#so I’m like well here’s what I usually do but I can go to the OPC one on Friday instead

[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.

[salthusiast]

Violent Love Language

No Goggles Mark x GDA Agent Female Reader

Summary: After being sent on a quick mission by Cecil, you catch the attention of one of the variants.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: Violence and blood. Also death (nobody important don’t worry).

“What is going on?!” You hear Cecil’s voice appear behind you. He must really like that teleporter. 

“It appears that multiple versions of Invincible have entered our dimension.” You say, clearing your stack of papers. You know Cecil is going to make you work for that paycheck today.

“No shit, many are we talking?” He asks.

“Sixteen, sir.” You reply, attempting to pull up any cameras you can access on your computer. You pull up the ones from the prison and see some weird Mohawk version of Invincible.

“Huh, well, that’s not what I expected.” You blink, taken aback briefly by the difference.

“It doesn’t matter what he looks like. We need to figure out how to stop them. Get every superhero on the planet out there.” Cecil commands.

You nod, getting ready to notify all the teams Cecil has at his disposal, which is a lot.

“Donald, come with me,” Cecil says, walking toward the door before pausing at the door and calling your name. 

You whip your head toward him, confused if you heard him correctly, “Yes, you come too.” He snaps.

You don’t want to piss him off more than he already is. You can’t imagine that dealing with a crisis like this is very fun. You’re stressed out with your current position, so you can’t imagine being the GDA director. 

“Everybody else, make sure that at least some heroes are trying to stop every single Invincible,” Cecil calls out before turning back toward the door, you and Donald following suit.

“I called you for a special mission. I tried to keep it on the down low as much as possible. However, with current circumstances, I need a favor.” The three of you continue to walk down the hallway. 

You start to feel a little anxious, “Whatever you need, sir. Will it be dangerous?” You ask.

He doesn’t immediately respond, “Usually no, but right now potentially.” He sighs. “I am trusting you with this job. It could potentially save millions of lives if you’re successful.”

Geez, no pressure. You feel yourself start to sweat, “If it saves lives, it is worth it. What is it you need me to do, sir?” You ask.

Cecil brings you to a new room, “You’re going to be looking for a black suitcase. In that suitcase, there will be about twenty small devices in there. They’re experimental, but hypothetically, they should be useful in dealing with Viltrumites. They’re portable versions of the chips that we implanted into Mark. They have a working radius of around fifty miles out.” 

You gape at him; you can't help but feel bad for Mark. You don’t know him personally, but he seems to be a good person. Cecil had made these intending to stop this dimension’s Mark, not other ones.

“Judge all you want about it, but it’s our best hope,” Cecil says, grabbing a watch-looking device. You recognize it immediately.

“Sir, where exactly is this located?” You ask, putting on the device.

Cecil looks at you solemnly, “Guardians HQ. If you’re lucky, you can find it and be in and out in five minutes. However, realistically, you’re going to have to pass all the security checks, which require everybody here to approve.” He sighs.

“I won’t lie, kid. There’s a large chance one of these Invincible variants will be there. If that’s the case, we’ll try and get you out of there. We’ll be monitoring from here.” Cecil gestures between himself and Donald.

You nod, “Yeah,” You take a deep breath, “Okay. Wait, so I get to use the teleporter?” You ask, feeling a little excited.

“Yes, you should just be going there and back,” Cecil explains, motioning for Donald to get everything ready.

“This isn’t coming out of my paycheck right…” You admire the watch. It looks simple, but you know this is very expensive. Cecil stares at you unamused. 

“Uh, okay, I’m ready. How does this— OH MY GOODNESS-” You feel yourself stumble as you land in Guardians HQ.

“Woah…” You look around, you haven’t been here before, not being a superhero. “Damn, really wish he gave me some idea of where it could be.” You mumble to yourself.

You look around the vast room, noticing a large desk. “Guess I’ll start here.” You rummage around briefly, not seeing anything catch your eye.

You spend the next ten minutes just trying to find the suitcase. Was Cecil trying to get you killed? He could’ve at least pointed you in the right direction.

Eventually, you find a door; there isn’t anything special about it. You go to see if you can open it. You try to twist the handle, failing miserably. “Oh, come on.” You groan.

You look at the screen on the door handle’s keypad, which requires higher security access. 

You turn around the room, “Uhh, if you guys can hear me, could you maybe unlock the door?” You point at it, feeling stupid.

Suddenly, a loud crash resonates in the room. You immediately try to find cover, but you’re standing out in the open. 

“Ah damn, I thought they’d be here.” You hear Invincible say, but you know it’s not the one you know. 

You slowly try and inch away out of sight. Maybe you’ll get lucky and he won’t see you?

“Cecil, I know you’re watching.” Not Mark announces in a sing-song tone. “Here! Let me get rid of all these cameras for you.” 

You watch as this Mark variant destroys every camera. Damn, you were relying on those. 

You try and see if there are any differences between this Mark and the one you know. He seems to have the older costume. Other than that, there doesn’t appear to be any differences in it. 

You squint, trying to see. Oh, no goggles, that's a choice.

Just as you try and find a spot to cover, you hear him laugh loudly, “Oh, ho! Look who we have here!” He calls your name out. You stiffen. How does he know you?

“It really is you! Damn, I started to actually miss you. I killed you in my world, you were a reallll challenge.” He floats just above you. You feel a little pathetic crouched down beneath him.

“Is that so?” You counter, feigning confidence. Cecil, where are you? You take a quick glance at the watch, hoping it'll activate, but it doesn't.

“Oh yeah, for sure! I was so sad when I killed you. I got you to scream for hours. You lasted so long. It was soooo cool.” He gestures excitedly. You nod as if interested. Keep him busy, somebody’s gotta come eventually.

“How nice.” You reply sarcastically. Not Mark nods enthusiastically, not noticing the sarcasm.

I still remember what you sounded like. “God, I can’t believe I get a second opportunity to do it.” He lands right in front of you.

“Woah, uh, maybe take a step back.” You step back, creating distance. You feel unnerved by the wide grin on his face.

“Oooh, setting up the match, huh? We’re getting serious. Okay, okay, I’ll play along!” He gets into a fighting stance. You stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

“For somebody who seemed to enjoy torturing me so much, I’m surprised I’m only the second version to have the honor to fight you.” You can feel yourself start to sweat. You are running out of ways to stall him.

“I know. I mean, I wanted to conquer other dimensions,” He waves a hand casually, “but this is fun too.”

You see a shift in the lighting above. You subtly glance up, finally somebody’s here. You can’t tell who it is, but you can see it’s not an Invincible. 

“Hmm.. yes, fun.” You reply uninterested. “You know what else is fun?” You ask, moving closer.

He starts to grin wider, getting into a more serious position, “What?”

You push him down the stairs, catching him off guard. You got lucky there. If he wanted to resist that, he definitely could’ve. You see the Guardians descend from the ceiling, restraining him.

You look towards the open door, which was locked earlier. You run towards it.

“Hey! AGH!” You hear him get hit. “DUDE IT WAS A ONE V ONE! RESPECT THE MATCH!” You hear him yell across the room. Ha.

You grab the suitcase waiting in the room, watching as the Guardians attempt to knock him unconscious. 

You frown, “You guys need him alive or something?” You ask, watching them beat down on Not Mark.

“Yeah, Cecil thinks he’s our best shot at getting answers.” You hear Darkwing reply. You nod, “Alright then. Not my business.” You start to walk away, “Wait, before I leave, can I do something?"

All the Guardians look at each other, “Sorry, it’ll just take a moment.” You set the suitcase down, taking a heel off your foot. 

You throw it as hard as you can at Not Mark, hitting him dead in the eye. “Hey! What’d you do that for?!” He frowns pettishly.

You grab the suitcase, picking it up again. You adjust yourself before looking him dead in the eye with a straight face, “Fun.” 

You turn around to walk away from the Guardians, feeling the odd sensation of being teleported once again.

All the Guardians watch, flabbergasted. “She’s got guts.” Darkwing breaks it, amused. Immortal nods, “Let’s just knock this guy out. There’s still more out there.” 

Not Mark remains on the floor, awestruck. How did this human come in here, trick him into an ambush, and then have the audacity to hit him? His eyes linger on where you teleported away. 

It was at this moment that he decided he would meet you again.

---------------------------

“That was a bold move, kid.” You hear Cecil’s voice. You look up, still nauseous from the teleportation, and his arms are crossed.

“He killed another version of me.” You justify, handing him the suitcase. “Even if I don’t have super strength to beat him up, I wanted to at least hit him for what he did. I would’ve slapped him, but I’m not stupid enough to go into neck snapping range.”

“Whatever," He sighs, "it’s done now. We’ll try and send these out with some teams. They should at least reduce the damage that could be done.” Cecil says, opening the suitcases. He grabs one of the devices.

“What about Mark, sir?” Donald asks, frowning. 

“If you can get in contact with him, tell him to get off the planet. Otherwise, it’s a small price to pay for the greater good. He’ll recover, humanity may not.” Cecil replies. Donald nods and goes back to typing.

Cecil turns toward you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Good work, kid. Sorry that you had to deal with that.”

You shrug, “It’s okay, he didn’t actually get the chance to do anything.” You reply. “What are you planning on doing with him? Are you sure you can restrain him?” You ask, frowning.

“We’re planning on implanting the same chip that Mark had into him. Don’t worry, we have a plan for what to do with him. We might be able to extract some answers out of him eventually.” Cecil sighs. “I don’t even know if we’ll be able to rehabilitate him.” He shakes his head. 

You know this is what Cecil does. While you may find some moral issues in using villains, you know this is how he works. There’s nothing you can do to change that.

You nod, “It’s worth a shot, sir.” You reply. “If we can have two Invincibles out there, that’d be a huge advantage.” 

“Yeah, that’s if he will change. These variants seem pretty set in their ways.” Cecil watches Donald work. “One step at a time. We need to get answers out of him first.” 

You nod, “Probably a good idea.” 

Cecil turns back to you before dismissing you back to your desk, “Thank you for your help.”

You nod, “Of course, sir. Call me anytime.”

—

“You sure he won’t wake up?” Darkwing asks, looking nervously at the body of the unconscious Invincible slung over Immortal’s back.

Duplikate walks up next to them, “I doubt it. If he does, Cecil told us he has a backup. We can also knock him out again.”

“We were lucky. If he wasn’t caught off guard, then we would not have knocked him out. He would’ve killed us all.” Darkwing responds solemnly.

Immortal slides the variant into the special cell that Cecil told them to put him in.

“Thank you, Guardians.” A scientist comes up to them, locking the special prison cell. “You needn’t worry about him escaping. You are free to go.” He smiles. 

The Guardians nod before rushing out of the Pentagon. Cecil walks into the room. “Is he up yet?” He asks.

The scientist shakes his head, “No, sir. We expect he’ll wake up in the next few minutes, though.” He taps his pen on the clipboard. 

“Good, all safety measures have been checked, yes?” Cecil asks. The scientist nods, “Yes, sir. He will not be escaping.” He responds. The two watch as the Invincible starts to stir.

“Agh, my head… Hey, where am I?” He looks around before making eye contact with Cecil. “You seriously think that I can’t escape this?” He sounds amused. He slowly stands up, walking up to the front of his cell. 

“Perhaps, but you will regret your attempts,” Cecil replies, his voice betraying nothing. 

The Invincible variant laughs, taking off his mask. “You had me knocked out, why not kill me?” He puts his finger through the mask and spins it.

“You aren’t in a position to be asking questions.” Cecil narrows his eyes.

The variant suddenly slams into the front of the cell where Cecil and the scientist stand. The scientist flinches back, but Cecil remains still.

“You truly think. I can’t kill you right now?” He laughs. “All it takes is— ARGH!!” He immediately falls down onto the ground, gripping his head. 

Cecil presses the button once again, cutting out the noise playing in the Invincible’s ear. “Like I said, you’re not in a position to be asking questions.” The variant looks up at him, the amused smile gone from his face.

"Now tell me why you’re here,” Cecil demands. 

The variant wipes the blood from his suit, “I’m not tellin’ you shit.” He smears the blood on his fingers to the ground. Suddenly, he says your name, the smile returning to his face.

“What?” Cecil asks, confused. “How do you know her?” He asks.

“Does it matter?” The variant rolls his eyes. “Where is she? I want to talk to her.”

“Sorry to say, we can’t do that.” Cecil didn’t sound very sorry.

The variant clicks his tongue, “Damn, guess you’re not getting a word out of me then.” He leans against the wall smugly.

“You can rot in this cell then,” Cecil replies.

The variant snaps and then does finger guns, “Oooh, so you see, that won’t work.” He laughs loudly. “I mean you’ll die eventually. I have centuries to escape, and trust me...” 

He leans towards the wall, placing his hands against it, “It will not take me a century to escape. You’re lucky if you last a week.” He pushes away from the wall, pacing in his room.

“Now, if you want answers. Bring her. It’s a win-win. I get the girl, you get your answers!” He grins widely, as if that’s a very fair deal.

Cecil sighs.

--------------------------

“Uh, what is it you need, sir?” You ask your boss over the phone. 

“It appears that the Invincible variant we captured refuses to answer any questions,” Cecil responds, annoyed, looking over toward the variant, who is grinning with two giant thumbs up.

“Okay..?” You respond, not liking where this is headed.

“I hate to involve you again, kid, but he will only answer questions if you are there,” Cecil replies exasperated.

You are frozen for a moment; this monster almost killed you. Why on Earth could he possibly want to talk to you?

“..Which cell is he in?” You eventually concede. You can hear Cecil sigh in relief. 

“Thank you, he’s in cell two hundred forty-three,” Cecil informs you. 

“I’ll be there in a minute.” You tell him before you hang up. 

You grab all your stuff and begin your long trek to the special prison Cecil has. It’s supposed to be able to withstand anything, but after seeing Omni-Man take a nuke, you aren’t certain.

You eventually get down to that level, and the security asks for your identification. You scan your card before walking in. You see Cecil and Donald standing at the end of the row.

You slowly approach, “There she is! I was wondering if you were gonna show!” You hear Not Mark (at this point, that’s his new name) call. 

“How long do I need to be here for?” You whisper to Cecil. 

“Long enough to figure out why they’re here and who sent them,” Cecil responds, matching your volume.

“You got your wish, now can you answer our questions?” Cecil asks, crossing his arms.

“Mmmm, I don’t know.” He looks at you and frowns. “I thought it was just gonna be me and her.” He looks disappointedly at Cecil.

You and Cecil share a look, you nod at each other, before he looks down shaking his head. “Everybody out! You get ten minutes with her, nothing more.” He states before the area clears out.

You shift uncomfortably, he is just watching you. He seems content just to stare at you. 

“What?” You ask, feeling scrutinized by his stare. He looks up at you, “You’re amazing.” He replies breathless.

You raise an eyebrow, “I’m amazing. After you told me that the other version of me you tortured was one of the best things you’ve done? Hate to break it to you, but I am just a normal person.” You cross your arms, looking at him. “I think you’ve noticed that already.”

He nods, “Of course I have. She was strong, sure, but you. You played me like a fool. When you hit me with that shoe at the end? Way to leave a guy with a cliffhanger.” He mockingly swoons.

You look at him unimpressed. “Very funny. Now we don’t have much time, so please just cooperate and answer these questions. It saves us both trouble.”

He nods enthusiastically, “Of course. What do you want to know?” He sits on the ground, criss cross, looking up at you like you hung the moon.

You ignore his gaze, “Why are you here?” You ask.

“Well… You see, I got into a fight with the Guardians. Oooh, I was so looking forward to actually fighting them. Instead, I met you.” He rests his elbows on his knees, holding his face with his hands.

“I was so enraptured by your presence that I got caught off guard.” He holds his hands out. “Now, I’m in prison.”

You look at him, glaring. “You know what I meant.”

He frowns, “Not big on jokes? We were chatting perfectly fine earlier.” He says to himself. You exhale annoyed.

“Sheesh, just playing! Okay, so this guy, right? He promised me the most fun dimensions for me to take over.” He shifts his weight onto his side. 

“What was his name?” You ask. 

“Angstrom Levy.” He says, and you freeze. “Oh, you’ve met?” He asks.

“Not personally, but I’ve heard stories.” You look down. “What exactly did he ask you all to do?” You ask.

“Eh, something about making everyone here fear Invincible. It seemed like he just wanted chaos, which I didn’t mind one bit.” He holds his hands up in surrender.

“How long are you guys meant to do this for?” You ask.

He shrugs, “Until he says stop, I guess.” 

“And when would that be?” You walk up closer to his cell. He stands up, meeting your gaze. His eyes glance down at your lips.

“I…” He stares at your face, “have no idea.”

You frown, “Helpful.”

“I try to be.” He grins.

You shake your head, rubbing your temples. This is way above your paygrade. “So, let me get this straight: Angstrom Levy brought over a dozen different versions of yourself,” He nods, “and he just told you guys to ‘cause chaos.” 

“Sounds about right.” He starts spinning his mask with his fingers again.

“And in return, he’d give you dimensions to conquer?” You frown.

“Yeeep.” 

“So you have no idea why he wants you guys to cause chaos?” You lean up against the cell. He leans against his cell, too, mirroring your action.

“To be honest, I didn’t particularly care.” He taps his finger against the cell. “But, I do know the me of this dimension did something to piss him off.”

You think back to the whole incident with the Mauler Twins and the other incident where Mark almost killed him. “Oh.” You respond.

“‘Oh?’” He quotes. “You gonna share with the class?” 

“I thought I was the one asking questions.” You look at him.

“And I answered! Come on, throw me a bone here, will you?” He grins at you, looking far more innocent than you know him to be.

You look at him unimpressed. 

“Please?! Come on. There’s nothing fun around here. You’re my only source of entertainment right now.” He leans against the wall dramatically.

“Glad to know I’m contributing to your lack of entertainment.” You respond, detached.

“Aha! There she is! I was wondering if you left all your personality back where we met.” He snaps his fingers and does finger guns at you.

You look at him blankly. “Cecil will be back any moment now.” You begin to walk away.

“Wait, wait!” He calls out, and you pause.

“Will you come and visit me?” He asks, giving you false puppy dog eyes. You know if he wasn’t in that cell, he’d probably kill you.

You scoff but find yourself smiling, “Why, so I can be a source of entertainment for you?” You ask, walking back to his cell. He walks up to where you are, and you both stare each other down.

“Perhaps.” He grins.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t look like you’re getting answers out of him.” Cecil walks in. You immediately distance yourself from the cell, breaking eye contact with Not Mark. He doesn’t move from where you two had your little staring competition.

“Forgive me, sir.” You look away from him, slightly embarrassed. “I did get answers, though.” You consciously ignore Not Mark, who is waving at you both to try and get your attention.

“We heard,” Cecil responds dryly, he does sound a bit amused though. He puts his hand on your shoulder, “Thanks for your assistance. Sorry we had to bring you out again for.. him.” You both turn to look at Not Mark, who grins innocently.

“Yeah, no problem.” You say, feeling as if it were very much a problem.

“Wait, Cecil, is she allowed to visit me?” Not Mark asks, butting into your conversation.

“That’s up to her.” Cecil says, at the same time you say, “It’s prohibited.”

You look at Cecil, distressed. “What? It pays to be in his good graces.” Cecil whispers to you.

“Yeah? What’s his good graces? Not breaking out and killing everyone?” You respond frustrated. Cecil raises an eyebrow before looking over at Not Mark. “Fair enough.” You sigh despondently.

“I can hear you two.” Not Mark comments helpfully.

You look at Cecil, and he nods. “You can head back now.”

You nod, “Thank you, sir.” You start to walk away, ignoring Not Mark’s cries of “Wait!” and “Don’t go!”

You walk past the security, giving a nod of acknowledgement. You walk into the elevator.

Once you arrive on the floor, you were supposed to be on (before all of that happened). You sit down at your desk, grabbing your stack of papers you threw aside earlier. 

“How are the Guardians doing, or all the teams for that matter?” You ask your coworker, Bryan, casually.

He groans. “We’ve already seen at least three be eliminated or seriously injured.”

“Teams? Like they killed off entire teams?” You ask, shocked.

He nods, “Yep. Down and out.” He types frantically on his keyboard.

“…Have we managed to kill any of the Invincibles at all?” You ask hesitantly, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“At the moment? Four.” He responds.

“Oh, that’s more than I expected.” You look around the panicked room. Every person around you is frantically working. Crazy to think that not even 10 minutes ago you were talking to one of those Invincibles while everybody up here was stressing.

“Did you find out any valuable info from the one we captured?” Bryan asks.

“Not much. Levy sent him.” You start to log in to your computer.

“Levy? As in Angstrom Levy?” He asks, flabbergasted.

“Yep.” You pop your lips. “Turns out Mark didn’t kill him.” 

“From what I heard, there was no way anybody could survive that.” 

“Well, apparently he did. He wants revenge on Mark, I think.” You respond.

“Great, so he brought sixteen different Invincibles in order to kill our Invincible.” He sighs, pausing in his typing.

“Eh, basically. Apparently, they won’t stop causing damage until told to by Levy himself.” You tell him. “The captured one didn’t even know when that’d be.”

“Oh, so they could go on until they destroy the world?” Bryan laughs humorlessly.

“Yeah. I have no idea when—”

A loud crash resounds in the room. You and Bryan whip your heads around, looking at the giant hole in the ceiling. You look and see an Invincible floating over the rubble. 

You quickly glance at Bryan before you both scurry out of the room. You start to run out when…

“HOLY SHIT!” You hear him yell. You turn around to look at him, narrowly missing the body that was flung inches in front of your face.

You stare in horror, watching as employee after employee is murdered. You begin to run again. 

“Ugh damn it…” You frantically yank your heels off your feet. You run off to the exit. You, Bryan, and a few other coworkers manage to escape that room, but you can still hear the screams from where the crash was.

“Where is Cecil?!” Somebody asks. You shake your head. “Probably dealing with the other one we captured.” You groan. This Invincible is probably here to break that one out of prison.

“Let’s go, it’s safer in the halls than it is here.” You look at the remaining people, who nod. You start to run out again before the wall on your left explodes. 

“Other way, other way!” You yell, panicked. You push back against the remaining people. They start to head in the other direction. 

“Are all of you guys okay?” You ask. Out of the thirty of you in that room, seven (including you) made it.

“We should’ve just let him go.” You hear a coworker mumble, and everybody turns to look at them. “What? Am I wrong? This never would have happened if we didn’t keep that other one hostage.” You hear some murmurs of agreement.

“We don’t know that. The Pentagon might’ve been a target regardless of the Invincible we kept.” You frown, shaking your head. 

“Yeah? Well, we can’t be too sure, can we? How about we find out, huh?” The worker pushes past you all, heading back into the original room.

“What are they doing?” Bryan asks. You all watch as they run to their death.

Suddenly, static cuts in from the PA speakers: “Cell two hundred and forty-three is open.”

You all sit in silence for a bit before some people in your group begin to sob. 

The door the worker ran into earlier opens, and you all watch as a head rolls through the door. It is the head of that worker.

You all look up in horror. The Invincible variant crushes the head of the worker before looking up. 

You, being in the back, turn in the opposite direction. You think you’ll take your chances with random exploding walls over that. Bryan notices, and you motion him to be quiet, and duck so that the variant doesn’t see you two escape.

You both crouch, walking in the other direction. The group is still back there facing off against that Invincible. Do you feel bad for leaving them there? Yes, but you can’t dwell on it. It’s either all of you die, or some of you die. 

You don’t even hear the screams of them, just the wet slap of their bodies hitting the blood-soaked floor. You flinch, knowing that you two are now in plain view.

“Bryan, Bryan, we have to ru—” You turn to look at your friend, but pause in horror. The variant stabbed his hand right through him. You cup your hands up to your mouth, holding back a sob. You look at the variant before attempting to sprint away. You feel yourself get slammed into the wall, and you let out a soft “Oof!”

You look up in fear, the Invincible’s goggles block you from seeing his eyes. You can feel the tears roll down your face at this point. You don’t say anything, just stare at him silently as he raises his hand to strike you down.

Suddenly, you’re thrown to the ground, out of the Invincible’s grip. You look up.

“Dude, what are you doing here? God, you ruined my whole plan.” Not Mark pouts petulantly.

“I wasn’t aware you were here.” The other Mark replies.

“Well?” He does jazz hands. “I am! Now get out.” 

“Sure, whatever, just let me kill the human first. Angstrom said kill as many as possible.

Within an instant, Not Mark tackles the other one, sending a cloud of dust throughout the entire area. You cough, watching in both awe and horror. You attempt to stand up, but feel a sharp pain in your leg.

“Agh… shit.” You whimper, an action that seems to catch Not Mark’s attention. Within a millisecond, he’s in front of you, “Do you trust me?” He asks.

You blink at him, feeling the gust of wind from him speeding towards you. “Absolutely not!” You suck in air from the pain.

He grins, “Great.” He then grabs you bridal style before blasting into the air.

“OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” You attempt to yell over the rushing wind. You feel yourself suffocating, unable to breathe with the high speed and rushing wind.

“Aw shit, forgot humans can’t breathe when I move this fast. You think you can last a little longer?” You hear him ask. You try and nod, but can barely move against the strong force. 

Eventually, you come to a stop, he places you down gently on the ground. “Do not move. Go inside that building, I’ll be back shortly.” He points to a relatively run down looking building.

“What?! Where did you drop me off-” You watch him speed off back into the sky. “Unbelievable!” You yell out to nobody. Who is going to believe this happened to you today? Nobody! 

“I’m not waiting here, asshole.” You grumble to yourself.

--------------------------

You sigh, waiting inside the building.

“How long is his definition of ‘shortly'? It’s been days.” You lean your elbows on your knees. 

Luckily, despite its run down appearance the place Not Mark dropped you off at has running water and food. 

It took you a while to actually try and consume any of it, but you decided that you didn’t want to die in the middle of nowhere. You’ll take your chances. Worst-case scenario, Cecil pays for your healthcare. He is the one who put you in this situation anyway.

Suddenly, the door gets thrown open. You jump back into the corner of the room you’re in. You hear Not Mark call your name.

“Hellooo? Anybody here?” You hear him approach you before looking directly at you. “There she is!” He walks up to you.

You grimace in disgust, looking at him. He’s covered from head to toe in blood. 

“What’s wrong?” He frowns. “Do I have something on my face?” He asks.

You look him up and down again, “Blood.” You respond disgustedly.

He blinks, confused, “You don’t like the blood? I thought you’d like it.” He looks at the ground as if trying to figure out a puzzle. “I’ll be right back.” He zooms out of the room, the door shutting itself behind him.

You look at the spot he was just at, unimpressed. Suddenly, the door opens again, and his suit is clean. You furrow your eyebrows, “How’d you clean it?” You ask.

“Flew to space and back. It comes off.” He mentions casually, as if that’s normal. “Anyway, ready to head home?” He grins, looking at you, holding his arms out ready to carry you. 

You look at him, suspicious.

He rolls his eyes, “Oh come onnnn. If I wanted to kill you, I could’ve done that way earlier.” He raises a hand and waves it back. At your horrified expression, he elaborates, “I mean like… You know what I mean. I don’t want you dead. I kinda went out of my way to make sure you didn’t die.” 

You nod, “Oh, yeah, okay… So I should just let you whisk me to who knows where.” You feign calmness.

“I mean, yeah.” He shrugs before grinning widely. “OOH, unless you want to give me your address.”

You stare at him, trying to discern whether he is serious. He stares back, smiling, looking like a dog begging for a treat. 

“No!”

“Worth a shot.” He sighs dejectedly. 

He carries you back, flying a lot slower this time, but still fast enough where you can’t bring yourself to talk in fear of choking on air or on a bug.

You feel him gaze at you a couple of times and pointedly ignore his stare. Suddenly, he pauses, slowing to a stop mid-air. “What’s wrong?” You ask, panic growing. 

You see him groan before throwing out some earpiece in his ear. “Oh, they didn’t take that out when you entered the Pentagon?”

“I don't know, I should be asking you that.” He leans down to your ear. “Hold on tight.” He whispers.

“What? OH MY—” You see him attack something. It explodes in the air. You both watch the debris fall onto the earth.

“What was that?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“Angstrom.” He says, pulling you closer before flying back where he was originally headed. 

You go the rest of the flight in silence. It wasn’t like you could talk if you wanted to. The wind made it difficult.

“Andddd we’re here. Wow, we really did a number on this place.” You look down, seeing half the Pentagon decimated. 

Out of nowhere, ReAnimen jump up into the sky. Not Mark drops you out of surprise. You feel yourself fall, closing your eyes and bracing for the impact. God, was this finally it? After everything you survived today?

A pair of arms catch you, and you open your eyes to see the singular red light of a ReAniman. You try to lean back away from the undead creature. You know they work for Cecil, but it doesn’t mean that you have to like them.

“Oh, good you’re alive. How’d you live?” Cecil asks. You feel yourself questioning for a moment if he is actually happy to see you alive. You turn toward Not Mark. He is fighting the ReAnimen. 

“Woahh, I never fought these guys in my world. They’re kinda fun.” He slams five of them using the body of one he already killed. “I killed you before you got the chance to create them, but man, Cecil. Good stuff.” He hovers over them.

“He saved me.” You tell Cecil, not exactly sounding enthusiastic.

He raises an eyebrow, “From the other one that came?” He asks, you nod.

“Hm…” He pauses, looking at the ground before pointing at you suddenly.

“What?” You whisper.

All the ReAnimen slowly turn their heads toward you. “Wait, Cecil, what are you doing?” You ask, panic growing. He looks at you coldly. “Cecil…” You try again.

Not Mark, noticing the lack of new opponents looks down. He spots you getting circled before he immediately dives in and lands right behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” He asks coldly. The grin on his face from the fight earlier is nowhere to be seen.

Cecil suddenly holds his hand up, and all the ReAnimen halt. “I see.” He says to himself. He says your name, “I apologize for my actions just now. I just had to…” He looks at Not Mark, “test something.” 

You look at Not Mark and then Cecil. “Please tell me you aren’t thinking what I’m thinking.” You look at Cecil in disbelief.

“What is it?” Not Mark asks right behind you. You step forward to create some distance between you two, and he steps forward to compensate.

“Say, how about you work for the GDA, Mark?” 

You and Not Mark both gape at Cecil before both of you simultaneously cry out:

“Are you SERIOUS?!”

“Oooh.” Not Mark laughs loudly. “Yeah, absolutely not. Why would I ever work for you?”

Cecil looks at you, his eyes seem sympathetic, yet unapologetic. “You can work with her.” 

So now here you are. Watching an evil version of Invincible shake hands with Cecil Stedman. The deciding factor? Getting to work with you. Truly, you’d feel flattered if it were anybody else.

“Soooo we’ll be in contact?” Not Mark grins at you, leaning into your personal space. You step away from him, but he follows.

“Kill yourself.” You deadpan. 

He smiles wider, and you know he heard it. “Now, is that how you talk to the person who saved your life? Oh, and your new coworker.” He removes his mask.

You feel your eye twitch. Is this seriously your life now?

“Why the long face?” He mocks your traumatized expression before breaking character and laughing loudly. “Come on, let’s get to work!” He floats up, flying in circles around you in the air like a hyperactive dog. 

“This is my life now.” You tell yourself, Not Mark nods because of course he heard you.

“Our life now.” He grins at you. 

You groan.

Quick A/N: Yes, yes, I'll get back to writing for Viltrumite Mark. Unless you guys want more of this. Either way Viltrumite Mark pt 3 is up next :D

[mintyys-blog]

Reader X Invincibles where they turned tiny and chibi, and reader coos over them? 💖💖

HEADCANONS | variants with s/o when they turn into a chibi

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

MAIN MARK

He’s standing in the middle of your living room, arms crossed and glaring—well, trying to glare. It’s hard to look intimidating when you’re eight inches tall with big round eyes and the proportions of a bobblehead.

“Y/N, this isn’t funny!” he squeaks, voice several octaves higher than usual as he stomps one tiny foot.

You’re already on the floor, biting your knuckle to keep from bursting into laughter. “Oh my god,” you whisper. “You’re so freaking adorable.”

Mark’s little fists shake. “Don’t say that.”

You reach out with a finger and gently poke his cheek. He stumbles back a step and scowls, his whole face going red. “Seriously, stop!”

“You’re like a living action figure,” you coo, cupping your hands and scooping him up like a hamster. “Do you want snacks or a juice box?”

“Y/N.”

“What? You’re snack-sized now. It’s the rules.”

He huffs and flops back against your palm, arms still crossed, cheeks pink. “This better wear off soon. Or you’re never hearing the end of this.”

You tuck him into the front pocket of your hoodie like a baby kangaroo. He grumbles something about respect and tacos, but doesn’t exactly resist being close to you.

“See?” you tease. “You like it in there.”

“Only because it’s warm,” he mutters. Sure, Mark. Sure

MOHAWK MARK

“Size ain’t everything, sweetheart,” he grins, voice high-pitched but still cocky as ever.

Somehow, even at barely a foot tall, Mark still carries himself like he owns the galaxy. He floats lazily around the living room like a smug little gremlin with muscles.

You’re trying so hard not to laugh, but watching this tiny version of your usually terrifying space emperor zip around and strike dramatic poses mid-air? It’s too much. “Babe, you are literally fun-sized,” you say, snickering. “You’re like… the world’s most dangerous keychain.” Mark raises a brow. “Dangerous and adorable. Say it.”

“Never,” you tease.

That’s when he zips toward you, faster than a fruit fly on espresso, and hovers at your chest level. “If I’m tiny, I’m takin’ full advantage,” he says with a wink. You blink. “Wait—Mark, what are you—?!”

Before you can stop him, he tucks himself right between your boobs like it’s the coziest little hammock in the world. “Perfect. Comfy. Love it here,” he says, voice muffled. Your hands fly to your chest, flustered. “Mark!”

“Shh. Emperor’s resting.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks burning. “I’m never letting you live this down when you’re full-sized again.” He peeks up with a grin. “Bold of you to assume I’ll ever leave.” Tiny menace.

SINISTER MARK

He’s standing on your coffee table like he’s delivering a war speech to the galaxy. Arms crossed, a tiny glare on his face, yellow cape fluttering slightly from the fan you forgot to turn off.

“You will bow to me,” he declares, voice squeaky but determined. “You will obey my orders. You will—are you laughing?”

You are. You’re absolutely laughing.

Because this six-inch-tall version of your usually terrifying, brooding overlord is now small enough to fit in your hoodie pocket. And despite the menace he’s trying to project, he’s still got those oversized eyes and pouty little lips that make him look less like a tyrant and more like an angry plush toy.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle. “But you’re literally shorter than my coffee mug.” He narrows his eyes. “I could still kill you, you know.”

“Sure, if I don’t scoop you up and put you in a teacup first.”

“You wouldn’t dare—HEY!”

You already did. He’s now nestled in your hands, grumbling like a cursed doll while you nuzzle him against your cheek. “Put me down. This is humiliating.”

But you notice that even as he’s protesting, he’s not fighting that hard to escape. In fact… you think he might actually be blushing. Mark, brought low by the power of chibi form and relentless affection. It’s a good day.

OMNI MARK

He doesn’t say anything when you first see him, standing on your dresser like some kind of decorative collectible that came to life. Arms folded behind his back, expression as unreadable as ever—even though his tiny face is almost too cute to take seriously.

“Mark?” you ask, blinking in disbelief.

“I’m aware of the size difference,” he replies, voice calm—though an octave higher than usual. “I’ve already calculated the ratio. This form is inconvenient, but temporary.”

You stare. He’s maybe the size of a soda can. His suit is intact, though adjusted to his new dimensions, and the sight is so absurd you can’t help it—you start cooing.

“Oh my god, you’re adorable.”

His expression twitches. “That’s not necessary.”

You pick him up gently, holding him in your hands like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He doesn’t resist, but you feel the tension in his tiny limbs. “I could still snap a neck,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

“Mhm. Totally. Right after I finish putting you in this little hamster bed I found.” He glares up at you, but even his intimidation fails when you gently tap his nose with your finger and watch his tiny self flinch.

Eventually, he sighs and lets his shoulders drop. You set him down on your pillow and watch as he lies back with a tiny, resigned scowl. “If word of this gets out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Don’t worry,” you grin. “Your secret’s safe with me, tiny menace.” He doesn’t reply. But when you go to leave the room, you swear you hear him mumble, “…I don’t hate it.”

VILTRUMITE MARK

Stoic. Proud. Fearsome leader of a thousand conquered worlds.

Now standing barely six inches tall on the kitchen counter, arms crossed, expression neutral—despite the chaos around him.

The kids are shrieking with joy.

“Mom, look! He fits in the toy spaceship!”

“Can we take him to school for show-and-tell?”

“Put a cape on him! He needs a cape!”

Mark says nothing as one of your children tries to balance him on an action figure horse. His tiny jaw clenches, and he sighs through his nose like a man trying very hard not to lose what’s left of his dignity.

You step in, scooping him up gently but firmly. “Okay, that’s enough. He’s not a toy.”

“Technically,” Mark says, voice still deep and commanding despite the size, “I am still fully capable of decimating entire cities.”

“Sweetheart,” you murmur, tucking him against your chest, “You’re six inches tall. I could put you in a teacup.” He glares, or tries to—tiny arms folded, chin lifted in defiance. “I can still fly.”

“Then fly out of my bra.” His mouth opens. Shuts. You smirk. “I thought so.”

You settle him between the cups of your sports bra for safe-keeping, where he grumbles quietly but doesn’t move. The kids cheer and immediately ask where you’re taking “Mini Dad.”

“To keep him safe. From you,” you say pointedly, retreating to the bedroom.

Later that night, you glance down to find him nestled against you, warm and quiet. One little hand rests over your heart. “Thank you,” he murmurs, barely audible. You pretend not to hear him—partly for his pride. But you hold him just a little closer.

PRISONER MARK

Mark, now shrunken down to an adorable chibi version of himself, sprawls out lazily across her chest, completely at ease. His eyes half-lidded in contentment, he lets out a soft sigh as she gently runs her fingers through his tousled hair. The warmth of her skin beneath him is comforting, and despite his usually fierce nature, he looks utterly vulnerable like this.

She can’t help but coo softly, her voice filled with affection as she presses a gentle kiss to his tiny forehead. He chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling even in his small form, and murmurs, “You know… this is officially my new favorite spot.” He stretches out, molding his body against her curves, clearly enjoying the intimacy and comfort of being so close to her.

Her heart swells at how different he is like this—softer, more tender—and it makes her want to protect him even more. She cups his small face in her hand, watching the faint smirk playing on his lips. “You’re such a little troublemaker,” she says, her voice warm and teasing.

He grins back, eyes sparkling mischievously despite his tiny size. “Maybe. But I like being spoiled.” She laughs, pressing another kiss to his cheek, feeling an overwhelming rush of love for this fierce yet gentle man who now fits perfectly in the palm of her hand.

💋 TAG LIST ; @onlybatsyy

[lilmarshie]

The Bed We Shared

Sharing one bed with Bob Reynolds | Bob Reynolds x Reader | some suggestive content but nothing nsfw | 18+

“You can go ahead and take the bed in the other room I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, y/n.” Bob stated after the rest of the Thunderbolts mentioned that there’s not enough bedrooms at the place they were staying at while on their most recent mission. The only other options were the last queen size bed in one of the smaller bedrooms and the pullout couch in the living room. You sighed and rolled your eyes because you knew exactly what the rest of the group was planning.

They wanted you and Bob to have to share a bed. You were sure of that. Especially since they knew that you were too nice to have Bob sleep on the couch.

“That’s alright, Bob. C’mon, we’ll share the bed in the other room. I don’t want you having to sleep on an uncomfortable couch the entire night.” Bob stared at you in disbelief that you would ask him of all people to sleep in the other room with you. He had a huge crush on you and this was a dream come true for him.

You knew that you were both exhausted so you grabbed a ton of blankets, some extra pillows, and heaped them all up on the bed. Bob followed in behind you both excited to be sharing a bed with you and a bit worried because he didn’t want to mess anything up.

“I’m going to go change into my pajamas and get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” You said, before grabbing your pajamas and your small toiletry bag and making your way into the bathroom. Bob stood there for a few minutes before starting to get dressed for bed as well. His mind was racing a mile a minute and his palms were sweaty.

“I don’t want to mess this up. Please help me to not mess this up.” He whispered quietly to himself like a mantra. Bob made his way over to one of the sides of the bed and climbed in under the covers. You made your way back into the room shortly after, looking gorgeous in a cute pair of pajamas.

Bob’s eyes wandered over yours slowly as you turned around and bent over to put your toiletry bag away. His face was flushed and he tried so hard to not stare but he couldn’t help himself. You looked so sexy in your cute pajamas and your hair all messy. Bob didn’t know what to do with himself. He was getting all hot and sweaty underneath the sheets.

You made your way back over to the bed and climbed in onto your side. “You okay? You look a little under the weather. Are you doing alright?” You asked Bob, noticing his panicked expression and flushed skin. “I-I’m fine! I’m fine.” Bob stammered, as he turned to face you, your head resting on the pillow next to him. You chuckled softly and ran your fingers through his hair, causing shivers to roll down his body. “It’s okay, you’ll be alright. I’m here for you, Bob.” You whispered, trying to soothe him but all it was doing was making it worse. Now Bob could smell the toothpaste that you used, as well as, the light spritz of perfume that you used. It was intoxicating and he needed more of it. But he couldn’t…he wouldn’t…not here…not now while you were on a mission with the rest of the team in rooms on either sides of you.

You turned back over and laid down on your side of the bed again. You were staring at Bob, admiring his features, and the way that he stared back at you almost…hurt…it was like he wanted to do something but couldn’t. And it pained you to see him like that. “I have something to confess to you, y/n…” Bob said, slowly almost measuring out in his mind exactly what he wanted to say.

“Yes?” You said, softly your voice quiet and patient but your heart was racing in quiet anticipation. “I am in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a while now. I was just too shy to say anything or act on my feelings. But now…being here with you like this and so close to you…I needed to say something.” Bob breathed out, his voice husky and deeper than usual. It was incredibly sexy to hear him like this, and it did something to you.

“I love you too, Bob. I’ve been wanting and dreaming about this for a few months now. Ever since I met you I’ve been dreaming of this day.” You reached over to Bob, and tucked a strand of hair behind his ears. Cautiously, you leaned in and looked deeply into his eyes for a moment. Then, you slowly brought your lips to his in a gentle but passionate kiss.

Bob’s hands flew around your body and he pulled you on top of him, a moan escaping his lips. “You’re so beautiful…so pretty, y/n.” He whispered into your ear, as his hands travelled down your body. His fingers explored the plushness of your thighs, the curves of your back, and they danced over every bit of your exposed skin.

Bob’s lips caught yours again as he pressed his body deeper to yours. He didn’t want to rush anything especially with the rest of the Thunderbolts in the rooms next to yours. So he was content with this for now but he would show you every bit of his love for you when you were truly alone.

“So pretty…so pretty…love you, y/n.” Bob’s voice was a soothing anchor that held you close to him, your hands wrapped around him and his body warm against yours. Your lips traveled up and down his chest, teasing him in a way before making your way back up to his lips and neck.

There was a noise that sounded like a cough and a little louder than usual cough that startled the two of you. “I think they caught onto us.” You breathed out, your heart racing and your chest rising and falling slowly. Bob nodded but turned to lay back down next to you, his hands never leaving your sides.

“We’ll have all the alone time we need when we’re back at the tower. Don’t you worry, love. I’ll make sure of it.” Bob winked, and kissed you once more before wrapping his arms around your waist. You reached up to turn out the light and finally headed to sleep for the night.

You would definitely hear about this in the morning. But as long as you had, Bob by your side, nothing else mattered. You could get used to this bed sharing with Bob.

[rottenherbs]

An Enemy of an Enemy

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin! Reader

Summary: A guarded Slytherin student reluctantly joins Dumbledore’s Army, only to find herself drawn to George Weasley

W/C: 3.1k

A/N: BARK BARK potential for more parts BARK BARK

[Masterlist]

Much Love, Saige

The first time George Weasley noticed you, you were sitting three seats ahead in Umbridge’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class — arms folded, spine straight, green and silver uniform disturbingly immaculate against the damaged withered desks.

You looked the part of every Slytherin stereotype he despised.

But then you spoke.

“‘There are no dangers outside these walls’? You must be joking.” Your voice sliced cleanly through the room like a blade, cold but calm.

Every head turned. Even George stopped doodling a hex in the margin of his textbook.

Dolores Umbridge blinked slowly, lips curling.

“Miss L/N,” she said in her falsely sweet tone, “I do hope you are not questioning the Ministry.”

“I’m questioning your lies,” you replied, with the practiced poise of someone used to walking the fine edge of a knife.

It earned you two weeks’ worth of detentions.

And it earned George’s interest.

———-

Two weeks later; you sat on the floor of the corridor outside the Inquisitorial Squad’s meeting room, back against the cold stone, twirling your wand between your fingers. The sharp ache of the words Umbridge had etched into your hand still throbbed beneath your skin — though you had cast numbing charms, they only helped so much.

George Weasley rounded the corner, muttering to himself, and jumped a little when he saw you.

“Well, if it isn’t Princess Slytherin herself,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Hiding from your loyal goons?”

You didn’t even glance at him. “They’re not mine. And you’re bleeding.”

George looked down at the thin cut across his knuckle. He’d forgotten. “Occupational hazard,” he said lightly.

You tilted your head and met his eyes — piercing, steady, unreadable.

“So,” he said after a pause, “what did you do this time? Questioned the existence of sunshine? Denied the glory of Umbridge’s pink cardigans?”

“I corrected her on wandless casting theory,” you replied flatly. “Apparently, logic is now subversive.”

George laughed. You didn’t smile, but you didn’t walk away either.

“Why are you really here?” you asked.

He hesitated. Then: “Dropped off some products. Just a little… chaos.”

You arched a brow. “You mean illegal contraband.”

“Tomato, toadstool.”

A pause.

You tucked your wand back into your sleeve. “She’s going to ruin this school.”

George looked at you carefully, then leaned against the wall beside you — not touching, but close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.

“She already is,” he said quietly. “But we’re not letting her win.”

You turned your head just slightly, eyes meeting his again — and for the first time, he noticed how tired you looked. Not weak. Just… worn down. Like someone holding too much.

“I’m in,” you said.

George blinked. “In?”

“You’ll need help. You need someone she doesn’t suspect. I’m not exactly on her favorites list anymore.” You smirked faintly. “I can be useful.”

George stared at you, trying to decide if this was a trap, a joke, or something else entirely.

In the end, he held out his hand.

“Enemies, then allies,” he said with a lopsided grin.

You took it, but your face didn’t falter

“Just enemies.”

——

The corridors were already beginning to clog with students as classes let out, the usual swell of voices echoing against the stone. You kept your head down, your stride quick and purposeful, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who preferred not to be stopped.

But of course, he saw you.

“Oi, Serpent Queen!”

You didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. Just rolled your eyes and walked faster.

George Weasley caught up anyway — falling into step beside you, that same smug grin tugging at his lips like he’d just won a bet.

“You always walk this fast, or is this just for me?”

“I walk this fast to avoid things that are a waste of time,” you muttered.

“Ouch,” he said with mock injury. “Brutal. I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”

You didn’t respond. You turned a corner sharply, nearly colliding with a second year, who squeaked and scampered off. George followed anyway.

“I’m trying to be friendly here,” he said, glancing sideways at you.

“You’re trying to satisfy your curiosity,” you replied coolly. “There’s a difference.”

That made him pause. You were sharp. Always a few words ahead. And yet something about your tired sarcasm only made him more fascinated.

“Alright,” he said, undeterred. “Let’s say I am curious. Can you blame me? Mysterious Slytherin girl who talks back to Umbridge, shows up to secret meetings like it’s no big deal, and then vanishes like a ghost afterward? Hard not to be intrigued.”

You stopped walking. Abruptly.

He almost ran into you.

You turned to face him, eyes narrowed. “Intrigued? Is that what this is?”

He blinked. “Er—well, I mean—yeah.”

You leaned in, voice low. “This isn’t a game, Weasley. You think I show up to help you and your band of revolutionaries because I want attention? I do it because someone has to. Because unlike you, I don’t get the luxury of people assuming I’m on the right side.”

George swallowed whatever smart remark was sitting on his tongue.

The space between you went quiet for a second — buzzing with something else now. Something sharp and electric.

Your gaze dropped to his hand, where he still had ink smudged across his fingers. “And for the record,” you added, stepping past him, “you’re not nearly as subtle in the halls as you think.”

George turned to watch you walk away, and despite the sting of your words, he couldn’t help the stupid smile tugging at his lips.

You were infuriating.

And brilliant.

And absolutely not someone he could ignore.

——

The castle was quieter at night, but not peaceful.

Every footstep echoed like a warning. Every whisper seemed louder under the weight of watchful portraits and prying shadows. You moved quickly, robes pulled tight, hood up, slipping between moving staircases and past dim torchlight until you reached the seventh floor.

You had to pass the tapestry three times. That’s what George had said, right? Concentrate on what you need.

You took a breath. Walked once.

A place to practice. A place they won’t find us.

Twice.

A place to fight back.

Third time—

A place where I’m not alone.

A door appeared in the wall.

You hesitated only for a second, then stepped inside.

The Room of Requirement was larger than you expected. Cozy but alive — lined with cushions, shelves of old books, target dummies, and glowing lanterns. A few students were already there, clustered in groups, wands in hand. The chatter was soft but warm.

It stopped the moment they saw you.

A Slytherin in green-trimmed robes.

Zacharias Smith made a choking noise. “Is this a joke?”

“I didn’t know we were inviting spies now,” someone muttered. “Did she get lost?”

You said nothing. You didn’t flinch, didn’t shrink, but you were aware of every stare burning into you.

Then George spoke.

“She’s with me.”

The room went silent for an entirely different reason.

Fred turned to look at his brother, brows raised. “She’s with you?”

George stood a little straighter, arms crossed. “She’s not a spy. She hates Umbridge as much as any of us. Maybe more.”

You didn’t thank him. Just walked further into the room, past the tension, past the disbelief, and stood near the edge of the group.

Hermione gave you a wary glance, then turned back to Harry, who looked caught somewhere between confusion and cautious interest.

George drifted toward you a few minutes later, tossing you a practice wand.

“They’ll get over it,” he said under his breath.

“I’m not here to be liked,” you replied, catching the wand.

He tilted his head. “No, but it might be nice not to be glared at like you poisoned the pumpkin juice.”

You smirked — just slightly.

When practice started, Harry began with simple disarming charms. You made no attempt to show off, but your spellwork was clean, efficient. George noticed. So did a few others. Slowly, the whispers stopped.

You paired with George — purely for convenience, of course.

He disarmed you on the first try, wand flying from your hand. You cursed under your breath, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Try that again,” you said, retrieving your wand.

He did.

This time, you won.

By the end of the session, you were breathing hard, hair slightly out of place, cheeks flushed from the effort. George was watching you again — not with suspicion. With something else.

Something almost…admiring.

You handed him his wand without meeting his eyes.

“Don’t get used to winning,” you muttered.

“Oh, I’m counting on a rematch,” he said, smiling.

As the group began to pack up, you lingered near the bookshelf, pretending to scan titles. George caught up to you just as you reached the door.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” he said.

You looked up at him. “Yes, I did.”

He nodded once. “Same time next week?”

You paused, then gave the smallest, sharpest nod in return.

Then you were gone.

——-

The parchment had said the meeting was canceled.

Harry and Hermione had written back and forth about scheduling conflicts. Cho had caught a cold. Fred had detention. No one would be coming.

But you showed up anyway.

The Room of Requirement had adjusted to match the mood — the space was smaller tonight, quieter. The walls were lined with flickering candles, low and golden, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. The air felt warmer here, softer somehow, like the room knew this moment mattered.

You were the only one there.

Or at least, you thought you were — until the door opened again, and George Weasley stepped inside.

He looked surprised to see you. But only for a second.

“Didn’t get the memo?” he asked, voice lower than usual in the hush of the room.

You didn’t look at him. “I did. Just didn’t care.”

George shut the door behind him. “Me neither.”

He walked to the center of the room, spun his wand in his fingers absently, then turned to look at you fully.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to linger.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what type is that?”

“The… sentimental type.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “This isn’t sentiment. It’s necessity. If we don’t practice, we fall behind. If we fall behind, we lose.”

George studied you. You were wearing your usual expression — guarded, unreadable — but there was something different about your eyes tonight. They looked tired again. Not from lack of sleep. From carrying too much.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “you don’t always have to be ready for war.”

You finally met his gaze. “Don’t I?”

The silence that followed was heavier than any hex.

George sat down on one of the worn cushions, patting the one beside him. “Alright then, soldier. Let’s practice.”

You hesitated, then crossed the room slowly and lowered yourself down beside him. Not close. But not far.

“I thought you’d be with Fred,” you murmured, setting your wand on your knee.

“He’s got a late-night delivery to Peeves. Something that fizzes and wails.”

“Sounds on brand.”

George chuckled, then fell quiet again.

You both sat like that for a while. Not speaking. Not needing to.

Then George said, very softly, “Why do you hate her so much?”

You didn’t pretend not to know who he meant.

You took a slow breath. “Because people like her think they can rewrite truth. They think power gives them the right to define right and wrong. She looks at me and sees a house. A name. A threat. Not a person.”

George’s expression changed. Not quite pity. Something deeper. Understanding.

You added, quieter now, “She reminds me of everything I’ve had to become to survive here.”

For once, George didn’t make a joke. He didn’t laugh or tease. He just leaned back on his hands and looked up at the ceiling like he was trying to memorize the shape of your words.

“I thought you were arrogant, you know,” he said after a moment. “Too good to talk to anyone who didn’t wear green.”

“I thought you were an idiot.”

He grinned. “I am an idiot.”

You looked at him, lips twitching before you could stop yourself.

It was the first real smile he’d seen from you.

“I don’t trust people easily,” you said, voice so quiet it was almost a secret.

George tilted his head. “Then don’t trust me yet. Just… keep showing up.”

You looked down at his hand — ink-stained fingers, a small burn across his knuckle. Not perfect. But honest.

And for a moment, you wanted to trust him more than you wanted to be safe.

You didn’t say anything.

But you didn’t leave either, your eyes softening just enough that George took it as acceptance. Turning on his heel, he left you alone, the silence of the room surrounding you in a tight embrace. 

—

The corridors were colder than before.

Or maybe it was just you.

The door to the Room of Requirement had shut softly behind you, but the echo of his voice still rang in your head:

Then don’t trust me yet. Just… keep showing up.

You moved like a shadow through the castle — silent, focused — the same way you always had when returning to the dungeons after hours. Your shoes barely made a sound on the stone floor, your wand gripped tight in your sleeve, just in case.

But your mind…

Your mind was loud.

You hated that George Weasley had gotten under your skin.

You hated even more that you didn’t hate it.

The Gryffindor boy with quick wit and firecracker ideas, with a reckless grin and ink-stained hands — he was everything your house was taught to scoff at. Too loud. Too messy. Too transparent.

And yet… he’d looked at you like he saw past everything. Like you were something more than a house badge and a reputation and a thousand well-worn shields.

You scowled to yourself and quickened your pace, storming down the familiar cold stone hallway that led to the Slytherin common room. The shadows felt more suffocating than usual.

What would your housemates say if they knew?

If they found out where you’d been? Who you’d been with?

They already think you’ve changed.

You paused in front of the blank stone wall and whispered the password, voice low.

The wall slid open. The common room was dim and quiet — a few candles flickered near the hearth, casting green light against the stone walls and darker corners. A first-year dozed on a couch, and someone flipped pages of a book near the fire. No one looked at you.

You crossed to your dorm in silence, closing the door behind you before pressing your back against it.

You stared up at the ceiling.

This was never supposed to happen.

You’d joined Dumbledore’s Army because you wanted to fight. You wanted to survive. You wanted to prove — to the world and to yourself — that you were more than the twisted expectations placed on you. That you could stand for something, even if no one else in your house did.

But now, there was him.

His voice, his smirk, his frustrating loyalty. The way he listened without interrupting. The way he looked at you — not as a threat or a project or a puzzle — but like you were worth hearing.

You sank onto your bed and pulled the curtains shut with a flick of your wand.

It was dangerous, this thing between you and George.

It wasn’t just forbidden. It was treasonous, in the eyes of both sides.

And yet…

You thought of the way he had said it.

Keep showing up.

Part of you already knew you would.

——-

It had been a long day.

Umbridge had handed out another round of detentions like sweets at a feast, and the air in the castle felt thick with tension. Slytherin House was divided — some drunk on the power she offered, others silent, cautious. You were somewhere in between. Always watching. Always calculating.

Always pretending it didn’t bother you.

You didn’t expect anything different when you returned to your dorm that evening.

Same stone walls. Same half-dim torches. Same cold.

But when you stepped inside and shut the door, something was… different.

There was a folded piece of parchment on your pillow. Cream-colored. Sealed with a faint wax stamp — not official, not Hogwarts. No signature. Just your name in a looping scrawl.

Your breath caught.

You locked the door behind you.

Fingers slightly trembling, you picked it up and broke the seal.

His handwriting was unmistakable.

Dear Serpent,

(don’t scowl — you know I say it with love)

If you’re reading this, then I’ve officially managed to pull off a miracle: delivering a letter into the inner sanctum of Slytherin without being hexed, cursed, or permanently transfigured into a newt.

You should be impressed.

I don’t really know why I’m writing this, except that I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked last night when you said, “I don’t trust people easily.”

I don’t take that lightly.

You carry yourself like someone built from armor — not the shiny kind, but the dented, scratched, heavy sort that’s been through too much and doesn’t fit quite right anymore. And somehow, you still walk like it doesn’t slow you down.

It makes me want to be softer when I speak to you.

To earn every word you don’t say out loud.

I don’t know what we are — or what this is — or how mad you’ll be at me for writing this, but I think I’d regret not saying it.

You make me want to show up, too.

Even when it’s hard.

Especially when it’s hard.

Yours in chaos,

George

You read the letter three times.

By the fourth, you had to sit down.

The room was quiet, but your heart wasn’t.

It hammered against your ribs like it was trying to escape — like it already knew.

You’d spent weeks pretending this meant nothing. That he was a distraction. That your loyalty and your survival were the only things that mattered.

But somewhere between the Room of Requirement and this folded parchment, George Weasley had become something else.

You pressed the letter to your chest.

And for once, you didn’t hesitate.

You threw on a cloak, tucked the letter into your pocket, and slipped out of the dormitory. The halls were quiet this time of night — perfect for a Slytherin who knew how to move unseen.

You weren’t entirely sure where you were going.

Just that you had to find him.

That you couldn’t let this moment — this chance — pass.

You’d let the world burn before you let yourself feel something real.

But now? 

Now you wanted to run towards it. 

Towards him …. 

[clovercap]

unsaid (part 2)

2.4

note: hi!! thank you guys for all the love on part one, oh my gosh!!◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜ i think i'm gonna make 1-2 more parts and finish up this little series! please let me know what you'd like to see and send me asks! reblog and like if you liked this and lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part ᵔદᵔ okay luv u all hope you enjoy!!

pairing: bfs!rafe and bsf!y/n

summary: y/n is heavily overthinking and rafe seems perfectly fine

warnings: this is 18+. alcohol use.

“You aren’t gonna surf?” 

Everyone is at the beach, and it’s mid-afternoon, the day after the party. Rafe’s sitting next to you, sunglasses on as he frowns at the ocean. It’s obvious that he’s hungover, which typically makes him irritable. You’re used to it, but it was hard not to take his attitude personally after last night.

I always need you. I can breathe when you’re around. 

What the fuck did he mean by that? 

You glance at him in the beach chair beside you, your hand playing in the sand between your chairs.

“No,” He replies hoarsely. “I feel like shit.” 

He hasn’t mentioned what he said last night. You wonder if he even remembers. It doesn’t seem like it, considering how fucked up he was. By the end of the night, you were dragging him onto Kelce’s couch because he could barely walk.

You, on the other hand, were unfortunately sober enough to remember. The more you thought about it, the more you spiraled. You couldn’t help but wonder if his words meant something more. Combined with all the things he had been doing, acting a bit more protective, being a bit more touchy and sweet. It all makes you think that maybe he does feel something more for you, like you do for him. 

It’s been eating away at you, ever told you he needed you, like the porch swing had become a confessional for just a moment. You have an aching feeling in your gut begging you to just ask him about it, but you restrain yourself. The logical reasoning that tells you he was just drunk, just being nice, holds you back. 

“Yeah, you were gone.” You finally respond, hoping to cover your distress with a soft laugh. 

You feel his gaze on you as you mess with the sand. It feels heavy, like molasses has suddenly enveloped you. He doesn’t respond, which doesn’t surprise you. There wasn’t anything else to say regarding his hangover, and there was no way in hell you would bring up what he had said. 

“Hey! What’re you guys doing out here? The water’s great.” You look up from the sand to see Ruthie walking in front of you both, her wet hair dripping down her shoulders with a hand on her hip and a seltzer in her other hand. 

“I’m hungover,” Rafe says simply, looking up at her through his sunglasses. “Swimming won’t go over too well.” 

“I totally get that,” She giggles like he was trying to be funny.

Her eyes drift to you, and her tone is much less friendly. “Why aren’t you in the water?” 

“M’tanning.” You reply, keeping your voice level. 

She tilts her head and smirks. “You can’t tan like that.” 

She’s not wrong. You’re hunched over in the beach chair, playing with the sand. The way you were sitting was not suitable for a good tan.

“I guess.” You say, and you stand up. Maybe swimming would help get your mind off things. “The water better be as nice as you’re making it out to be.” 

“Oh, it will!” She calls to you as you walk towards the shore. You look back and see she’s taken your seat, leaning over and talking to Rafe. You snap your head back to the ocean and keep walking like your chest didn’t heat up in the disgusting way it usually did when you saw Rafe talking to other girls.

When your feet hit the water, you realize Ruthie was unfortunately right. The water was great. Just cool enough to escape the blazing heat, and just warm enough to feel relaxing. You head further in, closing your eyes and dipping under the waves. You hold your breath and count to 30. You gasp for air as you come back up and see the waves have pulled you even further out. Your toes barely touch the bottom, so you lie on your back, letting the gentle waves bring you closer to shore. 

You don’t know how long you’re in the water, switching between floating and swimming, all while never looking back at the shore. You hear your name being called as you float on your back. His voice is so familiar it almost hurts, and you sigh as you let your legs sink back to the ocean floor, watching Rafe wade towards you. 

“What’s up?” You ask, swimming towards him.

“You’ve been in here for like, almost an hour.  Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.” He says gruffly, crossing his arms. 

The water reaches your thighs as you stand. You force a smile, running your thumb under your bikini strap. “I didn’t realize I was out here for so long, sorry.” 

“It’s fine, just—you should really be paying more attention.” 

It’s like he’s admonishing you, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

“Sorry.” You mumble, looking away from him as you rub your arm.  It’s a weak attempt to settle your nerves.

His face twists. “No, don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t’ve—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. He glances down and drops his arms, bending down to feel the water on his hands. “Water’s nice.” 

You nod and smile tightly at his deflection. 

“Maybe it’s your turn to lie out in the ocean for an hour.” Your chest bubbles as you attempt to lighten the mood.  

He looks up at you from the water, and his gaze penetrates you. It’s like he knows something you don’t. You swallow. 

 Then he shakes his head, looking back towards shore, and the feeling is gone. “Nah, I just wanted to come check on you.”

You still, and the waves hit against you. You can’t help how the most casual sentence from him sounds like the most meaningful thing you’ve ever heard. Even though you know it’s not. Since last night, though, it feels like everything he says just…means more. 

“Wanna head back? Maybe you can actually tan.” He breaks the silence you barely even noticed.

“Maybe.” You say, looking over towards the shore. Ruthie is still in your chair, and you bristle at the sight. 

Rafe follows your gaze. “Okay,” He says gently. “Well, I’m gonna head back.”

He looks back at you expectantly. You really didn’t want to follow him back to shore. You felt like you followed him everywhere and hated yourself for it. 

“I’m gonna stay in the water a bit longer.” 

He nods with a small smile. “Try not to float away.” 

You let out a strained laugh and watch as he turns around. 

You look out towards the horizon, swimming towards it. You had always been independent, but as long as you’ve known Rafe, you’ve always just been by his side. You had become attached to him in a way that scared you. 

You weren’t sure when you started feeling more for Rafe. All you knew was that your feelings were recent and overwhelming. You had never been the type to need someone as much as you need him in your life. Maybe that’s why the thought of possibly—most likely— ruining things between you felt so heavy. 

You grew up with everything handed to you, everything decided for you, and the only thing you could control was your feelings. That’s partially why you and Rafe had gotten as close as you did. He struggled with the expectations placed upon him to be the perfect Cameron, while you felt the pressure to be just as successful as your family was. It was a perfect match of privileged teenagers dealing with overwhelming expectations.

But now, you couldn’t control your feelings. Now they had taken a hold over you, and you felt like a puppet being toyed with by his hands.  And ever since that stupid fucking party, it’s been even worse. The rule you had over your emotions had been overthrown. Stripped from you, leaving you with this hollow feeling in your stomach that only Rafe could fill. 

Thinking of him only deepened that emptiness, and you look at the distant horizon. An abrupt barrier between the sky and sea, a wall that isn’t real, but is always there. Sometimes you felt like that with Rafe. He’s never let you in entirely. Maybe that’s why his words at the party hit so hard. 

You can’t help yourself as you look back towards the shore, and your eyes immediately find him without even trying.  You see Rafe sitting in his chair, Ruthie still in yours. Maybe it’s time you just go home. 

You swim towards the shore and walk up onto the sand. Ruthie doesn’t bother moving from your seat as you get closer. If anything, she’s ignoring you, focusing solely on Rafe. You try not to look at him and grab your beach bag. 

You take a few steps away and pull your towel out, wrapping it around yourself. You attempt to keep your composure as you hear her laugh at something he says, but you can’t help that flicker in your chest. It shouldn’t get to you the way it did. 

“Hey, are you leaving?” 

You look over to see Rafe's eyes on you. He looks slightly disappointed. 

“Yeah, I’m tired from last night,” You shrug. “Think I’m just gonna go home and take a nap.” 

The emotionless expression on his face morphs into a small frown. “You alright?” He asks. 

You nod and force a smile. “Yeah, can you just?” Your eyes dart to Ruthie in your chair, now looking at her phone. “Grab my chair when you leave?”

He grips the armrests like he was about to stand, but he doesn’t. He stays seated, and his lips twitch in annoyance. “Yeah.” 

“Thanks, I’ll uh, I’ll see you later.” You lift your hand in a feeble wave, and he just nods. 

You walk to your car parked not too far away on the sand.  You and Rafe were just friends. That’s all. You just had to keep telling yourself that. You just needed to get over it.

———

A few days later, you find yourself at the country club. Rafe and you had texted occasionally, and he was the one who told you that you should come, but as you stand next to Kelce and sip your iced tea, you see Rafe leaning against the bar, talking to Ruthie again. 

You decided after the beach that you had to keep some distance between the two of you. Give yourself time to just get over it. Over him. But it was getting harder and harder to do so when it felt like the two of them were rubbing…whatever it was they were doing, in your face.

You thought he didn’t like her. He had even told you once how her voice irritated him to no end, and she was a ‘pick-me’. But there he was, smirking as she babbled on about something you couldn’t even follow. You tear your gaze from them and focus back on Kelce, who was rambling on about something with his boat. 

“…and my dad’s pissed ’cause I didn’t ask him before I got it wrapped, like it’s his fuckin’ boat,” Kelce scoffs, sipping his whiskey as he looks at you. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blink. “Yeah.”

Kelce looks over at Rafe and Ruthie, and a small grin crosses his face. “Oh, I see.” He nods like he knows something. 

“See what?’ You frown, praying Kelce hadn’t picked up on your increasing jealousy. 

He laughs a bit and crosses his arms. “Man, if you thought you were obvious before…”

Your brows furrow. “What?” 

“We all know, y’know.” He says, a little less teasing now. 

Your heart starts to beat a little faster. You don’t want to ask, but you have to. “Know what?" Your words come out slow.

Kelce just looks at you like you’re stupid. Like he knows that you know what he means. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Whatever you think, you’re wrong.” Your voice is tight, and you sip your tea as if it would help. You didn’t want Kelce knowing about whatever it was Rafe made you feel. You weren’t even fully sure yourself.

“Sure. I won’t say anything, don’t worry.” He laughs and pats you on the back. It’s then that you feel Rafe’s presence. He steps next to you and looks between you and Kelce. 

“Worry about what?” He asks, eyes darting over you. His voice is casual, but his body is tense.

You just look at him, unable to attempt a lie with him standing so close. 

“Me getting in trouble for throwing last week, and trying to throw again this week.” Kelce shrugs as he saves you, and you look back at him, thankful. 

Rafe just looks between the two of you for a moment. “Why would you worry ’bout that?” He chuckles, rubbing his knuckle under his nose, something he only did when he was bothered. 

“I just—I don’t know,” You shrug. “You know how his neighbors are sometimes.” You sip your iced tea again, like it can help the heat that flows through your chest as he stares you down. “Two parties so close might be too much.”

Rafe nods, and he seems to loosen up. “You need to stop overthinking.” He grins and pokes your arm. His small touch feels like a gut punch, and you instinctively take a small step back.

“Yeah.” You laugh and nod like that’s not what you’ve been trying to do for the past 4 days. Like you haven’t been cursing yourself internally every time you’ve caught yourself thinking back to Kelce’s last party. 

He looks at you for a second, and you hear Kelce get wrapped up in a conversation with one of your friends, but you can’t take your eyes off Rafe.

“We were gonna go to the beach after, do you wanna come?” He asks, leaning down, just so you could hear. 

His closeness makes you feel overwhelmed, and you shake your head. “No, I think I’m actually gonna head home. I’m tired.” You smile at him. 

His gaze softens. “You sure? I can come with you.” It’s a simple offer.  It’s casual and friendly, but you start to think maybe it’s more. You shake your head, more at yourself than anything.

You hate how fast you were about to say yes. But you couldn’t allow yourself to become any more disillusioned with him. 

“It’s okay, I’m just gonna nap. But I’ll see you later.” You say quietly, setting your now empty iced tea on the counter, hoping your rejection of his offer landed well. 

He’s silent for a second as his eyes narrow. “Alright, I’ll see you later.” He nods slowly.

You feel his eyes on you as you say bye to everyone else and push open the country club doors. You can finally breathe as you walk towards your car.

Distance, distance, distance.

taglist: @my-name-is-baby

(lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part!! thank you for the love :') @my-name-is-baby)

[remmickrealgf]

It’s late at night, 2 am something in the morning and after seeing so much discourse on tumblr about Sinners I just thought I should share my thoughts and opinions. I bet some people are probably rolling their eyes, saying it’s not that big of a deal that people are making white reader inserts for a BLACK film. But it’s literally more than just that. Also, I’m here to tell you, well, yes it sorta is a big deal especially to us black people.

Me personally as someone who has always been in fandom spaces since I was like 12 I can tell you for certainty that the reason why we are so irritated with what so many of yall have been doing is because this is lowkey supposed to be a black fandom space. Usually in other fandom spaces black people are very much so not welcomed. I mean just look at how that one anime DanDandan fans acted just by seeing black people cosplay the characters. I’ve seen some absolutely disgusting shit and all because black people wanted to be apart of the fandom…

And see the issue is you come into a black fandom space for a movie created by black people for black people and say and make the most shameful content ever is really gross behavior guys like come on. I’m not saying that white people can’t be apart of this fandom, in fact I welcome everyone but at least have some respect. Not to mention this movie is centered around real historical events in our world! This isn’t some fictional story with made up lands and stuff. It’s based on reality and a reality that’s still oppressing people to this day.

So yes, black people are going to be heated and irritated with you when you come into our spaces and make nasty fanfics such as planation daughter reader and make the readers white period. So like yeah, hey this is so not okay!!! Like I promise you it’s real easy to have fandom etiquette!!! Or just basic human common sense so like let’s use it yes!! Don’t be that one person that ruins it for everyone.

[overwhelmed-alien]

ER Nurse/Firefighter Hangster 🧑🏻‍🚒❤️🧑🏼‍⚕️

Inspired by an episode of “The Pitt”. You’ll know which one.

The hydraulic doors opened with a whoosh of air and immediately the din of the waiting room assaulted his senses. Bradley Bradshaw sighed as he pocketed his keys in his hoodie. No matter what day - no matter what time of day - he visited his husband in the emergency room, the waiting area was packed to capacity. Over-capacity most times. Babies screaming, children crying, adults griping and complaining about the extended wait times. Coughing and hacking and moaning and yelling into phones. He didn’t know how the ER staff did it day in and day out without going crazy.

He stood behind a frantic mom bouncing a feverish toddler and waited his turn at reception. This was Jake’s third double this week. All hospitals in the area were severely understaffed, but two maternity leaves in day shift threw this one into an upheaval trying to keep up.

Bradley hadn’t seen Jake much lately; he’d come in shuffling like a zombie with just enough energy to shower and eat a little of the dinner Bradley had put away for him - more than likely his first meal in twelve hours - and then stretch out on top of Bradley on the couch to watch a movie. He’d usually be fast asleep within the first ten minutes. But Bradley didn’t care. Not about the drool on his chest, or the damp hair tickling his chin, not the quiet snoring or being pinned bodily to the couch by dead weight. He loved quiet nights cuddling in their pajamas, getting to hold that precious being in his arms, close to his heart, exactly where he belonged. He knew they were each other’s safe place. He knew that because Jake always held him after particularly difficult shifts, as well. Would make him his mom’s banana nut bread and thread his fingers through Bradley’s curls. Jake was everything to him. His safety, his sanity. Bradley knew Jake felt the same about him because he’d said so in his vows.

“Are you gonna just stand there looking dopey, Fireman, or do you got somethin’ to say?”

Mary the receptionist was Brooklyn to her bones. She’d worked at this San Diego hospital longer than Bradley had been alive and hadn’t lost a bit of her accent. He was pretty sure after these three years of him being a regular (both visitor and patient) that she knew his name, but she still referred to him simply as Fireman. Her Coke bottle glasses emphasized the blue eye shadow as she raked her gaze down his body appreciatively. He suppressed a shudder.

“Mary, sweetheart!” He smiled at her. He knew this song and dance by heart. “How are you, beautiful?”

“I’m almost as full’a shit as you are, bub. This is my third break.” She gestured to the Check-In window to emphasize she was, in fact, still working. “What brings you to my humble domain? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Ya wanna scoot back here “real quick” to definitely not defile the storage closet with the life size Ken doll again, huh?”

“That was one time, and there was no defiling. I told you, he was looking for gauze and tripped-“

“-face-first into your crotch, yeah yeah. What do I know about gravity, right, I’m not Isaac Neutron or whatever. Meanwhile, he probably needs some stress relief after the incident earlier.”

Bradley frowned. “Incident?”

“Oh yeah, some asshole built like an Oakland linebacker came in a few hours ago screaming about having to wait so long, and your boy toy flew out here like an avenging angel and chewed his ass out in front of everyone. It was like David and Goliath all over again. Your boy can string some inspiring words together when he wants to. Gigantor turned tail and walked out, quiet as a rat. People, am I right?”

He nodded, brows still furrowed. That did sound like Jake. As sweet as he usually was, he had no tolerance for rudeness, and held no qualms about confrontation. “Yeah. People.”

“Go on, get outta here, Fireman. Anyone asks, I didn’t see you.”

The door to the right unlocked with an audible click. He beamed and gestured a quick but genuine “thank you” before heading through the door to the emergency floor.

He’d just gotten off his shift and had swung by the Hibachi place Jake loved for a couple takeout plates. If Jake wasn’t busy they could eat together in the break room, if he was, he’d stick the box in the communal fridge for later and head home. Mostly he just wanted to lay eyes on his husband and make sure he was taking care of himself. When Jake got busy he always forgot to eat. Forgot to stop and rest. Bradley took his job to remind him very seriously.

Almost immediately, Bradley clocked something was off on the floor. There was always an air of frantic anxiousness back here in the ED, but it felt different tonight. The hairs on his neck bristled. He disregarded the patients and locked onto the different faces of the personnel, their body language as they hovered over screens and flitting around the stations.

They were angry. A cold, quiet, seething anger, kept at bay by professionalism, but it was there, and it was obvious.

He didn’t see Jake.

He did see Beau. It was hard to miss Dr. Simpson, he was a big man, a Navy man as well, one of his godfather’s good friends. Well, Ice’s good friend, he tolerated Mav. His handsome face was pinched tight as he rushed out of the corner unit in the back and wheeled around the main nurses station in the middle of the floor. He’d just picked up the phone when he met Bradley’s eyes. He put the phone down.

“Rooster.” Beau looked grim. There was blood staining his scrubs. “Who called you?”

Bradley’s heart sank into his stomach. “Wha-…nobody called me.” He shook the bag in his hand. “I - I brought Jake food.” He looked around again for a familiar blond head. “Beau, where is he.”

Beau could read him as well as Bradley could read everyone else. He probably sensed the impending meltdown because he was in front of Bradley in two long strides, strong hands gripping his shoulders. “He’s okay. He’s gonna be fine, son.”

The bag of hibachi dropped to the floor. “‘Okay’ and ‘gonna be fine’ are two different things, which is it.” He could see the pulsing of his heartbeat in his vision. Nurses were avoiding his gaze. “Where is my husband, I’m not asking again.”

Beau sighed, rubbed his hands down his face. He looked exhausted. “Dr. Benjamin is checking him out now-“

“-Why is Penny-“

“-Because she’s a neurologist,” Beau cut him off. Bradley fell silent and let the older man guide him through the nurses station toward the corner unit. “There was an…altercation…in the waiting room earlier. Jake confronted an erratic man causing a scene. You know how mouthy he can get. The man left, we thought nothing else of it. Jake…he went outside for a break a few minutes ago, the guy snuck up behind him and sucker punched him in the face like a fucking coward.”

He drew the curtain back and Bradley felt his knees give out. He caught himself on the foot rail of the gurney in front of him.

There was so much blood.

It covered much of his husband’s beautiful face, wrapped grotesque tendrils around his slim neck. The scrubs he wore were soaked. In Jake’s blood.

Bradley saw red.

“Hey baby.”

Jake’s tired, slightly slurred voice cut through the wrath-fueled haze in Bradley’s mind. He hadn’t even noticed the pretty green eyes - swollen and blood-red and wrapped in bruises already turning shades of blue and purple - staring up at him. Awake and alert. He was awake. Bradley shook out of Dr. Simpson’s hold and frantically reached for his husband, knocking the empty chair out of the way in his rush. He stopped short, not knowing where to put his hands that wouldn’t cause any more pain or damage, but needing to touch him more than he needed oxygen.

Jake must have sensed his husband’s desperation. He reached out with both arms and pulled Bradley in by his hoodie, forcing him to sit beside him on the gurney. He was sitting upright, not lying down, and he squirmed until Bradley’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned into his husband and breathed a deep sigh, the tension melting out of him.

“Would you please be still,” Dr. Penny Benjamin was as beautiful as ever, even with the tight jaw and furrowed brow. Bradley hadn’t even noticed her sitting in a rolling stool beside the gurney. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and winked at Bradley. “Hey, Roo. Think he’s trying to absorb you through osmosis.”

“I’m fine with that.” Bradley croaked, his voice cracking, and squeezed a little tighter. He looked down at the love of his life. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t wrap his head around all the blood. Jake wasn’t supposed to be hurt. He had the dangerous job, not Jake. Never Jake. Jake was supposed to always be safe. He could be tired or angry or upset, but never hurt. “…Honey?” He didn’t even know how to speak to him in this state.

Jake held no such reservations. “I’m fine, B. Fucker blind-sided me like a pussy. Sorry, Penny.”

Penny huffed, but she was smiling. Bradley understood why Mav walked nose-first into a door when Penny smiled at him that time. “He’ll be okay. Took a hard fall, and head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but he doesn’t need stitches, just glue. His nose took the brunt of it, but thankfully it’s not broken. His stunning good looks will be intact once the swelling goes down, everyone will be happy to know.”

Beau let out a breath like he’d been holding it. “We’ll get him cleaned up and you can take him home.”

“Bullshit, I’m staying. I’ve got four hours left in my shift.” Jake sat up straighter and glared at Beau through his bruises. He looked exhausted and miserable. Bradley drew him in closer.

“You most certainly are not-“

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face, Cy.”

“While that doesn’t surprise me at all, we’re still going to follow concussion protocol-“

“I’m a fucking combat medic, not a fucking candy striper, I’m fine.”

“What’s a candy striper?” A young med student walking by whispered to another, who shrugged. Beau shooed them away and pulled the curtain closed.

“Jacob,” Penny gently grasped his chin and shined a light in his eyes, gauging pupil responses again. “Straighten up or I’m taking you down to imaging and stuffing you into a CT scan.”

“But I can-“

“Bradshaw!” Both Jake and Bradley visibly flinched. Penny Benjamin was scarier than any drill sergeant. She pocketed her penlight and stood up to lean over him. “Sensitivity to light and sound. Anxiety and mood swings. You’re a little uncoordinated, a little slurry, and I bet you have one hell of a headache. I love you kid, and nobody is denying that you’re tough as nails, but you have a concussion, and you need to rest.” She reached over to pull Bradley in by the scruff of his neck. “Let your adorable puppy of a husband take you home and fuss over you for a change.”

“Go home, son.” Beau added. “I don’t want to see you in here for three days unless you’re getting checked out.”

Jake shook his head, drew in a sharp breath. Bradley could see the tears in his eyes, hear them in his voice. “We’re so short-staffed already.”

“We’ll survive three days without the mighty Jake Seresin Bradshaw, I promise.”

Bradley was elbowed in the gut as Jake flailed to stand up and prove his capabilities. He stood up, too, and caught Jake by the waist when he wobbled precariously. Blond hair tickled his face as Jake leaned his forehead into Bradley’s neck seeking comfort. A single, strangled sob escaped his throat before he tamped it back down. Bradley knew. These tears weren’t from pain, or even anger. They came from a place of helplessness and frustration and exhaustion. He’d had this conversation with Jake before.

It never ends. He was there to help, spent his time trying to make people feel better, live a little longer, and all he got in return was sucker punched. Spit on. Yelled at. Cursed at. Day in and day out. He saw the absolute worst in people, and fought like hell for them anyway. They all did. Every doctor and nurse and receptionist and janitor in this understaffed emergency department had a desperate need to save people, and it was taking its toll, some days more than others.

“I’m taking you home, sweetheart.” Bradley’s tone left no room for discussion. Jake just nodded against his neck, his exhaustion suddenly palpable. He sat the blond back down on the padding and dropped a lingering kiss to his forehead, making sure his mustache tickled Jake’s skin. “Let Penny clean you up a bit, okay, hon? I’m gonna step outside and talk to Beau a minute. Be right back.”

He gripped Dr. Simpson’s bicep and pulled him away from the cubicle. “I need a name, and I need it fucking now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Beau don’t fuck with me, I’m gonna find out anyway, you may as well save me a few minutes of interrogation.”

“We’ve already got the police involved, let them handle it.”

“What, for him to get a slap on the wrist? Fuck no-“

“Need I remind you that the last time Jake got hurt here and you went all “Navy SEAL” on everybody, Ice had to get the fucking governor of California involved to keep your ass out of jail? Hmm? You think that’s gonna happen twice? Who’s gonna look after Jake if you’re in prison for attempted murder?” He stopped before he was actively shouting and took a deep breath. “You are one of the most intelligent people I know, but when it comes to that boy in there you turn into a knuckle-dragging dumbass.”

Bradley opened his mouth to defend himself but Beau cut him off. “This isn’t the first time one of my staff has been assaulted, and it won’t be the last. Understand that. It comes with the territory. We’ve all been hit and kicked and pissed and spit on. Every one of us. Jake doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to fight for him. He’s a tough kid, respect his capabilities. Right now the only thing he needs is a caring and attentive husband. Be that for him, Bradshaw.”

Simpson was right. Of course he was. Bradley knew he was a hothead when it came to Jake and his safety. He’d wanted to protect Jake Seresin the first time he’d ever laid eyes on him, even though it was, in fact, Jake protecting a wounded Bradley at the time. Every cell in his body vibrated with a primal need to protect that man, the love of his life and every life beyond.

The curtain pulled back and Jake was there, a little unsteady, Penny guiding him. Most of the blood on his face and neck had been wiped away; his scrub top was missing, the white undershirt a little less gruesome. Bradley met Beau’s eyes and nodded, reached out to shake the man’s hand briefly before hurrying over to Jake’s side where he belonged. He unzipped his Station 86 hoodie and wrapped it around Jake’s shoulders before zipping it up to hide the bloodstains on his collar. Jake looked up at him and smiled. “I would’ve stolen it anyway.” The Texas twang heavy on his lips. God, he looked so tired. On a soul-deep level.

“I know, angel. You wear it more than I do, anyway, guess I stole it from you. Just giving it back.”

“You know concussion protocol, I’m assuming,” Penny handed him a packet of papers with a knowing smirk.

“All too well, ma’am.”

“He’ll sit here and you can go get your car and pull it around to the ambulance bay. We’ll meet you outside.” Beau pushed a wheelchair behind Jake, who balked for a second before admitting defeat and flopping down into it.

“Yes, sir.”

“And then you’re going to take him home and put him to bed, and I don’t want to see him for three days. At least.”

Jake whined petulantly. Bradley bent down and dropped a peck to his hair, smiling into it. “Three days of couch cuddles. I’m totally down for that.”

Jake perked up significantly at that. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Beau nodded sagely. “As long as you keep the supply closet shenanigans to a minimum.”

“Oh shit-“

The End

[sabrinajenre96]

Worth the wait

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Detective!Reader

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, emotional heartbreak, mention of past addiction, unresolved feelings, mutual pining, fluffy confession, protective German Shepherd, kiss

Word Count: ~2.2k

The bullpen had settled into its usual end-of-day rhythm — chatter tapering off, rookies wrapping up paperwork, and Angela Lopez giving Lucy Chen a look that screamed not again as she animatedly recapped a takedown.

Detective Y/N stood by the whiteboard, pen in hand, finishing notes from a long shift. The cases weren’t anything she couldn’t handle, but her heart wasn’t in it today. Not since she’d overheard that Tim Bradford had taken a personal day.

She knew why.

Isabel.

She wasn’t bitter — at least, she told herself she wasn’t. But the ache that settled into her ribs all day told a different story. Y/N had always known Tim loved hard. And once upon a time, he’d loved Isabel with his whole heart. Maybe he still did.

No matter how many times Angela nudged her toward him, dropped hints, or outright tried to set them up, Y/N shut it down. Because in her heart, she didn’t believe Tim would ever choose someone like her — not over a woman who once had all of him.

So, like always, Y/N smiled, joked, and pretended. Pretended the thought of him starting fresh with Isabel didn’t wreck her.

That evening, she pulled into her driveway, exhausted and numb, craving silence, iced tea, and her usual Thursday-night chicken burrito. Shay, her faithful German shepherd, was probably pacing at the door, ready to cuddle.

What she didn’t expect to see was him — Tim — sitting on her front porch steps.

In his hoodie and jeans, his hands clasped together, his eyes lifting to hers the moment she got out of her car. He looked tired, maybe even a little nervous.

“Hey,” she said, approaching slowly. “Everything okay?”

He stood. “Yeah. I... I just needed to talk to someone. Hope it’s okay.”

She nodded, playing it cool even though her heart was thundering. “Sure. How long’ve you been sitting here?”

“About an hour,” he admitted.

“Come on in.” She unlocked the door and whistled. Shay greeted them both with a happy bark and a tail wag, instantly easing the tension.

They moved to the living room. The air between them was awkward — heavy with unspoken things.

Tim cleared his throat. “I went to see Isabel today.”

Y/N stiffened, smile faltering for half a second before she masked it. “That’s good. She doing okay?”

“She’s doing well,” he said softly. “Really well.”

Y/N nodded. “I’m happy for her. And for you. Maybe now you two can... you know. Have that second chance.”

Each word sliced deeper than the last. She didn’t look at him.

“I didn’t go for a second chance,” he said.

That made her blink. “What?”

“I went for closure. I asked for a divorce.”

Her breath caught. She turned to him, confused. “Why?”

Tim looked at her — really looked. “Because I’ve been in love with someone else for a while now.”

Y/N forced a smile, heart shattering in silence. “Well... I’m happy for you. Whoever she is, she’s lucky. You deserve to be happy, Tim.”

He chuckled — low, almost disbelieving.

She stood up too fast. “You want something to drink? I really need my iced tea before I combust.”

She retreated to the kitchen, needing a distraction. She opened the fridge, grateful for the cool air against her flushed face.

Footsteps followed her.

“Y/N.”

She didn’t turn around.

“Y/N, the woman I asked Isabel for a divorce over... it’s you.”

Time froze. Her fingers gripped the iced tea bottle like a lifeline. She turned slowly, eyes wide.

“What?”

He stepped closer. “You heard me. It’s you. It’s been you. I was just afraid... afraid to say it because I didn’t want to lose you. You’ve always deserved better, and I didn’t think I was better.”

Y/N stared at him, blinking away the tears she didn’t know were forming. And then, without a word, she crossed the space and kissed him — hard, deep, desperate.

Tim kissed her back instantly, hands cradling her face like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, Y/N pressed her forehead to his and whispered, “I love you too.”

Just then, Shay barked from the doorway, tail wagging like he’d just solved a mystery.

They both laughed — Tim pulling her into his arms again.

“Guess he approves,” she murmured against his chest.

Tim smiled. “Told you he was the smart one.”

[arkaiveofurown]

Commanding Heat

Pairing: Portgas Ace x Reader

Bored in a meeting, you and Ace turn the quiet briefing into a dangerous game of temptation and control. What starts as a secret touch quickly becomes a fierce, no-holds-barred rush neither of you can resist.

Word Count: ~1,700

tags: smut, nsfw

my masterlist here ♡

——

a/n: failed attempt of smut lol

——

The meeting was going fine.

Marco was going over supply rotations, Thatch was complaining about someone stealing his rum (again), and Whitebeard’s deep voice rumbled steady over the chatter as he leaned back in his massive chair, half-listening with a bored sort of patience.

And you?

You were sitting next to Ace.

Innocent.

Mostly.

His chair creaked just slightly when he shifted again, forearm braced on the table, jaw tight, a little too quiet for someone who usually couldn’t sit still during briefings.

Because your hand?

Was in his lap.

And it had been for ten excruciatingly slow, deliciously torturous minutes.

He hadn’t expected it. One second you were sliding into the empty seat beside him like nothing, just giving him that soft little smirk. The next, your hand was under the table, fingers unzipping his pants with practiced ease and curling around his already half-hard cock like you owned it.

His breath had stuttered hard in his chest. But he hadn’t stopped you.

Of course he didn’t.

Now, he looked like he was fighting for his life.

You stroked him slow. Just enough to make him throb in your grip, but never enough to let him relax into it. Your thumb dragged over the tip every so often, spreading the pre-cum slick across his flushed head, watching him twitch in your palm.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide a grunt behind it. His fingers dug into the edge of the table, knuckles white.

“Something to add, Ace?” Marco asked lazily, sipping from his mug without looking up.

You watched Ace’s throat bob with effort. “No,” he said, voice strangled. “No, I’m good.”

Your fingers squeezed a little harder around him.

He was not good.

You leaned in slightly, chin propped on your hand like you were just listening to the conversation. Your other hand, hidden by the wide oak table, gave another slow pump.

“You’re doing so well,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Look at you. Sitting there all tense, trying not to fuck my fist.”

He coughed—hard—and everyone turned to glance at him.

“You alright, Ace?” Vista asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, fine,” he choked out, waving a hand. “Just, uh… swallowed weird.”

You had to bite your lip not to laugh.

He was rock hard in your grip now, hips twitching despite himself, legs braced wide under the table to keep from bucking up into your hand. You curled your fingers just right and stroked down slow—base to tip, firm, measured.

You could feel every vein, every twitch.

“I swear,” he hissed under his breath, leaning toward you like he was pretending to reach for something on the table, “if you don’t let me cum soon, I’m gonna—”

“Gonna what?” you murmured, pumping him just a little faster now. “Gonna moan in front of your brothers? Blow your load under the table while Whitebeard’s five feet away?”

His whole body jerked. He bit down on his lip hard enough to go white.

Thatch laughed from across the table. “You look like you’re dying, man.”

You smiled sweetly. “He’s just hot.”

Ace gave you a sideways look that promised revenge, but he was too far gone now. You could feel it—his thighs were trembling, breath shallow, cock throbbing wildly in your hand.

“Fuck,” he mouthed.

You stroked him faster, thumb flicking over the head, and leaned in again.

“Be a good boy, Ace. Cum for me.”

He bit back a groan—just barely. His entire body went tense, spine bowing slightly forward as he came hot and hard into your hand, spurting over your fingers, cock twitching helplessly with every pump. His mouth dropped open, breath ragged, teeth clenched.

No one noticed.

At least, no one acted like they noticed.

You sat back casually, wiped your fingers on the inside of his jacket under the table like nothing happened, and turned your attention back to Marco as he continued.

“Anyway,” Marco said, not even looking up, “we’ll dock at the next island for three days to restock. Thatch, don’t drink half the reserves this time.”

Ace was still panting beside you, dazed and flushed and completely fucked out, his hair clinging to his forehead, eyes wide like you’d short-circuited him.

You nudged his foot with yours.

He turned to look at you, dazed.

You just smiled.

——

The second the meeting ends, Ace grabs your wrist.

He doesn’t say a word—just pulls you down one of the narrow hallways off the main deck, fast and furious, his grip tight and burning against your skin. You stumble after him, laughing breathlessly.

“Ace—”

“Shut up.”

His voice is low. Rough. Dangerous.

He drags you into the shadow of a storage alcove, barely out of sight, and the second you’re alone, he shoves you back against the bulkhead wall. The wood is cool against your spine—but he’s not.

Ace is fire.

His body presses into yours like he’s trying to fuse you to the wall, one thigh between your legs, hips grinding hard enough to make you gasp.

“You think that shit was funny?” he growls, mouth against your ear, breath hot. “You think I wasn’t gonna make you pay for that?”

You’re already wet again—soaked, pulsing, needing—and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

You grin. “You liked it.”

His hand closes around your throat.

Not tight. But firm.

Dominant.

“I came in my fuckin’ pants in front of the whole crew,” he snarls. “Couldn’t walk straight. Couldn’t think straight. You made me look like a goddamn mess.”

You shift against his thigh, grinding down shamelessly. “You are a mess.”

His growl is a threat.

Then he kisses you.

It’s not soft. Not gentle. His mouth crashes into yours like a storm—teeth and heat and hunger.

“You’re gonna take this right here,” he pants, yanking his cock free again, already hard, already leaking. “No prep. No teasing. Not after what you pulled.”

His hands are on you in a flash—grabbing, tearing, ripping. He grabs the front of your pants and yanks so hard the button pops off, fabric scraping down your thighs as he exposes you. His other hand tugs your shirt off your shoulder, then rips the collar wide open, neckline tearing with a loud snap of fabric.

“Wanna act like a little brat?” he growls. “Then I’m not gonna be gentle.”

You’re bare beneath him in seconds—panting, flushed, heart pounding. He presses his body into yours, his cock, fat and flushed and furious where it juts out, hard and leaking.

You can feel the heat of it against your skin.

Then he lowers his hips.

Drags his cock between your folds, slow and taunting.

The thick head catches on your clit, slides through your slick, smears precum into your folds as he grinds into you without thrusting in.

You gasp, hips twitching.

“God, Ace—”

“You’re dripping,” he snarls. “Fucking soaked from touching me in front of everyone like a slut.”

He lines himself up. The blunt head of his cock pushes at your entrance, teasing the stretch, not giving you anything yet.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low, dangerous. “Tell me how much you want it.”

You shiver. “I need it—need your cock—please, Ace—”

That’s enough.

He slams into you in one brutal thrust.

Hard.

Fast.

Merciless.

The sound of skin slapping echoes through the hallway—wet, obscene, loud. Anyone walking by would know exactly what was happening. But Ace doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He just fucks you like he’s furious, like his pride depends on how loud he can make you scream his name.

One hand grips your ass tight, keeping you lifted, while the other presses over your mouth to muffle the sounds spilling from your throat.

“Take it,” he grunts. “This what you wanted, huh? Get me all worked up, then act like you’re innocent. Thought you could tease me and walk away?”

You’re clawing at his shoulders now, nails digging into his skin, legs trembling where they’re locked around his hips.

He’s deep—so deep you can feel him in your guts, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you with ruthless precision.

Every thrust hits perfect.

“You wanted this cock,” he hisses, hips slamming into yours. “You fuckin’ love it.”

You nod, moaning under his hand, eyes rolling back as he drives into you harder. The wet suck of your pussy around him is obscene, slick gushing out with every thrust, dripping down his cock, staining both your thighs.

Your orgasm hits fast.

Hard.

Your whole body convulses, cunt clenching down around him like a vice, choking his cock as you whimper against his palm.

He feels it—grunts, curses, hips stuttering as your walls milk him, pulsing and slick and perfect.

“Shit—gonna cum—fuck—” he pants, pulling your head back to bare your throat.

He buries his face against your neck, teeth scraping over your skin as he slams into you one final time—and then he’s spilling inside you, thick and hot, cock twitching as he groans against your throat.

He doesn’t pull out.

Just stays there, breathing ragged, buried to the hilt, your bodies still trembling in the aftermath.

You both stay like that for a long moment—sweaty, panting, wrecked.

Then you nudge his jaw with your nose.

“Still mad?”

He huffs, smirking. “Still hard.”

You laugh—and he starts moving again.

[ladykailitha]

Forever Young Part 4

Hey guys! We are back with this amazing fic! Since it's been a bit I'd recommend reading the last chapter: here or the from the beginning: here.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

A bit of a longer chapter with lots of twists and turns and a brief cameo of Joyce and Hopper.

~

Will and Dustin looked at each other and sighed heavily.

“I forgot that there is a distinct messy side to science,” Dustin said, putting his hands on his hips and looking at the bags and bags of garbage out by the garage.

“Let’s see if we can’t find gardening gloves or whatever to protect us...” he waved at the piles with a grimace, “from all of that.”

“Good idea,” Dustin agreed. “There is bound to be broken bottles in there and I really don’t have the desire to call Wayne about needing a ride to the hospital, thanks.”

They found gloves and got to work. They sorted out the bags that were clearly from earlier in the week and focused on the two bags that were the most likely culprits for being from last night.

“So I’m just seeing beer and joint butts,” Will said about twenty minutes later. “How about you?”

Dustin sighed and pushed his bag away. “A whole lot of nothing. Like chip bags and other junk food detritus, no real heavy alcohol or anything that might mix badly with the weed.”

Will nodded. “It just seems like their every day party with out us underaged teenagers. Different kinds of soda and other drinks but nothing that screams body altering drugs.”

He got to his feet and dusted off his knees. “This was a complete bust.”

Dustin got up too. “I don’t think so. Yeah, we didn’t find anything, but that means that it wasn’t drug or alcohol related. That’s something we cross off the list.”

“I suppose,” Will sighed as he pulled off his gloves. “Let’s go tell everyone we didn’t find anything.”

“Let’s hope Dr. Owens has some ideas,” Dustin agreed, pulling off his gloves too. “But I’m plumb out.”

The other four kids were sitting on the sofa, talking among themselves.

“Sorry, guys,” Dustin said flopping on the arm chair, while Will sat cross-legged on the floor. “That was a bust. All they had last night was the usual stuff to get high and drunk.”

“Ours was unfruitful as well,” El said with a sigh. “Dr. Owens said that they had never encountered physical regression before. But he’ll look into it further and call back. I worry he may want to take blood tests.”

“He can fuck off back to whatever hole he crawled out of,” Mike growled. “I’m not letting them do to Nancy what they did to El. I don’t care.”

Lucas put his hand on Mike’s arm. “And we won’t let them either. Especially with Wayne knowing what’s going on. I have a feeling that if they tried to take Eddie, he’d storm the lab with nothing but a shotgun and enough ammo take on a third world country.”

Mike straightened and blinked for a moment. “Oh, yeah. He’d go all Rambo on their ass. Huh. That does make me feel better. Thanks!”

“No problem,” Lucas said with a smile. “Plus if we add El and Erica to the mix, the lab would be razed the ground in seconds.”

El just batted her eyelashes at them sweetly.

“So we’ve got absolutely nothing,” Dustin said with a heavy sigh. “The lab was no help, the garbage was no help. They can’t tell us what went wrong. We’re pretty much stuck until something else happens.”

“Pretty much!” Mike huffed, throwing his head back against the couch cushion. “This sucks. I’ve looked up to Nancy my whole life and after the monsters I’ve admired what a badass she was. But that little girl isn’t the Nancy I grew up with. Like she knows she’s going to be a big sister, but she doesn’t understand what that means right now. For her it’s diaper changes and bottle feeding. Not being a reporter and shotguns.”

There was a creak on the stairs leading down to the basement and everyone looked over expecting Steve as he had slept earlier, but no it was Little Jonathan.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he whispered shyly, sucking on his thumb.

Will was on his feet in an instant. One of the things that Lonnie liked to yell about either of his sons was that they were too soft. That they needed toughening up. The fact that Little Jonathan was still sucking his thumb at this age was sure sign that Lonnie was an ass and that there was no doubt he had hit his son for trying to get comfort somewhere in this big, wide world.

“Come with me,” he said gently. “I’ll take you to the one up here and then show you where the one downstairs is so you if you spend the night you know where it is, okay?”

Little Jonathan nodded, taking Will’s hand. Will led the way and as he was about to close the door behind the toddler, Little Jonathan looked up him and cocked his head.

“Will the Wise,” he said solemnly. “You’ll find someone who loves you for you some day.” Then he toddled into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving a very stunned Will staring at the wooden surface.

When Little Jonathan came out he didn’t seem to remember what he said before going into the bathroom. So Will just led him back to the living room where the teens were gathered.

“Hey there, buddy,” Lucas said with a soft smile. “Did you want to try to go back to sleep or did you want to color until everyone else woke up?”

“M’mm awake...” came the slurred voice of Little Eddie from the floor. “Just restin’ my eyes.” He sat up sort of cross-legged and rubbed his eyes.

Max giggled. “Sure are, big guy. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Then Little Robin came in, hair a mess and drool all over her face. “I’m thirsty, can I get some water?”

“Sure!” Will said, his voice cracking. “El won’t you take them to the kitchen, I’m sure Eddie and Jonathan are thirsty too.”

El looked at him curiously, head cocked to the side. Then she nodded. “Come on, everyone hold hands like they did for lunch.”

The kids did as they were told and El took Little Robin’s hand to lead them into the kitchen.

The kids ooh’ed and awed when El used her powers to get the glasses down from the cupboard because it was too high for her to get.

“Cups are easy,” Little Robin said with a giggle. “She can throw cars with her mind, too!”

El froze and the cup headed for Little Eddie stopped too.

“Supergirl!” Little Eddie agreed, clapping his hands and reaching out for the cup. It took everything El had to let go of the cup so that Eddie could take it.

“You should see her fly a helicopter!” Little Jonathan crowed. “It’s so cool!”

She watched them in wide-eyed amazement as they didn’t seem to understand what it was they just said. They just happily drank the water given to them and then handed the cups back to her. She put them in the sink and then led them back out to the living room.

There was Little Nancy and Little Steve sitting on the floor with their heads together, playing tic-tac-toe as they waited for the other kids to come back.

“I think they’re getting some of them memories back,” El said bluntly. “But only in spurts.”

“I agree,” Dustin said putting his hands on his hips. “But when it does happen, it doesn’t stick around for long. Just a memory and then it’s gone.”

Max narrowed her eyes and then cocked her head back and forth. “Well you want to know what I think? I think we should just let them be kids for awhile.”

“What?” Lucas cried, springing to his feet. “We need them as adults!”

“And that’s the problem!” Max snapped back, getting to her feet, too. “We rely on them too much. When do they get to be kids? Especially Jonathan, Steve, and Nancy. They were our age when they first met the Upside Down, when do they get to shirk their duties and have fun?”

Mike grabbed both Lucas and Max and started pushing them toward the hall, but before he could even get them turned around, Little Jonathan and Little Robin burst into tears. Mike closed his eyes.

“I was trying to avoid that,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Please take this argument elsewhere. Dustin and El, too. They don’t need to hear this.”

There was a lot of shouting and protesting as even more of the kids started to cry.

Suddenly there was a piercing whistle from the doorway to the hall. All the teens stopped arguing even though the kids kept crying. They turned to the door and there was Joyce and Hopper standing there. Hopper had his fingers to his lips, pointing to him as the cause of the whistle.

The teenagers stared at them in shock and maybe a little bit of fear too. They were so busted.

“Where did you lot get a bunch of children?” Hopper groused. “I don’t think I’d let any of ya babysit for love or money.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Joyce smacked his chest. “Jim!” she cried in amusement.

Suddenly Little Jonathan broke from the crowd of children and dashed straight for Joyce’s legs.

“Mommy!”

Joyce scooped him up out of habit and then froze. “All my babies are grown up, little one.”

Will and El shared a grimace.

Little Jonathan traced a scar on her chin. “Daddy did that. I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Joyce and Jim both went wide-eyed.

Joyce moved Little Jonathan to her hip to get a better look at the little boy in her arms. “Jonathan?”

The little boy nodded.

Of course the other kids were still screaming so Mike and Lucas each grabbed one of the girls to calm down first. Mike took Nancy and began cooing a lullaby. She hiccuped softly, her sobs slackening until they stopped all together.

Hopper waded in and picked up the two boys, bouncing each on his hip. El immediately stood up and grabbed Little Steve from him so he could focus on getting the one quiet. El reading Little Steve’s mind to find a song that would calm him and started humming that.

Once everyone had stopped screaming and Joyce was over her shock, she sat down on the sofa, her son in her arms.

“Will, what’s going on?” she asked her other child.

“We don’t know,” Will huffed. “We know it’s not Upside Down related. El and I checked, but they just woke up like that.”

“They?” Hopper said, looking closer at the child in his arms. “Holy shiiiiivvva,” he said changing the last word at the last second.

“What’s a Shiva?” the little boy asked, cocking his head to the side and looking up at him with chocolate button eyes.

“Shiva is an Indian god,” Hopper huffed. “With too many arms and lots of rage issues.”

“So holy Shiva makes sense,” Little Eddie said solemnly, nodding. “Uncle Wayne said not to swear because they’re big people words. Can I say holy Shiva instead of cussing?”

“Sure, kid,” Hopper said with a huff of laughter.

“Oh no,” Joyce said softly. “If that’s Eddie, and this is Jonathan are those...?”

Will sighed putting his head in his hands.

“I’m afraid so Mrs. Byers,” Dustin said, putting his hands on his hips. “Steve was the first one found like this, then Nancy and Jonathan. We assumed, rightly unfortunately, that Robin and Eddie were affected, too.”

“Does Wayne know about his nephew’s cute-ifaction?” Hopper asked.

Max chewed on her thumbnail. “I think he was the first to know, but didn’t reach out to the rest of us because he didn’t know it had happen to the others, too.”

Hopper set Little Eddie down. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a mess. Especially since the reason Joyce and I stopped by is that we’ve got to head out of town for a bit. We were hoping to make sure Steve was aware he had to keep an eye out for you lot.”

“I’m not sure we can leave knowing the older teens are kids now,” Joyce said, holding Jonathan to her chest.

Hopper just shook his head. “I’d agree with you, but Murray was pretty insistent we both be there.”

“Is it Upside Down related?” El asked, cocking her head to the side.

Joyce sighed and then looked over at Hopper.

“We don’t know yet,” Hopper explained calmly. “We know that the Russians tried to open a gate before and if they’ve got someone like Henry Creel, they might try to insert them into the Upside Down to get control of it for their own ends.”

El nodded. “I’ve been keeping an ear out for any stirrings, but there haven’t been so far.”

He kissed her forehead. “That’s good to know.”

“How long will you be gone?” Will asked nervously. He remembered the last time his mom left and really didn’t want to repeat that experience.

Joyce looked up at Hopper and then back at him. “I don’t know love. I know things went bad last time, but that was because a general went crazy and tried to kill El. That won’t happen this time, I promise.”

“No offense, ma’am,” Lucas huffed. “But I really don’t think that’s a promise you can make. I get that it might be Upside Down related, but I don’t know about anyone else, I’m getting tired of grown ups leaving us behind to take on problems well beyond our capacity.”

“You watch your tone, young man,” Joyce said sternly. “It’s not your place to tell adults what they can or cannot do.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve still got PTO coming to me then, isn’t it?” Wayne growled from behind them.

“Wayne!” Lucas breathed in relief.

“Went out bought somethings for youngsters,” he said holding up his loot. “You two can go do what you want. I’ll handle this.”

Joyce chewed on her lip and then set Little Jonathan down gently. “I’m going away for a couple of days, but Mr. Munson is going to watch you and your new friends. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Lucas rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

“I’ll take care of it,” Wayne repeated more sternly.

Joyce pressed her lips tightly and then nodded. She pulled money out her purse and handed it to Wayne. “To help cover any food they might need.”

Wayne set down some of the bags he had and took the money. “Thank you.”

“We’ll be in contact,” Hopper said squeezing his shoulder. “Keep the walkie nearby.”

They all nodded.

“Who wants to help me make dinner?” Wayne said with a grin, turning back to the other kids.

A cheer went up.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @steddieislife @stripey82 @tony-2012 @stedestielfrattficlover @micheledawn1975

10- @moonshadows-13 @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale @morallyundefined @best-thing-at-this-party @ollieolive

[wistericallhystericall]

i need more writer!reader x serial killer!theo 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

im on my knees with my diary where i have planned out a murder mystery and it also has ideas on how to hide a body and erase evidence

i absolutely adore serial killer!theo. and i also absolutely adore this prompt as well. it's so so so interesting! i would love to write that murder mystery whenever you get done with it (and i wish you luck and good times writing it <3 i konw writing long stories is horriddd to do sometimes, but you can do it!)

maroon red journal | theodore nott

theodore nott | crack treated seriously | wc: 1775

summary: even more of writer!reader dating serial killer!theodore nott warnings: kinda references murder and torture, nothing really explicit more than that (if it helps, all the people theodore kills are evil evil death eaters so it's more so just vigilante shit); also reader knows about theo's hobby in this one and supports him completely (couple goals)

“My love,” Theodore called out to you from the kitchen, walking into your shared bedroom with a maroon red journal in his hands. “What is this?”

You looked up from your laptop to the journal that Theo was holding. “One of my writing journals?” you murmured confusedly—eyes glancing at the bookmark brand that you only used for your writing journals. There was also a color-coded system to them too, with lighter colors representing lighter topics.

“There’s quite a bit of research in here.” he murmured with a soft and quiet chuckle, sitting down on the bed with the closed journal in hand. “Are you positive that I’m the only killer here?”

You giggled softly and put your computer to the side, scooting closer to Theo as he flipped through the red notebook in his hand. Inside was a mix between words, diagrams—both printed and drawn—and random notes from different methods inside. There was a system of notes between getting rid of evidence as well, pictures of ways to dispose of bodies and rating each method. “It’s just a notebook.”

“You’re not—” he murmured quietly. “Do you want to kill people?” 

You chuckled to him. “No, no I don’t.” you said, resting your head on his shoulder as he looked through the different methods. “I just need it for writing, that’s all.”

“You’re sure?” he asked you quietly.

“Yes, love.” You laughed and nodded again. “Why are you asking?”

Theo looked over at you with a small frown on his expression—gripping onto the notebook in his hands with an expression on his face you couldn’t quite read. “I don’t know, just something.”

“What’re you feeling?” you asked him.

He shrugged quietly. “I just feel like I might be corrupting you, I guess.” he murmured quietly, looking over at you and kissing your forehead. “I don’t want you to go down the path that I have. Even if the people I kill are bad people, it’s not—”

“You’re forgetting about the fact that I’ve written about this stuff before we met. Your actions are never going to be perfect, or even close to moral—” you chuckled quietly, kissing his cheek lovingly. “But I’ve got my own dark side as well.”

Theodore chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully. “I suppose.”

“I thought you would be impressed with my work.” you murmured with a soft pout, wrapping yourself around him. “Some of them are inspired by you.”

He looked over at you with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“You know, the dissecting one?” you chuckled quietly to Theo, flipping to one of the more brutally drawn pages inside of the notebooks. “They’re inspired by you.”

He looked at you for a moment before chuckling—putting the notebook down on the bed before pulling you into a hug. “You’re—” he whispered quietly to you, his lips meeting with your neck and collarbone. “You are absolutely amazing. The best thing that's ever happened to me.”

You giggled softly as his lips tickled your skin, your arms wrapping around him. “You’re so silly.” 

“And I love you.” he murmured quietly. He sat up just a bit straighter and looked into your eyes—eyes that were piercing and usually cold as ice melting the moment that they landed on you. “I love you.”

You smiled softly and leaned into a soft kiss. “I love you too.”

“How is your writing going?” he asked quietly, watching as you grabbed your laptop again and began to explain your new plot.

“It’s going great!” you smiled brightly. “The detective is finally putting together the clues—I’m adding a dramatic red string scene—and I think that he’s going to confuse the killer for a moment before eventually catching on. They’re reviewing a strangulation case right now though.” you explained.

“You spelt ‘strangled’ wrong there.” he chuckled quietly.

You gasped dramatically at that. 

“Surprise!”

You looked up from the plastic and paper bags in your hand as you walked into the kitchen, heels clicking against the tile floor that you and Theo had redone just a couple of weeks ago. It was a beautiful red and white sequence that matched the aesthetic of a bistro that you two visited often—one that you found rather easy to write inside of. “Surprise?”

“Surprise.” Theo smiled brightly. His hands were holding up a bottle of red wine, two plates of steak and sides resting on the dining room table. 

You raised an eyebrow curiously as you placed the bag down on the counter, taking off your scarf and placing it on the jacket rack. “Surprise for what?”

“I have a celebration to announce.” he chuckled to you, making jazz hands to the plates of food. “So I made some steak to celebrate.”

You smiled softly at that, taking his stolen jacket off to hang and walking to the dining table. “Well I’m glad that we’re celebrating whatever it is that we’re celebrating.” you chuckled lightly to him. 

He poured you a glass of wine and poured himself a glass after, the two of you discussing your day from start to finish. You had gotten through most of your chores for the day—a small meeting with your publisher, an editing session with your friends, shopping for groceries, and some other small errands. Theo had mostly done some spring cleaning around the house, preparing the master bathroom’s shower for a retiling. He had finally found some dark green tiles that he loved, which he was preparing to put inside of the bathroom tomorrow. 

“So—” you started calmly. “What are we celebrating again?”

Theo chuckled quietly at that, taking a sip of his wine as his eyes met yours over the rim.  “I haven’t killed anyone in months,” he said to you. 

You gasped out at that. “That’s great!” you smiled brightly, cheersing his glass.

“But I did plot six murders this month.” he murmured to you with a slightly deprecating chuckle, looking down at his mostly-finished steak with a sigh. “So maybe it’s not as impressive.” 

You giggled softly at that—pushing your finished plate to the side and sifting through your purse to find a binder full of book pages. “Well I plotted seven.” you said to him, opening the binder and pushing the printed pages towards him. “Voilà!”

Theo chuckled as you both moved to sit on the dining table’s bench, reading through the manuscript together and correcting things where they didn’t make sense. 

“Theo, where did you put my manuscript?” you called out.

Your manuscript’s due date was just a couple hours away from now—your editor calling for an emergency meeting to run through your manuscript based on a new date that your publisher had set in stone. Said manuscript had been missing for a couple of days now, something that you were only just now noticing as you tried to look for the binder.

Your feet eventually carried you over to your office, the state of it in a complete disarray with pages thrown across every single surface that one could find. Taped onto the wall, stacks upon stacks piling on your desk, with notepads and smushed papers thrown into trash bin after trash bin. On the top of every single stack was your manuscript, the binder lying peacefully on top of everything with a small sticky note laying down on top of the plastic cover. 

You chuckled quietly as you flipped through the manuscript, looking through the notes that you knew would be inside each page. 

‘Chapter 4: unrealistic disposal timeline.’ was something that you rolled your eyes at, knowing that the issue did not lie with the timeline as much as it laid with Theo’s ego. Your mind flashed through the conversation that had happened just a week ago, with Theo stating that he could finish the murder in half the time that the killer had. 

He had failed to acknowledge this was the killer’s first time killing, but that was okay.

‘Chapter 7: love scene needs more tension.’ was something that caught your eye—your eyes running through the pages to figure out whether Theo was right or not. While the tension was well spaced out, there were places that could have a bit more impact to them. You highlighted those areas with a red pen.

‘Chapter 12: i don’t like luke.’ was something that you chuckled at, a soft scoff escaping your throat as you read that comment. Theo had never liked your character Luke, despite the fact you could never kill him off because of how important he was to the plot. At the end Theo had written a small note, a small address written at the bottom that you would be making your way over to after your meeting. 

You made your way to the meeting after that—scarf wrapped around your neck as your editor ran through the manuscript with you. You had to hold back a chuckle as she read through the small notes that Theo had made, hiding your smile behind your hand as she looked up at you with a slightly concerned look.

“He’s just a true crime fanatic.” you smiled at her.

The two of you continued through the meeting a bit calmer after that—though you could tell that her eyes were resting on you rather seriously. The manuscript was edited rather thoroughly, most of it cleaned up except for the parts that you needed to fix for accuracy's sake. 

Your feet carried you to the restaurant after you editor left to head back to the office, heels clicking on concrete and ceramic tile as you slowly made your way over to Theodore’s table. He had a bottle of wine in his hands, as he usually did, a bottle of red that the both of you quite enjoyed. 

“You cleaned up my outline,” you said to him as you walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck for a hug before sitting down across from him. 

“And your fingerprints.” he said, pointing his fork at you. “I told you no touching.”

You rolled your eyes playfully before sighing, looking down at the menu in front of you. “You know that my editor is concerned?” you explained—leaning forward just a bit. “She thinks that you're a killer.”

Theo chuckled dryly at that. “How dare she.”

“You cleaned up my fingerprints?” you asked him curiously, eyes glancing over at his as he nibbled on the small fork in his hands. “That sounds oddly romantic.”

“Acts of service,” he shrugged simply.

You giggled at that, poking the hand that rested on the table. “Should I be worried?”

“Only if you stop writing.” he said to you seriously—though the smile on his face told you that he was anything but. “I love your writing, you know that?”

“I know.” you smiled softly.

thank you so much for reading! again, i absolutely adored this prompt and had to immediately write something on it! i think that i'm going to continue this series still, it is genuinely so fun to write, if you want to read the first and second part, you can click here and here, and if you want more fluffy content as well, you can check out my main writing blog over here <3

© wistericall 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs + comments are so very appreciated! have a lovely day, love!

[infiniteeight8]

omega fox Stephen alpha dragon Tony

Prompt: To no surprise please can we have some more Omega fox Stephen, Alpha dragon Tony? I have loved everything so far and I’d love to have Tony and Stephen meet in person. Totally open to you choosing when. 🥰🥳🤩✨

@auntynessi I got the notification for this one, but not the Ask, hence posting like this instead of as an answer.

It took me a minute to figure out what should come next for this one, and then I thought, this is a series with shapeshifting in it, and we’ve had hardly any shapeshifting! So here’s some of that. And, you know, them meeting in person again. 😀 This being a mini-series, I’m skipping over a whole bunch of phone calls.

Previous parts are here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/4654960

Uh, this got really long. World building got me! Behind a cut for that reason.

-

Tony was going to be in New York, and Stephen had arranged to have three days off in a row.

The thought felt somehow alien: Tony was going to be in New York, and Stephen had arranged to have three days off in a row. Stephen had never ‘arranged’ his days off before. He received them, of course, but he’d always left that to the hospital’s discretion, because there was very little he’d prefer to do over work. Even when he was dating Christine, he’d never arranged days off. But then, Christine was also a doctor and had understood his schedule. It made sense that it would be different with Tony. It was a perfectly normal thing to do.

Still, it was a relief when his building’s reception rang up to let him know that his guest had arrived. Now that Tony was here, Stephen could stop thinking about arranging his schedule around Tony’s trip. It was a business trip, of course. He wasn’t coming solely to see Stephen. But after three months of regular phone calls, it had felt natural to say, Well, if you’re going to be in town, maybe I can make my days off line up.

Stephen’s front door swung open without a knock and Tony called out, “Honey, I’m home!” as he stepped inside.

Startled into a laugh, Stephen turned and found Tony grinning at him. “This isn’t home,” Stephen said.

“Sure, but everyone at home is sick of the joke,” Tony said, shutting the door behind him. 

Since ‘everyone at home’ consisted of JARVIS, DUM-E, and U, Stephen doubted that. Well, maybe JARVIS, but from what he’d heard, he was reasonably sure the bots would enjoy the same joke an infinite number of times. Still, a fresh audience was always fun. “Welcome, regardless.”

Tony wandered around the apartment while they found their way into their usual conversational rhythm, only slightly altered by being in person rather than over the phone. As he explored, Tony ran his fingertips over the furniture and picked up journals, knick knacks, and papers Stephen had left out, examining them idly. When he reached for a patient file Stephen had brought home, Stephen reached out and caught his hand.

They both froze as a partial change rippled over them. Stephen could feel his fox ears twitch. “Patient confidentiality,” he explained after a moment. 

Tony nodded, but when Stephen would have let go, Tony turned his hand and caught him. “I’d almost forgotten how strongly we react to each other.”

Stephen hadn’t. But then, Tony had been through a lot more in the intervening time. “When was your last full shift?” he asked. Recent full shifts made a person more reactive.

“Years,” Tony said. A distressed noise slipped out of Stephen. Tony smiled wryly. “I know. But… dragon. There aren’t a lot of opportunities. And now I’m not even sure I can.”

“Why not?” There weren’t many things that could prevent a shift.

“Afghanistan,” Stark said. “I’m carrying around some shrapnel. And there’s an… implant. I’m not sure how a shift would affect those.”

Stephen frowned. Tony’s doctor should have explained this. “It wouldn’t,” he said. “Shifts may be physical, but they aren’t biological. Your shifted body is not analogous to your human body. Body piercings are the obvious example, but studies have been done on everything from pins and plates to pacemakers and organ transplants. When you shift, none of the damage to your human body carries over, and when you’re injured in shifted form, none of that damage carries over, either.”

Tony looked stricken. “So if I’d shifted in Afghanistan—”

“No,” Stephen broke in quickly. “You couldn’t have shifted then. Not because the trauma would have carried over, but because you wouldn’t have been strong enough to complete the shift. Studies have been done on that, too.”

“I wondered,” Tony said, swallowing hard. “If I’d shifted, if I could have escaped sooner. If—” He stopped. They didn’t talk about the kidnapping.

“Dragons aren’t immune to bullets,” Stephen said quietly. 

Tony nodded, then looked away. 

“Would you like to change?” Stephen asked carefully. It wasn’t good to go so long without a full shift. Normally one would only change in the presence of close family, or a lover, but who did Tony have to share that with? As reactive as they were to each other, it seemed… appropriate.

Tony thought about it for a long time, but the longer he thought, the more certain Stephen became that he’d say yes. Eventually, Tony nodded. “We’ll have to move your furniture.”

The living room was large, but so was a dragon shift. They pushed the furniture out of the way, using the couch as a shield for the piano. Stephen drew the curtains across the windows and kept his back to the room as Tony shifted. When a snort blasted hot air across his back, Stephen turned.

Even curled up, Tony’s dragon form filled the living room. Fortunately, he seemed comfortable, rather than squashed. He was a dark, gleaming bronze color, with a lighter, almost burnished gold belly and highlights around his eyes and the edges of his folded wings. He took Stephen’s breath away.

Another hot snort of breath ruffled Stephen’s clothing. Your turn, it implied. “Close your eyes.” Tony rolled them first, but he closed them.

Stephen’s own shift was quick and easy; he changed often. When he was settled in fox form, he scrambled over Tony’s folded forelegs and the end of his tail into the hollow made by the dragon’s body. Tony curved his neck a little more so that he could look at Stephen, who barked softly before laying down and wrapping his tail around himself.

Tony snorted again before settling, his eyelids drooping almost shut. Not to sleep, Stephen knew, but to rest. Resting was different when shifted. Deeper. More fundamental. Tony hadn’t rested in a very long time, but he could, here in Stephen’s den.

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow x GN reader

Everything’s going to be alright

Warning: mentions of a depressive episode, hurt comfort.

Note: very self indulgent comfort fic, it’s just been one of those days. This was supposed to be just a mini but I got too invested lol.

-Enjoy

Shadow watched as you lay in bed the covers pulled over your face. This was a more common occurrence in the recent months. Stress from work, plus emotional restraint had been building up and it all just became too much for you to handle most days.

You came home, ate, and collapsed under the emotional exhaustion. He saw the light fade from your eyes as you forced your way through your daily routine. You were sleeping but it wasn’t restful evidenced by the eye bags that you tried to disguise with makeup.

“It was fine” you always responded when he asked how your day was “same as usual” and then you’d come here hide from everything. You weren’t doing much in your cocoon, either scrolling on your phone, or just staring into the darkness waiting to feel something.

He was really worried about you and he needed to take action before things really got bad. He understood the state you were in, you even helped him out of it most often then not. He memorized what you did for him hopefully it was enough for you as well.

Shadow approached the bed lifting the covers revealing you to the world.

“Scoch over I’m joining you”

You wordlessly obeyed shuffling along the bed, he climbed in wrapping his arms around you holding you close to him.

“I know you’re going through something, and you don’t have to talk about it right now but let me be here for you. Don’t hide away in here by yourself.”

You were quiet for a moment, so quiet he wasn’t sure if you had heard him.

“I just want to feel something.” You finally spoke your breath shaking at the weight of the words, as if you admitted a heinous crime.

Shadow pulled you closer as soft sobs fell from your mouth.

“I know, you’re doing too much right now.”

“But it wasn’t too much before.” You argued

“Things were different before, you need to adapt for your own sake. that doesn’t mean you have to give something up forever, just until you can get your bearings again.”

“But I’ll feel like a failure”

“I promise you won’t be. I understand that you want to be the best at what you do but you can’t get there by overwhelming yourself and skipping out on sleep.”

Shadow turned you around taking your face into his hands. He looked into your eyes and gently spoke

“everything is going to be okay I promise you.”

“But-“

“No, I don’t want to hear it. If you need help I’ll help you, I could never look at you and see you as anything less than the amazing person you are. I am so lucky to have you in my life and you will never be a burden to me.”

Shadow wiped the tears from your eyes kissing you on your forehead. He let you cry into his chest for as long as you wanted and stroked your head.

Once you had finished he picked you up and lead you to the bathroom sink grabbing a washcloth to clean up your tear stained face.

“Let’s go on a walk to clear your head okay?”

You nodded some fresh air would do you good.

As you two walked through the twilight you felt the breeze cool your still hot face. You exhaled the stale air from indoors and replaced it with the crisp clean air from outside.

The two of you ended up wandering into a field you used to go to often at the beginning of your relationship.

Shadow sat encouraging you to lay on his lap. You obliged resting on him as he stroked the soft fur on your ears lulling you to a relaxed state.

You proceeded to tell him everything, your stress, the dislike of your job, the desperate need for change, and how it had impacted your mental health.

He listened reassuring you that you would make the right decisions about what you needed to do and that he would support you no matter what.

The conversation lasted hours, but it was worth it, you felt the weight lift off of you with every passing moment.

The conversation finally ended as you nodded off in Shadow’s arms finally sleeping for longer than four hours for the first time in months.

[msmk11]

🍾 yelena and 33 please?

33: “I thought I lost you.”

Thanks for the shot! I haven’t written for Yelena in forever and it reminded me that 1) I’m obsessed with her and 2) I desperately need to see Thunderbolts.

Check out the rest of my party here!

Staring Problem

Yelena Belova x gn!reader

WC: 1.4k

CW: explosions, blood, broken bones, brush with death, guns, violence; angst, hurt/comfort, fluff ending

Summary: you think your staring almost gets your girlfriend killed

“You are not paying attention,” Yelena huffs, her hazel eyes never leaving the target across the street.

“Hmmm?”

“Pay attention!” She insists, elbowing you in the ribs hard enough to finally wake you from your stupor.

“Shit! What was that for?” You protest, rubbing your side. You shift your feet to ease the aching pain in your back from crouching behind a wall for the past half hour.

“You are staring at me instead of staying focused on the mission.”

You should be embarrassed about being caught, but you’re not. Yelena- your girlfriend of one year- is quite literally the prettiest person on planet earth, in your own humble opinion. You can’t help but be distracted by the firm set of her jaw when she focuses, how you wish you could trace your lips across the line. And the way stray tendrils of blonde hair frame her face as they’ve fallen out of her intricate braids throughout the day. You’d like to tuck them back behind her ear, and usually she’d let you, but not now, not during a mission.

“Oh, so I’m not allowed to look at my girlfriend now?” You pout teasingly, even jutting out your lower lip for extra effect.

Yelena’s eyes trail to you momentarily and you swear she blushes a little, “do not give me that look. You know I cannot resist it and you know we need to be focused right now.”

“Fine, fine,” you whine, “but at least let me-“

You reach out to fix her strand of hair and that’s when the explosion goes off. Suddenly, you’re flying through the air, away from Yelena, landing on your back on the hard concrete rooftop. Your ears ring and any shouts or screams are muffled. Through the smoke you can barely see nor breathe and you curl onto your side, coughing and gasping for air. You try to stumble to your feet in your daze and you nearly topple back down.

Though you know you should be looking for the perpetrator, your mind only thinks of Yelena, your thoughts racing about whether she’s okay. If she’s hurt. If she’s alive. You wander through the debris, screaming her name- at least you think you are, since you still can’t really hear.

You spot her foot first, black boot sticking out of a pile of smoking rubble. You run towards her and shove the concrete away. Your heart pounds in your chest and a sob escapes your throat. She looks bad. Her face is bloody and bruised and her eyes are closed. You’re worried she’s dead, and when you put your fingers to her neck you don’t find a pulse. Panic surges through your stomach and you think you’re gonna be sick. But then you feel it, the faintest pulse. A sign that she’s still alive, even if barely.

You cup her face, calling her name over and over, tears running down your dirty cheeks. She stirs just a little and you freeze, eyes studying her hopefully. Her hazel eyes barely peek out from beneath her lids and she taps your finger. Her lips move and you frown, moving closer. You still can’t hear what she says because of her hoarseness and your deafness, but you read what her lips say:

“Go after him.”

It’s the last thing you want to do, and every instinct in you resists, as well as your body that is screaming in pain. But you know she’s right. You have a job to do, and Yelena will kill you if you don’t finish it. You stagger up, taking the gun holstered to her hip and charge towards the now obliterated wall. You spot the target just seconds before he spots you and you jump, scaling down the wall quickly as you set off on a foot chase after the son of a bitch.

He’s fast, especially in your bloody and bruised state, but adrenaline keeps you going. He weaves through the crowd of screaming people and you follow hot on his tail, shoving anything and anyone out of the way. In a small clearing you pull the gun, feet pounding the pavement as you pull the trigger. It hits him in the shoulder, sending him sprawling forward. You don’t give the bastard a chance to get up before you grab him by the scruff of his collar and flip him over, clocking him in the jaw, once, twice, three times.

He grunts in pain with each blow, but he still manages to grab your ankle and tug you down with him. Your gun scatters across the cobblestone street and you try to reach for it, but he yanks you away, flipping you onto your back. The blow hurts, especially when you realize some of your ribs are most definitely already broken. The target lands a blow to your stomach and you cry out in pain. He gets in another blow before you catch his arm on the third try and twist, right where the bullet hole in his shoulder sits. He yelps and that gives you the advantage to flip him back over. You scramble up and grab the gun, taking him out with one final bang.

After you’d killed the target, you’d made your way back to Yelena, who was already being transported on a stretcher to the ambulance. You’d tried to get close but they held you back, insisting they needed to assess you while they rushed her off to emergency care. The exhaustion and pain eventually forced you to give in as you were also whisked off to the hospital.

Many hours and bandages later, you’d finally been allowed to see Yelena who was still in rough condition, but alive. She was hooked up to a million monitors and machines, her face covered in cuts and bruises as she breathed somewhat normally. You’ve taken residence in an uncomfortable chair beside her bed, one thumb pushed between your teeth and the other stroking soothing circles over your girlfriend’s scarred hand. Even in her broken state, she’s still the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.

Nothing could change that.

You’re so focused on her closed eyes that you don’t notice the twitch of her lips into a half smirk.

“You are staring again,” she croaks, her voice unmistakable even if hoarse.

Your heart pounds in your chest as her eyes slowly flutter open, revealing a sparkle in the hazel pools despite her critical state.

A disbelieving laugh escapes you and you brush your lips over her knuckles, “am I not allowed to stare at and worry over my very injured girlfriend?”

Yelena scoffs softly, eyes twinkling with mischief, “very injured? Please, these are just a few cuts and bruises. You should see the other guy.”

She pauses, her tone a little more somber, “you killed him, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

The blonde relaxes, “good.”

You kiss her palm this time and your lips linger there thoughtfully.

“I thought I lost you,” you mumble into her skin.

“What?”

“Today, after the explosion. I thought I lost you.” Your voice trembles, “and it would’ve been my fault. I- I was distracting you and-“

“Moya lyubov (my love)…Look at me.”

You refuse to meet her eyes and she huffs, “you always have a looking problem until I need you to look at me. Come on, show me those pretty eyes.”

Finally, you reluctantly look up at her, the usual color glossed over with unshed tears, and Yelena’s face softens. This time she brings your hand to her lips.

“Moya lyubov, you really think a little bomb is going to keep me from you? You know I am stubborn. I am not going anywhere.”

She strokes your hand soothingly, “Also, it is not your fault. You could not have known there was a bomb.”

Your voice breaks, “but I distracted you and-“

“There is nothing you could have done,” she insists.

Your eyes scan hers for any hint of deceit or insincerity, but you find none. She nods to you, patting the bed beside her.

When you try to protest that you don’t want to hurt her, Yelena interrupts you again, “I am your injured girlfriend. You have to do what I say. And I say that you have to cuddle me.”

You huff, muttering something under your breath about her being stubborn as you gingerly sit beside her on the bed. Your girlfriend pulls you closer and cups your jaw, hazel eyes roaming over your face.

“Who has the staring problem now?” You tease, as you lean in and capture her lips.

[remmickrealgf]

Okay so I just wanna make a post clearing up my other post about my opinion because some people might be confused or even offended and that was never my intentions.

For starters when I originally came on here to make Remmick fanfics it was always gonna be a vague reader insert. I wasn’t going to make the reader any race because personally I wanted anyone and everyone to read my fanfics on here. In my opinion I actually think reader inserts should mainly be non-descriptive and vague as possible so people can feel included. As a writer I don’t know what any of my readers will look like. People may be black, white, or any race for that matter and I wouldn’t know so I usually always never describe the reader insert.

However, after all the discourse and drama on here and seeing that many black people were feeling left out and not included for a movie that’s made for them more than anyone I thought to myself, “damn, maybe I can be that one person pumping out fanfics for us.” And so that’s what I did. If you look on my blog you’ll find a fanfic that’s not descriptive at all for any race because like I said that’s normally what I do. But I decided to lock in and put out content for my people.

Also, I am not racist. I don’t hate white women. That’s what I was just accused of from an anonymous question which really annoyed me because that’s not why I made the post. That person completely skimmed over what I wrote and it truly shows. Like to be honest I really don’t care about white people making white reader inserts especially if they tag it. Now if they don’t tag, well YES!! I’m going to be annoyed, especially if their fanfic had interesting tags and sounded good to read I’m going to be salty. Why? Well, simple cause I just can’t enjoy that. I’m literally black, why would I or other black people wanna read something like that or any other poc for that matter.

So, in conclusion, if you are white and wanna make white reader inserts go for it but please guys tag it. Just tag it and no one will literally care. But in my opinion I think making the reader inserts vague is a great thing to do. I want anyone to read my stuff cause that’s just how I am. But for now I’m going to continue making black reader inserts because why not and when I feel like making vague ones again I’ll do that too. Anyways no hate to anyone especially people who are just having fun and aren’t being disrespectful, please don’t think I’m trying to start drama with yall. Hell, I’m literally here to have fun, simp for characters and write.