#not going into it but i thought i was done for now. but no

[em1i2a3]

I Want You (Fever)

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: Grocery shopping turns into one of the most nerve wrecking nights that Bob has had in a long time (This is a continuation of “Plainclothes Man”)

Warnings: No Warnings only like…Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob? lol, this is just pure fluff with a hint of jealousy mixed in

Author's Note: Ask and you shall receive! I had this in my drafts this weekend and needed to do a little bit of fine tuning before I posted (I ended up throwing out the original idea and reworked it!). Hope y’all enjoy :) (ALSO WHAT A HIGH QUALITY GIF GOOD LORD)

Word Count: 4,465

Bob couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He’d been trying for the last twenty minutes, gripping the cart like it might keep him tethered to reality, but every aisle felt like a trap laid by fate itself. Every glance at you was a temptation, and every time he failed to resist it, it got worse.

It wasn’t just the sweatpants anymore–though God help him, those were doing their own slow damage. It was the way you moved in them. The lazy sway of fabric, the way the drawstrings danced against your thighs when you walked, the casual tug you gave them to keep the waistband in place. Like you’d forgotten they weren’t yours, even though that was far from the case.

But more than that, it was you in general. It was the quiet laugh you gave when he made a bad joke in the cereal aisle. The way you picked up the most ridiculous snack and turned to him with a grin, asking, “Okay, but what kind of monster thought making sour patch flavoured Oreos was a good idea?” just to keep him talking. The way you read your grocery list out loud like you needed him to hear it–like he was part of the journey. Like you wanted him woven into the moment.

You had no idea what you were doing to him, and that might’ve been the part that killed him the most, because you weren’t trying. You weren’t teasing him, you were just being yourself–open, warm, familiar in the kind of way that made his chest ache and his stomach twist into knots. You could’ve led him off the side of a mountain for all he cared and once he hit the ground he would’ve said “Thank you, now help me up so I can do it again.” You had so much power even though you weren’t aware of it.

”There’s your chips!” You said suddenly, and just like that, Bob’s brain and eyes were back to focusing directly on you.

You were a few steps ahead of him, half-turned toward the shelf with your hand already reaching up. There was such mundaneness to it, the way your fingers flexed slightly as you overextended your arm like you had done this a hundred times–which technically you had, though Bob just wasn’t around to see it. The oversized shirt lifted enough with the extension and his eyes–against his better judgement–flicked down.

And then he saw it, not just your skin, not just the soft slope of your waist. He saw the scar. He could see the faint, silvered edge of it–just a little shimmer near your lower back, peeking out where your shirt had roadie up and the waistband of his sweatpants dipped with movement. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to remind him of it.

You’d told him about it once offhandedly, like it didn’t mean much to you anymore–but your voice had caught halfway through the story. A mission gone sideways. A blade you didn’t see coming. You had offered to show it to him, but he said no in the most polite and sheepish way he could manage.

Not because he didn’t want to see it, but because he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you. Not in a way that would’ve crossed a line–but in a way that would’ve revealed too much. That he cared too much. That seeing something that had hurt you, marked you, and almost taken you might undo him completely.

He remembered the way your lips had twitched–half-amused and touched–when he mumbled something like “I believe you. You don’t have to prove anything to me…” And you let it go.

But now, standing behind you in the aisle lit by flickering fluorescents, with your shirt riding up and the edge of the scar showing and glistening like a silver thread stitched into your soft skin, he felt like his soul was going to leave his body.

Because it wasn’t just a scar. It was proof that you trusted him enough to offer to show him it. Proof that he knew you–in ways not everyone did. And yet…Not in the way he wanted to.

And he wondered what it would feel like to press his palm there. Not to possess, nor to claim, but just to be close to you.

When your arm finally dropped, and the shirt settled back, you put the chips into the cart as if nothing happened.

”Extra crunchy plain kettle chips…I never thought these would be so popular.” You said jokingly. He opened his mouth–but he didn’t even know what he was going to say back. Maybe it was going to be something stupid, or maybe he was just going to confess right then and there, something along the lines of “You have absolutely no idea how much I want to touch you, not just because of how perfect you look to me, but because of everything that’s made you who you are.”

But the words never even formed in his throat.

”Y/N?” Your name rang out behind you, clear and surprised and full of recognition. It was a gravelly and deep voice, a man's voice. Bob could feel his stomach fall through him.

You turned first, and your smile lit up like a struck match.

”Oh my god! Connor?” The excitement in your voice almost killed him, and immediately he could feel himself grow hot with the idea of what he was about to witness.

He watched as the man appeared from the far end of the aisle–tall, sharp-edged with a little scar over his eye, clean-shaven and still somehow scruffy in that confident, ex-special ops kind of way.

Connor was already walking toward you with the familiarity of someone who used to share early morning missions and late-night runs with you. His voice was warm, loud, and confident, he was unmistakably sure of himself.

”I thought that was you!” Connor grinned, coming to a stop just in front of you, “I almost didn’t recognize you without the tactical vest and blood on your face.” You gave him a short laugh and glanced down at yourself.

”I clean up well enough, right?” You motioned to the clothes that you were wearing.

”More than well enough,” Connor replied, tone light but lingering, his eyes sweeping over you quickly before adding, “I always said you were the best-looking one in the unit.” You rolled your eyes, but the smile you gave him was real–warmed by shared history, by something friendly and effortless. Bob felt himself wanting to interject, but all he could do was stand there, and watch, like he was just part of the scenery now.

”You only said that because you didn’t want me breaking your nose during drills.” Connor smirked.

”Hey, you were always close to doing it though, you always had that elbow twitch. I remember.” And you laughed again–open, easy, head tilted back just enough that Bob saw the line of your throat, saw the way you leaned in just a little when you nudged Connor’s arm.

You weren’t really flirting, it wasn’t anything heavy and meaningful, it was like two friends catching up on lost time. But Bob felt it like a shard of glass under his ribs. He didn’t know what hurt more though–the way you smiled at Connor, or the way that Connor had so many experiences with you, and so many stories. Bob only had a few months, a few soft mornings, and one mission where he was the person they were up against. It was hard to imagine that you and him could ever be that close, and all he could feel was his heart sinking lower and lower.

Connor slung his hands into his pockets, “So, what’ve you been up to? I figured you were halfway across the world still setting fire to buildings and pissing off diplomates.” You shook your head, brushing your knuckles across your forehead.

”Took a break from international chaos. I’m with The New Avengers now. It’s a stateside thing, mostly.” Connor raised a brow.

”The New Avengers, huh? Never figured you to be the reformation type.” He commented, continuing to look at you.

”Yeah well…” You shrugged, “Figured I’d try being a little less feral, for now at least.” He laughed at that, then glanced over your shoulder for the first time since the conversation started–like he just remembered you weren’t alone.

”And who’s this?” He motioned with his chin, “Your backup?” You turned slightly to Bob, tilting your head with a small smile, waving him over like you were finally letting him in on a secret. The look in your eyes was unreadable as he approached slowly, and it made him nervous.

“This is Bob. Bob Reynolds.” You said. There were no titles, no explanations, no qualifiers, just his name–spoken like it was enough. Bob offered his hand to Connor automatically, even though his mind was already spiraling from the lack of any defining words.

The handshake was firm, yet casual.

“Bob Reynolds,” Connor repeated with a smirk, giving him a once-over, before glancing over at you, “Didn’t peg you to be someone who dates within the team.” Bob froze. The words landed like a live wire straight to his chest. His vision didn’t blur–but it tunneled. Everything around him narrowed, and went strangely quiet, like the store had vacuumed the sound right out of the air.

And then–you smiled. Not with embarrassment, or hesitation, but with this soft, relaxed kind of warmth–like the mixup didn’t bother you at all. You didn’t correct him either. You didn’t say no, that’s not what we are. You didn’t say we’re just teammates. You said nothing at all, and neither did Bob.

Because in that moment, something inside him had short-circuited, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Something about your silence felt good to him. Terrifying, yes. But…Good. Dangerous, and hopeful as well. Like maybe–just maybe– you liked the idea that people thought he was yours.

Connor chuckled, and nudged your shoulder, “Didn’t think you’d go for the soft ones, but I get it. Balances you out.” He commented, which made Bob turn a bit red in embarrassment and you shrugged.

”He grows on you.” Bob nearly forgot how to stand upright, because you weren’t joking. There was affection under those words, and just by hearing you say them, it was like his blood had turned electric beneath his skin. Like every inch had been tuned too tight, and he was about to snap in half from the tension. From the possibility.

Connor clapped him lightly on the arm, “Well, hey–good luck surviving her. She’s the reason I still have shoulder pain in cold weather.”

“I’m very proud of that,” You replied breezily, already reaching for another snack on the shelf like your words, or lack thereof, just hadn’t rearranged his. Connor gave you a small wink and started to walk off.

”Always good seeing you Y/N, you two have fun playing house.” And then he was gone, just like that. Bob stayed frozen where he stood, realizing he said absolutely nothing during the conversation. You turned back to him with a small smile, tossing a bag of popcorn into the cart.

”We still need to go to the dessert section for Walker's cinnamon rolls.” You said, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

——————-

Once you were done shopping, Bob loaded the trunk with all the bags and returned the shopping cart to the store, sliding into the passenger seat in complete silence.

The engine hummed low beneath the weight of all that was unspoken, and the grocery bags rustled faintly as you rolled down the window to let some air into the stuffy car. You pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, glancing once in Bob’s direction.

He hadn’t said a word since Connor left, and he looked absolutely dazed.

His hands were folded in his lap, not clenched–but fidgeting. His fingers were tangled loosely together, thumbs moving over one another in slow rhythmic circles. It was the kind of motion that only meant one thing when it came from Bob: he was nervous, really nervous. Tied-up-in-knots and about to implode kind of nervous.

You flicked your turn signal and merged into the next lane.

”Are you okay?” You asked gently. Bob didn’t answer right away, his eyes just stayed locked on the road ahead, but he wasn’t really seeing it–you could tell. His mind was miles away. Still stuck in aisle seven, maybe.

You hit a stoplight.

The soft red glow filtered into the car through the windshield, casting a faint warmth across your features. It slid like watercolor across your cheekbones, deepened the shadows around your mouth, and softened the bridge of your nose. It made you look celestial, like something that was too alive to exist in a place as mundane as this.

Bob turned his head to look at you–and once he did, he couldn’t look away.

The red glow painted you like a portrait Bob didn’t think he deserved to see. Something about it made everything more unreal. More dangerous. He didn’t even realize how long he’d been staring–until you caught him doing it.

You blinked and tilted your head, eyes narrowing with something like concern.

”Bob,” You said softly, “What’s going on?” His mouth parted, but nothing came out.

And then the light turned green.

You let the car roll forward slowly, but then you took the next turn–off the main road, down a quiet street lined with trees that filtered the dying daylight like gold dust. You pulled the car over, your tires crunching softly against gravel. And then you put it in park and killed the engine.

The silence fell like a held breath, as a gust of wind blew the cool spring air into the car. It smelled like moss, with a hint of dew, like it was going to rain, even though the sky was showing to be clear.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned toward him, shifting so you could see him fully. His profile was tight–tense in a way you rarely saw. He was breathing, but too shallow. His jaw worked like he was chewing on glass.

“Okay,” You said, voice calm but firm. “You haven’t said more than three words since we saw Connor. You’re fidgeting so much your thumbs are gonna rub raw. And you keep looking at me like you’ve got something to say…”Bob blinked, once and swallowed the lump in his throat, as a sheen of sweat began to form on the back of his neck.

Still nothing.

“So,” You continued, leaning a little closer to him, your tone gentler now. “Tell me. What happened?” Bob’s mouth opened like he was about to finally speak—but the words caught somewhere in his throat and came out as a half-breath instead.

You watched him closely, waiting.

“I… n-nothing happened,” he stammered, eyes flicking toward the windshield like it might offer him an escape. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I mean it’s not—it’s not not fine—but it’s not, like… bad. It’s just…”

He trailed off, his voice shrinking with every word until it was barely audible.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just looked at him. Really looked.

Then you slowly shifted closer.

Your thigh brushed his. Barely. Just enough that the contact registered like a spark. And when you leaned in, the warmth of you carried with it the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg–the smell of fall during spring, and Bob’s lungs forgot how to behave.

“Is it me?” you asked softly.

His eyes shot to you like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“I—no,” he blurted, too fast, too flustered. “No! I mean. Not like—It’s not bad. It’s just, um…”

He trailed off again. His shoulders sank.

You tilted your head. “Bob.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose.

“…I don’t know how to be around you right now.”

That made you pause. Your gaze softened, but you didn’t pull back. If anything, you inched even closer–your arm brushing his this time.

“Why?” you asked. Your voice wasn’t teasing. Just curious. Barely above a whisper.

He opened his eyes and looked at you again–and this time, there was no hiding in the silence.

“Because Connor thought we were together,” he said, breathless. “And you didn’t c-correct him at–at all. And I’ve been trying not to hope for too much. Trying no–not to want that so much. But the second he said it, and you didn’t say anything–I haven’t been able to think straight since.”

You stared at him for a second, the air between you charged like a live wire.

And then…

“Did you ever think,” You said slowly, “That maybe I didn’t want to correct him because I liked what I heard?”

That made him blink–hard. His breath hitched audibly.

His mouth parted, but no words came. His hand–still folded in his lap–tightened slightly, like he was holding onto something that might float away.

You watched his lips part and close again, watched his chest rise and fall with uneven breaths, and you could feel the space between you contracting, the tension building like something was about to snap.

“Bob,” You said, softer now, “Am I the one that’s making you nervous?”

He nodded–tiny. Almost imperceptible. Then managed a whisper:

“A-Always.”

There was a beat of stillness.

Then you reached up, slow and steady, and brushed your fingers along the edge of his jaw. He flinched–not from discomfort, but from shock, closing his eyes at the sensation of your touch tracing along his stubble. Like he didn’t know how to receive that kind of closeness. Like he hadn’t dared imagine it outside of his dreams.

Your voice stayed low. Intimate.

“You don’t have to be nervous with me,” You said. “Not if you want the same thing I do.”

He could feel his heart seizing in his chest, his mouth going dry, lips parting again. “A-And what do you w-want?”

You smiled–just barely, just enough for him to see the truth in it. Something quiet and unguarded. Something only for him.

Then you leaned in.

And he felt it first in the air—how your breath brushed across his lips before your mouth ever touched his. Soft and warm, like the stir of wind before a storm. It made every muscle in his body go tight with anticipation. The space between you was shrinking by the second, his senses narrowing to the way you looked at him–like you already knew what this would do to him.

”You…That’s what I want.” You whispered. Bob swallowed hard. His pulse thundered in his ears. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. His hand twitched in his lap like it wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

And then–

You kissed him.

Your lips found his like they’d been there before in a hundred different dreams. They were soft, impossibly soft, and he swore time folded in on itself. It wasn’t rushed, or messy, or careless–it was a moment made of weightless things. Breath and longing. The quiet hum of the earth under your feet and the echo of a hope that had waited far too long to bloom.

Bob didn’t kiss back at first–not out of hesitation, but out of sheer disbelief. His breath hitched like he was afraid he’d ruin it by moving. But then your hand slid into his hair, your thumb grazing the curve of his jaw again, and something in him unspooled completely.

He kissed you back like he’d been drowning for years and only just now found air. Gentle at first–uncertain–but then a little more desperate. His fingers found your thigh where your legs were still touching, squeezing it gently, anchoring him to the here and now. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss by a fraction, like he was afraid you might vanish if he didn’t get closer. Like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth, the warmth of your breath, the soft sigh you let out when his lips parted just barely against yours.

And for a moment, there was nothing else. No car. No road. No Connor. Just the two of you suspended in something delicate and golden and sacred.

He was still breathing like he’d just run ten miles when you pulled back. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes shutting tight like he was trying to hold onto the feeling, preserving it in his chest like a light in a jaw. The windows were fogging at the corners now, despite them being open, and the air between you had turned warm and close, while every shared breath was a little shallower, a little hungrier than the one before.

You tilted your head just slightly, brushing the tip of your nose along his cheek, and he shuddered.

“Jesus Y/N…” He whispered, “I-I think I’m gonna pass out.” You smiled gently against his skin, letting your lips brush over the corner of his mouth.

“You’re doing better than you think.” You whispered, as your hand slid down from his jaw to rest against his chest, right over his heart–feeling it pounding like a war drum. He looked at you then, dazed and wide-eyed, mouth still pink and parted, and when you shifted your weight toward him, his breath caught.

“Can I…?” you asked, your voice softer than ever, your gaze flicking downward–toward his lap.

He nodded before you could finish the question. Like it wasn’t even a decision, just a reflex. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Please.”

You climbed over the center console slowly, carefully, and Bob’s hands went to your hips instinctively, steadying you like you might disappear mid-motion. The second you settled on top of him, straddling his lap, he tensed beneath you–shoulders rigid, breath shallow–but his grip never wavered.

“Okay?” you asked again, brushing your thumbs over the fabric of his shirt.

He nodded again, voice trembling. “Yeah. I just… I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

You smiled, sliding yours over his. “You’re already doing fine.”

And then you kissed him again.

This time, it wasn’t soft.

It was warm and slow, sure–but there was something boiling under the surface now. A spark that had caught flame. You kissed him like you’d been waiting for this, starving for it, and Bob melted into it like he didn’t know how not to. His hands tightened at your hips, not possessive, just desperate for anchoring. For something real.

He moaned against your mouth when your fingers slid into his hair again, tugging just lightly. It was a sound you felt before you heard it–a low vibration in your chest where your bodies were brushing, where your thighs pressed against his hips.

You rolled your hips once, slowly, more a shift than a grind–and Bob gasped into your kiss.

“O-Oh god,” He breathed, voice trembling, forehead falling to your shoulder for a second as he tried to collect himself.

“You okay?” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He nodded, his voice shaky and stunned. “Y-You’re gonna kill me.”

You kissed him again before he could spiral further, and this time his hands slid under your shirt, trailing up your back, like he wanted to feel every inch of you he was allowed. The smooth skin was vast, and all he realized was just how soft you truly were as he pulled your body against his. His mouth opened beneath yours, and you deepened the kiss slowly, tilting your head, tasting the warmth of him, the desperation he was too shy to say out loud.

And then his hips shifted under you, unintentionally–and the friction made you both gasp. His fingers flexed against your back, clinging. Needy. His breath came faster, rougher, and he whined into your mouth when your hips shifted again, intentionally this time–grinding against him with slow, aching friction.

“Y-Y/N,” he whimpered, voice cracking apart, and your hand found the back of his neck, holding him close as you kissed him harder. The car felt too small now, too warm, too full of air that wasn’t moving–but neither of you could stop. Not yet.

His mouth opened wider, tongue brushing yours hesitantly–like he was asking permission even now, like he didn’t know if you still wanted this. But the second you deepened it, the second your lips parted and your tongue met his with a soft, slick slide–he lost whatever fragile control he had left.

He moaned–quiet and broken–and then his hips lifted just barely into yours. You both froze at the pressure, the friction.

His fingers dug into your hips. “I-I can’t–” He breathed, forehead falling back to yours. “I’m gonna–if we keep–I can’t think.”

“Hey,” You whispered, brushing your nose against his, breathless, lips still ghosting his, “It’s okay. We can stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” He blurted, and it sounded like a confession, “I just–I need to. I want to…So so bad, it’s just–god, I want to do it right.”

You smiled, fingers slipping up to his flushed cheeks, holding him there–trembling, dazed, burning beneath you.

“You are doing it right, Bob,” You murmured, kissing him once more—slower this time, gentler, reverent. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

His arms slid around your waist, holding you like he couldn’t let go, like if he did the whole thing might vanish like a fever dream. His breath was hot against your collarbone now, lips resting against your skin, and he nodded, finally beginning to breathe again.

“I-I just want to be close to–to you,” He whispered. “Even if it’s just like this. Even if we don’t–y’know. Yet.”

You leaned your head against his, your hand stroking the back of his neck slowly, grounding him.

“Then let’s just stay like this,” You said softly. “You and me.”

He nodded again, arms tightening around you.

“Yeah,” He whispered. “You and me.”

The windows stayed fogged, your breaths remained shallow, your lips kiss-swollen and raw. But you didn’t move.

And in the quiet heat of that parked car, it felt like something had finally started. Something that didn’t need words.

[iydiamartinx]

DINNER WAS NOT SERVED

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 842 synopsis: Dick had one goal: to seduce his girlfriend. He forgot the part where he should check for unwanted guests first and narrates his plans in very, vivid detail. warning: talk of sexual themes

Dick Grayson practically bounced through the door. After a brutal day at work and a rare night off from his more nocturnal duties, he was beyond ready to spend the night with you—to the fullest.

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it—keys flung onto the counter, boots kicked halfway off, jacket tossed somewhere near the coat rack. His hair was tousled from the wind, and that boyish grin was plastered across his face like he’d just won the damn lottery.

“Babe?” he called out, already unbuttoning his shirt to reveal that smooth, unfairly sculpted chest. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. You have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

You glanced up from the couch, eyes widening in horror.

Too late.

“Been thinking about that mouth of yours,” Dick continued, blissfully unaware of the audience. “You saying my name, choking on it… You better not have eaten yet,” he smirked, prowling closer. “Because tonight, I’m the only thing on the menu. And if you’re really good, I’ll make you my dessert before tying you up like you asked—”

You opened your mouth—something, anything—but the words got stuck somewhere between your brain and your mortified soul.

Dick wasn’t done.

“—And if I do it right, baby,” he added, voice dropping into something criminal, “you won’t be walking straight tomorrow.”

“Please,” Tim begged, his voice hollow—like something inside him had just broken. “Stop.”

Dick screeched.

His head snapped up like a man slapped by God himself.

Jason was sprawled across the other couch, mid-bite of pizza, now frozen with a look of stunned horror.

Tim was slouched in the armchair, pale as death and clutching a throw pillow to his chest like it might protect him from the trauma.

Dick flailed like a man caught with his pants around his ankles—and spiritually, he was. “I—You—WHY ARE YOU ALL HERE?!”

Jason stood up slowly, face blank. “No. Absolutely not. I’m done. I’m leaving. My ears are bleeding. I need holy water. Maybe therapy. And a priest.”

Tim slowly turned to you, deadpan. “You asked for that?”

“I didn’t know he was going to narrate it like a damn porn script!” you hissed, trying to wedge yourself deeper into the couch cushions as if you could disappear entirely.

Damian sat cross-legged on the floor, one eyebrow twitching in confused revulsion. “What… what do you mean by that?”

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he stumbled backwards as he realized his youngest brother was here too. “Oh my god.”

Jason made a sound like he was dying. “He means sex, Damian! Dear God, why do I have to be the one to explain this?!”

Damian blinked. “…Then why are they the meal?”

Tim looked like his brain had short-circuited. Again.

Jason threw his hands up. “Nope. Not walking him through this. I’ve done my time.”

Dick, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, turned to you helplessly. “I swear I thought we were alone.”

You glared at him, mortified. “You described yourself as the entrée,” you snapped. “And me as dessert!”

Damian, still thoroughly lost, narrowed his eyes. “But neither of you are edible. That would be cannibalism.”

Jason grabbed his keys. “I’m going to pretend this never happened and go directly to the manor. If anyone ever speaks of this again—I swear—I’ll shoot them.”

Tim trailed after him, defeated. “I’m going to need a drink. And bleach. And maybe a lobotomy.”

The door slammed behind them, leaving only an awkward silence—and Damian, staring between the two of you with narrowed eyes.

Damian, still staring between you and Dick like you were an unsolvable puzzle, slowly tilted his head. “Is it… normal to talk about being consumed before intercourse?”

You made a strangled noise and grabbed the nearest throw pillow, mashing it to your face.

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he could physically wipe away the humiliation. His voice was low and exhausted. “Damian. Leave. Before Jason drives off without you and pretends it was on accident.”

Damian huffed through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Tt. As if I would lower myself to ride with him.”

Still, he stood up and brushed the invisible lint from his trousers. He shot you both one last perplexed glance, muttered something in sharp Arabic—definitely a curse this time—and swept toward the door without another word.

The click of the door closing behind him echoed through the now silent apartment.

Dick finally turned to you, face still beet red, hair a mess, shirt half-open and forgotten. 

“So…” he began, voice sheepish. “Not the night I had planned.”

You hurled a couch pillow at his head.

He caught it easily, the bastard, flashing that boyish grin that somehow still managed to be charming after all this.

“Still love me?”

You pointed at the door. “Ask me after they recover.”

He winked, his voice dipping back into that sultry purr. “Bet I can make you forget about it.”

You paused.

“…Shut up and lock the door.”

That grin of his widened as he rushed to do as you said.

[rexhya]

Your anul writings are sooo good like i got hooked

Like imagine anuls dad saying he found a wife for him and reader starts distancing herself because the potential wife heard about how obsessed he was with reader and threatened reader that if she listened or obeyed him she would have her father kill them

yandere!prince who is livid at his father, who wants to kill the woman who's supposedly going to be his wife. ( as if )

Anul doesn't even bother trying to pretend to like her, he continues as usual. What he doesn't know is how this wretched woman has been treating you.

You're sewing together fabrics of Anuls clothing, ever since he'd learned you know how to tailor clothes he's been insistent that no one else but you touch them, a button on one of his shirts had broken.

You of course noticed the woman approaching you, her luxurious gown could be seen swaying from miles away.

"You, maid girl." the woman sneered.

You turned upwards to where she was standing, her chest puffed out proudly. "Yes?" you gulped, she was obviously a noble, though one you didn't recognize.

"Stay away from The Prince , and I mean it. I know you think he loves you, but's he just using you. He'll understand you're nothing but a bug on the wall once he meets me." she flipped her hair waiting for answer.

"Okay." you mumbled looking down, this wasn't worth your trouble.

But the woman wasn't done, "Dont get cocky, do you know who my father is?"

You pricked your fingers while sewing, "I'm not—"

"That's right, you're not anything, stay away from him or i'll tell my father what you've done, and trust me you won't like that." she didnt wait for an andwer as she stalked away, leaving you and your bloody pointer alone.

It wasnt long after this interaction that you began avoiding Anul, excuse after excuse eventually led hardly any interaction at all, and it wasn't like you didn't enjoy seeing the prince from time to time, its was simply for your own safety.

The woman had been watching you like a hawk, ready to catch you near him so she could punish you, or even worse, kill you. You didnt take any chances and went to great efforts to stay away from him, seeing as he was constantly looking for you on a daily basis this turned out to be quite dificult however you'd made things work.

Untill they weren't of course.

Anul was deeply upset, you were so slippery these days, everytime he wanted to see you there seemed to be something of great importance interupting his much needed quality time. You hadn't slept in his chambers in over a week! This needed to stop, and it needed to stop now.

A week and 3 days, and 4 hours since you'd been avoiding him Anul decides he's had enough. He knows everything about your routine, he decides to set a trap. A maid girl leaves a letter in your locker to head up to the head of the maids office, your terrible nervous of course, because of Anul you hadnt been exactly the most present untill this past week, you hoped you wernet being fired.

That wasn't the case at all, "[Name], so you really are alive!" you don't have time to answer before Anul swoops you off your feet and into the air, twirling you around in a way that delightfully makes you squeeze onto him.

He sets you down gracefully and you peer up at him, " My prince, what are you doing here?" you try to pull away but he has his arms locked on your waist an deliriously lovesick expression on his face.

"I missed you my love," he sighs burrying his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent.

You warm, it was weird feeling the sheer power of Anuls body after being away for so long.

"But what are you doing here! I thought i was in trouble, Ms. Jalei, she—"

Anul suddenly pulled away, a cold and angry look on his face, "We'll that's because you are, you''ve been avoiding and ignoring me [Name], you should tell me why." despite the coldness in his voice he sounded awfully hurt. Had being away from you really hurt that bad?

"I havent been—" you tried.

"Dont, I'm not in the mood." he stared, and you began to crumble, his gaze felt like starting into a void of pitch black smoke.

"I–" you voice clogged, when you thought about the woman. "Well, it's just that there was this noble. I don't know her name—"

"She threatened you?" he narrowed his eyes.

You nodded, it was an obvious conclusion to come to. Anul knew of his admirers, he simply didn't care for them. Then Anul did something unexpected, he sighed in relief. "Oh thank god, I thought you didn't like me anymore. You would never abandon me, how silly of me."

You didn't say anything to this, letting Anul rub his nose into your neck, he hadnt said it aloud but he'd been misreable without you, running on 4 hours of sleep because he couldn't fall asleep right away, accidentally cutting of this knight boy he'd sparred with, and not to mention the drinking, god, it got so bad his father almost gave in and demanded you back to him. His moaning and wailing kept the entire palace up.

"Well, that solves everything then," he smile was as wide as you'd ever seen if before. "Don't ever do something like that again, okay? Tonight you sleep with me."

You nodded again, you should've expected this, Anul wasn't one to give up to easily. He finally pulled back and away to peer at your face, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek. "You're so quiet, she didn't already touch you did she?"

You shook your head no again. Anul frowned. "Use your words."

"No"

He grins, "Good girl. My precious darling, It's been so long since we've last seen each other, I feel obligated to a kiss."

You blink rapidly, struggling to keep eye contact with the violet haired man, he loved it when you were flustered like this, "Well?" he whispered and softly your your lips open with a thumb, open-mouthed sucking on your tounge, you shivered, trying to ignore the prodding feeling between Anul's legs. He was just as flustered as you when he was done, crimson red coating his face.

"God, I can't believe I went a week without that, you're to never be away from me again you hear me? And don't worry about that woman, she'll be disposed of if it's the last thing I do."

[timewillpasssoon]

ETERNAMENTE !

PAIRING — bob reynolds x gen neutral!thunderbolt!reader   ,   + family!thunderbolts

SUMMARY — ten months have passed since the thunderbolts/new avengers grouped up. a few days ago you got badly injured during one of the group missions, making you have to stay in the compound with bob- who also is staying at the tower, practicing gaining control of his powers.

WARNINGS — you/your, spoilers for thunderbolts*, mentions of abuse, child abuse, reader and bob’s poor mental health, alcohol, fighting and stabbing, knife and guns, injuries, blood, mutual pinging, suggestive, kissing/making out, hair pulling (bob receiving), no full on smut though (soon dw,,,), swearing, reader has no superpowers but has enhanced senses, lmk if i missed any !

WORDS — 9.0k

NOTE — inspired by eternamente by gal costa !!! sorry if there is spelling errors,,, also happy one year to this account ! i have like two other large Bob fics and one Bucky fic in the works, hopefully i don't lose motivation </3 anyways enjoy

this was honestly bullshit. at least that’s what you thought. you’ve haven’t been able to participate in missions for the past week since this damn injury. during a mission, your task was to make sure all civilians in and near the crumbling building were safe and sound. when entering the very large establishment, you managed to get lost while looking for more innocents lingering. then you saw someone in your peripherals, hiding, trying to attack you when you were oblivious to their presence.

having extremely enchanted reaction time, you were able to defend yourself when they tried to strike you. your arm shot up just as the pipe was about to strike your skull. pain shot through your upper arm, but with the adrenaline now pumping throughout your entire body, that pain only felt like a medium sensation. you twisted their wrist making them drop the pipe that was once held in their hand. you were quite busy kicking the metal away from them that you didn’t notice the knife they pulled out of their pocket.

with a very swift motion, the unknown person stabs your right shoulder with all their might. you scrum out a piercing roar, the pain being too much to handle. you ducked down, your right knee making contact with the dusty floor while your other leg was still bottom shoe–floor contact. your sudden movement made them dig the knife deeper into your skin. with all the panic and momentum stored inside, you grabbed their arm mid swing and twisted until their shoulder popped. their grab on the knife was none as they screamed out for help, yet that gave you more courage to continue the fight. 

with them crying like a little baby you were able to sweep them off their feet (in a literal sense) and have them over your shoulder. with all the strength you had, the action of throwing their body on a nearby desk was accomplished. the wooden structure broke in half due to impact. with a knife still stuck on your shoulder you pulled out a gun on them, “you done?” was all you handled to say.

the next couple of seconds were a blur. you were going to comm Yelena and Bucky about the person who was obviously in the gang you were catching, but they quickly kicked the gun off your hands. you stammered in pain as they tried to reach for the gun now on the ground and succeed. without a second thought, they aimed it towards your head. with only half a second of reaction time, you moved to the right so the bullet wouldn’t go through your chin. yet, this movement only made the small life ending copper go through your shoulder. 

immediately once the mission was complete, you were rushed to the med bay. you don’t remember much due to you automatically spacing out when the doctors and nurses were trying to stop the bleeding. once the stitching and bandaging was down, you were ordered to rest for at least a week and a half. despite all your protests, the full week and a half agenda was pushed. the guilt of having an unplanned and unprompted rest was starting to get in your head. you swore to the rest of the team that the stabbing and bullet wound didn’t affect you anymore, but Bucky wasn’t having any of that. “just a couple more days.” he would constantly say to shut down your attempts of persuasion.

although, you couldn’t really complain about your free little vacation. you got to finally relax- even if you thought it was undeserved- and Bob was there to keep you company. after the whole press announcement about the group being the “new avengers” Bob was put on hold. he decided to train so he could figure out how to control his powers and intrusive thoughts. so, that meant being stuck in the compound. whenever you asked how he thought about it, he would never complain about it. he was too perfect. quiet, shy, observant, but had those few little moments where he would shine during group hangouts. and whenever those tiny scenes played out, you couldn’t help but smile.

you distinctly this one time that pulled your heart strings.

this happened three months after the Void incident and it was finally game night. it was one of those rare days where there was no training, missions, and chores to do. so of course with all of you bored out of your minds. Alexei sat everyone down in the living room for ‘family bonding’. everyone protested in their own ways. Yelena said she was too tired to stay up, Ava saying straight up no, John being slightly intrigued despite saying “I don’t do games”. 

Alexei still tries to lift their spirits up! “bah! you all complain now but soon you will laugh! bond, cry maybe.” Bucky and you are the first ones to give up the tough guy acts and just get the board games over with. Bob is soon to join the two of you, placing his half read book down and getting up from his comfortable chair, now sitting right beside you on the floor in a swift motion. your hands were placed behind your view, letting yourself lean back against your palms.

while Bob was about to sit down, he placed a hand on the ground to give himself more balance. doing that he was obviously reckless with his hand placement and next thing you know his fingers glazed on top of yours. you didn’t retreat your hand though. no, instead you darted your head at the now more nervous man beside you. finally completing his motion of sitting down, he quickly apologized in his usual scrambled manner. the way he backed away made you somewhat frown at his action. “it’s alright, don’t worry.”

the reassurance was needed to be honest. yet, you weren’t sure if he was afraid about the possibility of making you face your past or if he was genuinely appalled by the touch of you.

it had taken what felt like hours (it was really like four minutes), multiple threats to Walker, a shit load of Alexei’s persistence, and snacks for the rest of the thunderbolts to join. they either sat on the couch or floor. Alexei cheers in excitement, “that’s what i’m talking about! family!” Ava picked out the Monopoly, which should’ve been the first sign of a chaotic night, to be the game of the night.

with the group being knee deep into the game, everyone was either gaining headaches from screaming at each other, or laughing their asses off. first it was property wars. Yelena scoffed at Walker, “you bought boardwalk? so predictable.” and temu Captain America clapping back with a “it’s called strategy, Yelena. you should try it sometime.” then it was Ava being on everyone’s ass whenever they landed on her property, saying the amount they owned her with too much glee. “you know you could say it with less joy.” Bucky mumbled at her as he gave her $750 of his play money.

the next phase was getting the rules confused. well, it was mainly Walker but that was only because he was trying to cheat. occasionally Alexei would mix rules together so he could justify why he was giving himself money (he fought for the banker position). Bob with his hefty debt to you and Ava. “you owe me $750!” Ava deadpanned at Bob, which made him widen his eyes. he stammered on his words “uh- i um… i’m retired!!!” he played off a cute little smile.

you looked at him because of his change of voice tone. but his toothy smile made you continue your staring. with him being somewhat close, the distance made you really look at him.

his posture was slightly hunched forward, eyes darting between you and Ava as he gave out his excuse on why he couldn’t pay either of you. there was a softness to his features despite the obvious anxious expression. his hair was messy, mainly due to his fingers running through his own locks. the dorky smile he had plastered on his face grew slightly as he peeked at you, catching your goggling. the sudden eye contact made your chest feel weirdly warm. as half a second went by, your eyes widened, trying to respond to his response. Ava interfered with the very uncomfortable eye contact (it was only uncomfortable to the rest of the group), “you’re not retired-“

“could be,” he shrugged, his smile shrieking but it was still visible. “early retirement… because of um- emotional distress!” you squint your eyes at him, disregarding his answer once again and demanding he payed you and Ava back- mainly you. he nodded aggressively, mumbling the words “got it” under his breath and looking back at the board. yet his eyes still lingered on you for a short period of time that everyone saw. Walker makes a face and calls the two of you out, “are we playing the game or flirting?” which resulted in more arguments.

you will never forget that moment because that was the day you realized how Bob was your exact type. he was always there, yeah sure, but you never really gave it a second thought until that night. ever since then, you would steal glances his way. you liked the way he would blabber about a topic he knew too much about. or when small pieces of hair would fall on his face when he did the dishes. what you didn’t know was Bob felt your pair of eyes on him twenty-four-seven. he didn’t mind at all though. yes, it made him nervous but a good type of nervous, you know?

throughout the entirety of your small break you managed to get mildly closer with Bob. you were already close to him already, but there was still this barrier between the two of you. though, the other thunderbolts could tell there was a small lingering feeling. they noticed way before the two of you did. so, at the start of your break, the both of you were too shy to make a move. you guys would pass by in the kitchen and have that awkward moment where the two of you are facing each other and stepping on the same side thinking the other would move the other way. whenever you entered the living room and Bob was already there, he would stammer to himself before existing the large room.

it was so frustrating that you didn’t have the courage to talk to him. you could do a one versus three but you couldn’t ask a man to go get coffee with you? it made you feel pathetic. this weird feeling you were experiencing was sickening- no, straight up cruel. and it was all because of Bob.

on day four you managed to gather up the courage and go up to Bob. he was in the living room space reading a book peacefully. his eyebrows furrowed as he got more invested into the book. the way he would mouth out the words he was reading was somehow cute to you. shaking your head mentally, you cleared your throat loud enough for him to shoot his attention at you. “uh. are you hungry? do you want to go get something- anything with me?” you asked in a mild tone, pointing at the door behind yourself so your hand doesn’t awkwardly sit at your side. he takes a moment to himself before remembering to answer.

Bob’s mouth is left slightly gaped, “you should be restin-“ without a thought you interrupt his shirt sentence, stumbling on your own words now. the words ‘i’m okay now’ or something along those lines leaving your quivering lips. despite the cold stoic expression on your face, mentally you were freaking out. you face palmed yourself for the unnecessary hesitation laced in your words.

“i mean it. a walk outside won’t break my shoulders, would it?” Bob nodded at your statement. he didn’t like the thought of you being hurt- or any of the other thunderbolts! the determination on your face that seeped out made him feel that you were telling the truth. i mean, you were right. no harm in a simple snack run!

”yeah. okay...” his soft smile that you could stare at for hours appears on his face. he jolts up and follows you outside the building and the two of you head to the nearest coffee shop after a few moments of thinking what to get.

the two of you began walking in silence. although the quiet was comforting to Bob, it wasn’t to you since you were trying to start a conversation. with a topic idea finally coming to you, you ask him what he was reading. he plays it off, the tone of his voice soft and quiet. he gives you the book title, and with you obviously wanting the conversation to move forward, ask what it’s about. he hadn’t expected that follow-up question.

he thought you only wanted to make small talk, but the way you gazed at him, that assumption was out the window. his shoulders relaxed a bit, explaining the book in the best way possible. his arms flopping around as he made little features that completed his words. “honestly it’s… kind of beautiful. sad, yeah- but not in a hopeless way!” you hummed quietly, still enchanted by his wittiness. the way he explained the book piqued your curiosity, making you ask questions here and there. he, obviously, answered them in the most gentle way.

Bob gave a small soft smile your way. once his eyes met yours, he was stunned that you were actually listening and engaged in this conversation. there was a familiar flicker in his eyes. the same emotion that you had.

“you can have it- the book- i already read it two times!” you smiled at the gesture, and without realizing you nodded at his request. “i’m down.” your guys’ steps synchronized with one another’s. the silence washed over you guys once more, but this time the silence was comfortable- easier to sit on.

the small bakery’s door was in front of you. being a person with basic manners, you open the door for the nervous tall man that accompanied you on this journey. he muttered a thankful “thank you”. once the both of you entered the cozy room establishment, the two of you looked at the menu on top of the cashier. the worker welcomed the two of you, letting the both of you have a moment to yourselves.

“do you know what you want?” your head tilted towards his body, your sight still fixated on the options ahead of you. Bob let out a muffled whimper, “mmh- i think so…” you nodded at his answer and headed towards the worker. Bob quickly followed you like a lost puppy. placing your own order, you step to the side so Bob can choose for himself. after paying and waiting, the two of you decide to eat at the tower- there being more known to the both of you.

the empty living room was expected. Bucky, Ava, and Walker were on a mission while Alexei and Yelena were on another. you speed walk to the couch, placing the bag or pastries on the coffee table as well as your drink right beside it. today felt too peaceful. the low ruckus of the city outside, the warm orangey-yellow glow of the lamps, and Bob’s quiet footsteps behind you.

he hovered awkwardly near the arm of the couch, unsure whether to sit or wait for permission to do so.

you plopped down and leaned back with a soft sigh. “wanna watch a movie?” you glanced up at him, a spark of boldness slipping past your usual self. Bob blinked, surprised. he shifted from foot to foot, the hesitation practically oozing off him. “uh… yeah. i mean, if you want. i’d-… yeah.” you cracked a smile at his yes, also because of his nervous structure. patting the empty spot beside you, the remote was now in your hand after a quick search for it. The smile remained on your face as he shattered on the couch, “you get to pick.” Bob’s mouth slightly opened yet no sound came out, then lowered himself onto the other end of the couch as if it might crumble beneath him. he reached for the remote, your fingertips grazing each other. quietly scrolling through the options while you stole little glances at his profile. the soft slope of his nose and the way his brows furrowed as he read the movie titles. there was something so careful about the way he moved, like he was always afraid of taking up too much space. you found it cute.

you shifted slightly, not enough to startle him, just enough to nudge your leg a little closer to his. he noticed. of course he did. you caught the way his eyes flicked down, the subtle inhale through his nose, the quick return of his gaze to the screen. He picked out a random movie. the both of you had no idea of its existence.

the once empty screen was now broadcasting the opening scene of this unknown movie. you leaned forward, offering Bob another bite of your pastry, out of habit. he gave you a sheepish smile, shaking his head. “i’m good. uh- thanks, though.” trying to mirror his smile you accepted his rejection. with the gentlest lean, under the idea of getting more comfortable, your shoulder now brushing just slightly against the edge of his. yes, it did slightly sting, but it was going to be worth it. the silence stretched.

still, Bob said nothing.

you let the warmth of the moment settle around you like a blanket, your fingers inching a little closer to his on the cushion between you. and Bob… didn’t move his hand away. just as you were about to make a move on Bob, by trying to interlock your fingers with his, Alexei and Yelena burst through. it was mostly Alexei who rushed in. he let out a loud “WOOH!” alongside a bunch of small laughing fits. a concerned Yelena was behind him, “you need to go to the med bay.” her tone was harsh, but genuinely uneasy about his physical state. Bob, who gets started whenever Walker smacks the fridge door shut a little too hard, obviously got freaked out by this sudden nuisance.

his hand that was once on the couch cushion is now interlocked with his other hand… great! Alexei stumbled a little but held his arms up in victory. he made eye contact with you and Bob, ignoring Yelena’s concerns entirely. “you should’ve seen it! i threw a guy into a dumpster. headfirst!” his iconic dad laugh piercing everyone’s ears. Yelena, unimpressed and exasperated, pressed a hand to his side. “you are bleeding, you idiot.”

Alexei waved her off like she was being dramatic. a somewhat hurt expression on his face. “that's no way to talk to your father!” he pointed at himself while the last word left his mouth. then, noticing the way you and Bob practically split apart like guilty teenagers, Alexei paused. his eyes narrowed. interrupting Yelena’s pestering, he loudy asked “-wait a second… did i interrupt something?” everyone but his own eyes were on the giant bloody gash on his right arm.

you and Bob immediately shot up in sync, voices overlapping in awkward unison. “no!”

you glanced at Bob, who looked just as horrified to have blurted it as you felt. clearing your throat to recover your composure, you motioned vaguely toward the TV. “we were about to watch a movie,” you muttered, tone overly casual. Yelena, hands on her hips, arched a brow and gave Alexei a knowing look. Alexei grinned, practically glowing with glee. “ohhh, were you now?” he teased, eyes twinkling with mischief. “young love is in the air, eh Yelena?”

Yelena sighed, but her smirk betrayed her amusement. “mmhmm.” she said, voice deadpan as she gave you both one last glance, then turned Alexei around by the shoulders. “let’s go. before you bleed on the nice furniture.”

as Alexei stumbled forward with Yelena guiding him, he turned over his shoulder to shout, “don’t let us stop you! just pretend we were never here!” the door finally closed behind them, but the silence that followed was no longer soft and inviting. it was fragile… like glass was between the two of you. glass that was easily breakable, yet the both of you didn’t dare to break it- even touch it.

you both now stared at the screen. the movie played on, the main character now on screen doing god knows what. you shifted, slightly, settling back into the cushions with a hush exhale. Bob didn’t say anything. he kept his eyes on the screen, hands folded in his lap like he was in a business meeting. the space between you wasn’t that wide, but it felt like miles. the warmth from before was extremely cooled from that little show Alexei and Yelena preformed. no shoulder brushing. no hands creeping closer.. just two people, trying to pretend like they hadn’t just almost held hands like squeaky teenagers.

day five was alright. it was the morning after your little movie night. remember? the one where you and Bob sat too close? yet you didn’t touch nor speak about it. pretended the movie was the highlight of the night when, really it was the almost-moment you shared before it crashed and burned. do you remember?

existing your barely refurbished room. the smell of sweet breakfast croissants and warm syrup drifted throughout your hallway. you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, feet dragging on the floor. as you walk towards the kitchen, plastic bags could be seen on the kitchen island. you automatically assumed that someone ordered breakfast.

your tired gaze landed on Yelena, who leaned against the counter, a smug smirk plastered on her face, while Bob stood awkwardly across from the cocky woman. his hands were stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. he had an embarrassed look on his face anyone could decode. Bob’s head turned when he heard your rushed footsteps. his shoulders perked up.

“good morning!” he said with that soft smile of his. the same one that makes you melt inside. your heart skipped- of course it did. “ mornin’.” you replied, trying to sound chill, but it came out a little breathless… real smooth. Yelena snorted into her iced coffee like she’d just read both your minds. “i was just asking Bob,” she said, pointing a finger at the man in front of her, “that i am heading to those pet stores to buy stuff for my baby. want to join us?” her baby obviously being the guinea pig she found before we knew Bob. Yelena had a look of ‘go with my lie’ that was daggered onto Bob. his confused face now turned into an obvious cover up. He mumbled a ‘yeah’. the finger once pointing at Bob, now pointing to one of the plastic bags on the counter, her eyes had a look saying ‘help yourself’.

you covered your mouth, yawning right after, nodding as you did so. “sure, i don't have a mission to go on, so...” making your way to the plastic bags to grab one of the boxes. as your fingers brushed one of the styrofoam covers, Bob leaned forward instinctively to help, but your hands met halfway. a light touch. nothing major. barely a second. you both froze. just like the night before, there was that moment. unspoken, electric, warm. Bob gave you a soft look. one that said he wasn’t sure if this was allowed, but hoped it was.

you pulled your hand back gently, not too fast.

Yelena squinted at the both of you, then grinned so smugly. “i’m just gonna… take this food to my room. far from whatever this weird thing is,” she muttered, “were leaving at two.” and walked off, sipping loudly from her straw.

that left just you and Bob.

you stared at the box in your hands like it was going to offer advice.

“so…” you said, glancing up at him.

“so,” he echoed, already fidgeting with the string on his hoodie.

the silence stretched, but not in an awkward way.

you both just… stood there for a beat, clutching your respective food containers. neither of you spoke, but you weren’t exactly avoiding each other’s eyes either.

Bob’s lashes were longer than they had any right to be. his hair was still a little messy from sleep. floppy, kind of soft looking, like he’d just rolled out of bed. there was a faint flush on his cheeks. the yellow and orange tones radiating from the morning sun casted onto his tall figure. he looked good in the morning light.

Bob’s eyes flicked over your features too. they were lingering a bit too long on the corner of your mouth. he was mentally bookmarking everything about you. he opened his mouth once. a brief moment of courage sparked in his face-

“ayy! what’d i miss?”

-Bob’s spark dimmed almost immediately. the loud, screechy voice of Walker barreled through the hallway as he marched into the room. behind him came Ava, tying her hair up in a messy ponytail, looking more awake than either of the three. she nodded in your direction, then squinted at the two of you seated side by side.

Bob blinked like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. his once gaped mouth was completely shut now. Walker made his way to the plastic bags in front of the two flushed humans. he furrowed his eyes, pointing his head up so he could face Bob and you while his hands grabbed a styrofoam box filled with breakfast. “why does this feel weird in here?” he asked, looking between you two. “you guys fight or something?”

“no?” you said too quickly.

“no!” Bob added, way too in sync with you.

Ava gave you both a long, slow look, then leaned on the island, clearly amused. “oh. i get it,” she said, “you sat too close during your little movie night, didn’t you? almost kissed or some dumb crap like that?” her voice was light but teasing, the kind that made your stomach flip for all the wrong reasons. Yelena definitely told her what happened when she and Alexei barged in. you’ll have to remember to get back at her. Bob nearly choked on his own breath. “wha- no, that’s not-”

you accidentally cut Bob off, “excuse me?” Ava just laughed in both of your faces. “you so did..”

Walker squinted, chewing on a piece of croissant, his mouth too full to make a comment. Bob looked like he wanted to disappear into his hoodie. he was trying to keep his cool, but the tips of his ears were visibly red now. “we were just... watching a movie.”

“sure,” Ava said, dragging out the word. she held her box in one hand, a drink in the other, and gave you both a mock salute. “well. we’re taking this to the training room. the silence here is giving me second hand tension.”

Walker was already halfway to the door. “you guys figure your stuff out or whatever.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but Ava held up a hand without turning around. “don’t care. bye, lovebirds.”

the door shut behind them. leaving you and Bob alone, with nothing but a comfortable- yet anxious- conversation about to arise.

the rest of the day was a breeze. Yelena picking and choosing what her little baby needed- more like what she wanted, but you weren’t going to tell her that- while you and Bob were just yes men when she needed two second opinions.

oh but day six. oh lord day six was heavenly for your eyes.

the training room was fairly quiet despite a breathless Bob training in there. you hadn’t really planned to go in. honestly, you were just passing because you had to go to the med bay so you could re-wrap your shoulder wounds. strolling through the hall, you see the door wide open, a wooden door wedding stopping it from closing. once your body was directly blocking the door, you saw Bob inside. he was already mid-workout, a focused expression etched on his face. he hadn’t noticed you at first. his back was towards you, muscles flexing with every movement as he practiced strikes on one of the padded dummies. you stepped in silently, leaning on the edge of the door frame, eyes glued to the way he moved.

he soon stopped his punching, his breath out of control. in a swift motion, he faced his whole body towards the door- where you were at-, tugging the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his forehead. that damn shirt. it lifted enough to show the cut of his abs, the glisten of sweat trailing down his toned torso. your gaze lingered maybe a second too long and Bob finally noticed you once the cloth was out of his clutch. his smile twitched, a little embarrassed expression could be seen on his face.

he paused, chest rising and falling with deep breaths you were too familiar with. the faint smile on his lips is still visible. “oh! i didn’t notice you! ” he spoke out, voice a little breathless.

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you. “i was... passing by. sorry.”

he nodded, clearly not believing you. “right.” neither of you said anything after that. he went back to punching the dummy. you didn’t leave.

day seven and eight were just as special to the both of you. the warmth and comfortable silence between you guys was impeccable. you talked about anything that came to your minds. and the other would engage in said conversation.

something had shifted, softly, naturally. the tension that once sat heavy between you and Bob, awkward and skittish, had melted into something quieter. something safer. eight months ago, every accidental touch was followed by a quick retreat, with Bob frantically saying sorry, being scared that he may send you back to cursed memories. but now… now it is different. now, when your hands brushed when the both of you tried to grab a cup, or walking side by side with your knuckles brushing against the other’s, it didn’t feel like a mistake.

there was a moment, on day seven, in the hallway outside the armory. you had both reached for the same door handle while being too carried away in the conversation. your fingers met, overlapped. but this time, neither of you moved away. his thumb grazed your knuckle, slow and warm, and you didn’t flinch. you didn’t even look away. Bob gave you a soft, almost sheepish smile, like he was still surprised he was allowed to linger. but you moved through the door together. the conversation did not stop one bit. this felt normal. you liked when he stood a little closer now, like it was natural to take up space next to you. the way his laugh softened when it was just the two of you. something was building- something good.

day nine.

it was another regular fun day. the morning was utter chaos because Alexei decided to cook breakfast for everybody. flour was everywhere, Yelena trying to read the instructions of the pancake mix box, Ava bumping her head on the kitchen counter when trying to pick up the falling eggs, and Walker yelling, “i swear to god if someone throws another spatula-” just before someone did throw another spatula. everybody was laughing. this was a family. the family you never got to have- the one you deserved.

the pancakes ended up looking like abstract art and tasting a bit too salty- for some odd reason, but everyone still ate them. you were sitting on the counter, legs swinging slightly as you watched the group argue over whether or not the pancakes were edible. Bob stood beside you, plate in hand, picking at a lumpy one.

“these taste like salt water…” he said, chewing slowly. you tried not to laugh but failed, covering your mouth with your hand. “you’re being dramatic.” Bob looked at you with that soft, amused expression you were starting to know too well. “he’s being honest! who put salt in this!?” Walker busted out as he tried his best to swallow the big piece in his mouth. Yelena whipped around from the stove with a wooden spoon in hand, wiggling it as she spoke. “you try making pancakes while Alexei’s screaming about protein and Ava’s throwing eggs at the wall!”

“it was one egg!” Ava shouted from the floor, still rubbing her forehead. “and my hand slipped!” no one believed her, obviously. Alexei puffed his chest proudly. “in Soviet Russia, pancakes eat you!” Bucky scoffed, not daring to touch another salty pancake.

“yeah ‘cause no one in their right mind would eat these.”

the afternoon was filled to the brim with training. you had to beg Bucky to let you join the rest of the group. “my shoulders are FINE!” and after pestering him for a decent amount of time, he budged. although you knew everyone would go easy on you, that didn’t matter.

the sky outside had dimmed to that deep navy blue, the compound settled into a calm, tired hum. everyone had broken off after training to shower, change, and unwind. Walker had declared himself starving three times before the group finally agreed on takeout. a debate about which place to order from led to a chaotic argument before they all shuffled out the door. Ava making a snide comment with a pointed glance at you and Bob, Yelena grinning knowingly. Alexei offered a dramatic thumbs-up. and just like that, the door shut behind them.

you and Bob were left behind. not a purpose, definitely. the poor excuse Yelena made was that someone needed to take care of her baby- and that someone was you and Bob.

you both migrated to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with soft sighs. the air between you wasn’t heavy or awkward. it was warm. the TV played something neither of you were really watching, and conversation picked up like it always did. something dumb, lighthearted. “that was back when i was getting used to this whole ‘being in the spotlight’ thing.” you said, smirking as you leaned back on the couch. “but now that i look back on it… it’s very cringy.” Bob laughed, the sound being very genuine.

you were mid-laugh when the sharp sting flared through your shoulder. your body tensed, face twisting as you accidentally pressed too much weight against the injury. the laughter died on your lips, and you winced. you drew in a slow breath through your nose as you tried to be nonchalant.

Bob immediately became alerted, an alarm flickering across his face. “hey- hey, are you okay?” you nodded quickly, biting down the discomfort. “yeah. yeah, just leaned on it too hard. It’s not much of a stresser, i've been through worse.” trying to lighten up the mood once again. the comfortable air immediately dimmed once the small whimper left your mouth.

he blinked, frowning. “worse? like what?” the word echoed softly, almost unsure. his brows furrowed, curious about your past. he never knew about, didn’t cross his mind since he was so scared of triggering a horrible memory lane when touching you. and then he seemed to catch himself. “i mean- i shouldn’t have asked that. sorry. i didn’t mean to,”

“it’s okay,” you cut in gently, your voice softer now. you said a little more confident, hand pressed against the sore spot. you didn’t look at him right away. “you can ask.” Bob didn’t speak, but he stayed close. he didn’t want to push your boundaries. after a beat of silence, you started to talk. at first, it was just vague words. the kind that circled around the truth without landing on it. you mentioned the pain that started all of this. you mentioned places you would never forget. with a tone Bob understood too well. his eyes never left yours. they were soft and sad. not with pity, but with that kind of deep, quiet empathy that comes from knowing. 

you already knew Bob’s story. the Void rooms made sure of that. you knew the weight he carried, the things that broke him. you knew more unfortunate details than the rest of the group.

three months ago.

it had been one of those rare nights where everyone let their guard down. the mission was successful so everyone was relieved. the mood was unusually good. someone, probably Yelena, suggested drinks in the common room, and no one fought her on it. bottles were passed around, music played low from someone's phone speaker, and everyone fell into soft laughter and slurred confessions. Ava and Walker were in the middle of a heated debate about what counted as a sandwich. Alexei was passed out on a bean bag with a half-empty beer still loosely in hand. the night was soaked in the kind of hazy comfort that made even the haunted feel a little human again.

you and Bob had drifted toward a quieter corner of the room, the lights dimmer there, shadows softer. you sat cross-legged on the floor, your back to the wall, with your third drink still untouched beside you. Bob sat across from you, knees bent, arms resting on them casually. he looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in a while. maybe it was just the moment.

he was the one who broke the silence first.

“i used to sit like this under my porch when i was a kid,” he said quietly, looking down at the floor like it was somewhere far away. you rose your head once sounds came out his mouth. he continued, “i’d sneak out at night and just… sit. pretend i was somewhere else.”

you tilted your head. the alcohol consuming your voice, “why under the porch?”

he shrugged, his expression faintly amused, faintly sad. “it was the only place nobody bothered me. ’m dad didn’t care enough to come looking. house was small. loud. angry.”

you stayed quiet, letting him keep going if he wanted. and he did.

“sometimes i’d just lay there, listening to the world and pretending i wasn’t in mine… until my dad would come and force me back inside. dragin’ me inside..”

your fingers fidgeted slightly, heart softening with every word. he was drunk. already on his fourth drink and the consumption was making him speak his mind. you thought that he wouldn’t want to share this in a sober state, but you were wrong. he wanted to be… open. honest.

Bob’s shoulders dropped slightly, not with defeat but with a strange kind of relief. he kept going, the toxic liquid making it easier to swallow the words he’s been dying to tell someone else. the sad details whenever his father would abuse him or his mother. it caused him pain, so you listened. all your attention on him and his story.

he stopped speaking after his background got to the part where he moved to Malaysia. his shoulder stiffened, “i didn’t talk about it for a long time. thought if i buried it deep enough, it wouldn’t matter. then the Void rooms…” he trailed off, eyes flicking up to meet yours. he had that tiny smile he would always do whenever he was at a loss for words. “you saw it too.”

you gave a slow nod. “i did.”

“you didn’t look at me any different afterward… did you?” you still gave him those smiley eyes you gave him back at the vault Valentina sent you in.

“i never would.”

he paused for a moment, remembering all the pain his father caused him. all the built up anger he had because of the man who hit him every chance he got. yet, he released the tension in his shoulders. his eyes filled with terrible nostalgia. “…’m sorry.” you shook your head at his apology. “you don’t have to be.”

you reached out his hand, which was on the floor to make sure he didn’t tumble down. he was too indulged in his mind to notice. or to care.

and that was it. he didn’t say thank you. he didn’t need to. the air between you was already filled with understanding. two people, each with their share of dark stories, sitting quietly in the middle of the night while the rest of the world carried on in laughter and debate.

you won’t forget the look he gave you… so gentle, like you were something precious he didn’t know how to hold yet. that stayed with you for days.

that’s why it was easy to speak now. because he wouldn’t try to fix you. he would just listen, like how you listened to him. his torso angled towards you, his hand resting between you two on the couch, close but not touching. when you finally stopped talking, the silence wasn’t empty. it was full of things neither of you needed to say. Bob’s face had contorted somewhere in the middle of your explanation. his brows were furrowed, lips pressed tight, something raw in his eyes. as if he wanted to take every wound from your past and carry it himself.

you gave him a small, tired smile. “you don’t have to say anything,” you said. “just… being here’s enough. sorry.”

Bob moved slowly, like he didn’t want to scare the moment away. his hand finally reached for yours, the backs of his fingers brushing gently against your skin, testing the waters. when you didn’t pull away, he threaded his fingers through yours properly, his positioning more comfortable. secure but gentle. there was something so patient about him, like he’d wait forever if you needed him to. the silence between you two wasn’t awkward… it was full of understanding. full of everything that didn’t need words.

you shifted closer without really thinking. something in you just wanted to be near him, physically, emotionally, in every way you’d been too scared to admit. Bob noticed, opening his arms slightly, an unspoken offer. and you went in, resting your head against his right shoulder, your good arm draped across his chest as his arms circled you in return. you both just held on, unmoving, like that stillness was the only thing holding you both together. you felt the weight in his breathing. two people broken into half, trying to hold each other together.

“we’ll get through it,” you murmured, your voice small but sure. “all of it. you, me… the others too.” you smiled against the fabric of his shirt. “even if the therapy bill’s gonna be astronomical.” that made him laugh, really laugh. sincere and something in you bloomed. you laughed too, maybe because he did, but it didn’t matter- that warmth was real.

after a moment, the laughter faded into a soft, quiet moment. he pulled back from the hug. not fully, just enough so your faces hovered inches apart. so close you could see the pure blue in his eyes, the way his expression softened just for you. his hand cupped your cheek like he wasn’t sure he could. your breath caught, not because you were nervous, but because you wanted this. you’d wanted this for so long it hurt.

his voice was just above a whisper. “can… uh- can i kiss you?”

you didn’t speak. you looked at him, memorizing his soft lips. the way his gaze traveled from your eyes to your lips. the tracking was slow, he was giving you every second to pull away. but you didn’t, couldn’t. all you could do was slightly nod at his questions.

Bob gulped, barely audible, but visible in the tight movement of his throat. his breath hitched just enough for you to notice. his eyes searched your face once more. it was as if he wasn’t sure this moment was real or if he would wake up from a dream. his thumb brushed your cheek so gently it made you ache. you could feel the hesitation in him, the way his body wanted to close the distance but his mind was still asking if this is okay. if he deserves this.

then, slowly… so slowly, you watched the uncertainty in his eyes flicker into something else. not confidence exactly, but a quiet uplight. his head tilted just slightly, and his lips brushed yours with the kind of softness that made your chest squeeze. a light touch, almost like he didn’t believe he was allowed it, but the moment your lips met, something in him exhaled. Bob’s hand curled a little firmer against your cheek. the kiss deepened, not in intensity, but in presence. there was a growing certainty in the way he leaned into you. like he was realizing that yes, this was real. and you weren’t going anywhere.

it wasn’t a quick kiss. it wasn’t frantic or uncertain. it was deep, slow, and emotional. as if he meant it to tell you something words never could. his lips were warm against yours, the contact tender but solid, like he was grounding you both in that exact moment. yet when he leaned in, and your lips met… something in you hesitated. you didn’t lunge in right away.

your lips stayed just barely there, your body still as your thoughts caught up to you all at once. not because you didn’t want this. fuck, you wanted it. had wanted it for longer than you were ever brave enough to admit. but suddenly, panic whispered in the back of your mind. what if this ruins things? what if this kiss turns all the warmth between you into something awkward? you and Bob had become something so rare… so safe. comforting. real. what if one kiss cracked it apart? you felt like you weren’t ready for a relationship. your state of mind being in shamble, you couldn’t bear hurting Bob. 

and underneath that fear was another, heavier truth: you weren’t okay. not completely… your mind was still a mess of cracked mirrors and half-healed wounds. you were still walking through the smoke of everything you’d survived, still trying to convince yourself it wasn’t your fault, that healing didn’t make you weak. and Bob. he wasn’t okay either. you could see it in his eyes every time someone brought up the past. you were both survivors of different hells, still bleeding in ways no one could see. and the idea of starting something that required vulnerability, balance, effort. it terrified you. so yeah. it was not because you didn’t want him, but because you did.

Bob noticed your absence. his lips stilled against yours, then slowly pulled back, just an inch. his eyes opened, searching your face with a flicker of concern, maybe even regret. the worry in his expression wasn’t about himself, but you. it was written all over him, in the slight tension of his jaw, the retreat of his touch. he thought you’d changed your mind. that he crossed a line.

but the moment you saw that flicker in his expression, saw him start to fold in on himself, you snapped out of it. you surged forward before he could retreat any further, placing a hand on each side of his face, cradling him with a kind of urgency that felt like it had been building in your chest for months.

you kissed him back just as carefully, your fingers tightening around his. the ache in your shoulder dulled beneath the rush of warmth curling in your chest. your lips moved against his with more weight, more heat, more emotion. Bob let out the softest exhale, like he’d been holding his breath. and this time, there was no hesitation in him. it was intimate in a way that made your heart clench.

this wasn’t just a kiss. it was everything you’d both buried beneath late-night conversations, shared glances, unspoken understanding. there was longing in it. not just for each other, but for connection. for a future that didn’t feel so lonely. Bob’s hands came up to your waist, grounding you as he deepened the kiss, pulling you just a little closer until your foreheads nearly touched. his lips slowed again, dragging gently against yours like he didn’t want to let go.

you shifted again, getting almost unbearably close to him now. Bob didn’t move as you nudged closer.

his hand splayed out on your back, twitching against the fabric that covered it as you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth. you angled your head to the side, deepening the kiss. your eagerness encourages him, syncing with the way you moved against him. the kiss broke apart, that being your choice. his hair was splattered around even more than before this mess happened.

when your hand slid further into his hair, and tugging the strands, he let out the smallest, softest moan. it was so quiet and desperate it sounded like it had been buried within him for centuries. it only made you shift yourself towards him even more. the sound settled low in your stomach, warm and aching, and without thinking, you shifted closer. your knees brushed his thighs, and you climbed into his lap, straddling him slowly, carefully, like testing the weight of a choice you couldn’t take back. his hands found your waist instinctively, holding you there like he’d been waiting for this, for you, and wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask. the space between the both of you vanished entirely now, breaths mingling, your forehead brushing his. being this close, feeling the solidness of him beneath you, was grounding, safe.

his eyes never left yours, he kept every ounce of attention on you, waiting for your next action, hanging on every moment. his breath hitched when you finally closed the gap once more.

Bob’s hand slid beneath the bottom of your shirt, his fingers traced small shapes on your skin that managed to send shivers through your body. you felt the muscles in his arm shift as he pulled you even closer than you already were. the gap can't even be called a gap. now, you two were chest-to-chest. to the point that you felt his literal heartbeat pulse through your own chest. his hand tensed against your soft skin.

without thinking, you moved your hips to test the friction. Bob noticed this sudden reaction and leaned towards it. he spoke, a worried and questionable tone noticeable, “is this right?” you nodded, not pulling away from this crime scene. “yes-”

his lips returned to yours with new urgency, not rough or greedy, just deeper. like he was pouring something sacred into the space between you. his tongue brushed yours and you moaned into his mouth this time, your hands tugging again at his hair. you felt like your whole body was humming, pulsing with something electric and raw.

you could taste his breath, warm and a little shaky, could feel the slight tremble in his hands where they gripped your waist. when he sucked your bottom lip, your fingers continued to tug his hair, and the groan that left his throat was sinful. soft but devastating. you felt dizzy, drunk on the heat building between you, the tension that had stretched for months finally snapping, unraveling like it never wanted to end.

then. footsteps. loud ones.

a group of voices followed. Yelena’s unmistakable laugh carried through the corridor, loud and chaotic and startlingly close. you both froze, lips still pressed together but unmoving, breath lodged somewhere between your lungs and your throat. another voice followed. someone else from the group, joking, teasing, unaware of what they were about to stumble into if they came any closer.

you pulled back with a sharp inhale, Bob’s lips were swollen and wet with your saliva, his pupils blown wide with want. he was breathless, like he’d just come up from deep underwater, and you mirrored the same sentiment: gasping, flushed, chest rising and falling in uneven patterns. your hands remained on either side of his face, and he blinked at you like he couldn’t process how the world was still spinning outside of this.

“shit-” you breathed, your voice a mix of panic and disbelief.

you scrambled off of Bob’s lap, nearly tripping over yourself as you grabbed a pillow and sat beside him instead, trying to act casual while your heart was still sprinting inside your chest. Bob ran a hand through his hair, making it worse, and shifted on the couch to sit up straighter, trying to regulate his breathing. your hair was tousled, cheeks flushed, and you didn’t need a mirror to know exactly how wrecked you looked.

the door flung open a second later, and the group filed into the room. Yelena first, still laughing from something John had said. but the second they laid eyes on the two of you, everything slowed. their eyes did a quick sweep.

Bob’s ruffled hair, your flushed face, the heat still radiating between you both like static. no one said anything at first. the room filled with a charged silence, and then…

“oooh,” Yelena sang, narrowing her eyes with an enormous smirk. “what did we interr-”

Bob turned bright red, stammering as he leaned forward, elbows on knees like he was trying to act normal. “nothing. we were just… talking.”

“talking?” John echoed with a snort. “man, if that’s what talking looks like, i need to have more conversations.”

you tried to hide behind the pillow you’d grabbed earlier, biting back a mortified grunt. your lips still tingled, and your heart refused to slow. Bob peeked at you from the corner of his eye, and even with the embarrassment thick in the air, there was something incredibly warm beneath it all. like whatever just happened between you didn’t feel like a mistake, no matter how messy the timing had been.

but the teasing that was about to happen would be a death sentence to you both.

[moonstruckme]

also new idea,

jilly x reader-

reader stayed up all night reading as is clingy and sleepy the next day. but tries to act like they weren’t awake all night and play it off!

Thanks for the request lovely!

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 983 words

Your kitchen smells like warmth and Sundays. James’ trapezius is the perfect pillow for your cheek, shifting every now and again as he pushes bacon around in a pan with your arms slung around his waist. He’s telling you about some thing which happened to Sirius a dozen years ago and is undoubtedly hilarious, but his words hum together with the sizzling of your breakfast into a comforting din. 

You hardly register the sound of your front door opening until Lily is slipping past you to set a pint of orange juice in the fridge. 

“They were nearly out,” she says. 

“Ooh.” James is far too lively for half nine in the morning. “Did you nab the last one?” 

“I did.” 

“There’s our girl.” He transfers his spatula to the opposite hand to reach for a high-five. Lily rolls her eyes but taps his palm gently. James keeps beaming nonetheless. 

Your girlfriend unclips her hair from where it’s wound up behind her head, shaking it out at the roots. You and James stare. 

“I love it when she does that,” he murmurs. 

You hum, transfixed. 

Lily’s eyes roll again—at this rate, she’ll have worn them out before lunchtime—but her cheeks color faintly. “Stop it,” she says. 

“Likely,” James scoffs. “Kiss?”

You spot the flicker of defiance in her eyes, the half-second wherein she considers holding out just to make a point, but ultimately Lily leans forward, kissing him chastely on the lips. She moves to you next. 

“You’re quiet,” she observes softly as your lips part, her thumb stroking down your cheek. You lean into the touch. 

“It’s early,” you say. 

You’re considered by soft, discerning eyes. “Are you feeling alright?”

You do your best to curve your lips into a reassuring smile. “Mhm. Just lazy.” 

“I thought you were falling asleep on me a minute ago,” says James. He gives your hands, intertwined across his abdomen, a loving squeeze. “Why don’t you go rest on the couch, angel? This’ll be ready in just a minute.” 

You sigh as you let him go. “So eager to be rid of me.” 

“I just know she wants to watch her show,” he teases. Lily presses a kiss into his cheek before leading you over in front of the telly. 

Your girlfriend is a current events junkie. Most mornings you come into the sitting room to find her already watching the news, tsking quietly to herself while she munches on a piece of toast. She’ll stay right there until she has to go to work, and on the way she’ll listen to a podcast to catch any highlights she might have missed on the local channel. Sundays, it’s back-to-back-to-back news programs for most of the morning. Lily loves it, and you and James—well, you just love indulging Lily in anything she likes, really. 

“Sure you’re alright?” she asks as you cuddle up against her side, pulling a throw from over the top of the couch. 

Really, sometimes you think your girlfriend is too clever for her own good. Or yours, apparently. 

You twine your fingers with hers, saying, “Mhm,” just as the morning’s breaking story comes on, and then she’s distracted. 

James comes in with breakfast a short while later. He lifts your legs to settle in underneath them, and you hum gratefully as you bite into your bacon. With Lily’s hand clasped with yours and his forearm laying across your calves, you’re the picture of contentment. James makes idle comments about which actors the newscasters look like, and Lily corrects him when he gets all the Chrises mixed up. 

“Surprised you haven’t gone and got that book you’re obsessed with yet,” James teases you as two government types debate a financial issue you don’t think you could grasp on your best day. You’re hardly conscious as you stare at the screen. “You really must be tired.” 

“I’m done with that one,” you mumble. 

“What?” He sounds surprised. “I thought you really liked it.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I did.” You realize what you’ve just admitted. “I meant that I finished it.” 

James’ eyebrows make an appearance over the rims of his glasses. “I forget how quick you are sometimes. Weren’t you only, like, midway through after dinner last night?” 

“Yeah…” 

You can practically feel Lily’s attention shifting to you. “Sweetheart,” she says in a tone both dreading and knowing, “how late did you stay up reading last night?” 

“It was,” you hedge, “a really good book.” 

“Mhm,” she hums, prompting. “And when did you go to sleep?”

Your voice quiets. “I didn’t.” 

Lily seems vindicated, but James’ mouth pops open in utter astonishment. 

“The whole night?” he asks. “You read until morning?” 

“I finished it just a little while before you woke up,” you admit. 

“I thought your eyes looked red.” Lily wraps an arm around your shoulders, laying a heavy kiss on your head. You all but melt into her side. “You should have said, love. It’s the weekend; there’s no reason we can’t have a nap.” 

James rubs underneath his glasses. “What am I going to do with the two of you?” 

“Me?” Lily asks defensively. 

“Oh,” your boyfriend levels her with a look, “don’t think I’ve forgotten that I had to come pick you up from work at nearly two in the morning last month after you wouldn’t come home.” 

“That was completely different!” 

“Never in my life have I had the desire to stay up for an entire night. And to read! Lovie, if you’d been out at least I could understand…” 

“No you wouldn’t,” you say. “You’d still want to come get me.”

“True,” James concedes. “Maybe it is better that I’ve chosen such nerds.” 

“It feels like he’s trying to insult us,” you murmur to Lily. 

She shrugs. “I take it as a compliment.” 

James grins, leaning over to kiss her and then you in turn. “I know you do, lovely.”

[szatears]

inked all over, stack.

summary: stack comes back to you with a new surprise, one that you must say suits him a little too well.

pairing: modernau!stack x blackfem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, use of the n word, descriptions of reader.

notes: modernau!stack has finally arrived! ever since i made that post about smoke and stack w tattoos i couldn't get it out of my head so here we are! also switched up the pov to third person for this one. ignore any errors, did not proofread at all. smoke version coming soon :)

"Goddamn, you said how long?!" Stack's eyes widened as he leaned back in the tattoo chair, sat opposite his tattoo artist, Deuce.

"We're looking at 'bout six hours?" Deuce laughed seeing the expression on his client's face.

Stack was always at Deuce's parlour when he wanted a piece done on his body, he didn't trust anyone else to do it for him. Same with his brother. Today, he walked in wanting to get something he had on his mind for months.

"Six hours? Nigga, I'ma need you to cut it down to like, two and a half. My lady already pissed I ain't wake her up with a kiss this morning," he blew out a breath, thinking about the messages his wife had left him a few hours ago.

He'd been up since the early hours, and it was almost 4 o'clock now. He was only meant to be out running a few errands with Smoke and some by himself, but he just couldn't get the tattoo out of his mind.

Deuce laughed, nodding his head as he placed the drawing of what Stack wanted on his forearm. "This good for you?"

Stack looked down at the placement, a faint smile on his lips. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to this. "Yeah, it's good."

He knew how the process would go, he just hoped he'd be back home at a reasonable time to not get his ass chewed out. Mrs. Moore didn't play like that.

He made himself comfortable, his arm out on the extendable part of the bed to allow Deuce to do his work. Many Men by 50 Cent played through the speakers, and Stack pulled his phone out of his pockets before Deuce started tattooing.

He already had a few tattoos, but he still wasn't too used to the pain. Smoke on the other hand? Stack would say "you could tattoo that nigga's eyeball and he won't even flinch."

Stack had put a lot of thought into this piece. It would be the beginning of a sleeve he hoped to complete later on, but to him, this was the most important part of it. It had the typical designs of a sleeve ─── shaded clouds with the sun peeking through, cursive writing with some red for that pop. But it was what was written that held the most meaning to him.

With time, Stack came to realise that one of his wife's favourite ways of expressing her love to him was through words. It could be something simple, like telling him she was proud of him or that he was doing well with everything. Or it would be more, like a note in the morning before she left to go somewhere, or one of the many texts she sent him throughout the day.

One of these letters stuck with him the most. In it, she wrote about how he'd become such an important part of her life, the tie that held them together growing stronger each day. The exact words he was getting tattooed on his arm were "you're my favourite person and my forever person, i got you always," something she never failed to mention to him.

It was obvious how in love the two were. You rarely saw them without the other, and even if they were, it wouldn't take long for either to mention the other.

Along with the words, Stack added her lipstick print that she always signed her letters off with. He knew he'd be making a joke soon enough about how her lips were always gonna be on him now.

The rest of the piece had some other smaller yet intricate designs, he told Deuce he could freehand whatever, he trusted him like that.

-

Surprisingly, Deuce actually managed to cut his estimated time in half, finishing the tattoo almost three hours later. As Deuce finished taking pictures and wrapping Stack's arm, his phone rang, looking down at the caller id to see his wife's name with a heart next to it. He accepted the facetime, smiling at the mug on her face.

"Why are you smiling? You must like playing with your life..." she mumbled, fixing her hair in the camera frame.

"I can't be happy to see you no more?" He chuckled, watching her fight back a small smile. "You look good."

"I know," she leaned her face closer to her camera. "Where are you? Come home already."

"I'ma be home in a minute, mama, I'm at the shop with Deuce," Stack turned his camera to face the man who was tidying up his supplies as he held up a peace sign.

"Hey, Deuce. So you're the reason my man's out til these hours when he said he'd only be gone for two tops?" Her head tilted as Deuce laughed.

"It ain't my fault he picks the tricky designs."

"Design─── Baby, you got a new piece?" All of a sudden the frown on her face was wiped off, replaced with a smile.

"Yeah, I did. Look at you, smilin' over there," Stack laughed as he got up from the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stack of 50s, handing it to Deuce.

Before he could even complain about being given too much money, Stack gave him a look. "You really gon' make me argue with my lady on the phone?"

"No, sir," Deuce smiled, putting the money away.

"Aight, til next time Deuce."

He grabbed his coat and left the shop, opening the door to his car that was parked right at the front. "You need me to bring anything, baby?" he looked down at his phone as he put on his seatbelt, seeing his wife already staring at him. The smile that graced his face was just his natural reaction to seeing her; he couldn't get enough of her,

"Could you get some more fruit from Mama Glo's corner? If she's still open."

"Yeah. You gon' stay on the phone?"

"No, I'm gonna take a shower real quick. But I'll see you soon, handsome. I love you," she kissed the camera.

"I love you too."

-

Stack came back with a brown paper bag containing the fruit his wife had asked for, closing the front door with his foot. He slipped his trainers off, walking to the kitchen and placing the fruit on the counter. When he didn't hear the sound of footsteps coming down to greet him, he tilted his head, making his way up the stairs.

He found her lying on their bed, dressed only in a bra and a small pair of shorts. She turned her head to the door when she heard the floorboards creak, a smile on her face as she set her phone down on the bedside table.

Stack smiled at her smile, his hands resting on her waist as she stood in front of him. His frame slightly towered over hers, his head dipping down a little to kiss her lips.

"Nice of you to come home, Elias," she hummed into the kiss.

"You know I could never be away from you for too long." His words were like music to her eyes as she used the hands that were around his neck to softly run her fingers over his skin.

"I got your fruit," he told her, tapping her hip twice so she'd let him go briefly, letting him take off his shirt. It was only when he took off the black muscle t-shirt that he wore, that she let her eyes run over the tattoos that adorned his chest and back before she remembered the reason he went out.

She let her eyes wander over him whilst he put his phone on charge, finally spotting the wrapped part of his right arm. Stack glanced at her, noticing how quiet she'd gotten. "You wanna see it?" he laughed at how eagerly she nodded in response to his question.

He stepped closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. He slowly took off the wrapping of the tattoo, much to his wife's impatience. When he finally revealed the finished work of art, the look on her face made his impulse decision ten times worth it.

He let her gently run her hands over the ink, waiting for to notice what made it even more special. He watched her face closely as her eyes flickered over his forearm, holding it with so much care. It wasn't until she turned his hand over so his palm was facing her, that she saw the writing.

"Elias..." she whispered, a pout on her face as she ran over the words and the copy of her lips.

"You like it?" he smiled at her, flashing his gold caps.

"Like it? Baby, I'm in love with it, oh my God," she couldn't tear her eyes off it. Throughout their relationship, Stack would always say something along the lines of "I'ma get your name tatted on my face," but this was far more meaningful.

"Good, 'cause it hurt like a bitch," he mumbled, pulling her into his lap. He kissed the side of her face as she held onto his arm. "I love you more than life itself."

"I love you endlessly," she took his face in both her hands, kissing him.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He turned his head into the kiss, letting his lips leave hers to kiss down her neck to her collar. He flipped them over, bringing her to lay back down in the middle of the bed.

Her hands ran down his toned arms, massaging his broad shoulders. She let her fingers trace over the inked parts of his skin that she could reach, having memorised where every part was.

Stack used his knee to nudge her legs apart, letting him slot in between them as he kissed her. His tongue danced with hers whilst she held him closer to her face by the back of his neck. Her soft moans only encouraged him more, as did the growing friction her hips created against his.

"Yeah, you gon' have to come up outta these," he mumbled against her lips as his hands fumbled down to her shorts, pulling them down her legs.

"Elias..." she whispered, tugging at his belt. She was almost naked whilst he was still half clothed.

He smiled at her, pulling away from her lips to kiss a trail down to her pelvis. "Hold on, baby. I wanna make you feel good first." He kissed her clit over the lacy underwear she wore, and she shuddered, leaning back further into the pillows.

Stack used his thumb to rub her clothed clit, watching how her legs started to close around his hand. "Baby, please," she whined, and it didn't take long for him to give in to her pleas, taking off her underwear.

Just as quick as he had done that, his head lowered closer to her core, his mouth latching onto her creaming opening. His tongue licked up and down, his hand holding either side of her hips as he ate her out. She let out a loud moan, her hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," she breathed out, her eyes fluttering with pleasure.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against her, the vibrations just adding to the feeling.

Stack lapped at her for all she was worth, the unholy sounds emitting from her lips and his work. He used his thumb to rub her clit as he continued to work her away with his tongue. She writhed underneath him, feeling that familiar coil inside of her begin to surface.

"Why you moving away, huh? You can take it mama, I know you can," he assured her, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he briefly looked up at her. The sight alone almost made her cum right there; his mustache and goatee coated in her fluids.

She couldn't keep it in, especially when he went back to her with his tongue, his two fingers pumping in and out just as fast. "Shit, I'm gonna─── Oh, my God," her moans aligned with her release, all over his mouth.

Stack continued to eat her out through her high, her hips grinding into his face as he sought more. "Baby let up," she groaned, trying to push his face away.

"One more, baby. For me?" How could she say no when he was making feel that good?

It wasn't long before she came again, her body letting up as Stack cleaned her up. Only he could make her tap out like that.

He finally moved his head from between her legs, hovering over her as she grabbed his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. She licked over his lips, moaning at the taste of her on him. His hand travelled to her throat, the same arm that was newly inked now right in front of her.

Stack's tattoos were such a turn on, it was almost impossible to describe. If he wanted to make her orgasm fast, all he had to do was talk her through it, or have her analyse his tattoos. Easy.

"You not tapping out on me, are you?" he smirked, as she gave him a lazy smile. She could feel his dick through his pants at her entrance. Shaking her head, she let go of him to take his belt off, eyes on him as she pulled him out of his boxers.

He briefly got up to take them off all the way, before he settled back between her legs, hiking them up his hips. She let her arms rest over his shoulders as he pushed in, both of them groaning.

He fit so perfectly with her, and he made her feel that way every time, through sex or not. The sound of skin slapping soon took over the room, as did their moans.

Stack ground his hips into hers, his head resting in the crook of her neck, leaving small love bites where he could.

"You're doing me so good, E," she whispered lowly in his ear which only spurred him on. He picked up his pace, finding that spot of hers that had her arching into him.

"Like that, baby? Hm?" he asked as she could only not in reply, too far into it to speak actual words. Stack fucked her so good, without fail every time.

He looked down at where they connected briefly, fascinated by her precious pussy taking him in so well. "You're doing so good for me, pretty." he told her, his eyes back on hers.

She managed to keep the contact for a few moments before he had her eyes rolling at the back of her head, her muscled walls clenching around his dick.

He grunted at that, feeling himself close to unravelling. But like he always did, he wanted her to come first.

"I'm almost there, E, keep going─── Yeahhhh, just like that," she moaned, whining even as she felt herself about to come for the third time. She held his head to her face as he kissed her, groaning as she reached closer and closer to her climax.

"Fuck!" she screamed as he cum coated his dick, spilling out as he fucked her through it.

"You got it baby, shit, I'm gonna cum too, hold on," his words trailed off to a whisper as he came in her, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to the overbearing amount of pleasure only her man could give her.

Stack's thrusts slowed down as he pushed his seed back in her, a lazy smirk on her face as she watched him do so. He pulled out slowly, gently laying on top of her. She brought her legs around his waist, kissing his temple as they caught their breath.

"Damn," Stack sighed happily. "Might have to get my whole body tatted up now."

taglist. @childishgambinaax @abriefnirvana @blackisy2k @chrisevansmentee @siasoup @amethyst09 @heauxtales @skywalker0809 @thelightknight21 @klssngss @atomicearthquakemusic7 @oc3anbxbyxoxo @honestlyurslol @simpingfor-wakasa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @favoritten

[stars-inthe-sky]

if there's solid ground below

It's been five years, but I wrote a whole fic this week thanks in no small part to the singular @iphyslitterator!

[Cross-posted to AO3]

“H—hey, Tommy?”

Tommy startles and bangs his head on the hood of his truck, recovering fast enough that none of the oil he was nearly done changing spilled but not so fast that it would have escaped Evan’s notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised,” he says, grabbing for a spare rag to wipe his hands on. “Hi.”

“Got a sec?” Evan rocks onto the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a hoodie that, in southern California in May, it should really be too warm for. But he runs cold, and the layers always have the added bonus of making Tommy want to rip them off in some kind of Pavlovian response.

Had. Last summer, they’d had that effect. This summer was shaping up differently.

Evan tilts his head, a little quizzical, and Tommy realizes he’s been frozen in place for a few beats too long, dazedly dragging the rag between his fingers.

“Sorry, yeah, go ahead.” He glances down at the car, which hasn’t moved, then back at Evan, who’s still rocking but who looks, Tommy’s now realizing, noticeably lighter than he has in a while—certainly since the funeral, but maybe even more so than that night in the bar all those weeks ago. His smile is far too small, but it’s there. “Although if you need another helicopter, I’m gonna have to start charging you at some point.”

“That’s okay, I heard your fees are competitive,” he chirps, and if his grin isn’t yet lethal, it’s shifted to shit-eating. Which, for Tommy, is lethal anyway, and Evan knows it. “But no, I just…just wanted to talk this time. For real, for once.”

Oh. “Okay…?”

“You can keep doing whatever you were doing; I know you like to have something to do with your hands.”

“Uh, thanks.” He stuffs the rag in the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the oil canister out of his car’s innards. This might be easier without eye contact. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from the LAFD,” Evan says. Tommy freezes again, more of a twitch than a full stop, and makes himself continue the actual task at hand. “Three months. Mostly thanks to an insane amount of unused PTO, because I realized I kinda haven’t taken a vacation that wasn’t just medical leave in like…ever. And I need a break, you know, after everything? Like, I spent a bunch of my twenties driving around, odd jobs and stuff, and the world is—is so much bigger than the firehouse, or this city, and…yeah.  I think I need that space for a bit. Just got it approved today. And then I came here.”

He pauses for breath, and Tommy stares unseeing at some perfectly intact wiring he could reconnect by touch alone if asked. “That’s great they’re letting you do that, Evan. I’m sure it’ll be good for you. How’d the others take it?”

There’s a little sigh. “I haven’t told them yet. Battalion chief said I’d always have a job to come back to, but they couldn’t hold my spot indefinitely. Depends on the new captain and how they want to staff up. Makes sense, obviously, so.” His sniffle is nearly inaudible, but Tommy’s never been able to tune out Evan’s frequency.

He gives up on the car, closing the hood with a quiet click and resuming with the rag, even though his hands aren’t especially dirty. “Never thought you’d voluntarily leave the 118.”

“I know, right?” Evan’s mouth twitches, and it’s not quite a smile now, but there’s something genuine growing back. “I mean, I guess I might not be, but. Things change, and it’s…time, maybe. I’m doing this, in any case. I—I—I just need to clear my head for a while. Go visit Minnesota, never been there, but then…I don’t know, maybe touch the Atlantic Ocean again. Camp out in some national parks. Go see the sky in Montana—it’s so big, Tommy, I’ve never seen anything like it, not since those years, and the last couple of months…it’s like the smog is just in everything right now, you know?”

Tommy nods. He can relate, despite how often he gets to soar above the chokehold of Los Angeles; smoke is smoke, and heat still rises. “I get it. So…this is goodbye, then?” He swallows, bites his lip, stares down at his fingers and the rag still entwined in them.

“No!” Evan leans forward for a breath, arm lifting, but he seems to stop himself, like he’s remembering they don’t know where they stand with each other, if he’s allowed to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m coming back. LA is still home, my—my stuff’s going into a storage unit next week, my sister and my niece are here, and the new baby—the job—no, yeah, I’m coming back.”

“That’s good,” Tommy muses. “So…”

“So, I wanted to ask—I—I—I’m asking if you’d maybe be up for thinking about coming with me.”

Tommy freezes so suddenly, and so thoroughly, that the rag drops to the ground. “You—you’re going on a three-month road trip to get away from it all, and you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Evan says softly, surely, ducking his head in that bashful way he pretends not to know is so damn effective. “I need a break from everything, and everyone—but you, you’re not everyone. I meant what I said about being together, before. I still mean it.” Tommy feels both arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp like emptied hoses, and the air jerks out of his lungs as his throat closes tight.

Evan plows ahead. “I—if—if you don’t want to, or you can’t swing it with work, or whatever—I get it, that’s why I’m asking and not—not telling you what to do. I don’t—even if you don’t come, I’d wait. And, and text or call, maybe? If you wanted to? Even if it’s just as friends, my life is always better when you’re in it. Kinda hoping that goes both ways here.”

Tommy croaks, “And when you get tired of me before we hit Reno?”

“I won’t,” he says, no hesitation. Tommy’s slack face must do something, because he repeats, “Tommy, I won’t. I won’t. I just want time with you, more time, all the time. I want to try again, so, so bad. And if we fight, we can talk, and not just think the worst, and keep going, be—because I want to eat crappy gas station food with you and not think about the inside of a gym for weeks. I want to drive out somewhere where it feels like we’re the only people on the planet, and fuck in the back of your truck, and then figure out a map that’s older than either of us because there’s no cell service. Maybe rent a chopper in Montana so we can see that sky up close—there’s, there’s so many stars, and you’re the only person I’d want to see them with like that. I want to be locked in a moving vehicle with you all day, except for bathroom stops, and see your face when you realize it’s been 16 hours and we still have more to talk about, and we’ll just keep going, because I’m never gonna get tired of you.”

He pauses and swallows thickly, and Tommy can’t look away. For all that Evan Buckley wears his heart on his sleeve so easily for anyone to see, actually opening it up and offering to hand it over to someone else—that’s still work. “So—that’s what I came to say. That’s what I want. J—just think about it. No rush, I’m not—I’ll wait. If it’s what you want. You…you get to want things, too. So. Yeah.”

Evan nods to himself, rubs the back of his neck, and turns to walk back to his car, parked on the street. Tommy has to move, has to say something, but the soles of his boots are melting, fused to the cement of the driveway, his throat is still closed, and Evan—Evan is walking away.

Tommy wants things, too.

He forces a breath, in and out, on a four-count, licks his lips, and asks, “When do we leave?”

Evan radiates a warmth that scatters out, tangible and visible like a sunrise before he even turns around, beaming. “I was thinking a few weeks after the baby comes, but—but—yeah?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I could chase some stars over the Rockies. With you.” Tommy’s insides unknot, and the life rushes back into his limbs. “And the rest, too. I noticed it’s my truck in this scenario?”

Suddenly Evan is in front of him, closer than they’d managed even that morning after, pressed gently against him from chest to knees, arms winding around his waist. “Much more cargo space. Very practical. And I kinda thought you might be in the same boat, you know, with the unused vacation. Maybe enough seniority to hang onto your spot.”

“Probably, yeah, they generally…” He doesn’t even know how that sentence might have ended, has rarely thought about anything more than a long weekend away, but then Evan’s kissing him, deep and slow and sweet like they might already be the only people on the planet. His warmth flashes over through Tommy, nerve by nerve, until he’s lit up and burning, flammable in places he’d spent months trying to forget this man could expose.

When Evan pulls back, it’s with Tommy’s face between his hands, his relief and hope palpable. Like life might go on, like the world might really be bigger, could even be better, sometimes, than it had been.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, so close and so quiet that Tommy can feel each syllable rumble against his skin, tires steady on a gravel road away from this scene and toward the next.

[whimsicalsesquipedalian]

Some thoughts on Andor, and that final shot everyone hates so much.

I don’t. I’ve been sitting with this show for a while now. This whole season I’ve been waiting to hate Bix’s arc with the same fervour that some of the more vocal fans do. I’ve been waiting to feel the injustice done to a “strong female character” (a phrase I fucking hate by the way, but that’s an argument for another time). I’ve seen the arguments that she should have stayed with the rebellion, that she was a fighter sidelined for the sake of a man, that she was reduced to a baby-factory straight out of right wing propaganda (Jesus Christ). And I disagree with every fucking one of them. 

For me, in season two, Bix is the heart of the show. She is the ethos, the drive, the reason that rebellion matters. Bix becomes, in a way, the most important character Andor has to offer us.

Andor has always been very clear in its ideology. Blatantly so. And one of the ideals it strives to impart to its audience is that we are not meant to live in fear. We are not meant to live under oppression. We are not meant to live looking down. For Andor the heart, the drive, the reason behind rebellion is to create a future where we are free. And where love, and peace, and community, and kindness, and hope are our foundations and are the only matter of our lives. 

Andor doesn’t want its characters to be fighters. They are forced to be. Andor doesn’t want its characters to live hiding and scared and clawing for any glimpse of peace and love and hope they can get. They have no other choice. Rebellion is important. It is so so fucking important. But it is only important because of what it fights for. 

Bix is not a fighter. In Andor’s first season she is a mechanic selling to Luthen on the side for extra money. She is not struggling against the empire. She is not joining a rebellion. She is getting the fuck by and living her fucking life. And one day her connection to Cassian puts her under the empire’s gaze and she is invasively tortured and horrifically traumatised because of it. And she endures. 

Bix is, also, an incredibly important character to me personally. There can often be a narrative surrounding trauma that it should make you the fighter everyone seems to think Bix should be. That you should take your pain and terror and suffering and turn it around and let it make you stronger. Use it to beat back against the person, or group, or institution that traumatised you. That you should pick yourself up, dust yourself off, take that horror, and fight back (girlboss-ify yourself and take those motherfuckers down). And to that I say, no. I don’t want that. I’ve done my fighting. I’ve lost my battles and I’ve come out the other side scarred in ways that still hurt to touch. What I want is to stop. Is to rest. Is to put this pain down and move out the other side of it and live, finally. 

For me, watching Bix as an horrifically traumatised woman live stuck in that fight for the first half of the second season was harrowing. To see her spend her time in the Coruscant safehouse grappling with the true cost of what it means to fight the way she needs to in this war, never at peace as the life she lives and the things she must do force her to stay held in her trauma, had me aching in ways I didn’t realise I would. To see her stuck in the dark and the gloom and the cold, and yearning the whole time she is in Coruscant to be able to go out and live without having to look over her shoulder, hurt in ways I struggle to put words to.

And then, to see her get out. 

I know there is a lot of contention about seeing Bix have little to do on Yavin. And to that I will say, it’s a big show, there are a lot of characters, and she is on Yavin during a storyline that arguably should not narratively or structurally be focusing on her anyway. I know there is also a lot of contention about writing her leaving Cassian for the sake of the rebellion. That it diminishes her character to a plot beat. And while perhaps the tropes at play feel trite in comparison to the more grounded beats the show is known for hitting, this is still storytelling. All the characters are, functionally, still devices serving a narrative. Bix leaves, and narratively becomes our ethos. Becomes the heart of this story. Becomes the reason we have been watching this all play out for our two-season run. Bix becomes the most important character in the show. Because this is why we must fight. For Bix. For everything she represents in that moment. She becomes the way Cassian’s life should be if it weren’t for this war, and in doing so becomes the way all of their lives should be. Should have always been. And will be one day soon. 

She is the reason. For all of it. For every loss, for every death, for every fight. It is her. She is the hope at the heart of the rebellion.

That last scene on Mina-Rau; the gentle light, Bee playing, the table set for a community to eat and laugh and be. People smiling and content and together and peaceful. And Bix, free. Of the trauma, of the loss, of the death, of the fight. Looking up at the open sky with her child. Literally holding in her arms the life that the rebellion has always been fighting for. 

That is the hope at the end of our story -- that Bix is the one that gets to live. 

And you can pry that fucking ending from my cold dead hands.

[dippyfresh6]

im so frustrated they haven't done anything with him!!!! idk if he's gonna come back, but i really have a feeling he's not going to, and it makes me mad because the last thing he said to the doctor is "find me" and they very much could have made the next couple episodes about finding and rescuing him, but instead they fucking eulogized him. like!!! he said "find me"!!! he clearly thought the doctor wasn't going to give up on him. and then they just. accepted that he was gone and it wasn't their business. which. what the fuck. very angry about that

if he wasn't ever gonna come back you at least could've made him be at peace with sacrifice. and not like, counting on the doctor to rescue him

now it just seems like an asshole move on the doctor's side, like they just abandoned him

i really miss rogue :( and i hope im wrong and he'll come back and won't hate the doctor

He's a bounty hunter. He's into DnD. He somehow doesn't know about cosplay or how to improv despite this. He CAN dance. He fell for the Doctor so hard the only coherent thought in his head under stress was proposing to them. Within the hour he'd kissed them, sacrificed himself, and said "find me" after making them catch a goddamn marriage bouquet. He's a nerd. He's socially awkward. He listens to Kylie Minogue. He's a sweetheart. He's a Killer. He's engaged to the Doctor. He is the moment. He is the Rogue.

[nineteenninety-six]

hello!! a request for a dr robby with reader my apologies if this is gibberish i have a hard time getting thoughts to words

reader is a social worker in the ED sunshine personified, always trying to cheer up everyone in the department making sure everyone is doing well, especially robby.

she gets called to help out with an agitated patient in the ed by robby. she goes to work with the patient and gets assaulted by the patient like bad, and robby finds her.

Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

AN: I wrote half of this before rereading the request and realised I strayed a bit but oh well.

Warnings: domestic violence, st@bbing, abuse, assualt. this one does have some heavy themes as a general warning.

You hummed as you rocked on your feet in the elevator as it took you down to the emergency department. You were a social worker at the hospital and you usually alternated with Kiara on who spent the shift in the ED and today was her day but she was currently occupied so you were called down to help on a case that just came through the ambulance bay doors, a suspected domestic violence case.

The elevator doors opened up and you wasted no time in stepping into the hustle and bustle of the emergency room, seeking out the day shift attending, Dr Robby.

You saddled up to the nurse’s station and smile at Dana in greeting, "Hey Dana, now's things going?"

“I’ll tell you what, those banana and chocolate muffins you make would definitely make the day better.” Dana hums as she wriggles her eyebrows as she hints at you.

You laugh at her words. You were an avid baker in your free time and so the staff of the hospital were both the recipients and test subjects of your baked goods. "That bad of a day huh? I’ll pick up some bananas tonight so give me a couple of days there be a full tray in the staffroom.”

"Don't get me started hon and make it two trays." Dana sighs, "You here for that DV case? I'll page Robby that you're down here."

"Thanks Dana" You nod and look around the pit as you waited for Robby. You didn't exactly know what you were looking for as everyday was different yet also the same at the pit. Same shit, different day.

You hear Robby call out your name as he approached the nurse’s station and you turn to face him with a smile, "Hey Robby."

A bright smile spreads across Robby's face as he comes to a stop by your side and you can't help the bright smile you return back.

"So, what’s the case you wanted my help with?"

Robby pulls you to the side, to an alcove where you can speak privately where there will be no overhearing ears.

"EMTs brought her in about thirty minutes ago. Woman in her twenties, boyfriend called it in, says he came home and found her unconscious on the floor. She has multiple bruises, both new and old, multiple fractures, new and old again. Trauma to the face and head including a skull fracture and broken cheekbone. Also, a couple of rib fractures."

You stare speechless at Robby as he rattles off the poor woman’s injuries, "... Holy shit."

Robby nods in agreement at your words, rubbing his hands across his face in exhaustion.

"Those sound like car crash injuries" You murmur, "And you said the boyfriend called it in? Was it like a house invasion... but you called me down so..."

"Police called, there was no evidence of an attempt to break in, no robbery took place."

"Shit..." You swear again, "So he assaults her, probably worse than he's ever done before, realises it and calls the ambulance and makes a story to avoid suspicion."

"Most probably" Robby nods, "You want me to come in with you?"

"Despite how much I'd appreciate that, I know you have your hands full with both patients and reports."

"I don't want you going in there alone though" Robbie worries.

"I'II bring Mateo or Donnie, I won't be alone and get a security guard to stand guard nearby but not at the door, I don't want to scare either of them."

Robby nods, "Sounds good."

You flash him a smile as you reach forward and squeeze his hand. "I'll keep you updated, okay?"

"Okay." Robby returns your smile, albeit with a shy smaller one. "I'll see you later."

Robby returns back to the nurse’s station, next to Dana as they watch as you head towards the patient’s room,

“Are you ever going to ask her out?” Dana asks.

Robby’s eyes flicker to Dana who was already looking at him, “She’s too good for me.”

Dana rolls her eyes at the man, “She’s very good, yes. Sweet and lovely and kind…which is why I think you two are good for each other. Trust me, ask her out.”

Robby hums as he clicks on a tablet and steps away, “I’ll think about it.”

You knock on the door, stepping in after a second with Donnie right behind you. The woman lays in bed, full of drugs that are currently keeping her calm and pain-free but she's currently conscious and the man sat next to her looked irritated and angry as he sat with crossed arms and frown on his face, the boyfriend if you had to guess.

"Finally," The man huffs, throwing his hands up in frustration as he stood up, "We've been waiting for ages. I don't know why we're still here. we need to go home."

"Miss Timmins' injuries are severe and require more testing and treatment. I'm afraid she's not going anywhere anytime soon." Donnie tells the boyfriend as he checks her vitals.

"You're just a damn nurse, you don't-know anything!" The boyfriend snaps before he turns to you, "Are you a doctor? Can you discharge us."

"I'm not a doctor. I'm a social worker." You correct.

"We don't need a damn social worker!" The boyfriend snaps becoming more incensed, "We just need a doctor."

"Well, I was called because I heard you were involved in a terrifying incident and my role is to help you in situations like this." You turn your focus on the woman and step closer to the bed and introduce yourself, "You're Claire, right?"

The woman nods and you give her a comforting smile, "It's nice to meet you, Claire. I can get you in contact with support groups and therapists who have experience with working with people who have gone what you have experienced."

"What do you mean?" The boyfriend barks out.

You turn to look at him before you share a look with Donnie. "Claire was involved in a house invasion and that is a terrifying thing to experience, don't you think?"

The man gives a reluctant nod and you share another look with Donnie before you speak again.

"Maybe it's best if I speak to Claire alone. Perhaps she'll feet more comfortable if it’s just the two of us."

The man looks to argue with you, getting red in the face as he stands up but Donnie moves to stand in front of you and the man immediately backs down but he doesn't leave without a glare and a curse muttered underneath his breath. Thankfully Donnie follows him out of the room leaving you alone with Claire.

"Claire, I'm going to be honest with you right now. I've heard what your boyfriend told the 911 operatives and then I heard what the police said when they arrived at your house and honestly, the stories don't match up and I think you're the only person who can tell me the full story."

Claire looked at you with wide watery eyes, and lips that began to tremble,"... I..."

"You don't have to tell me anything; all you have to do is tell me that you need help and I can help you get into contact with those who can actually help!”

"... what will they do?"

"Well, if you want, they'll help you with filing a police report and if your house is not a safe space, then they can get you into a shelter and there they'll help you move states if you so wish, and they can also help with you getting a job."

"What about a restraining order?"

"They can help you with that." You nod "But may I suggest something?”

Claire nods and you continue speaking, “Tell the police what happened. They already know what happened earlier, they talked to your neighbours, they watched the security footage and been to your place, they already know his story doesn’t make sense. They’re already suspicious and your statement would be the nail in the coffin-"

"What the hell are you talking to her about?!"

The words cause you to jump in fright, spinning on your heels to face the angry man in the door. You hadn't realised he had returned and now you were trapped in a room with him and it was obvious he had been there a while and had overheard what you had been saying.

"Answer me." The man’s voice is quiet but deadly and you feel your heart begin to race as he closes the door behind him.

"Please move away from the door" You tell him, keeping your voice calm as to not to escalate the situation.

"What lies have you been feeding her?" The man steps closer to you and you shuffle backwards until your butt hits the bed Claire is in.

You’re too far away to press the staff assist button so your only hope was to talk the angry man down.

“I haven’t told her any lies” You tell him, “We were just talking about what happened earlier.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” The man continues walking forward, his hand digging into his pocket and pulling out a folding knife.

Your heart drops to your stomach and you struggle to swallow amongst the urge to throw up.

“P-please put that down sir” Your voice is low as you plead, “Please…”

Claire gasps and sobs behind you before erupting in a scream when her boyfriend launches himself at you. You try to run for the assist button but before you can you’re pulled back by your collar and thrown to the floor, your head bouncing off of the floor.

You hear Claire scream and you blink through the ache that was creeping through you right now and stumble to your feet, “Claire, press the assist button! Now!”

Claire is frozen in her spot as she watches her boyfriend advance on you and you barely have time to blink before he’s grabbing you. One hand on your shoulder to keep you from moving and the other firmly clasped around the folding knife which he swiftly stabs you with.

You gasp at the searing pain it leaves and it glides through you and you can only stare at the man wide eyed in shock. Claire has curled up into a ball and turned away from you and amidst the pain and shock you realise that you will die soon if you don’t do something and so you scream at the top of your lungs knowing that people out there will definitely hear and come running.

“Shut the fuck up!” The man yells and stabs you again before he attempts to flee out of the room, letting you drop to the ground unable to support yourself anymore.

He doesn’t get far as he runs straight into Ahmed’s arms as he runs through the door and Ahmed is quick to push him to the side and restrain him as someone runs to call the police while Robby, Collins, Langdon, Dana and Princess run into the room.

Robby curses as he spots you when he runs into the room, muttering your name as he did so, “Oh shit-fuck,”

You whimper as he kneels next you and places his hand on top of yours where they lay on your wounds at a poor attempt of stifling the bleeding. You lay in a puddle of your own blood as it pooled around you, your hands drenched in the blood and when Robby’s hand rested on top of yours you left a bloody hand print on his wrist that you held on to in panic.

You stare wide eyed up at Robby, trying to focus through the fear but your body was engulfed in excruciating pain. Every inch of your body ached as you lay there on the emergency department floor, bleeding profusely from a stab wound. The sheer intensity of the situation made your head spin, yet you remained aware of your surroundings.

You heard Princess frantically paging for surgery, and the hurried movements of Dana as they passed whatever Robby had requested.

All you could see however, was Robby hovering above you, his hands moving with expert precision as he stabilised you with Langdon’s help, trying to slow down your bleeding enough for surgery to take over and stitch you up.

Your hands twitched desperately as you reached out for someone’s hand, yearning for physical comfort in this moment of fear. Panic was starting to set in, but when warmth enveloped your hand, you were jolted back to reality. Your eyes fluttered up and met Heather’s warm gaze, and suddenly, all the emotions that had been trapped behind the shock that had taken over after the stabbing were released. You began to sob uncontrollably, tears streaming down your cheeks as you clutched Heather’s hand tightly.

“You’re okay, you’re okay…” Heather soothed you, her fingers gently brushing the tears off your cheeks, “Robby and Frank are nearly done and you can go to up to surgery.”

Heather squeezes your hand and you hold on tight. She was currently your anchor and you didn’t want her to leave because if she did then your focus would shift to the miracle work that Robby and Langdon were performing on you.

Soon a stretcher is pushed into the room and Robby is hovering over you once again, he reaches as if he’s going to cup your cheeks before he remembers that wearing blood-soaked gloves.

“Hey, you’re going off to surgery now. They’re gonna stitch you up real good.” Robby assures you, wincing at your cry when you’re lifted onto the stretcher, “I know the surgeons are assholes but they’re the best in the city, if not the state. You’ll be good hands.”

All you can do it nod before you’re pulled away to the elevators, your hand slipping from Heathers as she falls out of view along with Robby.

You wake to the usual sterile stench that coated the hospital, your eyes slowly blinking open as you stare up at the white ceiling and for a moment you think you’re back on the floor of the emergency department bleeding out but then the steady beeping of the monitor beside you brings you back to reality.

You instinctually shift but your body immediately protests and you still your movement with a pained whimper.

“Hey, hey” A voice calls out to you, the person resting their hand on yours, “Don’t move too much otherwise you open your wounds.”

“Robby?” You croak out as you turn to face, “W-what happened?”

Robby tugs his seat closer and takes both your hands into his, “Do you remember what happened downstairs?”

You think for a moment, trying to find the memories through the fog in your brain before you nod, “Yea…How'd he get the knife in?"

"He came with the ambulance, so no security metal detector and no scanner." Robby explains with a huff.

“Frank and I got you stable and we got you into surgery where they patched you up,” Robby tells you as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, “You’ll stay here for a day or two then you go home. Strictly bedrest no funny business.”

Your lips quirk as you look at Robby, “Is that a demand Dr Robby?”

“Yeah, doctors orders” He nods before his expression settles into something more serious, “…I should have gone in there with you.”

You tangle your hand with Robby’s so your fingers were interlinked, “Shoulda, woulda, coulda. It’s the past now, stop focussing on it.”

“You could have died!” Robby stresses.

“But I didn��t!” You remind him, “You saved me.”

You see him open his mouth, no doubt to argue with you some more and you quickly interrupt him, “Robby, please. You did nothing wrong and you saved me, that’s all there is to this conversation and if you dare bring it up again then I’m kicking you out.”

There’s a pause, a moment of silent before Robby nods and laughs, “…Okay.”

“I do need a favour though”

Robby perks up at that, “Sure anything.”

“You wouldn’t mind picking me up some bananas, would you? I promised Dana some of my chocolate and banana muffins.”

Robby stares at you speechless before he nods with a laugh, “Depends, will there be any for me?”

“Well, I was planning on making you those white chocolate and raspberry muffins you like so much.”

“Just for me?” Robby looks excited.

You smile and nod, “Just for you, as a thank you. Not just for saving me but also for getting all the ingredients.”

“Considering the muffins are repayment, you’re very much welcome.” Robby gives your hands a squeeze before he stands, “Now get some rest, everyone wants to come see you when their shift is done.”

“Sir yes sir!” You nod as you ease back onto the bed, trying your hardest not to pull at your stitches, “I’ll see you later?”

Robby gives you one last nod before he leaves your room.

[daisybeats]

Imagine, if you will, Derek and Stiles are neighbors.

Stiles is finishing his graduate degree in mythology and Derek is in a history graduate program.

They make small talk in the hallways sometimes, but Stiles is mostly with the beautiful red headed girl and Derek is seen a lot with the beautiful brunette who looks ready to maim at the slightest provocation.

Derek is reading one night and hears yelling through the walls of his apartment. He doesn't think much of it until he hears a feminine voice yelling back. He realizes it's coming from Stiles' apartment.

After 15 minutes, he finally decides to go over and see if everything is okay.

He's awkward when Stiles finally answers the door and Derek asks if everything is okay.

Stiles huffs and says it's fine.

“Really? Because it sounds like someone’s being murdered in here.”

Lydia appears behind Stiles, wine glass in hand, her expression equal parts fond and exasperated. “Oh, no one’s dying. He just thinks Orpheus was right.”

Stiles throws his hands in the air. “He was! He risked everything to save Eurydice! That’s-”

“He looked back, Stiles,” Lydia interrupts, turning to Derek with a theatrical sigh. “That was literally the one rule. Don’t look back. And he looked.”

“Because love makes you do stupid things!” Stiles snaps, wheeling back toward her. “He thought maybe she wasn’t there! That maybe the gods lied! I’d look too!”

“You would doom your man to eternal suffering because of your trust issues?” Lydia deadpans.

Derek blinks slowly. “You’re arguing about a myth?”

“It’s not just a myth!” Stiles nearly vibrates with frustration. “It’s a story about human nature and the fragility of faith and-”

“And how men can’t follow simple instructions,” Lydia adds.

"God, if I hadn't broken up with you in highschool, I would have done it right now." Stiles grumbles.

That catches Derek's attention. Is she not his girlfriend? Lydia's words about Stiles "dooming his man" filter in.

"Wait, are you guys not dating?" Derek finds himself asking.

"God no." Stiles says immediately.

"That vehemently quick denial kind of hurt my feelings." Lydia smirks.

"Eat me, Martin."

Suddenly Derek is hopeful. Maybe he can get to know his slightly neurotic, gorgeous neighbor.

"um, okay. Sorry. I misunderstood. I'll just be going now."

Stiles smiles at the man

"thanks for coming to make sure Lydia wasnt killing me. I appreciate that."

Derek nods and smiles back.

Before he walks back to his place he looks at Stiles one more time

"just so you know, I'd risk it all to turn back too."

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Lucky to have just finished up with all the "dental work" that needed doin' in my long-neglected mouth. For free, as part of Medi-Cal/MediCare.

The last time I got a crown at a "regular dentist" in 2010, I had to pay $2,800 for it, and had to wait two months to get it. They just got done replacing all four crowns on the teeth I have left. For free. And each only took two weeks to design and make in-house. Every one of the crowns they made fits and looks better than the ones they replaced, some of which had metal cores that were only coated, one going all the way back 30 years.

Things have evidently progressed greatly in the last 15 years...the Xray thing is no longer a machine as big as the room, and cardboard thing you bite. Now it's a small hand-held thing that looks like a miniature cop radar gun, and you bite a plastic doo-dad, and the thing comes up on the computer screen almost instantly. Progress.

But here's the deal: Years of neglect and abject depression take their toll on how often you do all the things they tell you to do daily if you want to keep your teeth.

Sometimes you can look up through the greyness and realize it's been weeks since you even thought about it. You have to admit it's low on the priority list when you're close to ending it all.

So it's hard to get back into "proper tooth/mouth care" after a lifetime of sporadic "only go to the dentist when something's wrong" care.

I haven't missed an appointment since this round of work started, and they were able to complete it all within a year. They told me what they needed to do, made the plan, and did it.

But I still have a hard time being motivated to brush my teeth. After the years of depression, my monkey-mind still tells me it's not necessary and it's bullshit.

But, I'm makin' a stab at it. Starting to use Fluoride toothpaste was a big concession from me, I've avoided it until now. And the whole floss thing...I have never done it. Ever. If something got stuck, there's toothpicks. But I'm trying to make myself do it every night before bed now. It's not a "natural" thing to me. Baby steps, I guess.

its crazy how teeth problems can fucking kill you and not only are dental services not free they cost a ludicrous amount and require an entirely different type of insurance than the rest of ur body. aside from the eyes, of course, which need a third type of insurance. What are we even doing man

[writingsforfandoms-multi]

mr. jazz hands | michael robinavitch x reader

Warnings: medical inaccuracies 

requested: yes :)

There's a reason why you didn’t go into the healthcare field. 

Whenever you absolutely had to be around needles, such as for vaccinations or blood drawn, you always prepared beforehand. you always went with someone, usually a friend, but never ever alone. and you always always had airpods. you would plug them in your ears, play your favorite song, and close your eyes, never asking for a countdown, a countdown always made it worse, and never looking as the needle went in

so needing an IV, unexpectedly, was your worst nightmare right now. 

you didn’t have anyone here to provide that comfort you needed and you most certainly didn’t have your airpods. you were brought into the ER after you passed out, but you woke up in the ambulance just in time to stop them from putting a needle in your arm. 

“Ma’am, dehydration caused you to pass out. It’s standard to give fluids through an IV” the paramedic explained 

“I understand that, and I’m not trying to be difficult, but I don’t do needles, can’t you just give me oral fluids or something?” you try to compromise. Next thing you know, you had arrived at PTMC and your stomach dropped. 

“29 year old female, passed out after running a 10K, regained consciousness en route and has refused an IV” the paramedic reports to dr. langdon. 

“y/n?” robby asks as he spots you from the nurse’s station

“You two know each other?” dr. langdon asks as his eyes dart between you two, holding back a smirk when he realizes that oh yes, robby definitely knows you. 

“I got it from here dr. langdon” robby says as he takes over as primary physician. Once you’re settled in the room and after looking over your chart he says, “sweetheart I’m sorry but you need an IV” knowing you don’t do well with needles 

“Nope, no chance. I don’t even have my airpods” you shake your head and he sighs. 

“y/n! Good to see you again. Wish it was under better circumstances” dana says as she walks in and dons gloves. Her and robby figured it would help if the person inserting the needle was someone you knew 

“Dana! Tell robby I’m fine and that an IV is just not necessary” you plead 

“Sorry honey, but you need IV fluids” she says gently 

“dana is the best, sweetheart, many many many decades of experience” robby tries to persuade 

“careful, you’re making me sound old” she laughs, trying to put you at ease 

“Fuck” you say under your breath, you were gonna be stuck with a needle today. Dana and robby both look at the screen as your heart rate shoots up to 115

“I need you to breathe baby” robby says softly and he grabs your hands in his, taking deep breaths for you to match with your own 

Once your heart rate gets below 100, he gets this look on his face and starts doing the most randomest thing you've ever seen him do. He starts doing jazz hands. 

“Robby, what in the world are you doing with your hands” you laugh

“Oh nothing, just do me a favor and indulge me for a minute” he says with a smile that melts your insides. With what he sees everyday, the moments are few and far between where you get to see him silly like this.

He starts waving his hands to the other side and you've never been more confused in your life until you feel a sharp needle stick you and your mouth drops as you look at dana in betrayal, “that wasn’t nice I thought we were friends” you say as tears well up in your eyes as you try to take a deep breath to not pass out again. Dana works quick, you’ll give her that. 

“You did great sweetheart, you’re all done” robby says as dana connects the IV to fluids 

“I’ll come back in later to check on you, okay?” dana says on her way out and you give her a nod in response

“You traitor” you say as you narrow your eyes at robby, but give him a small smile so he knows you’re joking 

“I know, I’m sorry” he says, giving you a kiss on the forehead. 

“I’m totally getting you back for that, by the way, mr. jazz hands” you add with a laugh 

“Okay, baby, okay” he chuckles

—

masterlist

[randominchident]

slim pickins! (part 2)

max verstappen x popstar!reader -> social media au

max has been a silent fan of popstar!reader for years, it's a running joke in the fandom at this point. a chance meeting changes everything and he doesn't intended to let her down like past guys have... it's time for y/n to come to a race. (part one)

-> fc: sabrina carpenter (other pinterest finds when necessary)

private message with max verstappen

redbullracing has made a post

liked by y/n.chronicles, 🎀user and more

Tom Holland. Neymar Jr. A last-minute chart-topping surprise. The only thing more packed than the grandstands is the garage guest list 👀🔥 #RedBullGarageThings #SilverstoneGP

comments

user7 Y/N IN MAX'S MERCH? OH WE'VE WON.

speedandceleb the VIP list was longer than the straight at Baku 😩

champagneandchoruses she’s writing “pole position” as we speak

↪ taylorinturn1 when he wins the race and she drops a love song next week? poetic cinema.

toomanyplaylists TRYING TO STAY CALM AND FAILING

↪ betterbest they really thought they could casually post y/n as if we haven't spent the past week freaking out over her and max

y/nuseryeah soft launch? hard laugh? IDK BUT IM AM LAUNCHING MYSELF INTO THE SUN IF WE DON'T GET A PHOTO OF THEM TOGETHER TODAY. 4K QUALITY. IN EACH OTHERS ARMS

↪ betterbest hey redbullracing admin this is our hour of need. you know what must be done.

newuser don’t play with me… is that Y/N?! AT SILVERSTONE?? speediest hard launch ever???

y/n.chronicles caught in 4K huh

↪ redbullracing our candid queen

comment liked by max.verstappen

↪ y/nfanatic OMG MAX LIKED

↪ deluluera SIR get off instagram and get into YOUR CAR.

↪ lunalove he's got his priorities straight. his girl > his car

comment liked by y/n.chronicles and max.verstappen

user5 the way the comments only care about y/n being there 😭✌️

charles.leclerc y/n.chronicles come visit ferrari next!

↪ max.verstappen she's fine here, thanks.

↪ y/nfanatic he really said "no❤️" 😭

max.verstappen has made a post

liked by y/n.chronicles, 🎀user and more

Simply lovely 👊 Great to get some points for the team and had some extra motivation this week to end up on top.

comments

user1 "extra motivation" man is whipped.

y/n.chronicles i was cheering the loudest. probably.

↪ max.verstappen confirmed. heard you over the engine. ❤️

↪ f1teaqueen oh we’re LOUD-launching now huh

↪ readingwriting yeah ok max you win. you always win but like YOU WIN

pensburner THE KISS.

↪ readingwriting wait WHAT KISS.

↪ pensburner he got out of the car and ran straight to her! jumped the fucking barricade and lifted her up! and KISSED. its all over tiktok rn

↪ pensburner completely ignored his team but i don't think they cared because they were the ones cheering and clapping the hardest at the kiss... like i think they've heard max talk about y/n for a while...

↪ redbullracing we have.

↪ readingwriting GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET FR OMG. I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS REAL.

↪ y/n.chronicles yeah honestly neither girl

↪ readingwriting 📸 Y/N. 📸

hotgirlupdates saw a tweet of someone who bumped into y/n in the paddock and got a photo, apparently she was wearing one of the max merch hats and laughed about max giving it to her so he's with her throughout the whole race GOD I'VE SEEN WHAT YOU'VE DONE FOR OTHERS.

y/n.chronicles has posted to her story

max.verstappen yours ❤️

↪ y/n.chronicles ☺️💋

max.verstappen has posted to his story

y/n.news has made a post

liked by f1fangirl, 🎀user and more

congrats to y/n's boyfriend (?) for driving fast! yay! (sorry guys I don't know anything about f1 I'm just trying to be supportive but I’m so lost!)

comments

y/nfansunite i just spat out my tea reading this 😭 the fucking photo choices 😭😭😭 not a single photo from the win

user31 so glad we are all collectively going insane this weekend cause that is the only explaination for this post

max.verstappen thanks

↪ y/n.news UM YOURE WELCOME???

user1 didn't realise liking someones music would lead me to having to learn how a car sport works. but here we are.

y/nstan two weeks ago we were clowning max for liking y/n's posts and never saying anything. now he's going home with her and commenting on her fan account posts. lets this be a lesson to never give up on your dreams ig

private message with max verstappen

y/n.chronicles has made a post

liked by max.verstappen, 🎀user and more

london you have my heart 💌 thanks for all the shared tears and all the love you gave me. sad to leave but excited for what's to come 💋

comments

lunalove GUYS THE PIANO. Y/N ONLY EVER POSTS WITH THE PIANO BEFORE NEW MUSIC COMES OUT. "excited for what's to come 💋" MAX ALBUM INCOMING!

comment liked by y/n.chronicles

hope you enjoyed <3 comments are loved <3

(ps. the story photo max posted is one y/n sent him pre show… it’s his lockscreen now)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Cliche but imagine Bob’s trying his hardest to confess to you, seeing as how everyone is on his ass about how oblivious he is with his feelings, literally heart eyes and looking at you as though everything else didn’t matter type of thing.

However while that might sound easy enough to the rest of the group, they’re literally the ones preventing Bob from confessing in the first place with how often they interrupt him, and or ruin the mood set in place with their entrance.

John tells Bob that he should ask you on a date, Bob then later tries to ask you out on a date to a nearby bookstore that also acted as a cafe, only for John to fucking walking in and say ‘have you done it yet?’ Mood ruined.

Alexei tells Bob that he should just go for it and be confident when doing so, And so Bob tries to do it that way when you and him were making breakfast for the rest of the team, only for Alexei to hover over the doorway like a weirdo as a massive smile paints his face as he asks. ‘Is my ship finally sailing as the young people call it these days?’ Or ‘have you kissed them yet?! I’m not getting any younger!’ (I would’ve put ‘are you winning son’ but thought against it)

Yelena tries to be helpful too by telling Bob to wait for his golden opportunity to confess to you, yet again while that sounded great at first, but when poor Bob is convinced that this moment where you two were on the roof of the tower simply watching over the bustling city. The mood was right, the conversation was flowing as it should to naturally transition to a confession that was on the tip of his tongue. Only for Yelena to ruin it when Houdini -the guinea pig- decided to be rebellious and break out from her room, somehow ending up on the roof where you and Bob heard her trying and cursing as she attempted to recapture the animal.

Ava does something similar to Yelena but just as Bob had gotten past saying ‘I’ve got something to tell you’ after walking you back to your room after movie night, it was a romcom, only for Ava to phase through the wall, look at the both of you before phasing through another wall to get to her room.

Poor Bob was growing frustrated and needless to say in a moment of spontaneity and general tiredness of being interrupted by the very same people who had pester him into confessing for weeks now, he just grabs your face and kisses you, pulls away and walks out of the room with a red face as he realised what he had just done. He doesn’t regret it but he didn’t think he’d have it in him to just do something so boldly.

Apparently it was the same for the rest of the team as they were all slack jawed at the display, but you were happy and on cloud nine to care.

[sweet-pea-channie]

In the silence, I found you

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Azriel saves a mute fae woman left for dead after an ambush. Haunted by her silence, he finds himself drawn to her, not out of pity, but recognition. She reminds him of something he lost… and something he never thought he'd find again.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse & torture (non-graphic but emotionally heavy), trauma responses including selective mutism, violence, aftermath of assault, PTSD, survivor's guilt, anxiety, grief and loss of family, slow emotional healing and intimate recovery scenes, soft angst + comfort

Word count: 12.6k

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for reading 💛 English is my third language, so if you spot any grammar mistakes or odd phrasing, please be kind! I’m doing my best. Feedback is always welcome, especially if it's helpful and respectful. This fic is really close to my heart. It’s about healing, trust, and connection without words and I hope it speaks to you, even if it's quiet.

masterlist

Smoke still clung to the charred ruins of the village, curling through the early dusk air like ghostly fingers refusing to let go. The ground was slick with soot and blood, a patchwork of scorched cobblestones and scorched earth. The scent, acrid, raw, was more than just fire. It was despair, clinging to the bones of the place like a second skin.

Azriel stood beside Rhysand and Cassian at what had once been the village square, soldiers and warriors surrounding them. Now it was just rubble. A well had collapsed inward, blackened beams jutted from the earth like broken ribs, and half-burned furniture lay strewn about, a child’s wooden toy horse among them, snapped in half. It was quiet now, but not peaceful. Too quiet. The kind of silence that hummed with what had been done.

“They came through at night,” Rhysand informed everyone, his voice low and tightly leashed. “Wards were weak, barely held together. Half the villagers were Fae with lesser magic. Some couldn’t even defend themselves. The males who led the attack… they didn’t just want to kill.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed. His wings twitched, as if he couldn’t decide whether to fold them in or unfurl them in rage. “They weren’t just soldiers. They were predators.”

Azriel didn’t speak. His shadows slithered around his boots, darting in agitated wisps toward the edges of the square, as if still seeking out threats or witnesses. They found neither.

“The ones we caught,” Rhys continued, staring at the wreckage like it personally offended him, “are in chains. The rest… fled before we arrived. The survivors, the ones hiding, have been found. Healers are seeing to the injured. Children have been taken in by the temple elders from the northern hillside.”

Azriel’s shadows whispered again. A soft, mournful hum.

“It’s done,” Rhys said, scanning the hollowed shells of cottages and shattered windows. “Everything that can be done, has been. It’s over.”

But it didn’t feel over. Not to Azriel. Not with the metallic tang of blood still staining the air. Not with the look on that elderly female’s face when she had asked them, in a broken voice, “Why didn’t anyone come sooner?”

He hadn’t had an answer.

Rhysand glanced between Azriel and Cassian after the soldiers left, noting their silence. His own eyes, usually glowing with a spark of slyness, were dull. Exhausted. “You can rest now,” he said. “Or go home.”

Azriel looked past him, to the tree line beyond the village where the smoke thinned into mist. He caught a glimpse of a child sitting on a stone step, clutching a burned blanket, eyes hollow. The child didn’t cry. Just stared.

Rhys would return to Velaris. To Feyre. To warm arms and gentle laughter. To peace. But Azriel and Cassian… they had always found peace harder to carry. Harder to believe in.

“I’ll fly back in the morning,” Cassian said, rolling out his shoulders. “Want to make sure the families here have shelter. Food. Some of them don’t even have shoes.” He paused. “It still feels… raw.”

Azriel gave a quiet nod. “I'll stay here, too.”

Rhys hesitated, as if he wanted to protest, to pull rank. But then he just studied their faces and sighed.

“Fine. But rest, both of you. You're of no good use if you overstrain yourself,” he said softly. Then he was gone, winnowing in a shimmer of darkness and violet starlight.

The world felt heavier once he left.

Cassian turned toward a row of broken homes and muttered, “I’ll check the supply wagons again, make sure nothing’s gone missing.”

The village quieted further without him. Just the sound of crackling embers and murmuring healers in the distance. Cassian broke off to check the perimeter, but Azriel lingered by the outskirts, near the forest line.

The temporary camp had been set up just beyond the village outskirts, a collection of tents pitched beneath the shadow of the pines, where the smoke from the ruins thinned into something cleaner, but not quite peaceful. The sky had bled into twilight, bruised and streaked with orange. The smell of fire still lingered on the wind.

Azriel stepped into the tent he shared with Cassian, a canvas shelter thrown together more for function than comfort. His leathers creaked as he unbuckled his chest plate, his siphons clicking faintly as he set them down beside the low cot.

Cassian wasn’t there yet, probably still helping rebuild the central well, or lifting logs like they were made of kindling. Azriel rolled his shoulders and sat down heavily, stretching out his long legs and leaning back against the support pole. For a moment, he let the silence settle around him. He closed his eyes. Exhaled.

Then a shadow darted into the tent like a dagger. Fast. Sharp. Urgent.

Azriel’s eyes snapped open.

He didn’t need words. His shadows never spoke in them, not truly, but their intent thrummed through him like a pulse. There’s another. A survivor. Still out there. Still in pain.

He was already moving.

Armor forgotten, he strapped his siphons back on with swift, practiced movements and swept out of the tent without a word. No time to tell Cassian. No time to alert the others. His shadows were already leading the way, slithering ahead of him like smoke toward the trees.

The forest was dark, dense. Pines loomed like sentinels, and the path was barely a path at all, just loose soil and patches of moss tangled with roots. Azriel moved like a ghost, silent and fast, eyes trained ahead, shadows feeding him flashes of what they’d sensed.

Fae. Alive. Hurt. Alone.

He ran deeper, branches clawing at his shoulders and wings, the shadows growing sharper in their urgency. The quiet of the woods wasn’t peaceful, it was stifling. Suffocating. No animals moved. No birds cried.

Something clenched in his chest.

Then, a scent.

Blood. Faint, old. Human-like, but Fae.

His shadows curled tight around a cluster of trees, and Azriel slowed. Stepped carefully now. Each footfall deliberate. His siphons glowed faintly, casting a subtle blue hue against the undergrowth.

And then he saw her.

She was barely a shape in the gloom, slumped against the base of a thick pine, her body partially hidden by brush and shadow. A small Fae woman. Her wrists were bound cruelly above her head, tied to the tree with frayed rope that had cut deep into her skin. Her dress was torn, legs smeared with mud, face streaked with dried blood. One of her ankles looked swollen.

Her eyes were closed. Chest rising shallowly. Not asleep, not unconscious, just… still. Too still.

Azriel’s heart lurched. For a split second, he feared she was already gone.

He was beside her in a blink.

“Hey,” he said softly, dropping to one knee, his siphons dimming as he reached out. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

He hovered a hand near her cheek, not touching, not yet. “You’re safe now. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Slowly, slowly… her lashes fluttered.

She didn’t open her eyes, but her body tensed. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came.

Azriel felt it then, not just the physical damage, but the weight of something deeper. A silence that had settled into her bones. Not shock. Not in this moment. This silence was old. Familiar.

He reached for the ropes carefully, cutting through them with a dagger he pulled from his belt. The bindings snapped with a dry crack, and her arms slumped forward, too weak to catch herself. Azriel caught her gently, cradling her body with one arm as he sliced the rope from her wrists.

She didn’t try to pull away. But she didn’t relax either.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

She blinked again, just once, then lifted her hand weakly, her fingers twitching in the air.

Signing.

Clumsy. Slow. As if she hadn’t done it in years.

Azriel’s breath caught. He understood.

“Don’t hurt me.”

He remembered the signs from centuries ago. His throat worked around the knot forming there. He shook his head, voice a whisper. “Never.”

Another flicker of fingers.

“I couldn’t scream.”

She wasn’t just mute from pain. It was something older. Deeper. She hadn’t screamed because she couldn’t.

Azriel gently gathered her into his arms. She was light, too light. Starved and cold. Her fingers clutched weakly at the collar of his leathers as he stood.

“I’m taking you back,” he said, already moving through the trees. “You need to see a healer."

And though she didn’t speak, he felt it, a shiver in her body. Not of fear, but something near it. Not trust, not yet. But recognition. A thread, fraying and fragile, tying her to this moment.

To him.

His shadows twined around them both as he carried her toward the broken village, a silent promise echoing in the night: Never again. Never left behind.

Azriel moved quickly through the woods, his steps fast but careful as he cradled the small Fae female against his chest. Her weight was next to nothing. Too thin. Her head lolled weakly against his shoulder, but every now and then, he felt her tense-sharp flinches whenever his boots crunched too loud, or when a branch snapped somewhere nearby.

Trauma lived in every muscle of her body.

“You’re safe,” he murmured again, more for her than himself. “Just a little longer. The healers will take care of you.”

She didn’t respond, didn’t sign, didn’t lift her head, but he felt her heartbeat flutter like a bird’s wing, fast and erratic against his arm.

The treeline broke, and the village came back into view: still smoldering, still broken. Torches burned in a quiet perimeter around the camp. The night had deepened now, casting everything in a dull, aching gray.

Azriel descended the last rise toward the path leading to the camp when a familiar voice called out.

“Az?” Cassian emerged from around a pile of crates, brow furrowed. He froze mid-step as his eyes landed on the figure in Azriel’s arms. “What the hell?”

“She was in the woods,” Azriel said without slowing, his voice clipped but steady. “Tied to a tree. Alive. Barely.”

Cassian’s face darkened. “You’re serious?”

Azriel gave a sharp nod, eyes flicking down to the female in his arms. She kept her face turned inward, buried against his shoulder, as if the mere sight of another male might break her.

Cassian stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Where exactly did you find her?”

“Half a mile east of the perimeter,” Azriel said. “Tucked into a tree line past the ravine. They left her there.”

Cassian’s fists clenched. “Left her?”

Azriel didn’t miss the way her shoulders flinched again. He tightened his hold around her protectively.

Cassian’s expression softened just slightly as he crouched to her eye level. “Do you remember who did this to you?” he asked gently.

She stirred then. A hand moved hesitantly from Azriel’s chest, slow and trembling, as if even that effort cost her. Her fingers began to move, barely forming a sign before faltering.

“She can’t speak,” Azriel said quietly, his shadows curling around her like a shield. “She’s mute. I think she always has been.”

Cassian blinked, stunned. “Shit.”

“She couldn’t scream,” Azriel went on, his voice sharper now, more bitter. “That’s probably why they left her. Grew tired of her when she didn’t make enough noise while they—” He cut himself off, his jaw locking. “The marks on her body… they didn’t come from the ropes alone.”

Cassian swore under his breath, eyes flicking with a warrior’s rage and a male’s sorrow. “Monsters.”

Azriel looked down at her. “She needs a healer. Now.”

Cassian nodded immediately and moved aside, clearing the path ahead. “Go. I’ll make sure they know to expect you.”

Azriel strode past him, his steps swift as he made his way to the makeshift healer’s tent at the edge of the village. It was lit with soft blue faelight, quiet voices murmuring within. He ducked inside.

The healers, two older Fae females and a half-Illyrian male apprentice, looked up in surprise.

“She’s injured,” Azriel said. “Badly. Found her just now.”

One of the healers, a calm-eyed woman named Thera, stepped forward and motioned for him to lay the girl down on the cot. “Bring her here, carefully.”

Azriel hesitated only for a second. He turned to the girl in his arms, his voice soft. “You’re with healers now. No one will hurt you. I promise.”

She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze.

There was nothing left in her eyes, no fight, no anger, not even fear. Just exhaustion. And behind it, buried deep, something older. A wound without a name.

He set her down gently. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t pull away from his hand until the healer nudged him back.

“We’ll take it from here,” Thera said gently, already unfastening the remnants of the ropes from her wrists.

Azriel didn’t move far. He stayed just a few steps away, arms crossed, shadows flicking around him protectively like they were refusing to let go of her.

Cassian appeared in the tent’s entrance, arms crossed, watching her with the same quiet horror Azriel had swallowed down moments before.

“She’s lucky you found her,” Cassian said after a beat. “Another night out there and…”

Azriel didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on her face, on the way she winced at every touch, even the gentle ones. “It’s not luck.”

His voice was low. Absolute.

“She was meant to survive.”

────────────

Warmth.

That was the first thing she noticed.

Not the cloying, suffocating heat of ropes cutting into her skin or the rank, sticky breath of her captors. No. This warmth was soft. Dry. Almost… clean.

A blanket. Someone had tucked a blanket around her.

She blinked her eyes open. Faint blue light bathed the room, soft and shifting like water. The ceiling above her was canvas, not sky. She was lying on a cot. Her arms, for once, were free.

Her throat tightened.

I'm not tied up.

But her wrists still ached. Her whole body felt stiff, like her bones had forgotten how to lie still without pain. The pressure at her ankle pulsed in slow waves, wrapped now in linen and balm. She smelled herbs. Clean ones. And something else, leather, faint smoke, a scent like fresh wind after a storm.

She turned her head. He was there. The male who had found her. The quiet one. The one made of shadows.

He sat just beyond the edge of the cot, wings tucked in tight, shadows flicking softly around his shoulders like living smoke. His siphons gleamed blue in the faint light. But he was sitting like a sentry, not a predator.

He was watching her without staring, his expression unreadable. Not cold. Not cruel. Just... steady. A pillar in the storm.

She tried to move her hand. It shook.

The blanket slipped off her shoulder and panic rose like bile in her throat. She flinched, curling slightly, waiting for the blow, for the sneer, for the voice that would growl “Don’t waste my time again, mute girl.”

But nothing came. The shadows stirred. Not toward her, around her.

A gentle breeze kissed her temple. Not wind, not air, shadow. It felt like someone brushing hair from her face.

Her vision blurred. She blinked fast.

The last thing she remembered clearly was the sound of boots. Loud. Heavy. She'd kept her eyes closed as the footsteps approached the tree, too exhausted to move, too broken to care. She had thought, truly, deeply, this is the end. The males who left her had no interest in finishing the job. They just didn’t want to look at her anymore. She hadn’t made enough noise for them.

She'd learned early: screams fed monsters. Silence bored them.

So she stayed silent. Even when it hurt. Even when the ropes cut skin. Even when she bled. And they’d left her. Forgotten. Until him.

She turned her head again. Looked at him. His shadows stilled. Not gone, never gone, but quiet. Curious.

She lifted her hand. Slow. Trembling.

Signed: “Thank you.”

His head tilted slightly, and to her shock… he understood. He nodded once, low and firm, and murmured, “You don’t have to thank me.”

She stared at him.

Another sign: “You know?”

A pause. Then: “I do. A long time ago.” His voice was a whisper. Rough and soft at once. “I used to know someone like you.”

The words made her throat burn. Something inside her cracked open a little, not wide enough to be a wound, but enough to let air in. Enough to breathe again.

Her hand fell slowly back to her chest, the simple motion of signing already exhausting.

But he didn’t look away.

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly, retreating to his shoulders like they were giving her space. His wings shifted slightly, and then, with a quiet rustle, he moved closer. Not looming. Not hovering. Just near enough that his voice could stay low.

“Do you have a house here?” he asked, careful and quiet, like he was afraid to press too hard. “I could check. See if anything’s left.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, painfully, her fingers began to move again.

“I saw it burn.”

Azriel’s breath caught, but he didn’t interrupt.

“My sister was inside. I couldn’t—”

Her hands trembled too much to finish. The signs faltered and fell apart, and her throat clenched in frustration. Not being able to scream was one thing. But not being able to say it, even now, made the grief coil tighter around her chest.

Azriel didn’t ask for more. Didn’t demand she finish.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead, his voice rough. He shifted again, closer but not touching, and added, “You’re sure you’re alone now?”

She nodded once. It was the hardest motion of all.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The healer’s faelight swirled around them, blue and soft. Outside, the quiet hum of the camp settled into the air — the distant sound of Cassian’s voice barking orders, wood being stacked, water poured.

And still Azriel sat with her.

Then he spoke again. “We’re going to rebuild the village. All of it. We’ll keep it safe. I promise you, this will never happen again.”

She looked at him, not with hope, not yet. But with a fragile thread of belief. Not because she trusted easily, or because his words were sweet. But because his eyes didn’t lie.

Because when he said we’ll rebuild, she knew he meant every stone, every broken family, every shattered soul, including hers.

And he wasn’t promising to fix her.

He was promising that she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

────────────

The war room in the House of Wind smelled of parchment, cedar, and the faintest trace of lavender, likely from something Feyre had left behind. Morning light streamed through the high windows, catching on the scattered maps and marked reports laid across the obsidian table.

Rhysand stood at the head, fingers steepled under his chin as his violet eyes swept over the latest reports.

“They’re calling it Emberon now,” he said at last, tapping a finger to the northern ridge of the map. “The villagers decided on it a few days ago. Said they wanted something that acknowledged the fire, but didn’t let it define them.”

“Emberon,” Cassian echoed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Has a ring to it.”

“Poetic,” Azriel added, though his voice was low, contemplative. His eyes lingered on the spot on the map, far beyond the borders of Velaris. The smoke and ash had long since cleared, but the memory remained vivid, especially one particular memory.

Rhys nodded. “Most of the homes are rebuilt. They’ve started clearing out the western fields for planting again. The last supply drop from Velaris got there two days ago. But I want to see it myself.”

“You’re going?” Cassian asked.

“I’ll only stay for the day. Feyre’s painting again, and Nyx has been using my leathers as a canvas. But I want to speak to the village leaders in person. Make sure they have what they need.”

“I’ll come,” Cassian said immediately. “I want to see the families again. The way they bounced back from that mess…” He trailed off, eyes hardening. “They deserve everything we can give.”

Rhysand turned to Azriel. “You?”

Azriel didn’t answer right away. His shadows curled thoughtfully across his shoulders, stirred by something quieter than words.

In truth, he’d been thinking about that village for days. Ever since the last courier had brought back news of a functioning market square and newly laid stone paths, a thread of thought kept pulling at him.

The girl.

The one he’d found bound to a tree, all bone and silence, eyes hollow from more pain than any person should endure. She hadn’t spoken, couldn’t speak, but her hands had told him enough.

He never got her name.

She’d stayed in the healer’s tent the last time he saw her, still too weak to walk. When he and Cassian had flown back to Velaris days after the attack, she hadn’t woken to say goodbye.

He hadn't expected her to. But he had thought about her far more than he admitted, wondered if she had a roof again, if she still flinched in her sleep. If she still signed “thank you” with trembling hands.

Azriel looked up. “I’ll come.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Didn’t think you’d say yes. Thought you were brooding too hard in your tower lately.”

Azriel gave him a flat look. “I’ll be brooding in the skies today.”

Cassian grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Rhysand just offered a small nod. “Then we leave within the hour. Bring warm gear, it still gets cold up in those hills.”

As Rhys vanished to prepare, Cassian stood and stretched with a dramatic groan. Azriel remained seated, tracing his gaze over the inked lines of Emberon on the map. It wasn’t just a village anymore, it was a scar turned to a seed.

He wondered if she was still there, among the rebuilding. If she had a home now. If her silence still felt like a prison, or if it had started to feel like power.

He didn’t know what he hoped for.

But he knew this: when he set foot in Emberon again, the first person he would look for was her.

The wind was brisk over the hills when they crested the last ridge and Emberon came into view.

It looked nothing like the place they’d left behind.

Where there had once been scorched timbers and the ghostly remains of shattered cottages, now stood a patchwork of new roofs, whitewashed stone, and garden plots with sprigs of green clawing their way through the thawing earth. Smoke curled from chimneys — not the smoke of ruin, but of hearths. Cooking fires. Blacksmith forges. Life.

Children ran between homes, their laughter carried on the wind. Baskets of bread and vegetables sat outside doors. Bright scraps of fabric fluttered on clotheslines like prayer flags.

A rough wooden sign greeted them at the edge of the road: Welcome to Emberon Forged by Fire - Reborn by Choice

Azriel’s shadows stilled around him as they landed at the edge of the main square. He wasn’t the only one surprised.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “They’ve done a gods-damned miracle here.”

Rhysand didn’t respond immediately, his violet gaze scanning every face, every movement. Then he gave a quiet, satisfied nod. “This is what rebuilding should look like.”

The square was buzzing with activity. A group of Fae elders spoke quietly at a stone table under a tree in bloom. Two younger males carried buckets from a well. And off to the side, a tall healer was speaking with a few villagers, nodding in approval at someone’s bandaged arm.

But Azriel wasn’t focused on any of them.

His shadows had stirred again. Not warning, guiding.

They pulled softly at the edge of his coat, brushing his neck and nudging his gaze toward the far side of the square. Toward a small communal garden fenced with woven branches.

And there she was.

Kneeling in the soil, sleeves rolled past her elbows, dark earth streaking her hands and forearms. A loose braid of hair hung over one shoulder, strands escaping to catch the sun. Her face was turned toward the raised bed, her expression hidden, but there was something different about her now.

Not fragile.

Focused.

She moved carefully, planting tiny seedlings into the soil with practiced care. Around her, several others worked, older women, a pair of teenagers, but even in the crowd, Azriel saw her as clearly as if she stood in a spotlight.

He felt it again, that thread, that invisible pull in his chest. It didn’t ache like it had before. Not grief. Not guilt.

Just a quiet, steady certainty.

She was alive.

He hadn’t imagined her resilience, her presence. She wasn’t still in a healer’s cot, curled into herself. She was here. Rooted.

Cassian followed his gaze, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is that her?”

Azriel didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, she looked up.

Her eyes met his across the square, not startled, not afraid, just still.

Recognition flickered there, followed by something gentler. Like the first breeze of spring brushing across old wounds.

She stood slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. And though she didn’t smile, didn’t wave, didn’t move toward him… she didn’t turn away either.

Azriel’s shadows curled like smoke around his boots. “She’s stronger,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Cassian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Looks like someone’s been taking care of her.”

Azriel nodded once. “Or maybe… she’s been taking care of herself.”

Across the square, she tilted her head, just slightly, and lifted one hand. The sign was small. Barely a motion.

Hello.

And for the first time in weeks, Azriel felt the corners of his mouth lift. Not a smile, exactly. But something close.

Hello, he signed back.

Azriel crossed the square with deliberate steps, not because he feared startling her, not anymore, but because he wasn’t sure how to approach her. Not because of any distance between them, but because he had grown used to watching her from a distance, giving her the space she needed to heal.

As he neared the low fence, she noticed him. She straightened, brushing her palms against her apron once again. There were faint traces of dirt on her cheeks, and her hair was loosely braided, a few strands escaping as she worked. She didn’t seem startled by his presence, but instead looked at him with quiet curiosity, the same way she had the first time he had found her in the woods.

When Azriel reached the edge of the garden, he stopped. He gave her the choice, as he always did, waiting to see what she would do next.

She tilted her head, just slightly, and then without a word, she stepped through the small gate, closing the space between them.

Azriel stood still for a moment, taking in the changes he could see in her. Her face had filled out with strength, the faint weariness in her eyes replaced by something more like calm determination. There was a quiet confidence in the way she held herself, the way she moved between the rows of plants, even as the shadow of her past still lingered in her gaze.

When she stood before him, she didn’t look away. There was no tension in her body, no unease, just an understanding that they were both in this moment together.

Her hands moved, slow but steady. “You came back.”

Azriel’s voice was soft, low. “I wanted to see the village. And see if you were still here.”

For a long moment, she didn’t respond. Then she signed again, more slowly this time, as though careful with her words. “I never left.”

Azriel’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t know what he had expected, but there was something in her response that settled in him, a quiet kind of peace, maybe. That she had stayed. That she had found a way to stay.

She hesitated, fingers trembling ever so slightly before continuing. “You never asked for my name.”

Azriel felt a pang of realization. He hadn’t asked for her name, hadn’t thought to ask it before. The moment of crisis, of survival, had taken away the small things, the human things. He hadn’t asked, because there hadn’t been space to.

“I didn’t want to ask until you were ready,” he replied quietly.

She regarded him for a long moment, her eyes studying his face, then placed her hand gently over her chest.

“Y/N.”

Azriel repeated the name in his mind, letting it settle like a new melody in his thoughts. He nodded, though his voice was quiet when he spoke again. “Azriel.”

There was no smile, but her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something there. Maybe it was acknowledgment. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was both.

She then turned slightly, gesturing to the garden around them. “Do you want to see?”

Azriel nodded and followed her through the rows of plants. She led him from one raised bed to the next, pointing out herbs, vegetables, and flowers, thyme, rosemary, young lettuce, and the beginnings of carrots and squash. With every motion, she signed the name of the plant, and Azriel followed her hands, his gaze not on the plants but on the rhythm of her movements. The way her hands danced through the air as if she had been doing this all her life.

At one point, Y/N handed him a small wooden trowel, her expression one of quiet challenge. Azriel accepted it, and with a slow, deliberate motion, crouched beside her, taking his time as he began to dig gently into the earth. Together, in silence, they planted a row of small sprouts.

There was no rush. No expectation. Just the quiet work of two souls who, for this moment, shared something that wasn’t spoken aloud but was understood.

After some time, Y/N stood and wiped her hands on her apron. She didn’t look at Azriel immediately but glanced down at the garden, a small flicker of something passing over her face. When she finally did look back at him, there was no sadness in her expression. No fear.

Just quiet contentment.

Azriel’s shadows, which had settled low around him, shifted lightly at his feet, as if aware of the change in the air between them. The space between them felt less like distance, less like hesitation, and more like a soft, growing connection.

For the first time since he’d found her in the woods, Azriel allowed himself to believe in the possibility of what could come next, in the small, steady steps forward, and in the quiet trust that was beginning to blossom between them.

The village of Emberon was slowly coming back to life. The faint hum of hammers and chisels filled the air as more homes were rebuilt, children played in the dirt streets, and the scent of fresh bread wafted from a small bakery on the corner. Azriel walked beside Y/N, his shadows swirling at his heels, as she led him toward the place she had called home since her recovery. It was a modest house, but to her, it was a sanctuary. The early evening sun bathed the streets in golden light as they made their way through the village, Azriel glancing at the quiet houses and newly constructed buildings.

"I can't believe it's finally coming together," Azriel murmured quietly, his tone soft as he looked around at the rebuilding.

Y/N gave him a smile, though it was subtle, and motioned toward the direction of her house with a small wave of her hand. She signed quickly, and Azriel nodded, catching the gist of her words. "I’m proud of it. Of what’s been built here."

They had been walking in silence, and Azriel found comfort in the stillness, the sense of normalcy beginning to return to the village. His mind drifted as they walked, but it was broken by the sound of raised voices from down the street. His sharp eyes cut through the crowd, and he spotted Cassian and Rhysand talking to a tall fae male, a general from another region, right outside one of the shops. The conversation seemed to be heated, and Cassian’s boisterous voice was hard to miss even from a distance.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then gestured for Azriel to follow her toward the group. She wanted to show him her new home, but there was no harm in saying hello. As they approached, Cassian turned and spotted them immediately, his grin widening at the sight of Y/N.

“Well, well, look who it is!” Cassian called, his voice booming across the street. He took a few steps forward, his eyes scanning her, noticing her calm but wary demeanor. “How are you?”

Azriel stood back a little, watching as Y/N stepped forward to respond. She raised her hands, signing rapidly, and Azriel moved closer to her side. His shadows drifted around her, a constant comfort, as he translated her words for Cassian.

“She says she’s doing better,” Azriel said softly. “She’s settling in.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good to hear. You know, we’ve been working hard to help everyone here. You’ve got a good home now.”

Y/N signed again, this time more slowly, and Azriel watched as her hands moved fluidly. He translated for her again, the words flowing as she spoke.

“She’s thankful for everything that’s been done,” Azriel said, glancing back at Cassian. “But she still remembers everything. It’s hard to move past it all, even if she has a place of her own.”

Rhysand, who had been quiet up until now, stepped forward, his violet eyes locking with Y/N. The breeze shifted as the power of his Daemati abilities sparked in the air around him. Without a word, Rhysand reached out, connecting with her mind. Azriel’s brow furrowed as he watched, instinctively stepping back, sensing the power at play. He couldn’t hear their conversation, and neither could Cassian, but it was clear what was happening.

Y/N’s eyes softened as Rhysand’s voice entered her thoughts, and Azriel felt a strange mix of emotions as he watched her respond, her lips moving slightly, but not making a sound.

“You’ve helped so many here, Rhysand,” Y/N’s voice came, quiet but clear in Rhysand's mind. “Without you, and without Azriel and his shadows, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

Azriel felt the weight of their conversation in his chest, but he couldn’t hear what they said. He didn’t need to. The connection between the two of them, that subtle shift in her expression, told him everything he needed to know. There was a tenderness in the way Y/N held herself, a gratitude so deep that Azriel felt it resonate with his own heart.

Suddenly, Rhysand broke through the mental connection, his voice cutting through the air for all to hear, loud and firm.

“It’s our responsibility,” Rhysand said, his voice carrying over the conversation. “To protect, to help, and to make sure this never happens again. We will rebuild this place, just like we’ve rebuilt so many others.”

Azriel stood still, his eyes focused on Y/N’s reaction. She blinked, as though Rhysand’s words were just as powerful in her mind as they were in the air, and she gave a small nod. It was as though she had heard it all before, and yet, it still made a difference to her.

Y/N turned to face them, her hands moving again. She signed with slow, graceful gestures, her fingers weaving through the air as she asked Azriel to translate.

“She’s offering us food,” Azriel said with a small smile, his voice quieter now. “She wants us to come to her place. A quick meal.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “I’m not turning down a free meal,” he said, his voice teasing.

Azriel glanced at Y/N, who smiled at Cassian's words. Then, with a subtle nod, she turned toward her home, motioning for them to follow.

Rhysand’s eyes lingered on the village for a moment before he turned to follow them. “Lead the way, Y/N. We’ll be happy to join you.”

Azriel, trailing behind, allowed his shadows to flow around him like a cloak. He could feel the weight of the day lifting, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the meal or because Y/N had invited them into her world. They had done what they could for her, for the village, but it was clear that her journey was far from over. Still, there was a small flicker of hope in the air, a belief that maybe, just maybe, she could begin again.

The inside of Y/N's house was simple, yet welcoming. The small kitchen area had a hearth where a pot of stew simmered on the flames, filling the air with a savory aroma. The furniture was modest but carefully placed, and the warmth of her home was a stark contrast to the cold, barren village Azriel had found her in all those weeks ago. The stone walls were lined with fresh herbs, and small touches of color from woven fabrics gave it a sense of life.

Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood near the entrance, surveying the space. Cassian was running his hand along the rough wooden shelves, his eyes scanning the room for anything that stood out. He noticed a few things still left unfinished, some shelves that weren’t fully mounted, a small pile of firewood in the corner that needed to be stacked.

Rhysand’s eyes were softer than usual as he observed the place. The High Lord of the Night Court was always in command, always exuding a certain distance, but here, in the quiet of Y/N’s home, something in him softened. He turned his attention to her, and his voice was gentle as he reached out to her mind.

“Y/N,” Rhysand’s voice was like a whisper in her thoughts. “Would you like us to help finish anything here? We could take care of the shelves or the firewood, whatever you need.”

Y/N paused for a moment, considering the offer, but then signed in a quick, dismissive motion as she shook her head. She wanted to refuse, her hands moving gracefully in the air as she said to Azriel, who translated for the group.

“She says she couldn’t possibly ask for the High Lord of the Night Court to do something like that,” Azriel said with a chuckle, his voice warm as he glanced toward Rhysand. “She’s too proud.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the small space. “I won’t put my hands on anything. But Cassian over here”, he grinned slyly, “he’ll do all the work.”

Cassian’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What?” he grumbled. “I don’t even know how to-”

Before Cassian could protest further, Rhysand just waved a hand dismissively, clearly enjoying the banter. Azriel couldn’t help but grin a little as he watched the two of them, but his attention soon shifted as Y/N turned back to the stove, checking on the stew.

Azriel gave the room one last sweep and noticed that Y/N had already begun setting the table for the meal. He could see the care she’d put into everything, but there was still a certain sense of unfinished business, the house wasn’t quite complete, and the simple details spoke volumes about how much she had left to do.

He moved toward her, not wanting to stand idle. “I’ll help with the stew,” Azriel offered quietly, his voice low but steady.

Y/N glanced at him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips before she nodded. She handed him the ladle to stir the pot, and Azriel did so with ease, his attention on the bubbling stew. He caught the faint scent of vegetables and spices, his mouth watering slightly. The sounds of Cassian and Rhysand’s conversation in the background faded as he focused on the simple task of preparing the meal.

Once the stew was ready, Y/N began ladling it into bowls with precise, careful movements, her hands flowing through the motions as if she had done it a thousand times. Azriel stood by, ready to help, and as she placed the bowls on the counter, he moved to take them and set them on the table.

But just as he was about to move, one of his shadows seemed to get in his way. It darted out from behind him, swirling in front of his hands like an unruly piece of cloth. He tried to move past it, but it lingered, twining in front of him like it had a mind of its own. His focus was split for just a moment, and before he realized it, the stew spilled over the edge of the bowl, splashing onto his hands.

Azriel cursed under his breath, grimacing as the hot liquid seared his skin. He jumped back, quickly wiping his hands on the towel he had nearby. The sting of the burn made his jaw tighten, but it wasn’t unbearable. He muttered a curse to himself, knowing it was his own fault for not being more mindful.

“Damn shadows,” he told them, low and to himself, not realizing how loud his thoughts were as he cursed.

But then, just as he was preparing to move the bowl again, a cold, wet cloth pressed gently to his hand. Azriel froze, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked up to see Y/N, who had come to his side without him even realizing. She was focused, her hands working quickly to press the towel to his injured skin.

Azriel blinked in surprise. “How did you-”

Y/N’s gaze met his, and she tilted her head, her brow furrowed in concern. She seemed to sense his confusion and signed back to him, her hands moving slowly and deliberately as she explained.

“I heard you,” she signed carefully. “I could hear you talking to yourself. I thought... I thought you were in pain.”

Azriel’s breath hitched. He had been speaking to himself, yes, but there was no way she could have heard him. Wasn’t it just his internal thoughts? She couldn't have—

“Wait,” he asked, his voice a little unsure, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You... you heard me?”

Y/N nodded, a flicker of confusion in her own eyes. She signed again.

“You were talking to your shadows. I heard it. Are you okay?”

Azriel’s mouth went dry, and his mind raced. He had been speaking to his shadows, sure, but the fact that she could hear him... that was something else entirely. He had never imagined that someone who couldn’t speak could somehow hear his thoughts. It was impossible... but then again, this was Y/N.

Azriel paused for a moment, staring at her, trying to process everything. “Can you hear... my thoughts? Like how Rhysand can?”

Y/N’s brow furrowed even more in confusion, and she signed again, this time slower, as if trying to make sense of it herself.

“I don’t know. I just... I could hear you. In my mind. Can you hear me, too?”

Azriel blinked, feeling the faintest ripple of something he couldn’t explain, something new between them. “I... I think I can.”

He wasn’t sure how it worked, or why it was happening, but as he stood there, with the cold cloth still pressed to his hand, a strange connection started to form. He could hear her in his head, her thoughts were as clear as if she had spoken aloud.

Azriel’s mouth went dry as he turned to her, unsure whether to be thrilled or confused. “This... this is new.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a small, unsure smile. She signed once more.

“Maybe it’s something we share now. I’m not sure.”

Azriel smiled faintly, looking down at his hand, which no longer burned from the hot stew. His shadows had settled, and his mind was still spinning. But in that moment, he felt something shift between them, something tangible and warm.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. “Together.”

Y/N nodded, and Azriel couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope rise in his chest. Maybe this was a new beginning, one where she didn’t have to remain silent anymore.

────────────

The sun had already dipped behind the hills, casting the village in soft lavender hues when Azriel knocked gently on Y/N’s door. A cool breeze stirred the leaves in the trees outside, rustling just loud enough to be noticed. Her home, tucked between two larger cottages near the outer edge of the rebuilt village, was bathed in the golden light of a few lanterns within.

Y/N opened the door before he could knock again, her expression neutral at first, but softening immediately at the sight of him. She stepped aside wordlessly, inviting him in.

Azriel stepped inside, the warmth of her home wrapping around him like a soft blanket. It smelled faintly of dried herbs, pinewood, and something sweet.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked him, speaking gently into his mind.

He nodded. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

A flicker of warmth crossed her face as she moved into the small kitchen area, setting a kettle on the iron stove. From a wooden drawer she pulled out a small tin and opened it, releasing the delicate fragrance of her favorite blend, peppermint, chamomile, and rose hip. The colors were beautiful in the low light: deep green leaves, pale yellow petals, rich crimson fruit. She dropped them into a small teapot and poured hot water over them.

Azriel watched her from a nearby chair, silent, but something about the domesticity of it, her careful movements, the quiet ritual of preparing something comforting, felt oddly intimate. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this kind of quiet.

When the tea had steeped, she poured two cups and handed him one. Their fingers brushed briefly. He muttered a soft “thank you,” and she nodded, taking her seat by the hearth, gesturing for him to join her.

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, letting the warmth of the drink settle into their bones. Then, she looked up at him, her gaze sharp but kind.

“You’re troubled,” she said into his mind, gently, without judgment.

Azriel leaned back, his fingers wrapped around the cup, wings slightly hunched behind him. “I’ve been thinking. About… this. You and me. Whatever this is.”

She didn’t interrupt. Just waited, eyes steady on his.

“It’s not a mating bond,” he said slowly. “At least, I don’t think it is. I’ve read everything I could find on the subject over the years. I thought… I hoped I’d recognize it instantly, if it ever happened. I would know. But this...” He paused. “It feels different.”

Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave his. Her mental voice was quiet, steady. “It’s not a mating bond.”

Azriel stiffened, then nodded once. “You’re sure?”

“I had one once,” she said. The words slid gently into his thoughts, but their weight landed heavily. “A true mating bond. I rejected it.”

His brows drew together. He set the cup down, leaning forward. “Why?”

“Because he was cruel. Manipulative. He wanted to break me, not cherish me.” Her hands remained folded in her lap, but her voice in his head was calm. “The bond was there, yes. But I would rather walk alone than be bound to someone like him.”

Azriel’s chest ached. He shifted to sit across from her now, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “And yet,” he said, “you and I… we have something.”

“We do.”

“I can speak to you without sound. You can answer. It’s not like what you have with Rhys, I can’t do that with anyone else. And you can’t do it with anyone else, either, can you?”

She shook her head. “Only you. And Rhys, because of what he is. But with you… it’s different. Easier. Natural.”

He studied her face, her stillness, the way her shadows always seemed to draw nearer when he was near her. “Maybe it’s the shadows,” she offered softly. “They understand me. I’ve always felt like they listened when no one else could. Maybe they… carry me to you.”

Azriel looked down. His own shadows curled at his ankles, one brushing the hem of her skirt. They didn’t pull away. If anything, they seemed... content. Restful.

“You might be right,” he admitted. “I’ve never known them to behave like this before. They whisper to me, warn me, guide me… but they’ve never connected me to someone like this.”

She leaned forward slightly. “Do you think they’re giving you something you didn’t know you needed?”

The question was quiet, but it dug in deep. Azriel looked up, met her eyes, and for a moment, it felt like she’d peeled back every layer he spent a lifetime guarding.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low even in his own mind. “Maybe they are.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something just as kind. She reached for the teapot, poured them both another cup.

And as they sat there, in the fading evening light with the scent of peppermint and rose hip between them, neither spoke aloud.

They didn’t need to.

The air between them shifted, thick with unspoken words. The warmth from their tea had settled into the bones of the small cottage, but Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that something heavy lingered in the space between them. He’d always known Y/N was a survivor, that there was more to her silence than met the eye, but he hadn’t pushed, until now.

The shadows at his feet coiled tighter, drawn to the quiet stillness of the room. He could feel them, just as he could feel the weight of her presence. She was stronger than she realized, but there were cracks in her walls. Azriel’s mind lingered on those cracks, and the realization hit him hard: She has a story. And I need to hear it.

“Y/N,” Azriel began, his voice quiet but steady, “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to, but... I need to ask. Were you always mute?”

She paused, her fingers gently tracing the edge of her teacup. Her eyes fell to her lap, and for a moment, he feared she would close off completely, retreating into herself. But then, slowly, she looked up at him. The silent communication between them was a delicate thread now, one she grasped without hesitation. And for a brief second, Azriel saw the rawness behind her calm facade.

“No,” she said, her mental voice soft, laced with pain. “I wasn’t always like this.”

Azriel leaned forward, sensing that this was the moment where the walls would either crumble or solidify. He said nothing more, allowing her the space to share her story on her terms.

She inhaled deeply before speaking again, her voice now shaking, though still only audible to him. “I was born into a family that was... never safe. My parents were good people, I think. But the world around us was always breaking, always trying to tear us apart. I was just a little girl, caught in the chaos.” Her mind drifted for a moment, eyes looking past him, as if seeing something Azriel couldn’t.

“When I was young, our village was attacked, too. They came at night, burning homes, ripping families apart. My parents were taken from me, pulled from my arms while I was screaming, too loud, too helpless. They told me to be quiet. They told me that if I made a sound, I would die like them.”

Azriel’s heart twisted painfully at her words, at the way she spoke with such quiet certainty of loss. But what struck him the most was the calmness in her voice, as though she had long ago resigned herself to the horrors she had lived through.

Her mind continued, and the weight of her trauma filled every thought. “After they... they killed them, the others came for me and my sister. They said they’d cut out my tongue if I ever screamed. They said I was worthless if I didn’t learn to obey, to shut up. And they made sure I understood by threatening to do it right there.”

Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut, the pain almost palpable even though it was confined within her mind. Azriel could see the shadows at her feet, as if they, too, felt her anguish. He reached for his own, needing the connection, needing to hold something tangible as her memories bled through their shared silence.

“They locked us away. Kept us in a room, chained to a wall. And every time I tried to make a sound, anything, there were punishments. Whips. Swords. It didn’t matter. The message was clear: Don’t speak. Don’t make a sound. And after a while... I couldn’t anymore. I was so terrified. Every time I tried, it felt like my voice was gone.”

She paused, the heaviness of her confession suffocating the air between them. Azriel could feel it, could see it in her eyes. The tears that had never fallen, the silent scream she could never release.

She looked at him now, her eyes full of something else, resignation, but also a quiet, unyielding strength. “It’s like my voice was stolen. It’s not just fear anymore. It’s like my body just... refuses. Even now, if I try to speak, nothing comes out. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

The silence that followed was deep, and Azriel felt like the room itself had stopped breathing. His hands clenched into fists, the sharp ache of helplessness pulling through his chest. What she had been through, what she still carried, was unimaginable. And yet, she was still here. Alive. Still fighting.

Azriel didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there were words to make this right. Instead, he took a slow breath, pushing through the growing ache. “You don’t have to fix it, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice rougher than usual. “You don’t have to speak for me to understand you.”

Her eyes flickered with something like relief, but she didn’t respond. She just closed the space between them, a tentative touch to his arm, her hand resting there, silent but full of meaning.

“I just…” she thought, her mental voice hesitant, “I want to be heard. In my own way. To be understood.”

Azriel reached up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn’t need to speak aloud. He didn’t need to fill the silence with words. Instead, he let her know, through the bond they shared — through the shadows and his steady presence — that she was heard.

Azriel sat in stillness for a moment longer, watching the way her fingers curled around her teacup as if grounding herself through the warmth. The weight of her story still hung in the room, but there was something new now, a vulnerability she hadn’t shown before, and the trust it took to reveal it.

He shifted slightly, resting his arms on his knees. His voice came quiet, thoughtful, each word etched with a heaviness he didn’t try to hide.

“Aren’t you afraid,” he asked gently, “that something like that might happen again?”

Her head lifted at that, her eyes meeting his, not startled, not offended. Just honest. He hesitated, then continued.

“It happened again, Y/N. Just a few weeks ago. That night I found you... bound, bleeding. Alone.”

The shadows at his back flickered restlessly, echoing the unease he barely contained.

She was quiet for a long time before her voice slipped into his mind, soft and sure. “Yes. I’m afraid.”

She didn’t try to hide it. And the admission, simple as it was, carved deeper into Azriel than any scream ever could.

“But I trust Rhysand,” she added. “This village matters to him. To you. I believe he’ll keep us safe.”

Azriel’s jaw flexed as he looked at her, at the softness of her features, the hard-earned strength beneath. The shadows whispered against his skin, tugging at him, as if echoing what he was about to say.

He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair, and then asked what had been weighing on him since the day he left the village: “Would you come to Velaris?”

Y/N blinked, taken aback, her fingers going still against her cup.

“It’s safer there,” Azriel said quickly, before she could answer. “The city is protected. Guarded. No one would touch you. I could take you there. You’d be safe.”

He didn’t say I’d sleep better knowing you’re behind those wards. He didn’t say I think about you more than I should. But it was all there, in the way his voice dipped, the way his shadows hovered near her like they were drawn to her pain, her quiet strength.

Y/N’s thoughts reached him after a moment, hesitant but clear. “I can’t abandon them.”

Azriel frowned slightly, but said nothing as she continued.

“These people… they stayed. They rebuilt this place together. With blood on the ground and ash in their mouths, they still stood. I can’t leave them behind.”

He nodded slowly. He understood, more than she could know. Still, he leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you can’t scream for help.”

He hated the sound of that truth aloud. “If something were to happen again-”

“Then maybe,” she cut in gently, “you could teach me how to stay safe.”

Azriel blinked. Her eyes met his, unwavering. There was no fear in them now, only quiet determination.

The shadows stilled.

“You want me to train you?” he asked, surprise flickering through his voice.

She nodded. “I don’t want to be helpless again. I don’t want to rely on someone hearing me. I want to be able to protect myself… and others too.”

Azriel’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, but something close. “Alright.” His voice was gravel and warmth. “Then tomorrow, we begin.”

And even though she said nothing aloud, he felt the quiet warmth ripple across their bond, gratitude, fierce and radiant, and beneath it, something new: Hope.

────────────

The sun had just begun to dip behind the Sidra, painting Velaris in shades of gold and lavender as Starfall’s first shimmering streaks whispered across the sky.

At the House of Wind, laughter and warmth swirled through the grand dining hall like old music. Lanterns floated gently above the long table, casting soft hues of blue and violet over wine glasses and golden plates. The Inner Circle was gathered, every one of them dressed in star-kissed silks or tailored leathers, the room buzzing with anticipation, except for one lingering question.

“Why aren’t we eating?” Nesta asked, arms folded, her patience thinning as she eyed the untouched food on the table. She looked radiant tonight, as always, in midnight blue, like she belonged among the stars themselves.

Rhysand, lounging at the head of the table with Feyre nestled beside him, smiled with that infuriating calm of his. “Because,” he said smoothly, “Azriel is picking someone up.”

Cassian, who had just downed a sip of wine, leaned back in his chair and smirked. “You mean Azriel and his girlfriend.”

Mor nearly choked on her drink, eyes sparkling. “Wait, seriously? Are they…?”

She left the question open, eyebrows raised toward Rhysand.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the open balcony, where the night sky had begun to stir with faint threads of starlight. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, thoughtful. “I don’t know what to call it,” he said. “But I can feel it. Whatever is between them, it’s real. And different.”

Amren, perched near the end of the table, narrowed her silver eyes. “He shares something with her he doesn’t with any of us. That much is clear.”

Feyre nodded softly, brushing her fingers along the stem of her glass. “I’ve seen it, too. The way his shadows behave around her, like they’re part of her now.”

The conversation faded into a hush as a faint sound stirred from the hall, the rustle of boots on stone, the quiet press of wings folding behind them.

The door opened, and Azriel stepped inside, dressed in soft black, his Siphons gleaming like frozen stars on his hands and shoulders. At his side walked Y/N.

She wore deep forest green with a shimmer of silver woven into the fabric, nothing elaborate, but breathtaking in its simplicity. A small braid was pinned behind her ear, and her gaze moved over the Inner Circle with a calm steadiness that held no fear. Only curiosity. And quiet strength.

Azriel kept close beside her, a shadow brushing along her arm like it was anchoring her, or maybe the other way around.

Rhysand stood first, his smile genuine. “Welcome.”

Y/N bowed her head gently in greeting, and though she didn’t speak, she didn’t need to — the way her eyes met each of theirs, full of quiet warmth and gratitude, said enough.

“Thank you,” her voice echoed gently into Rhysand’s mind. “For letting me be here.”

Rhysand inclined his head with a smile, then turned toward the rest of the room. “Shall we eat now, Nesta?”

Nesta rolled her eyes, though a smirk played at her lips.

Cassian was already rising to his feet, nudging a chair out beside him. “Come sit, Az. And Y/N, we saved the good bread for you.”

Mor beamed as Y/N took a seat beside Azriel, the shadows around him curling like smoke in moonlight, peaceful for the first time in days.

And outside, the stars began to fall, like silver rain from the heavens, silent and endless.

Dinner was laughter, the clink of glasses, warm candlelight, and the shimmer of magic laced in the air.

Y/N sat quietly between Azriel and Feyre, a faint smile on her lips as she watched the easy rhythm of the Inner Circle, the way Cassian teased Mor with flicks of bread rolls, the way Amren rolled her eyes and muttered about “children,” even though the corners of her lips were quirked in amusement.

“Did Azriel tell you,” Cassian said mid-chew, gesturing toward Y/N with his fork, “that he threatened three construction workers last week for letting a hammer fall too close to your garden?”

Azriel, without looking up from his plate, said calmly, “I told them to be more careful.”

“You said,” Mor mimicked in a deadly-serious tone, “‘Drop that again and I’ll rip your arms off and bury them in the herb bed.’” She grinned at Y/N. “We were all there.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly in amusement, then her hands moved, quick, fluid gestures of her fingers.

Feyre laughed, translating instinctively, “She says the hammer didn’t even touch the ground.”

Azriel’s lip twitched.

“I told you,” Cassian said, pointing his fork again. “Absolutely whipped.”

Azriel didn’t argue. He just raised a brow and flicked a shadow toward Cassian’s wine, tipping the cup ever-so-slightly.

Y/N caught the movement and bit back a laugh, shaking her head as if to say boys.

The Inner Circle was basking in warmth, and Y/N felt the unfamiliar but comforting sensation of being part of something, even if she mostly listened. Still, she didn’t feel apart from them. Not tonight.

Azriel stayed close at her side, his shadows uncharacteristically calm. Every so often, he’d lean in, not out of necessity, but as if it was simply his instinct now.

When Cassian launched into another embellished story about Mor and a bakery brawl years ago, Y/N turned slightly toward Azriel and caught his eye.

“Are they always like this?” she asked in his mind, her tone dry, amused.

Azriel’s lips curved faintly. “This is tame. Wait until Cassian’s had three more glasses of wine and starts dancing.”

She laughed silently, a soft sparkle lighting her eyes.

“You’ve changed,” she added after a moment, more hesitantly now. “Since the night you found me. You seem… lighter.”

Azriel turned his head to her, searching her face in the flickering glow. “Maybe because you’re here. And safe. It’s easier to breathe when I know that.”

Across the table, a pair of sharp silver eyes were watching them closely.

Amren said nothing. She swirled the deep red wine in her goblet and observed the pair, the way they seemed to speak without a sound, how Azriel’s shoulders loosened when he was with Y/N, how Y/N’s expressions shifted as though full conversations were happening in silence.

There was something deeper there. Not a mating bond, she’d known enough of those to recognize it, but something… older. Stranger.

When dessert arrived, Amren stood without a word.

Feyre glanced over. “You’re not staying?”

“I have something to look into,” Amren replied, her tone clipped as always, though her eyes flicked once more to Azriel and Y/N before she turned. “Something I should’ve thought of sooner.”

And then she was gone, shadows slipping behind her as she vanished from the dining hall, no doubt heading toward the library’s oldest corners.

Back at the table, Y/N noticed Azriel watching Amren leave. She nudged his arm gently, tilting her head.

“Everything alright?”

He shook his head once. “With her, who knows.” But his eyes softened when he looked back at her. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded. “I’m more than okay. This is the first time in… years… that I feel like I’m not surviving. I’m just living.”

Azriel blinked slowly, something fierce and fragile sparking behind his eyes.

Then, almost without thinking, he reached under the table, just a brush of his pinky finger against hers, a quiet promise. She stilled, and then wrapped her fingers around his.

Later, when most of the Inner Circle had drifted to other corners of the House of Wind, some to sip wine by the fire, others to dance beneath the starlight, Azriel and Y/N slipped away to one of the balconies.

They said nothing for a while. They didn’t need to.

Y/N leaned against the stone railing, gazing up at the stars as they fell in slow, glowing streaks. The sky shimmered with ancient magic, vast and silver-blue and full of unspoken dreams. Her hair moved gently in the breeze, and Azriel, standing just behind her, watched as one of his shadows twined itself around her wrist like a ribbon, then flitted away as if shy.

She turned to him after a moment, her voice touching his mind in that soft, singular way.

“Is it always like this?”

Azriel shook his head. “Some years, the stars fall slower. Sometimes the wind carries them in spirals. This… this is rare.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes reflecting the light. “Then I’m glad I’m seeing it like this. With you.”

A pause.

He looked at her, really looked, as if this was the first time he could, uninterrupted by fear or pain or the weight of everything else they’d survived.

“I thought I knew what I was looking for,” Azriel murmured. “All these centuries. I thought I’d know the shape of it when it came.”

Her brows lifted, curious.

He stepped closer, slowly, giving her time, space, always.

“But this,” he said, voice lower now. “This wasn’t what I expected. It’s not a mating bond. It’s not fire. It’s… quiet. Like peace. Like my shadows finally have nothing to warn me about.”

She didn’t speak to his mind immediately. Instead, she reached out, just barely, and brushed her fingers against his.

Azriel’s eyes darkened as they held hers.

“Then maybe,” she said gently in his mind, “you weren’t looking for fire. Maybe you were always looking for quiet.”

The words landed like a balm across a scar.

Slowly, deliberately, Azriel lifted one hand and cupped her jaw. His thumb skimmed the curve of her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught, eyes wide and shining.

When he leaned in, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t claimed. It was reverent.

Their lips met beneath the falling stars - soft, slow, warm.

Y/N exhaled into him, and Azriel breathed her in like he had waited a lifetime to do so.

Above them, a shooting star blazed past, brighter than the rest. And for a moment, time stilled.

When they parted, Y/N rested her forehead against his chest, her mind brushing his again with a whisper: “You make me feel safe.”

Azriel’s hands trembled just slightly where they held her.

“I will always keep you safe,” he murmured aloud. “No matter where you are.”

The stars were still falling when the soft click of the balcony door stirred them from their shared silence.

Azriel turned first, instinctively, his shadows twitching before settling as the figure stepped into view.

Amren.

She looked… different. Not in appearance, still timeless, still clothed in midnight silk and draped in something sharper than elegance, but there was an intensity in her silver eyes that hadn’t been there at dinner.

“I thought I’d find you two out here,” she said, folding her arms. “You’ve become rather inseparable.”

Y/N straightened slightly, unsure if she should step back from Azriel, but his hand remained gently over hers, grounding, not possessive. She didn’t move.

Amren strode to the balcony’s edge, glancing once at the sky, then at them again.

“I saw the way you were interacting tonight,” she said plainly. “The way you speak without sound, how your magic knows each other before you do. It reminded me of something I once read. A long, long time ago.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “You went to the library.”

Amren’s mouth twisted into something half-smirk, half-snarl. “Of course I did. I don’t like mysteries I can’t name. And what you two have-” she waved a hand vaguely between them, “-is not a mating bond.”

Y/N’s brows drew together. Amren turned her gaze to her.

“No, girl, it’s not a bond of body or desire. But it is powerful. And old.”

She paused, and for once, the silence was heavy.

“It’s called a thirren bond,” Amren said at last, voice quieter. “From a language lost before Velaris was even built. It only happens under very rare, specific circumstances. Two souls, both fractured, but not by fate, like mates. By experience. By grief. And sometimes, when the cracks align just so…”

Her gaze swept between them again, sharp and unreadable. “They fill each other.”

Azriel’s voice was low. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

Amren tilted her head. “It means you share more than thoughts. You share… knowing. Not just emotions or whispers. You don’t complete each other. You comprehend each other. There’s no hierarchy. No instinct to dominate or claim. It’s a conscious harmony. A chosen one.”

Y/N stared at her, mind gently spinning.

Azriel was quiet beside her, shadows curling slowly at his feet.

“But it’s rare,” Amren continued. “Rarer than any mating bond. Most fae don’t even believe in it anymore. Because it requires pain. It requires survival. And a willingness to connect that deeply without being compelled.”

She stepped back toward the door, her words falling like stones.

“So whatever this is between you,” she said, “don’t waste it trying to label it with something lesser.”

Then she turned and disappeared into the hallway, her scent fading with the soft click of the door.

Silence fell again.

Azriel looked over at Y/N.

Her eyes were distant, thoughtful.

“Do you believe her?” he asked gently, his mind brushing hers.

Y/N looked at him then, searching his face, the raw honesty in it, the care.

And she nodded once.

“I think we already knew. We just didn’t have a name for it.”

Azriel stepped closer, reaching for her hand again.

And this time, when their fingers laced together, it felt like confirmation. Not the beginning, not even the middle, but something ancient finally remembered.

The night air was cool, laced with starfall’s faint shimmer. They stood close, quiet in the wake of Amren’s revelation, both of them turning it over in their minds like a precious, fragile truth.

Y/N’s gaze lingered on the distant hills beyond Velaris, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. Then, finally, she turned to Azriel.

“What does this mean for us?” Her mental voice was soft, tentative. “This… thirren bond?”

Azriel looked at her for a long moment. His shadows were quiet now, as if they, too, were listening.

“I don’t know exactly,” he admitted, brushing his thumb gently across her knuckles. “But I know what it feels like.”

He searched her face, his voice a low murmur in her mind. “It feels like I’m not carrying the weight of the world alone anymore.”

A soft, trembling smile curved Y/N’s lips, and her eyes flicked down to their hands, still laced together.

“I feel that too,” she said. “But it’s not just the bond.”

Azriel’s head tilted, curiosity blooming in his features.

She looked up at him then, eyes lit with quiet fire.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she said. “Not because of the connection. But because of you. Because of how gentle you are with me. How patient. How you see me without needing me to explain every broken piece.”

Azriel stilled, just for a breath, shadows curling gently at his shoulders, like they’d heard something sacred.

Then he stepped a fraction closer, his voice brushing against her mind with warmth.

“I’m falling too.”

Her breath caught as he reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I’ve been trying not to rush,” he whispered aloud this time. “Trying to give you space, especially after you said you didn’t want to leave the village.”

Y/N gave a small, almost sheepish smile — the kind that crinkled the corner of her eyes and made something bloom in his chest.

“Maybe I changed my mind,” she teased softly. “Maybe I want to come to Velaris. To be closer to you.”

Azriel’s heart stumbled.

“You do?”

She nodded, her smile widening just a little.

Azriel let out a breath, more like a laugh, really, one of disbelief and gratitude mingled, before he cupped her cheek in one hand and leaned in.

This kiss was slower than the one beneath the stars earlier. Deeper. A quiet promise shared under falling starlight, between two people who had once lived in silence and shadow, and now found peace in each other’s presence.

When they parted, their foreheads resting together, Azriel whispered, “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“I think I do,” Y/N whispered back into his mind, her fingers brushing his cheek.

They stayed like that a while longer, wrapped in each other, beneath the gentle rain of stars, knowing that whatever this bond was, it was theirs to define.

Together.