind replayed every conversation over the past week. Had you done something wrong? Maybe he was rethinking your relationship—maybe he regretted it? The thought alone caused a lump to form in your throat, but before you could spiral further, Derek Morgan sauntered over, pulling up a chair next to you.

"You okay, kid? You’ve been quiet lately," Derek asked, his voice low and concerned.

You offered him a small smile, not wanting to burden him with your worries. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... got a lot on my mind."

Morgan narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced. "Uh-huh. You know if you need to talk, I’m here."

"I know," you replied, your smile faltering as you noticed Aaron watching from across the room. His gaze wasn’t filled with warmth like it used to be, instead, there was a hint of something darker—jealousy?

Before you could think more on it, Derek squeezed your shoulder in a friendly gesture and headed back to his desk. As your eyes followed him, something clicked. Aaron hadn’t been distant until a few days ago, and the only notable event was… Your heart sank.

It couldn’t be.

A few days ago, you’d let it slip during a casual conversation with JJ and Penelope that you’d had a one-night stand with Derek before you and Aaron had started dating. It was well before you even realized your feelings for Hotch, but… had Aaron overheard?

The breakroom was alive with the usual banter between you, JJ, and Penelope, your small group using the rare quiet moment to relax after an intense case. JJ leaned back in her chair, smiling warmly as she stirred her tea, while Penelope scrolled through her phone, probably digging up something fun or ridiculous to show you both.

"So," JJ began, her tone casual but her smile sly, "how are things going with Hotch? You two have been looking pretty... close lately."

You smiled softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest at the mention of Aaron, but kept your response brief. "Things are good," you said simply, glancing down at your coffee.

Penelope wasn’t going to let it go that easily. "Come on, Y/N! 'Good'?" She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Spill the tea, my dear. You’re with the Aaron Hotchner. I need details!"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "You know me, Pen. I'm not giving you details. But yeah, things are really great with him."

JJ smiled knowingly but didn’t push, clearly respecting your boundaries. But Penelope, as always, wasn’t done teasing.

"Well," she said dramatically, "it's still funny to me that before Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding, you had your little one-time fling with our very own Derek Morgan." She waggled her eyebrows, and JJ laughed softly, shaking her head.

You groaned, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Seriously, Garcia? I thought we agreed not to bring that up."

JJ grinned, clearly enjoying the teasing, though her tone was kind. "You know she's never going to let it go."

Penelope giggled. "Never. It's too good. I mean, come on—Derek? One night? How did you even focus on anything afterward?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your embarrassment. "It was forever ago, okay? Derek and I both knew it wasn’t serious. It was just a random thing after a case, and we agreed to keep it in the past."

"Mm-hmm," Penelope teased, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "Still, kind of hilarious when you think about how things turned out. You and Hotch? I didn’t see that coming. But honestly, you two fit."

You couldn’t help but smile softly at that. “Yeah,” you admitted, your heart warming at the thought of Aaron. “We do.”

The teasing continued, lighthearted and affectionate, but you didn’t realize that just outside the door, Aaron Hotchner had stopped in his tracks, his heart sinking as he overheard the mention of Derek.

Aaron had been on his way to grab a cup of coffee when he’d heard your voice in the breakroom. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but when you laughed—a sound he always gravitated toward—he paused, drawn in by the easy conversation.

But then he heard Penelope.

"...before Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding, you had your little one-time fling with our very own Derek Morgan."

The words stopped him cold.

Derek? You and Derek? Aaron's chest tightened painfully. He hadn’t known.

He wasn’t naïve—he knew you had a life before him, relationships and experiences that predated the two of you. But hearing about it so suddenly, and with Derek of all people… It was like a punch to the gut.

He stood frozen outside the doorway, trying to process what he’d just heard. He wasn’t angry—he didn’t have the right to be—but a sudden wave of insecurity washed over him. Derek was everything Aaron wasn’t. Younger, charming, confident in a way that came so naturally to him. And you had been with him, even if just for one night.

Aaron’s mind raced with irrational thoughts, each one tugging at his already frayed nerves. What if you compared them? What if you found him lacking? Derek had all the qualities Aaron sometimes worried he was losing—his youth, his easygoing charm. What could Aaron offer you that Derek couldn’t?

He knew it wasn’t fair to think that way, but he couldn’t stop the jealousy from creeping in. Suddenly, every interaction with you felt different, like he wasn’t enough. Like maybe you’d eventually realize that, too.

His grip tightened on the doorknob, but instead of walking in, he turned away. He couldn’t face you right now—not with these feelings gnawing at him. You deserved better than his insecurities. He’d push it down, hide it, just like he always did.

But from that moment on, the distance between you began to grow.

You suddenly felt queasy. If that was what this was about, it all made sense. Aaron wasn’t just pulling away—he was hurt. And you had no idea how to fix it.

Later that evening, after everyone had gone home, you found yourself standing outside Aaron’s office, heart hammering in your chest. You needed to talk to him, to figure out why he was treating you this way and to set things right. Gathering your courage, you knocked lightly on his door.

“Come in,” came his familiar deep voice, though it lacked the usual warmth you craved.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and found him seated at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked on some case files. He didn’t look up at you right away, and that stung more than you wanted to admit.

“Aaron,” you began, voice soft. “Can we talk?”

Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, his face impassive though there was something vulnerable beneath his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” you pressed, moving closer. “I feel like you’ve been… distant.”

Hotch sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “It’s nothing, Y/N. I’ve just been—”

“Busy?” you interrupted, frustration and sadness leaking into your tone. “I don’t believe that. This isn’t about work, Aaron. Something’s been bothering you, and I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“I overheard you talking to JJ and Penelope the other day.” His words were measured, but you could hear the hurt laced within them. “About Derek.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. “Oh,” you whispered. “That… that was years ago, Aaron. It was before us, and it meant nothing. You have to believe me.”

Hotch stood up from his chair, moving to the window, his broad shoulders tense. “I know it was before us,” he said, almost too quietly. “But it’s hard not to feel… inadequate, knowing you were with him. He’s younger, stronger, charismatic. He can give you things I can’t.”

Your heart broke hearing the insecurity in his voice—Aaron Hotchner, the man who always appeared so strong and self-assured, feeling less than. You hated that you’d unintentionally caused him to doubt himself.

“Aaron,” you murmured, crossing the room until you were standing right behind him. “None of that matters. I’m with you because I love you—because of who you are. Not Derek. Not anyone else.”

He didn’t turn around, but you could see the tension in his shoulders ease slightly.

“I’m not looking for younger or stronger or more charismatic,” you continued, your voice earnest. “I’m looking for someone who understands me, who’s patient and kind and makes me feel safe. That’s you, Aaron. Always you.”

At last, he turned to face you, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you. You reached up, gently cupping his cheek with your hand.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough,” you said, your voice breaking. “But you are more than enough for me. You’re everything.”

Aaron closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch. When he opened them again, the vulnerability you saw there tugged at your heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, resting your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The two of you stood there in the quiet of his office, wrapped in each other’s embrace, and the weight of the past week slowly melted away. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. What mattered was that you had each other—and you always would.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @khxna @rousethemouse

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part three

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Three - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

My legs feel numb, something cold and metallic digging into my back—chains, pinching at my skin. I try to shift, but the restraints hold me tight. There’s a warmth surrounding me, and I glance up to see Johnny's face, our noses inches apart. “Welcome back, Pumpkin!” Deadpool’s voice calls out from behind, dripping with that annoying cheerfulness that makes me groan and drop my head.

Johnny twists us around, the chains binding the two of us together keeping us suspended above the ground. Now, I’m facing Logan and Deadpool. Deadpool’s staring at me, and while it’s hard to tell through the mask, the tilt of his head makes me think he’s smiling.

He turns to Logan and asks, “How long was I asleep?”

Logan’s response is gruff, “Not all of you was asleep.”

I cringe. “That’s so—"

“Hot?” Deadpool interrupts, his tone mockingly hopeful.

“I was going to say disgusting.”

Deadpool pouts, his voice taking on a playful edge. “I sense a little closeted anger there.”

I squint at him, feeling the absurd need to defend myself. “I’m pretty comfortable with my sexuality, thank you very much.”

“Don’t clench those cheeks of yours too tight, Pumpkin. I see the way you look at Wolvie here.” He tilts his head towards Logan, who finally meets my gaze.

I quickly look away, shame creeping in. He must hate me for what I did. Or for what I couldn’t do.

Deadpool starts rummaging around, searching for something. “Don’t bother. They’re very thorough,” Johnny tells him, a slight edge to his voice.

Logan cuts in, his tone demanding, “You know where we are, start talking.”

Johnny’s voice is calm but serious. “You’re in The Void. Think of it as purgatory. Reed called it a metaphysical junkyard where anything useless goes before it gets annihilated forever, and where the TVA sends people that don’t play nice with the rest of the multiverse.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Like you?”

Johnny nods. “And you. Or her.”

Logan’s voice hardens. “What does the annihilating?”

“Alioth,” Johnny answers, his voice low.

Deadpool’s eyes widen behind his mask. “Alioth is in this thing? From Loki, season 1, episode 5? You know she wrote a fanfic about Loki. I’m talking to you, reader.” He suddenly turns to face the empty space, as if he’s breaking the fourth wall again. 

I squint at him, my voice dripping with annoyance. “What are you doing?”

Deadpool gives me that familiar little head tilt, and I can almost see the grin beneath his mask. “Just keeping things meta, Pumpkin.”

Johnny continues, “Everyone here is on the run from Alioth. Most don’t make it. But there’s a resistance. Other people like us that manage to survive. We’re hiding out in the borderlands, trying to find a way to fuck outta here.”

Logan nods, his voice resolute. “Then that’s where we go.”

Deadpool's eyes light up with excitement. “We? Us? A team? The answer is yes. Shake on it.”

Logan unsheathes his claws, the metal gleaming menacingly.

“Fuck! You nicked it,” Deadpool yelps, pulling his hand back quickly. “Just got the tip with your little steak knife.”

Logan ignores him, turning back to Johnny. “These others can help us get back to the TVA. They can fix things.”

Johnny lets out a dark laugh, and I nudge him, trying to keep him focused.

Logan’s eyes narrow. “Something funny, Bub?”

Johnny’s expression grows serious. “She might have something to say about that.”

Logan’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who’s she?”

Johnny's voice lowers ominously. “In The Void, you’re either food for Alioth, or you work for her.”

The words hang heavy in the air as we approach the gates—or rather, the colossal, decaying corpse of Ant-Man. His gigantic hands, now reduced to skeletal remains, are locked together to form the entrance. As they creak open, a cold shiver runs down my spine, a foreboding sense of doom settling over me. Johnny’s body flares with heat, a stark contrast to the icy dread filling my veins, betraying his own spike of anxiety.

We’re unceremoniously dumped out of the cage, rolling onto the hard, unforgiving ground of the courtyard. The atmosphere here is bleak, desolate—a wasteland filled with the lost and the damned. Variants and mutants alike mill about, their eyes hollow, their spirits crushed by the relentless despair of this place.

From behind, I feel Pyro’s glare burn into my back. I turn slightly, catching sight of Toad, still nursing his wound. With a spiteful smirk, I stick my tongue out at him, my eyes glinting with a momentary spark of defiance.

The air around us shimmers, rippling with unseen energy as Cassandra’s presence draws near. In my sleep, I had only glimpses of her, vague and haunting. But now, as her silhouette emerges, a pang of grief stabs at my heart—she reminds me too much of Charles.

Deadpool breaks the tension with his usual irreverence. “Oh, you must be this year’s Juggernaut.”

“Please be quiet,” I mutter, but my voice lacks conviction.

“Keep your voices down,” Juggernaut rumbles. “She don’t like the chatter.”

Logan casts a sidelong glance at Deadpool. “She’s gonna love you.”

Deadpool, never one to heed warnings, continues, “Is it Charles? Hey, hey, Chuck, it’s us!”

Logan and I exchange a grim look. “That’s not Charles,” we say in unison.

Cassandra steps from her wheelchair, moving with a graceful menace as the sunlight catches her bald head. The air around her seems to crackle with latent power.

“Ah, shit. Oh, ableism great. That’s not gonna go over well with the woke mob,” Deadpool quips, earning a scowl from Logan.

Cassandra’s eyes settle on Logan first, cold and calculating. “A Wolverine. I wondered when I’d get one of you.” Then she turns to me, her gaze piercing through my defenses. “You’re one of Xavier’s.”

Deadpool, ever the disruptor, cuts in. “You know him, you know Chuck?”

Cassandra’s smile is thin, almost serpentine. “Oh, I knew him. We shared a womb. Tried to strangle the sly little fellow with my umbilical cord.”

“Amen,” Deadpool responds, almost gleeful. “I’ve never loved roommates. Mine’s blind, except she could see cocaine for some reason.” He turns to Logan, searching for an ally. “You wanna chime in, Your Majesty? I’m dying here.”

“Who are you?” Logan growls, his patience wearing thin.

“Charles Xavier’s twin,” Cassandra says, her voice dripping with venom. “Cassandra Nova.”

Deadpool’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh, shit. Is it anal birth?”

Cassandra’s expression remains unreadable as she assesses us, her tone almost playful. “You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.”

Her gaze sharpens as she shifts back to Johnny, a predatory gleam in her eye. “And I’ve been trying to catch this little firefly for years, haven’t I, Johnny? You picked the wrong time to make new friends.” She spares me a brief, dismissive glance. “I’ll get to you later,” she adds, her voice like ice. “—pumpkin.”

A shiver runs through me at the nickname, the way it slithers off her tongue far more menacingly than it ever did from Deadpool.

Deadpool, undeterred, presses on. “Oh, Johnny told us all about you.”

Logan’s warning is low and dangerous. “Maybe shut up now.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t,” I echo, my nerves fraying.

But Deadpool barrels ahead. “We were just talking here. Yeah, Johnny told us you’re a psychotic, megalomaniacal asshole. His words, not mine. Hell-bent on domination and pain.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “You said all that about me?”

Johnny stammers, panic clear in his voice. “No, no! How do you— I didn’t say anything!”

“Sticks and stones, Johnny!” Deadpool laughs, his tone mocking. “Don’t let her intimidate you. Like you said in the convoy. This finger-licking, dead inside, pixie slab of third-rate dime store nut milk can eat your delicious cinnamon ring and kick rocks all the way to bald-hell.”

Johnny looks horrified. “I have never said any of those words in my entire life!”

My muscles tense, knowing Deadpool is pushing too far. “That’s enough, Deadpool,” I warn, preparing to act if necessary.

But Deadpool continues, seemingly oblivious. “Ah! The modesty! People think I’m a shit-talker, but this guy, next level.”

“What? This- I- wait- I don’t even know what half of that means!” Johnny protests, his confusion growing.

In a flash, I manage to blip Johnny back a few hours, replacing him with a decoy just as Cassandra’s wrath descends. She tears into the decoy with brutal efficiency, ripping its skin clean off. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing Johnny is safe, even if the others are none the wiser.

Deadpool gasps in mock horror. “Not my favorite Chris.”

Logan’s fury is palpable. “You stupid piece of shit, you just got him fucking killed!”

I feign distress, staring at the decoy’s lifeless form, playing my part.

“Hey, we’re all grieving!” Deadpool adds, his tone too flippant. “PS, do you know what he was doing to the budget?”

Cassandra’s voice cuts through the tension. “Alioth is hungry.”

“There’s been some kind of mistake,” Deadpool protests, his bravado faltering. “Big Yellow is a backup Anchor Being, and I’m Marvel Jesus, MJ if you’re nasty. This may be hard to hear, but there’s another British villain. He’s gonna destroy my universe, and I’m gonna stop him.”

Cassandra’s smile is chilling. “Oh, honey, you don’t really strike me as a world-saving type.” Deadpool flinches. “Did I hit a nerve?”

He tries to regain his footing. “I didn’t want it to come to this. Either you help us, or my friend here is gonna sing the entire second act of Music Man, with zero warm-up.”

Logan tries to change the subject. “Where’d you get the chair?” 

“Once in a while, I do get a Charles through here,” Cassandra muses, her voice distant, almost nostalgic. “Never mind, though. No. He didn’t care to find me.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Ah, Gen-Z and their trauma-bragging! Can’t you just stuff it down, turn it into accomplishment or cancer like the rest of us?”

Cassandra’s eyes gleam with dark amusement. “But I’m not like the rest of you. Except maybe the Wolverine. Now, we could be truly terrifying together.”

Logan sneers, his claws itching for a fight. “You’re that scary, huh?”

“The TVA certainly thought so,” Cassandra replies, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “They sent me here before I could walk. And you know, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I love it here.”

“You live in a garbage dump,” Deadpool retorts, unimpressed.

Cassandra’s smile widens, a cold, cruel thing. “I think we both know who lives in the garbage dump. The Void is a paradise. I can wield my power here without shame. Unfortunately, I had no Charles Xavier to teach me temperance.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and predatory. I’m still coated in the thick, warm blood of Johnny’s decoy, and the sight only seems to excite her. “I told you I would get to you. I’ve been waiting to crack into that mind of yours.” She steps forward, her finger outstretched, and I stumble back, my heart pounding in my chest.

But she’s too fast, closing the distance in an instant. Her long, cold fingers seize my face, digging into my temples with a vice-like grip. The pain is excruciating, a white-hot lance that stabs through my skull as she roots around in my mind. Flashes of my past flood my vision—my dead friends, my failures, my desperate search for Logan. And then, the happier memories, from a time long gone, when Charles and Erik were younger, when hope still felt within reach.

With a sudden, brutal yank, Cassandra rips her fingers free, leaving me crumpled on the ground, gasping for breath.

I hear Logan shout something, but the words are muffled, lost in the haze of agony clouding my thoughts.

“Interesting,” Cassandra murmurs, almost to herself. “But boring. Your Charles, he protected you, made you feel safe?”

Logan’s growl is low, feral. “We’re done talking.”

“No,” Cassandra whispers, her voice a silken thread of menace. “We’re just getting started.”

Next Part

A/N: Guys, I’m on a roll and I was originally going to write this chapter as a recap but with Logan’s POV, instead, those will be added later as bonus chapters! I’ll try get a masterlist up and running.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!

[slippinninque]

🛠️Testing, Testing🛠️

Terry Richmond x blackfemreader 

In which Terry plays a very stupid game.

warnings: fighting (no one is hurt), slight fluff, self-indulgent, may need some edits,

Terry admittedly did something really fucking stupid.

He was testing out a new stealth-suit, completed with comfortable goggles for an underwater excursion if necessary.

He forgotten that you were coming in early from your flight from home, handling some family business you said. Meaning you would most likely come in through the garage door with your luggage.

Terry….wanted to see what you would do. He away a lot these days. Way more than he was when you first began staying over more.

What would happen? What would you do?

So, he stuck to the shadows of the garage when he heard you car pull up. The garage opened and he could hear the faint thumping of your radio. You threw the car in park and then left the car with a jangle of keys. Night vision worked well in those goggles, he remembered noting as he could see the built in work bench on the same wall as the entrance into the house.

Terry was immediately disappointed on you not turning on the lights and you weren't rounding the back of your car for your duffel, but a noise caught his attention. Scraping? Almost?

The light switches on. Terry was briefly blinded by the sudden contrast and it was only a moment later that he realized that you're staring directly at him.

He doesn't know why but…he puts a gloved finger to his lips. Terry takes a step forward, hand raised and ready to gesture at you inside the house. Terry felt bad enough about scaring you the way he was, you were as still as a deer. You must have been terrified. 

 Terry was ready to be a ghost in the night, a teary tale he'll hear from you as he pretends to be only 20 minutes away, enough to find some clothes…

Terry was close enough now to to be in arm's length. You slipped a hammer from the workbench.

Terry paused. When you stepped fully into view with another hammer in your hand. Dark, steel if he could tell right. It was not his. 

You stared at Terry, head cocked in a way he's never seen before. A dog barked in the distance. 

“Did you hurt him?” 

Terry did not answer. He took a step backwards, towards the manual switch to open the garage's door and you darted forward. His own voice choked him as you sent your hammers flying. Swinging, swiping, silently--spinning top of lethal steel.

He went on the defensive and you took advantage of that and the small space of the garage. The whistle of your hammers slicing through the air was tucked behind his ear, him barely keeping his head on his shoulders as you followed him around the car.

Terry can not explain well what happens in his mind during an unexpected fight. He plans, of course, as thoroughly as he can to get the best outcome. Terry formulated on his escape the moment he found a rusty wrench to parry you with. Your blows shook him to his bones, Terry had to get out before you found out who he was.

He had his answer. If you were caught unawares, you would unleash a flurry of flawless violence targeted at joints and vital points. You would have a wide eyed stare, a slack mouth as you stalked and struck like a jaguar.

Terry knows you do not make a single sound. Even when he's gotten your arms behind you, attempting to disarm you--

You slipped your hammers down to grip it's steelhead, flicking up the hard handles to crack him in his goggles. You spun down onto your knees, hammerheads humming towards his knees as he lunges back.

Terry wondered what would have happened if he answered your earlier question.

Did you hurt him? Is this how you were when you were unsure? Who did you think you were trying to kill?

He knocked you off balance with a solid kick to the middle and barely dodged the flung Dewalt as he slammed his hand against the switch. The door shuddered open slowly. You stalked the long way around your car, eyes on him through the car's window.

Terry dove into a roll once the opening was large enough, heart snapping hard at the sudden sound of the ping-ping-ping chasing him out.

He went through the backyard, feeling like he was flying through the dark winds of night. His lungs burned, his firearms ached from blocking your strikes.

Terr could hear you running into the house screaming his name. As he darted through the overgrown or freshly manicured patios of his neighbors, the howls of dogs couldn't drown out the sound of your voice following him. 

A terrified shade of the killer left in the garage.

—---------------------

He often stared at the three little full moons of chalk white, a few inches away from the garage door line. Terry stared at them long enough that he considered them keepsakes.

In the following weeks after the incident, he unloaded groceries or rose the door to take a ride on his bike. He would stop and stare at those little circles, lined up neatly so nearly. One after the other.

Terry thought it would be strange to “come home” that night and comfort you, but your hysterics made it easy. Terry said he went for a walk since it was so nice out, not out of the ordinary though It felt too easy.

Terry did make a show of checking the garage from top to bottom but faltered when she insisted there wasn't a need to call the police. Terry doesn't know what possessed him to ask why not.

You looked back at him and asked quietly, “Unless… you think he's coming back?”

No. He insisted, his spine tightening as he recalled the tone of your voice. No the fuck he would not. You were satisfied then, asking to be taken to bed and held. Terry obliged, needing the soft feel of you to ensure himself you were real.

You gave him what he wanted, your reaction. Only, it wasn't what he was expecting. 

That night, Terry waited until your breath evened out before he was able to fall asleep. The next night, he thought of the control it took to swing a hammer to kill but to stop suddenly enough to avoid crashing a windshield. Every night since then, Terry replayed the event in his head while you slept next to him.

Then, last night. Terry dreamed–or rather remembered?

He was in  your garden, hammering in a ladder to ‘give the babies something to crawl on’. A perfect, dark hammer held perfectly in his hand. Something about its craftsmanship made the nails melt to the wood.

“Where'd you get it?”

You looked away from him then and at that time, he only noticed the beauty of you. The happiness of finally being able to do something for you, Terry didn't notice how the squint in your eyes wasn't  from the sun.

“I…think from my Daddy. I picked it up at some point.”

How little of a truth but you have it to him anyway.  Hasn't it been right in front of him the whole time? 

He's seen that look before. Glimpses, truthfully. Terry has seen it be pointed towards a rowdy bunch of patrons at your favorite restaurant. It followed the strangers trailing behind children you weren't sure belonged to them. You've pointed it at Terry, three years ago, when he first approached you on the trail you both ran every Sunday.

But every time, it was gone before he could pin it. When you realized it was a double-birthday party celebration, a distracted but loving older sibling, or a man wanting to invite you to dinner. 

All the same, it wasn't long before he was able to only hear the sugar in your voice. See the warmness of your gaze as you cuddled up to him. Hands laced, cradled in his as you winced your way through a gory movie-night choice.

Terry reconsidered the scars that dappled along your hands, unique in placing and appearance. He assumed you were clumsy your whole life. Terry once teased that you'd find the only bump of concrete of a repaved street just to be the first over trip over it. Now, he can't get the image of you rebounding off the work bench--aiming for his neck...

“Baby?”

“Hm?

He watched you stretch and swallowed down the embarrassment weighing down his tongue. He had to know. He had so much to ask. Did you know? Why did you keep fighting if you did? Why did you ask if he was okay?

“Why did you choose me?”

The last one cut the line from his brain to his mouth. Terry resisted the urge to hold his face. 

You blinked at him in surprise and your eyes turned to the ceiling, thinking for a moment. Terry hid his burning face in the earthy smell of your bonnet. You melted into him with a sigh, Terry added a kiss on top of your head.

“You make me feel safe, Terry.” Your voice was quiet as you tucked your face into his chest in a slow nuzzle, “That means a lot to someone like me. I don't take being seen by you for granted, y'know. Even if it comes with the occasional…test.”

Terry looked down and met the same eyes he saw in the garage that night. Only, this time, you were smiling.

There was so much for him to learn about you, still. In his falling for you–Terry missed a very subtle, icy tell about who you really are. Something that was a lot like him...

You reached out, down to his thigh and massaged the bruise that had finally started to fade. The one he thought you knew nothing about. You gave it a firm, comforting squeeze.

He shivered, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your lips, neither of your eyes closing. Terry hoped you knew that it was a declaration, a promise of his devotion, and also…

No more tests. 

—-------------------------

✨ending notes:✨ guess who's been watching too maaaaany fight scenes?! THIS GAL! 🤸🏾‍♀️🤣🤸🏾‍♀️🤣🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️I just love the idea of a man being ready for a Scream Queen and getting the Slasher instead!🥰 Tell me what you think, do you think I could give him another lil' heart attack? Should I raise his blood pressure a bit more?🤔😌🤣💕 Thank you so much for reading and please let me know what you think!!! 🤸🏾‍♀️💕✨🤣🤸🏾‍♀️💕✨🤸🏾‍♀️✨🤸🏾‍♀️🤣✨💕🤸🏾‍♀️🤣

💕taglist:💕

@megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @blackerthings @notapradagurl7 @theereina

@brattyfics @chaithetics @kindofaintrovert @educatorsareslutstoo @miyuhpapayuh

@kindofaintrovert @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @ms-angiealsina @flydotty @hunnishive

@miyuhpapayuh @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @blowmymbackout

[writingjourney]

𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞, 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 || 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡

He has become a steady presence in her life, the extent of their feelings an unspoken bond that thrums like magic between them. It is easier to feel than to speak the words themselves, to face the unknown that lies ahead. Or: About a bloody nose, almost kisses and a dance with death itself.

pairing: Emmrich x fem!Rook || Rated E, 18+ MDNI

content: 16.5k words, POV third person, mourn watch mage!rook, pining, slow romance, hurt/comfort, minor injury/blood, mild angst, age gap, wingman!Manfred, lots of fluff, love confessions, smut (v fingering, piv sex, sex in a coffin, softdom!emm)

Masterlist – Ao3 link

“You, Beloved, who are all the gardens I have ever gazed at, longing.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

Missiles are flying in every direction around her, a spectacle of colours, her other senses occupied with laboured grunting, the clash of steel against steel, arrows swishing past her ears. Rook dodges, left and right, back to the left. The chaos of battle feels like home now, her body alert, strung tight like a bow. It is a practiced dance, though she is new to who she is dancing with today.

When the missile hits her it is entirely unexpected, an enemy she somehow overlooked hitting her from outside her field of view. Before she can locate them she loses her footing, the ground suddenly approaching her face and then it crashes into her. Or, is she falling? The pain is a sudden beast, spreading from her nose to her teeth and into her eyes. Her ears ring and she loses her orientation, unfocused swimming in a restless sea.

Instinctively Rook rolls to her side, avoiding another blow. As her vision clears, she feels the warmth of blood pooling from her face, its metallic taste landing on her lips, a wetness that spreads into her hair, her clothes underneath her light armour. She shoots at the enemy before they can strike again, effectively sending them backwards. It gives her enough time to overwhelm them and dominate the fight once again.

Quiet settles in the aftermath, pierced by the occasional grunt of pain as the life leaves some of the wounded. Rook stares at her hands, blood-stained, wet dirt and sand added to the mix. Her head hurts so she carefully sits down, trying to calm her breathing.

“Rook!” It is Lucanis, sprinting towards where she’s perched on the very stone that slashed her face. “Is it yours?”

“I think it might be,” she says, wiping at her cheeks.

“Nosebleed?” he asks.

No, she can feel the blood oozing from the wound. “A cut, I think. Or maybe it’s both, considering.”

“Wow, you look rough,” Taash says as they finally catch up, their own body smeared with blood that is definitely not their own.

“Let’s get you back to the Lighthouse,” Lucanis says. “I already know someone who will give me a stern talking to about this later.”

“What do you mean?” Rook asks, wiping her hands at her already ruined armour.

Lucanis chuckles at her attempt to stand, ignoring her question. “You sway like a drunk.”

“I feel like one. Though I wish the reason were your Antivan wines and not… face-planting on the stony beaches of Rivain.”

“You did a good job,” he says softly.

She allows him to help her up, not agreeing nor disagreeing. Her sense of balance returns the longer she stands, though the way to the Eluvian still feels like a journey through the entirety of Thedas. Perhaps, for once, she’ll be able to get some proper rest tonight.

✦ ✧ ✦

Her nose is swollen to twice its size by the time they reach the Lighthouse. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move, and every time Rook thinks the cut stopped bleeding she manages to tear it back open again. Ideally, she would have loved to avoid any of the others’ attention in order to clean herself first, get rid of the evidence of what happened. She knows she must make a ghoulish sight, blood-covered face, sticky hair that’s glued to her just as blood-soaked clothing, her voice so nasal that she’s hard to understand.

She doesn’t factor in that the others might have gathered in the library. When they reach the top of the stairs, slow step after slow step, she is first met by Harding’s curious gaze. Her eyes widen as she jumps up from her spot on the sofa.

“Rook!” she calls out.

Everything happens all at once. Rook hears more than she sees, feet on hard stone floor, voices talking above each other, layered sounds that make her panic briefly since she is still a little dizzy and sensitive. She’s guided into her chair and someone sits down on the table in the middle of the room. Once she is safely in one spot her eyes find back into focus and she sees Emmrich perched in front of her.

“Rook, dear,” he says calmly. “What happened? Where is all this blood coming from?”

“Uh, my nose? It’s not as bad as it looks.”

His intense focus hardens the lines on his face and she thinks he looks not just concerned but almost angry. It is an odd look on his usually so gentle features, betraying the gravity with which he perceives the situation. Suddenly she feels like a bother, not the leader of this team who should be in control of the situation.

“Let me examine it, then,” he suggests. “May I?”

She nods and he gives orders to Bellara, might she fetch a wet cloth, this and that tincture from his desk? Then he tells everyone to give them some privacy which finally takes the pressure off her lungs. Rook feels uncomfortable being fussed over, especially when they have so many more important things to do. Emmrich, in particular, is always so enthralled by his research and his work with Manfred.

“I must stink,” she says. “Perhaps I should bathe before we–”

“No, dear, I must determine whether your injury requires any more advanced healing spells or potions. Do not fret about it, please. Now, you must hold very still, I do not wish to hurt you.”

She does as told, leaning back so she can keep her head steady. Emmrich cautiously reaches out, pressing down close to her nose, retracting his hand when she gives any signs of pain, then moving to another spot. Bellara reappears and he begins to gently clean her skin, careful taps with a warm cloth around her nose before he wipes away the blood from the rest of her face.

“Thankfully, the bone does not appear to be fractured,” he says. “However, the swelling is severe and the cut, which caused most of the bleeding, might leave a rather nasty scar since we did not treat it immediately.”

His tone suggests that he is quite unhappy about this, about not being there as it happened. Rook keeps still as he further cleans the wound, sensing the healing magic that radiates from his hand and into her skin. He looks lovely in its glow and she feels better right away, though he cannot mend it perfectly without consulting a practiced healer.

“I leave you at the lighthouse for once and immediately come back injured.” She smiles weakly, trying to dissolve the tension. “This is why I usually ask you to come with me.”

“Do you find this amusing, Rook?”

“I find it amusing that you act like I almost died when in reality I just stumbled after an unfortunate hit,” she quips and, at his rather stern gaze, she adds. “You always look out for me, is what I was trying to say.”

His expression softens, a mild smile tugging at his lips. “I do because you are important.”

“To the team? Or to the Gods? Because I don’t think either of them cares about a disfigured nose.”

“Tsk.” He removes his hand, leaning back to inspect his work. “To me.”

Her heart speeds up, pulse throbbing against her painful nose. Emmrich seems satisfied with his progress and she wonders if he can see how her cheeks are heating up, not in pain or frustration this time. If he notices he does not let on, turning away to open whatever phial he had Bellara bring to patch her back up. The liquid feels cool, soothing the remaining pain for the time being.

“There,” he says. “The rest will heal on its own in due time. If you make sure to get sufficient rest, that is.”

He raises one eyebrow, the unspoken accusation that he notices her lack of respite. And of course he does, he notices everything about everyone. He said a similar thing to Bellara, it truly does not signify anything more than friendly affection.

Rook smiles, trying to hide the sting of pain that reaches into her heart this time. “I will. Thank you, Emmrich.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She can’t remember the last time she slept through so many hours. Rook wakes to the squeaky noise of the door hinges, then a loud but friendly hiss to announce the arrival of her skeletal friend. She blinks into the candles in front of her, then carefully sits up, as always with a hint of lingering back pain from resting on the uncomfortable sofa. Or perhaps her whole body is aching now that it’s recovering, remnants of the poorly executed fight yesterday.

Manfred is standing in the doorway, waiting for her to allow him to step inside. Emerald eyes sparkling in the glow of the aquarium, he holds out a tray to her.

“Oh, hello, Manfred,” she says, smiling at his delighted hiss when she speaks his name. “What do we have here?”

He chatters again as he walks up to her, placing the tray on the green leather with surprisingly steady hands. A pleasant smell of herbs and spices floods her nose, so welcome that it feels almost soothing to the pain that’s still haunting her face.

“Tea and a hot meal?” she asks, her stomach grumbling at the sight of fresh bread, cheese, a bowl of stew and some cut fruit. “Did Emmrich send you?”

Manfred gives a sound of confirmation and Rook feels her heart warming, thinking about Emmrich in the kitchen, preparing a meal just for her. But perhaps he did not, perhaps this is just what everyone is having right now. She slept so long that it might well be time for lunch already.

“You know, Manfred, he is a really good man,” Rook says, feeling the warmth of freshly-brewed tea in her hand as she picks up the cup. “He always looks out for everyone. Makes sure we eat and rest, shares his vast knowledge with us. We’re lucky to have him.”

Manfred chirps happily, no doubt agreeing, and Rook slowly and carefully eats her food, every movement of her mouth sending bolts of pain through her nose. It was Emmrich’s Corpse Whispering that left the strongest impression on her initially, something she had only ever heard of before, but he has been such a calming and steady presence ever since. She feels like she can be herself around him and they get lost in their conversations on necromancy on more occasions than she can count. Most importantly, though, they work well together on missions, somehow attuned to each other, to the magic they share, their culture. It is why she feels quite lost without him. So lost, apparently, that she slammed her head into a rock.

Belly full and limbs warmed, she offers to accompany Manfred back to the kitchen. He seems displeased at the notion, wanting to finish his task on his own, so she only follows him as far as the washroom. Another warm bath to soothe her aching muscles has to wait until later, though, and she soon finds her steps carrying her to the Eluvian.

Travelling so seamlessly has been a luxury, one that Rook would not want to miss. She still does not feel quite comfortable enough to go back to Nevarra on her own, though she would much prefer the flora in its gardens for what she has in mind. With Emmrich it is easier, a man so respected that his mere presence smooths out the waters.

Arlathan Forest, however, is beautiful in its own right. Rook greets the veil jumpers as she passes their camp, stops by the merchant to see if they have anything of interest, but remains empty-handed as she strolls into the woods. Leaves crunch underneath her feet, forced to take it slow as she is, and she can hear the animals faintly in the distance as they go about their own routines, the song of a bird here, a rustle in the foliage there. Every breath she takes is clean, her bruised nose eagerly absorbing the smell of moss and wood and magic.

It takes her a while to find what she is looking for. The plants have taken over the ruins, leaves so large that she could wrap them around herself like a blanket, roots protruding upwards to her knees. It is perpetually sunny, the air thrumming with magic, and the flowers she picks tickle her fingertips when she reaches out.

On her way back to the Eluvian she once against stops by the merchant, picking up a vase she eyed earlier. It is the colour of freshly cut lavender, matching the white and purple flowers she collected. The sweet smell of pollen spreads in the air when she places them inside, curving her lips into a smile at the simple beauty of it. He will enjoy them, she is quite sure of it.

“Someone special?” the merchant asks, cradling the gold in their hand.

Rook smiles. “Indeed. Thank you for the trade.”

The merchant hands her back one of the coins, a generous discount. “You’re more than welcome, Rook.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She pauses just shy of the door, hands trembling under tight-strung nerves. He could read this gesture in a myriad of ways, of course. Rook is aware that she could be misreading him as well, that her interest might not be welcome and his politeness obscuring any distaste he might have for her advances. It is, perhaps, the one risk that takes her the most courage to face.

She knocks and he bids her to enter right away, as he always does, recognising her by the unique way in which her knuckle kiss the door. As so often before she finds him bent over his desk, quill in hand, working on his correspondence, his diary or any one of his research papers.

“Ah, Rook! I was wondering when you’d feel well enough to pay me a visit. Tell me, has your nose improved at all? And–” He stops as he notes her standing there, awkwardly hovering by the door, flowers in hand. “Oh, darling Rook, are they for me?”

The words have her stomach flip, her increased heart rate aggravating the pain in her nose. She flinches a little, her face doing all sorts of acrobatics. “Ah, yes. I wanted to thank you for taking care of me– my nose, I mean.”

“But– Oh, please don’t tell me you went out to fetch these all by your lonesome? Dear Rook, you are recovering from an injury. A severe hit to the head could lead to all sorts of lingering after effects. I must insist that you ask someone to accompany you on such pursuits, no matter how noble the cause.”

“It was just a short trip to Arlathan, Emmrich, really. I feel quite well again.” She places the vase on one of the few free spots on his cluttered desk, books and documents covering most of its surface. “I am admittedly not much of a botanist but…”

“They are as lovely as the person who picked them,” he says rather smoothly, standing from his chair to make more room on the table. “Lilac is my favorite colour, how did you know?”

“Oh, I just thought they were pretty, to be quite honest.” If she did not know any better she would think her face is inflamed, considering how much hotter it feels with every passing second. “What I was trying to say… Thank you for having Manfred bring me some food earlier, for taking care of me. It was most welcome… and a little unexpected.”

“I thought you might need some sustenance after all the exhaustion,” he says. “I am glad to hear that it was to your liking, Rook. The cheese in particular is a favourite of mine, I had the chance to sample it when we were visiting the market in Treviso.”

“Emmrich, I–” Her voice breaks, then, and it must be her over-eager pulse or perhaps the room around her suddenly starts spinning. One moment she looks into his kind eyes and the next she has to slam her hand onto the table, just barely missing the vase she so carefully set down.

Emmrich is on her side of the desk within seconds, slotting his hands underneath her arms to keep her upright. Pain fizzles behind her eyes like a thousand blinking stars, an agonised little moan breaking from her throat.

“Oh, darling, you overexerted yourself,” he states. “Perhaps it is a concussion, after all. Can you hold onto me, Rook?”

She tries, she really does, but her body seems incapable of following the demands of her mind. Emmrich guides her to his chair, preventing the worst of a fall, and promptly takes her wrist, long fingers pressed to her pulse. She sighs, his skin surprisingly warm.

“Oh my,” he whispers. “Your heart rate is abnormally high, Rook. Are you in pain?”

“Not more than when I woke up.”

“Can you locate it for me, please? Where does it hurt?”

“Ugh, everywhere. I am sore, my nose–”

Emmrich’s lips press together tightly, his moustache twitching as he holds back a reply. Instead he stabilises her neck, one hand tilting her head back, the other sending a pleasantly warm energy through her sternum that soon spreads in her whole body.

“I know, I should have rested,” she admits, eyes closed. “But… Emmrich, what I was trying to say–”

“Rook,” he interrupts and she blinks to meet his gaze. “I am acutely aware that your own safety is at the very back of your priorities. But I feel that I must broach this topic now. Simply put, your health and safety are paramount, not just to the success of this mission but–” He trails off, his gaze melting into one of affectionate concern. “When you came back, covered in blood…”

“You seemed really calm,” she says.

He chuckles but his expression remains serious. “It was required of me, considering that none of us knew how gravely wounded you truly were. But I will freely admit that I was anything but calm on the inside. I could live very well without repeating this experience ever again, so if you could do me the favour and promise me– promise me– to better look after yourself.”

His words are tinged with such genuine care that she finds herself trying to nod, though his hand prevents her from moving her head. “I promise,” she whispers instead, allowing him to finish relieving her pain, the green glow of his magic separating their faces like a veil made of light. His hand is only hovering above her breast bone and yet it feels as though her heart is trying to leap out of her chest and land in his palm.

“Now, what is it that you were trying to tell me, dear?”

Her throat is dry and blocked up, the moment stretching out so long that a reply becomes superfluous. Emmrich does not seem to mind, not when when he is so focused on his task. When he eventually removes his hands, waving away his connection to the fade under a faint choir of jingling bracelets, she has already forgotten what she was trying to say.

“Do you like the flowers?” she asks, eventually.

“I adore them,” he replies, a hand gently placed on her forearm and his expression is so tender that she could weep with how much he means to her. “You know that no gifts or thank yous are ever required when I help you, don’t you, dear? Though I much appreciate the kind gesture.”

“You love flowers,” she just states.

“I do quite enjoy them,” he agrees.

They are not speaking of flowers, Rook knows this, and yet as he gently leans in she thinks she must be dreaming. This time, she is light-headed for all the right reasons, closing her eyes and sensing him, the faint smell of burnt candles and soap, his fingers curling around her arm, thumb pressed to her pulse even now. The air between them tastes like the calm before a storm, charged, electric, and he takes his time as she waits for him to close the gap.

A knock breaks the silence. “Professor? Do you have a moment?”

Rook blinks her eyes open but Emmrich has already withdrawn, moving to stand and brush the dust off his knees. He nervously sways from left to right, tugging at his sleeve, his vest.

“One moment, Harding!” he calls back.

“I should go and get some more sleep,” Rook says. “Just like the professor ordered.”

Emmrich smiles, holding out his hand for her. “Quite right. Can you stand?”

“I think so, yes.”

She feels steadier on her feet, his magic having cleared most of her sudden unbalance, and she avoids taking his hand if only so she doesn’t faint again. When she passes Harding in the hallway she ignores her curious gaze. It takes her a while to fall back asleep, the faint taste of iron lingering on her tongue.

✦ ✧ ✦

The air is potent with the smell of food and spices, though dust and debris seem to never quite settle as they make their way through cobbled, beaten streets. Minrathous is still recovering from the attack but life has, somehow, returned to a vague sense of normal. Neve navigates them through food stalls, street vendors, makeshift tents and shops, anything so people can offer their wares in exchange for much needed coin. Rook is filling every plate she can see, some coins here, some coins there, and she catches Emmrich doing the same, adding a little more each time he passes. He buys some crystals he doesn’t really need, a newspaper, some new gloves for Manfred.

They have been trying to gather information on the Venatori, meeting with Neve’s contacts, and decided to spend more time in the city after that. It’s risky, to a degree, since they are definitely on their radar now, but they have not had the chance to go out in a while.

“Back to the Swan?” Neve asks. “I could use a drink.”

“I don’t see why not,” Emmrich says. “Rook, what do you think?”

It’s the last thing she hears before a deafening groan vibrates in the air and the top half of the house in front of them comes sliding down, the ground shaking underneath their feet. The building crumbles into the sea below, dust and sea foam spreading like fog to cloud their vision. People shout, hurrying away from the scene, and Rook feels a hand tugging at her sleeve, trying to hold on as the earth continues to quake.

“Venatori!” Neve calls out.

They lose her amongst the ruckus. Rook grabs the arm that clings to her, running into the opening of a narrow alley she saw just seconds ago. The air clears with every step and she finally concludes that she’s dragging Emmrich behind her who grasps her arm so tightly that she fears it might bruise. They hide in a crevice between two doorways, just obscured enough by the walls around them.

“I am relieved I did not lose you,” he says, so deep in her personal space that she can feel his breath on her hair. “Are you alright, Rook?”

“I’m fine but we should wait until they’re further away.”

“I agree.”

Rook’s heart rate stays on a dangerously high level, a lightheadedness taking hold of her. Emmrich is so close that she can feel his warmth radiating off of him and when she glances up she directly faces his mouth. His lips are pressed together, though his skin carries some of the fine dust from the collapse. She fights the urge to reach out.

“Incidentally,” he says after a while, and she observes his lips as they form the word. “Now that I see you from up close I must ask, how is your nose? Is it still tender?”

“A little,” she admits, instinctively reaching for it but retracting her hand before impact with the bruising. “It’s more of a dull ache now, like I have a weight resting on it that makes it hard to breathe.”

“The swelling has gone down significantly. If you allow me, I can–” He pauses, his hand hovering in mid air. “Inspect it, again.”

“Please.”

He removes his gloves, tilting her chin up with a slightly sweaty finger. It is hard to focus on anything but his face, his freckles, the little twitch of his moustache as he focuses on the task at hand, his brow furrowed to bring out the usually so gentle lines on his forehead. Only when he lifts his other hand, the one that usually jingles with gold when he moves, does she manage to avert her gaze.

At first, the contact barely registers, but as he gently presses against the bridge of her nose, Rook hisses. It is a sound of surprise, not as much of pain, even though the sensation is rather unpleasant.

“Forgive me,” Emmrich murmurs, and, entirely unnecessary, follows the line underneath her eye, then back to her nose and again on the other side. “It is healing well on its own, I must say. I don’t think I have to use any more spells to speed up the process.”

She smiles, watches as he so patiently traces the soft skin over her cheekbone. “So, this is just an excuse to touch me?”

His eyes widen, finger retreating, but he quickly recovers and moves back to her nose. “Oh, of course not, it is your well-being that is of priority.” Then, after a short pause he adds: “However, I will admit it is a pleasant side effect. Unless– I do not wish to overstep–”

“Emmrich,” she interrupts. “I like it when you touch me.”

He pauses for but a moment, noting the way she has drawn into herself, speaking the words with confidence but still fearing for his reaction. “Dear, you did not have to risk breaking your nose to tempt me, you could have simply asked.”

She furrows her brow before realising that this is his attempt at a joke. Or... at flirting? A delighted smile spreads despite the pain, the relief of realising that her feelings aren’t unwelcome after all. “I felt that you were too polite to admit that you’d want to, so I had to give you an opportunity.”

“You think your teasing has gone unnoticed, then?” he whispers. “Or your compliments?”

“I was wondering about it since you seemed so hesitant to take another step towards me.”

“Ah.” His smile falters and he glances away briefly. “It is not that I did not have the desire to do so, my dear, but there is still a matter that rather occupies me.”

“What matter would that be?”

“Flattery is certainly one thing, amusing and invigorating. I quite enjoy these playful moments,” he elaborates. “And I do feel flattered by your attentions, very much so, I am merely wondering if they go beyond shallow adulation.”

“I genuinely like you, Emmrich,” Rook confesses, somehow feeling more confident out here, in her armour, hidden away from the world. “Our situation is perhaps not the most fertile grounds for romance. But I do mean every word I say, I would like to get to know you better, Emmrich, see where it takes us.”

His hand unfolds against her cheek, large enough to cover the whole side of her head, his thumb caressing her cheekbone with featherlight touches. “I am delighted to hear that you feel the same way, Rook.”

Gentle fingers comb through her hair, brushing away the dust that has gathered between messy strands. She’s not sure what do with her own hands, wanting to touch but also not wanting to move, not to startle him into stopping.

“I do not enjoy seeing you bruised, my dear,” he whispers.

“I know, I still look quite beaten up.”

“You look lovely, even with your purple nose.”

It’s like his words alone drag the corners of her mouth upwards until her cheeks hurt. Somehow the little distance between them shrinks to a mere blink, the tip of his nose almost tickling hers. And then he leans in and his lips brush her cheek, softly at first, then firmer until she really feels their softness, feels the tickle of his moustache against her skin. Her chest is warm, stomach restless and she smells the faint scent of incense in his hair.

“Beautiful flushed cheeks,” he whispers, voice deeper than usual. “How warm they feel to the touch. Are you shy, darling?”

She could burst right then and there, her heart drumming against her ribcage. Considering it was her who started initiating their sweet talk, she finds herself quite out of words now that he has suddenly kicked his own flattery into gear. Her hands are so sweaty in her gloves that she wishes she had taken them off as well. If she stepped on her tiptoes now she is certain their mouths would touch.

“Rook? Emmrich?” Neve’s footsteps echo in the alleyway. Flushed cheeks and caught expressions, they step out into the open. “Hey, they’re gone. Apparently they knew the building was unsalvageable, tried to gently break it apart but lost control. We found no casualties.”

“What a relief!” Emmrich says.

“Perhaps we should get that drink at the Lighthouse,” Rook remarks.

They wordlessly agree.

✦ ✧ ✦

“So, you and Emmrich?”

Rook looks up from her precariously full plate, eyeing Harding as she sinks her teeth into her ham and jam slam with sides of fresh fruit and cheese. She sat down not before she made Rook her own version of the sandwich and, as so often since the two crossed paths, they like to spend their meals chatting. Usually they fall into easy banter about the different customs between Nevarran and dwarven culture, old stories about their lives before they came here, people they used to know. Rook, so used to these safe topics, chokes on her bread at the sudden change.

“What about us?”

“Well, you know, it’s kind of hard to miss, really, with how you keep whispering and giggling and hanging out all the time...”

“We haven’t even–” Rook says. “It’s not–”

“Oh, no, I don’t want any of those details, if you know what I mean. It’s just… it must be odd, to be with someone who is so much older, right?”

Rook eyes Harding, gauging whether she’s simply curious or opposed. Her friend seems genuine enough, though she can never be quite certain as to her intentions. “Not really? So far it hasn’t been an issue.”

“That’s good! He said a similar thing when I talked to him about it but he was quick to change the subject.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, you know, we all just want you guys to be happy.”

Rook gives a smile, though she’s not sure that she means it. It has been on her mind, of course, whether it’s a good idea to flirt with an older man, to fall for an older man. But it’s not like she had a choice, not when he exists around her like he was always meant to be in her life. Emmrich sparked into her world like the moon lights up the night sky, a bright star in the middle of all-consuming darkness, beautiful and comforting, life-giving. It is ironic, considering his profession, how she hasn’t felt this alive since leaving Nevarra. He has a way of centering her, making her feel connected to the culture she was so scared to lose, all while he treats her like she’s the most special person in the world. Falling for him was never a choice, it was an inevitable outcome.

The rest of dinner is spent in relative silence, the tension of their conversation followed by a distinct lack of energy to talk. Rook’s day hasn’t gone particularly well, even by current standards, and the exhaustion is settling in her bones like lead. They spent most of it dispelling a band of dark spawn in the Hossberg Wetlands, a task that Davrin and Assan carried if she’s being honest. It took her two hours to scrub off the grime that came with it, her skin still raw and her muscles aching from treading the wet, swampy muck for so long.

After a short break in front of the fire Rook feels drawn to the quiet cold of the library. She sinks into the sofa, grabbing the book she left on the round table earlier, bound in dark green cloth. Quite a while ago Emmrich offered her to borrow any books from his personal collection she deems interesting and she makes use of it as often as time allows. Lately, she’s kept the same book close to her, rereading parts of it, tracing the simple but beautiful cover.

“Rook! I thought I heard you come in, darling.”

Emmrich descends the stairs, alone for once, and she sets the book down, scoots to make room for him. “I just had dinner with Harding. She showed me the recipe she adjusted for you.”

“The yam and jam slam?”

Rook giggles as she nods, such odd words from his usually so polished mouth. “I enjoyed it, the combination is quite unusual.”

Emmrich smiles as he sits down, amused by her reaction. He doesn’t touch, still holding back, still waiting until he can see that she is comfortable with his proximity.

“Did I interrupt your reading, dear?” he inquires.

“I might be too tired, either way. My eyes feel heavier than ever.”

“Might I read to you, then?”

Rook glances up, admiring his side profile, catching his eyes as she realises that she hasn’t relied to him. “That would be lovely, Emmrich.”

He seems delighted, leaning forward to reach for her book. His hand caresses the cover, then his eyes widen. “Oh, but that is one of my very own monographs, dear! It is an introductory work, you’ll find it quite redundant to what you already know. Might I suggest Tretenhoff’s work instead? He has a few compositions that should greatly appeal to your particular interests, something to indulge in for these long evenings.”

“It is not so much about absorbing new information,” she says, running her hand over the gold-foiled lettering on the book’s cover. Professor Emmrich Volkarin. “While I do find your work interesting it is also… a comfort. Knowing that you wrote the words, finding the familiarity in your tone, I can almost hear you speak them to me, your voice, your intonation…”

His expression melts into one of gentle surprise. “My darling, I never knew–”

“I’m so sorry. You must think it silly–”

“But not at all,” he interrupts. “I find it rather flattering, my dear. I must admit that I had no idea that you were in need – or want – of my comfort.”

“I don’t like to admit it.” She avoids his gaze, though he gently takes her hand to stop her from picking at the book, placing it on his thigh. “I am used to juggling everything by myself and that’s how it should be, I take responsibility for what I do so I can hardly go cry about it. I cannot… cannot unload my own concerns or regrets on the team, on you. That would not be right.”

“Rook, might I politely disagree?”

She can’t bring herself to look up, though she knows he expects her to and it would be the polite thing to do. But if she did he might see the tears coating her eyes, gathering at their corners, emotions she’s been burying for weeks.

“How could I, Emmrich?” she says instead. “You see the way Neve looks at me, that she can never forgive me. I have to make impossible choices every day and I have to live with the pain and regret that it brings. If I don’t, who else will?”

“Darling,” he whispers and his fingers curl underneath her jaw, gently tilting her head up. “How long have you been carrying this without saying a word to anyone?”

She need not reply, he knows the answer.

“You carry a burden, Rook, and you carry it gracefully.” A smile curves his lips, filled with all the faith he has in her, with all the pride swells in his chest. “But that does not mean the load won’t be too heavy, at times. I can lend you a hand, if you let me.”

“I think I would like that,” she mumbles, though she feels entirely unworthy, undeserving of what he’s offering to her. “I think for now I would just like you to read to me.”

“Very good. While I do so, I want you to let go of these thoughts, sit and listen, breathe deeply, in and out, slow and steady.” He opens the book and she does as told, leaning back and following the rhythm he dictates. She watches his nimble fingers as they turn the page, the low rustling sound gently interrupting the quiet of the room. “I must admit, I have not picked up any of my introductory works in quite some time. I hope it still holds up.”

“It does,” she assures him. “I’ve read it twice now.”

He releases a sound somewhere between a hum and a chuckle. “Very well, then. I trust a fellow Watcher’s judgement.”

For a while, she follows along as he reads, her eyes tracing the shapes on the page. His voice is always mesmerising, especially when he speaks on topics that have sparked his particular interest, but to hear him reading his very own thoughts, his own theories and ideas and explanations, it brings her more peace than she has felt in months. Instead of the usual excitement his voice bears a calmness this time, though upon discovery of his favourite parts his pitch changes. On occasion he slips, adding revisions, explaining to her what he would word differently now, what insights he has won since then.

Rook rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, and lets his voice carry her away from her worries. Her hand is still laying on his thigh and after a moment she lets her fingers climb down his forearm, fingertips counting the many gold bracelets until she reaches the end. Her fingers press to his wrist, measuring his steady pulse underneath his skin, caressing him until his voice stutters and he has to restart his sentence. When she opens her eyes she sees a thin trail of goosebumps peeking out of his cuff. Her fingers slide further down, resting in the small space between his palm and the edge of the book. He is warm, softer than expected, and she decides to stay there now, feeling the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat against the ball of her hand.

As Emmrich continues to read she closes her eyes again, thinks about kissing the dimple on his chin, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the dip where it meets the delicate skin of his neck. Everything about him calls to her and even though she’s grateful for how considerate he is she finds it hard to hold back. At first she turns her head until her nose brushes against his skin, then she leans up until her lips meet the spot right below his ear. It is a featherlight touch and yet she can feel him vibrating as a shiver runs through him, ever more goosebumps appearing on his skin.

Emmrich stops, takes a deep breath, and she notes that he’s glancing at her. “Darling–”

“Too much?” she asks.

“No, not at all,” he whispers. “In fact, it doesn’t feel sufficient in the slightest.”

His fingers uncurl from the book and slip between hers until he is comfortably holding her hand. Rook has to smile, painfully wide, his fingers so long that they make her hand look tiny when he squeezes. She can feel his rings, too, warmed from his own body heat. It feels right to press another kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling a slight stubble against her lips. This time she is more daring, lingering for a moment longer.

“Are you even listening, dear?” he asks softly.

“Here and there,” she whispers.

For a while they stay exactly like that, Emmrich reading and Rook dozing on his shoulder, soft kisses and heavy sighs, shivers and squeezes. He must have finished the first chapter by the time they’re interrupted by a displeased hiss. Manfred walks into their field of view and Rook reluctantly lifts her head.

“Oh, I quite forget the time, Manfred, you must forgive me,” Emmrich says. “Perhaps you could serve the tea here instead? I wish to stay a little longer.”

“You could join us,” Rook offers. “I think we’ll reach the section on wisps soon.”

“So you are listening!”

Manfred hisses happily and departs to fetch the tea. Rook pulls her legs up onto the sofa, settling more snuggly against Emmrich’s side with their hands now resting in her lap and the book in his. When she rests her head back on his shoulder she can feel a rumble of a laugh spreading through him, warming her very heart.

“Are you quite comfortable, dearest?” he asks, so beautifully amused.

Rook hums and closes her eyes. “I have never been more comfortable in my life.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She has been staring off into the distance for a while now, seated on the balcony with her legs dangling off the edge. Her elbow propped on the plinth of the statue of Mythal, she rests her head in her palm, contemplative. Even from here it is hard to imagine infinity. With the Fade stretching out in front of her, an endless expanse right before her eyes, the impossibility of it should dissolve in her mind. However, Rook finds that the contrary is true. The more she sees of it, the more she learns, the less she feels she knows, leading to an encroaching sense that her perception of it is but a weak attempt at true understanding. Despite being confronted with the Fade for most of her life at the Necropolis, despite pulling from it to use her magic, it never quite loses its mystery. The Fade has a way of surprising her again and again the more she finds out, the more is revealed to her through Solas’s memories, the clues he’s scattered around his domain.

Emmrich has been helping her make sense of it, though the reality is that whenever they spend time together she finds it harder and harder to use her brain for research. He’s much better at staying on topic and she enjoys simply listening to him while he draws connections, figures out solutions to her questions, flipping pages in his books to find the exact passage she off-handedly reminded him of. To her delight and despite his interest in the subject matter she finds it easier to distract him as well, though, often without trying. Sitting next to each other reading has turned into her dozing half in his lap, where he forgets to turn the page because his hand is too occupied combing through her hair or brushing along the curve of her knees, sentences interrupted because they can’t help but get lost in the other’s gaze, shy smiles across the room that pull him from conversations with the others.

“Ah, I thought those were your legs dangling so precariously over the balcony.”

She looks up startled, though she can’t imagine how she failed to hear his steps, his bangles jingling as he approaches. Emmrich carries a small wooden bowl in his hand and she wonders if he came up the stairs below her, how lost in thought she must have been to miss him.

“Have you been looking for me?” she asks, scooting away from the edge to face him.

“I thought I would go ahead and cut up some fruit for you, darling. I could not help but notice that you weren’t present during our last meal,” he explains. “With some regret, might I add, since Lucanis took such care preparing your favourite.”

“It’s very sweet of you to think of me,” she says, noting the subtle smile on his lips. “I just– Well, I fell asleep for a few hours after we came back from Treviso which was honestly great since I have not been sleeping well.”

“I must say that I am not surprised, considering that you seem to fall asleep on me the moment I open a book.” His tone is mildly teasing as he sits down next to her, leaning back against the nearby pillar, and Rook knows that he won’t be leaving anytime soon. “Do you know why sleep is trying to elude you?”

“Well, not everyone has a feather pillow,” she jokes, though his concern is welcome, as is the bowl he hands over. Since their conversation about her worries he has been even more attentive as to her whereabouts, her well-being. It is a blessing and a curse, making her fall for him so much faster than she’s used to.

“Your current accommodations aren’t to your satisfaction, then? They seem comfortable enough when I visit.”

Rook feels a familiar heat creep into her cheeks. They haven’t gone very far as to the physical nature of their relationship, though she feels that he knows her more intimately than anyone else. Emmrich is romancing her in the truest sense of the word, carrying her off to the Necropolis for walks through the Memorial Gardens, showcasing his magic to plan elaborate dinners, cooks and skeleton musicians, Manfred preparing tea for them in the familiarity of his quarters while they talk about whatever comes to mind, unhurried, getting lost in their shared interests. He begun to visit her in the meditation room after dinner now, reading to her as he did on the sofa that first time. When he holds her close like that she feels the weight of the day melt away, the only time she can truly let go of her responsibilities in order to rest, and she has a suspicion that’s exactly why he does it.

Rook appreciates that he takes his time with her, that he gets to know the real her. His soft touches reach under her skin, when he holds her hand in his larger one, the press of his lips to her cheek always accompanied by a light tickle of his moustache, his fingers protectively spread on the small of her back, occasionally curling around her to pull her closer. A warm palm on her knee when she settles beside him, fingers drawing slow circles over the bone that nip at her heart. It leaves her aching for him, for more of his touch, though perhaps he’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing. Even now he seems perplexed, at times, when his attentions bear fruit, when she blushes for him, stutters at unexpected compliments or openly flirts back, when she melts into his touch, bestowing him with kisses of her own. He is a confident man who knows of his appeal, and yet it is as though he struggles to fathom that she truly means it.

“You’re very far away, darling,” he notes. “Physically as well as mentally, I suspect.”

“Sorry,” Rook says, remembering the bowl he placed in her hand. Neat wedges of apple, berries and some melon, half a banana that he cut into even slices. Her diet has become much richer in variety since they gained access to so many regions, so many recipes her friends share with her.

“I am not disturbing you am I? If it is solitude you seek–”

“No, not at all.” She shakes herself awake, pops a berry into her mouth that splits into sour juice and tart skin, the barest hint of sweetness. For a while she eats, trying the different flavours together,  berries and banana, the apples some of the best they’ve had in a while. When she offers to share Emmrich only accepts a few berries. Her heart feels warm, not because of the food but because of the gesture, the feeling of being taken care of by this wonderful man who watches her eat like it brings him just as much joy. “Thank you for this, Emmrich. It’s very sweet of you to look after me.”

“Oh but of course, darling. If you are ready for a proper meal I’m sure Lucanis can heat up some of the leftovers.”

“Perhaps later, I’m enjoying your company too much right now,” she says and he lifts his eyebrow, still waiting for her to come to him.

She only scoots a little closer before he grabs her legs and swings them over his, one hand settling on her hips while the other adjusts her knees. When he sits up straighter he gives a pained little grunt and she’s acutely aware that they’ve been sitting on the hard floor for a while.

“We can move inside if your back isn’t happy,” she whispers.

He gives a tsk, like he wants to let her know what utter nonsense that is, and she can’t help but smile a little at that. Once he’s settled he holds onto her tightly, squeezing at the flesh of her hips, pulling her ever closer. “Now, do you want to tell me why you’re sitting alone out here, dearest?”

She has to look up to meet his eyes, his scent flooding her nose, his warmth spreading through her limbs, and with him so close it’s hard to remember what occupied her mind all day. “A feeble attempt at… escaping everything, I suppose.”

“Escaping?”

“I slept but… it’s not the kind of sleep that makes you less tired, that takes you away from the world so you can rest. Solas– It seems I can’t escape for even a few hours and when he’s not there I dream– if I manage to fall asleep at all, instead of wasting hours with the attempt.”

Emmrich’s hand begins to stroke along her upper thigh, fingertips pressing into the tightness of the muscle. It grounds her, as does the gentle, understanding nod he gives her. “What is it that you’re mulling over in your head? That won’t let you sleep?”

“Fears, concerns, just… so many thoughts that tear me in every direction. I toss and turn but I can’t seem to get comfortable, not with my mind racing like that. I just wish Varric– I don’t want to disappoint him. Or any of you, for that matter. I feel like I have to solve all of these problems in my head, like I’m wasting time if I don’t at least think about them.”

“Rook, darling, you are exceptional at solving problems, at finding ways out of impossible situations, not while you rest but ad hock, as they arise. I have never met another person who is such a quick-thinker.”

“That is… kind of the issue.” She takes his free hand in hers, fiddling with the rings on his finger and watching as the light catches in the stones. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to know. I wish I could just breathe… and feel. Just once, just for a short while.”

Emmrich doesn’t reply. When she glances back up compassion fills his eyes and he regards her with such care and affection that she’d feel undeserving, if it weren’t for him reminding her of the contrary every so often. She holds his gaze for a while, slowly sliding her fingers between his, and his grip on her thigh tightens. His brows relax, then, and his eyes flicker to her mouth.

“I am certain there are ways… to take your mind off of things,” he says, his voice dropping to a low whisper. His fingers untangle from hers and soon his palm finds her cheek instead, cradling her head in a way that has her blood rushing to her face. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Thumb pushing her chin up, he leans in slowly, and as her eyes close Rook only feels the warmth of his breath against her skin. His mouth descends on hers, then, careful, a light brush of his lips against hers. He breaks away after a moment, eyelids drooping, lust-heavy, lashes fluttering open just enough to see if she’s alright. Without thinking she finds herself reaching up for more, utterly lost to the sensation, and he immediately presses in more firmly at her insistence. Rook’s hand finds purchase on his chest, fingers fanned out over his heart, then sliding upwards to his neck to pull him impossibly closer, only briefly getting caught on his pin. Emmrich sighs into it, curling his fingers around her head, angling her to his liking as he deepens the kiss. The taste of berries lingers on his tongue and she can feel his moustache prickling at her cupid’s bow. By now her whole body is tingling, nerves alight. His other hand has wandered up to her waist, slotting neatly into the valley above her hip to draw her in until their upper bodies are almost flush.

A whine escapes her at the feeling of him so close, a new kind of need trickling into her belly, and she forgets about the bowl in her lap until she tries to move and it slides to the floor next to them. The sound penetrates the tiny space they made for themselves but it doesn’t burst. Emmrich pulls back, not once glancing away from her, his eyes so set on her lips that they never fully open. She keeps close as well, breaths mingling and noses touching. Right when she thinks he’ll lean in again  his eyes flick up to hers, searching for her expression.

“How do you feel now, dearest?” he asks, thumb caressing her cheekbone.

Rook can’t help but laugh against the sudden rush of affection, the giddy sensation below her breastbone. “Like you’re the only person in the world, like I never want to stop doing this.”

He joins in, a low chuckle that he exhales against her neck, lips placed just below her ear. When he kisses her there the feeling travels from her chest to her stomach. “Mhm, I think we can do even more for you, darling. If you just hold still…”

Her gaze blurs and she closes her eyes to the sensation, the world around her finally quiet with his mouth on her skin. Fingers combing through his hair she feels him hum from somewhere deep in his throat and for the first time in weeks it’s easy to let go, no other thought strong enough to push past the intensity with which he occupies her every sense. She briefly thinks that it’s reckless to let herself fall so completely, but as with the endless Fade around them there are things bigger than her, uncontrollable, and all she can do is surrender.

✦ ✧ ✦

Emmrich watches her as she reads, perched on a chair in front of the fire. His book, still. Or again, rather. She doesn’t seem to get tired of it, of him, even though they spend so much time together now that he’s surprised she just lets him keep talking and talking until he has to reign it in himself. The first time he caught her tracing his name on the cover he felt like he could sweep her of her feet, pull her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. He finds himself thinking about similar scenarios more often now that he can allow himself to indulge.

“The ground herbs now, Manfred,” he orders.

Manfred gives a hiss that he’d place more on the side of confused than understanding. Unusual, since they have been working on these types of healing potions multiple times a week now. He should be more than familiar with the procedure.

“The herbs, please,” Emmrich repeats, but his eyes are back on Rook, turning the page, her legs crossed with one foot bobbing up and down. Just earlier he had her in his lap in the exact same chair, eager for his kisses, giggling when he nosed down her neck, something he has become quite addicted to. Neck kisses, it turns out, are a particular weakness of hers.

Suddenly, an alarmed hiss. Emmrich’s startled out of his fantasy not just by Manfred but by the reagent exploding right in front of his face. Just in time he ducks to avoid the splashes landing on his skin, disgruntled when he notices a dark green stain on his pristine white sleeve. The potion he’s been working on for the past hour has turned black, fuming angrily at his mistake. Though not dangerous it is a silly error, one that was entirely preventable had he just paid more attention. This has not happened to him since he attended his first few alchemy classes way back then.

“Are you okay?” he hears Rook’s voice, though his vision is obstructed by plumes of a particularly foul-smelling fog.

“Oh, we are fine, dearest,” Emmrich calls out. Manfred gives a displeased noise at this half-lie, wiping at the spills on the table just like he’d shown him a while ago, cautious to protect himself against any potential contact to acids or other dangerous substances.

“Is it meant to smoke like that?”

Manfred hisses again as the gurgling sounds increase and Emmrich has no time to answer as he quickly adds a neutralising ingredient to save the potion from utter ruin. The smoke dissipates, the smell slowly turning into a more pleasant aroma and the colour shifts back to light green.

“The temperature has not gone down enough,” Emmrich says and Manfred chitters in his best impression of an I-told-you-so. “Ah come now, you still added them.”

The next hiss is quieter as though he’s grumbling into an imaginary beard and Emmrich gives a defeated sigh, relenting that he was at fault after all. Rook has reached his side by then, snaking an arm around his waist as she takes in the situation.

“I did alchemy classes for a while,” she says. “What happened? Didn’t you say you can brew this one in your sleep?”

“I was… distracted,” Emmrich admits, tugging her closer to his side. “It could have used another minute or two more before adding the herbs.”

“Mhm. Distracted by… ?”

The teasing smile on her face is enough to lighten his mood but with Manfred present he doesn’t want to give in yet. She’s smiling at him like she’s just waiting for him to be done and if he’s quite honest with himself he could use a break. They’ve restocked their potion supplies quite well, so this final batch should last them for a while. Time to clean up and allow his focus to shift to where it truly wishes to be.

“Let me finish here, darling, and then we can discuss the finer details of… potion brewing, hm?”

She tiptoes up to press a kiss to his cheek, mouth curved into a barely suppressed grin, then retreats to her chair to give him space. Emmrich still feels her lips on his skin when Manfred comes back with a fresh dish of ground herbs and this time they wait long enough before adding them. As he carefully bottles the potion Manfred disappears to clean the rest of their supplies. Only then does he allow his gaze to return to Rook by the fire.

“So, how did you enjoy those alchemy lessons, darling?”

“Oh, they were fun, though I never pursued any advanced classes on the matter.” She closes the book, setting it down on the chair with careful fingers. His gaze follows the gentle sway of her hips as she walks up to help him cork the bottles. “Perhaps I should. I’d like to go back to my studies at some point.”

“What a splendid idea! It is never too late, darling.” Emmrich hands her the labels and she dutifully glues them to the bottles. With a hint of pride he watches how she makes sure they’re straight and centered, just like he showed her a while ago. “As a matter of fact you might find enrolling for advanced courses that pertain to your interests quite stimulating. You are an intelligent young woman, a fast-learner with practical experience. I’m certain my colleagues would be delighted to have you in class. And even beyond, what we experience here in the Fade, everything we have learned… it practically begs for thorough scientific appraisal.”

“I’m not sure they would even accept me after what happened. And besides, would that not be a conflict of interest?”

“Oh, you would not be taking any of my classes, dear. It would not be a good look if I favoured you or helped you into any higher positions under my influence.”

She furrows her brow. “But even your colleagues would know who I am.”

“There are plenty of areas you could branch out to, within or outside of my area of expertise, and I know of a few colleagues who share our… distaste for parts of the nobility, who might be willing to overlook any past transgressions. My advice is that you must find a path to whatever calls to you, my darling, and not make it dependant on my work.”

She takes a deep breath, evidently not convinced. “I just hope I can go back at all.”

“My dear, I should think that saving the world makes for quite an impressive addition to your resume.”

“I’m not… Ugh. Emmrich, I’m not talking about work or my studies, there is enough that needs to be done around the Necropolis. I just think if we want to…” She looks up at him, almost shyly, reluctant to tell the truth. “If we want to build a future and half the Necropolis hates me–”

“Half the Necropolis?” He chuckles. “You exaggerate, dearest.”

Her confused expression tells him that she took note of how he avoided the first part of her statement, not quite deliberately. “What I’m trying to say is that what I care most about is being with you, after all of this is over. Returning to the Mourn Watch, yes, but also making sure we get to be together and finally find some peace.”

Emmrich can’t help the sigh that escapes him, his thoughts returning to a place he has been trying to avoid as of late. “Darling, while I appreciate your enthusiasm on the matter, I do not wish to see you sacrificing your potential for me.”

“That’s not what it is, though, Emmrich. I’m telling you that I’m… that I’m ready to commit to a future with you. I really want to make this work.”

A distant throbbing in his temple, his breath speeding up just the tiniest bit as the old fear comes creeping in. He’s so much older than her, so much closer to not having much of a future left, and here is this bright young woman so enamoured with him that she can’t see how she’s not just going to spend the next few decades loving him but potentially taking care of him as his health declines, ultimately losing him to his own mortality. All he can think of is how she doesn’t realise what she’s agreeing to, that perhaps he was too lax, allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of this union without the proper precautions.

“It is easy to forget,” he says, “just how young you are.”

His gaze is still trained on the bottles and he notices how her hands still.

At her lack of a response he looks up. “Rook–”

Something in her expression changes then, irrevocably, tightened lips, the tense heat of humiliation, and he knows instantly that he misstepped, his silence on the very matter she needed reassurance on painfully noted. “So it’s Rook again now? That’s it?”

“Do you even realise what kind of commitment you are speaking of?” He can’t keep his voice steady, betraying that he is not as calm as he’d wish to appear. “The sacrifices, the eventual loss? I would not impress this upon you if it was not necessary, Rook, but you need to understand what it means if we truly, irrevocably, fall into this. I remember, at your age, I was–”

“Wait, hold on. Let me make sure I understand what we are really talking about.” Her hands fly to her hips, defiantly, the same fire he’d admire on any other day, words leaving her mouth before she can even think to let him finish. “You trust me to make all the right calls to save the world, to keep our team safe, to defeat two ancient Elven Gods, but you don’t think I’m capable of making informed decisions in our relationship?”

His jaw falls open. “Darling–”

“What are you really scared of? That you could actually love me? Or is it that I don’t fit into your life back home?”

Emmrich pales at the implication, his tongue not catching up fast enough to form the right words. ”No, dear, this is not at all what I’m trying to say.“

She’s already shut him out, then, retreating into herself, and he regrets that he ever mentioned such a thing. “Well, at least now I know where we’re at.”

“Darling–”

“I’ll carry these to the stash.”

She’s gone before he can recover, glass bottles rattling as she rushes past. You don’t think I’m capable of making informed decisions in our relationship? He closes his eyes for a moment, hand holding on tightly to the edge of the table as a wave of regret washes over him. It was not what he meant to imply, though it starts to dawn on him how she came to the conclusion. He went about this the wrong way, not a subject matter for such spontaneous discussion, at least not after she admitted that she wishes to share her precious future with him.

A deep sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He let his fear get the better of him, again, to the detriment of the person he’s starting to care most about. Minutes later, when Manfred reappears,  he is still standing still, confused chatters at the sight of him in front of the table where he now places the cleaned potion utensils.

“Thank you, Manfred,” Emmrich finally says. “You have to excuse me for a moment, I must go and talk to Rook.”

✦ ✧ ✦

The Grand Necropolis swallows her in the way she’s always felt as a comforting embrace. To walk amongst the spirits brings a peace that is hard to find elsewhere, wisps following along as she traverses the ever shifting rooms, the sands of time crunching underneath her feet, wails of long forgotten souls crying to be heard, seeking the peace and comfort only a watcher can offer.

Rook feels the weight of missing her home, the increasing sense that she’s almost a stranger now, but losing it is only one of many things that have uprooted her.

It is easy to forget just how young you are.

He’d said it almost casually dismissive and she was so taken aback by it that her breath caught, the unexpected pain so heavy in her chest that she’s not sure she’s recovered from it even now. She’s always felt the gap between their ages only as a steady, reassuring thing that enabled him to a deeper understanding, not less. He is so much more settled than anyone she’s been with before, so assured in what he wants, reliable, supportive, experienced, the very antidote to her anxieties and restlessness. The words of her companions come to mind, their concerns at how fast they’re moving, and then, distantly, the idea that perhaps his infatuation with her wore off after all, the novelty of whatever drew him to her.

Then he called her Rook and the name almost hurt more than his previous words, as though he confirmed her worst fears by falling back on it, dropping the words of affection. It is easy to get swept up in the overwhelming intoxication of fresh love, she knew her attentions always flattered him, that he’s not in the habit of dating people so much younger, in fact hasn’t been this close with anyone in quite some time. It’s entirely possible that their argument burst their idealist bubble, that he suddenly realised it’s not what he wants after all. That she is not what he wants.

The Memorial Gardens are quiet, though the odd spirit senses her presence and comes to greet her on her way. It brings a smile to her tear-stained face, the first honest one in quite some time. The ghost of a memory keeps haunting her with every step, the first time Emmrich brought her here, after she’s missed her home for so long that it must have been obvious for him how she was longing to reconnect with it. If nothing else, he gave her that, the courage to come back even if only for a short visit.

Rook takes her time gathering flowers, making sure to add specks of lilac, to bind a bouquet she knows he would approve of. Seeing the graves of his parents sends that same painful stake through her heart as it did the first time he told her, as if him letting her in on this vulnerable thing has her carrying a part of his grief as well. Rupert and Elannora. She told him they’d want him to him to be with someone who cares about him but she wanted to say more, someone who loves him, adores every part of him, treasures the sweet, caring man that he truly is.

Back then she was so confident that she could be that person.

She fills a vase with flowers and places it between the graves, then sits down on the grass in front of them. A wisp settles by her side, perhaps a spirit of compassion, perhaps some other emotion she can’t identify it being drawn to. So many things go through her head that it is hard to make sense of the nuance of her feelings but spirits are better at this than humans anyway.

She wonders if anything she said hurt him, if it brought up his fear of his own mortality to a degree that made him withdraw from her. Their future is more than uncertain but Emmrich seems so intent on the fact that he’ll die first, that he can’t let her shoulder what it means to be with an older man. But she does, she’s aware of all that comes with it, and yet none of it would ever make her flinch back. The essence of what she wants from her future, if she’s granted the privilege of ever seeing it, is to be with someone who loves her like she knows he is capable of.

As she stares at the names on the gravestone she thinks that Emmrich more than anyone should know that death does not discriminate between young and old.

Suddenly the wisp flies up and dances around. She turns and then there he is, as if conjured by her thoughts. The wisp must have sensed what upset her because it flies over to Emmrich and circles him, excitement in each movement, encouragement for him to walk faster. He looks rougher than she left him a few hours ago, his hair unusually messy, expression frantic, and he’s quick-stepped as he approaches. Fear settles in her belly, paralysing her in her spot, the possibility that this is not the reunion she hopes for but an end to whatever it is they had.

When he reaches her the wisp settles back by her side, almost protective. She sees Manfred, then, somewhere in the distance, unsure if his presence is a good or a bad sign. Her legs still won’t move and she’s sure that she looks utterly terrified.

“Darling,” Emmrich breathes, the word more of a relieved sigh than a greeting. “I am so glad I found you. No, actually it is Manfred who suspected you might be here. When you weren’t to be found at the Lighthouse–” He stops himself, takes a deep breath. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

For a moment she’s taken aback – at how pained his voice sounds, at the red-framed eyes that look down to her. She can feel her limbs shaking and has to glance away, back to the graves. “I wasn’t sure who else to talk to, I don’t have any graves to visit of my own. I hope you don’t mind that I came here.”

“Of course not, dearest.”

She holds her hand out for the wisp to settle on, a comforting energy spreading into her palm. “I don’t want the others to see me like this. But here… the spirits are gentle with me. I find comfort in the memory of those who time carried away.”

“Please, stand up, darling,” he prompts and when she looks up she sees the tremor that runs through him in his extended hand. She allows him to pull her to her feet, though she can’t quite bring herself to fully close the gap and embrace him how she wants to.

“I brought them flowers.”

“I know,” he whispers, the subtlest sheen of tears glistening at his waterline. “Thank you, my sweet girl.”

Emmrich never lets go of her hand, pulls it to his heart where he keeps it trapped. The wisp floats around their bodies now that they’re close enough and soon a second wisp joins in, then a third, energised by the unspoken emotions whirring between them. She can feel Emmrich’s heartbeat, mirroring the rapid thrumming of her own.

“I–”

He never gets to finish his sentence. Soft music carries over to where they stand and the wisps begin to dance to its rhythm. More spirits join in, slow-dancing with each other between the graves and statues. Looking around she spots Manfred running towards them.

“Where is the music coming from?” Rook asks but then she finally sees the three skeletons following slowly behind Manfred, each holding a different instrument that they play with profound excellence even as they move. The song is romantic, lap harp and violin harmonising with the fairytale like sounds of clear crystal bells.

“Ah, well, I– They are a little early,” Emmrich says, cheeks tinted with a hint of bashfulness. “I was planning for them to arrive after I talked to you. Admittedly, I was in quite a rush with this spell once I knew you were here, even though it is rather simple…”

Manfred has reached them, effectively redirecting their attention, and his hand slides into Rook’s with the excitement of a little boy, pulling her away from Emmrich. He hisses happily as he spins her around, a little clumsily at first but with the right intentions, mirroring the wisps around them. More and more spirits appear in the gardens, drawn by the music, and soon it feels as though they’re attending a dance. Rook does her best to keep up but it’s hard to focus, the sheer wonder at what she’s witnessing clouding her mind.

“This is marvellous,” she says and the fear and melancholy fade from her heart for the first time since she came here, making way for almost childlike amazement.

Manfred spins her around once more, the song transitioning into a different tune, and then he guides her back, placing her hand in Emmrich’s. He hisses, rattling their now joined hands to get them to move, and Rook can’t help but look up at him with hope plainly written across her unguarded features.

“May I have this dance?” Emmrich asks who so far has been watching the scene without joining in, his own eyes sparkling when they meets hers.

She merely manages to nod, the words caught in her throat at the feeling of his arms circling her, finally pulling her close. Gentle fingers guide her into slow movement, his hands on her hips while she loosely wraps hers around his neck. The moment freezes, all Rook can focus on is the way he feels, the way his eyes soften, not once glancing away, the music and the sounds of their steps, the gentle jingling of his jewellery. Limbs move on their own accord, following an invisible rhythm. They dance for so long that they hardly notice the way the spirits begin to mimic their movement, not until Rook sneaks a glance at Manfred who is following along with another wisp.

Emmrich’s hands squeeze her hips, then, and he leans in, pressing his cheek to hers. She can feel his chest trembling, the mild scratching of shaved skin against hers, his lips ghosting along her ear.

“Forgive me, darling,” he whispers. “I was a fool.”

“Emmrich–”

He stops, pulls her closer without moving now, hugging her so tight that he presses the very air from her lungs. They stay in this embrace for along time, relief closing Rook’s eyes, the notion that she was wrong, that he might have felt just as awful after she left his rooms. His warmth mends the wounds his words left and how could she not forgive him, when he made all this possible just to reach her?

“I have a condition,” she says after a while. It has him breaking away just enough to meet her gaze, brows pulling together. “When we’re trying to have a serious conversation, I don’t want you to bring up my age to invalidate my point.”

He gives a firm nod, a hand travelling up to cradle her jaw. “It is a promise I gladly make, dearest. But I have to express a condition as well. Don’t…” His thumb swipes across her cheek, indenting it just enough to stress his point. “Don’t leave me after we’ve had an argument. When I could not find you– My darling, I cannot do it again, the thought of you wandering around, hurting because of me–”

“I won’t,” she says. “Though experiencing this was more than worth it.”

“It is quite marvellous, is it not?” He smiles, leans in to rest his forehead against hers. “I thought you might enjoy it. Nothing is quite so comforting as the presence of music.”

“Perhaps you can show me the spell one day.”

“Oh, I would love to, dearest.”

She brushes her nose against his, her fingers sliding into his hair, spreading over the nape of his neck. He sighs, not quite closing the gap but he can’t stop his fingers from pressing harder against her cheek.

“Tell me there is a future for us,” she says, returning to the conversation they left so many hours ago. “You and I, Manfred, a life here with all of this, for as long as we get. Is this not what you want?”

“There is nothing I want more, darling,” he says, trying to pull away without success.

“I know there is a version of the future you gave up on, a life with someone who loves you, a family of your own. But we can have all that and more. Don’t you think that would be enough?”

“It would be more than enough. It would be everything I could hope for.”

“So, do you trust me? Enough that you can accept my choice to be with you, even if it scares you?”

He swallows against her thumb, bending his neck backwards to see more of her face. His eyes are glistening but there is a hint of a smile in his features. “Darling, I would lay my beating heart into your hands,” he says, “trusting that you’ll breathe life into it for as long as we are together.”

A smile of her own and before she can reply he’s pressing his mouth to hers, a breathless sort of kiss, ingesting her sound of surprise. Behind them the music changes, the quiet song transitioning into a happier tune. When they break away the spirits are even livelier than before and forget to take note of them as they circle the statues, dance around each other.

“Might I suggest we move to a quiet spot, darling?” Emmrich asks, linking their hands between their bodies. “I think I know just the place.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She doesn’t have much time to take in the magnificent stonework, a sarcophagus like many she’s seen around the Necropolis but on the more spacious side, ornate etchings, cushioned in purple velvet. Green lights illuminate the nook it’s nestled in, long shadows dancing across the wall when Emmrich pushes her up against the edge of the stone coffin. His hands on her hips divert her attention back to him, nose nuzzling her cheek, trailing down to her jaw. Eager lips press to the side of her neck and he hugs her close, the insistent pressure in his fingertips betraying how much he wants her no matter how hard he tries to be polite.

“I didn’t know this was here,” she whispers. “The ornamentations are beautiful.”

“It is rather pleasant here, is it not?” he asks, all soft, his voice low and his face unguarded, eyes drawn to her every feature, as if he can’t drink her in enough. It’s the exact way he looks at her whenever he’s about to kiss her.

There’s not much of a gap to close, their bodies melting together, his mouth smouldering, a deep sigh he releases from the very depths of his ribcage. He’s taking charge, a confidence that only comes with experience, but he never loses the slow softness in his touch, the sensual press of his lips that renders her utterly defenceless.

“Do you feel ready for this, dear heart?” he whispers, every word tickling her lips with the ghost of his breath. “For me to touch you? Taste you? Pleasure you?”

His hands trail down, slotting into the perfect bend just above her thighs. His thumbs press into the soft tissue, so close to where she needs him, and she can’t help how her hips buck, tilting into his touch. He strokes her there, sensing how sensitive she is already, and her whole body shivers.

“Please,” she hears herself whisper, as though her voice is coming from somewhere outside of herself. Emmrich hums, lips trailing the shape of her face. Her eyes flutter closed when his mouth applies more pressure, sucking gingerly at the spot where her pulse beats a merciless rhythm against her skin. She doesn’t notice his hand moving until it cups her, two fingers pressing between her legs, a gasp following when he rubs them back and forth. “Emm–”

“Oh, darling,” he breathes, voice trembling at the last syllable. “How delightfully wet you already are for me.”

She thinks the world is blurring around her, her hands somewhat loosely wrapped around his shoulders now sliding down his back, briefly catching at the buckle of his vest before she finally feels the rougher fabric of his pants, desperately pulling him against her. Emmrich falters, hand slipping to her thigh, swallowing a breathy sound of surprise as his hips slot forward. She can feel him, half-hard against her abdomen, a breathy whimper, their bodies coming together in full evidence of the desire they share.

“Please,” she whispers again, though all she wants is for it to last forever. Not tonight though, no. Her body is already too wound up, the sheer intensity of the day amplifying every little sensation, the fears that carried her to the Necropolis still palpable, only fully receding at the breathtaking relief of finding him still wanting her so desperately, so evidently. And she wants to forget them, the silly argument, the insecurities, uncertainties, all so very meaningless when his mouth is on hers. His body is attuned to hers now, his attentions sharply focused, and every fibre of her being aches to feel him deeper, closer.

Emmrich is meticulous at the way he undresses, so practiced she doesn’t notice he’s opened his vest and shirt until he breaks away to assess her state. She never bothered to put on full armour either, a little reckless but it did not feel right to visit his parents under defensive measures. Emmrich opens her belt so easily that she’s surprised when the sound of it falling reverberates in the stone chamber. Then the clasps on her shirt come undone, surprisingly steady hands that even if they don’t weave magic seem to move in an almost musical rhythm. His bangles jingle and she thinks she doesn’t want him to be without them, though perhaps one day she’d like to see him in nothing but gold and gemstones all over.

His body is lithe underneath the fabric, athletic in the way of regular movement and a conscious diet but softened with age, specks of grey hair on a boney chest with prominent ribs, giving way to a less defined belly where the hair is lighter until it eventually darkens again at the apex of his legs. Rook can’t help but reach out, fingertips cautiously climbing up from his belly button to his collarbone. Emmrich pauses as she does it, fumbling with the last clasp, and she can see his Addam’s apple bobbing up and down. Encouraged, she flattens her hand, pushing his shirt open wider, a second hand following to really feel him now, explore him, every bone that sticks out, every tense muscle, every soft pillow of flesh she presses against. He’s gone limp, though his breathing quickens, and when her thumbs brush his nipples his forehead falls against hers.

“Dearest,” he whispers, a shudder running through him.

“You’re lovely,” she says. “All of you, I am– Emmrich, I feel so lucky to have you.”

He gives a quivering breath, a sound that has his chest deflating against her palm. Then he kisses her so deeply, so tenderly, that her eyes close, a hand cradling her face in the way he only ever cradles his most precious books or skulls.

“I want all of you,” Rook whispers. “And I want to give you all of me. I am not afraid of what that means, Emmrich. My love. I need you.”

He smiles, an air of relief in the way he exhales against her lips. “Then I shall be glad to fulfil every single one of those desires, my darling. Your trust is the most precious thing I have ever held in my two hands.”

A soft muffled sound as her shirt hits the floor, boots kicked aside, her pants sliding down. Emmrich is more methodical, making sure they won’t wake to wrinkled shirts or kinks in their leathers. His hair has fallen into his face, covering his forehead as he unlaces himself, and every single aspect of the sight of him half-naked, disheveled, taken apart, makes her want him more and more. She knows how vulnerable it makes him feel, how hard he works to keep up his appearance, the respect it earns him, a sense of control and dignity he clings to. When he moves to take off his jewellery she stops him, toying with the gold.

“Keep those on,” she says.

“Not the rings, dearest,” he replies. “I do want those fingers inside of you without worrying about contamination.”

He helps her over the ledge, hands on her thighs, and the cushioned fabric soothes her skin, soft against her back. Once he has her pinned beneath him his eyes darken, gaze as thick as the velvet beneath. Her heart is racing, thumping against her ribcage to the rhythmic aching between her thighs. Emmrich spreads her legs, one hand on her bare skin, fingers squeezing at her as he settles there, on his knees. He pulls her up into a sitting position, legs on either side of him.

“May I take this off?” he inquires, one finger sliding beneath the laces of her smallclothes, the ones that strain to cover her breasts.

“Please do.”

He tugs, the piece of fabric coming apart to reveal her fully. Emmrich keeps his eyes on hers, as if to make sure she is alright, that she truly wants this, and when he finds no objection he finally takes her in. At first he is cautious, cupping one of her breasts with his long hand as if to weigh it, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple until goosebumps spread all over her skin and the electric bolt of pleasure shoots to her core. He continues softly, both hands now, stimulating her with scientific caution, watching out for every gasp, every closing of her eyelids, the way she leans into his touch, her hands on his bare thighs that are covered with dark grey hair, angled inwards to push her breasts together.

Emmrich leans in, tempted by the parting of her lips as she sighs into every little tug off her nipples, giving her a kiss that shakes her out of her stupor. But he’s not resting there, instead he meanders down, wet-lipped, tongue tasting her skin until his mouth closes over one breast. The other one he still cradles in his hand, rolling her peak between thumb and forefinger, and her core clenches at every pinch, at every flick of his tongue, the way he oh so gently sucks at her soft flesh with such a warm and eager mouth.

“Emmrich,” she sighs, her hand moving into his hair, forgetting of how neatly he keeps it, fingers tugging at the back of his head until he moans so headily into her skin that her whole lower body shifts forward, unbidden. “I can’t– Please.”

He removes himself, urges her to lay back again, and for a moment he just looks at her, already close to a mess, her hair disheveled, lips kiss-swollen and red, nipples puffy and erect as the slick gathers between her legs in a wet patch. He roams her body, a hand caressing the softness of her belly, adoringly but with evident of arousal that has his eyelids drooping and mouth parted with heavy exhales. Still on his knees, he moves on to her thighs, those long arms bending, testing how far he can spread her, how sensitive she is to his touch. His lips press to the inside of her knee and all Rook can do to distract herself from falling apart untouched is to busy herself with her breasts, fingers clenching with every kiss he peppers along the inside of her thigh now.

“Emmrich.” The word is more of a gasp, her hips stuttering upwards with every beat of her pulse. “Please, love, I am aching.”

“Are you, my heart?” He pushes his thumb right against her core, the fabric all but drenched, stroking up and down to gather more of her arousal. “I had hoped to take my time with you here tonight and perhaps I will, later. I can’t possible keep you waiting any longer, not when you’re begging so beautifully, my love.”

He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband, tugging at her underclothes to slide them off her legs. It would not have occurred to her to be bashful, to be shy, if it were anyone else. But with Emmrich things are different, her insides all gooey, heart stuttering, the blood that has not gathered between her legs now rushing to her cheeks. She realises that this is the feeling she has been hoping to find at some point in her life, the desperate need to be one with someone else, not just for pleasure, but for the soul, to come together in a way that expands your very self to make room for a connection unlike any other.

“Are you alright, darling?” Emmrich asks, no doubt seeing the change in her expression, the tears of overwhelm gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“I am,” she says. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

Emmrich leans forward, propped on one elbow, and his other hand slides between her legs. He probes at her, moaning at the wetness he finds, his mouth connecting with hers right as two of his fingers slide into her. She accommodates him, as though her whole body has been waiting to finally feel him, and only when he sees that she’s comfortable does he start to gently crook them, moving them against the softness of her inner wall.

Incoherent words leave her mouth, prayers she hasn’t spoken in quite some time, his name over and over, and his heat shapes her like molten gold, as though he could mould her into a shape to fit his own body, his heat encompassing her. Eyes fluttered close she can only sense him, his fingers in an increasingly deep rhythm, long and untiring, until she feels herself floating outside of herself.

“Eyes on me, darling,” he urges. “I want to see you fall apart.”

She obeys, blinking up at him right as she peaks, her legs trembling on either side of him, clenched tightly around his digits. It is pleasure the likes she hasn’t experienced in some time, perhaps never quite like this, with the added weight of feelings that are entirely new to her in their depth.

He coaxes another tremor from her, fingers crooking, stroking her insides, then he withdraws with an almost wistful sigh. “Good girl,” he whispers with a gentle kiss to her cheek. “So very good. Now, do you think you’re ready to receive me, hm?”

Rook can only nod, words still eluding her, his satisfied smile almost making her want to laugh.  He kisses her once again, tongue-deep, hungry, like he can taste the pleasure in her mouth. The hair on his upper lip leaves her with the delicious tickle she’s grown so fond of and then he’s shifting, wriggling and, within seconds she can feel him bare and hard between her thighs.

Instinctively, her hips roll inward, angling higher to receive him but Emmrich hovers. When she glances down she can see him curved in his hand, dark hair, neatly trimmed, framing him. He is long, rather slender, unlike the pale rest of his body already red-tipped and blood-swollen. With a few pumps of a desperate hands, bangles producing the ever-present jingle, Emmrich spreads her slick over the tight skin. His tip presses forward between her folds, skin retracting, his bare head pressing against her swollen clit. With a plethora of needy little sounds he slides back and forth, gathering the evidence of her earlier peak, the stimulation of her burning nerves almost enough to make her come again.

Emmrich looks up at her then and her breath catches. He looks utterly ruined already, unusually sweaty, hair clinging to his forehead, his pupils dilated under heavy eyelids, mouth red and glistening. He heaves a breath, more a sign of his constraint than any exhaustion as he tries to prepare her, make all of this a painfree, enjoyable experience for her before ever considering his own needs. She can see the precise moment his patience snaps, just after their eyes meet, fire crackling between them, and he pushes into her with a sound that is unrestrained pleasure.

“Darling,” he breathes. “My sweet, sweet darling.”

Their bodies fall into an easy rhythm, his hips rocking into hers, shallow at first, stretching her further, then a deeper grind until she keens with every roll of his pelvis. Emmrich keeps one hand on her chin, making sure her head stays angled so he can look at her, eye contact never breaking even as they both struggle to stay present. Rook can feel him so deep inside of her. But it’s not just a physical depth, it’s the feelings she has for him that trickle into every pulse of pleasure, every gasp, every squeeze of his biceps, every tug at his hair, every clenching of her muscles, fingers. The words tumble from her lips then, moving past her throat too quickly to be caught.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you, Emmrich.”

At first he stutters, eyes opening wider, the sheer surprise of hearing the words. But then his gaze softens, expression melting into the gentlest affection, a smile, that glimmer in his eyes that speaks of such intimate fondness. “And I love you, my darling.”

She smiles back and then his mouth meets her desperately, the kiss a painful force that will leave her lips bruised, all while his thrust become harder, more unrestrained, as if the words are untying a knot deep inside of him that finally allows him to let go. Emmrich grabs her ass with his free hand, angles her hip upwards, and he sheathes himself even deeper, swollen head sliding against her inner wall to graze the most sensitive spot there. Rook lets out a mewl, the pleasure so sudden and intense that she feels herself clenching around him again and then her head lols to the side, his hand not there to support her now, and with her eyes closed she locks her legs behind his back to draw him ever deeper, impossibly so, not close enough even now.

“Darling,” he chides, his hand back to tilt her chin, angle her gaze to his. “No glancing away.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, gripping his wrist, thumb just above his rapid pulse.

He smiles, grunts at his efforts, thrusts harder as his own body begins to tense, thighs shaking as they slam against her. The crypt enhances every sound they make, their union a choir of jangling gold, throaty groans, skin meeting skin, and the green light flickers as the lanterns take a breath that is as deep as theirs.

“I am not sure how long I can last, dearest,” he says. “I do not… do not think I have ever felt anything quite so intense before.”

“’s okay, Emmrich, me too,” Rook whispers between gasps. “It’s perfect, it’s everything”

He closes the gap again for a kiss but he’s lost his momentum, teeth and lips and bone colliding, messy but needed, that connection that tethers them together. They exist only in the tiny space inside the coffin, its walls protecting them, sheltering them in its intimacy, and it’s the comfort of knowing that the world outside fades into nothingness for these precious moments, that no one else needs her, that she is allowed to focus simply on breathing, on feeling. And what she feels is all-encompassing, pleasure and love and fulfilment, her body treasured and shared, the way Emmrich consumes her whole being with every breath, the very air that fills her lungs.

It’s only then, lost in his body, in his love, that she can fully let go.

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

[sorcerous-caress]

Hello!! I love your writing 😍 Would it be okay if you wrote Karlach, Lae'zel and whomever you wish with a tiefling!Tav that loses both a horn and an eye during a battle and can't quite find balance in their fighting afterwards bc of it?

Reacting to Tav losing a horn/eye

[Hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, nb!reader, Tiefling!reader]

[Karlach, Laezel, Wyll, Halsin]

Karlach

She swears she can still hear it, your agonised scream, the splatter of blood, the crunch of bone being torn apart.

As if the world slowed down for a moment, an eerie quietness surrounding the battlefield for the uncomfortable stretched out seconds. Your companions turning to look at you, clutching your eye with your back hunched.

Dread filled her stomach, one of your horns laid on the bloody floor next to your feet.

She doesn't remember the rest. Only when she stood atop the burnt rubble of what used to be the battlefield, did the all-consuming rage fade away from her mind.

Karlach is immediately at your side after, apologising for not being there sooner.

She's by your side as you heal, making sure to bring you anything you might need. As your struggles to adjust to combat again in the aftermath become more and more evadint, she is one of the first people to suggest fully leaving combat to her.

Yes, you are capable. Yes, she has seen how strong you are. But sometimes life just doesn't go the way we plan it. You can relay on her instead.

You don't have to go back to the cruel world. You can let her take care of it. Karlach really can't afford losing you. She'd claw her way up the heavens and steal you away if your fate took a turn to the worse.

Laezel

She completely disagrees with Karlach. This is nothing but a minor setback if anything. Laezel completely has faith in you to relearn how to find your balance, and she'll teach you if she has to.

As long as you can still stand on your feet and carry a sword, then you can fight in her eyes. She will give her sincere apologies for letting you down in battle and not doing something before enemeis got the chance to best you, but besides it, you'll get no pity from her.

Why is everyone acting as if you died? You're clearly still the same strong and capable person she knows. If anything, each scar is evidence of how your enemies' failure to put you down, you should show your broken horn with pride.

She has enough self awareness not to impose her views on you, no matter how much she thinks her companions are being dramatic and oversensitive, is she noticed you being fully uncomfortable with her approach she will take her leave from your bedside.

But you got fed up with people infantlising you, then she will be the first to 6pull you back into an intense daily training routine until you regain your footing.

Wyll

While Karlach and Laezel were too busy arguing about your own fate, Wyll was there for you throughout every stage of healing. He knows what it's it like losing an eye. He can relate to the horror and dissociation that happens whenever you look at the mirror to see a piece of yourself missing.

He still hasn't gotten used to his own horns himself, and losing one of yours must have been painful to bear. He will stay by your side until you feel better, no pressure to discuss the future or your fighting abilities or anything.

Wyll will make sure you don't feel alone, that the dark thoughts don't consume you too much. Share you worries with him, let him help carry your burdens, please. It kills him seeing someone so dear to him suffer when he can't do anything or help.

Halsin

His heart breaks, seeing you coming back to camp limbing and bloodied that day. He prays to Silvanus to ease your pain as he takes shift with Shadowheart to nurse you back to health with healing spells.

Nature can be so unforgiving sometimes, to some animals, losing an eye or horn can be a death sentence.

But he has seen even the most withered of plants suddenly flourish and regain their strength, he has personally stayed up countless nights to care for the weak kittens that their mother refused to even acknowledge.

He has seen them grow, nurtured them into a strong healthy state.

Don't surrendered to the darkness, when the abyss starts whispering about how this is your end and how your potential was wasted you yell at the abyss, bite, claw and fight your way out of this rut.

True strength lies in the heart, give yourself time to rest, and don't rush your healing. Eventually, you'll be back on your own two feet with a new view on the world before you can realise it.

[wishesunderthestars]

Eunoia // Ch. 26

eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness

Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader

Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness isn’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

Word Count: 12.1k+

Warnings: past abuse, past sexual abuse, cursing, past violence,

Masterlist

The taglist is now closed.

It was the second time Taehyung was in Jungkook’s atelier—only recently had Jungkook started thinking of it like that, before it was the atelier—but he was looking around him like it was a fairytale and everything was made of magic. Jungkook guessed he must have looked a little like that as well the first time you had shown him the room and told him it was his to do as he pleased. Athens and the Parthenon stretching on the wall never failed to inspire wonder and a deep respect in him, regardless of how long it had been since the first time he walked inside.

Everything else in the room was quite different from that first day. The once pristine and unused room was now splattered in paint. It was everywhere, on the floor and the cabinets and on the many newspapers that he used to cover everything. The first time he had stained the floor with paint, he had gone to you with teary eyes, lowered ears, and a hundred apologies on the tip of his tongue. You had simply laughed and told him that the room was his and he could paint the whole floor if he wanted to. The only thing you asked of him was to be careful of the wall painting. Jungkook would have never touched it in the first place.

Finished canvases were leaning against the cabinets and the walls. Most of them were of places Jungkook found beautiful, the Eiffel Tower, the Parthenon, a neighborhood in Amsterdam he had seen in one of your photos. There were also a few paintings of the pack, you and Seokjin cooking in the kitchen, Yoongi playing the piano, Namjoon and Hoseok under the large tree in the garden, Taehyung with Alice at the lake, and Jimin smiling so wide his eyes turned into crescent moons.

Jungkook longed for Jimin with an insatiable hunger. Now that he had gotten a taste of him once and Jimin told him he wanted it, now that there was no guilt and anguish, he couldn’t get enough of him. He wanted to always be touching him, holding him, and scenting him. His scent was like an aphrodisiac to him and he was addicted.

However, when Taehyung had shyly asked about his atelier, he was compelled to show it to him. It wasn’t often that Taehyung asked for anything and although he hadn’t specifically asked to see the room, Jungkook knew he would like it. Taehyung’s smile was also addicting and rare like a precious gem. So, he had left Jimin with Seokjin to cook in the kitchen and had taken Taehyung’s hand and climbed down the stairs. His hand was soft and he could still feel its ghost on his palm.

He was right, Taehyung’s smile was worth it. It was a tiny one, a small curve of his lips, but it was stunning.

His tiger ears twitched when his eyes landed on the painting of him. He approached slowly, taking it in. A hand reached out but he drew it back before it could touch the canvas.

In the painting, Alice was grinning brightly at Taehyung, one of her rainbow butterfly hair-clips clipped on his dark hair. But what Jungkook loved the most about it was Taehyung’s smile. For the first time, with Alice, Taehyung looked genuinely happy. The painting didn’t do the moment justice, he hadn’t managed to capture the tiger hybrid perfectly. He had taken a picture of the two of them and used it as reference but it was difficult, almost impossible, to immortalize Taehyung’s beauty in that moment.

“Do you like it?” Jungkook asked gently.

Taehyung startled as if the painting had enchanted him and Jungkook’s voice broke the spell. He hugged himself with one hand, almost like he wanted to stop himself from touching the painting. “It’s… beautiful.”

“It was a beautiful moment,” Jungkook agreed. “Alice is incredible, right?”

Taehyung nodded slowly. “I… have it. The butterfly. She doesn’t want back… it.”

They both looked at the painting. Jungkook wasn’t sure if they were seeing the same thing but maybe they were.

“Do you want to paint again?” he asked, breaking the silence. He took down the half-finished canvas of a beach from the easel and replaced it with a blank canvas.

Taehyung didn’t hesitate to agree this time. They picked up different brushes, chose a few tubes of oil paint and set themselves to work. Jungkook showed him how to paint a sunset—he had perfected the skill through a lot of observation and many YouTube videos. Taehyung seemed to have fun blending the colors and drawing the shapes of semi-transparent clouds.

They stayed in the atelier for a few hours until they were called for dinner by Hoseok, whose heart-shaped smile at seeing them together in their paint-splattered clothes rivaled the beauty of the sunset. After the meal, Jungkook asked if Taehyung would like to take the painting of him and Alice to his room. They hung it on the wall with Yoongi’s help and went back to the garden together.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

You were filming at Monmouth Manufacturing for the day. They were the last couple of scenes you would be filming there for Season 1. Hopefully—and most probably—, you would see it again next year, or the year after that, filming for Season 2. First, you would have to finish Crooked Kingdom and then towards the end of the year, maybe you could work on the Raven Cycle. Your schedule was already crazy and you were troubled about what that meant for the next year.

A headache was brewing behind your temples and you were trying very hard to ignore it. You had been at the studios since 6 o’clock in the morning and you were going crazy. It would be one of those 15-16 hour days. You could see it coming. The executive producer of Paper Hearts had called to tell you that you were desperately needed for a board meeting for the next season. They had changed the time of the meeting to later in the afternoon to fit your schedule, which proved that it was important. You dreaded the drive to the other side of Los Angeles and what was sure to be a very long discussion.

During your lunch break, you texted Namjoon that you would be late again. He didn’t say anything but you knew he was disappointed. He had to be. You had barely spent any time with them in the past few days. There were also matters you still had to discuss. You hadn’t told the other hybrids about the thing between the three of you and they deserved to know. Your headache got worse just thinking about it.

You flipped through the script during a small break, sipping on your third cup of coffee of the day. It was making you jittery but the other option was falling asleep in your chair.

“Okay, I think we are good to move on to the next scene,” you told Will. “And then we’re done for the day.”

“Should I get someone to call the actors?”

“Yeah, see if they are done with makeup and send them in.” You rolled your neck and let out a heavy sigh. “All things considered it’s going pretty well.”

Will chuckled as he motioned for someone from the staff to come closer. “For someone who’s been here since six, you’re doing remarkably well.”

You waited for him to send the man to fetch the actors before speaking again. “We’ll see about that when we’re done with this scene. If I’m on my feet and awake by then, I deserve an award.”

Will shrugged, leaning back on his chair. “I’ve seen you do worse. Do you remember when we were filming ‘The Grand Masquerade’ in Prague? You were running on three hours of sleep a night for a week. I thought you would fall asleep during filming and wouldn’t wake up for a couple of days.”

“I was younger then,” you shrugged it off. You eyed the script again, focusing on your notes. “ I don’t have the same energy.”

“It was three years ago.”

“Three years can be a long time.”

You could understand that better than anyone, considering that this year sometimes seemed like a decade to you. In a year, your whole life had changed. You were different, everything was different from last year. Three years could be a very long time, indeed. But also the blink of an eye.

One of the actors arrived and you both greeted him. Soon, he was swept away by the movement director.

“I think you need another break,” Will declared in all of his dramatic glory.

You tapped your long nails on your plastic cup, the action was strangely soothing. “I think I need another coffee.”

“You certainly need a break,” Will insisted. “And you certainly don’t need another coffee.”

He had noticed your restlessness, then. “We just came back from a break. And there is no time for another one. After we are done here, promotions for Six of Crows begin then there is the premiere and the tour and they are getting everything ready to begin filming for Season 6 of Paper Hearts. And Crooked Kingdom is next year and I am very behind on that.”

Will’s face did that thing he did whenever he was done with you, his features slacking like he was bored and a little irritated. “You can’t be behind on something that hasn’t even started yet. Be serious.”

“I am. Deadly.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Break. You need a break.”

The rest of the actors arrived then and the subject was dropped in favor of going over the details of the scene with them. They took their places and filming began. There was a place where the scene kept being snagged and you had to go over it four times to get it right and five more to perfect it.

By the end, you were running like you were being hunted to find John and drive to the company building. The meeting as you had expected was long and tiring. At least, it was a productive one. You discussed the script, the new additions, and the schedule. You shared a few worries and disagreements you had and you mostly managed to find the middle ground. Another meeting would be held in a week before filming would officially start in a few weeks.

It was past eleven when you opened the door of the Castle. No one was in the living room, which was to be expected.

“I’m back!” you shouted, even though no one would hear you if they were in the garden. The night was warm and your skin felt stifling. Sweat dotted your forehead and the change of temperature, when you walked inside the air-conditioned Castle, sent a shock through your system. Your legs had turned to stones and you struggled to take off your shoes.

All you wanted was to fall asleep. You opened the balcony door and shouted again that you were back and that you would be in your room. You closed it before you could hear any replies.

In your room, you had to force yourself to change into your pajamas instead of falling face-first onto your bed in your dirty clothes. You didn’t have the energy to take a shower like you usually did at the end of the day. Your appetite had also disappeared. You hadn’t eaten dinner but you weren’t hungry. You were taking off your makeup in the bathroom when there was a knock on your door.

For a moment, you debated not answering but you dismissed the thought instantly.

“Come in,” you called. “I’m in the bathroom.”

You heard the door open and close again. You dragged the cotton pad roughly across your face, you didn’t have the patience to be gentle and it left your skin red. Some days it was just too sensitive.

“Are you alright?” The care in Seokjin’s voice tugged at the tight knot in your chest, loosened it. You glanced at the door but he wasn’t there.

Most of the makeup was gone from your face and you looked like a mess. You threw the cotton pads in the bin and washed your face quickly to get rid of the mascara under your eyes and any stubborn residues of makeup.

Seokjin was standing by your vanity, waiting for you. It wasn’t often that he came to your room. You weren’t used to seeing him there but it felt right.

“For someone who has been running around for more than sixteen hours, I am peachy,” you tried to joke but the delivery was lacking. It was confirmed by Seokjin’s frown.

“That’s too much, even for you. That isn’t healthy.”

“It is what it is,” you said, trying not to sound defensive. “It isn’t something I haven’t done before. And tomorrow’s schedule is easier so it’s alright.”

That didn’t seem to do anything to ease his mind. “Because you did it before, it doesn’t mean you should keep doing that.”

You rubbed your temples, your headache was getting worse. “There are things that need to get done. I can’t just stop because I’m tired. I get calls all day and my inbox is full of emails I haven’t answered yet. I have a million things on my plate, I can’t ignore them.”

“I know,” Seokjin said, his tone softer. He came closer to you and took your hand in his. The touch was grounding. You hadn’t realized you were spiraling until your feet were planted on the earth again. “We know how important your work is and how much effort you have put in to be where we are. It’s admirable and it’s incredible that you’ve managed to do all this. But your health is important too. You can’t keep running with an empty tank. You need to rest too.”

You heaved a sigh and let your head fall forward to rest on his chest. Your nose wasn’t as sensitive as a hybrid’s but breathing in the familiar sweetness calmed you. He hugged you and drew you closer to him, his hand kneading the tense muscles of your shoulders and the back of your neck.

“We missed you,” he said almost in a whisper.

“You always miss me.”

Seokjin stayed quiet but you both knew. They always missed you because you were always gone.

“You should eat something before you fall asleep. Yoongi and I made gnocchi with prosciutto and parmesan and garlic bread with mozzarella. I can bring it here but I think it would be best if you ate in the kitchen. Everyone wants to see you but they don’t want to bother you.”

The simple act of going to the kitchen sounded like climbing a mountain. Your bed looked too attractive, only a meter away and very very soft. Your eyelids were heavy with the need to sleep and yet…

“I’ll come to the kitchen,” you said. Having woken up at five, you hadn’t seen anyone before leaving. The thought of not seeing them at all today left a sour taste in your mouth. “But can we stay here? For a bit?”

Seokjin placed a tender kiss on the crown of your head. “Of course. For as long as you want.”

You lost track of time in his arms but no more than five minutes must have passed by the time you pulled back with a heavy heart. A temporary balm had been applied to the ailments of the day. You could hold yourself up for a few more minutes to eat a little, you had been doing it all day.

Your legs were as heavy as concrete walking to the kitchen. You had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, otherwise, you might just collapse. There was noise coming from the kitchen but your tired mind couldn’t register what they were saying.

You were surprised to see that everyone was there waiting for you, even Taehyung. Yoongi placed the plates in front of your seat and Jimin added the cutlery. Everyone else was sitting around the table in their usual stools.

Their greetings were quieter than usual and you guessed that they were conscious of how tired you were. You gave them the warmest smile you could master and patted Hoseok’s hair as you passed by to take your seat. The aroma of the food made your stomach growl, you hadn’t realized how hungry you had been before. Your appetite was back. Everything looked incredible as always and you couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Are you all just going to look at me while I eat?” you asked, picking up your fork.

The hybrids looked sheepish at your question.

“We just wanted to see you,” Jungkook said. “You left too early in the morning.”

You had to compose yourself to pierce a couple of gnocchi with your fork and not sigh out loud. Yoongi’s eyes were heavy on you, they were the ones you could detect with the most ease. You were the most aware of him.

“I had too much to do today. They have been bugging me from the studios for days. If I didn’t start early, I would have never finished. And I prefer an early morning to a late night. I tend to work better in the morning.”

You forced the fork to your mouth. You were ravenous but the conversation stalled your appetite.

“I would think that this was considered a late night,” Namjoon pointed out.

The taste, as expected, was heavenly. The creaminess of the parmesan sauce was tied perfectly with the savory crispy prosciutto. In your condition, you felt like it was wasted on you. As hungry as you were, you just wanted to put your fork down and go to sleep. But you couldn’t do that. You were better than that, you could eat something and then you could go to sleep. You could do that, you had done this before. Hadn’t you?

“This isn’t a late night,” you said after you swallowed the delicious bite. You had to eat another one. And another one. “Late nights can be anything from three a.m. to the next morning. This doesn’t happen often but I really had too many things to do. This is just for a few weeks because we’re moving very fast with the Raven Boys and filming for Season 6 of Paper Hearts will start soon. There are a lot of meetings and things they need my opinion on, it will actually be better once filming starts. They don’t need me as much then.”

You pushed the gnocchi around and you could tell they didn’t believe you without looking at them. It was true that your workload was heavier these days but you couldn’t exactly guarantee that it would get better soon. Filming for the Raven Cycle had been going exceptionally well and it was moving faster than you had originally planned. It would be wrapping up by the end of September or by early October at the latest. Wrapping up was a lot of work, the beginning and the end were the busiest parts.

The rest of autumn was going to be very difficult too. There was the premier as well, which added to your workload greatly. It would take up all of November and the work for it would start from October. Maybe December would be calmer. Maybe.

You ate the rest of your meal in relative silence. They didn’t talk more about you leaving early and coming back late although you knew they wanted to. Their voices were quiet as they talked about anything from witches in cartoons to color theory. You let their words play in the background like the sound from a TV as you tried to eat as much as you could.

The result was a half-finished plate of gnocchi and one less garlic bread with mozzarella. Your eyes were closing involuntarily by then, staying closed for longer periods each time. If you didn’t go to sleep now, you would fall face-first into the gnocchi.

You slid off your seat and balanced yourself on numb legs. “Thank you for this, it was delicious. But I really need to go to sleep now.”

“It’s okay,” Seokjin said, glancing at half of the food still on the plate. “You should rest.”

“At what time do you start work tomorrow?” Yoongi asked. He had been silent during your dinner and his voice rang louder than the rest to your ears.

It must have taken a few seconds to navigate the fog in your mind before you could answer. “Filming starts around nine, so I should be there by eight. Half past eight at most.”

“That’s still too early,” Hoseok said, frowning.

You waved their worries off. They had better things to worry about than the job you had been doing for half of your life. “It isn’t too early. I can sleep for a decent number of hours before I have to get ready. It’s alright, really. Goodnight, everyone. Sweet dreams.”

With effort, you dragged your body to your bedroom. You didn’t bother turning on the lights and stumbled to your bed guided only by the moonlight. There wasn’t a point in closing the blinds when you would wake up around the time the sun was rising. The light of your phone was too bright in the darkness and it made your eyes sting as you set an alarm.

A few messages caught your attention but a knock stopped you before you could open them.

“Come in,” you called, setting your phone aside. The door opened and the light from the hallway slipped in, outlining the silhouettes of the two hybrids. “Is everything okay?”

They both nodded and Jimin took a few steps into the room. “Can we sleep here tonight?”

“Both of you?” you asked, half-suppressing a yawn. Unlike Jimin, Jungkook hadn’t slept in your room before and the only time you had shared a bed was in Virginia.

Jungkook’s bunny ears drooped. “I can go, I don’t mind. I just missed you.”

“Sorry, that isn’t how I meant it.” Your surroundings were a bit blurry, the minutes stretched but were also impossibly short. It felt a little like life was a dream when you were tired like this. “Come in, both of you. And close the door behind you. It is blinding me a bit.”

They hurried inside and did as you told them. You couldn’t see them well as they moved through the darkness. They surrounded you, lying on different sides. Jimin didn’t hesitate to draw closer, throwing an arm over your stomach. Jungkook was a little stiffer on your left like he didn’t know how to situate himself. You found his hand, intertwining your fingers, and a quiet sigh escaped his lips.

It felt right, lying between them. Like that was how it was meant to be. But maybe that was the exhaustion talking, the dream realm slipping into the waking world.

“I missed you too,” you whispered. “Now sleep. I have an alarm set for the morning.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Summer bled seamlessly into autumn. The change wasn’t apparent in the Castle, autumn had only arrived in name. The heat was still there and would remain for some time. During the days, it still made sweat drip down your temples the few times you filmed outside the studios but the nights were comfortable and moon-bright.

You had a couple of hours free between takes and nothing to do so you got into your car (John had taken the day off to spend some time with Alice) and started the engine. “Nothing to do” was a relative term of course. There were many things you could be doing, countless extra little tasks that crowded your thoughts, but you disregarded all of them. You had been spending whole days away from home and you were beginning to feel guilty about it.

On your way back, you stopped by your favorite homemade gelato shop. In San Diego, you had gone for gelato the first day and the hybrids had loved it. You had made it a habit to get gelato at the beginning of each day during ComicCon, it was your little ritual. You had ordered gelato a couple of times to the Castle as well but with eight people, it didn’t last more than a day.

There were dozens of flavors behind the display case, all of them looking delectable. You got a wide variety, remembering the flavors they liked the most. You picked hazelnut, tiramisu, chocolate chip cookie, almond, caramel, coconut, cream and sour cherry, nutella, and vanilla and asked for 1 kilo of each to be delivered to your house. It was too hot and your house was too far to transport them in your car.

You didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes outside the gate before the delivery boy arrived. You got the bags full of gelato containers from him and sent him off with a hefty tip. The Castle was a long way from the heart of the city and anyone willing to make deliveries there deserved a nice tip.

Unlocking and opening the door was a struggle but you managed. You shouted you were back and fast-walked down the stairs, the plastic bags digging into your hands. On the second level, you were faced with Jungkook, who was also climbing the stairs to reach you. He looked as if he was ready to attack you with a hug before noticing the bags.

“A little help?” you asked, raising the bags a little higher. Your arms protested loudly.

Jungkook quickly took most of the bags from you and if you hadn’t been the one carrying them before, you would have believed they were light as a feather with the way he was holding them. “What are all these?” he asked, peeking into the bags. His eyes sparkled and his smile widened in realization when he spotted the containers. “Is that–?”

“Gelato,” you said, a little proud of yourself for thinking of making the stop on your way back.

Jungkook’s steps turned into little hops. “You are the best! How much did you get? Are these all different flavors?”

“You will see…”

Jungkook made a sound close to a petulant whine. “Come on,” he said, dragging the vowels. “What are they? Did you get hazelnut?”

“We’re almost there. You’ll see in a minute.” The garden was coming into view as you climbed down to the last level but Jungkook still turned back to pout at you. “Dramatic bunny,” you muttered lowly but not low enough for his enhanced hearing not to pick it up. You didn’t mind, his giggles were cute.

At the bottom of the stairs, Namjoon and Seokjin were waiting for you.

Seokjin squeezed your wrist in greeting before saying, “He is a very dramatic bunny.”

“Hey! You should be on my side!”

Seokjin raised his eyebrows. “And why is that?” And that set off a round of bickering as they walked to the table to set down the bags.

Despite your protests, Namjoon took the last bags from you. “You should accept a little help from time to time,” he said firmly. You knew that he meant it for more than this. You decided to ignore it for now, you would overthink this later.

“Everyone, gather around! I brought gelato!” you called.

In a few minutes, everyone was gathered around the table. Hoseok, upon seeing the many containers of gelato, had done a happy dance, kissed your cheek and ran upstairs with Seokjin to get bowls and spoons. Jimin had wrapped himself around your back and was licking his lips, which was highly distracting. You shouldn’t be thinking about this.

Taehyung was the quietest one, as he usually was. He was sitting next to Yoongi, looking at all the containers with parted lips.

“I got gelato for us,” you told him. “It is really good. I got a lot of flavors so you can try as many as you want.”

“Gelato,” Taehyung repeated softly, gazing at the containers spread over the table.

Hoseok and Seokjin arrived with eight bowls, too many spoons and three ice cream scoops—you didn’t even know you had that many—and set them down around the table. You busied yourself with opening all the containers. You already knew which flavors you wanted so you grabbed one of the scoops and served yourself three scoops of ice cream.

Jimin had hooked his chin over your shoulder and wasn’t making any move to serve himself. That was up to you then.

“Which flavor do you want?” you asked him, dipping the scoop into the cup of water.

He rubbed his cheek against your shoulder lazily. “Hmmm, I think I want to try a few before I decide.”

You decided to indulge him, you liked it when he got playful and joked with you. You preferred when he was confident and asked for what he wanted. It was beautiful to witness how much he had changed through the months. You dipped a spoon into the flavors in your bowl first and brought them to his mouth. He savored each spoonful, humming and licking his full lips. He was so close to you, if you turned completely your noses would touch. How did you always end up in these situations lately?

“I want that too,” Jungkook said, pouting and pointing at your spoon. He was sitting at the bench and he had his own bowl in front of him, filled with four scoops of gelato.

“You want almond?” you asked.

“No, I want to be fed too.”

“You really are a baby,” Seokjin said. “Is that what’s going to be happening now? Whatever one has the other wants too?”

Jungkook looked away, taking his spoon again disappointed. “No, it just looked nice. It felt nice to be cared for when we were at the lake. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I just wanted to ask.”

At the lake, you had been feeding them strawberries dipped in chocolate and your mind had run too wild. You should stop thinking about that. “I want to, you are just a little far. I can’t really reach.”

Jimin was about to say something, probably offer a solution but before he could, Seokjin had picked up Jungkook and plopped him down in his lap.

“Here, I will feed you, you big baby. Is this alright?” he asked, ever caring.

Jungkook squirmed a little but seemed pleased, a light flush settling on his cheeks. “Yes, of course.” He was as tall as Seokjin but in his lap, he looked much smaller. He opened his mouth obediently when Seokjin brought the spoon to his lips.

Your eyes strayed to Taehyung, you were hyper-aware of him whenever you were in the same place. His eyes had that look that you couldn’t understand, it was there every time you interacted with the other hybrids lately. They were telling you that he was opening up more these days but to you, he remained a mystery.

In the end, Jimin ate most of your gelato and you scooped some chocolate chip cookie into your bowl because you knew how much he liked it. Hoseok and Namjoon closed the containers and carried them upstairs, they returned and went to sit by the pool. Yoongi finished quickly and lied down under the shade of the tree closest to them. Jungkook grew sleepy and turned to the side, laying his head on Seokjin’s shoulder. Jimin joined them, hugging Jungkook from the side.

Taehyung stayed at the bench like he wasn’t sure where he should go, his empty bowl in front of him.

“Did you like it?” you asked, gesturing to his bowl. Another reminder of your shortcomings, you didn’t even know how much he had progressed in English.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. The low timbre of his voice surprised you each time. You heard it so rarely that you didn’t get the chance to get used to it.

You should make an effort to talk to him, avoiding him would only make matters worse. But you couldn’t find anything to say. What exactly could you say to him, who had lived most of his life like a caged animal, who you had bought at an illegal auction?

Suddenly, you had the equivalent of a light bulb lighting up next to your head in a cartoon.

“Hobi told me you liked the painting of the pomegranate in the gallery,” you said then realized that pomegranate was probably a word he couldn’t understand and proceeded to explain the painting. “It has glass around it and a hand is holding it. Am I making sense?”

Seokjin looked at you amused but Taehyung nodded in understanding. “It is beautiful.”

“Right, it is,” you agreed. “The artist, the one who made it, is holding an exhibition in LA. We could go if you would like.”

You had bought the painting from her long before her fame had grown and spread. There was a magic to the way Eliana Velasco painted, everything came alive under her brush strokes. The painting of the pomegranate had enchanted you and given your history, you had to have it.

“Go?” he repeated, clearly confused.

“Yeah, to a place that has many of her paintings. You can see them there. Would you like that?” Talking to him, you were more nervous than at any of the award shows you had attended the past few years, more nervous than during any contract negotiations.

Taehyung’s eyes widened a fraction before he nodded. “Can I… see them?”

“Of course,” you said.

Jungkook stirred against Seokjin’s shoulder. “Are we going to an exhibition?”

“If you want to.”

“Are you going to be there too?” he asked and that was harder to answer. Your schedule was the busiest it had been in months and you were drowning in deadlines and responsibilities. You were saved from answering him by a notification on your phone. The numbers displaying the time showed that you were late to leave. You pocketed your phone and with quick goodbyes, you disappeared.

 You were so stupid. You had offered to take Taehyung to an exhibition when work was wrapped around you like a noose. But you had panicked. Eliana had sent you an invitation for the opening night, promising there would be French champagne and hors d’ oeuvres. You had attended plenty of her exhibitions and had many conversations about art and life and their inter-connected philosophy while drinking champagne or wine and staring at paintings.

Although Taehyung’s situation was solved and Amelia had let you know some time ago that legally you were safe, going to the opening night didn’t sound like a good idea. There would be many journalists there who would love to write a piece about you and your sudden decision to adopt so many hybrids. They could go without you another day, that wouldn’t be too bad. Taehyung looked so hopeful and now that you had said it, you couldn’t take it back. You could text Eliana and ask her if she could meet you there one day so you could introduce her to them.

You should try and get some time off.

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It was like a curse, to not be able to sleep in the very few hours you could afford to. Your bed was empty and cold and you couldn’t get comfortable regardless of how much you twisted and turned. Your limbs were too long and awkward and nothing felt right. All the wild thoughts you couldn’t be bothered with during the day showed up one after the other to be examined from every angle and set aside to pick up the next one. It was a losing battle and yet you insisted on fighting it every time before giving in, getting up and popping a pill into your mouth.

You returned the bottle to the cabinet and closed it. After Seoul, for some time it had returned to your bedside table but after a couple of weeks had passed it felt like you were admitting defeat by keeping it there. The image in the mirror was a far cry from the celebrity you were supposed to be. The darkness under your eyes formed bruises, getting worse by the day. Your skin had grown pale and your hair was a mess, you hadn’t had enough strength to braid it before attempting to fall asleep.

You considered going back to bed but the pills could take up to an hour to work when your insomnia reached its peak and you were craving a snack. Something small and sweet sounded nice.

Once again, you had returned late and eaten dinner alone. Your appetite was lacking although the food was delicious. Sometimes, it got like that when you were too tired. You had promised yourself to limit early mornings and late nights but that had changed when you had texted Eliana about the exhibition. She had offered to accompany you to the exhibition on one of the days it was closed to the public and you were more than thankful to her but that also meant that you would have to take half the day off.

The TV was on in the living room, subtitles displayed at the bottom of the screen with no sound. Namjoon was sitting on the couch, arms crossed and watching with distracted eyes. Everyone else had departed to their rooms for the night. His ears twitched as you took a few more steps and he turned to look at you.

You waved your hand, trying to offer him a smile. “Hey.”

He sat up straighter. “Hi. Why are you still awake? Do you need something?”

“Just some water. Maybe a snack.”

“You were really tired when you went to bed. Did you not fall asleep?” he asked, frowning.

You shrugged. “I couldn’t. It’s one of those nights. If I eat something, maybe I will fall asleep easier. A full stomach and all that.” You didn’t mention the pill, it was awkward to do that. “Don’t let me disturb you. I’ll just grab something and go back to bed.”

Namjoon got up and in a few strides, he was standing in front of you. He caressed your cheek, searching for something in your eyes. You weren’t sure what he could see there. “I’ll join you. Let’s sit together for a bit. I haven’t seen you properly in a few days.”

“But you must have stayed back to watch that,” you said. A documentary was playing on the TV, something about Egyptian history.

“It doesn’t matter. I would rather spend my time with you. Unless you don’t want to, then I’ll go back to the couch and be very quiet.”

You slid your hand in his, the touch grounding you in a night that felt both like you were wide awake and caught in a blurry dream. “I would like some company. I’ve missed you too. I’m–”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. There is no need for that.”

He leaned down, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead. His lips lingered for a few moments, warmth spreading inside you. You raised your head and captured his lips in a kiss. The worst part was that you couldn’t remember how long it had been since you had last shared a kiss. His lips were velvet as you remembered them. This was home. Running back and forth, you had forgotten what it felt like.

You pulled back and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”

In the kitchen, Namjoon stood next to you as you rummaged through the cupboards for something that looked appetizing to you. The cupboards were full and yet nothing was calling to you until Namjoon remembered that Seokjin had made ice cream sandwiches with the gelato you had bought and various kinds of cookies. That sounded like heaven so you opened the freezer and chose two of them.

You leaned against the counter, shoulder to shoulder with Namjoon, while you devoured them. Gelato might not have been the best idea to put you to sleep but they tasted heavenly. The pill would start working sooner or later.

“Is it worse today?” he asked. He didn’t elaborate further, he didn’t have to.

The ice cream sandwiches were gone and you were left holding the plate. You licked your fingers and placed it in the sink. “I have a lot of things on my mind. I should be too tired to think but apparently, I’m never too tired for that.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Everything, more or less.” You turned to the side, facing him. “There’s too much to think about and not enough time. Never enough time,” you muttered the last sentence to yourself. If you had all the time in the world it would still not be enough, you would find a way to fill it. “I’ve been putting everything off. Everything I don’t want to deal with or I don’t know how to deal with. And the longer I put it off, the worse it gets.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, taking in what you said and pondering how to reply. It was beautiful, how his mind worked and how attentive he was. “If there is any way we can help you, anything I–we can do, we will. Whatever you want to do, we will support you. Sometimes, in our head, we can make things look bigger, more scary than they are. Do you want to talk about them? Maybe if you talk about what you have to do or what you’re worried about, it will be easier to work out the best way to approach them.”

That was something your therapist used to tell you, that while things festered in your head, they would only get more tangled and more daunting. She had suggested writing them down or talking to her about them. She was right, you knew she was right and that it helped and yet you hadn’t stopped to do that.

You took a deep breath, debating if it would be better to find a notebook and figure out your mess on paper instead of dragging Namjoon into it. But there was a part of you that itched to confide in him and give in to the way you felt safe when you were together. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” you confessed.

You started slowly, with your usual worries about Taehyung, how he was adjusting and how little time you were spending with him and if that was for the best. It was the same old spiralling, you had poked and prodded at it so many times and Namjoon must have been bored of listening to the same rehashed concerns, yet he didn’t interrupt you. You unravelled steadily, once you started speaking, you couldn’t stop. There was the filming for the Raven Cycle, the final touches of Six of Crows, the premiere and the weeks of promotions and the anticipation for the reviews of the critics and the audiences. The book you hadn’t finished and the deadline you couldn’t meet.

You rubbed your hands over your face. It had been so long since most of those problems had surfaced and you were ashamed that you hadn’t faced them yet. “And we haven’t told anyone about us. We said we would and I know you’re waiting for me but I’m never here. And I don’t know how.”

Namjoon caught your hand and brought it to his lips. Lowering it, his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your skin. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. They will understand and they will be happy for us. You shouldn’t let this keep you awake, everything will be alright. They are our pack, this won’t change anything.”

“But…” The anxiety that persisted. “Yoongi. What if his reaction is… bad. You know what he said.”

“That was before.” He sounded sure but there was a tightness at his jaw. “It is different now. He is different, you can see it. He is softer around the edges, he even helps Jin in the kitchen. He’s settling in.”

 “Because he doesn’t know,” you said. “You remember what he said, right? That night? That I adopted you so I could take my pick and now there is Jin and it’s just too much like that, can’t you see it?”

“It’s nothing like that. We both–” Namjoon stiffened, his gaze locking somewhere towards the entrance. “Yoongi?”

Your heart rate sped up, a knot forming in your chest. Yoongi walked in, his socked feet not making a sound. How much had he heard? The last minutes of the conversation replayed in your mind in a panicked mess. What had you said? How long had he been there, listening to you, before Namjoon noticed him? What conclusions would he reach?

Instinctively, you tried to get away from Namjoon but his hold on your hand kept you there.

The panther’s face didn’t give anything away. You couldn’t read him regardless of how much you studied him. You didn’t know his tells, if he had any. His expression was a carefully curated mask of apathy and you couldn’t see past it. Or you didn’t dare to try. Maybe you were too afraid of what you would find.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked, voice missing some of its smoothness.

Namjoon held your hand tighter. “You are the only one who can sneak up on me.”

You swallowed down your anxiety and tried to think of him the way he was the past few months, when he helped you with rearranging your office, him playing the piano in the afternoons, your walk at the lake, the vague memory of him helping you up to your room when you were drunk in Virginia. But they were all pushed back by the memory of his snarl and his sharp teeth that night.

“How much did you hear?” you asked, forcing your voice to be steady. He was going to learn of it at some point and as scared as you were, you had to face this.

“Enough.” His tail curled behind him and stilled. “You are afraid of my reaction to something. Is that it?”

Your eyes locked with Namjoon’s and he nodded. This time you weren’t going to run. This time would be different. “Yes, there is something we wanted to tell you. Something we wanted to tell everyone. I didn’t know how to tell you, that’s all.”

“You can tell me now,” he said and it sounded almost like a dare. You weren’t sure if you were walking into a trap.

Namjoon spoke up before you could. “You remember that the two of us are… We are together, as humans would say, romantically.” Yoongi nodded. You couldn’t imagine how he could forget. “That extends to Jin now. We love him and he loves us.” It was almost like he was challenging him to say anything but Yoongi was quiet.

“We didn’t know how to tell everyone. And you…” You didn’t know how to finish.

He scoffed. “I was an asshole.” One side of his lips was twisted up but something about it hurt. “You didn’t want to tell me because I was an asshole when I found out about you two. Worse than an asshole.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, his shoulders were slumped as if in defeat. For a moment, you wished to reassure him but what he was saying was the truth. “I understand. I’m not– I’m happy for you. And I’m sorry.”

He turned to leave but, through your confusion, you knew you didn’t want him to go.

“Wait,” you called. He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Let’s talk. We need to talk.”

Yoongi looked at you over his shoulder. This time, you studied him without your heavy-duty lenses, without the fear of discovery. Like the expression of an actor, you picked apart the tiniest details to paint a picture. When your own barriers were gone, it was easier to see.

“What is there to talk about?” he asked.

“A lot. Things we should have talked about sooner.” Communication was a golden rule in your handbook and you used to be good at it, you tried to be good at it. The misunderstanding trope was overused and useless when the issue could be resolved with a simple conversation.

It was about time you stopped walking on eggshells.

“We never truly talked about it,” you started. “And I didn’t really want to because things were going so well. They are going well. But you are my family now.” His lips parted, only slightly but you caught it. “I can’t know how all of you see it, if it’s the same for you, but that’s the way I feel. And I want to be honest with you. I still think about what you said in the garden and sometimes it affects me more than I would like. However, I would like to put it behind us but I want to know what you think.”

His eyes were sharp but you weren’t fooled this time. “Can we? Can we really put it behind us?”

 Namjoon was silent next to you, he was letting you handle it.

“I think we are already beginning to.” You took a deep breath in preparation. There was a question that could make or break this peace between you and you were both dreading and dying to ask. “Do you think that I’m taking advantage of them because I love them romantically?”

His eyes widened. “No,” he denied sharply. “No, of course I don’t.”

It was like a knot unravelling in your heart. Although there was a part of you that had known, the relief was still there. “Then we can move past it. We can try again. We are already trying again.”

“How?” Yoongi asked and he sounded smaller, much smaller than you were used to.

The pills were beginning to act, it was a light drowsiness at first. You had to do this quickly before you fell asleep and crumbled down on the floor.

“The same way we are doing now. By doing our best.”

“I am trying” His hands clenched into fists and loosened again. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“You don’t need to be. Not anymore. As long as I know that we are fine.” Your eyes were growing heavier and the fog was slipping in. “I think we should go to bed now,” you said. It was getting more and more difficult to open your eyes.

You must have stumbled or something because you heard Yoongi ask, “Are you alright?” at the same time as Namjoon’s “Do you want help?”

You waved them both off. “I’m fine. It’s the pills.” It was easier to admit when you were almost asleep. One moment your feet were on the floor and the next you were up in the air. “Joon?”

“I’m taking you to your room. It’s time for sleep.” One of his arms was under your knees and the other was holding you close to his body.

“Namjoon, I can walk,” you protested weakly. Namjoon shushed you and you let it go. You were so incredibly sleepy and you were safe there. You relaxed in his arms and finally closed your eyes.

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Most of the flowers were drooping in the garden of the Castle. Namjoon and Jimin were attempting to keep them alive for as long as possible before fall swept them away. They cut off the dead leaves, watered the plants and applied the appropriate fertilisers. There were also varieties that lasted all year and the gardener had taught them how to take care of them too.

“These won’t last much longer,” Jimin said, running his fingers gently over the petals of a slowly wilting flower.

“They will bloom again in spring,” Namjoon reassured him. “Each season has its beauty and these belong to spring and summer. Autumn has its own colors too but they are different.”

Jimin pulled his hand back and grabbed the watering can. “I know, but I will miss them.”

Namjoon patted his head and Jimin preened under his touch, chasing his hand. He was too cute sometimes and Namjoon adored him. “It’s okay to miss it but you can also be happy about the new things that are coming. Miss Roberts said she will bring sunflowers and hydrangeas to plant next week, it will add some color. When something ends, something else begins.”

Jimin giggled, watering the flowers although they would be dead next week. “Nora has told you many times to call her by her name.”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his head. “I forgot. I’m trying.”

Yoongi came out of the house, a book in his hand. He had been visiting the library more lately. Namjoon had been wondering where he had been. The rest of the pack had holed up in the cinema room to watch a comedy and, like the two of them, Yoongi had opted out but they hadn’t seen him since.

“Yoongi!” Jimin called, waving with the hand that wasn’t holding the watering can. “Come here. Sit with us, we are almost done.”

Yoongi paused, glancing at the table and benches on the other side of the garden.

“Come on,” Namjoon called for him as well. That was enough to sway Yoongi���s decision, who made his way to them.

Jimin bounced up to him, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the flower bushes they were tending to. Yoongi grumbled about the rough treatment but Namjoon wasn’t fooled, the upturn of his lips was small but unmistakable.

Jimin explained to him what they had been doing so far and Yoongi listened to him attentively.

“They are beautiful. You have been doing a really good job. Both of you,” he said, his eyes darting to Namjoon.

He was tense, it wasn’t obvious but Namjoon could pick it up. He gave him a smile, hoping he would relax. Yoongi confused him but he thought he could understand him a little better now. “Thank you. What are you reading?”

“Oh, this?” Yoongi raised the book a little and shrugged. “I saw it and I thought it was interesting.”

“I haven’t seen that before,” Namjoon said.

The cover was painted in shades of yellow and orange, framing two pyramids. Without saying anything, Yoongi handed him the book. It was called The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and it was a relatively short book. He turned it around to look at the synopsis and Jimin peeked at it over his shoulder. Namjoon wondered if you had read it or if it had been sitting there unread on your shelves for years. There were so many books in your library and you had admitted that you hadn’t read most of them, but you had also told them that once upon a time you used to read a hundred books a year.

“It does sound interesting,” Namjoon commented, passing back the book. “You should tell me if it is any good when you finish it.”

Yoongi looked down at the book’s cover. “I will.”

Jimin declared that they were done with gardening for the day and grabbed both of their hands, pulling them to the shade underneath one of the trees. They sat down and he situated himself with his head in Namjoon’s lap and his legs in Yoongi’s. Yoongi cracked open his book and began to read while Jimin talked about flowers.

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“And… CUT!” you called. It was repeated again by Will and the actors relaxed, the expressions of their characters wiped clean. “That will be it for today. Thank you everyone!”

The crew buzzed as the cameras and the sound systems were turned off. People were talking to their earpieces and others were giving pats on the back to each other for another successful day on set. Crew members passed by and offered their congratulations to you.

“What are you rushing for?” Will asked.

You continued throwing everything carelessly into your backpack. “I’m visiting the gallery today, remember?”

“Right, that’s today,” he said, snapping his fingers. Some things stuck with you in entertainment. For example, the overexaggerated gestures. “I thought you had a company meeting dressed like this. A very important one.”

In the morning, you had put more thought into your outfit compared to a simple filming day. You were wearing tan trousers and a form-fitting black top embellished by a crossover belt that wrapped around the body and was tied together with a golden Medusa head emblem. The heels, the golden earrings, bracelets, and rings confirmed that filming wasn’t the only thing on your schedule.

You slung your backpack over your shoulder (you would switch it later with a black Dior bag you had in your car). “No meetings for me today. I really have to go. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

“Have a good time, boss!”

You greeted any familiar faces on your way to your car and sent a quick message to Namjoon that you would be picking them up soon. The 8-seater car was an impulse purchase at a time when you had a larger friend group. You hadn’t used it much, only for a couple of short trips to private beaches.

You checked your appearance in the visor mirror and reapplied some powder and lipstick. You looked good enough, there wasn’t much more you could do.

The hybrids were waiting by the fountain. They had dressed nicely for the occasion, wearing some of the more formal outfits you had bought for them. You could feel the excitement in the air as they climbed into the car. It had been a long time since you had gone to the city like this. Jimin was quick to slide into the passenger seat, followed by a little happy dance at his success.

The exhibition was taking place in Central Los Angeles, housed in a tall and wide building that appeared to be made up of several cubes that jutted out of the main structure. Jungkook and Hoseok had their phones out, taking photos of the strange building. Distantly, you remembered coming here before but you couldn’t place when or why.

Eliana was waiting for you inside wearing a simple flowing blue dress and a large smile. You greeted each other with a hug and proceeded to introduce the boys to her. She shook their hands enthusiastically and in a few seconds she had already engaged them in a conversation about art. Usually, she talked quickly like she was rushing to get everything out before she forgot but she was talking slowly now, using simpler words and waiting for Hoseok to translate whenever he deemed he should.

She guided you through the gallery, floating ahead of you. She gave explanations of some of her works while she let others speak for themselves. Taehyung’s eyes were sparkling while she talked, in a way you had never seen before. His smile stayed on during your whole visit, big and boxy, and you finally felt like you were doing something right.

The other hybrids seemed to be enjoying themselves as well. Namjoon was asking plenty of questions about the meaning behind the paintings and her inspiration and Jungkook was very interested in the more technical aspect of her work. She readily answered all of their questions and when you pointed out that Jungkook spent a lot of his time painting, she encouraged him to show her some of his work. Although he was shy, hiding behind his floppy ears at first, Eliana managed to convince him to show her a few of the paintings he had on his phone. She was stunned when you told her he had only been painting for a few months and Jungkook grew even shier when she showered him in compliments.

At the end of the tour, she let you wander the gallery by yourselves for some time and then suggested going to the gallery’s gardens to hang out. The gardens were of considerable size, about as large as the inside of the gallery. Neatly trimmed flower bushes lined the pathways and plenty of modern sculptures decorated the space. A large fountain stood proudly in the middle and there was an artfully made gazebo raised on a platform at a far corner, overlooking the gardens.

You offered to go get some coffee and some baked goods from a nearby bakery/coffee shop you had found on the internet. Eliana protested at first but she gave in quickly at the promise of an iced Spanish latte and muffins. Namjoon volunteered to accompany you, although what surprised you was Yoongi offering to come along.

“You need more than two people to carry everything,” was the only explanation you got. You couldn’t deny that he was right.

He hadn’t been acting any different towards you since you had let him know about the nature of your relationship with Seokjin, so you acted the same way you always did too. His quiet acceptance was more than enough for you and it was a great weight off your shoulders.

You were talking about the exhibition, not surprised that Yoongi had been paying close attention to the paintings as he recalled his favorites, when a call of your name surprised you. The voice was familiar and, for a few seconds, you couldn’t place it. Until you could. And the peace froze over.

You turned around to find Jacob waving at you in the quiet street. His hair was cut much shorter than the last time you had seen him and his white loose pants and half-unbuttoned shirt made him look like he had just stepped off a yacht party. Maybe he had. His thousand-watt smile, reminiscent of a politician, was fixed firmly on his face.

“Hey, I knew it was you,” he said when he caught up with you, like he had won a prize. He pulled you into a quick hug and you didn’t know what to do with your hands until he let you go. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”

You wiped invisible dust from your trousers. “Yeah, I’ve been very busy.”

“You were never  one for rest, right? The woman always running, always working, never has time for anything else,” he joked and it shouldn’t bother you the way it did. He gestured to Yoongi and Namjoon, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Namjoon looked politely curious and Yoongi downright uninterested.

“Right,” you said. “This is Yoongi and Namjoon. And this is Jacob.”

Their eyes sharpened the moment you uttered the name.

“I’m just Jacob now?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “After three years? Not even a friend?”

“I don’t know. It isn’t like we’ve spoken since last year.”

Initially after your breakup, you used to imagine how your next meeting would go and how the two of you would act around each other. Three years was a long time to share your life with someone to then go back to being strangers. You hadn’t entertained the idea much since then, you had found yourself thinking about him less and less. Still, whenever you thought about meeting him, you hadn’t anticipated the bitterness that grazed your insides.

Jacob chuckled awkwardly. “Well, you said you were busy. I have been busy as well, I’m working with a few very big names, you know. I got my hands on some of the best songs of the year.”

“I’m sure they’re great.”

“Haven’t you listened to any of them? You must have heard a few of them. They were everywhere.” Jacob was talented enough and well-connected and he sure liked to brag about it. “I asked Zayn and he said you were doing well, working of course. And you got yourself some company too.”

You clenched your jaw to bite back the harshness burning on the tip of your tongue. You hated the way he said it and the way it reminded you of your mother.

“It was a bit of a surprise, I’ll admit. I don’t remember you ever talking about adopting, you didn’t seem a big fan of the idea. No offense of course,” he directed the last part to Namjoon and Yoongi.

“Things change,” you said dismissively. “We have to go. There are people waiting for us.”

Jacob’s smile didn’t falter but his eyes narrowed a fraction for only a second. He may only be part of your past but you could still read him well. Was it the same for him? Had he ever been able to read you in the first place?

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.”

You turned around and started walking, Namjoon and Yoongi following you. Last year you loved him enough to move in with him and this year you couldn’t stand to be in his presence. You thought you would feel nothing when you’d see him again but the truth was that everything about him irritated you. His poised smile, his bragging, his nonchalance.

Why was he able to get under your skin like this? You were over him, you didn’t want anything to do with him. But you were supposed to be civil, uninterested like the heroines who didn’t raise more than an eyebrow in the direction of their exes. It irked you and the way he looked at Namjoon and Yoongi irked you more. You had defended him to everyone, he wasn’t a bad guy, he didn’t treat you badly but as time passed you were starting to realize some things you couldn’t see clearly before.

Yoongi was the first one to speak up when you had almost reached the coffee shop, “What an asshole.”

“He isn’t–” You stopped yourself and laughed. “You know what? He is, a little bit.”

“A little bit?” he repeated, doubtfully.

“I don’t want to judge but…” The way Namjoon paused told you everything you needed to know. “I had to try very hard to stop myself from growling at him.”

Yoongi smirked. “Down, wolf.” Namjoon ignored him.

“Thank you for not doing that, that wouldn’t have ended well. Please, don’t growl at people.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that.”

Well, you couldn’t say that you minded that much. You could admit to yourself that Namjoon growling was kind of hot. And if the situation called for it…

“I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,” Namjoon said. “It was weird. There was something about it that was wrong, almost demeaning.”

“He can be like that sometimes. Like he is above almost everyone else, like some things are beneath him. He would make those stupid comments and I would always try to ignore them,” He was always supportive of your career and proud of your success but he had never shown interest in any of your other hobbies and likes. Reading was boring, paintings were overrated and overpriced, drinking tea was pretentious. “I never thought I would be one of those shit-talking their exes unless they did something really bad.”

“I support this shit-talking,” Namjoon said.

“I do too,” Yoongi agreed.

It made a strangely pleasant feeling run up your spine. “We’re here,” you said, instead of continuing the conversation. According to Google Maps, you had arrived at the coffee shop.

As you walked inside, you might have heard Yoongi saying lowly to Namjoon, “I kind of wanted to punch him.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

You were sitting on the chair in front of your vanity, braiding your hair and stuck thinking of the same scene. Before going to his room for the night, Taehyung had approached you and thanked you for taking him to the exhibition. His expression was sincere and you finally felt like you were moving in the right direction. 

When there was a knock at your door, you already knew who it was before you called for them to come in.

“Can we sleep here tonight?” Jimin asked, Jungkook draped over his back.

“When have I ever told you no?” you asked, finishing your braid and securing it in place with a silky scrunchy. “Go on.”

They both hopped on the bed, bouncing a little and sharing delightful smiles. You watched them through the mirror as they rolled around, holding each other.

Jimin looked up from where he was tangled with Jungkook, holding your gaze through his reflection. “Are you coming?”

“I am, I am,” you said, putting your brush back in the drawer.

You joined them on the bed, their hands quickly reaching for you and situating you between them like the last time. Jimin purred in contentment, rubbing his face in your collarbones. Jungkook held onto your arm and you could feel his breath caressing your neck with how close he was lying. 

An unwanted echo of what Jacob had said entered your mind.  Always working, never having time for anything else or anyone else, even the ones most important to you. You were gone most of the days and it made sense that they wanted to be close to you at least at night.

“Did you have fun today?” you asked them to distract yourself. 

“I loved it! Eliana was so nice and her paintings were incredible,” Jimin said.  “I took so many photos, my phone must be full of them.”

Jungkook nuzzled up closer to you. “I took many photos too. Can we print the one we took of us all together? I want to put it in our room.”

“Yes, please,” Jimin added cutely.

“Of course. You should print a couple more too, if you want, and choose some pretty frames for them. There is a lot of free space in your room.”

They cheered a little. You lied there in comfortable silence but you could detect a nervous energy in the air. It was in the way Jimin was fidgeting with the hem of your silk night shirt and how tightly Jungkook was gripping your arm. You waited until they were ready.

“We actually… we have something to tell you,” Jimin said.

“Anything you want, kitten,” you said, running your fingers through his hair. You could see how the use of the nickname affected him, squirming a little as his smile grew sweeter. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I just–” He looked at Jungkook, who gave him an encouraging nod. “I kissed him, we kissed. And… it makes me very happy.”

Jungkook caught Jimin’s hand that was pulling at your shirt and intertwined their fingers, laying their joint hands on your stomach. “He makes me very happy too,” he said in a small voice.

The new knowledge was like a puzzle piece sliding into place. It felt natural to you that their relationship would progress like that. The way they looked at each other, the way they touched each other, was evidence of a deeply intimate connection. If the image your mind conjured of them kissing lit a spark in your chest, you hid it even from yourself.

“Thank you for telling me. If it makes you happy, then I am happy too. All I want for you is to be happy and know how loved you are. Come here.” You pulled them closer and placed lingering kisses on their foreheads. “I will always support you. Always.” You took a decision then. You couldn’t put it off any longer. “I have something to tell you too. Jimin already knows but Jungkook, I would like for you to know too. I don’t know how to say this exactly and I’m sorry we’ve kept this from you but I, Namjoon and Jin have been romantically involved. All of us. We have been kissing too.”

“Oh.” Jungkook paused. “That makes sense.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that, Jimin joining you. “I mean you’re very close and it just makes sense. We’re pack and I think that most packs are a little in love with each other, in one way or another,” he said. His cheeks felt hot against your shoulder.

In one way or another. He was right, it was such a special bond and you could imagine that for hybrids who felt the sense of pack deeper, the lines were easily blurred. A door opened in your mind but you closed it again forcefully.

Jimin fit his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you. I love you so much, all of you. Our pack. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you. I don’t know if I deserve this.” His voice was wet.

“You do,” you stated. “You deserve everything and more. And we love you so much. So much.”

Jungkook squeezed his hand. “We love you, Jiminie. Our pack wouldn’t be complete without you. We need you to be whole. We need everyone.”

Their hands remained linked over your abdomen as you fell asleep.

Please comment and reblog it motivates me to keep writing

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Can u do a Bayverse family au oneshot of Raph being a girl dad and hanging out with his girls?

Dad’s Monkeys (Fluff)

Children Series

Bayverse!Raphael x reader

A/N: It’s about time I give Raph and his daughters some time to shine❤️ The whole Monkey Tree thing is inspired by a came the children in my kindergarten have started playing, where they pretend to hang and climb on the adults. However we usually do it while sitting down, and do not actually allow the kids to hang from our arms in order to protect our backs. But it's fun and they enjoy it. Hope you’ll enjoy❤️

Ages: Joan - 7. Minerva - 3. Ragnar - A few weeks.

Warning: None that I can think of❤️

Sometimes, having a newborn along with a 3 year old and a 7 year old could be very hard. With your newborn son Ragnar, taking up most of your attention, it was hard to provide Joan and Minerva with the same attention, especially when Ragnar seemed to cry whenever he wasn’t carried or strapped to you. Luckily, your husband was there to help you with that, often taking your daughters off your hands, so you were able to provide for the young boy, who still wasn’t able to hold up his head on his own.

It was not hard for Raph to keep his daughter's attention. They adored him, with both of them willing to be described as their father’s girls. Joan being a force to be reckoned with, proving to be the biggest fear of Raph’s punching bag, and Mini always sticking around or on Raph whenever she could, like a monkey in a tree. And so, Raph would often bring his daughters to the weight room, where all three could take turns on the punching bag. Both for fun, and as a form of training. Two birds with one stone!

“Dad! Watch this!”, Joan yelled out, making sure she had Raph’s attention, before using her boxing glove covered hand to punch the large bag, hanging in a chain from the ceiling, causing it to swing back and furth. Raph was impressed. It felt like yesterday he first taught his oldest child how to swing her fist at a bag, and at the age of 7, she was already throwing a punch that Raph had no doubt could rival both Casey and Vern.

“Wow, well done, Jo”, Raph said, watching his oldest daughter while letting Minerva crawl up on his lap, letting her use his arm for balance. “Where did ya’ learn that?”

“You taught me that!”, Joan exclaimed with a big smile, throwing her arms up in the air, the large gloves looking comical on her hands.

“Ya’ sure? I don’t remember doing that”, Raph said with a small smile, knowing that his light teasing would get a joyful reaction out of Joan.

“Yes, you did, dad!”, Joan called out, almost bouncing over to Raph and Minerva, who had finally gotten comfortable on Raph’s left thigh, with his left arm wrapped around her, her head resting against Raph’s chest, watching her sister jump in her steps in front of Raph.

“Me? I think ya’ must have been dreaming. I couldn’t have taught ya’ that. I’m not that strong”, Raph said, acting like his arms were heavy and tired, slumping his shoulders. This seemed to get a reaction from Minerva, who looked up at Raph like he was crazy.

“That’s not true!”, Minerva called out, almost like Raph’s comment had personally hurt her. “You are strong!”

“Mini’s right, dad!”, Joan said, grabbing onto Raph’s other arm that wasn’t wrapped around her little sister, pushing it up over her head, where Raph kept it in place, allowing Joan to dangle from it like a monkey climbing in a tree, once she had taken her boxing gloves off, throwing them across the room. “See!”

Raph was about to say something along the lines of him just being lucky with his arms, only to get interrupted by Minerva, jumping from Raph’s lap to the floor, pushing the arm that had just been around her, up over her head.

“Me too!”, she yelled, pointing at Joan, still dangling from Raph’s arm. “I want to try too!”

“Only because you two are my favorite climbing monkeys”, Raph said, holding out his arms for Minerva, just low enough for her to grab a hold.

“Yay! Monkeys!”, the two girls exclaimed, laughing and giggling as they swung back and furth on Raph’s arm, kicking their legs underneath them. However those laughs and giggles quickly turned to screams of joy and excitement, as Raph stood up from his seat, bringing the girls higher up into the air, dangling from his arms as we walked around the weight room.

“Ya’ know what?”, Raph asked over the joyous sounds of his daughter. “I might be strong after all”, he said, lifting his arms up and down, like the two girls were nothing but weights, causing them to scream and giggle even louder.

—

With small Ragnar pressed against your chest, his small face scrunched up as he snuggled against you for warmth and comfort, you sat down on the couch, draping a blanket over you, pulled up just high enough, to cover the lower half of your son. Ragnar let out a small sound of comfort, his breathing growing calm as he seemed to fall asleep against you, listening to your heartbeat.

It was here, feeling the exhaust from looking after your newborn slowly take over you, that you heard the unmistakable sound of your daughters’ laughter, echoing against the walls, coming from the weight room. With a smile you listened to your daughters chanting the phrase “Monkey tree! Monkey tree!”, over and over again, followed by your husband’s bombing voice, declaring that he was in fact, a walking monkey tree, with Joan and Minerva laughing loudly at this declaration.

It may at times be hard to take care of a newborn, a 3 year old and a 7 year old, but it was at moments like these, hearing the joyous laughters of your husband and your daughters, provided you with a feeling of comfort, letting you know that everything would be alright in the end. You and Raph were trying your best, and in the end that was perfect.

[trulyhblue]

Way To My Heart

Jessie Fleming x Reader

warnings: period/menstrual pains, nausea, period guilt?? (idk how u would put it), fluff, hurt/comfort, coarse language.

thank you for the inspo!!! @jessiebronze2 <3

A/N — not all periods are the same!! Also, bit of a short one today

_________________________

You couldn't remember the last time you had comfortably moved without feeling the notion of your stomach twisting in the most ridiculing pain.

You always struggled with your period. It was something you had never seemed to get used to as the years went on. No amount of medication could soothe the pain that you felt. Nothing could cure the cramps, the migraines, and everything in between.

It was days of endless, excruciating torture that nothing could eradicate.

Except for your girlfriend.

You and Jessie met at UCLA, where you were studying for your degree, while she multitasked the confronting challenge of being a student-athlete. Everyone could see the talent the Canadian possessed from a mile away, and you were lucky enough to witness her growth throughout the years that she had prospered. While you weren't a football fan growing up, the fondness you felt for the girl must've coerced you to find some enjoyment in the game — though you must admit, the most rewarding part of watching the sport was actually watching your ridiculously hot girlfriend.

Jessie had felt reluctant to leave for training that morning. The early morning chill made a perfect excuse for your girlfriend to cuddle up to your side. There were many instances when Jessie would find herself begrudgingly peeling away from your sleepy figure with a scowl on her face. Training was hard work, full of sweat and grind. She loved it, of course, but she often had trouble shaking the image of you in bed, snuggled into a mound of blankets and pillows instead of her.

The Canadian was the same this morning, except she noticed a subtle change in the furrow of your eyebrows. The crease was pained. It was deep with exhaustion, and your body was curled up into a ball, feigning your figure into the smallest confinement it could muster. Beads of sweat peaked at your hairline, your skin a few hues paler than normal.

Jessie wisped the hairs that had fallen in your sleep away from your face, opening the windows in hopes that fresh air would calm your heated cheeks. At first, she thought you had a fever, or maybe even a cold. Both of you adapted to the London whether easy enough, save for the few times when a virus would spread through the city — that was where neither of you could fight it off. As hesitated by her closest, contemplating whether to call in and say she was unable to attend.

She watched as you tossed and turned, pulling on her training gear in an endeavour to fix her conscience off of you. She knew that if you found out she cancelled training for you, it’d only make your mood worse. You were as stubborn as each other. It was when you stirred from your sleep, feeling the drop of your stomach hurl your eyes open, that Jessie climbed over the duvet to you.

“Are you okay?” She asked, combing your hair softly. You clutched your stomach upon instinct, pulling taunt on the sheets beneath you.

“I'm on it.”

It took her less than a second to comprehend what you meant. Her eyes widened, unbeknownst to you, and shielded the bright light that streamed through the curtains away from you.

“Oh, baby,” she muttered, running her hand down your arm. “What can I do?” She shuffled to your side, maneuvering your body onto her chest, sighing at the way your body complied with her movements like putty.

“Just this is okay,” you replied solemnly, closing your eyes. Jessie made sure to keep her breathing balanced, using as much concentration as possible to keep her body still. The two of you stayed like that for a while, until you moved your head up with a wince, noticing the Chelsea logo adorned on your girlfriend's shorts.

“You need to go, Jess.”

The look on Jessie’s face told you all you needed to know. She must've forgotten all about training, bound by the comfort of your body pressing into her own, and pursed her lips together to show her contention to the statement.

You huffed, lifting your body to move back to your side of the bed. “C’mon Jessie Baby, you’ll be la—”

Your balance was shaky, your arms lacking the strength to hold you up for long. Jessie pulled you back into her chest, wrapping her arms over you, her hands resting on your arse and thighs.

“You're sick,” she stated, swaying you back and forth. The movement was comforting enough for the aches in your body. “I can stay, y’know. They let us stay.”

“Don't lie, Fleming, I swear to God.” You retorted, using all your strength to push yourself back against the sheets. The woman looked at you with the utmost concern. Her eyes were beady and broad, empathy scattered across the constellation of freckles dotted across her cheeks.

“You are going to training, Jess.”

Jess took her time in replying, hoping the silence would make you rethink your decision. She would love nothing more than to shower you with praise and affection. She’d make you breakfast without you getting out of bed, then run you a bath so that your muscles would ease from the heat.

She’d bring you whatever you wanted whether that was chocolate, ice cream, cuddles, kisses — anything. In times like this, she was completely at your will. But on the other hand, she knew you had made up your mind. Jessie loved football, you thought. You weren't going to make her stay home for you, especially when you were experienced with this sort of pain prior to now.

So that's how you were left to yourself for most of the day.

Jessie left reluctantly after ten minutes getting the rest of her things. She made sure to bring you in some food and multiple heat packs before she ran out the door, already inevitably late. You stayed in bed for the most part, finding yourself huddled into a ball with your phone in front of you. After a while, a recurring, dull discomfort flared in your head, and you weren't able to scroll aimlessly on social media due to the light sending hurt across your face.

Jessie sent you hourly questions, asking if you were okay or if you were feeling any better. She was talking to Niamh about her worry for you when Emma sent the Canadian around the field for being late. Niamh told her the best thing for you was Jessie herself, which unfortunately sent a new wave of guilt through the woman as she moved through drills.

By a little after noon, you were feeling hungry, but your body was not equipped to get itself out of bed in search of anything to soothe your hunger. Instead, you drank the rest of the water next to your bed, the thought of Jessie being home soon sending you into a comforting sleep.

It didn't last long though. You sent upwards, a wave of nausea overtaking your senses. You had only just made it to the toilet in time, sitting in the bathroom, by the toilet, in silence.

You were dazed, fatigued, and hungry — not a good mix for a woman. You wanted to be productive — the apartment was in ruins, and there was so much you could be doing instead of lazing about on the floor of your bathroom feeling sorry for yourself. You hated that Jessie would come home from a rough day at training to a messy house and the burden of taking care of you.

The thought almost made you laugh — you would've if your body would've allowed it — Jessie would be appalled if she heard those words come out of your mouth. The woman was endlessly caring, sympathetic and kind. She always made sure you were okay, even if she was having issues of her own. Your relationship was a saving grace for both of you. Together, you built each other up in all different ways. You moulded as a couple but also as friends. You laughed, played and talked like you had known each other forever, even if you had only met her in college. You complimented each other in ways no one else could. If she had heard you call yourself a burden, you’d be in for it.

Jessie loved you in ways you couldn't comprehend. Turns out, you felt the same for her.

You were too stuck in your own thoughts to hear the front door open, or the way your girlfriend announced her arrival. You stirred by the toilet, only looking up when the bathroom door swung open, revealing your girlfriend in all her glory, holding a handful of flowers and chocolate.

“Oh, baby,” Immediately, she placed all the things down, kneeling by your side to scoop you up into a hug. “You’re okay. I'm so sorry you're feeling like this.”

You weren't crying, but the overwhelming sensation of Jessie with you was overstimulating. You weren't usually this sentimental, but the way Jessie picked you up, placing you gently on the bed with a wet cloth over your head. She slipped off your shirt and replaced it with a new one of her own. You listened to her with your eyes shut, hearing she hurried shuffle across the room.

When she met you with cuddles, you knew she had changed from the sweatpants and jumper she had replaced her training kit for. You engulfed her scent, letting it soothe the dryness in your throat.

The two of you were slowly breathing in each other’e ambience when Jessie finally spoke, her whisper sending shivers down you ear.

“I love you so much, Y/N.” Her breath fanned over your neck. “You're my favourite person in the whole world.”

_____________________________

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Ask me about my sins (and I'll tell you about my love)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.8k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: the initial awkwardness of enemies to lovers who have JUST moved on to the lovers stage, there's a lil jealousy but it's smoothed over pretty easily

a/n: this is a bit of a longer one but whatever I hope y'all like it <3

The galas Bruce Wayne holds may have become a normal occurrence for Damian, but the thought of them and everything they entail still makes something uneasy stir in your gut. Damian assures you that it's fine - that it's understandable. He stares intently in the mirror, straightening his suit as he speaks soothing words.

"You haven't been in Gotham for very long," he says. "No one expects you to adjust to life here immediately… and no one will demand you do anything you're not comfortable with. Ever. If you never go to one of these galas, that's fine with me."

You stare at the pattern of the wood floor in Damian's room, your hands bunching the covers of his bed where you sit as he moves to stand in front of you. He doesn't touch you - he's not sure enough, yet. This newfound peace between the two of you is still so fragile and neither of you know exactly how to navigate it yet. It pains him, though - he often finds himself wishing he could reach out, wishing there was something he could do to bridge the gap between the two of you.

"You've adapted to life outside of the League very well," you say quietly, a sharpness coating your words. There's an accusation there somewhere, maybe born of jealousy, maybe born of fear. Damian doesn't take the bait, though - another indicator of the ways in which he's grown since coming here. Another moment that leaves a bitterness on your tongue.

"No," he responds simply. "It's just that the years I spent learning this new life, you were… still back there. You knew me in the League and you know me now. There was an in-between that you just didn't see."

You don't respond to his words, a swirling sort of panic rising in your chest at the reminder that there was so much of him that you missed, so much of his life that you were so far away for. Damian kneels in front of you, tilting his head to lock his eyes with yours, a gentle love shining in his irises that makes you wish you could run away - again. 

"Please be here tonight when I get back?" he asks softly. "We can talk more about this then." You nod at his words and he reaches out slowly, taking your hand in his and pressing a series of delicate kisses to your knuckles. There are words neither of you can say yet, bridges neither of you are ready to cross, but he hopes - every day he hopes that you know how much he loves you. And every day you pray he can see how much you love him back.

Having spent his whole life circling you and watching you circle back, it's almost second nature for Damian, now, to check for you. No one else is aware of your presence, too focused on the press and the dresses and the endless champagne that comes with these events - not that any of them could find you if they tried, Damian thinks smugly. He knows, of course. He always knows. The flicker of a shadow seen through a window, a rustle on the balcony near him, the ever-present feeling of eyes on him. 

Damian doesn't mind, he realizes. He takes no issue with your hawk-like gaze trained on him from a vantage point no one else can find. In a way, it makes him feel better. You're not here, in front of him, where he can keep you safe - but if you're around, then you must be okay. It soothes something in him - something new and foreign that pleads with him and demands he take care of you. It's an unfamiliar feeling, one that trips him up and knocks him off balance. He has a hard time placing the moment he stopped being possessive of you as his enemy and started becoming protective of you as his… well, he doesn't even really know yet.

He does mind when a girl his age bumps into him at the gala, a glass of something sparkling in her hand as she giggles and promises that it was an accident, her hand finding itself placed on his chest. And he minds even more when, amidst his attempts to escape the sudden intrusion on his train of thought he suddenly… can't find you or feel you anywhere.  He removes the girl's hands quickly, excusing himself and slipping out, away from the noise and the politeness and the showiness of it all.

"You cut your party short," you say quietly, not turning to look at where Damian's climbed onto the roof of the Manor behind you, dress shirt ruffled and jacket unbuttoned. You don't need to turn to know he's there, silent as he is. You always know.

"It's not my party. I made my appearance," he shrugs, sitting down next to you and staring at you intently. You keep your gaze trained up, staring at the night sky as you sit stiffly, back straight and shoulders back. 

"She means nothing to me," Damian says firmly when you remain silent. You tense at his words. "I don't even know who she was."

"...It's fine," you say stubbornly. Damian sighs. Silence covers the two of you, the weight of it bearing down on the uneasiness - the stubbornness and the frustration of you both. Damian shifts, finding himself unsure, once again. You had always been better at this than him - always been more sure of yourself when it came to mind games. He finds himself wishing suddenly that he had a sword in his hands - it was always easier to fight you like that.

"You're… jealous," he says slowly, like he's trying to figure out where you stand in the situation. You snap your head around to look at him and he winces internally. Wrong guess, he thinks.

"I'm not," you respond stubbornly and he thinks briefly that this isn't the tact he's used to seeing you use in verbal sparring matches. He's not sure if it soothes or stresses him that he seems to unarm you the same way you so effortlessly unarm him. 

"We were apart for years, Damian," you continue quietly, looking away from him pointedly. "And… we were never actually together. And we were so young when you left the League. And…" you trail off, eyes shifting as you seemingly search for the right words.

"And…?" he prompts patiently. You sigh, slumping over ever so slightly, cracking your perfect posture for just a moment. Damian wonders if anyone else has ever seen you like this or if he's an exception - then kicks himself mentally for focusing on something like that right now.

"You came to Gotham for a second chance - a new life. I don't expect that you sat here waiting for me… I don't expect that there was never anyone else," you finish glumly, still pointedly looking anywhere but Damian as you speak. He makes a strange sound at your words, a strangled sort of panicked noise at the idea that you're presenting to him.

He turns suddenly, facing you completely as he reaches out, hands outstretching towards you so fast and determinedly that you jerk back, years of the two of you on opposite sides of a bloody fight flashing in front of your eyes. But there's no fight in Damian tonight. There's no violence in the way he cups your cheeks tenderly in his hands, pulling himself forward to press a kiss to your lips. 

Your own surprised sound leaves your throat at the action, your hands reaching up to wrap around Damian's wrists as he kisses you. Maybe you both expect for you to pull him away, but you find your fingers wrapping around the delicate bones of his wrists and keeping him there, pressed against you.

By the time the two of you part, you're both gasping for breath and you find yourself half in Damian's lap, your chest heaving against his as his hands anchor you to him. He tips his head forward to touch his forehead to yours, leaning into you as you relax against him. A faint smile flits over his lips at the way you sag against his chest, letting the tension you've lived with for so long slip ever so slightly off your shoulders.

Eventually, he brings a hand to cup your cheek again, firmly this time, moving just enough to look at you. You're close still - close enough that you can feel his lips brush against yours as he talks and you can't help but notice the way his heart beats against his chest and into yours. 

"It was always you," he says in that voice that you know is reserved for you - that voice that's gentle and loving and full of so much emotion that it nearly wavers. "There was never anyone else - not even in my thoughts. Certainly not pressed up against me like this."

You huff at his words, your cheeks beginning to feel hot as you pull away from him just enough to let your head fall to his shoulder, your face hidden from him. He lets you, thankfully, humming in contentment and just a touch of smugness as he pulls you closer to him, your weight a welcoming blanket.

"I think…"  you begin, pulling your face away from his neck to look at him again. "I think this may have been inevitable. I think we… might have been inevitable." Damian grins at your words, his smile flashing in a way that makes your stomach swoop.

"I think you're right," he says firmly. Sounds of the gala float up towards the two of you as you sit together, leaning against each other. "I was, by the way," he continues. You cock your head to the side.

"What?"

"I was waiting for you. And I would again, if I needed to. Until the end of my days." Damian says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, and something in your brain feels fuzzy because of it.

"Well… I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," you respond gently, a smile passing across your lips quickly. Damian's returning smile is just as small - just as shy. His voice, in his response, is soft in a way that blankets you.

"You don't need to apologize. Your mistakes are not sins to me and your missteps do not demand penance. You will never have to ask for my forgiveness because it will always be given… without question, without hesitation, without uncertainty. It's… inevitable."

You laugh at his words and Damian feels his heart soar.

"Yes," you agree. "I suppose it is."

[waldau-archived]

Hi love, can I request for Chan X reader, with the trope f2l?

here you go anon! this became WAY longer and a bit angstier than i expected (4k?? i thought i wrote like 2k), but it's all happy! hope you like it :) and here's the video in question. title taken from _WORLD by svt.

gender neutral reader. warnings: chan is initially tipsy.

won't let you down | 4,007 words | hurt/comfort, fluff

this is the last time, chan tells himself, but he very well knows it's a lie. just like the past few times he's ended up like this, head resting against the scruffy but comfortable material of junhui's sofa, while seungkwan takes his phone from the table in front of him, unlocking it to call you.

it's happened enough times now that seungkwan finally knows the password to his phone, not that chan has anything to hide. he tries focusing on what seungkwan's saying to you, but there's a pleasant buzzing in his ears, and it would be a good environment to sleep if not for a) the angle of his neck against the aforementioned sofa and b) the music playing in the background, lee dokyeom trying to match the choreography while balancing a shot glass on his palm.

"there," seungkwan says, pushing the phone back into his hand. "try not to fall asleep till they get here."

easier said than done, especially when chan is much more of a lightweight than seungkwan is, even if he can hold his alcohol well. chan pockets his phone and tries adjusting his head a bit more comfortably. when he closes his eyes, he feels sleep tug at them, but it's not enough to knock him out fully.

a little jolt of guilt runs through him when he realizes tonight is your designated night in — you like having time for yourself, whether it's to catch up with old friends or make time time to check out vernon's movie recommendations. you shouldn't have to pick chan up from something that's his own fault.

he thinks about how you never once complain about what you do for him. there’s always an amused smile on your face, defending his tipsy self from his older brothers while you manoeuvre him out of the room, a steady arm around his shoulders, the way you let him rest his weight on you even though he’s so much more muscular than you are, and the way you sometimes let him loop his arm through yours as though you’re a couple—

he stops at that.

seungkwan's great when it comes to feeding his delusions, talking about how you definitely like him and that chan's the only one not seeing it, that he's kind of an idiot for dragging it out this long, that he should put everyone out of their misery and ask you out already.

again, it's easier said than done. chan's not like seungkwan — outgoing, with no hesitation when it comes to finding something out. chan doesn't act till he's absolutely sure about something, always thinking about the long-term consequences of every little action. and he could put everyone out of their misery by asking you out, but he’s not prepared for the misery that’ll ensue when you don’t answer the way he hopes you will.

unfortunately, there’s no proper way for him to ask you, his best friend, if you like him the way he does you.

chan just lets the buzz in his head drown out the thoughts crowding up. he will find the answer one day, somehow. he has to. just...not tonight.

he must have fallen asleep sometime between thoughts of wonwoo on the karaoke and you, because his eyes blink open to the sight of you kneeling in front of him, a concerned look on your face.

and gosh, does he hate it. he hates seeing you concerned when you look at him. he's still never gotten used to how your smile has been making him feel, and he doesn't think he ever will.

"hey," you say softly, moving to rest your hand on his thigh. an involuntary shudder passes through him, and you take your hand off before he can say anything. he mourns its loss almost instantly. "seungkwan said you had a bit too much to drink. you okay?"

the tattletale. chan stretches his neck and winces when a spear of pain strikes the left side of his head, going as fast as it came. "mm. look who’s talking."

you frown at him. "how much did you drink, chan?"

"i...don't know." it's true — he lost count after the first six shots. everything else was drowned out by being forced to sing on the karaoke or watching minghao try his hardest to sing some korean classics from the early nineties. it was fun, but there’s always the regret that follows the fun, and it’s strong this time. he looks at you apologetically, hoping his face is enough to make up for the words he can't say.

if he were a neon signboard, he wonders what the words above his head would be every time he looked at you — i'm sorry? for loving you the way i do? or i love you? but i've never been able to say it the way i mean it because i'm afraid of losing you.

you sigh and stand up. "get up," you say gently, giving him your hand to steady himself.

it's not the first time you've danced this dance, but it still makes chan's heart beat as though it's never happened before. it's muscle memory from here — he stands up on his feet, wobbly for a few moments till you slide an arm around his waist to hold him in place, his arm around your shoulders.

you’re wearing the hoodie he’d given you for your birthday. he can feel it before you see it, a drunk grin spreading across his lips. you look good in everything you wear, but this? chan’s weak.

you fuss about his hair looking messy and run your hand through it twice, fixing it to your liking. then it’s the default goodbyes, the promises to text everyone once he's reached home safely, and to hydrate himself so that he doesn't wake up the next morning wishing he'd never woken up.

but he doesn’t have to worry about all of that when he’s with you. you always make sure he’s taken care of, and it’s the only thing on his mind when both of you stumble out of junhui’s building, the cold night air making chan shiver and freeze for a second. his hand catches on the fabric of your hoodie.

“i’m sorry,” he says, suddenly feeling nervous to meet your eyes. you shouldn’t be here in the first place.

“did you do something i should be worried about?”

“i…no?”

“then why are you apologizing?”

“i always do this.”

"and i always do this," you say, opening the door of your car and gesturing for chan to get in. "you're speaking as though i mind."

"i'm drunk. you should be sleeping. and...wait, you don't mind it?"

“no,” you say patiently, slotting your key into its place and starting the car. “we’ve had this conversation before, too. i don’t mind it. it’s not as if you don’t look out for me when i’m feeling down. i don’t know anyone else who would watch my favourite movies with me even when they’d rather be doing something else.”

"that's because you're my best friend," chan says, almost cringing at how earnestly, how easily, those words come from him.

"do you understand why i don't mind now?"

it's easy to give you anything, but chan still gets bashful about taking anything from you. he's much better at it than he used to be when you first met. he just huffs in response.

"what would you do without me, channie?" you ask, pulling out of your spot. it's an innocent question, slightly teasing, but chan takes it seriously. do you have any idea of what that nickname does to him?

"i don't know," he says honestly. "i don't want to know."

you sigh fondly and flick his thigh. "don't get all serious on me. i'm not going anywhere, and you know that."

sometimes chan wonders what you’ll do if you ever find out about what he feels for you. you’re too kind to let him down directly. maybe you’ll give him some time to get over you, so that you could go back to being friends again. or maybe, a cruel part of him thinks, you’ll cut him out of your life for good. neither option sounds good.

he can either take a step and watch the glass break, or never take a step and never find out what could have been. he’s precariously balanced in the middle, surviving on the quiet moments he has with you, moments that could be something more.

"i love you," he says, his words abrupt and almost harsh in the silence of your car.

"just because i'm driving you back home?"

or he can be right in the middle, where you don't understand how his love you is different from yours. it's not the best place to be, but he gets to be true to an extent.

"you know it's not just that." see through me, just this once?

"i do," you say, not looking at him. "i know." again. maybe next time.

it's muscle memory again, when you open the door to your apartment, flicking the lights on as chan clumsily kicks off his shoes. it’s not long before he’s had a glass of water and a tablet you pressed into his palm, not moving till he had it in front of you. he types out a clumsy i’m home now text to the group before he chuckles at the realization — none of his friends once assumed he was going to make it to his own place.

with his face washed and the headache dulling to a slight throb, he’s pretty close to passing out on your bed. he almost whines when you tell him you have some work left to do.

with the door shutting behind you, chan pulls the covers over himself, vaguely aware of how uncomfortable it is to sleep in skinny jeans. it’s not like you’ve never shared the same bed before, but it’s the first time he’s slept by himself in your bed. and the first time he’s been here since he’s realized his feelings for you.

chan tosses and turns as he tries to will himself to sleep, straining his hears to see if he can get any hints about how much longer you’re going to take. you’ve somehow not made him take his jean jacket off, despite the fact that you usually insist on making him remove that “atrocity” of an item before sleeping, but it’s what keeps him warm when he pads out into the living room to see why you’re still not done.

"...do this again," he hears you say into your phone. you're standing in the middle of your living room, looking like you've been pacing around for a while now. "i can't. i can't keep pretending everything's okay. this is like, what, the fourth time in the past three months?"

do what again? and who are you talking to, so late at night? chan wants to ask you if there's anything he can do, even though he knows nothing about what's wrong, but you speak again. he tries not to make too much noise as he takes a few steps ahead.

you groan into the phone. "what do you mean, drop hints? what do you think i’ve been doing? i’ll lose my mind at this rate. and i just can't tell him i can't keep picking you up from your parties every time you get drunk because i— hey. that's not the issue here. you know that."

chan's stomach drops.

there's no one else you pick up from parties, that much he's sure of. but you've been counting? and you're...annoyed by it, but you're too kind to say that to his face? he feels like crawling out of his own skin.

you sigh. "i'll try telling him the next time he's awake and feeling better, okay? no promises."

chan's already turning back to head to your room, mortified with every step he takes. he shouldn't even be here. he should be on the couch.

how long have you been feeling that way, without him knowing? how much longer will you be this nice to him until it inevitably slips out?

it’s not long before you slip into your bedroom, closing the door behind you without making too much noise. chan hears the clink of your toothbrush being put back into its stand and the sound of the light being switched off before you pull the covers and settle in.

chan tries to slow his breath to make it look like he’s sleeping, because he’s way too high strung for this. your conversation with whoever it was is still running through his head. probably one of his friends, and he can’t even be bothered to speculate about who it could be.

“chan?” you ask, breaking the silence in the room. he pretends to blink his eyes open but knows you’ve caught him when you ask, “not able to sleep?”

“not tired,” he says, voice cracking in between. you’re on my mind is far more damning than saying he can’t sleep.

“did i wake you up? i’m sorry.”

“no, it’s not that,” he says, a bit hastily. “just…had a bit too much to drink. i could run now if i wanted.”

“well, it’s a good thing i’m not going to let you.”

chan lets out a little chuckle. if only you knew what effect your words have on him.

“can i…?” you ask hesitantly, before he feels fingertips touch his own. he immediately locks his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand. it’s one of your ways of calming down when you’re stressed, and chan thinks he gets why.

feeling a bit brave, he lets his thumb stroke the skin of your hand. he does it till he feels your breaths even out, grip on his hand loosening. even when that happens, it doesn’t let go. he can’t.

but he has to, eventually.

seeing you sleeping gives him some time to collect his thoughts. he could just leave right now, before he makes thinks weird by overthinking again. he needs time to understand what you meant when you said you couldn’t keep doing it and yet you’re the one who held his hand to help him go to sleep.

surely you’re not going to be upset when he leaves a little earlier than he usually would, when he sleeps over at your place?

yet it feels like luck isn’t on his side when he pushes himself to get up, immediately hindered by a creaky spring in your mattress. your hand twitches at that, and he gets up in one swift motion to prevent any noise.

but when his hand is on the handle of your door, he hears his name being called out weakly. questioningly. he stays silent, hoping you won’t get up.

“are you leaving already?”

“just…forgot i left my light on. in the bathroom.”

“right.” he can’t see your face in the darkness of the room, but he knows you’re unimpressed right now. it is a weak excuse. “come back here, please?”

chan is powerless if you ask him something. against his best interest, he walks up to you slowly, standing near your bed.

“don’t do that,” you say, shifting to switch on your bedside lamp. “you look like a sleep paralysis demon without the lights on. sit here,” you say, patting the side of your bed.

something’s going to happen, chan can tell. he just doesn’t know if it’s something he should be looking forward to or not.

“i shouldn’t disturb your sleep, you know?”

“no. what you shouldn’t be doing is acting weird. you’ve been acting weird all night. did i do something?”

you look serious, chan realizes. there’s a small frown on your face chan wishes he could thumb out, or maybe even press a kiss to, to make it go. that’s what the problem is.

“you’ve done nothing,” he blurts out. “all me.”

“all you what?”

“it’s nothing.”

you sit up to push the covers off of yourself. “chan, you’ve been meek around me all night. i’ve never seen you do that. i’ve never seen you doubt yourself the way you did tonight. you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

and how is he supposed to do that, when it could be the very thing that could lead you to never talk to him again?

“it’s my fault,” he settles for saying. “and i’m working on it. i promise you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“are you sure you can’t tell me about it?”

“positive.” i don’t know what would happen if i did.

you don’t look satisfied, but you let it slide. “are you still not tired? do you want to watch a movie? make something? pancakes, if you’re hungry?”

chan can’t help the laugh he lets out. you always think about him, even if you’re the one losing your sleep here. it’s the catalyst to the last lock on his words breaking.

“i love you,” he says, and the remaining words tumble out naturally like they were made never to be apart. “i love you, and i’ve been trying to tell you for way too long, and i think i missed my chance, because you clearly don’t like me.”

“i…don’t like you? and you love me? chan, what?” you ask, scrambling forward, hands resting on his thighs again. he doesn’t shudder, this time. lets his words come out the way they’ve been slowly forming in him, like a storm that’s been brewing for a while. all that will be left to see is the aftermath.

“i heard you say you wanted to tell me something when i felt better, and that you couldn’t keep doing…it anymore. if you didn’t want to waste time picking me up from parties, you could have just said that.”

“oh,” is all you say.

chan deflates. “we’re…not supposed to have secrets from each other, right? why couldn’t you tell me that before?”

“chan—”

“it sucks that i had to overhear you say that. i thought you trusted me enough.”

“chan, listen—”

“i’m not scared, if that’s what you think. i—”

“lee chan!” you exclaim, suddenly taking his face between your hands. he’s rendered speechless. “listen to me?”

he can do nothing but nod, looking into your eyes. you’re looking into his own.

“lee chan, i love you. do you hear me? you’re my best friend in the whole world and i meant it when i said i’d love you no matter what. but i also love you the way you think i don’t.”

chan’s brain short-circuits to the point where he doesn’t even remember what he was talking to you about, for a few moments. “you…love me?”

“i do,” you affirm. “i have, for a while now, and i never thought i’d get a chance to say it.”

it feels like a weight is being placed on him but also being removed at the same time. the weight of your love seeping into his skin through your hands holding his face, through your cold skin that he always wants to keep warm, through your eyes that are looking at him nervously, waiting for his next words, through your breaths that sound a bit shorter than usual.

the loss of the weight of uncertainty feels like the most beautiful thing he’s ever experienced.

“you love me,” he says. testing. confirming.

“so much, chan, i— i’ve been trying to tell you every single time i picked you up from one of those parties—”

“—that’s what you were trying to say?”

“i— yes.” your hands let go of his face to cover yours, and he’s never wanted to see your face more than he has now. he gently pulls your hands off to make you look at him, and what he sees is real. it’s not you letting him down gently, it’s not you pretending, because he knows you too well for that.

and now he knows that you love him just the way he loves you.

“you weren’t supposed to…why did you even hear me talking?”

now it’s chan’s turn to become shy. “i just wanted to see how long it’d take for you to come back. i couldn’t sleep.”

“silly,” you say, flicking his forehead gently. you tuck some of his hair behind his ear, and your expression becomes serious. “but i want to, chan. i want to take care of you because you’re my best friend. i like doing it. i— i love you, and i’ll always be there to take off your makeup and listen to you talk and cheer you up because i love you so much.”

chan knows. he knows about every little thing you do for him, and he hopes you know how he’d do anything you asked of him. he doesn’t even need to say anything to get you to understand what he’s feeling right now.

“so…you love me,” he says, teasing, because of the glare you give him. “how long have you loved me?”

you shake your head resolutely. “you’re going to have to wait a while to find out.”

“but what if i wanted to know now?” chan pulls the best puppy face he can, and it works because you sigh and pull him back into lying down with you, his head in your lap, looking up at you.

“you really want to know?”

“yeah.”

“it’s embarrassing.”

“that’s even better.” chan wraps his arms around your waist when you attempt to push him off. “i’m sorry,” he laughs, holding on to you. “please tell me.”

“i think…i think i’ve loved you since that night you fell off seungcheol’s bed because of how hard you were laughing. that night really cemented it for me. there really hasn’t been…anyone else for me, since then.”

the quietness of your voice makes chan’s throat constrict. “there hasn’t been anyone else for me, either, ever since i met you.”

you blink. “that long?”

“no! i mean— i didn’t think about dating ever since we became friends, and then not thinking about dating became thinking about dating you, and then—” chan pauses when he sees a smile on your face. “what?” he asks, a little self-conscious. “did i say something wrong?”

“i’m so glad i love you, you know?”

chan can’t take the way your face is straight and you’re just grinning at him like you didn’t steal his heart at an ungodly hour in the morning. “stop,” he mumbles, pressing his face into your stomach. “i’m really tired right now.”

“oh, now you’re tired?”

it take a little bit of moving to get yourselves under your covers again (chan’s jacket now sits on the chair by the desk, courtesy of you), and this time he has an arm around your waist with your head on his shoulder. it feels absolutely right.

“chan?” you ask, the single word drawn out in a way that tells him you’re on the brink of sleep again.

“hmm?”

“promise i won’t wake up to an empty bed again?”

his heart squeezes at the reminder. “promise. i’m not going anywhere. i love you.”

you don’t need to say it back, because he feels the smile you press into his skin.

"so? what does it feel like?"

“hm?” chan shifts in your embrace to look up at you. there’s really nothing better than coming home after a long day of practice, taking a shower and cuddling with you in bed, with you kissing his forehead. he feels really sleepy, but he tries staying awake for your question. “what does what feel like?”

“knowing what it feels like to like someone?”

ah. you watched the video, then.

“it feels…” it feels like everything, if he’s being honest. the best of all worlds. like the world sings every time he wakes up. like even the most mundane things like doing laundry and setting the table have a greater purpose, because he gets to do it with the love of his life.

“it feels like i’m lucky to be alive, because i get to love you.”

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part six

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Six - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.5k

The three of us walk up a gradual hill, the incline barely noticeable as we climb. I lead the way, trying to discern where we’re headed, but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in thoughts. The air is thick with unspoken tension, and I keep mostly quiet, letting Logan and Wade carry the conversation, if you could even call it that. Their words are strained, almost like they’re both trying to avoid something.

Logan breaks the silence first. “You said Logan was a hero. What happened?”

Wade, who’s been unusually subdued, answers without missing a beat. “He died.”

Logan grunts. “Oh.”

Wade continues, “Well, technically, you were chest fucked by a tree, but really, you just ran out of batteries trying to save someone.”

Logan’s voice hardens. “Who?”

“The shit heels that grew her in a lab, called her X-23. But she was just a kid. A younger, daintier, somehow meaner version of you.” Wade’s tone is lighter than the words he’s saying, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “He died trying to save her and—” He trails off, his eyes briefly glancing at me before he looks away. I frown, feeling the weight of his unfinished sentence. “It was beautiful.”

Logan stays silent, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he processes Wade’s words. The only sounds are our footsteps crunching against the gravel path.

Wade suddenly shifts the tone, his voice adopting a mock-seriousness. “Look, miho, I know you’re hurt. My blind, elderly African-American roommate, Blind Al, always says that pain teaches us who we are. Sometimes we need to listen to that pain instead of running from it.”

Logan stops walking and stares at him. “Holy shit.”

Wade looks at him, feigning ignorance. “Yeah, she’s wise.”

“No, no,” Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s her name? You call her Blind Al?”

Wade shrugs, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Well, she’s blind.”

I can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, though it feels out of place in the somber air. Wade’s absurdity is almost a comfort, something solid to cling to in the middle of everything that’s falling apart. But as I glance over at Logan, I can see the conflict in his eyes. We keep walking, but the silence that follows isn’t as comfortable as before. 

I hear a small bark up ahead, and my heart stutters as I look up. A mangled puppy, dressed exactly like Deadpool, sprints toward us. My pulse quickens, not out of fear, but because a part of me dreads that I might have led us straight to the Deadpool Corps. My eyes dart to Logan, who seems just as wary, and for a brief moment, our eyes meet, and I can’t help but feel a pang of something.

The puppy leaps into Wade’s waiting arms, licking his face and even partially getting into his mouth. I gag and look away, Logan doing the same. His disgust mirrors mine, but beneath it, I sense his discomfort—a small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture.

Wade grins, oblivious to our revulsion. “Look at you. She’s coming with us.”

“No, she’s not,” I say, more forcefully than intended.

“Oh, yes, she is,” Wade insists, cradling the puppy like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Fuck, no,” Logan says.

Wade doesn’t back down. “Oh, yes.”

As if summoned, a man dressed almost identical to Wade approaches us, though he’s got long flowing hair and an unmarred face. The difference is striking, and I can’t help but steal a glance at Logan, wondering if he’s comparing them too.

“Sorry. Sorry about that,” the man says, his voice smooth, almost charming. Oh, he’s very Canadian.

The man beams at the dog. “Come here, girl.”

Wade narrows his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man smiles, all too friendly. “I’m Deadpool. And I guess you’re Deadpool too. But in here, everybody calls me Nicepool. Oh my goodness, wait till you see Ladypool. She is gorgeous. She just had a baby too, and I can’t even tell.”

Wade snorts. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that.”

Nicepool waves it off. “That’s okay. I identify as a feminist.”

“Right,” Wade says, eyeing him up and down. “Are those gold-plated, 50 caliber Desert Eagle pistols?”

Nicepool grins proudly. “Of course. To match my ear huggy.”

Wade’s eyes light up. “Can I have them?”

“Over my dead body. You’re fun,” Nicepool laughs, glancing at me briefly before turning back to the dog. “And I guess you’ve already met Mary Puppins, AKA Dogpool. Careful where you put your hand, she’s 90% G-spot, and she’ll let you know it. You let this little flirt out of your sight for one second and she starts shopping for a new papa.”

Wade chuckles. “If you can’t be a responsible papa, then maybe you don’t deserve this little unicorn.”

“Guilty on all charges, Your Honor. Shan’t happen again,” Nicepool says, still grinning.

Wade raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nice?”

“It costs nothing to be kind,” Nicepool replies smoothly.

Logan, who’s been silent for too long, finally cuts in. “Shutting the fuck up is also free.”

Nicepool gives him a once-over and smirks. “Caliente.”

I glance at Logan, silently agreeing with Nicepool's assessment, though I wouldn’t dare say it aloud. 

Wade, oblivious to the tension, introduces Logan with a smirk. “This is Logan. He’s usually shirtless, but he’s let himself go since the divorce.” My eyes flick to him, Divorce? He only shakes his head at me, seemingly lost to what Deadpool is saying.

Nicepool’s eyes flicker with recognition. “Oh, a Veil. We’ve had one of you. Yeah, I remember her, she was so sad without her little Loggie.” My head whips to him.

Wade rolls his eyes. “Where’s your mask?”

Nicepool laughs, tapping his unmarred face. “Come on, guys.”

Wade just shakes his head, but Logan isn’t here for pleasantries. “We’re looking for the Borderlands. You know where it is?”

Nicepool nods, a sudden burst of enthusiasm lighting up his face. "Borderlands, yeah, that’s 12 clicks due west. I can lend you my ride if you like. It would be my honor."

I narrow my eyes, not buying into his cheerfulness. "I don’t entirely trust you not to kill us." My voice is edged with suspicion, but he just shrugs it off, completely unbothered.

"Hey, you don’t have to trust me," he says with a carefree grin. "But I’ve got the perfect car for you."

I shoot Logan a glance, and I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing—whatever Nicepool considers perfect is probably anything but. Logan huffs, clearly resigned to whatever nonsense is about to unfold. "We’ll take it," he mutters, his voice laced with irritation.

He leads us through a cornfield, thick and dense, the stalks towering over us as we push our way through. The rustling of the corn is the only sound, and it’s almost suffocating how the plants seem to close in on us from all sides. I keep close to Logan, my senses on high alert, while Wade babbles on about something I’m trying hard to tune out.

We finally reach a small clearing where a car sits under a dust cover. With a dramatic flourish, Nicepool whips off the cover, revealing a vehicle that makes Wade recoil in horror.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, absolutely not. Uh-uh, what the—? No, no,” Wade protests, his voice rising in disbelief.

Logan gives him a withering look. “Just get in the car.”

“This isn’t a car,” Wade insists, throwing his hands up. “This is a Honda fucking Odyssey. Throttle response sucks a cock. Dated infotainment system. When Honda saw that untreated chlamydia was making a comeback, they invented the Honda Odyssey to compete.”

Logan’s patience is clearly running thin. “Get in the fucking car.”

Nicepool, ever the optimist, smiles warmly. “She’ll get you there safe and sound. Betsy always does. You’re gonna have to give me my dog back, though.”

Wade, suddenly somber, lifts up the puppy. “I know, listen.” The dog reaches a paw out to him, and his voice softens. “Yes, child. If you ever wanna give her up, or if she needs a new home, or if something should happen to you, I’d love to be her papa.”

Nicepool chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, what will ever happen to me?”

Wade looks at him, deadpan. “Lots of stuff.”

I can’t help but huff in exasperation, stepping forward to take the dog and return her to Nicepool. But Wade, ever the drama queen, clutches the dog closer. “No, we’re running away.”

He makes a half-hearted attempt to flee and after a few futile steps, he admits defeat with a sigh. “The corn was too dense, girl.”

Reluctantly, he hands the dog back to Nicepool and slinks into the car. I take the back seat, stretching my legs out along the seats. Wade plops into the front seat, grumbling. “Fuck.

Next Part

A/N: I have plans to make the next few parts very angsty with some sad flashbacks, you have been warned (:

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

(lmk if it worked)