#this is NOT opening the door to discussion on ways it affects my life

[deoidesign]

Happy EDS awareness month!

I'm a webcomic artist with EDS. be aware.

EDS affects many parts of my life. I have chronic fatigue, chronic pain, and I need to use a cane! I often find myself ruminating on themes of chronic illness in my work, whether or not I am intending to include them.

I already can't paint anymore, it hurts my hands too much... Anything that requires small details or precise motions will hurt me for days. I have a lot of grief around it. But working digitally allows me to still create!

I animate, I illustrate, I get to tell my stories. I have to go slow, take huge breaks (often against my will) and recover slowly. But, working in this space allows me the grace to do this.

So, I just wanted to share a bit of my experience with my audience, and say thank you for reading my work and supporting me! It means the world to me, and I hope maybe someone in my audience feels a little more seen through me sharing this. It causes me pain, but I love myself; and that includes my disability.

[hyp3rfixation-h3ll]

jsyk . if you ever get mad at traumatised people engaging with a completely sfw , non-k!nk / fe.tis.h related coping mechanism that sprouts from childhood abuse / neglect or just general stress, and label them a freak or bully them or anything along that lines, you're ableist, a complete cunt and i dont like you. this goes double for if you completely REFUSE to understand the concept of what the coping mech is and why its helpful. traumatised people dont owe you normalcy and we sure as fuck dont owe you an explanation 👍 and if you disagree w/ me you can piss off

[noparadiseinthis]

English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

I've never got past that part

Spencer Reid/fem!Reader

Warnings: Literally none, just cuteness - if you ignore Spencer's slight insecurity.

Summary: Morgan encourages Spencer to ask out the barista at the nearby BAU coffee shop. Already expecting a rejection, he is surprised by the result. (I like to imagine Reid from the first season here, the one who had never asked anyone)

"Come on, handsome. You'll never know unless you ask her." Morgan said, adopting a big-brother demeanor with Spencer as he slipped one of his arms around the boy's neck. "First time for everything, huh?"

Spencer cursed the day he let Morgan know that he never asked anyone for a date. Since then, the man seemed to be on a mission to set him up on a date and as soon as he saw the red cheeks and wandering eyes the young doctor had for you, he knew immediately.

"You clearly have a crush on her."

"No, I don't." Spencer hissed, trying to get out of Morgan's grip. "And keep your voice down." He whispered gruffly, glancing quickly at you to make sure you hadn't heard anything.

Derek rolled his eyes, puffing out his chest to start a motivational speech, or his version of it, at least. "Look, I don't want to spend the rest of my life making fun of you for not going on a date. Stop wasting opportunities."

Spencer looked up at his friend, looking a little wary and shy as he asked, "Opportunities?".

"For a genius, you can be pretty oblivious. The girl has a crush on you too."

Reid's eyes widened, although he tried not to show too much reaction. Was it possible? That you look at him the way he looks at you. "You think?"

When Spencer met you, he was sure he was screwed, completely paralyzed by your appearance, and he embarrassed himself by spending long minutes in silence until he pulled himself together and made his request. With his increasingly frequent visits - and the extra coffees he brought for the team members in the morning, which no one complained about - he saw beyond your beauty, and what he saw only made his crush grow stronger. He had already decided, however, to ignore it completely and let nature take its course and put an end to his feelings for you. But what if he didn't have to do that? What if it could be more?

"I'm sure."

The heart eyes, the excited smile you opened when you saw Spencer walk through the door and the way you blushed and fiddled with your hair while he ordered didn't lie. Reid may have missed those signs, but Derek didn't.

You watched the scene with more curiosity and amusement than you probably should have. In the corner of the café, the two men stood with their backs to you, Derek - the one you met today - cradling Spencer in one of his arms while they seemed to be having a serious discussion. You weren't the nosy type, but you'd give anything to know what they were talking about.

Spencer was a regular customer, as were several other FBI agents, but there was something special about the young genius who could recite complete passages of foreign poetry in their original language and still blush every time you drew a heart next to his name on the glass.

You liked to think that you put a dose of affection into every drink you made, but with his, you certainly took twice as much care, never failing to laugh at the huge amounts of sugar that were needed. You finished the two coffees, wrote the names on the cups even though you didn't need to at that point, and called out loudly. "Spencer and Derek."

Spencer was startled to hear his name called and Derek smiled at seeing his friend so affected. "Go on, tiger." He said with a laugh, pushing Spencer towards the counter and giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer preferred to think that he didn't approach the counter as slowly as it seemed in his head. Thousands of phrases came to mind, but none of them seemed right. When he only took the coffee with a quick "thank you," turning to leave, Derek regretted it internally. No, kid, he thought with agony.

One step away from you and Reid reconsidered, taking a deep breath so as not to chicken out before turning back to you, who stared at his departure with the feeling that you had done something wrong since he hadn't stopped to have his usual conversation, which would normally last until work dragged him down or your manager started looking at you with something akin to anger

"I was thinking..." He began, but stopped midway, looking into your anxious eyes.

God, was that really happening? Was it what you imagined?

"Do you want to do something? One day when you're free." He said, scratching the back of his head.

It was what you had imagined. Your heart raced as you jumped inside. "Like a date?" You asked, just to make sure you hadn't taken it the wrong way.

And before he could turn around again, you gave your answer. "I'd love to!"

"Yeah, like a date." He replied, interpreting your question as surprise and refusal. "But it's not necessary, you know? Just... forget I said that."

That's it, kid! Derek smiled proudly, watching the two of you with total indiscretion.

Spencer's eyes widened, taking a few seconds to process the fact that you had accepted! It was real. Maybe Elle was right.

"That's... great." He said, a small, shy smile appearing as he looked away.

"And where are you taking me?" You asked, flirting with him a little.

That's when Spencer realized. "I don't know," he admitted embarrassedly, "I've never got past that part."

You laughed, but you didn't seem to be mocking him, you seemed to be laughing with him. "You're cute," you murmured, making him blush a little. You looked around, and when you saw that your manager wasn't around, you pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, wrote quickly, and handed it to him. "Tell you what, you decide where we're going and let me know, OK?"

He took your number as if it were some kind of treasure, his eyes a little delighted, and almost forgot to answer. "Of course! Yeah... I'll see you later."

"Bye, come again!" You exclaimed happily, returning to your dedicated barista facade.

As they left the establishment, Derek's huge smile returned, as did his arm around Spencer's neck. "I said, congratulations, big boy. You're a man now."

Spencer hardly minded the teasing this time, thinking about your smile and asking Gideon for the address of that restaurant he had praised.

[rubyvhs]

nightmare [dean winchester]

pairing; dean w x fem! reader summary; you go on a hunt with the brothers but when it goes to shit, dean can’t help being overprotective. tags; angst, stitching yourself, alcoholic dean, some you and sam in there cause he's the cutest baby, your dad died.

“fuck! sam, quick, get the girls.” dean runs into the impala forcing the engine to roar to life and flashes his lights at the highest setting for the vampires, burning their eyes as the other four get into it and he drives off.

it's quite for the first five minutes, except for the heavy breathing. the two girls that the trio rescued are sleeping peacefully, though you think it's anything but peaceful. their faces aren't relaxed, instead covered in blood and frowning, but their breaths have slowed, at least.

five minutes. that's all it takes before the tension is broken with a, “let me drive, dean.” the older winchester lets out an exaggerated airy laugh for all of two seconds before putting on a straight face and telling him no. “you're hurt, you can hardly keep your eyes open, let me drive, either of us.”

sam is right, dean is hurt way more than both of you combined, he fought off most of the vampires on his own while you took the girls and ran, but he was mostly hurt because he hadn't expected it.

your plan was to get the girls and dip then come back in the morning to wipe them out in their sleep, but you had woken one of them up with the loudest noise you've ever made when one of the girls stabbed you in the stomach with some glass she’d found on the floor. 

again, taken by surprise. obviously the girls thought you were one of the vampires. 

“shut up. it's only a ten minute drive to the nearest hospital.”

“we're going to a hospital?” you don't usually hunt with sam and dean, opting to stay in the motels and do some research, maybe figure out a better plan, but you've never seen them go to the hospital for their injuries, they'd always come home to you bleeding out on the floor.

“for you and the girls, yes.”

“what about you and sam?”

“it's fine.” that shut you up, his strict tone, and stare in the rear view mirror made you slide down in your seat.

ten minutes later you’ve reached 'northwest tawara horspital' and sam is helping the girls out of the impala. dean, while a wanted fugitive, does the same with you. 

but you refuse. “i won't go inside if you two aren't.”

“what?” he moves a little too quickly and holds his side as he winces. god, that can't be comfortable. 

“i won't go inside, we're just wasting time,” sam comes back and stands in the drivers side to talk to you, door open. “see? sam's back, let's get home quickly so we can fix you both up, and me.”

“no, you're going in.” sam was the one to insist this time but you just shake your head and stay planted into your seat. through the corner of your eye you can see both men discussing what to do then they get back in the car with a sigh.

on the drive home it’s mostly silent until you feel your eyes flutter closed. just a few seconds of sleep— but dean’s loud shout of your name wakes you up, “don't close your eyes, we need to fix you up first.” you nod and straighten up, “and what you did back there? fuckin’ reckless, don't pull that shit again. when we tell you to do something, you do it. or you don't come on hunts with us.”

“what the hell? i was the one who decided i didn't want to come with hunts on you guys, you can't take away my choice.”

“like hell i can't!” he isn't looking at you through the mirror, instead focusing on the road because you're on a busy one, but you can still feel his eyes burning into yours. it makes you shrink down in your seat. you hate how much his words affect you, and how visible it is too. 

sam has has never yelled at you really, but even if he had it wouldn't have done much damage, he's too soft for that. dean though... he scares you sometimes, not that he'd hurt you or kick you out, just that he'd be disappointed in you, maybe give you the silent treatment. you don't want that, but you also hate being barked orders at.

“you can't, dean.” sam says to his brother, slapping his shoulder once to ground him back, and it seems to have worked. because you’re not a bad hunter— if anything, you have their back most of the time, you aren’t clumsy or unreliable and what happened had been a mistake that any other hunter would have made. this isn’t about hunting. this is about dean being too controlling.

you thought it was over now that you're at the motel but when he parks baby, he looks back at you, “i can, and i fucking will. you can't act like a child and expect us to let you come on the hunts. you listen to whatever the fuck we tell you to do.” your lips part in surprise, thinking of how to respond, but he doesn't even give you the chance and gets out, slamming the door behind him. 

you don't look at sam as you close baby's door and start walking to the motel. sam catches up and tells you to wait and because you don't have it in you to be yelled at anymore, you turn back and face him.

he says your name, low and soft, “that wasn't an order,” 

shut up before i cry “hey,” he hugs you, your head on his chest and you just let it all out. god, you feel so stupid. you can't believe you were so unprepared and you caused them all this damage. if you had just been in defense mode you would've never screamed, you've been through worst and kept quite. and though you know it’s a little irrational, you can’t help but blame yourself for not being quiet.

“hey, he's just worried about you, he means well, you know that.” you let go slightly and he kisses your forehead, telling you to go into their room and that he'll be in yours to get cleaned up. 

+

walking into the room of the man who just basically called you a two year old is nerve-wrecking. you don't want to be screamed at and god knows you don't want to be treated like a child again. every time you think you’re getting through to dean, or that you’re becoming closer, something happens and he reminds you you’re still young, naive, and only with them because your dad had told them to.

your father is— was a hunter, he used to hunt with john sometimes, and when he heard about the apocalypse that's soon to be here and all the angels that seem to stride onto earth, he wanted to tie up loose ends, so he asked the winchesters to keep you with them until further notice.

then he never came back. but all of this is something you’ve dealt with ages ago. years even. but this? dean pushing you away all the time? acting like you’re some burden? that, you can’t get over.

“hey,” you hear his voice and turn around, not even having seen him walking towards the bathroom. “how you holding up?”

it’s a stupid attempt to make amends, but it works. the second he says anything, it works. it always does.

“fine.” you mumble and notice he’s finishing supplies to stitch himself up. ouch. you know the boys prefer to do it themselves than help the other out but you’ve always found they need a gentler hand. 

you walk towards him and hold his hand in place to stop his movements, taking the needle from him. he doesn't complain, just drowns the bottle of whiskey. with one hand, the other holding his shirt up. 

when it’s done you hold my hand out for the bottle and he scoffs, as if wasting his alcohol hurts him more than the wound that just got stitched up. he hands it over reluctantly.

you pull down his shirt and decide it’s better if you take a swig too. “does it hurt?” the questions rolls off easily, no matter how angry you are at him. 

“i'll survive.” he shrugs like it's nothing. like the gash over most of his stomach is nothing.

“not what i asked.” dean half-heartedly glares at you but your expectant expression makes him think there isn’t a way out. and there isn’t.

“it's fine, my arm’s just sore.” you sit next to him on the bed, pushing his sleeve up and he hisses, muttering something under his breath and snatching the bottle from your hand to drown it. 

“dean...” it’s surreal. it knocks all the air out of your lungs. you’ve never seen the mark, the one an angel of the lord imprinted on dean’s shoulder, though sam talked about it a couple of times. you clear your throat before he notices the staring and point to the wound, “i think you need to stitch that one too, hand me another needle.”

he does and you get to work. it’s mostly noiseless but it feels like there's something heavy in the air, a confession. though it’s impossible to tell who’s supposed to make it.

“i'm sorry.” you try to hide the surprise on your face by looking down but he doesn't let you, hooking his fingers under your chin and he makes you look up at him. “i was so worried about you.” he lets go, taking a breath in, “the way i felt when you screamed? damn it, i've never felt so scared before and i've been to hell,” he lets out a dry laugh and you smile a little. god he's so perfect.

“i don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart, never, so when i ask you to listen to me it isn't because i'm treating you like a child, i just wanna keep you safe.” there are more words on the tip of his tongue but he shuts up and it doesn’t nothing to help the growing smile on your face. it's more than you thought you’d ever get out of him.

you pour a more of the alcohol on his stitches and pull the sleeve down. “okay, you officially need a shower now, you're all booze and cologne. i need to clean this place up.”

“it's fine, sammy and i will do it.”

“not happening. go get cleaned up, i'll finish here.” you knew that what you’re doing is painfully obvious, but you hope he lets it go, just this once. 

of course he doesn't, instead pulling your shirt up to reveal the various cuts that don’t need stitches, just some treatment, and the stab wound you fixed in the car when they were both too busy sulking in the tension. you’ve gotten a lot better at handling pain since you’ve started with the winchesters.

“when did you do that?”

“doesn't matter, it's done. get in the shower dean, let me clean up and go to sleep.”

“damn it, just answer me when i ask something. when did you do this?”

“car.” you’re scared, tired and you don't want to fight. but he just apologized, for god’s sake, can’t he give it a rest.

you wait for his harsh blow. words that will knock you off my feet, anything really, but he just sighs, letting the shirt go and stands up. you do the same and he embraces you in a hug that you’re quick to reciprocate. so quick you’d already had your arms around his neck before he got his around your waist.

the whiskey burns your nose but it's nothing compared to how your body burns with you so close. “dean?”

“you're so strong, you know?” he takes a beat, a breath, “but that doesn't mean shit to me, i still wanna keep you safe all the time because god knows i don't deserve you but i'm too selfish to let you go.”

you pull away just to see his face. you need to know he means what he's saying. that you’re talking about the both of you in the way you’re thinking. the desperation to convey how he feels to you, it gives you all the confidence in the world to stand a little taller and finally kiss him.

you kiss dean winchester because for the first time in ages, someone cares, someone wants you safe. someone learned from their mistake and did better, someone is fucking perfect and it's dean. 

one of his hands is rough on your waist, the other on you cheek. his tongue, his cologne, it all makes you melt into him. 

then ten seconds later, way too deep into the kiss he pulls away slowly, shakes his head and groans, “why'd you do that.”

you step away him in panic. you were ready for rejection, sure. a small ‘i don't see you like that’, not this.

“i'm sorry, i didn't mean to—”

“no, no, hey,” he steps closer “i just... i don't wanna do this if it's gonna hurt you. i don't know how good i will be if we go down that road and you deserve something good.”

“you are dean,” he licks his bottom lip and it catches you attention, forcing you to bite on yours, “you're good. you're perfect.”

one thing i will not allow in my household is the winchester brothers being insecure that they're not enough (pov it’s all they do). anyways sooo this is for the jensen-a-thon for @artyandink so excited to have my first entry and there’s another one i’ve been working on for a week (hopefully i’m almost done with it). hope you enjoyed this!

[bat-mom-writer]

Not Just A Mother

Reader(wife) X Bruce Wayne(husband)

Summery: You married Bruce Wayne, not out of love, but because Bruce wanted a mother figure for his sons. But what happens when Bruce starts showing a more caring side?

Want a more angst and spicy arranged married come together? Check out Closet Confession.

(I do NOT own any DC characters)

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"Tim, did you finish your homework?" You called out, your footsteps echoing through the grand hallways of Wayne Manor as you made your way to your non biological son's room.

"I'll get it later," Tim's voice drifted back, a hint of procrastination in his tone.

"Not a chance, young man," you responded firmly, your heels clicking against the marble floor. "You know the rules. No gadgets or superhero shenanigans until your schoolwork is done. So get off the computer."

Tim sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving his computer. "Ten more minutes," he protested, his fingers typing away at lightning speed.

You signed but said nothing more upon stopping at the open door of Tim's room. You knew Bruce didn't appreciate you interference in nightly heroics, but you had your own way of managing the boys. Just as you was about to remind Tim of the consequences, a deep voice resonated from behind you.

"Listen to your mother, Tim."

You spun around to face Bruce, who had emerged from the shadows of the hallway. His gaze was stern but not unkind, the same look he often gave when you discussed the boys' schooling. You felt a small twinge of relief that he wasn't upset with your intervention.

Tim looked up from his computer, his eyes wide with surprise. He had never heard Bruce call you "mother" before. It was always Mrs. Wayne or by your name. The change in tone was subtle but significant, hinting at a shift in their relationship that none of them had anticipated.

Your cheeks flush under Bruce's eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. You noticed the warmth in his smile and the way he held your gaze for a beat too long. You felt a strange mix of comfort and discomfort, the kind that comes with the sudden realization that the ground beneath you is not as solid as it once seemed.

Bruce gave a curt nod before turning to leave. His footsteps grew quieter as he moved away, the sound of his retreating figure leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. Your mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of his behavior. Was it the stress of their sham marriage finally getting to him? Or perhaps a genuine affection that had been buried beneath layers of duty and obligation?

Over the next few days, Bruce continued to act more affectionate towards you, slipping in gentle touches and kind words where there had once been a stoic distance. You felt torn between acknowledging the change and fearing it was just a temporary shift in mood. After all, their marriage was built on a foundation of convenience, not love. You're there to provide a stable home life for his sons, not to be the object of his affection.

One evening, as Bruce sat in his study, you gathered your courage and approached him, clutching a set of documents in your hands. "I need to talk to you about something," you began, your voice tentative. "It's about a new deal that's been offered to the company."

Bruce looked up from his paperwork, his eyes reflecting the glow of the computer screens. "What is it?" he asked, his tone neutral.

"It's about a new acquisition," you said, looking down at the papers. "The board thinks it's a good opportunity."

Bruce took the papers from you, his hands brushing against yours for a moment longer than necessary. You felt a spark of electricity, and you quickly withdrew your hand, hoping he hadn't noticed. You watched as he skimmed through the pages, his brow furrowing slightly as he digested the information.

"What's your take on it?" he asked, his gaze still on the contract.

"I...I don't know if it's my...my place to say, Mr. Wayne" You stuttered, your heart racing. You had never been one to voice your opinions in matters like this.

Bruce's gaze lifted from the documents, his eyes locking with your. "Your opinion is important to me," he said firmly. "We're partners in this, remember?"

The words hung in the air, thick with an unspoken promise. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Well," you began, your voice stronger now, "I think it's....sketchy. There's something about the terms that doesn't sit right with me."

Bruce's eyes never left yours as he listened intently. His thumb traced the edge of the paper, the only sign of his contemplation. "Then tell them I'm not interested," he said abruptly, handing the contract back to you.

Your eyes widened in shock. You had expected him to disagree, to argue the merits of the deal and the importance of the board's suggestions. Instead, he had deferred to your judgment, something he had never done before. "Are you sure?" you asked.

"Absolutely," Bruce said, his voice firm. "If it doesn't feel right, then it's not worth pursuing."

You took the contract, your hand trembling slightly. "But the board…" your trailed off, unsure how to voice your concerns without overstepping your boundaries.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "The board's job is to make suggestions," he said. "My job is to make decisions. And if my… wife," he emphasized the word, "thinks something's off, then I trust her judgment."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words. It was the first time he had ever called you his wife without it sounding like a mere formality. You held the contract, your mind racing. "Thank you," you murmured. "I'll handle it."

Bruce nodded, his gaze lingering on yours. "You're welcome."

You retreated from the study, your thoughts in a whirlwind. The weight of the contract in your hands felt heavier than ever before. As you walked, the echoes of their conversation seemed to follow you, whispering of a newfound partnership and trust. You paused outside your study, taking a moment to collect yourself before returning to work. The manor felt different, as if the very air had shifted to accommodate a burgeoning emotion you hadn't anticipated.

Over the next few weeks, Bruce's affection grew more pronounced. He would join you for dinner, engaging in conversations that delved beyond the superficial. They discussed books, art, and the future of Gotham, sharing smiles and laughter that felt genuine and unforced. You found yourself looking forward to these moments, the tension in the air charged with something you dared not name.

One evening, after the boys had retired to their rooms, Bruce found you in the dimly lit Batcave, your eyes reflecting the glow of the monitors as you reviewed the night's intel. He approached you slowly, his footsteps muffled by the rubber soles of his boots. "I thought I was the night owl around here," he said with a teasing smile.

You startled, spinning around in the chair. "Mr. Wayne," you gasped, hand flying to your chest. "I didn't hear you come in."

Bruce chuckled, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. "It's Bruce," he corrected gently. "And I can see you've got everything under control."

Your cheeks colored as you nodded. "Just keeping an eye on things," you said, your voice quieter than usual. You felt self-conscious under his scrutiny, unsure how to react to his sudden interest in your nightly routine.

"Mind if I join you?" Bruce asked, his tone casual, yet it held a hint of something more.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Of course," you said, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. You watched as he made his way over to you, his movements fluid and silent. He leaned against the console, his eyes on the screens, but you knew he was really watching you.

"You know, this isn't where I expected to find you on our anniversary," he said, his voice low and warm.

Your breath caught in your throat. You had almost forgotten about the date, lost in the whirlwind of their new dynamic. Your swiveled the chair to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Anniversary?" you echoed, trying to keep your voice even.

Bruce nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, it's been a year since we made this… arrangement." He paused, searching for the right word, and you felt the weight of the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

"I… I had no idea at how quickly the year went by," you murmured, your eyes flicking to the floor before meeting his gaze again. "So much has happened."

"Yes, it has," Bruce agreed, his expression softening. "But I think we've made it work, don't you?"

You nodded slowly, your eyes moving to the side of the floor. "We have," you conceded. "For the boys."

"For the boys," Bruce echoed, but there was a hint of something more in his voice. He reached out and took your hand, his touch sending a jolt through you. "Dance with me."

You looked at him, bewildered. The Batcave was the last place you'd would have ever imagined sharing a dance with your husband, especially considering their relationship had been more of a business transaction than a romantic union.

"What?" you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and doubt. The cold metal and concrete walls of the Batcave didn't exactly scream romance.

But Bruce didn't seem to notice the oddness of his request. He held out his other hand, his eyes earnest. "Just one dance."

Your heart racing, placing your hand in his, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He led you to the center of the Batcave, the place where so much strategy and planning took place. But now, it was just them, standing in the shadow of the Dark Knight's armor, the only music the hum of the computers and the distant echo of the city above.

He pulled you closer, his hand on your back while the other held your other hand. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, a stark contrast to the cool air of the underground lair. He was close enough that you could make out the scent of his cologne, the faint metallic scent of his suit mingling with it.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Let's pretend, just for a moment, that we're not Mr. Wayne and Mrs. Wayne, but a couple who met under different circumstances."

Your pulse quickened. You knew the rules of your arrangement, knew that love had never been a part of the deal. Yet here you were, in the most unlikely of settings, with the potential for something you had never allowed yourself to imagine. Hesitating for only a moment, you stepped into the embrace, your body fitting against his as if it had always belonged there.

He began to sway gently, guiding you in a slow, rhythmic dance that seemed to defy the gravity of their situation. His hand rested on the small of your back, his other hand holding hers firmly, yet gently. You felt the muscles beneath the fabric of his suit, the strength and power of the man you had only ever known as your husband in name.

The sound of his deep, rich hum filled the cavernous space, a tune you didn't recognize but found oddly soothing. It was a moment of vulnerability you had never seen from him before, a side of Bruce Wayne that was as unguarded as the batcave was protected. As they danced, your head leaned into his chest, the steady beat of his heart echoing in your ears, mimicking the tempo of your own.

The tension between them grew palpable, a silent crescendo that seemed to vibrate in every atom of the room. You felt yout resolve wavering, the walls you had meticulously built to maintain the façade of your marriage threatening to crumble. You knew the truth – that you had developed feelings for him, feelings that had grown from a seed of respect and duty into a full-blown bouquet of love and longing.

"Bruce," you murmured, your voice shaky. "What are we doing?"

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "I'm just… trying to be a better husband to you."

The admission sent a tremor through you, and you pulled away slightly to look up at him. His eyes searched yours, a question and a plea melded into one. Your chest tightened as you read the hope and uncertainty in his gaze.

"Why?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What changed?"

Bruce's expression grew serious, his eyes holding yours captive. "I've realized that life is too short to ignore what's right in front of us," he replied, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand. "I've watched you care for my sons, for this city, and for me. You've become more than just a part of this arrangement. You've become a part…of me."

The words hung in the air, a confession that resonated through the very foundation of the Batcave. You searched his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt, any hint that he was just playing a part. But what you found was a vulnerability you had never seen before, a crack in the armor of the man who was both Bruce Wayne and Batman. You were speechless, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Leaning closer, his cheek brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. His mouth hovered near your ear, the heat of his breath sending a rush of emotion through yours. "Please," he whispered, "give me a chance."

Your heart was a tumult of emotions – hope, fear, confusion. But you knew that you couldn't ignore the feelings that had been growing within you for so long. You nodded, the barest of movements, but it was enough.

Bruce's hand slid to your cheek, cupping it gently as he leaned in and kissed you. It was a soft kiss, filled with a year's worth of unspoken emotions. You melted into it, your arms slipping around his neck as you gave in to the warmth that had been building between them. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and you could feel the tension in his body, the years of holding back finally released.

You broke apart, breathing in quite pants, your eyes locked. Your heart raced, your mind reeling with the implications of what was happening. "Bruce," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"My wife," Bruce said, the words sounding unfamiliar, yet right. He searched your face, his thumb stroking your cheek gently. "You are my wife. I want to act like the husband I know you truly deserve."

"What about the boys?" You asked, your voice a soft murmur.

"They're our priority," Bruce assured you, his hand sliding from your cheek to your hand again. "We just now have… some extra perks to our partnership." He offered you a tentative smile, and you couldn't help but return it, feeling the weight of your situation lighten just a little.

For a moment, you two just stood there, holding onto each other, the reality of your feelings finally out in the open. The silence was comfortable, filled with the steady rhythm of your breaths mingling together.

[yayll]

~ a little something about Dazai surprising you on your day off ~

Dazai's not by any means an early riser... That is unless he gets to see you that day.

It's 8 AM and he's tapping his fingers against his pant leg lightly, but he's actually really anxious and impatient. He’s waiting for you to open the front door and flash him that life changing smile of yours he’s been coveting for all week. Today’s your day off and he's decided to come over and spend the day with you so he can cherish every single moment, totally not because he’s slacking off work and wants to do the only other thing he does with his life other than avoid his responsibilities: Be the bane of your existence. You also have a nasty little habit of being a workaholic and he's here to break that once and for all. He's completely spaced out now, lips pursed and brows slightly furrowed in thought when suddenly—

You finally open the door. His angel, his everything. He immediately switches his whole demeanor, eyes twinkling as he scans your figure. You’re still in pajamas, and your hair looks messy. You look absolutely delectable for someone who just woke up to 3 missed calls and 10 texts. Dazai smirks as he leans in, wiggling his brows in an exaggerated manner.

"Well look who’s finally awake! What a sleepy little thing you are. Makes me jealous of that stupid bed of yours… Did you get my texts? Come here."

He looms over you in the middle of the doorway, kissing you softly, tenderly and hungrily.

You blink, and before you can catch your bearings you’re interrupted by the softness of his eager lips. If your mouth opens, he’s pouncing. After a few moments of uninterrupted bliss, you pull back, eyes still drowsy and breathing a bit shallow. You yawn, running your fingers through your bedhead.

“Sorry. I, um… was still asleep until now. I was trying to sleep in-”

He gasps, and tilts his head, as if baffled by this.

“Now why would you do that when we have plans today?”

“... We don’t, though?”

Dazai laughs, dismissing your rightful confusion. He knows you guys never discussed plans, he just doesn't care. He lightly pinches your nose in between his fingers.

“We do! It’s why I let you sleep in for a few extra hours before coming over.”

You lazily swat at him, crinkling your nose. He’s swooning! Dazai feels a jolt of electricity through his body upon seeing the way you respond to his doting. Making you flustered is his favorite entertainment, besides suicide of course.

“But it’s 8 AM.”

“Exactly! That’s like half the day."

"... How long have you been up for?”

He rolls his eyes affectionately as he buffs his knuckles on his tan coat, replying with a nonchalant hum.

“Hmm, not important— What’s for breakfast?”

He lets himself into your apartment and you sigh into a defeated smile that somehow still holds affection for this ridiculous man. You follow him as he strides to the kitchen and fold your arms across your chest.

“You know, I’m kinda grumpy right now. It’s too early, Osamu. I need my sleep."

“And might I say you look absolutely stunning when you’re grumpy? How ever did I get this lucky…”

“Keep it up and I’ll get even worse, you goofball.”

Dazai smiles, it’s sly and dangerous. A challenge, he hears? He pretends to think for a moment, his finger placed on his lips as if really contemplating something. He’s just picturing what you’d look like yelling at him. Heavenly, of course. He flashes you a tender smile as if you just said the most romantic thing and curls his arm around your waist, whispering.

“Ooh, then I can’t wait to see worse.~”

You roll your eyes, unable to help the pink hue spreading over your face. Maybe you're still half asleep, maybe you’re just hopelessly in love with him. Either way you’re screwed. You whine with a hint of annoyance.

“Osamuuuu…”

Oh how he loves when you say his name like that. Maybe it’s time for you two to skip breakfast, he already does anyway, but he knows you actually need nutrients to function. He replies in a singsong voice.

“Yeeesss?”

“I’m making pancakes and you are going to sit down and wait.”

You point at the kitchen counter trying to be stern, and of course, failing miserably.

He looks back at the stool and then back at you. He leans within inches of your face, his nose poking yours. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly and winks.

“No can do, cutie~”

You two spend the morning making breakfast, or at least trying to. YOU are trying to, anyway. Everytime you go to gather ingredients, he’s already handing them to you. When your back is turned to him, you feel his arms snaking around you as you flip pancakes unevenly due to the distracting trail of kisses he's leaving down your neck. You secretly smile to yourself whenever you’re not feigning irritation, you know he loves the banter… Why not indulge the poor man?

You serve two plates and sit down, along with two mugs of coffee. Dazai isn’t allowed to have caffeine around you, but once again, you took pity on him today for some reason… or is it his mystifying persuasion manipulation at play here? He takes a sip of his mug and a satisfying ‘Ahh’ releases soon after. He flickers his eyes towards you as you're about to sip yours as well, and it’s like the world stops. His pupils dilate and he watches intently as the rim reaches your lips, resting his chin on his palm as he leans lazily over the counter. He’s like a dog watching its owner adoringly. During his trance-like state, he thinks about how if you lived together this would be his every day routine. He could get used to watching you drink coffee and eat food. You'd wake up next to each other and hold hands as you watch the sun rise. He would tell you how breathtaking you look with bedhead and make you late for work after failing to keep his hands to himself. Maybe then you wouldn't think he's such an impenetrable wall of secrets. He wonders if there's a future where all of that happens... He snaps out of it, and murmurs.

“Can I have a taste?”

You perk up and look over, tilting your head to the side, amused.

“What, the coffee? You have your own.”

He’s so focused now, staring at your full lips, thinking of a proper answer. He wants to tell you that he's never had intimate moments like these with anyone else and he doesn’t know how long it’ll last before his luck with you runs out, that he’s afraid you’ll see right through his one dimensional facade and leave him for good. That you won’t follow him to his untimely demise should he ever fall, so he has to capture every second of it so he can keep you in his mind forever. He has to lock you up in his heart and throw away the key, otherwise becoming a man of virtue loses all its meaning.

Instead, he opts for the less complicated route, the corners of his lips curling up into a coy smile as he places a gentle hand on your thigh.

“No, your lips, dummy. I want to taste the coffee off of your lips.”

There are no words for the audacity of Osamu Dazai and the feelings thrashing inside you when he says things like that. You smile bashfully and look away, unable to accept his shameless flirting.

“You’re so weird, Osamu…”

“Mm, I'm so yours. No takesies backsies.~"

You slowly meet his gaze, his watchful eyes that ooze devotion practically holding yours hostage… God, you are so beautiful to him. Before you can even register it, Dazai scoops you up bridal style and carries you to the living room, laying you down on the soft couch. His eyes darken as he looks down at you, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips. As soon as you show him the look of love that gives him the consent he’s looking for, he doesn’t think twice about it. He grabs your chin and pulls you into a messy kiss. He kisses you rough, his tongue almost immediately sliding into your mouth as he moans into you. His moans turn into whimpers, like he's been starved of touch for far too long and you're satiating the hunger. He needs to taste the coffee you just drank, and he wants you to know exactly how much he's been aching for this moment. For your much needed day off. For you.

He keeps his hand at your chin, pressing you down deeper into the couch with his hips grinding against yours as he tastes the acidity of the coffee along with the honey you sweetened it with.

Finally, when you literally cannot breathe, you pull away with your dazed and blissed out expression, all red in the face just like he loves. You mumble in between pants.

“Wait— So... What exactly was the plan for today?”

He looks up from running his tongue along your jawline and flashes you that infamously deceptive smile he perpetually keeps on his face, tapping his index finger on your cheek. His voice comes out in a breathy whisper.

“Breakfast.”

“.. But we already had breakfast.”

He sighs deeply and his finger ghosts its way from your cheek down to the waistband of your pajama bottoms as he needily mumbles in your ear.

“Still hungry.. I’m a growing boy, you know.~”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head.

"You're going to tire me, Osamu.. Work wears me out enough as is-"

He wiggles a finger at you, face full of sickening desire as he carefully lowers his head down by your stomach, resting his cheek on your soft flesh. He murmurs in that soft pleading way that drives you insane when he combos it with his reverent touch.

"Listen to me, please. No more work talk... No more stressing out your pretty self, okay? I haaaaate demanding jobs. It only takes you away from me."

You look down and simply nod, your eyes trained on the way he looks at you from under his lashes and the soft brown hair that frames his face. Your heart races with anticipation as a smile slowly creeps up onto your lips. You don't need words for what comes next.

For the rest of the day, he makes sure you have the best time off, it's the least he can do as your incredibly attentive and not selfish at all boyfriend! A day where you can shut out all thoughts of work... along with literally anything else that doesn't relate to him.

Unfortunately for you, there is no resting involved on said day. Fortunately for Dazai, you look so cute as you writhe under him for hours on end. That'll get it through your pretty little skull not to work so much.

[holylulusworld]

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (3)

Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, shy reader, fluff, getting to know each other, implied innocent reader, protective/possessive Sherlock, mentions of getting robbed

A/N: A collection of drabbles on how you became Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (2)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist

You wake warm and cozy, Sherlock’s arms locked tight around your middle. He nuzzles his face in your hair, whispering your name. “Sir, I mean Sherlock.”

“Good morning, Precious,” he husks in your ear. “How did you sleep? Does your face still hurt? I can call for the doctor again.”

“I feel better,” you say. It’s a little too much this morning. Sherlock being so close. His change of behavior. Sherlock seems to be everywhere you are to shower you with affection. “It barely hurts anymore.”

“Good, that’s good,” he softly kisses your hair. “I’ll be away this morning for a few hours. But I promise to come back soon. Mycroft and Enola will arrive tonight. We need to discuss her future.”

“Do you want me to prepare something special for them? Maybe I can help in the kitchen.”

“Y/N, you are the lady of the house. You don’t need to take care of the food. I already prepared everything,” he kisses your temple. “And I’ll take care of the problem with Mrs. Demeter too. She will never treat you the way she did.”

You snuggle in your pillow to get a little more sleep as Sherlock slips out of bed. He watches you fall asleep before turning to get ready for the day.

“Sleep well, my precious angel. I’ll see you soon.”

“Mrs. Demeter, we are expecting guests tonight. We need more flowers, don’t you think?” She sneers at your words. You only wanted the dining room to look more welcoming, and all she did was ignore your every word.

“I don’t think so,” she finally says. “Mr. Holmes asked me to prepare everything for tonight. I think his brother and sister expect more than flowers from dinner with Mr. Holmes.”

She rushes out of the room, barking orders at the staff while you stand in the dining room, close to tears. Nothing has changed. 

Sherlock is gone once again and Mrs. Demeter acts like she’s his wife, not you.

You wipe your wet eyes and flee out of the dining room. If your husband is more interested in listening to what this woman has to say, he can spend the evening with her and his guests.

“Precious open the door,” Sherlock hammers against the door to your bedroom. “What has gotten into you? Mycroft and Enola will be here any minute!”

“Why don’t you ask Mrs. Demeter to join you for dinner? Obviously, she’s the woman you trust the most. I’m having a terrible headache!”

He sighs and knocks again. “Please open the door. Whatever happened while I was away wasn’t my fault. I told her to respect you.”

“She will never respect me, Mr. Holmes. I think we should consider this marriage as what it is. Loveless and hopeless. You are married to your cases. And while you are away your precious Mrs. Demeter makes my life even harder. I will never leave this room again.”

“Brother, what is this about?” Mycroft hurriedly walks toward your room. “Where is your lovely wife? Why doesn’t she join us? Is she sick, or still scared because of the incident?”

“She’s angry at me,” Sherlock sighs and runs his fingers through his locks. “Mrs. Demeter…she…”

“You should talk to that woman while I try to make your wife feel safe and welcome in this family again,” Mycroft snaps at his brother. 

“She’s my wife, not yours,” your husband glares at his brother. “I know how to make her feel safe.”

“No. You don’t,” his brother exclaims. “If you did, she wouldn’t have locked herself away from you, and the world.”

Sherlock grits his teeth when Mrs. Demeter dares to walk his way. “Mr. Holmes, Sir.” She coos his name and tries to make him believe you are suffering from female hysteria.

“Mrs. Demeter,” Sherlock raises his voice, making even his brother flinch. “I must mishear! Did you accuse my wife of being hysterical? This diagnosis is nonsense. Every person with a sharp mind knows it.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft tries to calm his brother, but Sherlock moves closer to Mrs. Demeter. He towers over her, panting heavily. “You are dismissed. I want you to pack your things and leave my home.”

“Mr. Holmes, you can do this! Not over this hysteric girl and her lies,” she cries and begs but Sherlock won’t have it.

“Mrs. Demeter, you should leave now. My brother is close to losing his composure. Believe me, you don’t want to feel his wrath.”

Mycroft leads Mrs. Demeter down the stairs to give your husband time to talk to you.

“Please open the door. I believe she’ll treat you with respect. I wanted to give her one last chance. I owed her that much.” He presses his ear to the door. “Precious, open the door.”

“Only when she’s gone,” you unlock the door and step away. “If you lied, I’ll stay here.”

Sherlock opens the door, almost ripping it open to get to you. He wraps you in his arms and peppers kisses all over your forehead. “I’ll never disappoint you again, wife. From now on, I’m your loyal servant…”

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

I'M IN TROUBLE!

when your private relationship is found out by the public

gender neutral reader

ISAGI YOICHI!

caught completely off guard!

Isagi started dating you out of a place of pure adoration, and in all honesty, he genuinely thought everything would work out with time. He never thought that dating would get so messy now that he’s gone pro, he didn’t think so many people would be this invested about who he’s dating. He wants to respect your boundaries, and he knows that not everyone likes being put under that much spotlight. But when somehow, someone manages to get wind of the fact that he’s dating you, he lets you take the reins as to how you want to manage things. Do you want to keep things private? His affections for you are reserved for closed doors! Do you want to open things up? He’ll start bringing you up in interviews! Isagi wants you to move at your pace, and he wants you to remember that he’s your Yoichi before he’s anybody else’s.

“...So they found us out, huh?” You sighed, shaking your head slightly at the leaked paparazzi pictures that were flooding your timeline. It was undoubtedly a picture of you and him, no matter how blurry the image might have been. Isagi’s grinning like a happy puppy in it, and you’re there next to him. It’s a candid of you pressing your lips to his cheek.

“I’m working with my manager to find out who took it,” Isagi offered. He smiled at you apologetically, and he pulled you closer to him. “ I… I understand if it might lead to some difficult discussions.”

You rested your head on his chest. The comforting th-thump of his heartbeat anchored you momentarily, pushing past all the panic that was pounding on the inside of your skull. You knew you were buckling up for an unconventional relationship the very second you accepted the young striker’s confession, but you didn’t think reality would catch up with you so soon.

“Before you ask: no, I’m not going to break up with you.” You glanced up at him with a coyish smile. “I figured that this day would come eventually. So what if they find out? It’s not like anything should come in between us because of that. I mean, if anything, you being taken ought to chase away any suitors you might have-”

“-You know I’ve never held anyone in my heart except for you,” Isagi cut you off, and he stuck his bottom lip at the thought of dating anyone other than you. “I’d rather stay single my entire life than not have you.”

You reached up towards his head, and you ruffled his beautiful black hair. What did you do to deserve this boy? It felt like the entire world was coveting him. He was the new up-and-coming ace striker from the mysterious Blue Lock program. Who wouldn’t want a piece of him?

Yet here he was, cradling you to his chest. Head over heels for you, Isagi wouldn’t entertain anyone except for you, regardless of how open your no-longer-secret relationship to him was.

“I love you, Yoichi.”

“I love you too. We’ll figure this out. As we always do.”

BAROU SHOUEI!

keeps pushing ahead!

Barou has never cared about what other people have thought of him. As long as they recognized him as their superior, he did however he pleased. That was how he was even with dating you. While he did a good job keeping things hush-hush for your sake and cleaning up any stray details, the moment the bubble pops, he’s quick to immediately shut down anyone who has any complaints. The instant he thinks anyone has an issue with you, he’s glaring them down. If a reporter asks too many personal questions, he’s cutting them off. He’s still incredulously selfish and egotistical, but he’s doing it for your sake. He’s fully aware that he’s not everyone’s favorite person, but the last thing he wants is for you to take the brunt of that. Once your relationship is outed, he might even become more protective of you than he was before. Either way, he doesn’t want to disturb the trust you have in him, and he’ll continue smacking down anyone that has beef with him.

“Was he getting too close?”

“No, Barou, he was fine.”

“But the interviewer looked like he was asking too many personal questions. Are you sure you’re fine?”

You smiled, shaking your head exasperatedly. Your boyfriend leered at the retreating silhouette of the reporter, and he pulled you close to his side. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, practically glowering with such a hateful aura that you realized for the first time in your life that these poor reporters were probably risking their lives every time they approached him for anything.

“I have you with me. I’m sure anyone with half a brain cell would know not to mess with you,” you expertly consoled him. You placed a hand over his, scanning the room to make sure there wasn’t anybody else that would want to speak to either of you. 

Barou’s dating life had quickly been flipped upside down after his texts had been leaked, and while it was a lot for you to take in at first, you thought you dealt with things pretty gracefully. You and Barou decided to come clean to the public, and if anything, it only brought you closer to him. It was fun, being able to finally talk about dating him openly and without needing to watch your back, and seeing Barou get all antsy was rather enjoyable too.

“You’d be surprised,” he grumbled. “Those Blue Lock idiots have a hard time not stealing shit off of me.”

“That’s Blue Lock,” you giggled. “Most people in society are pretty good about not taking things that belong to others.”

He lifted your hand to kiss the back of it gently, letting out a small huff. “They better. If I catch anyone staring at you for too long, I’ll make them regret it.”

You nodded sagely, all-too-used to Barou’s violent but well meant sentiments. “Much appreciated, Barou.”

MICHAEL KAISER!

gets even more annoying. im so sorry i wish he was normal too.

It takes every single fiber inside of Kaiser to not go screaming his victory off the rooftops when you agree to start dating him. Frankly, you’re more surprised that you’ve managed to keep things under wraps for this long. He’s courted you in the most outlandish ways possible that you thought surely somebody somewhere must have picked up the reason why Kaiser’s been buying out every flower shop in a good ten mile radius. He’s persevered just for you, even though he’s bemoaned how tragic it is that he can’t show off his beautiful partner to the whole wide world. But now that the word’s out, Kaiser can finally live out the power couple fantasy that he’s always drooled over! He’ll openly spoil you with all sorts of gifts and shower you with as many kisses and compliments as he wants in public, parading around with your arm in his knowing that you were meant for the public’s adoration just as much as he was.

“Kaiser,” you started. The annoyance in your voice was thick, and you could pretty much feel every vein in your body popping from how much self-control it was taking to not blow your lid. “Kaiser, I thought we left the excessive bouquets behind us once we made it official.”

“Well, it’s like we’re dating for realsies-realsies now. Is it wrong for me to want to spoil you so much? You’re my darling, my sweet darling who I love more than anyone in the world,” the blond giggled, proudly holding up the giant bouquet of blue roses. The flowers were wrapped beautifully in colorful paper, and you could tell that they were raised and prepared with an expert hand. These weren’t cheap flowers, and you could bet your left kidney that the bouquet would cost more than anything you’ve ever owned in your life. 

“Kaiser,” you repeated with a sterner tone. The boy frowned, clearly sensing your disappointment.

“Do you not like them? I can always get you another bouquet-”

“-I thought I told you not to spoil me with such lavish gifts.” You still reached your arms out and took the bouquet for him, not able to bear the hurt expression he had. The last thing you wanted Kaiser to think was that you didn’t love him back or that his affections were wasted on you, but you’d much rather escape the public’s scrutiny when it came to Kaiser romping outside and raising up a storm in his attempts to impress you. “I’d much rather have you instead. But still… Thank you for the flowers. They’re truly lovely.”

He perked up when he noticed the way you ran your fingers over the blossoms, the same blue roses that were emblematic of him. He struck his usual shit-eating grin, sticking his chest out proudly as he pushed his long blond hair back.

“You’re very welcome,” he laughed. “Next time, you should come buy them with me so the paparazzi can get pictures and talk about how good you look with me, and then we can go out to a-”

“-If you do that, you’re going to sleep on the couch for the next decade.”

He spluttered, “B-But darling-! That’s not very fair!”

DON LORENZO!

cool as a cucumber!

Lorenzo’s always been a pretty chill guy outside of soccer. Even when he’s playing his role on the field, he’s kept his level head at shutting down any striker that comes his way. He’s relaxed even when it comes to dating you, and as long as you’re fine with calling the shots, he’s fine with whatever it is you want to do. Maybe that was why you managed to keep your relationship with him private for so long, because no one ever suspected that he’d be up to something behind closed doors. But even when word gets out, he puts his hands up and grins, almost as if to say ‘you guys finally got me.’ He likes having curve balls thrown at him; how else is anyone supposed to raise their value? Maybe this is a test to show the world how much you’re worth to him, and being appraised in the eyes of the public is the best way to show how much the two of you are truly meant for each other.

“You know,” Lorenzo's lanky arm wrapped around your waist, and his hand rested right above your hip. The security guards around you keep up their job, forming a protective barrier around you and the laidback defender as the two of you stroll through the streets of Japan to go sightseeing. “I thought you’d make more of a fuss than this when we were found out. I guess we got lucky that the cat got out of the bag overseas rather than back home in Italy, huh?”

You shrugged. You could see passerby craning their heads or going on their tiptoes to steal glimpses at the two of you, yet if Lorenzo caught onto it, he made no sign. He looked like the perfect example of composed leisure. A comfortable smile on his lips, sleepy eyes, and the way he was draped all over you made it obvious that it didn’t matter to him what everyone else thought. 

“They were going to find out eventually. Might as well rip the bandaid off in one fell swoop. Don’t you agree?” You asked. You peered up at him with loving eyes, and Lorenzo moved himself to steal a kiss off of your forehead. You laughed brightly at the gesture, finding it easier to ignore the stares of the crowd around you.

“Yeah,” he calmly agreed. “Especially if it means getting to kiss you like that in public. You have no idea how hard it is to pretend there’s nothing there. I’d much rather be able to hold your hand and take you out on nice dates without worrying about what others might think. Pretty freeing to have that option open now.”

“You better stay true to your word then.” You placed your hand on top of his hand, the one that was on top of your hip. You laced your fingers into his, smiling from ear-to-ear at the thought of finally being able to do all those couple-y things out in the open without fretting so much about the public. “I’ll hold you accountable.”

“Hold me accountable all you want,” the dark-haired man chuckled before stealing another kiss from you. “This is just the beginning for the two of us.”

x

[wildflowerblurbs]

A Painful Step Towards Healing | Isaac Rhoades

Isaac Rhoades x GN! Reader

CW: mentions of past abuse/unhealthy relationships, trauma caused by abuse/unhealthy relationships, yelling, arguments, hurt/comfort

-

Trauma isn’t a simple thing, no matter how much you wished it was.

You’re in a committed relationship with the man who gave you a second chance at life. You wake up in his arms without the fear of having your belongings thrown out by the landlord before kicking you out for not paying rent on time. You eat your meals with him without uncertainty of when your next meal will be or needing to ration out your food to last weeks at a time. You live your life knowing that you have a future with him. You not only have a family with him, but a family that loves you.

You’ve escaped the hell that you were living, so why? 

Why are you currently hyperventilating on your shared bathroom floor? 

Why can’t you stop the tears that are blurring your vision and staining the carpet below you?

Why couldn’t you keep your composure when the man that you love so much lost his temper and raised his voice at you?

Isaac is not my father. He’d never hurt me. Isaac is not my father. He’d never hurt me. 

You replayed these phrases in your head like a mantra, scolding yourself for even needing to make that clarification to yourself. Isaac had been having a stressful day. People snap sometimes and it’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok. 

It was your fault anyway. You’d insisted on having dinner with him when he’d told you that he’d skip dinner to continue working on a particularly hard case he’d gotten recently. You kept pushing when you shouldn’t have. It was your selfishness that got you into this situation. It was your fault. 

Perhaps that’s why you retreated into the bathroom after promptly apologizing for everything yet nothing at all. You weren’t even sure of what you’d said to him. As soon as you felt the panic spike through your body, you’d excused yourself as quickly as you possibly could. 

It took everything within you to stay quiet as the fears and feelings you often experienced as a child rushed back to you. Issac knew that your childhood wasn’t the happiest but you rarely discussed the details. You didn’t want him to feel like he needed to be careful around you. He always looked so fond when he talked about his mother’s traditions or his father’s teachings and you didn’t want to take that away from him. Truthfully, you weren’t even triggered by his experiences. His parent’s love for him had nothing to do with the unhealthy love your parents had given you. There was no reason why it’d bother you. There’s no reason why anything Isaac did would incite these feelings within you. Or at least you thought. 

This wasn’t even the first time he’d raised his voice at you. He’d been pretty agitated when you insisted on pursuing a relationship with him despite the dangers. He’d been harsh to you before when talking about his past was still considered to be none of your business. There was no reason as to why his anger was affecting you so much now and you hated yourself for reacting this way. 

Here you were, spiraling with thoughts of self-hatred and fear. 

Will he leave me if I’m too annoying? 

I should’ve left him alone, now he hates me.

He hates me. He hates me. He hates—

A sudden urgent succession of knocks on the door interrupts your thoughts. The door opens before you’re able to compose yourself or tell him to give you a moment. Telling by the worried look of his face and the speed at which the door opens, you figure that he’d been knocking for longer than you had realized. 

Time seemed to stop the moment your tear-filled eyes locked with his. You wanted to crawl into a hole from how mortified and embarrassed you felt at being caught for overreacting to such a small thing. 

You quickly get up from the floor, wiping the tears from your eyes with shaky hands. 

“I apologize for barging in. You weren’t responding and I… I was worried something had happened to you. It seemed like you were struggling to breathe; I didn’t know what to do.”

Before he has the chance to take your shaky hands into his and inspect your current state, you move away.

“Y-you don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry for causing such a—“ 

“No, I am the one who needs to apologize. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration on you when you were only trying to care for me. I should’ve thought about how my words would affect you. Please don’t ignore your own feelings. You more than have the right to feel upset right now. It’s only natural that you would be.” 

Shock was the only explanation for your sudden collapse. The shock of hearing the words you’d always wanted to hear from those that had hurt you from the one person who had only given you love destroyed the last bit of composure you had. 

Isaac joins you on the floor, bringing you close to his chest and holding you in the warmest embrace you’ve ever experienced. His hand rests in your hair, stroking it gently as you cry in his arms. His case didn’t matter right now, nor did anything else that could possibly require him to leave your side in this moment. He’d needed you so many times in the past. It was his turn to return the favor. 

“I- I was so scared,” you managed to speak in between sobs. Your hands found themselves holding onto his shirt, finding security in the firmness of your grip of him. 

Your actions only made Isaac pull you closer, “It’s ok, everything is going to be ok.” He lifts your chin, his eyes meeting yours, “I will do everything in my power to make sure of it.” 

This wasn’t the first time you’ve heard such words and promises from someone, but for the first time in your life, they don’t ring hollow. He wasn’t just trying to placate you. He meant every single word. 

You hold his gaze for a moment, deciding that you’ve hidden yourself away for far too long. He was Isaac Rhoades, the man you decided to spend the rest of your life with. The man who you trust with your life, who gave you a second chance at life. If there was anyone in the world who you could trust to handle your own demons, it was certainly him.

“…Isaac…have you ever wondered why I left home?” 

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 18: Renewed Desire

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes is a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: In an attempt to help them, Lucien invites the sisters for a journey. The shadows always take her side. Two years later, Azriel and Nyra finally let their desires take over. (SMUT FROM THE NEXT CHAPTER)

Author's message: From this chapter onwards, I will not follow the original plot. There will be a timeskip among other changes.

@feerique always and eternally grateful to you!!✨✨

Word count: 5.5k (Enjoy!!)

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

After the war, the  Cauldron made Archerons were dragged into politics with Vassa’s request to draft a new treaty. 

The twins worked on the draft treaty and correspondences while Elain helped out those affected by the war in Velaris. 

And one fine day, Lucien paid a visit. Nesta answered the door. 

“We’re the only ones here. You’ll have to go to the River House for the others.” Nesta sounded dull. 

“My lady.” He bowed. “I’m here to speak to the three of you.” 

Nesta blinked and quietly made way for his entry. She closed the door and held his gaze before she turned and entered the house. “Come with me.” 

They moved towards the corridor and stopped in front of a room. Nesta knocked on the door. “We have a visitor.”

Papers shuffled, wood moved against wood, fabrics swished, and Nyra Archeron opened the door. The lightning wielder saw Lucien and exited the room, closing the door behind her. 

They reached the backyard where Elain was planting saplings. Elain immediately turned and met Lucien’s gaze. Nesta cleared her throat. “He wishes to speak to us.” 

Elain quietly set aside her tools, stood up, brushed off the dirt on her hands, and joined them. She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “Yes?” 

The male was now definitely entranced. Probably because she was addressing him for the first time. 

“Before I begin, let me clarify that I’m not suggesting this because. . .” The autumn-born trailed away, looking at Elain. She tilted her head in a Nyra fashion. “I’d like all three of you to come with me.”

“Why?” Nesta was not even harsh. 

“A change in scenery.” 

Silence prevailed before Elain spoke. “The sunlight here is not that great.”

“What kind of change in scenery?” Nyra had only asked and Lucien had begun advertising all the different places he’d travel to after leaving Night.

“We’re not used to travelling. We’ll only burden you.” Nesta was cordial with her implied refusal but he was adamant. 

“I’m going for diplomatic discussions. It won’t be hectic. It’ll give you more ideas for the treaty drafting.” Lucien paused looking at Nyra before shooting his next question. “And wouldn’t you like to see the world?” 

The lightning wielder looked up at him, clearly intrigued. “Are you prepared for this?”

“I can only try, my lady.” He honestly answered. 

“Do you understand what this means?” Elain finally asked. 

“You are people. I know how to behave around people.” He answered, looking straight into those brown eyes. 

“That’s not what I meant.” She retorted. 

“I also understand that you’ll have your cycles. I have helped my mother with hers so there’s no need to worry on that front.” Elain simply blushed as her sense of propriety from her human life prevailed. “I’m a decent cook. And I’ll be ready for whatever you need of me.”

“You need not worry about cooking. We’re good at that.” Elain waved her hand. 

“It’s not just the cycle.” Nesta sighed. “We’re different from other fae. We’re even different from each other.” 

And Lucien remained persistent, silently meeting their gaze in turns. 

“All right.” Nyra was the first to succumb. 

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Elain comment lightheartedly. Lucien only stared at her in disbelief.

“Fine.” Nesta agreed.

“Do you have any pending works I can assist with?”

Nesta opened her mouth to refuse but she halted. She contemplated the offer and met his gaze with more acceptance. “Actually, yes.” 

“I’ll join you after this.” Elain nodded at him and quickly returned to her work. 

“It’s nearly dinner time.” Nyra mused. 

“Shall I cook something?” Lucien offered. The twins looked at him blankly. 

“When I accepted your assistance for pending works, it was not for household chores.” Nesta wondered why he would even offer to cook for them right now. 

“We can dine outside.” Nyra suggested.

“Eula’s.” Elain called from the distance. 

“Eula’s, it is.” Nyra looked at the sky, its pink and violet hues bringing the night. 

“Come with me, Lucien.” Nesta began. “I’d like your opinion on something.” The flame wielders headed inside. 

Nyra continued to stare at the sky as she reached Elain. “Does his presence bother you?” 

“Quite the opposite.” Elain whispered. “Is it the bond or is it him that calms me?”

“Maybe, you’ll know soon.” Nyra walked away. 

An hour later, they had dressed and departed. Eula’s was a fifteen minute walk. Many people greeted Elain, having interacted during her daily visits to the city. Neither twin interacted with anyone. Lucien smiled politely at a few familiar faces. They reached Eula’s nearly half an hour later. 

****

The shadowsinger was already sitting on the roof of the building opposite the one where Eula’s was. He’d seen Nyra as she walked with her sisters and that redheaded bastard. 

Green silk wrapped her body and flowed with her every movement. Hair in a loose bun with curls escaping near her ears. 

When was this female ever going to let him have his senses? 

Every single time he saw her, she consumed him wholly. 

He wanted to be near her, touch her, kiss her, and whisper sweet things to her. 

Could she ever give him a moment to catch his breath?

And then he remembered.

She was going to leave. 

His heart cracked. 

And the shadows were wailing. 

But if this is what was needed. If this is what she needed to regain her spirits. He’d support her. 

****

Azriel winnowed in front of the townhouse. He was nervous. He felt pathetic. Maybe, he should’ve come after a while. They’d only just returned from dinner. 

As soon as his shadows were about to take him away, the door opened. 

Nyra watched him with wide eyes and took a step outside. The shadows stopped and let him be. More shadows were around her wrist.

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

This beautiful creature, brilliant and full of wonders. What had he ever done to deserve a mating bond with her? 

“Were you leaving?” She whispered. 

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“I want to stay.” 

That moment filled with tenderness and intimacy they shared before the High Lords’ meet bloomed again. From when she’d kissed the corner of his lips. 

“Come in.” She led Azriel to the office she’d taken over and he closed the door behind him. 

Silence prevailed as she sat on her desk, now empty of all the papers and pens. Nyra looked at her hands. “I’m leaving.”

“I know.” 

She looked up at him.

“They told me.” She nodded and looked at the black snakes crawling around her fingers.

Azriel did not know what to say. He wanted her to stay but if this is what she wanted then how could he say otherwise? 

What if this is what she needed? A change? 

Change helped him a lot. He learned how to fly, cook, sew, kill, maim, and so much more. Perhaps he’d changed for the better and worse. 

The bond between them thrummed silently, a reminder of life. The storms in her mind were chaotic.

He walked forward and stopped two steps away from her. “May I?”

“What are you asking?”

“To touch you.” He heard her breath hitch. She nodded.

“Words, Nyra.”

She looked at him, eyes gleaming. “Yes.” 

Azriel wrapped her in a hug, his entire frame covering her like a shield against the world. There was no one but them. 

Nyra wrapped her hands around his torso. 

“Be safe.” He felt her nod against his chest. “Be happy.” Another nod. “Write to me.” She raised her chin, rested it against his chest,  and looked up at him. 

Gods fucking damn this world. 

She was too fucking adorable like this. 

He never wanted to let go.

“You’ll write to me too?” She whispered. 

And he smiled. “I’ll write to you too. But I may delay when I’m on a mission.”

“Mhm.” 

Azriel brushed the hair away from her forehead and kissed her there. 

“Have you had dinner?” She asked. 

Azriel went rigid. “No.” 

“Shall I prepare something then?” He was blank for all but a second before he began panicking. The shadows began cheering and panicking. 

She’s accepting? No, she wasn’t. 

She’s only offering food. She doesn’t know. Exactly. 

Of course, she doesn’t know. Because he was a fucking coward, that’s why.

Should we apply for leave? No!

A month? A month? Why were these idiots going overboard? 

Master hasn’t had sex in fifty two years. Owing to Amarnatha’s reign and the overload of work before his mating bond with Nyra snapped. 

He’s become a beacon of celibacy.

Does master remember how to bed a woman? What? 

How to please our mistress? What even? 

He’s going to embarrass us. What in the everloving fuck?

“Have you had dinner?” Azriel managed to ask between his shadows’ commentary. 

“Yes. I can cook-”

“I’ll eat at the House. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense.” She leaned back to look at him properly. Nyra seemed mad at how he spoke about himself. “You’re not a bother.”

A silence settled between them. He played with the baby hairs on her forehead and the side of her ears and Nyra enjoyed it as she felt ticklish. 

“How are your nightmares?” She asked. His hand near her ear stopped playing with her ear and dropped to her shoulder. 

“Manageable.” He was lying. 

“And the headaches?” 

“Tolerable.” Another lie. 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Lying is a part of my job description. I’m famously good at it.” Azriel tried to lighten the mood with an awkward smile. She sees through you.

“Unbelieve.” She was playing with his hair when she traced his ears. He loved her touch. He wanted more of it. “Your ears remind me of when I was human.”

“Bad memories?” 

“Bad and good.” She seemed to be lost as she traced the curve of his ear. Azriel sighed, her touch a reminder that the world was worth something. 

She was still wearing that green silk. Her neck craned to look at his face and he only wanted to kiss her. This was unbearable. 

“I’ll take your leave now.” He kissed her left hand and let the shadows take him away even as she called his name. 

****

The next day right before dawn, Rhysand stood at a distance from the townhouse with Lucien. “Day Court?”

“Yes, I’ve received a welcoming reply for our arrival.” 

Rhysand wondered when Lucien would discover his paternity. Politics was such a twisted thing and he only pitied the male who was unaware he’d be inevitably dragged into it even more than he already was. “If anything happens-”

“I know. You’ll slit my throat.”

“I was going to tell you to call out for me. If you’re anywhere in the Middle, then contact might be difficult so be prepared for greater risks.”

“Why would we go to the Middle?” Lucien looked at him oddly. 

“You’ll find that your mate is curious about plant life in the Middle. The twins may be drawn towards the monsters.”

“The Weaver?” 

“We won the war but three ancient gods are now free.” The twin gods and Bryaxis were released for war and were now free to roam the lands even though recent reports suggested their presence in the Middle. 

“What if the monsters are drawn to them?” 

“Elain’s power shouldn’t. The twins will.” Rhysand sighed. “I’ll ask Azriel.” He closed his eyes and sighed. His power thrummed and the next minute, the Spymaster joined them from a swirl of shadows. 

“What?” 

“Brooding already, brother? The sun hasn’t even risen.” Rhysand smirked. 

“And what are you doing here?” Azriel coldly asked, turning towards a larger fae cloaked in greying rags. 

The Suriel grinned, displaying its sharp teeth. Its face turned to the townhouse standing at a distance. 

Nyra Archeron appeared at the balcony in a nightdress and a robe, stretching her arms. And then she turned to look straight at Azriel. 

His breath hitched. If he could ever wake up to that sight, embracing that beautiful female, he’d count himself blessed. 

“Blessed you are indeed, shadowsinger.” The Suriel’s ominous voice spoke. “And even more blessed you will be.” The wind took those words and carried them away to the world. 

The Suriel took a step only to see a flash of lightning as Nyra emerged. It grinned and folded in the middle, a casual bow. “Greetings to the Sovereign of the Skies.” 

Azriel’s shadows were with her, twirling around her hands and hair and the hem of her nightdress.

“Your robe looks fantastic, Conqueror of the Cauldron.”

At that comment, the shadows slashed the Suriel, dismembering a leg. It kneeled with the other and cackled. As though it had been misted, the ghastly creature disappeared. 

Azriel walked over to her. The shadows had produced a cloak which materialised on her shoulders. They wrapped her up nicely in it, tying all the knots for her. 

Nyra frowned at him, probably for fleeing like that last night. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the cloak. Fur tickled her cheeks and she removed her face. The cold made her blush. “Rhys? Lucien?”

“Hello, Nyra.”

“Good morning.”

“Hello, hello. Good morning.” She was unusually cheerful for someone who’d frowned at him. 

Why did you run away? Here we go. Again. When were they going to stop reprimanding him like a child?

She thinks you rejected her. What?

You should listen to her when she speaks. 

Oh fucking fuck. He didn’t. Azriel could never reject her. He would never dare. 

“You’re in a good mood.” Rhys remarked fondly, a tone Azriel remembered had been reserved for Maia and now, Nyra.

“Nesta made hot chocolate. And none of us are having nightmares these days.” 

“And you’re still sleepy.” Lucien eased into the conversation. Azriel wondered if last night’s dinner had increased the familiarity between him and the sisters. 

“It’s winter.” She pouted. Azriel would have a heart attack any time soon if she remained that adorable. “I’d rather be in bed than anywhere else.” 

“We’re to leave soon. I hope you haven’t forgotten.” Lucien reminded. They were going to leave this afternoon. The Day Court was the first destination. 

“I remember.” And she was going to leave thinking he’d rejected her. But she was just too pretty for him to stay in her presence and remain sane. 

Azriel took a step forward and she immediately glared at him and then turned to Rhys. “I need to freshen up. Meet you later?”

“We’ll meet you after breakfast.” Rhysand assured. 

****

Azriel, being his calm, stoic self with no ability to communicate the deepest of his feelings, watched quietly as Nyra and her sisters left with Lucien. She spared him a withering glance before the party winnowed away. 

Once they left, the shadows began screaming. You better write to her, you stupid male. 

Beg for her forgiveness. 

You’re a grown adult. Miscommunication at this age is disgusting. For a Spymaster, he had fucked up in communicating vital information to his mate. 

Get your shit together before someone else sweeps her away. 

There’s no shortage of males or females who’d want her attention and affection. 

They wouldn’t shut up. They kept on screaming and yelling so much that he winnowed away to his mother’s house for comfort, knowing they’d behave around her. 

****

Two years later. 

Azriel knew he had fucked up. He was the one who’d proposed the idea of writing and he was also the one who’d stopped correspondence. 

Despite Nyra being upset with him, they’d written to each other and then there was a mission that lasted too long. 

He assumed that a pause warranted an explanation but his draft letters were unsatisfactory and he ended up not sending a letter or replying to hers. He even disappeared when she visited. 

It had been nearly four months since they stopped corresponding and two years since she’d left Velaris. 

Azriel couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live without seeing her, or talking to her, or feeling her. He wanted to lose his senses to her. 

He was also scared. 

Because she was his equal and identical in one particular aspect—they did not forgive or forget as evinced by how she’d killed her mother. And this much might have been enough for her to consider him a traitor. 

And with fear and need, he finally showed up at the Archeron residence with her favourite cheesecake. 

****

The living room of the manor was a scene from a horror novel. Probably because Nesta was glaring at Azriel from the armchair she had seated herself on. 

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. He’d been so afraid of Nyra’s reaction that he’d forgotten that Nesta Archeron was a terrifying female. 

“I hope you’ve made arrangements for your funeral.” She was frosty one moment and then gave him an overly cheerful smile. “I’m looking forward to that.” 

Nesta was really looking forward to his death. Surely, Nyra was not that harsh. Right? 

The door opened loudly and Nyra marched in, eager and bright as she called her twin. “Nesta, there’s. . .” 

She was radiant in silver, he wanted to kneel and beg for everything. 

His heartbeat felt heavy, the organ ready to break through his ribs. His mouth parted and throat dried and he did not say anything. He had no words no matter how many times he’d rehearsed his apology. 

And then Nyra noticed Azriel, who stood up instantly. He was nervous and anxious and so many things but she simply dismissed his existence and started talking to Nesta about a new novel. 

The twins chatted for not more than two minutes before promising to resume the conversation later. Nyra turned on her heel and headed towards the door when her name escaped his lips. 

“Who are you?” She sounded like she’d met an unpleasant creature and she’d rather be anywhere else. 

The shadowsinger flinched. “It’s me. Azriel.”

“Come to think of it. I knew someone by that name.” Thunder roared outside. “That Azriel who did not write for four months?” 

“I-”

“Or was it that Azriel who did not bother showing his face for the past year?” Oh, she was so gloriously merciless. 

“Nyra. .”

“I thought he was dead.” She smiled so sweetly and Azriel heard Nesta snort. “Since he did not visit or write.”

“I’m alive, Nyra.” He moved closer.

“Shall I rectify that?” Lightning crackled at her fingertips as she raised her hand. 

“Please. .” It was foolish to avoid our precious mistress. 

She spared him nothing before walking away. Azriel followed her. “Nyra. Please. Just listen to me.” 

Nyra simply walked as if he didn’t exist and entered her room. He followed and caught her wrist. When she turned back, Azriel was greeted with indifference. 

“I had a mission that lasted a month and I wrote letters and never sent them because I didn’t think any of them was adequate enough reply and by the time I wrote a decent letter, five months had passed and I’d already heard that you were furious and I-ow!” 

Nyra smacked his arm, interrupting his rant. “What’s the point of writing letters if you can’t be bothered to send them?” 

Azriel took a step back in response to her advancing towards him. He moved around the bed only to be chased after. She was furious. “You could’ve just visited.” 

“I had another mission.” 

“That’s what letters are for.” She grabbed a bottle of something and threw it at him. The shadows caught it and gently set it down where it was. “No, don’t protect him.” She took a pen. “Let him feel everything.” 

“Nyra, please.”

“You fucking idiot!” The pen hit him. He caught the empty vase. Clearly, the shadows were siding with her. And then she grabbed a dagger. “You and your stupidity warrants everything I throw at you.” Exactly!

“Sweetheart, that’s a dagger.” Azriel only processed the sound of the weapon landing on the wooden column behind him. His wings dropped. 

“You repeat this again and I won’t miss.” Gods, she was so beautiful—all feral and angry at him. At him. 

Oh, this marvellous female. 

He wanted to drown in her.

And she picked up a sword. Where did she even get that from? We gave it to her. 

“Nyra.” And his every call of her name was a prayer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” The apology did not have the intended effect. Lightning coursed from her palm to the sword. “How dare you throw your flimsy apologies at me after no contact for months?” 

“I know. Let me-”

“Months. Months! And you think you deserve to be pardoned?” Thunder roared like a chained beast demanding freedom.

“My drafts were not good enough.” 

“I did not want perfection from your letters, I wanted you.” Nyra threw the sword away and looked around for something else to throw at him. “I wanted to know if you were alive, breathing, healthy, and you delivered nothing.” She removed her slipper and aimed for his face. Azriel dodged it in time. 

And she stopped pacing around, stopped picking up things. Nyra simply stopped and Azriel travelled through the shadows in front of her and took her in his arms. 

“You were worried about me?” Azriel asked while praying silently.

Nyra struggled against his grip. “How dare you question that? You absolute-”

“I won’t. I won’t. I swear I won’t.” He hugged her tighter. Nyra began to relax. The shadows gently pried the sword from her hand. 

Azriel picked her up and deposited her on the table. He let go of her but his hands remained on either side of her, supporting himself and cornering her so she wouldn’t escape. 

Azriel leaned forward and brushed their noses against each other. 

A soft feeling came to life. 

The same as what bloomed back when they’d shared a moment before Azriel departed for the High Lords’ Meet two years ago. Before Nyra left Velaris.

The scales began leaning towards balance as Azriel and Nyra breathed against each other. 

Desire renewed itself and buried affections began sprouting. 

Azriel saw her eyelashes and her cheeks glowing golden under the lights. She was breathing heavily after her outburst as she watched her hands play with a strap on his leathers. And he was desperate to meet her gaze. 

He placed his hand on her shoulder and let the thumb graze her collarbone. The hand ascended to her neck and stayed there while his thumb traced her chin and pushed it upward so that she would look at him. Midnight blue greeted him gently. 

“Inconsiderate ass.” She mumbled. The warmth was returning to her and Azriel was relieved. 

The shadows carefully floated over to her and one brave tendril tugged at her finger. She looked at it and turned her hand to show her palm as a sign of her consent. More shadows appeared. The remaining ones slowly brought to her many crumpled papers, all of it raining in the room. 

All the drafts master wrote for you. 

And for the first time, Nyra looked at the shadows in shock. Because she could hear them. 

“These are his drafts?” She slowly looked around her.

Yes, drafts from the very first letter he wrote to you. He thought we threw it away but we saved. . . You can hear us? 

“Yes.” She replied. And she heard them cheering like a little band of children. 

And in the middle of it all stood Azriel, surprised that she could hear them. 

Could you try to speak to us from your mind? That’s how our tactless master communicates with us? They sounded all too eager to talk to Nyra.

Like this? And when Nyra succeeded, they cheered again. She smiled at the dark wisps as they gently pushed her towards the dining table. 

We’ve got cheesecake for you, mistress. And from a pocket of shadows, the cheesecake Azriel had purchased earlier appeared. 

Thank you. She was happy. 

I was the one who bought it. Azriel deadpanned. 

Azriel? Nyra’s voice in his mind had him flustered. 

We apologise on behalf of our master. He can be an idiot at times. The shadows easily intervened. 

Azriel immediately raised his mental shields before contemplating. The mating bond now seemed stronger. Did that have anything to do with Nyra being able to hear the shadows? 

Yes. He’s an idiot. Nyra replied dryly. What have you lot been up to? Surely not brooding by his side. She was utterly happy while addressing the shadows. 

We missed you. Azriel was convinced the bastards were trying to flirt with her. And our master was the only one brooding because he was too afraid to send you letters. 

Your master is an established idiot. 

That he is. The woe to belong to someone as grumpy as he. The shadows had now begun bitching about him, right under his nose. He’s insufferable when he writes letters to you, mistress. His attention to detail is agonising. 

“Why are you troubling them?” She watched him with an easy smile but his gaze had changed. It was heated and all the lightheartedness thawed, making room for something heavier. 

“May I?” His voice was deeper than it usually was and Azriel was obviously looking at her lips. Nyra wanted this. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted this two years ago and even now. How had things not changed?

“Yes.” Her consent was probably the most commemorative thing that had ever happened in his life. Azriel brought his other hand down from her neck which pulled her closer by the hip. 

Their lips were close. Still so close and still not touching. So when Nyra leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss, leaned back, and looked up at him intently, Azriel moved and devoured her.  

Nyra loved his mouth on hers, his hand on the back of her neck. Absolutely enjoyed him taking control and demanding every bit of her. 

Her head leaned back and even further and Azriel grabbed it before it hit the wall. When he moved a little away from her, leaving her gasping after their kiss, Azriel looked like he had every intention to make her moan. 

“What. . .” She rasped, hauling air inside her like he was. 

“Hold on to me.” Because he was not going to accept her grabbing anything other than him—not the table, not the sheets, it had to be him. 

Her hands wrapped themselves around his neck, fingers combing his hair, nails grazing his scalp inducing a soothing sensation. “Good girl.” 

His mouth moved to her jaw and descended to her neck, sucking harshly. She had such supple skin, he never wanted to take his mouth off her. 

“Beautiful.” He looked up at her. She was flushed and breathless. Her hair messier than before, the straps of her gown removed from her shoulder, two purple marks on her neck and collarbone. And the sight of her hurt so deliciously. 

“Tell me I can touch you more.” Azriel was begging now. “Tell me I can undress you.” 

Nyra might’ve fainted right then. Or maybe she wanted him to make her faint. The shadows were too much. Felt too good with their fluttery touches. 

She’d had sex before but . . what was this? This was new. 

Was it because he was her friend? 

Because she already found him attractive? 

Because she’d already been half way in love with him? 

“Yes.” Her hand cupping his jaw moved and she touched his lips with her thumb. Nyra leaned in and kissed him, relishing in the slow start and their passionate progress.

Her skirts were now a bother, forming layers  between them. And her slippers, why were they not off? One of them was stubbornly dangling off her feet. And then she felt the cool touch of the shadows remove her slippers and slide up her legs. 

“Do the shadows. . .” She broke the kiss and looked up at him. “Do they always participate?”

“They are?” He looked dumbfounded. 

“They’re teasing my legs.” 

Azriel spared the dark tendrils a glance, his eyebrows raised. “That’s a first.” He mumbled to himself. 

Nyra did not understand why this new piece of information made her feel special. And she moaned, head leaning back and closing her eyes. They’d pinched her inner thigh. And Azriel eagerly bit her neck. 

Her breathing was already heavy and stuttered. And Nyra wanted to fall, so down. But Azriel squeezed her waist. She opened her eyes to see this beautiful male starving for her, waiting to feast. 

“Bed?” Nyra nodded quickly. He scooped her up, hoping he’d last long enough to give her pleasure. 

It had been quite some time since he last had sex. Nearly fifty two years. Forty nine something years busy worrying about Rhys and plotting to get him back and around two years since the mating bond. 

Restrain me if I’m too rough. Obey her without question or complaint. Because if he was going to do this, he had to ensure a safeguard for her. 

Yes, master. The shadows solemnly vowed. 

This was everything he wanted. Nyra in his arms and his mouth on her. And he would burst because this female was indescribably endearing. Her hand came to his shoulders and then on his chest. 

“Off.” She whispered against his lips. “Take it off.” 

Azriel tapped a siphon and the leathers on his upper body dematerialised. He removed his siphon-attached gloves and let the shadows set them down. He felt his boots unbuckle as the shadows helped him out of it. 

Nyra felt the cotton of her sheets on her palms as she was set down by the side of the bed. Azriel leaned back and stood straight. Impatient at his own shadows for taking long, he yanked the boots from his legs and threw them away. 

Meanwhile, Nyra gathered her hair and brought it forward from one side. The shadows immediately swarmed over to unzip the dress and pulled it down, helping her out of it. 

Azriel felt tortured at heaven’s doorstep. Nyra in black made him want to kneel. 

His hands went to his belt and unbuckled it with speed and ease. Unbuttoning his pants and letting the shadows pull them down immediately while he moved closer. His undershorts remained. 

“Are you sure?” He placed a hand on her cheek. 

Nyra was looking at him, his body. She placed a hand on his chest, on the scar left behind by Jurian’s spear. A reminder of the day her sisters were Made into fae. She stood up and kissed the scar. 

She looked up at him coyly. “Do I need to write a letter that you might not answer?” 

Azriel raised his hand to the back of her throat and ascended to tangle his fingers on her hair. Azriel pulled her soft, thick hair and her gasps were beautiful. 

“I’ll write you as many letters as you want. For now, I’d show you all that cannot be written.” 

Nyra smiled, amused at that. “There are smutty books. Many things are written in those.” 

Azriel smiled faintly. “Not for us.” He kissed her ear. “We’re real.” He whispered. 

Nyra’s knees weakened. And she sat on the bed as if she’d been dropped. And Azriel was on his knees, parting her legs. 

She leaned back, supporting her body with her elbows and watched his kiss and lick and suck her thighs. 

She felt herself become more sensitive as each second passed. Her back felt the cold of the sheets. Goosebumps were all over her hands and upper body. Her legs were warm and wherever Azriel placed his mouth, Nyra felt heat. 

And she could feel her damp underwear sticking to her. “Stop teasing.” 

“Patience is a virtue.” He was so close. He kissed her inner thigh. Azriel had half a mind to rest his head against that incredibly soft thigh. Maybe he’d finally get some good sleep. 

“I’m not feeling particularly virtuous right now.” To know that she desired him brought him peace and then his own desire rattled that peace.

“As if I’m any better.” Azriel chuckled faintly. And he bit her inner thigh once, pulled the fabric of her underwear aside and licked. 

Nyra wanted to breathe. She really did. But Azriel was gently licking her as if he were savouring her taste. It was the first time but she would probably cry or scream if he kept on teasing her anymore. 

Heat filled her as she met his gaze. Breathing had become a legitimate task because she couldn’t seem to do it unconsciously.

His hands which remained on her inner thighs moved. He now held her thighs from below and lifted it. With no difficulty, he’d placed her legs on his shoulders. 

The shadows snipped her panties and disposed of it, leaving behind their cool touch. And Azriel whispered. “Lie down, Nyra. And take all of me.”

****

TAGLIST:

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[greyfongschemmenti]

A Ride To Remember

paring: Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

word count: 1.4k

Warning: none?

"I'm glad we have another thespian in Abbott," Jacob said as he settled into the backseat of your Honda Accord. "I'm not a thespian. I just watch" you gently offer. Earlier in the week during lunch, Barbara and Jacob had been discussing an upcoming production at the Bushfire Theatre. "I can't believe 'Life is a Dream' is being showcased here," Barbara chimed in as she fastened her seatbelt.

"Well, from the sounds of it, it sounds... interesting," Melissa quipped as you closed her door and got into the car. As you joined them, you listened to Jacob and Barbara excitedly exchange how the theater will portray the characters, shaking your head softly as you exchanged a smile with Melissa.

Once the two decided to see the play, Barbara asked Jacob if she could invite Melissa, given that the two had become friends since becoming roommates. Jacob agreed and suggested you join to keep the group in equal numbers. Since Janine has been busy in her new district role. You insisted on driving the four of you to the theater.

"So, who's the Quasimodo guy?" Melissa asked from the front seat as you began the drive downtown.

"Segismundo," Jacob gently corrected her, launching into a detailed explanation of the main character's background and history. Despite Melissa's regretful expression, you couldn't help but chuckle softly at her mistake.

—

While the play unfolded onstage, your eyes frequently wandered to Barbara and Jacob, who were captivated by the performance. You slid your hand into Melissa’s, surprising her and earning a warning look. The two of you exchanged a silent discussion, gesturing to your friends who were engrossed in the play. Melissa relaxed and intertwined her fingers with yours, both of you enjoying the subtle intimacy as you softly ran your thumb over her hand while watching the play. With each exchanged glance between you and Melissa, the connection between you deepened, amplifying the enjoyment of each other’s presence.

—

As the four of you navigated through the crowd exiting the building, you kept holding Melissa’s hand to avoid losing her in the sea of people. Once outside, you both let go, and you breathed a sigh of relief. "The play wasn’t that bad," you remarked with a smile.

Barbara agreed, letting out a happy sigh, while Jacob suggested grabbing coffee before heading back to end the night. No one opposed, and Jacob led the way to a nearby coffee shop. As Jacob and Barbara walked ahead, discussing the theater’s performance, you and Melissa followed, enjoying the quiet moment together, with your hands occasionally brushing against each other, a secret dance of affection in public.

Barbara looked back and saw the two of you oblivious of the action. "Do you agree, dear?" Her question caught you off guard. "I’m sorry, what?"

Jacob jumped in, redirecting the conversation to the play's conclusion “Segismundo’s conclusion at the end of the play. How he condemned the rebel soldier but Barbara is saying it’s about moral awakening”. You and Melissa exchanged a glance, scrambling for an answer. "Umm… I would think both of you are correct? It seemed like Calderón purposefully made it ambiguous, whatever the viewer takes and in return adds additional tension and depth to the play" you offered.

“Nerds,” Melissa scoffed, breaking the tension. Jacob and Barbara nodded, taking your words into account and continuing their discussion. You chuckled softly, grateful for Melissa’s quick save, as the four of you continued to the coffee shop.

—

Jacob opened the doors to The Toast Cafe, and you let Melissa and Barbara pick out a table. "What would you like to drink, Barbara? My treat," you offered, pulling out chairs for both women. Barbara requested tea, while Melissa nodded in agreement with your usual order. You met up with Jacob, letting him order his drink, and then you ordered for yourself and the two ladies.

After the barista made the drinks, you joined the ladies and handed them their beverages. "Oh, you did order a drink, Melissa," Barbara commented, noticing Melissa’s slight hesitation. She held her coffee cup and nodded “Yup, must’ve not heard me” she quickly took a sip to prevent the conversation from continuing.

—

On the drive back to Abbott, the group enjoyed watching the city lights while listening to soft music. Seated comfortably in the back were Barbara and Jacob. Meanwhile, in the front seats, you and Melissa exchanged furtive glances. After a while, Melissa absentmindedly reached her hand over and intertwined your fingers, resting them on your thigh as you navigated through the city streets. Melissa softly stroked your hand as you focused on the road.

Jacob looked away from the window and glanced over at his colleagues, noticing Melissa's hand. He thought with how dark the cabin was that he was seeing things but as each street light passed the image was clear. His face lit up with surprise, and he exclaimed, “Oh my god!”

The sudden outburst startled everyone, causing you to slightly swerve. Melissa’s hand immediately withdrew, her fight or flight instinct kicking in, while you regained control of the steering wheel after swerving out of the lane. "What?!" you exclaimed, “Yeah what the hell Jacob!” Melissa looked back at you just as Barbara grabbed onto the car and her chest, thinking this was the end.

Jacob looked at the both of you. “You two… you’re seeing each other!”

You and Melissa froze, exchanging panicked looks as you struggled to come up with a plausible explanation.

Barbara, ever the voice of reason, shook her head. "Come on, Jacob, don't be ridiculous. Melissa and y/n are just... friends, right?"

Jacob raised an eyebrow skeptically, his grin widening. "Oh, please. I may teach sixth grade, but even I can see the sparks flying between those two. No need for headlights with how bright they are"

Melissa cleared her throat, attempting to steer the conversation away from their personal lives. "Don’t be ridiculous. How about that Quasimodo dude and Rosario chick?"

“I already told you, Segismundo and Rosaura,” Jacob gently corrected her, launching into their stories before he stopped. “Oh, nice try, Schemmenti,” he added with a knowing look while Melissa stares daggers at him. The both of them having a silent discussion with just their looks before he relents “Alright, I'll drop it... for now.." 

But Jacob's intuition couldn't be swayed. His playful demeanor masked a keen awareness that sent a shiver down your spine. You and Melissa exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the precariousness of your situation.

Once leaving the parking lot, dropping Jacob and Barbara at their cars, leaving Melissa last. You drove around the lot before leaving the lot entirely to actually drive her home. Once arriving at her apartment building you walk her to the steps of her building door, offering Melissa your leather jacket. You slide your hands in your jean pocket as the Philly air gets chilly. The both of you share a look before letting out a laugh. “That was close,” you murmured to the redhead. “Yeah, it was my fault. I forgot they were in the backseat when I took your hand,” her cheeks blushed softly, and you shared a smile. “It was weird driving without your hand there,” a slight smirk on your lips as you looked around, in case Jacob was driving up. “You think the coast is clear?”

Melissa glanced over then up at the window for a second and nodded. “Jacob’s gotta be asleep by now,” she whispered, and you took your hand out of your pocket, closing the space between you. Gently tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, you whispered, “Goodnight, Melissa,” gazing into her green eyes.

“Goodnight, hon,” she whispered back, resting her hand on your cheek. Your hands rested on her waist as you leaned in, sharing a series of slow kisses that deepened into a short makeout session.

Melissa let out a small laugh as she pulled back, softly resting her forehead against yours. “You should go before Boy Wonder sends out a search party,” she teased, lightly tapping your cheek before sliding out of your jacket and handing it back to you.

“You’re right,” you agreed, letting out a soft chuckle, sharing a last kiss then whispering to agree to see each other in the morning. You waved goodbye once you reach down to your car as Melissa went inside her house, not driving away until you saw the door close behind her.

Neither of you noticed that Jacob was watching the whole exchange from the bedroom window, a smug look on his face as he turns to walk back to his room. “My gaydar is never wrong.”

[contentloadingandstuff]

Discovering Your Past - Eula & Keqing x Male!Reader

In which they find out you were abused by your ex.

CW: Mentions of past trauma - physical abuse and SA. Modern AU. A/N: My fics are getting longer recently. I wonder if you guys mind?

Injuries are a natural part of life. 

A scraped knee, a concussion, a sprained or broken limb - all creatures will have to endure these hardships one way or another. And, as the saying goes, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Each wound leaves a scar, each fight or accident is a lesson for the future on what to do or avoid. 

What about those on the other end? Most feel regret about hurting others, are forced to do it or are convinced of their actions' justified nature. Yet among those are some starkly different cases. People who enjoy causing pain, be it physical or mental. And, undoubtedly, she was one of them. 

Fate had it that your heart longed for her. She was a beauty, benign and friendly, whose charms worked on you without fail. She pushed, she pulled, slowly dragging you into her web. Your mind was too clouded with feelings to notice just how badly she trapped you. Like a spider she wrapped you in silky touches and words of affection like in a cocoon, and you were completely oblivious to your situation. And that she was - an apex predator, an effortless liar and natural manipulator. She stoked the flames of family conflicts, estranging you from your loved ones. Friends? She gave you a simple choice - it's me or them. You were coaxed into signing off your house under her name, as she encouraged you to do with many of your belongings, until you had nothing. Time and time again she pulled your strings through your heart, backing you into a corner. Alone. Unable to escape. Without anyone to turn to, anywhere to get away. 

When your eyes opened at last, nobody was there to hear you scream. 

Years. It took you two whole years to escape her clutches, two years of cruelty hidden behind a veil of love. With only the clothes on your back and some Mora in your pocket, you set off to another nation. There, you found a new home, and a new love. Sweet, caring and warm. 

But wounds of the past cannot be hidden forever. 

You push the door behind you, closing it with an accidently loud thud. Eula kicks off her high heels and enters the hall, placing down her bag and taking her jacket off. You put yours on the hanger and move to take hers, but she sends you a sharp look and walks past you, doing it herself. 

The silence is tense. You know what you did. 

“Honey, listen. I know I shouldn't have started that discussion-” You try to speak, but she turns around and cuts you off. 

“Yes, you shouldn't have.” 

Her eyes send daggers towards you. Your heart aches at the sight of your lover so full of anger, all because of you. Her family wasn't easy to interact with. Her choice of career made her the pariah of the line, but after she married you, the relations seemingly normalized enough to make them liveable. Seemingly. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have. I mustn't do that ever again. I promise I won't.” You raise your open hands, as if showing you're unarmed. What was supposed to calm her down just irritates her. 

She scoffs and approaches you. “I say you are an intelligent man, but times like these are when I doubt it. What's so hard to understand in ‘my family isn't normal and the less you interact with them the better’?”

She's right. Eula has told you time and time again that the opinions her father, mother, grandparents, uncles and aunts hold are final. Nothing will change them, they won't ever back down. They are egomaniacal with a tendency to bring those around them down to elevate themselves. And yet, there's something drawing you to them, something natural that tells you that they can be a source of warmth. 

Because that's how things are supposed to be. A family should love each other, be united and supportive instead of polarized and hateful. Something in your soul doesn't seem to understand that you can't find any support in her side of the family. 

“I know, Eula. I try to-”

“Then your ‘trying’ is not enough!” Her voice elevates further. There is something building in your chest. The pressure crawls from your heart up through your throat, rotting itself inside your neck. A choking feeling. 

“Y/N, you shouldn't talk to them! Never, ever. You know how it ends, don't you? They bring you down, they hurt and belittle you. And you know that, don't you?” 

Her eyes are narrowed. She speaks louder now, her words coming from a place of compassion and love rather than hostility. Your mind, however, is focused on something else. 

Something familiar. 

Her tone picks up, and so does your heartbeat. She's almost screaming now. 

“Sorry, dear, but are you masochistic? Or just stupid?! I will have vengeance!”

Your hyper focused eyes spot movement. Her hand goes upwards, your chest sinking. Body stiffening, you turn your head down and sideways, exposing your cheek. 

Just as she taught you. 

Fighting back was pointless. 

You deserve it. 

You hold your breath. 

Silence. 

The blow doesn't connect. You hear the sounds of a barefoot step. You crack your eyes open. You see Eula has taken a step back, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. She blinks a few times and pulls her hand back towards her body. 

“Not t-that kind of vengeance.” Eula barely mumbles the words out in pure confusion. She shakes her head in disbelief, her gaze leaving you and dropping to the floor. “Never. I w-would never-”

You spring back to life, as if a grave threat or danger just vanished. 

“No no no, it's alright, honey. I just got a little scared of you, haha. It's fine, really!” You smile sheepishly, shame crawling under your skin. On reflex or out of habit, you rub your cheek. “Maybe I really am stupid, for being scared and all, you know?”

She takes a slow step closer. Her voice is far quieter than mere seconds ago, now down from a scream to a whisper.

 “No. Don't call yourself that. My… My emotions got the better of me, honey. I’m sorry.” Eula’s voice composes, worry furrowing her brow as she stretches out her arm towards you, this time taking care to do it slowly. “May I…?”

You smile and nod, letting the palm of her hand connect to your cheek. Her touch is gentle, fingers tracing your skin with utmost care. 

Your skin is so soft, so smooth, familiar. Her heart clenches, her mind holding no doubt about your reaction. You are not someone easily scared, nor are you particularly fearful of harm. Something, somebody…

“Who was it?” Her hand trails down smoothly, coming to rest on your shoulder. “Who hurt you?”

You shake your head. “What? What do you mean? Nobody, I’m fine-”

“I said…” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “... who hurt you?” 

At an instant, the thoughts in your mind already form into a rebuttal, a measly attempt to cover the truth. But you know better than that. Eula isn't that stupid. 

You sigh, trying to figure out what to say. Seeing your hesitation, she places both of her arms on your shoulders, her eyes focusing on yours. Within her beautiful irises fading from deep purple to light yellow you find a steadiness worthy of a captain, but also a lover. 

“You don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable, honey.” She speaks softly, stroking your skin in calming circles. “I just need to know if justice has been served, or some additional, very particular and very severe vengeance needs to be added to my to-do list.”

“My ex-girlfriend is… She’s no longer a threat, alright?” You close the distance between you and Eula and embrace her. Your lover secures her arms around you right away, providing you with just the comfort you seek. “I just don’t want to go back to those days. They’re over and I just want to focus on you… On somebody that actually loves me. Somebody that doesn’t scream at me for no reason, belittles and insults me, and…”

Your voice trails off. Images and sensations rush through your memory. Every insult, every impact weighs on your voice, trapping it beneath the torrent of nightmarish memories. Eua squeezes you tighter. 

“Shh. Don’t think about it now, sweetie. You're here, safe in my arms. I promise to be your shield. However…”

Eula's characteristic pout forms on her face. 

“For not telling me about this, I will have vengeance.”

“That was a little shameful for me-” She cuts you off. 

“Silence. My retribution is nigh. For your transgression, I shall cuddle you and feed you ice cream while subjecting you to the terror of your favorite movie.” She narrows her eyes theatrically before gently, but firmly grabbing a hold of your wrist. “You cannot escape now.”

You smile in horror. 

The screen flashes with a jump scare as a curtain is moved aside. A disfigured monstrosity covered in black goo and rags opens its jaw to reveal a set of sharp, but surprisingly pristine teeth.

“Brains!” Its voice is clearly augmented in some way, deep and a little echoing. 

The punk screams at this sight but before he can do anything, the zombie grabs his head with its skeletal hands and bites down. The rest of the group squeals. The man's head is cracked open like an egg, filling the undead's mouth with fake blood and flesh-like props. 

“Oh my…” Keqing can't help but gasp a little, her arms tightening around your chest slightly. “That's a lot of jaw force…”

As the zombie digs into the man's brain, a joke comes to your mind. 

“He's not going to extract a lot of brain from him, is he?” 

In response, Keqing chuckles a little. “Yeah. But at least he is also quite brave. If not for him, that girl would have been the meal instead.”

“True, true.”

The movie continues. The female lead escapes the locker she was trapped in moments ago as her friend is being devoured. Another character throws an empty bucket of paint at the creature, making it fall back, before raising up and exclaiming joyously: 

“More brains!”

The kids scream and run away. Keqing, as much as she finds the movie interesting, can't help but recall one scene in particular. 

A smirk settles on her delicate features. “So… How's the movie? Do you like it?”

You nod vigorously. “Of course! It's a classic that I wanted to watch for a long time now, but never got around to that. And I can confidently say that I regret not watching it earlier. It's a lot of fun.”

Keqing hums in understanding. Her fingers, one of them brandishing a beautiful and intricate golden ring, slowly move up onto your leg. 

“Did you enjoy any scene in particular, honey?” Your eyes follow her hand as it moves up, each finger making a slow, deliberate step. 

Just a glance at her slight blush and sly smirk is enough to make you catch on, making your cheeks heat up as well. You gulp. 

“Well…” You start, but Keqing places a finger on your lips, silencing you. 

“Aw, sweetie~ I know full well how you were eyeing that girl. Your thoughts were betrayed by much more than just your stare.”

Her hands move up, sliding underneath your shirt and caressing your exposed chest. You feel her desire through her movements, careful, seductive, yet impatient at the same time. A little shiver of excitement crawls through your body. 

“Honestly, Y/N, I can't blame you. That redhead was quite a beauty, after all. ”

Her hands clench over your body as she rolls to sit on your lap, her eyes, twinkling with desire, pointed right at you. Keqing sends you a wink. Your hands settle on her buttocks. 

“But you see, my dear, you got me just a little too jealous to resist showing this handsome guy which girl his attention should be on~” Her hands shift to meet yours, fingers wrapping around your wrists. “So relax and let me have the spotlight~”

Your eyes widen as she hoists your arms off her and pins them to the wall above your head. You try to struggle away, but her grip is iron thanks to the additional strength provided by her Vision. An attempt to release your body from underneath hers fails as well. You're nervous - this never happened before. 

“Keqing, you're-” You start to say, but are interrupted by her right hand locking onto your throat. 

Your hands clench, eyes growing wide. You choke, any words of protest dying in your restricted windpipe. You look at Keqing, who smiles mischievously, completely oblivious to your discomfort. 

“What did I say? Bad boy!” She uses her other hand to pry yours off her choking arm. You relent, shocked and increasingly scared at her sudden roughness. “Now stay still, or you'll regret it~”

Tears form in your eyes as she leans and begins kissing and licking your cheek, adding small bites here and there. You close your eyes, not wanting to see what happens next. The feeling of her genuine affection recalls different images in your mind. The past and the present melt into one in your mind. 

As you lay helpless, Keqing continues loving you until her tongue hits an unusual note of salt on your skin. She pulls back and, upon seeing you crying, lets go of you right away. Her hands go to cover her mouth in an expression of pure horror. 

“I’m sorry! I’m… Oh Gods, I didn't mean to-!” 

You squirm away and, in response, Keqing jumps off of you. She reaches towards you, but ultimately stops herself. Shame, guilt and sadness light up her face, hidden behind her small hands. 

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve. By now your senses have returned. Her reaction brought you back at an instant. You get up and approach her. 

“Keqing, I'm sorry, nothing-” 

You're interrupted as she dashes past you. You can only call out to her as she runs to the bathroom and slams the door behind her. The sound of a lock turning halts your movements. 

You sigh and drop back down on the couch. The movie is still playing. Your ears pick up the sounds of soft sobbing from behind the bathroom doors. The heart tells you to get up, to talk to her, to knock down the door if need be, but the brain speaks with reason. She needs time, and you know it. It's better to let her calm down on her own. If you were to approach her now, she likely wouldn't speak to you, let alone open the door. 

Tears return to the corners of your eyes. Your heart aches at the sound of her pain. You can tell what she's thinking. That she's awful, dangerous, creepy, abusive. That it's all her fault. 

But the truth? She's not the problem. You are. 

The TV's noise irritates you. You turn it off and throw the remote across the room. Your head falls into your hands. 

How could you have done this to her? 

Why can't you just let go? 

Why are you so weak? 

A shaky sentence manages to make its way out of your lips. 

“It's all my fault.”

—

Deafening silence was all that filled the following hour when her crying died down. You went through every possibility of what would happen when the bathroom door would open. You planned what to tell her and how, you anticipated all of her possible reactions. You knew you couldn't fail again. You couldn't leave her in the dark and risk another incident like this. 

She shouldn't suffer because of me, you thought. It was your obligation to be transparent with your wife. Not like you weren't dying to apologize, to comfort her, to let her know it isn't her fault. But you were patient. 

When the door finally opened, Keqing looked abysmal. Her make-up was completely gone, first made running with tears, then washed away along with them. Her hair was a mess, not a trace of her usual prim and proper style left. Her eyes were red and barely open. 

You spoke gently. You hugged her, asking for a chance to explain yourself. She nodded wordlessly and you sat with her by the table. There, you told her everything. You told Keqing about your previous partner and about exactly what you suffered at her hands. Your wife was very quiet, but still nodded every now and then. From the shakiness of her voice when she spoke the few words in your conversation, you could tell she was stopping herself from bursting into tears again. Nonetheless, you continued until the story was told. 

“As such, Keqing, my wife, my love, the sun to my moon, none of what happened is your fault.” You continue, following the script you prepared in your mind. “It was my weakness and my inability to move on that caused all of this in the first place. For that, I’m… sorry. I truly am.”

She nods. Her eyes are focused on her hands, fingers fiddling with each other. Keqing slowly lifts her eyes to meet yours. You spot tears gathering on her features. 

“Why… I don't understand…” She starts, but upon realizing her instability, she sniffles and swallows the sadness weighing on her chest. “Why would you ever say that you're weak?” 

You sigh. “I should have moved on by now, but instead, I kept it with myself and now it hurt you as well. It is my pain and thus my responsibility to handle it.”

“No, n-no that's… How… How could someone such as you be weak?” She shakes her head. “You survived so much. So much pain, so much fear, so much hurt… And yet here you are, Y/N. Not only trusting another woman, a woman whom you not only married, but also allowed into your bed. I can't imagine myself doing something like that so quickly. You've moved on, honey. You regained the strength to trust and to love again. How can this be called anything but strong?”

You open your mouth to challenge her on this, but she acts first. 

Keqing breaches the gap between you and falls into your arms. Her body wraps around yours, holding onto you tightly. One of her hands travels to your cheek. 

“Y/N, you're strong. For having endured it, for having moved on, trusted again.” 

You drop your gaze. Perhaps she is right. Keqing gently lifts your cheek to direct your attention back at her. She smiles, her tearful eyes shining with boundless affection. 

“You're the strongest man I've ever known.”

Thanks for reading!

[wolftoken]

hii rat, hope i'm not bothering you but i would kindly like to request some x reader fluff with any of the eeps, life's been so shitty lately and your writing always brightens my day :,)

a/n: for the record i love being bothered. bother me all u want i love attention 🩷 also omg thank you that makes me so happy to know my writing makes your day better 😭🩷 also IM SO SORRY this took me 26 days i’m awful with requests lmao

word count: 711 • tags: gn reader, cuddling, self doubt, kissing, love confessions

• masterlist •

Only the light from Vessel’s laptop is what guides your path into his bed, but you’ve been around his place enough times to know your way around in the dark. Plenty times you’d slinked out from under the covers to bring back a midnight snack you can munch on while he picks a movie to watch. This time, you come back to see him setting up to watch some cheesy romantic drama as you hand him a box of pop tarts you’d found. He chuckles softly at your choice of snack and pulls you under his duvet to snuggle up to him.

He’s always so warm, so good at keeping you cozy on dark and cold nights.

“Feels like I’m in a movie with you sometimes,” he says.

You roll your eyes and gently push at his shoulder.

He tsks affectionately and looks back to the screen. You feel guilt creep into your body as you try to think of something sweet to say back to him. He was so good with his words and it made you so flustered to the point of disputing his words with humour in hopes that it would make you feel less vulnerable. That was still something you were working on with him, vulnerability. At first you hated how much he made you nervous but you’re learning to accept the way your face heats up just by looking at him.

“I’m sorry. You keep making me blush and I don’t want to admit that I like it,” you confess.

Vessel smiles and leans over to kiss your temple, holding your cheek in one hand to bring you closer to him. He nuzzles his face into your neck when he’s done and it makes you giggle and reach out to grab a hold of his shirt for some stability. Laughing into your skin, he moves his hands down to hold your waist and his lips make their way across your shoulders. They’re soft and warm as they gently press against your skin, and this time you don’t try to diffuse the affection and warmth in your cheeks; you let him shower you with his love and every kiss he gives you feels like it opens your heart just a little more for him.

Once the giggles die down and you’re both smiling at each other with the movie long forgotten, his hand comes up to cup your cheek again. One deep, loving kiss is shared between you and you’re reaching up for another when he starts to speak.

“You should move in,” he says. It’s not what you were expecting him to say, evident by the look of shock on your face. You’ve never discussed the topic beyond swift mentions in passing conversation but it’s something you’d thought about in depth but didn’t want to bring it up first in case he wasn’t fond of the idea. It would hurt so tremendously to hear him say so, even if you’d struggle to admit it.

“You wouldn’t mind me being here all the time?” you ask, your once-droopy eyes now wide open and glued to his own. He takes a breath.

“Angel, every time you leave I have to fight back tears. It feels empty without you here. I don’t want to watch the door close and know I won’t see you for days because you’re working late… I want you to come back to me and sleep in my arms knowing you’re home.”

The movie drones on, but all you can hear is the two of you breathing. You’re in sync, as you so often are, and it’s calming. You know you should say something to him, jump for joy and kiss him breathless, but you can’t help but stop to take in all that he said.

Home, with him. Home, with the both of you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung that on you-“

He can’t finish, because you’re kissing him and bringing your arms to rest around his shoulders to pull him fully down on top of you. You feel him smile into your mouth and you do the same, threading your fingers through his soft hair and fighting back elated giggles. His arms encircle you and it’s the safest sanctuary you’ll ever find.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 8

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings/Disclaimers: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, breastfeeding, swearing, angst, tears, references to drinking, sadness, references to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, adults doing sneaky things, references to babies

San Diego, California, almost 12 years ago

Buttercup slowly rocked in her chair, the slight breeze from the open window fluttering the pale-yellow curtains that she had hung so carefully while Jake had been deployed. Of course, he had lost his ever-loving shit when he had come home to find the nursery half decorated and the furniture half built, but the hour-long lecture about taking it easy during pregnancy and not doing any heavy lifting had been worth it.

The nursery was exactly as she had pictured it, once Jake had finished building the furniture and Javy and Bob had finished painting the walls the pale-yellow she had chosen. The mural of pink and purple butterflies she had painted on the wall looked so perfect behind the dark cherry wood cribs, and the colours perfectly matched the crib bedding she had ordered.

She had poured her heart and soul into decorating the nursery, their forever home…and now she was leaving it. Her bags were packed and stacked by the door. She was just waiting for Jake to return with Abby so they could go their separate ways.

Buttercup sniffled as she looked down at the tiny baby suckling on her breast. “I hope you know that I would take you both with me in a heartbeat if I could,” she whispered down to her sweet Charlie. “But we have to be fair. And…” she choked back a sob. “Your sister needs me more than you do right now.”

Abby’s weight had been dropping steadily in the weeks since the divorce had been finalized, and Buttercup’s doctor thought that the stress of it all had been affecting her milk supply, and so had recommended switching Charlie to formula so that Abby could absorb all the extra nutrients she needed. Therefore, when the judge had agreed to their abnormal custody arrangement, Buttercup had made the difficult decision to take Abby, leaving Jake with all the pumped breastmilk she had stored so that Charlie wouldn’t have to transition to formula right away.

Still, the decision had nearly broken her, as much as the decision to divorce her husband had.

“I’ll see you again soon,” she whispered as Charlie released her. Buttercup lifted her daughter onto her shoulder and patted her back. “As soon as your dad’s schedule calms down a little and I get settled in my new home, we’ll start figuring out how to share custody, okay? But I promise you, Charlie. I love you and I will miss you so much.” Buttercup’s shoulders heaved with the effort it took not to break down into sobs. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. You don’t deserve any of this happening to you. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work. I’m sorry I can’t take both of you. I…I’m so sorry.”

Buttercup snuggled Charlie closer and gently rocked, willing time to either slow down or just stop. It was moments like this that made her second guess every decision she had made in her life. Feelings of failure and shame washed over her as easily as the ocean washed over the sand in the distance. She had failed the sweet little girl in her arms and her sister. They both had.

Buttercup didn’t know how much time had passed before a low cough broke her concentrated view on the ocean in the distance.

Jake stood with a sleeping Abby in his arms, shadows of grief and longing painting his face. “Hey…”

All the words she wanted to say pressed against lips, but she was able to squeeze out a small, “Hey,” in reply without breaking down.

“She…she’s all ready,” Jake murmured, his falling to the infant in his arms.

“So is she,” Buttercup whispered. “All the milk I pumped is in the fridge, and…and her favourite blanket is in her crib. She…” Buttercup bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She couldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t let herself cry in front of him, not again. Not ever again.

“I know,” Jake saved her, nodding at the list pinned to the corkboard. “You wrote it all down for me.”

As though moving through quicksand, Buttercup stood and waded towards him. With practiced, ease they switched babies, Abby now content in her mother’s arms and Charlie in her father’s.

“Hey…maybe we could—”

Buttercup shook her head, her eyes trained on Charlie’s sleeping face. If she met those green eyes of his, she’d fall apart for sure.

“No…we can’t.”

Somehow, she knew Jake was nodding. “Right…we can’t.”

Buttercup’s lips trembled but she refused to break. “I guess we’ll be in touch about custody…”

Jake sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be in touch.”

“O-okay…goodbye, Jake.”

Heaviness hung over both of them, the weight of everything they were leaving unsaid sitting like a leaden cloud. “Goodbye, Buttercup.”

London, England, Now

When Charlie awoke the next morning, it was to a growing sense of relief mixed with absolute dread. Relief because she wasn’t holding onto this huge dark secret that had been taking up the majority of her brain power. Uncle Bob knew. He knew and he wasn’t upset. He loved her despite her not being Abby. He loved her despite not seeing her for almost 12 years. He held her and let her cry, then ate ice cream with her and talked about her life in Texas, all the questions she’d been wanting to ask pouring from her lips like some sort of waterfall. Bob knew her secret and still loved her. In fact, he’d known the whole time, but Mom didn’t know. And he wasn’t going to tell her.

That’s where the dread came in. Telling mom. She wasn’t worried that Mom wouldn’t love her once she found out that she wasn’t Charlie, but she was worried about her reaction. Would she cry? How would she react if her Mom started crying right in front of her? What if she was angry at them for doing something so reckless? Charlie didn’t know if she could handle her mom being angry with her. What if she blamed her father? Dad hadn’t known anything about this plan and, according to Abby at least, he was completely clueless about the switch, but if their divorce had been so bad that they had to put an ocean between them, who could say if Mom would get irrationally angry at Dad for letting this happen? Even though Charlie had mixed feelings about her dad and uncles lately, she wouldn’t be able to sit there and listen to her Dad be dragged through the dirt by her Mom. However, she had promised Bob that she would tell her, and she always kept her promises.

Charlie yawned and stretched and rolled out of bed, stopping to get dressed and grab her phone, where a notification from Abby was waiting.

A: Rooster knows.

Charlie’s heart stuttered in her chest.

C: WHAT? HOW?

A: Your stupid horse gave me away. You didn’t tell me she was so skittish.

Crap. She’d known she’d forgotten something, but there wasn’t exactly anything she could do about Lovebug being bonded to her and only her. Dad and Javy had a hard time getting close to her sometimes.

C: Crap. Sorry!

A: It’s okay. He said my lack of football knowledge and my vocabulary gave me away too. But he’s not going to tell Dad.

C: He’s not?

A: Yeah, he said it would be more fun for him to mess with Dad.

Charlie took a deep breath. At least there was that. Javy might have been willing to tell Dad because the two had been best friends since they were kids, so Rooster was the better person to find out anyway.

C: Okay…well, Bob found out too.

A: Oh no!

C: Turns out I’m not very convincing. He figured me out at the airport…in Buffalo.

A: What’s he going to do?

C: He said he wasn’t going to tell Mom…but that I have to.

A: Okay. When are you going to?

C: Today

A: So soon? What if she wants us to switch back?

Charlie frowned, a plan slowly taking form in her mind.

C: That wouldn’t be so bad. We could meet at a hotel in Texas and have them fall back in love with each other there?

A: And Savannah?

Charlie rolled her eyes.

C: I don’t know. But Dad can’t possibly be happy with her. Once he sees Mom again, the engagement will be off, and we’ll get to be a family again.

A: And if that doesn’t work?

C: We’ll figure it out. Together.

That’s what Uncle Bob had said. That they’d figure everything out together. Whether or not their parents fell back in love with each other, they wouldn’t be on their own to figure out a solution to their problems.

A: Okay. Tell me if Mum wants to talk to me?

C: I will…love you

A: Love you too

Charlie tucked her phone away and went downstairs, finding Bob drinking his coffee, dressed in an old Top Gun t-shirt and sweatpants, and Natasha, lounging on the couch, still in her pajamas.

“Good morning, everyone,” the slight British lilt that she had been practicing quavered as Bob met her eyes over the rim of his mug.

“Hey kid,” Nat greeted, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

Bob gently placed his mug down and came over to greet her with a hug. “Sleep well?” he whispered into her hair.

“Better. A lot better after talking to you,” she admitted, relaxing into the hug. “Are you not working today?”

He shook his head, straightening to his full height. “It’s my day off anyway, but I cancelled my plans. Figured you might want some emotional support, so I’ll be here if you need me.”

Charlie squeezed her arms around him, the same way she did with her dad or uncles whenever she was overwhelmed by the way they always had her back.

“Thanks, Uncle Bob,” she whispered, the lilted accent in her voice dropping away for a moment.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Nat sat up and stared at them over the back of the couch.

Charlie’s eyes shot to Bob’s, but he nodded reassuringly. “Nat should probably know, right? And you can see it as a sort of…rehearsal for telling your mom.”

Gulping, Charlie nodded and turned, squaring her shoulders.

“You two are acting so weird. Is someone dying?” Nat placed her bowl down and stood, coming around to stand in front of her. “Abby, doll, you know you can tell me anything. What is with all the whispering?”

Charlie took a deep breath and looked into her aunt’s eyes, ignoring the clouding and the scar that had stolen her aunt’s career and part of her vision.

“…I’m not,” she replied in a shaky breath.

“You’re not what? Dying? That’s good to know, kid, but I kinda figured.”

“No…I’m not A-Abby,” Charlie swallowed hard.

Nat’s brows furrowed, the silvery scar jumping slightly. “Of course you are,” Nat shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. You’re Abby. You have to be Abby. If you’re not Abby, then you’re…”

Bob stepped closer and put his hand on Natasha’s shoulder.

“I’m what?” Charlie’s throat felt like it was closing up as Nat knelt down so they were eye to eye, her good eye furiously racing over her features as though trying to detect the truth.

“Charlie?” her aunt whispered, looking up to Bob for confirmation as Charlie nodded hesitantly. “Holy shit…Charlie?”

“Language, Nat,” Bob admonished with a chuckle as Charlie was swept off her feet into a bear hug that left her ribs aching and her heart singing.

“Oh, fuck off!” Nat placed Charlie on her feet and whirled around to meet her former partner. “You knew and you didn’t tell me? How long have you known? How long has he known?”

“I always knew,” Bob said with a shrug, retreating behind the kitchen counter as Nat advanced on him.

“Always…always knew? You mean you’ve known this entire freaking time? And you didn’t tell me? What the hell, Robert?”

Bob winced slightly. “I figured it wasn’t my secret to tell. And could you keep your voice down, please? My sister doesn’t know yet.”

“Your sist…Buttercup doesn’t know?” Nat gaped at them both. “Okay, we are sitting down right now, and you are telling me the whole story. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” uncle and niece sat on the couch, their proverbial tails tucked between their legs.

Nat sat in the armchair across from them and folded her arms. “Speak.”

“Before I do,” blurted Charlie. “Where’s mom?”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Apparently, she dreamt up a solution to her plot problem and just had to write it down while it was fresh. She’s been at it since 4 a.m., and I don’t see her coming down any time soon.”

“Okay…” Charlie took a deep breath and launched into the story: being sent to Penny’s camp, meeting Abby and immediately disliking her, the shoving match that led to them being sent to the brig, finding the photos from Las Vegas, Amelia telling them about their parents’ marriage, and, finally, their brilliant idea to switch places so they could meet their missing parent. “We plan on telling them the truth at the end of the week and refusing to switch back unless they meet in person.”

Nat studied her, brow furrowed and eyes never leaving her face. “What are you two hoping to achieve with this?”

Charlie bit her thumb nail and shrugged. “Best case scenario? They figure out a better custody arrangement so I’ll still get to see mom and Abby can still see dad. Dream scenario?” Charlie blushed. “Mom and dad fall back in love and we won’t need a custody arrangement at all.”

Natasha shook her head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but I don’t think that dream is gonna come true. Even getting a better custody arrangement would be really difficult. Sure, there’s no global pandemic to contend with now, but trying to line up visitation while your dad runs the risk of getting deployed would make it—”

“Dad’s not getting deployed anymore,” Charlie interrupted. “He—”

“Okay, so he got promoted enough so that he’s not going to be called away from home to deal with a crisis. And trust me, there’s always some crisis or another that’ll keep your dad away from San Diego.”

“We don’t live in San Diego, Auntie Nat.”

Nat stopped rambling and looked at her. “Okay then, where do you live?”

“On the ranch in Texas with Uncle Rooster and Uncle Javy.”

Bob leaned forward. “Javy and Rooster live with you too?”

“Yeah, they retired from the Navy the same day you did. How do you guys not know this? Didn’t you keep in touch with anyone from the Dagger Squad? Mickey or Reuben or Kally?” Charlie stared at them, aghast. She’d always assumed that the members of the Dagger Squad had kept in touch with each other, even if Uncle Bob and Natasha had become mom’s support system after the divorce, same as Javy and Rooster had become dad’s.

They both slowly shook their heads. “We, uh…we kind of lost contact with everyone after we left the Navy,” Bob replied. “It all happened so fast, Charlie. We were given the option of retiring or moving on to a different unit, and that was that.”

“But why? I thought you guys were a team? A family? That’s what Aunt Penny always says! How could you just lose touch with them?”

“Because it was too damn hard, that’s why,” Natasha bit out, an unreadable look in her eyes. “Because I didn’t want to hear about them flying missions and hitting me with the “Sorry, Phoenix, but it’s classified” line whenever I ask about their work, if I ever asked about their work. Because I didn’t want their damn pity. Because it was hard enough being a female pilot, but almost losing my eye and being grounded? That was damn near unbearable.”

Charlie shrank back in her seat and nodded. “Oh…sorry.”

Bob placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Charlie. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault, really. Sometimes it’s just easier to say goodbye and let everyone go their separate ways instead of trying to hang onto something that’s not there anymore. I tried to reach out to a few people on the team, including your dad, but they were either always deployed or their numbers weren’t reachable or their numbers had changed. That’s what happens sometimes, kiddo. That’s just life.”

Charlie bit her lip, the question she had been longing to ask pushing against her lips until she finally asked, “So…that’s what happened? It’s not that you didn’t want me? It’s that you couldn’t reach my dad?”

Bob wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Nat slid onto the couch cushion next to her, the two of them pulling her into a hug.

“Of course we wanted you, Charlie,” Nat whispered. “We missed you like crazy, kid.”

Bob pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Your mom wanted you too. And she’s going to be so happy when she finds out you’re here.”

Charlie pulled away and chanced a glance over the back of the couch towards the stairs. “I…I should go tell her.”

Bob nodded. “Yeah, kiddo. You should. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Charlie stood and Natasha jabbed an elbow into Bob’s gut. “You mean, we’ll be right here if you need us.”

Charlie grinned as Bob rubbed his stomach. “Thanks guys.”

She turned and faced the stairs, feeling like her stomach was somewhere near her feet. Then, she started to climb.

Charlie stood outside her mother’s bedroom, hand poised to knock, but her stomach was still living somewhere near her feet and her hand was shaking so badly that she was afraid that she would miss the door completely when she tried to knock.

Everything was happening so quickly. Just last month, she had been an only child on a ranch full of men. Now, she was a twin with three uncles and an aunt and, most importantly, two parents who loved and wanted her. Or so Bob and Natasha had said. She knew that they loved her, but the fear that her mother would end up rejecting her was so strong that it made her want to run out of the house and hide somewhere. But she couldn’t. She had promised Bob and Natasha and besides that, she didn’t want to live somewhere she wasn’t accepted for who she was. So, if mom rejected her, she would happily go back to Texas and live a happy ever after life with her family, who was clearly trying to protect her.

Nodding determinedly at the solution she had formulated in her head, she knocked quickly on the door and stuck her head in, spotting her mother folded into her writing chair.

“Hey babe,” Buttercup yawned, tilting her computer screen down. “Sorry I didn’t come down for breakfast. I thought I solved my issues; I had this whole dream about the solution. But the characters don’t want to listen to me. I swear, Abby, it makes me want to throw in the towel.”

Charlie fiddled with her fingers as she listened. The past few days, she had loved listening to her mother talk about her stories and how she teased out the plot points, but now she felt guilt and anxiety weigh on her heart. As much as she wanted to act tough, she desperately wanted her mother to love her for her, not because she thought she was Abby.

“Mom? Can we talk about something?”

In less than a second, she watched Buttercup go from author mode to mom mode. She stood, pulled her light cotton robe over her pajamas and stretched, putting a gentle hand between her shoulder blades and steering her towards the bed.

“Of course, Abby. Hop on up and we can talk about whatever you want.”

Buttercup propped herself up against the pillows and turned her body towards Charlie, who crawled into the left side of the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.

“I…” To her horror, Charlie felt tears well up in her eyes. She slammed them shut before any could escape and felt her hands tremble.

The mattress shifted and warm arms encircled her before Buttercup spoke. “Abby, sweetheart, what’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I…I don’t want you to get mad,” Charlie whimpered into her mother’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s possible for me to get mad at you,” Buttercup hummed, pulling her close and rocking her gently side to side. “Remember when you accidentally kidnapped Mr. Tomkit’s cat? You were holding poor Shadow hostage in your closet and dressing him up for tea for three days before we found out. Did I get mad then?”

Charlie’s tears streamed down her face. “I…I don’t know,” she murmured truthfully. Abby had never shared that story with her.

“Of course I didn’t,” Buttercup replied in a soft voice. “You were only six. The point is, whatever happened, an accident or a mistake, we’ll figure it out like we always do, yeah? It’s you and me, sweetheart. It always has been, and we’ve managed well so far, haven’t we?”

“B-but what if this time makes you not love me anymore?” The question leapt forth before she could stop it, the question she had been both dying to ask and too afraid of hearing the answer.

Buttercup’s hands found Charlie’s shoulders and eased her away just enough to look in her eyes. “Abigail Juliet Floyd, nothing could ever make me not love you anymore. Nothing in this whole universe. You hear me?”

“But I’m not Abby! I’m Charlie!” she sobbed, her hands raising to cover her face. “Abby and I met at camp, and she really wanted to meet dad and I really wanted to meet you, so we swapped places!” To Charlie, it was as though everything had been frozen in time. She couldn’t hear the birds chirping outside her mother’s window or Auntie Nat’s trashy tv shows playing on the tv downstairs. Nothing moved and nothing sounded in the longest minute of Charlotte Delta Seresin’s life.

And then, those warm arms wrapped around her tightly and held her close. “My baby…my sweet Charlotte…”

Charlie flung her arms around her mother and buried her head in her neck, breathing in the hibiscus and jasmine perfume and feeling the soft silk of her mother’s pajamas under her cheek. “You’re not m-mad?” Charlie whispered.

She fought her hands not to cling to her mother as she pulled away, just far enough to look at her. “How could I be mad?” Charlie’s heart clenched at the sight of the pearly tears clinging to her mother’s cheeks. “It’s really you, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded meekly, tucking her feet up underneath her. “Abby taught me everything about her life while we were at camp. She wanted to meet dad so badly, and I always dreamed of meeting you. I was so scared to tell you because I was afraid you left me because you didn’t want me…”

Buttercup’s gentle fingers traced over her daughter’s features, sadness filling her eyes. “I’ve loved you and wanted you since before you were even born, Charlie,” she whispered. “I…I’m so sorry we failed you, love. It’s no excuse, but this was never supposed to be permanent. We just let time get away from us, I suppose. But please…you need to know that I missed you every single day, sweetpea. I love you so much.”

Charlie let herself relax into Buttercup’s arms, her tears slowing and her breathing steadying. “I love you too, mom.”

A few hours later, the three Floyds and their honorary fourth member sat clustered around Buttercup’s computer, a Zoom call open in front of them as they waited for the call to be answered.

“I still can’t believe you knew before I did. A mother is supposed to know her own children,” Buttercup worried her lower lip as she stared at Bob, on the other side of Charlie.

“In Charlie’s defence, she really pulled the act together once she got to the house,” Bob replied. “And in your defence, you do know your children. It might have just been too difficult for you to even try to rationalize that the girl in front of you might not be Abby.” Bob shot Buttercup a meaningful look as the dark screen in front of them suddenly filled with colour.

“Uncle Roo, you need to back up,” they heard Abby gripe. “They can only see your shirt right now.”

Rooster backed up and sat in a chair behind a desk, Abby perched next to him.

“Hey, old man,” Natasha teased.

Bradley huffed slightly, a light smile dancing across his face. “Hey yourself, Phoenix. Hey Buttercup.”

Buttercup’s face filled with fondness. “Hey Bradley, how are you?”

He shrugged as the pixels danced across the screen. “Can’t complain. How’s my girl? Ow! Sorry, Jesus. I mean, how’s my other girl?” he shot a glare at Abby, who grinned back at him.

“Hey Uncle Roo,” Charlie beamed at him through the camera. “Hey Abby!”

“Hey Charlie, hey Auntie Nat! Hey Uncle Bob, Charlie told me you figured it out right away!”

Bob nodded once and pushed his glasses up. “You’re one of a kind, Abby. No emulating it.”

“Damn, you figured it out right away?” Rooster whistled through his teeth. “It took me a couple of days to figure it out. You two never thought to teach your girl about American football? Javy thought she got a brain transplant at camp.”

Buttercup and Bob chuckled but Natasha remained suspiciously silent as Charlie filled them in on how life was in England and Abby filled them in on all the Texas goings on.

“…and dad’s engaged to this dreadful woman who wants to go wedding venue shopping on Saturday!” Abby groaned.

“Abby,” Buttercup admonished. “You just met this woman. Give her time to adjust. I’m sure it was quiet something when your father told her that his daughters had switched places.”

“Oh, well, actually…” Abby started.

“Yeah, she didn’t take it that great, Buttercup,” Bradley cut in, giving Abby a little nudge with his elbow. “Remember, kid?”

“Oh…uh…yeah. She didn’t take it that well at all.”

Charlie would blame the emotional day for the fact that her mother didn’t pick up on the strange behaviour behind the screen at all.

“So, give her some time, and she’ll…she’ll come around,” Buttercup gulped slightly and reached for her bottle of water.

“Yeah, I’m sure she will,” Rooster rolled his eyes. “Why don’t y’all come to Texas for the weekend? We’re stayin’ at some fancy hotel in Austin for the weekend while Savannah looks around at different venues. She wanted to make it a weekend getaway. But you guys should come so you and Hangman can figure out an arrangement that keeps these two from pulling a Trading Places again.”

Buttercup was chewing on her bottom lip again. “I…I don’t know. It’s supposed to be a wedding related trip. I wouldn’t feel comfortable crashing it.”

“You wouldn’t be crashing it,” Rooster replied. “Jake invited you. He wants to figure out a solution too, before the wedding.”

Buttercup sighed heavily, the breath tinged with sadness. “Yeah…yeah, that makes sense. Bob, can you—”

“I’ll clear my schedule so I can go with you, and I’ll book our flights there,” Bob replied, his phone already in his hand.

Buttercup smiled gratefully. “Natasha—”

“I’ll keep in contact with the old man and make sure we book the right hotel,” Natasha replied, fixing Rooster with a glare that would have paralyzed him if they were in the same time zone.

Buttercup sighed resignedly. “Okay, then. I guess we’ll all see you on Saturday.”

“See you then, Buttercup,” Rooster winked.

“Bye mum! I love you!”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Rooster whipped around as a voice rang out behind them. “Mum? Buttercup? Dude, what the hell is—”

“Gotta go, mum! Bye!” Abby shouted as she slammed the laptop screen down, cutting off the call.

“Well, that wasn’t ominous at all,” Natasha muttered.

Buttercup’s worried face reflected back at her on the darkened screen. “Oh god…what have I gotten myself into?”

Rooster glared at Javy. “Nice going, dipshit.”

“What? Me? Who the hell were you talking to on that call, man? Because I only know one Buttercup and—”

“And what, Uncle Javy?” Abby blinked up at him innocently. “Who is Buttercup?”

Javy gaped at her. “She…uh…she’s, um…”

Rooster rolled his eyes. “Cut the guy some slack, would ya, Abby?”

Abby’s grin widened as Javy’s mouth dropped even further. “Nah…man, there ain’t no way…”

“You didn’t think it was suspicious that Penny wouldn’t quit pesterin’ us both until we got Hangman to agree to send Charlie to camp on that specific day? You don’t think it’s weird that Lovebug treats her like she’s a stranger? You never noticed that your favourite assistant coach knows jack all about football now?”

Javy crouched down in front of her. “You’re not Charlie, are you?” Abby shook her head and Javy’s eyes welled with tears. “C-can I hug you, darlin’?” Abby nodded with a smile, and she was suddenly scooped up into a massive hug. “Oh my god, man…this is unbelievable!”

“What’s unbelievable?”

The three turned to see Jake standing behind them in the doorway of the office, his arms folded across his chest.

“Hey, man,” Rooster greeted. “What’s up?”

“Was just coming to try to find my daughter.”

Abby gulped. She hadn’t really spoken to her father since her blow up at the news of his engagement. The news still weighed heavily on her, but Rooster’s plan would work, she just knew it. Plus, she would get to see her mum soon, and that always made her feel better.

“H-hey, dad.”

Jake’s face softened. “Hey Charlie, I was hoping we could have a chat before dinner. Just you and me.”

Javy opened his mouth and Abby pinched him hard on the shoulder blade, out of view of her father.

“Sure, dad. I think that’s a good idea. Can you put me down, Uncle Javy?” Javy hesitated but Abby begged him with her eyes not to blow this for them, and he conceded.

“Sure…Charlie.”

Abby smiled at him as she went to her father’s side.

“We’ll see y’all at dinner, alright?” Jake nodded at them as he let the office door close behind him.

“Alright, dude, you’re gonna tell me what’s goin’ on right now, or I swear to god, I’m telling Jake why that pair of men’s boxer shorts were hanging outside his window.”

“Relax, Coyote,” Rooster sat back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. “You and me are gonna have a lot of fun with Hangman this weekend.”

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[halyasgirl]

Something I can't put my finger on, and might be reading too much into, are (lack of) choices and the relationships between Rayla, Runaan, and Lain and Tiadrin.

A slight undercurrent of tension in Bloodmoon Huntress is Rayla feeling like Runaan doesn't really love or want her. While Ethari readily professes to love her and assures her Runaan does too, Rayla sometimes gets the impression Runaan's taken her in more as a favor to Lain and Tiadrin. He's defensive of them, and some of Rayla and Runaan's early clashes occur when Runaan puts down her resentment toward her parents and dismisses her feelings of abandonment. (Their relationship improves by the end of Bloodmoon Huntress though, and by Lunabloom Runaan’s become more patient, empathetic, and open with his affection, and we see how much they love each other).

While Rayla considers Runaan and Ethari to be her family, Tiadrin and Lain aren’t pushed aside in their roles as her parents. Bloodmoon Huntress and Rayla’s birthday profile show that Rayla was brought up to love and take pride in her parents, both because Moonshadow culture values duty and self-sacrifice, but also because Runaan and Ethari raised her that way.

Runaan, Ethari, Lain, and Tiadrin were very close; Rayla describes them as best friends, they spent major life events together, and Tridrin and Lain chose them to raise their daughter. Runaan is visibly shaken when he realizes what’s happened to them and his P.O.V. passage in the Book One novelization outright says he loves them.

But he Ghosted them. We don’t know what the exact circumstances were, what evidence was presented, or what Ethari and Runaan discussed behind closed doors, but they broke faith. This can be attributed to the Silvergrove’s pack mentality, but I also wonder if their decision had something to do with Rayla.

We know Moonshadow society subscribes to Sins of the Father, where children can be blamed for their parents' wrongdoing, because Ezran was targeted for assassination. We know they have an extreme form of shame/honor culture, and that Lain and Tiadrin’s (alleged) desertion of the Dragonguard brought so much shame on their people and their daughter that Rayla preferred to say they were dead. And we also know that Rayla’s Ghosting was biased by her parents’ reputation.

Rayla’s standing in the Silvergrove was damaged, maybe even more than she realized. Once the Silvergrove had turned on Lain and Tiadrin, Runaan and Ethari may have felt they had no choice but to disavow their closest friends if they wanted to protect their daughter, to publicly draw her closer to them and away from her parents and their dishonor. (Of course, the hard truth is that they might have stopped the Ghosting had they spoken up, but they didn't).

And maybe this is why Runaan brought Rayla to Katolis that night, why Ethari agreed despite his misgivings. Rayla may have been a prodigy, but she shouldn't have been sent into the field so soon, and for such an important mission. But by putting Rayla on a mission that directly avenges the wrongdoing her parents (allegedly) committed, Runaan may have believed this to be Rayla's best and only chance to restore her honor. Given how harsh Moonshadow society can be, from this warped perspective Runaan may have considered this the best thing he could do for his daughter.

But it wasn’t. And after everything came crashing down, Runaan failed his mission, his child, and his dearest friends.

In Bloodmoon Huntress Runaan sees no conflict between duty and love, viewing the former as an expression of the latter. Rayla thought her parents chose duty over her, and thinks Runaan chose them, and duty, over her too.

By The Dragon Prince, Runaan chose Rayla over her parents, then realized he had to choose between Rayla and duty. He couldn’t, failed both, and spent the next two years in a hell of his own making because of it.

I don't see Runaan “I do what I must so those I love don’t have to” coping well knowing Rayla paid for his life with Lain and Tiadrin's— if he even knows. He’d betrayed his dearest friends by Ghosting them. Now he’s taken their chance at life and reuniting with their daughter, and he’ll never get to make amends.

[moonlight-prose]

✧ STILL OF YOUR HAND ✧

a/n: i think this is the only fic i've struggled to title all kinktober. it took me thirty minutes to figure it out, but i can always count on hozier to help me out. so this is messy. honestly it was written in a 4am haze of simply wanting to finish, and i never read it back. so i have no idea if it's okay. but either way enjoy my loves.

day twenty-three - restraints | kinktober 2023

summary: "din was always scared he would hurt you. always tentative to give into your desires of being taken apart roughly, because he was a gentle person when it came to you. his life revolved around violence, yet when it came to this—you—he was anything but that."

word count: 1.9k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, restraints, rough sex, p in v sex, din fucks, dirty talk, yet another man who runs his mouth but we love him, dom!din, yearning, no editing cause it was 4am and i lost part of my sanity.

Two weeks ago you’d proposed the offer to him in the middle of sharing a meal. He was in the middle of hunting a bounty; a way to pick up some extra credits while you traveled. The question wasn’t scandalous. At least to your standards it wasn’t. Yet there still lay some apprehension between the two of you about where you boundaries lay. How far you could truly go with one another when it came to sex.

Din was always scared he would hurt you. Always tentative to give into your desires of being taken apart roughly, because he was a gentle person when it came to you. His life revolved around violence, yet when it came to this—you—he was anything but that. And you thrived off it. You loved him and everything he gave you, but the prospect still remained, still continued to flicker in the back of both your minds.

“I want you to cuff me later tonight in bed,” you had said while drinking your caf. While the words came out simple, matter of fact and as if you were discussing the latest news of the galaxy. That’s not how he took them.

Din choked on his spit.

“Cyar'ika?”

You glanced at him over your mug, lips twisting up into a soft smile. “Yes?”

He was silent for a moment, body shifting where he stood and you wondered if he was hard beneath his suit. The question lingered in the air, waiting for a response, but Din was never one to outright tell you things. He was ever the silent man you met on Corellia a year ago. That didn’t seem to change as time went on. You simply learned to read him better.

“Din…”

“You know where the binders are,” he replied at last. His voice was rough through the modulator, body stiff and waiting. It seemed that your request had affected him more than you expected.

With a sharp intake of breath you nodded, slowly walking away from him and towards where he kept his weapons. The doors swung open with a loud creak, echoing in the ship like a fucking blaster bolt being shot off. Or perhaps that’s how you heard it in your head. You didn’t have much time to ponder over it, because there they were. Hanging neatly on the wall. An unassuming thing used on his hunts.

The same binders he had used on fugitives and criminals.

Suddenly the air felt thick with heat in the ship, your mouth dry and eyes dark with lust at the thought of him using them on you. There was always an understanding between you and Din. He liked control. Or at least most of it. Yet you always remained a part of the equation—always there to tell him what you wanted, what worked for you.

With these…you were officially out of the equation.

You felt your heart rate rise, excitement fluttering through your body. Grasping onto the cold metal, you ran your thumb over the slight design on the side. Merely bolts holding pieces of metal together, but the sight alone made your head spin. Digging your teeth into your bottom lip, you turned to head back towards the small cargo area.

Only to ram right into a very broad, very hard Mandalorian. With a soft yelp, you stumbled back, nearly landing into his weapon’s hold if it wasn’t for his hand shooting out to grasp your waist. Dragging him back to his body with a quiet grunt. The binders hung loosely in your hand as he cupped your face, tilting your head up to face his helmet. For a moment you swore you could feel the burn of his eyes on your skin.

“I found them,” you said softly, body humming beneath his touch.

His hand clasped around your wrist, removing the metal from your hold. “Turn around.”

“Am I your bounty Din?” you teased, sliding a hand up his beskar clad chest.

Only for him to whirl you around so quickly you barely had time to gasp in a sharp breath. His hand slammed against the button that shut the weapon’s hold, your body being pressed to the doors within moments. Your eyes fluttered shut, cheek rubbing against the cold metal as he reached for your wrists. The audible sound of the binders locking shut echoing in the small area.

His helmet pressed to the back of your head, a sigh leaving his modulator. “Cyar'ika. Is this…Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” you breathed, pushing yourself back against him—the outline of his cock pressing against your ass. “Maker, yes.”

He groaned, his hips pressing forward and grinding up into your body. “You want to be my bounty?”

“Fuck,” you breathed. The throbbing between your legs was growing by the second. Yet no matter how much you pressed your thighs together, you couldn’t appease it.

“Is that what this is?” His hands grasped at your pants, popping open the button before he tugged them down to your thighs. Dragging your already soaked through panties with them. “Maker you’re fucking soaked.”

His gloved fingers spread you from behind, taking in the sight of you dripping down your inner thighs. You shifted, whining softly as he took his time sliding his fingers through your slick. Coating the leather of his gloves thoroughly. He’d fuck himself with them later. Tasting what remained of you off the fabric, but for now he watched as his fingers found your clit. The sound you made was loud enough to echo off the walls.

“You wanted me to treat you like my bounty?”

You cried out softly, canting back onto his hand. “Yes. Fuck Din I do.”

His other hand reached up, gripping onto your hair and dragging your head back. The cold metal of his helmet pressed against your cheek, your breath no doubt fogging up the sides of it. But all you could focus on was the two fingers sinking into you, dragging along your walls. He growled when you grinded down onto his palm, a weak moan drifting to his ears, causing his cock to twitch.

“Dirty girl,” he groaned. “You need more don’t you?”

You nodded, teeth digging harshly into your lip until you tasted copper. You wanted to kiss him. To taste him, but this was all you would get for now. Later in the darkness of his cabin, he’d indulge in taking his helmet off. He’d kiss you as many times as you wanted.

For now you’d take this with open arms.

“Need me to fuck you.”

“Yes,” you whispered, your thighs trembling as he dragged his fingers out of you quickly. “Oh fuck. Din please—”

The sound of him fumbling with his pants silenced you, dragging a moan from your throat. You nearly crumpled against the wall when his cock slid through your folds, the head of it nudging at your clit. A high pitched whine came from you, hips dragging along the length of him and soaking him in your slick. But Din knew that this couldn’t end so quickly.

He grasped onto your hip, stilling your movements until you were pressed fully against the wall. The cold seeping through your clothes.

“You wanted this cyar'ika.” Lining himself up, he nearly lost it at the way your pussy fluttered around his tip. “Wanted me to fuck you like you’ve been running from me. Needed me to hunt you down.”

The words continued to spill free, unable to be reigned in and it nearly sent you over the edge from that alone. Din filling you in one smooth thrust brought you right there. A sob tore from your throat, knees giving out and if it wasn’t for his hold on your body, you would have hit the floor. He moaned brokenly, hips right against your ass and arm latching around your waist.

“Fucking perfect,” he spit, helmet digging into your shoulder blade. “Always feels so fucking good. Fucking made for me.”

“Din!” you mewled, hips canting back to get him to move and with a deep breath he finally gave in to your request.

The pace was ruthless. Quick and deep, each thrust shoving sounds you’d never made before from your chest. It was the opposite of every soft touch he’d given you. The bruising grip on your hip sent pain flickering through you, igniting the pleasure like a match to a flame. You felt your chest swell, head going hazy with the bliss that quickly filled you. And it just kept going.

He fucked you hard. Grinding his hips up with each forceful thrust, until he heard it. The squelch of your slick echoing in the space. The audible slap of his balls against your clit mixing with it. He felt his body fry—the strings that usually kept his sanity together now fraying to their breaking point.

“Can you feel me?” he asked, sliding a hand around to your pelvis, pressing down right above your mound and as if you were electrified, pleasure rocketed up your spine. “I’m so fucking deep inside of you.”

“Oh—fuck—”

Tugging your head back to his shoulder, he placed his slick covered fingers at your lips. “Suck.”

And you did without question. You took his fingers with a happy hum, sucking them into your mouth as if they were his cock. Your taste burst across your tongue, heady and tangy. He groaned deep and guttural as his body began to grow taut, balls drawing up painfully, but if there’s one thing you understood about Din…you always came first.

In everything.

Ripping his fingers from your mouth and gasping at the string of saliva that connected him to you, he dropped them down your body. Sliding them along your clit with ease. A sob was wrenched from you, fingers digging down on his arm as he rammed into you with quick stunted thrusts. Shoving you towards the very edge.

One pinch of your clit between his fingers and a deep grind of his hips sent you flying. A cry of his name hitting his ears as you clamped down around his cock, soaking him as your body writhed in his hold.

“Fuck yes,” he hissed.

Grinding up into you, he felt the white hot burn of his release rush through his body. He cried out against your shoulder, pressing his body against you completely. You were shoved up against the wall with nowhere to go, but you had never felt so safe. So content to remain right where you were. He came down with a sharp gasp, the last of his cum spilling into you, sending a warmth through your body that elicited a soft moan from your lips.

“You never answered me,” you slurred, body lax against the wall.

He huffed, hands sliding along your hips—soothing the places he’d held you too hard. “No.”

“No?”

“Don’t pout,” he replied, pulling from you with a rough breath.

You grinned, letting him collect you in his arms. “‘M not pouting. Just thought you wanted me to be your bounty.”

“You’re more than that,” he murmured, hand pressing against your stomach gently. “You always have been.”

Giggling, you felt the high of your orgasm begin to fade slightly, bringing you back to reality. “You say that as if I wasn’t your bounty once.”

“Cyar'ika.” The warning was clear in his voice, tingeing with something you never touched on, but the box had been opened.

You simply turned slowly in his hold and placed a kiss on his chest. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you never took me in?”

He muttered under his breath, but still held you close. You’d have to ask him about it later, but for now you let it go. Accepting his soft response of me too as a final answer to something bigger.