#those were the deep dark days of the wait in between seasons

[mcuamerica]

Stranded | Part Two

Featuring : (future) Azriel x Fem!Reader, Eris x Reader (platonic), Rhys x Sister!Reader

Summary: Amarantha is dead and you finally get to go home. Requested by @sidthedollface2 here.

Warnings: 18+ only, description of ruined wings and skin scarring, canon level violence, not proofread (i'll do it later), let me know if anything was forgotten...

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Dividers from @saradika

Part One

You felt your magic return to you the day Amarantha died. It was such an ordinary day.

You were in your cabin, that Eris had found for you the moment your wings were burned. You couldn't return to the Night Court without putting yourself in danger of Amarantha finding you, so you stayed in Autumn.

You were cooking when it washed over you, feeling as if you could finally breath again. You tested your abilities, seeing how much you could do. You were able to engulf the entire room in darkness when you were satisfied it returned.

You lost hope 10 years prior, when one of the local villagers said that all of Amarantha's court was bound to Under the Mountain. That meant you wouldn't be getting anymore visits from Eris, and even in the 40 years before that, those were few and far between. You were lucky Autumn Court was on her "good" side, because she never looked too deep into the woods. From what Eris told you, Rhys had taken her to bed.

You knew Rhys, and you could guess that he did it to keep her eyes from turning towards the Night Court. Towards you. Or Velaris.

So, you lived your simple life. The cabin Eris gave you came with a horse, that you would take to and from the local village. You were able to maintain a garden. And the best thing about living in Autumn was you never had to brace a bad winter or a sweltering summer. You missed the seasons dearly, you missed Solstices and Starfalls. Most of all, you missed your family.

It still haunted you that Rhys was taking on the burden of the Night Court by himself. You wished you could be there with him.

And, the rest of your family was running Velaris. Without you. You had to wonder if Azriel and Mor ended up together, being trapped in the beautiful, romantic city all these years. You wouldn't if Azriel regretted leaving you that night. Or if he was happy you were gone.

One thing you couldn't get over, even after all these years, was that he left you. Sure, you could handle yourself, but he left you. His best friend. Even when you were young, you always wanted to be around Azriel. Once Cassian and Rhys stopped tormenting him, you were allowed to be around him. He was always the first one to show you techniques with his sword, or new flying maneuvers. But then Mor came alone, slept with Cassian, and that was it. Azriel had been pining after her since then. You weren't resentful of it until he left you the night everything went to shit. When you lost your magic and your ability to fly.

Even know, when the wind was raging in the forest, you teared up. You wish there was some way to be able to fly again. But you grew up in the Illyrian war camp with your mother and brother. You knew what destroyed tendons looked like. There was no hope. Even after Eris and his healers did everything they could to heal them as best as they could. The membrane was in tact, albeit thinner than normal, and you had full function of stretching them in and out. But, the proper strength to fly would never be resorted.

At least you had your magic back. And you waited for Eris to come find you, to placate his father enough that he had time to tell you what happened. You assumed, knowing the depletion of magic was tied to Amarantha, that she died. You really hoped that was the case. You could go home. You could see your brother. You could ignore Azriel for the rest of your life. It never even occurred to you that you could probably winnow back home. You hadn't been able to do it for a long time.

Instead of Eris bursting through the door that afternoon, it was shadows, followed by a heaving Azriel trying to catch his breath.

"(Y/N)!" Azriel exclaimed, bounding over to you. Before you had a chance to step away, he wrapped you in an embrace. One you couldn't help but melt into. You might be mad at him, but after 50 years of being apart, you were happy to see him.

You pulled away, seeing tears in Azriel's eyes as he looked you over. His eyes landed on your wings. "What did they do to you?" He asked, searching your eyes.

"After you left me that night, three of Beron's sentinels burned my wings." You said, taking a deep breath.

"I need to write a note, and then you can take me home. Is Rhys there yet?" You asked.

"I don't know, I've spent all day having my shadows look for you. I was hoping you made it to Winter... I didn't think you would still be here." He said, pausing as you started to write.

You wrote to Eris, letting him know that you would be going back to the Night Court. You also told him that you would support him if he ever needed anything. You tucked the note into an envelop and left it on the counter.

"Okay... can you winnow us?" You asked, holding out your hand.

He gazed over you again, unsaid words clear in his eyes. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). For everything. For leaving you. For not coming to get you-"

"Azriel.. please.. take me home. And then we can talk about it." You said.

He nodded, staring at you for a few moments before he took you hand and darkness enveloped you both.

Rhys was pissed.

He may have been happy to see his family, and to tell Mor and you about how he found his mate (even if she was with Tamlin), but the instant he saw your wings, he knew something was wrong. Before even asking the rest of his family what happened, he pulled you into a room alone.

After recapping what happened Under the Mountain, and more tearful hellos, he asked you to sit down. "Tell me what happened." He said.

You looked down, taking a deep breath. "That night that Amarantha took your magic, and you closed the borders to Velaris, I got stuck in Autumn. Azriel had left to go help Mor with something. I couldn't even winnow to the Night Court borders." You told him what happened with the sentinels, how Eris found you, and then watched as Rhys settled into the quiet deathly rage.

"He did this to you?" He asked, barely above a whisper.

"No," you quickly corrected. "Eris helped me." There were tears in your eyes now. "He- Let me just tell you how it started..."

Eris brought you to a cabin on the outskirts of the Autumn borders, close to a village but far enough that no one would look for you here. He had his best healers come to help heal you, but with their lack ox experience repairing wings, they couldn't completely heal them. You back even still had scarring on it from how hot the sentinels burned through them.

When Eris couldn't stay because Amarantha sent for all High Lords and their heirs, he had a healer stay with you. Until you were back to your normal health. And then, he offered to help you get to the Night Court. Said he would personally take you to the Moonstone Palace. But he warned you how cruel Amarantha already was, and how she was taking more and more people prisoner (to be part of her "court") Under the Mountain. You chose to stay in the cabin. If you couldn't go back to Velaris, you didn't want to go to the Night Court. Not when your brother was actively trying to get Amarantha to avoid it. The return of the Lady of the Night Court would surely set her eyes towards you. And Rhys would pay the price.

Eris would visit you as often as he could. Since Autumn was on Amarantha's good side, she let Eris and his brothers out more. When he was able to step away from the Forest House, he would visit you. Bring you more supplied, new clothes, sometimes even new furniture or paint to refresh the cabin. All the while, he kept you up to date on what was happened. One day, you asked why he was helping you.

"Because I can... and it was my family's sentinels that harmed you. You had no one else around. If you were to die out here, what would I tell you brother? It would have caused an even worse relationship between us. And I'm hoping to have his support when I overthrow my father. If we can tackle Amarantha first... and.. I'm hoping one day you can counsel your brother to help me as well." He explained.

"So you're helping me for your own gain?" You asked.

"I'm helping you because it's the right thing to do... and I've grown fond of this little escape." He answered.

That's how it was until three courts tried to rebel, and Amarantha barred anyone from leaving Under the Mountain. Even Eris. You wondered why he hadn't shown up when you went into the village to grab some more food, when you overheard the rumors.

"He truly helped you? He never hurt you?" Rhys asked.

You shook your head. "No, he never hurt me. He never tried anything. He... was kind. And caring. And I owe him my life." You said, looking up at Rhys.

He nodded, thinking for a moment. He paused his pacing and looking at you dead in the eyes. "Azriel left you?" He asked, seeming to recall what you first told him.

"...Yes." You said after hesitating.

"I'm going to kill him." He growled.

Your heart skipped a beat, knowing Rhys might just well kill Azriel for putting you in harms way.

"Wait- no. Please.. go easy on him." You said.

He paused, taking a deep breath. Darkness was pooling around his ankles. You could tell he was trying to reel it in. "I'm going to beat him to a pulp."

Better than killing him, you thought. You relaxed for a moment before Rhys rushed out from the door. You chased after him to see the first blow to Azriel's face. Then to his gut. Then to his legs to knock him on the floor. All while Rhys growled out in between each punch,"You. Left. My. Sister. In. Autumn?!"

Azriel didn't even fight back.

Part Three

A/N: Another tough one... I think this will have 1 or 2 more parts... which I probably won't get to writing until Sunday or Monday night (I know, i'm sorry!) Thank you all so much for your support!

Tagging: @feiwelinchen @circe143 @sidthedollface2 @crazylokonugget @i-am-infinite @thestartitaness @buttermilktea11 @tele86 @yearninglustfully @bunnyredgirl

Main Masterlist

[noira-l]

Just the Two of Us

chapter summary: amid a heated argument about Megumi and the pressures from the higher-ups, tensions flare between you and Satoru, but the exchange ultimately softens into mutual understanding. The realization that both of you are stretched too thin underscores the need for a break, as small gestures of comfort remind you that you’re still in this together.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

wc: 5 k

warnings: swearing, argument, adult life is kinda hard, higher-ups are old geezers, Satoru is tired, reader is also tired and frustrated, summer heat, Megumi is and angsty teen a little, mentioning of Suguru defection, mature themes, slight mentioning of sexual activity, spoilers (manga, anime, movie).

author's note: well, we began here. I hope you like it, and I can write you more. I'm still experimenting with style, and genre, so please be understanding. You're welcome to leave some notes and comments to help me grow :3 I would appriciate it.

𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻.

s.masterlist

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭 - 𝗘𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵

You used to love summer.

The air always smelled like sun-warmed asphalt and blooming hydrangeas, and every day felt like an invitation to adventure. Long bike rides carried you through the tucked-away veins of Tokyo—where narrow streets whispered secrets in the afternoon light. Suguru would race ahead, teasing you to keep up, the arcade flashing neon promises of victory just around the corner. The beach trips with Shoko and Utahime stretched until the sky burned orange, your laughter rolling in with the waves.

Those were the golden days.

Now, you hate this time of the year.

Curses appear in countless numbers. The heat clings, suffocating and heavy, as if the sky itself is pressing down. Every cicada drone feels like a countdown to something inevitable. Summer no longer promises joy; it carries the echo of every unraveling thread. It started with the Star Plasma Vessel incident - that cursed spring that shattered something in all of you.

Since then, summer has become the season where things fall apart. The universe picks these bright, endless days to deal the hardest blows.

And this summer is no different.

Tsumiki - her condition lingering in that fragile space no one could define. An illness the world had no name for, as if even the doctors and sorcerers were afraid to label it.

Megumi - dragged down by it all, the weight of his sister’s fading light pressing harder against his shoulders. His scowl, already permanent, had sharpened further, each glance carrying the frustration of powers that refused to bend to his will. You’d seen him grit his teeth at small failures, but now, there was something raw behind his eyes. Something like helplessness he’d never admit to.

And then there was Satoru.

Oh fuck, Satoru.

You’d never seen him this angry. The higher-ups were always cold toward you - dismissive, cruel - but that wasn’t news. You’d long learned to live beneath their gaze. But now? Now they suddenly had an issue with Megumi attending Jujutsu High?

It was absurd. Hypocritical, even.

Your visits to this dark, barely lit room, where the air smelled of dust and old age, intensified. Old voices mingled with each other in a cacophony of excuses, supposedly existing rules and discussions about traditions or other nonsense.

Your home, once a refuge, had become a minefield of barely contained frustration. It felt as though anger and bitterness pooled in the corners of every room, waiting for the slightest misstep. Every conversation bled into arguments over the most trivial, meaningless things. Half the time, you weren’t sure who started it. Grudges were born in silence, festering where none should exist.

Every day you woke up wondering - what would set things off this time?

You knew if things didn’t change, those wounds would sink deep into each of you, carving scars time wouldn’t erase. And you didn’t want that.

Because even if your marriage was nothing more than ink on paper, you genuinely cared for him. And Satoru - he cared for you too, in that strange way he always had.

After Suguru left, you’d been certain no one could possibly understand the hollow ache his absence left behind. But Satoru proved you wrong. Somehow, in that strange, upside-down way life worked, you found each other standing on the same fractured ground. Grief echoed in both of you, so familiar and jagged, that it bound you closer than either of you expected.

You didn't want to call it love. You were too afraid of that statement, although it often crossed your mind. But it was something, an alliance forged from shared ghosts and a mutual understanding that no matter what hell fate dragged to your doorstep, you’d face it together.

The foundation of a perfect marriage? You almost laughed aloud at the thought. If anything, it felt like the blueprint for survival - convenient paperwork and easier custody battles wrapped in familiarity.

There was no wedding, no rings, no grand gestures to pretend otherwise.

When you graduated, you both left school with broken hearts, old hurts and the hope that your dream of a better future for the young would become a reality.

You are both just good friends who grew up to become good parents. Always complementing each other.

The beginnings were hard - no point pretending otherwise. You were both still so young, fumbling your way through responsibilities no one had prepared you for. Jujutsu High never offered classes on raising two children or how to balance grief with teaching about life and scraped knees.

Time passed. You both grew up. Some things changed; others never did.

At first, Satoru was just a strange but steadfast friend. The kind you could bicker with one minute and lean on the next. A presence that lingered even when you wanted solitude. Then, somewhere along the line, he became a partner - someone who stood beside you not because he had to, but because he chose to. The lines between duty and loyalty blurred until you couldn’t tell which was which.

Your feelings toward him had always existed in that strange, in between space - tangled and contradictory. Close enough to touch, yet distant enough to feel worlds apart.

Even now, after everything, there were days it felt like he stood just beyond your reach. And maybe that’s why neither of you ever tried to name what existed between you.

On the fifth anniversary of your paper-bound marriage, boredom - and maybe a hint of obligation - nudged you both into acknowledging it. Five years deserved something, even if it was just symbolic. Satoru dusted off the sake bottle Nanami had gifted you on your first anniversary. A gift, he’d said, for saving his life on what was supposed to be your day off. By the end of the bottle, you were sprawled together on the couch, loose-limbed and laughing in that way only alcohol allows - when the weight of everything else fades into background noise. And then, somehow, one kiss turned into another.

The kind of mistake that tasted sweet in the moment but came with a headache the next morning. You fucked like the reckless, hormone-fueled teenagers you still were somewhere beneath all the years. Satoru, unsurprisingly, couldn’t hold his liquor. By sunrise, the hangover hit hard - both physically and morally.

It was easier not to talk about it.

With matching grimaces over strong coffee, you silently agreed: best to leave that night in the past and pretend it never happened.

But forgetting wasn’t so simple.

Satoru never did understand personal space. Everyone who knew him could vouch for that. But what surprised you was how naturally you’d become an exception. Somewhere between the shared responsibilities and late-night talks, you’d crossed the invisible line into his real space - he part of him he didn’t let anyone else near.

Years of sleeping beside each other had dissolved even the boundaries Infinity should have kept intact. His cursed technique fell away when he drifted off, and his body sought yours instinctively. You used to find it strange, the way he’d tug you closer in his sleep without a second thought.

Now, the thought of sleeping alone felt stranger.

It wasn’t romantic, not entirely. Just a familiar, silent comfort. But comfort had a way of blurring lines, and sometimes you wondered if either of you really knew where those lines even were anymore.

You caught yourself multiple times, drifting - half-asleep on the ride home - dreaming not of victory or rest, but of his arms around you, anchoring you to something solid after another mission that left too much weight on your shoulders.

You knew he had the same thoughts. The way he’d return late at night, shedding his uniform with tired hands, slipping beneath the covers without a word. You’d feel him press in, wrapping himself around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. No explanations. No need for them.

You’d both fallen into that rhythm, crawling deeper into the routines that made life feel bearable. Somewhere between the late-night missions, shared exhaustion, and quiet mornings, you’d built something fragile, but real. You dared to call it home.

It wasn’t perfect. It never could be.

The life of a jujutsu sorcerer rarely allowed for perfection. Blood, sacrifices, and impossible choices littered the path you walked. But this, the life you’d carved out of sharp edges and exhaustion, was yours.

Yours and his.

And despite everything, you were proud of it. Proud of how you’d both stitched together the fragments of your brokenness into something that could hold, even if just barely.

You weren’t going to let one brutal summer unravel what the two of you had bled to protect.

You weren’t sure how to face the storm brewing between you and Satoru - how to bring up the lingering frustrations or the pressure threatening to tear at the seams of what you’d built. But one thing was certain: you weren’t giving up.

There was something about this time of year - like summer itself was cursed, lingering over your lives with unwelcome familiarity.

You sighed as you stepped inside the flat, the keys clicking softly in the lock. The weight of the day melted away as the quiet hum of home greeted you.

"I'm back!" you called out, voice carrying just a little louder than necessary. Megumi should be home by now, and even if he wouldn’t respond, you liked to announce your return.

The rustle of shopping nets accompanied you into the kitchen, the weight of the day settling gently into the familiar routine. You unpacked the groceries with practiced ease, lining up fresh vegetables and seasoning along the counter, leaving out only what you needed for tonight’s dinner.

A small box of strawberry mochi emerged from one of the bags, and you smiled faintly to yourself. Lately, Satoru had been circling them like a restless cat, lingering too long in the sweets aisle whenever you dragged him along. You placed the box on the counter with a flourish, pressing a bright heart-shaped sticker onto the top.

The stickers had started as a joke - Tsumiki’s idea during one particularly dull afternoon. But somehow, they stuck. Literally. Now they were on everything. Megumi rolled his eyes at them, but you’d caught him carefully peeling them off packaging more than once, tucking them into his notebooks.

My little Tsumiki…

The thought twisted inside you, uncomfortably sharp.

You swallowed against the ache, the weight of helplessness pressing harder on your chest. No one could explain what had happened to her. No label, no cursed energy readings that made sense. Only vague theories and trial-and-error treatments that felt more like rolling dice in the dark.

You blamed yourself for not catching it sooner - for not defending her against something none of you could name.

Like a parent should.

The guilt lingered like a bruise you couldn’t stop poking.

"What’s for dinner today? I’m starving, honestly~"

His voice drifted in from behind you, soft but unmistakably teasing, carrying the faintest undercurrent of exhaustion. You turned, already knowing who it was before your eyes landed on him.

Satoru stood lazily in the doorway, his uniform jacket slung over his arm as if he couldn’t be bothered to hang it up properly. The white shirt underneath clung slightly, creased from the day’s wear, and a few strands of his white hair stuck to his forehead, though whether from sweat or cursed energy, you couldn’t tell. His bandages were gone, leaving his bright eyes uncovered, half-lidded with something that wasn’t quite his usual playful confidence.

"Oh, Satoru." you said, keeping your tone light but watching him carefully "I wasn’t expecting you this early. How was the mission?"

The chopping board clicked steadily beneath your knife as you resumed slicing vegetables. Steam curled up from the pan, filling the kitchen with a soft sizzle.

Satoru dropped into one of the stools at the kitchen island, the scrape of it low and familiar. With an exaggerated sigh, he flicked a pencil between his fingers - one Megumi must have left lying around. He twirled it absentmindedly, gaze distant.

"Can we not talk about this shit?" he exhaled, tossing the pencil down like it had personally offended him.

Oh. It’s bad, isn’t it?

"We can." you replied without hesitation, your hands moving a little faster through the ingredients. You almost hated how easily you could read him now - how the slight downturn of his mouth or the way his shoulders curved forward told you more than words ever could.

"I bought you something." you added quickly, nodding toward the small box you’d left on the counter. The faint gloss of the sticker caught the light, heart-shaped and bright against the simple packaging.

Satoru’s head snapped up instantly, eyes flicking to the box like a cat spotting something shiny. The tension in his face eased as that familiar grin curved his lips.

"Aww~ Is that for me?" his long fingers snatched the box before you could answer, and he popped the lid with all the reverence of opening treasure "Did I mention you’re the best wife in the world?" he teased, his laugh spilling out, warm and infectious.

Loud enough for the neighbors to hear, you thought, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself.

Satoru’s love for sweets wasn’t a secret, but he swore up and down that the ones you brought home tasted better. You always chose carefully - never the generic store-bought kind but something from the little shops tucked away in Tokyo’s side streets, the ones he liked to pretend he’d "discovered" first.

"Sometimes." you replied, dropping the chopped ingredients into the sizzling pan. The sound crackled to life, filling the air with the fragrant blend of soy sauce and garlic.

"I should say it more often then." he mumbled around a mouthful of mochi, cheeks slightly puffed as he leaned one elbow on the counter. His eyes softened, half-closed in that rare, satisfied expression that crept in when he thought no one was watching.

And, somehow, that sight - his simple happiness - settled something small and warm inside your chest.

"Where’s Megumi?" you asked, stirring the pan with steady hands. The scent of dinner started to thicken in the air.

Satoru’s chewing slowed. He swallowed with an exaggerated sigh, his hand already reaching for a second mochi.

"I asked you to avoid difficult topics." he said, muffling the words behind another bite.

Your eyes narrowed. Wordlessly, you crossed the room, plucking the box from his hand before he could claim another.

"Hey - why? You’re so cruel." he whined, watching in dismay as you tucked the sweets back into the cupboard. His lower lip stuck out in a dramatic pout.

"You can have the rest after dinner." you said pointedly, shutting the cupboard with a firm tap of your knuckles.

Satoru rested his chin on his palm, gazing up at you like a scolded puppy "You know, I always thought love was about sharing." he muttered, voice dripping with mock betrayal.

You raised an eyebrow "So… where’s Megumi?"

His eyes flicked toward the ceiling, as if you’d asked him to recite complex theory "You know how kids are these days. They just disappear. No explanation, no note. I think it’s called youthful rebellion." he offered casually, waving a hand in the air as if to punctuate his point.

Your sigh was long and heavy, dragging down from somewhere deep in your chest.

"You two fought again, didn’t you?"

Satoru leaned back against the counter, tipping his stool onto two legs. He waved a dismissive hand "Ayay, fought is such a strong word. I prefer ‘mutual disagreement.’ He’s been rebellious lately. It’s part of growing up. Aren’t you proud?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, resisting the urge to groan aloud.

"And how long ago did he leave for this... ‘rebellion’?"

Satoru glanced lazily at his watch "Hmm… maybe three hours ago?"

You froze, eyes narrowing dangerously "Three hours?"

"But I’m not sure." he added nonchalantly, as if that softened the blow.

Your silence was deafening. You're going to lose my mind.

"And you let him have these rebellions at this hour?" your voice came sharper than intended, but the frustration felt too heavy to suppress.

Satoru barely glanced up from his spot at the counter, offering a lazy shrug "I don’t know what you mean. If he wants to go out, let him. Megumi’s more than capable of handling himself. He’s unlocked his powers -"

"But not as much as we would like." you muttered, trying to focus on the steam rising in front of you "Not as much as he would like."

You slammed the wooden spoon into the pan a little harder than necessary, the sizzle flaring like the irritation curling in your chest. The tension coiled tighter as you stirred with unnecessary force, as if pouring every ounce of frustration into the pan would somehow bleed it away.

Satoru leaned forward on his elbows, watching you with a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"You’re being dramatic." he said lightly, as if the whole conversation was an amusing distraction "Sure, he’s got a ways to go. But Megumi has more potential than anyone I’ve seen in years. I believe in him. Which doesn’t mean -" he added, stretching the words out with deliberate slowness "—he’s not a little weak right now."

Your hand stopped mid-stir.

The wooden spoon hovered over the pan, trembling just slightly in your grip. His words struck something buried deep, pulling memories to the surface with unwelcome familiarity.

He had said something like that to you, too.

Back in high school, when his words cut sharper than the edge of any blade, and he wielded them just as carelessly. Satoru could spend hours poking at your insecurities like a child prodding an open wound - mocking your lack of cursed energy, ridiculing the gaps in your abilities with that insufferable smirk plastered across his face.

He never held back. Never thought to.

And back then, there was only one place you could go to escape it.

It was always Suguru who found you afterward, leaning silently against some forgotten corner of the campus, arms open in invitation without asking for explanations. He never needed them. His understanding lingered in the spaces between words, grounding you in a way Satoru never could.

But time has a way of shifting things when you least expect it.

Because one day, after Suguru was gone and all your fragile, half-formed plans had begun to solidify into reality, Satoru’s laughter finally died in his throat. You remembered it clearly, standing across from him in the soft morning light, your eyes reflecting the exact same iridescent glow as his. You didn’t say much. Just explained, calmly and matter-of-factly, why his cursed techniques refused to respond to him that day.

The shock that bled into his features had been a sight to behold. A rare vulnerability etched across the face of someone who thought he had everything figured out. He never apologized.

That moment - the stunned disbelief in his eyes - became its own kind of repayment. Not enough, but something. A quiet victory you held onto, even now.

But part of you still holds onto the smallest ember of anger for that lack of apology. For every mocking jab you’d absorbed in silence, convincing yourself not to flinch, not to let him see the cracks forming beneath the surface.

You know what it feels like to be weak.

You know the weight of isolation, of wondering if the people around you are right - if maybe you should just give up. You remember what it took to claw your way out of that pit, the countless times you trained alone, trying to prove to yourself that you were worth something. That you weren’t a lost cause.

And you refuse to let Megumi feel that same powerlessness.

Especially not from Satoru.

"Did you tell him that?" you asked, your voice low and steady, but the sharp edge was unmistakable.

Satoru barely looked up, still idly spinning the pencil between his fingers "Tell him what?"

"That he’s weak."

"I didn’t necessarily use those words." Satoru muttered, eyes dropping from your face to the pencil he had been relentlessly spinning.

You said nothing, sliding the frying pan off the heat and replacing it with a pot of water. The rhythmic clink of utensils filled the space between you, grounding you just enough to keep from snapping.

You took a breath, measured and deep, swallowing the frustration burning at the back of your throat. He had a knack for testing the limits of your patience without even trying.

"You can’t just toss words like that around." you said, turning to face him. You kept your voice steady, though the tightness in your chest threatened to unravel "Especially not you."

Satoru tilted his head slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features.

"I don’t see the problem. I told the truth, and besides, I also pointed out he has poten—"

"Of course everyone is weak to you, Gojo." you cut in, the weight of his last name slipping off your tongue like ice. His grip on the pencil stilled. That alone told you he’d caught the shift.

When you addressed him like that, it was never good news.

"It doesn’t mean people want to hear it." you continued, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter "Do you even understand what he’s going through?"

You let the question hang in the air, already knowing the answer. After a beat of silence, you added bitterly "Of course you don’t. You’ve always been the strongest." you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but you didn’t take them back.

You knew Satoru wasn’t capable of truly understanding what it felt like to struggle. But that wasn’t the real issue. What gnawed at you was how casually he flaunted that superiority, as if it were a fact of life that the rest of you had to accept.

"You are not weak." he said suddenly, the weight behind his voice catching you off guard.

You blinked, meeting his gaze.

"And how long did it take for you to figure that out?" you asked, softer now but no less biting "You spent years putting me down. The only reason it changed was because I finally showed you my technique."

Why did you sound disappointed?

Satoru shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but didn’t deny it. The truth was unavoidable. His respect for you had shifted the moment your cursed technique became undeniable. And while you knew he cared, you couldn’t shake the lingering ache of all those years he hadn’t.

"You know the higher-ups are still dragging their feet about letting Megumi attend Jujutsu High." you said, steering the conversation back to familiar ground "I don’t understand why now, of all times, you feel the need to call him weak."

Satoru let out a groan, slumping forward dramatically against the counter "Can we not circle back to this? We were having such a family atmosphere." he drawled, voice dipping into exaggerated complaint.

"What do you mean? I’m the one who had to defend him again today—"

"You act like I didn’t do the same thing yesterday." Satoru shot back, his voice rising in tandem with yours. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tangling briefly before dropping to his side "They send me out like an errand dog on every cursed mission they can dream up. I haven’t had a second of rest, and now I’m avoiding them like the plague. I’m sick of listening to old men stuck in a world that doesn’t exist anymore. And, not to mention, the Zen’in clan has to have a problem with everything."

"As if your clan is any better." you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

Satoru’s head snapped up indignantly "What’s that supposed to mean?"

You smirked faintly, savoring the rare opportunity to turn the tables "I saw your mother today. She made it very clear she’s expecting a grandchild."

He groaned, visibly deflating as he dragged a hand down his face.

"She mentioned it was my ‘duty as your spouse'." you continued casually, tossing ingredients into the boiling water. You caught his slouched figure in the corner of your eye, head in his hands as if trying to physically block out the conversation "Apparently, our secret wedding still stains her pride. It surprises me that she is eager to make such statements, not being the head of the clan and still having a problem about what was almost eight years ago."

"I’ll talk to her." Gojo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

You needed a break. From curses, from the higher-ups, from the constant weight of responsibility that never seemed to lift. Satoru needed one too - you could see it in the way he carried himself, even if he pretended otherwise.

Leaning against the countertop, you stared at the pot, watching the water roll and churn as steam fogged the edges of the lid. Your thoughts drifted somewhere far away, the warmth of the kitchen doing little to untangle the knots that had settled deep in your chest.

Then, without warning, the soft press of fingers brushed against your waist.

You blinked, startled from your thoughts. Satoru’s silhouette slipped into view, his frame settling easily against your back. His arms wrapped around you, head dropping onto your shoulder like it belonged there.

"I’m not the best at words." he murmured, voice quiet in the stillness of the kitchen. His breath fanned lightly across your skin, carrying the faint scent of perviously eaten mochi "Or expressing feelings, as you’ve probably noticed a few dozen times now…" his hold on you tightened "But I don’t want you to feel like shit. These last few weeks—I know. You’re tired too."

Gojo was known for not respecting other people's personal space, this time he used it in a good way.

You let the tension bleed from your body, turning in his arms to press yourself into the solid warmth of his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your ear, grounding and familiar. For a moment, there was nothing else - no missions, no higher-ups, no lingering frustration - just the two of you in the quiet hum of the kitchen. He casually turned off the cooker, when he decided that what you had thrown into the pot, had cooked.

Satoru’s hand threaded through your hair, the movement slow and absentminded. His chin rested lightly atop your head as he drew in a deep breath, the faintest hum of contentment escaping him.

You hadn’t even realized how much you needed this.

His uniform smelled distinctly like him - clean but faintly musky, despite the fact you’d picked it up from the laundry just the day before. It was funny how that scent had become synonymous with safety, how somewhere along the line it shifted from just being him to something that meant home. Maybe it was the memory of that mission - the one where he’d carried you the entire way back, his arms tight around you after you nearly didn’t make it. Or maybe it was just years spent by his side.

Either way, standing there in his arms, you could’ve fallen asleep right then and there.

The sudden gurgle of your stomach shattered the moment.

Your eyes widened in embarrassment as you glanced up at him, met immediately by Satoru’s amused, lopsided grin.

"Well~" he teased, one brow arching as if he’d just uncovered your deepest secret "I guess that settles the argument. Dinner first, existential dread later."

Before you could reply, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. The touch was brief but lingering enough to leave you blinking, caught entirely off guard.

You stared at him, slightly dumbfounded, and he caught it instantly.

"What? Don’t look at me like that." he said with faux innocence, though his smirk betrayed him. His hands slid from your waist, settling on your shoulders as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes "It’s a rare display of affection. You should cherish it."

You scoffed, though warmth pooled somewhere beneath your ribs.

"Find Megumi first." you said, crossing your arms but unable to fully suppress your smile "Then you get your share of dinner."

Satoru groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face "You are cruel."

Satoru let out a soft snort, the sound full of quiet amusement. His grin widened, eyes flickering with mischief as he leaned just a little closer "So that’s how it is now? You’re giving me orders?"

You rolled your eyes, tapping the spoon lightly against the rim of the pot, letting the sound punctuate your response "I wouldn’t call it orders. Let’s call it… a challenge."

"A challenge, huh?" his voice dipped with mock intrigue, as if you’d presented him with something far more interesting than finding Megumi. He tilted his head playfully, watching you like a cat sizing up its prey "And what happens if I win this little game of yours?"

You met his gaze with a smirk of your own "Then your dinner’s warm. If you lose, you’ll be reheating it yourself."

Satoru clicked his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest in exaggerated thought "Hmm. That doesn’t sound like much of a prize."

"Would you rather starve?" you teased, arching a brow.

"I’d rather negotiate." he shot back, his grin sharpening "How about dessert for the winner? Something sweet~"

"You can negotiate with Megumi when you find him." you replied, turning back to the stove "That’s if he doesn’t make you work for it."

His laughter echoed softly behind you, but the warmth lingered.

"I could get used to being bossed around by you." he teased, voice light as he stretched dramatically.

Before you could respond, he was already moving, vanishing around the corner with that fluid ease that somehow made him feel more like a ghost than the strongest sorcerer alive. The kitchen settled into silence once more, save for the gentle bubbling of the pot.

You exhaled softly, shaking your head with a small, fond smile tugging at your lips.

© noira-l | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission.

[postmortemnivis]

spring was simon’s favourite season.

maybe because it meant rebirth, seeing the trees turn a vivid green again and the fields full of flowers and colours gave him hope. he loved to wake up and open his window in the early days of april, when the world was finally getting rid of the chilly morning breeze that always made him sick the first weeks of winter. every time he felt the air getting warmer, he couldn’t wait to change his heavy winter jacket into his windbreaker.

maybe it was because his birthday was in may, and despite not having celebrated it like he should’ve when he was a kid, he knew you would never forget to wake him up with a soft peck on the lips.

‘morning birthday boy.

if you asked him, he would tell you he liked spring better than summer because the weather was more enjoyable, not too hot yet not cold. spring’s light showers were his favourite noise to wake up to, after the one of the coffee maker he got you for christmas.

the real reason simon was so devoted to spring, almost as much as he was to you, were you. what did you expect from him?

he knew you probably couldn’t remember, but all those years back, you two met in early spring, after a particularly difficult winter.

simons life had been a deep, cold and dark winter for the past years. two, five, ten, who kept count anymore? his days would blend one into the other, seasons slowly bleeding into the next, he almost couldn’t tell the difference between august and february. seasonal depression was real, but somehow it lingered all around the year for him. that was before you.

you were the first shy sun ray that filtered through the clouds, quite literally. you, as fresh as the cold rain, and your heart, as warm as a late may afternoon, were all he needed to get out of his hibernation. you were what simon needed to wake up, the signal that spring and all beautiful things were on the way, that he needed to arise and get out of his hollow tree.

for the first time in years, simon’s eyes realized that spring was blooming everywhere around him, he was just too deep into his winter, blind, to notice; the flowers were blossoming, as beautiful as ever. he was grateful.

for you, for spring, for the sun finally caressing his face and skin and for your sweet kisses, each of them feeling like the first warm day after months of wind and snow.

“good morning, birthday boy.” you whispered as you kissed his lips.

simon squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them. he’d heard you get up, of course, the moment you started stirring in bed he was informed you were awake. you could try to keep the military out of the house, but the instincts followed him home, whether you liked it or not.

your bright smile was beaming at him, your hands on his bare broad chest as you sat on his hips, your thighs on either side of his waist.

“‘mornin’ beautiful.” he mumbled, resting a strong hand on your hip as he sat back, leaning against the headrest.

“breakfast’s in the kitchen,” you smiled, “i made coffee too.”

he hummed. “can smell it. i heard you too.”

you grinned.

“what’re grinning at?” he tiredly grinned back.

“want me to bring you breakfast in bed?” you said, “we can stay here in bed all day if you want to.”

he shook his head. “nah, love, i’m coming to the kitchen. i’ll be ready in a minute.”

you brought your lips to his again before getting off of him and caressing his cheek as you walked back to the kitchen, waiting for him.

his eyes followed your figure until you left the room, and he raised his gaze to the ceiling for a minute before shuffling his feet to the bathroom. he closed the door and stood in front of the sink, his hands on either side of the ceramic. his brown eyes, so dark they looked black, remained fixed on his reflection before he walked to the big window and opened the panes.

“simon?” you called. “baby, your coffee’s getting cold!”

his broad figure stood there, studying the nature outside. there was a small park in front of the flat, a little green heaven where mostly children went to play, he could hear from there the laughters and giggles. the trees, wild cherries and guelder rose followed the small street, their branches almost reaching the top floor where you lived.

“comin’ love.”

it was the middle of may, almost summer, and simon took a big breath of the fresh morning air before leaving the window open as he turned around and walked to the kitchen, right into his little piece of spring.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 25: Are Family Reunions Always This Awkward?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty five of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's got some heavier things in it, a few more sexual references, and it's kind of dark (more sad). Dark themes, Angst, Cursing, Sexual References, A little bit of heavy making out, Family Problems- A LOT of family problems, Homelander being a freak (he is), References to rape (It's only for a moment, but it doesn't make it any less terrible), Homelander is really bad in this chapter, Oedipus Complex (It's Homelander), Threatening, Past Trauma, Death Mentioned, Kidnapping. Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: One last warning, Homelander is a freak. Honestly the guy creeps me out in general, but in this he's especially creepy. AND It did not bring me joy to write this. I struggled with it, but I think it’s the thing that has to happen to move this story forward. And this chapter legit has the biggest tone shift in the UNIVERSE of tone shifts.

“Are you angry with her?” Ben’s voice rumbles up through his chest as you lay beside him. You were sharing the same pillow, faces inches apart, breathing the same air. His hand was tracing shapes into the small of your back, arm draped heavy over the curve of your hip, but it was a comforting weight. It reminded you that he was there and that he wanted to be, and you were getting used to that.

"A little." You breathe with a frown. Your hands are locked at the back of Ben's neck, gently dragging through the hair at the nape of his neck the way you know he likes. He groans softly at the movement, leaning further towards you as you do. "But now learning about everything that happened with Charlie, I get it. He was manipulating her the same way that Vought manipulated us for so long, the same way that they manipulated Homelander as he grew up."

Ben frowns at the mention of your son.

Rosemary had been calmer about the reveal of Homelander as her brother, but you figured that maybe you needed to let her wrap her head around it.

Maybe she was more focused on what Vought had done to me.

After Rosemary's confession this morning the day had been spent trying to figure out what you were going to do about your son. Butcher, Hughie, and Legend had been just as surprised at the news. And you knew that Butcher was waiting for some kind of hesitation to proceed with the plan to kill Homelander, but he wouldn't find any.

Homelander needed to be stopped, he was a monster, and you knew that there wasn't a shred of humanity left. It broke your heart to admit that to yourself, that your son was a monster, but it was true. Homelander became the thing that Vought warped and twisted him into. There was no semblance of someone that you could care about left, no reminder of humanity in his eyes.

At least that was what you told yourself, and it was what you told Ben, but deep down you wished that you were wrong. You wished that maybe there was something left behind, something redeemable.

He grew up without a family in a cold lab, raised by monsters who did with him what they wished.

You think to reason with yourself. Maybe it was because you remembered what Ben said that Vought tried to do to him. It was true of course, Vought had tried to do the same thing to Ben and you when you took the serum. And maybe it did work on Ben a little bit, the façade that he adopted for Soldier Boy did seem to lean in the direction of warm-blooded American symbol that Vought wanted, but Ben was different and so were you.

"If you're not sure about this, we can try to talk to him." Ben whispers leaning his forehead against yours.

"I know. We can try, but I don't think Butcher is really going to go for that plan."

"I don't give a fuck about him. I only care about you."

"Uh-huh?" You smirk. "You don't care about anyone else?"

"Huh?"

"No body else? Because you and Lou looked pretty cozy earlier playing go fish."

They had. Lou had won and Ben was trying his best not to be upset that he got beat at a card game by a four year old.

"That little girl is a shark. Just like someone else I know." Ben snorts out a laugh and pulls you closer to him, so much so that you can feel the ghost of his smile against your lips.

“Well I never-“ You smile nudging your nose into the space between your faces.

"Fine, you caught me. I do care about her, and I care about Rosemary. Even if she does fucking hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you as much as she thinks she does.”

“Hmm.”

"But I knew it." Your lips brush against his. "You're such a big softie."

Ben rolls his eyes. "Only for you Sweetheart." His hand stops tracing shapes against the back of your shirt and instead flattens against your back to pull you tighter against him. Your fingers thread through the locks of his hair, loving the way he feels pressed up against you, loving how after all these years it feels the same way and how it still feels like he was made for you and that you were made for him. When you were with Ben you didn't feel fat, because every soft part of you molded against the hardness of his muscles so perfectly that it made you feel like you belonged together.

"You know, I don't really like go fish all that much." Ben's smirks, kissing you back enthusiastically, his beard scratching against your skin in a way that makes everything else fade into the background. "I wouldn't mind playing some strip poker with you though."

"Oh really? What a surprise. Because you've always been better at poker than me."

"That's exactly why it would be fun." He rolls you over on your back, his large body over yours, his hips fitting between your legs, bringing them up around his waist with his free hand as he keeps kissing you.

"You're a man of simple tastes I guess." You laugh into his mouth, tightening your grip in his hair, tugging at the strands.

"Nothing simple about you doll." He all but growls against your lips. "And the only thing that I want is you."

The kiss deepens enough that you can feel yourself quickly losing yourself in him, but that's the way it always seemed when he kissed you. It felt like you held your arms out and spun in a circle until you were drunk and your head was spinning so fast nothing else seemed to fit, but Him. Time seemed to slow, the earth stopped spinning, everything around you was gone and the only thing left behind was Ben. You wondered if it was like that for him.

"Fuck you taste like strawberries." Ben mutters into your mouth.

Of course you did. You had ice cream before you came to bed, taking bites from Lou's bowl when she wasn't looking.

Ben tasted like the vanilla ice cream he’d had that he chased down with a glass of whiskey. You could feel yourself getting drunk on the sweet and vintage taste, sinking further into the mattress with his comfortable weight on top of you.

You moan into his mouth, moving your hands from his hair to grip his shoulders so tight that Ben could feel the bruises from your fingertips forming against his skin, but he didn’t care. You knew he liked it, knew that he liked that you were the only one strong enough to do that to him. He drags his lips down to kiss along your jawline, finally finding the place just in its shadow to suck another mark to replace the one that had faded a few days ago.

“Ben-“ You giggle, feeling the tickle of his beard against your skin. “You’ve really got to stop doing that.”

The words held no power, you didn’t want him to stop, didn't want any of this to end. It wasn't just because it felt good, it was because it felt right, the two of you together finally.

“Doing what?” He smirks up at you innocently.

Sometimes you hated how pretty he was, it meant that he got away with whatever he wanted and you were along for the ride. But in a pinch it was a good thing. When the two of you were children, Ben's good looks and charms had gotten the two of you out of trouble more than once.

“You keep giving me hickeys and it’s going to scar our daughter for life. Not to mention Lou asked me what it was today and I wasn’t about to have THAT conversation with a four year old.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” He drops his lips back down to the same spot. “I remember everything you like.”

His words are breathed against your skin, caressing something deep inside that makes you shudder beneath him.

Immediately you're transported back to the night of your birthday, when Ben made love to you and made you feel seen, understood, and loved for the first time in your life. The memories of that night wash over you in full color, moments that you wished to relive over and over again with Ben.

“Did you think I would forget?” Ben purrs as he continues to kiss along the hollow your throat, igniting something that you hadn’t felt in forty years. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that night. Ever be able to forget how it felt to finally make love to you, to finally have you the way I wanted for so long, and to finally show you how much you mean to me.”

He raises his head from your throat, hands gripping your waist tightly to keep you wrapped around his body. His green eyes shine with mischief, his dark hair falling forward into his face as he stares down at you, seeing through you like no one ever has. His expression softens. “Because you do y/n. You mean everything to me��� His voice is quiet, but it doesn’t make what he said any less important.

You gently cup his cheeks, pulling his lips back down in a fierce kiss that burns through your body. Ben smiles into your mouth, letting his guard down and as he does you leverage your weight to roll him over on his back so now you’re in his lap and he’s staring up at you, his eyes shining with something that almost makes you grab the front of his shirt and haul him back up to you for another kiss.

You smirk widely at him, hands planted against his toned stomach. He’d gone to bed without wearing a shirt again and you were far from complaining. You lean forward, your lips barely brushing his ear. “What makes you think I’ve forgotten what you like?”

“Fuck sweetheart. I won’t complain about anything you do to me.” Ben groans. His hands are holding on to your hips, pushing up your shirt to rest on the curves of your pelvis. "As long as I get to be with you, I'll be happy."

You kiss along his jaw, feeling the heat of his body radiating up through where you’re touching.

“Sweetheart?” Ben’s voice is strained, hands splayed wide over your hips. The roughness of his palms is comforting and familiar, the warmth of his skin  soothing. No one else ever seemed to be as warm as him. 

 Your lips drop to his throat as you kiss along the skin loving the tickle of stubble against the tip of your nose. “I’m a little busy at the moment baby.” You hum against him  as you begin to such a mark into the hollow of his throat, because you’re the only one able to do that to him.

Ben moans softly as you do it, shuddering below you, and it makes you feel powerful that you’re able to do that, to make him fall apart and make him lose himself in you the way he always seems to consume you.

“Y/n-“ Ben breathes  as you wrap yourself tighter around him, continuing to suck on the same spot. “Hmm?” You pull back to look at his face, raising a hand to push back the dark strands that have fallen into his eyes with a gentle hand.

You still were having a hard time with that despite everything. That Ben genuinely wanted to be yours the way you were always his. Somewhere deep down the little girl you used to be was finally content, finally able to hold the little boy she had loved for decades.

“I never said thank you.” He murmurs sitting up so you slide back into his lap and he’s able to hold you to him, his arms circling your waist.

“For?” Your arms link behind his neck. You can’t stop the soft smile that pulls at your lips when you look at your best friend. It was weird to think that you’d known each other so long and not know what you were missing, not know how perfect this would feel.

He kisses you again. “You always take care of me. Always have taken care of me.” Ben drops his lips to brush against your shirt over the scar the bullet left behind just over your heart.

You knew he was thinking about the day that you took a bullet for him and you wondered how much he thought about that. If the memory haunted him, if all the memories of your deaths haunted him.

“Well somebody’s got to. You’re a mess.”

“Not when I’m with you.”

“No.” You say happily keeping his head pressed against your chest. “That’s because I do my job. It's difficult sometimes but-"

"Shut up." Ben groans.

It's quiet for a few minutes as you stay there, gently stroking your fingertips in the way you know he likes, the dark strands shuffling through your hands.

He breathes deeply, as if he wishes to breathe you in, to pull you into him until there's nothing left but him and you. "I missed you so much Sweetheart."

"I missed you too Ben."

"And I-" His voice cracks with emotion, his next words getting caught in the back of his throat.

"Ben?" You cup his cheek worried. His bright green eyes have dimmed and you see something pass through them that looks almost like shame. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry."

"What did I say about apologizing?"

"Not for Countess. I'm sorry if the way you loved me ever felt like a burden.” He swallows.

You remember the words you said to Rosemary earlier about what love should be like.

“Ben- do you want me to tell you the truth?”

“Always.”

 You sigh, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone. “Sometimes it did, but only because I’d loved you for so long and it always felt like I was trying to hold on to who you were before you became Soldier Boy and trying to run to catch up. Like I had to change who I was to keep you happy and I really just wanted you to be happy Ben. You weren’t happy when we were kids and you were so excited about being supes and I-“

“I was happy when I was with you.” Ben whispers leaning his forehead against yours. “When you were gone I wasn’t. When I went away on those stupid filming trips and you were at your apartment all I thought about was getting back to you. I didn’t care about the films or the fame, if you weren’t there I didn’t see a point. And all I wanted was for you to be happy too, but not like that-“

“It wasn’t always bad, just sometimes. When I’d have to intervene between you and someone else or when you’d come to my apartment smelling like someone else or when I’d occasionally walk in on you and another woman in your apartment or at herogasm.” You sigh. “I didn’t have a right to feel the way I did. I shouldn’t have been jealous, you didn’t belong to me-“

“But I do.” He doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look remorseful for sharing too much. “Always. And I swear that I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, choosing you like you chose me that night.”

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you sit there on his lap, feeling the familiar contours of his body wrapped around yours. “I don’t regret it.” You murmur. “You are my family. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re not going to lose me. I love you sweetheart.”

“I love you too Ben.”

He kisses you fiercely, taking away any pain from the past and finally making you forget the moments he was gone, because now he was here and he wasn’t going anywhere. Ben presses his forehead back into your chest, tightening his grip on your waist.

You take in a deep breath smelling the comforting smells that you ascribe to Ben, but there's another smell that's coming from somewhere in the room. It's familiar, but you can't place it. In the corner of your eye something is moving, and you glance to the right noticing for the first time that the sliding glass door is open, the floor length curtains fluttering in the breeze and you knew for a fact that you’d left it closed.

“That’s so cute.” A familiar voice says.

Your entire body goes cold, the warmth you felt with Ben fading almost instantly. Ben's head shoots up from where it was resting on your chest, to stare at something or rather someone behind the two of you.

"You know, it really is every kid's dream that after all these years-" Homelander sighs happily. “ their parent's still love one another."

He was lounging in one of the sitting chairs at the opposite side of the room, his ridiculous cape draped over the back like a train as he watched the two of you in bed.

You can't move, can't breathe.

 He's here. How is he here? How did he find us?

You rack your brain trying to think about what to do, but all you can do is hold on to Ben. It wasn't that you were afraid for yourself, you knew that you could take him down if need be, the exact thing that you'd been considering the entire day, but you mind drifts to Rosemary and Lou upstairs.

 “But I can see why dad loves you so much mom. I mean you are so beautiful and you look really good for your age." His eyes glimmer black in the light and he has the audacity to wink.

Ben’s body immediately pushes yours behind him to block you from view. “What the fuck do you want you sick son of a bitch?” Ben snarls.

“Don’t talk about mom that way.” Homelander grins. But it’s the smile of a shark, pretty until it gets too close. All teeth and gums and things that come in the darkness to swallow you whole.

"How did you find us?" You swallow still thinking of Lou upstairs sleeping comfortably.

"I have you to thank for that mom." Each time he says the word 'mom' you try not to flinch. "I was flying by to see Stan when I watched the two of you 'talk' and when you left I followed you here."

I did this. I'm the reason why he found us. I was too wrapped up in what happened to fucking check if anyone was following me.

"You know the other day when we first met I was angry that you were able to hold me off, but watching you with Stan," Homelander chuckles. "That was inspired. Something special. I didn't realize how powerful you really were. And that tornado the other day- wow."

Another cold chill traces the length of your spine.

How long has he been watching us? Flying around outside of the house, staring through windows, watching from the shadows, marking our every move?

Another thought follows. He knows about Lou.

"I'm so honored to have a mother like you. And Soldier Boy as a father." Homelander's eyes trace over the two of you appreciatively. "It's a dream come true."

There was something haunting about the way he spoke to the two of you, almost as if the child that grew up in a lab was coming out, almost with childlike wonder and awe.

"I can't believe they tried to keep our family apart for so long." Homelander's gaze softens when he stares at the two of you. "That Vogelbaum and Stan Edgar decided that it would be better for me to be out of your lives but here I am after all these years, reunited."

Ben's right arm tightens where it's wrapped around your waist, his hand pressed into you back as he puts himself between you and Homelander. You can feel his skin heating with the force of his rage, hear the way his heart has begun to beat faster as he tries to think of a way out of this.

You weren't going to tell Homelander that he was your son, you thought it would be easier that way, with him not knowing that fact. Thought that it would be easier for you to dispose of him if he didn't call you 'mom' but now? It was harder.

Harder to look at him when you could see the subtle ways he looked like Ben, see the proud nose that reflected your father, smell the hairspray that covered the dark brown he must have had, see the strong jaw, the same one that you'd traced with your fingertips on Ben's face, and see the small freckles under the smudged makeup of Homelander's cheeks, the same ones the Ben and Rosemary had.

"I was angry when I found the files at Vought, when I saw exactly how hard they worked to keep us all apart. But I'm here now-"

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben spits.

Homelander blinks for a moment confused. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here for you. I want to be apart of this family. I see how you are with Lou and Rosemary and I want that. And I can't wait for you to meet your other grandson Ryan. I'm finally going to give him the family he deserves."

"We don't want anything to do with you." Ben's eyes narrow and Homelander frowns.

"I understand." Homelander stands from the chair he's sitting in, and this time Ben rises from the bed. He's shirtless, but with Ben it didn't matter what he was wearing, he could look damn intimidating when he wanted to. "Butcher's told you all about me right?" Homelander tsks. "Little William Butcher. He's always had it out for me-"

"He has a right to." You narrow your eyes and slide out of Bed so that you're standing beside Ben.

Homelander tilts his head to the side as if trying to think about what you're trying to say, but then he laughs. "Oh you're talking about Becca right? Little tease. I'm sure dad here can relate to the idea that some women, just really do ask for it, right?"

Your jaw tightens in repulsion as a wave of nausea comes surging up from the pit of your stomach realizing exactly the type of monster Homelander was. He wasn't a hero, he was a predator, a venus fly trap complete with all the pretty things to draw you in only to swallow you whole and leave no semblance of yourself behind.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Ben spits. "I'm a lot of things, but I'd never do that to a woman, not if she begged me to stop, not if she didn't want it."

Homelander shrugs. "Don't knock it til you try it."

"You're sick." You could feel your eyes shifting to purple, the room beginning to tremble with the force of your anger and disgust.

"No." He holds up a finger. "I'm not. That's just William, making you believe that I'm unhinged."

"Butcher has not made us believe anything. We've seen it." You respond. "I've seen it in the way you look at people, seen it in the way you smile, in the way you fight, seen it in your eyes-"

"You don't know-"

"I do. Something about us Homelander, is that when you've lived as long as we have, we know what a monster looks like."

"I'm not a monster." His smile drops into a frown.

"You are."

"I'm your son-" Homelander sputters.

"You might be our blood, but you're not our son." The words break you to say, but you hold it together. "Look I'm sorry. Sorry that you grew up that way. Sorry that they turned you into this. Sorry that Ben and I weren’t involved in your life, that we couldn’t have prevented the man you became."

"But-" Homelander glances from Ben to you in confusion.

"My father always saw the good in people." You continue, feeling the emotions at war in your chest, the ones that tell you that this man is your son and the ones that tell you this man is a monster. Your eyes skate over him. “But I don’t see any in you. You’re unredeemable. And as much as it hurts us to push you away, because you of all people need a family.   We're going too, because we don’t see any good in you."

Homelander stands there surprised, and you see the façade fall for just a moment, noticing the anger, pain, suffering, sadness, and rage that war within him, each emotion skating across his face in tandem with one another.

"But I found you." Homelander's eyes are misty. "I'm here. I'm your son! I'm your blood." He repeats, his voice breaking in a way that tugs at your heart.

"You might be our blood." Ben repeats watching Homelander. "But you’re not our son. You're just a disappointment."

If you didn't know Ben, you wouldn't understand the weight of those words, but you knew Ben better than anyone, knew how many times that his own father shouted those words at him. You remembered the nights that Ben crawled in through your window after the fights and when he thought you'd fallen asleep you could feel Ben tremble. You hated that his father did that to him and you worked hard to make sure that he didn't hurt as much as he had, just as Ben worked hard to make sure that you didn't remember the things your mother had said and done to you.

Before Homelander can respond, you feel someone else enter the room.

"Aunty y/n? I couldn't sleep. I had a nightmare and I can't find mommy." You hear Lou's voice say and your head turns to the doorway that leads into the basement. Lou is standing there, rubbing her eyes with one hand wearing her matching pink polka dot pajamas. Homelander turns his head to look at the little girl, the red in his eyes fading as he does, a sickening smile beginning to twitch against his lips.

"You must be my niece, Lou." He takes a step towards her and Rosemary appears in the doorway behind her, quickly pushing Lou behind her.

Rosemary does not back down from Homelander's gaze. It wasn't in her nature. She was too much like Ben and like you for her own good.

"And there's sissy." His smile is triumphant as he glances back at you and Ben.

"I'm not your anything." Rosemary's eyes narrow at Homelander.

His frown vanishes again, this time replaced with a snarl. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous this is?" The playful cadence in his voice is gone. "He was gone for forty fucking years and you brought him back into your lives! So what about me?" He shouts so loud you're sure the house is shaking, gesturing at Ben angrily.

"It's different." Your voice is cold.

"How is it different?"

"Because Ben is human." Rosemary answers. "You're not."

You turn to look at her in shock. It was the first time that she'd defended him since he got back, the first time that she had said something remotely kind about Ben to you or in front of him. Ben looks just as stunned as you do.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Homelander takes another step towards Rosemary, but she doesn't back down. "I am human. More human than you. I see the world for what it really is. I don't follow the rest of the fucking sheep like you-"

"You've been poked, prodded, and told that you were a god every day of your life. Just because we have powers does not mean that we are gods. We bleed, we live, and we die. And maybe somewhere along the way we're lucky to be loved and to love." She snaps. "But you don't. You can't feel love or remorse. You're a fucking monster not a hero. You think you're a hero just because Vought has given you that title. You're nothing more than a little boy chasing after a family you never had and you never deserved. You're not my brother, you're not their son, you're not our family. You're just something that was cut out of my mother, another scar, another manipulation, another science experiment that went wrong, and another way that Vought has ruined her life."

Lou cowers behind her mother, holding tightly to her leg, while Rosemary's hand circles behind her daughter to hold her tighter against her. It was the same thing that Ben was doing to you. You felt genuine fear for the first time in years, fear that you would lose them because of this.

Because Homelander was unhinged, manic, and insane. He might have kept it all hidden under the blonde hair, blue eyes, and the smile, but you saw through it. You'd met supes like him before and you knew that you would meet others in the years to come.

"You got everything didn't you? A loving family? A mother who loved you? A home? You got to be in your child's life. You had everything I didn't have." His voice is eerily calm. "And for what? So you could work at a fucking hospital and degrade yourself, our bloodline, and the fucking power you have to be a slave to other people?!”

Rosemary freezes.

"That's right I know all about you. Know all about all of you. Know about that fucking freak Charlie they inserted into your life, know exactly how much Vought wants Lou. Vought has files upon files about each of you, everything you’ve done, your powers." His eyes flick to the little girl hiding behind her mom. "And yet I'm the disappointment." Homelander's eyes flash back to where Ben and you are standing, something murderous building behind them, before they focus back on Rosemary. "I should have had your life. I'm the one who deserves it! I'm the hero. I'm the one who's more powerful."

You knew that the situation was growing worse by the minute, but with Lou thrown in the mix you weren't sure how this was going to go. You didn’t want her in the line of fire, wished that she had stayed in bed upstairs.

"Mommy I'm scared." You hear Lou whisper as she clutches on to Rosemary tighter.

"Don't be scared Lou." Homelander smiles wide, so wide you can see all his teeth. "This will all be over soon."

The words chill you to the bone, but before you can react, Homelander flies at Rosemary knocking her back through the bathroom wall and away from Lou. Her body crashes through solid tile and bathroom mirror with a resounding crack that echoes through the bedroom.

And just as you leap forward to take him on, Homelander grabs Lou.

There were only a few moments in your life that you’d ever known genuine fear. The day you got the serum, the day that you took the bullet for Ben and you thought you were going to die, and the day that you went into labor. But this was different. Seeing Homelander holding on to Lou wiped away any of those other moments in your life.

Your entire body catches fire with anger and fear. "Put her down." Your voice is unrecognizable, hands clenched into fists. You felt your eyes shift back to a threatening purple, everything in the room trembling under your power, the wood paneling on the wall beginning to peel back and reveal the concrete underneath.

What kind of sick person uses a child as a shield?

Lou squirms in his arms, but Homelander just holds her tighter against him. "Why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't I'm going to-" Ben snarls taking a step towards him. Ben's body has already begun to glow, seeping out from his heart as the force of his anger grows with every passing second.

"You're going to what?" Homelander's smile is sinister. "Because it seems to me that you can't do anything to me without poor little Lou here taking the brunt of it."

Rosemary appears covered in plaster, dust, and with pieces of mirror in her dark hair that catch the light in a way that makes her hair sparkle. "Put her down you narcissistic asshole." She snarls, her eyes turning red.

You figured it was because he had touched her, but deep down you hoped that Rosemary still had apart of your power, so you didn’t have to worry about her dying.

Lou tries to reach for her mom, but Homelander holds her closer to him. Tears have begun to trickle down her little cheeks. "Mommy?” She sobs quietly.

"Shh. It's okay sweetie." Homelander purrs bouncing her in his arms. "I've got you."

"Please put her down." You say it calmly, but you can feel your heart jumping around in your chest, beating against your ribcage. You didn't know how to fix this and didn’t know how to appeal to him, not after you'd spent the past twenty minutes telling him that you wanted nothing to do with him and that he wasn't your son. “We can talk this out. She doesn’t have to be apart of this.”

"Sorry no can do. I’m kind of tired of talking to you and to him.” Homelander gestures to Ben with his free hand, who isn’t glowing anymore.   “You might not want me apart of your family, but I want Lou apart of mine."

"What?" You croak.

"I think she should meet her cousin. And I think that Ryan would do a lot better with another child in his life, especially one that's supposed to be so powerful." Homelander continues rocking Lou back and forth. "But don't worry. I'll make sure that she's taken care of. And I’ll make sure she reaches her full potential.”

His eyes lock on yours and the chill of his words set in.

“Wait what?” Rosemary says.

But you understand too late.

Homelander shoots upward through the ceiling with Lou screaming in his arms as pieces of rubble crash down into the bedroom Ben and you share.

"No!" You scream in horror and rage, and rise up off the ground, but before you can follow behind Homelander, Ben wraps his arms around your waist to hold you down against him, refusing to let you go alone to face Homelander. “Ben let me go I can-“ By now your voice is nothing more than a shrill scream, tears pouring from your eyes as you struggle against his iron grip. “Please let me go! I have to go after him-”

“You’re not going to face him alone!” Ben shouts back holding you tighter.

But he can’t stop Rosemary.

She flashes past you in pursuit, up through the hole in the ceiling that Homelander left behind, and leaving you to sob and beat your fists against Ben’s chest wishing that it had been you instead.

A/N: Alright I had to make the first part just a little bit spicy to feel better about the devastation at the end of this chapter.

And I know another cliffhanger, but I promise there is something coming after this and we are quickly reaching the end of this series. 😊

I also want to let everyone now that I have decided to end this series when we get there without any reach into season 4. I do have some very cute ideas for little fics between this reader and Ben following season 3.

However, I am going to write an alternate ending and when we get to season 5 of The Boys with Soldier Boy back in action, I am going to release it and write for season 5, I think. That’s the plan right now, but who knows? I've also got some great ideas for other series I might want to start eventually.

Also anyone getting Syndrome vibes or is it just me? It was not intentional 😂

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist please let me know :)

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[deceitfuldevout]

Naughty Little Thief

Dark!Jackson Rippner x Theif!Reader

Word Count: +5,416

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Theft, Stalking, Manhandling, Forced Oral (m receiving), Forced Stripping, Forced grinding, Unwanted orgasm, Classism, Verbal abuse, Partial loss of virginity, Rimming (f receiving), Public sex, Humiliation.

Author's Note(s): I'm bored at work and wanted to kill some time before studying. Here's more Cillian content.

It's the holiday season, and you end up pickpocketing the wrong person. He makes sure you'll regret ever crossing paths with him.

You felt bad for what you were about to do. But he didn't seem like he was financially struggling. So of course, you decided to pickpocket the stranger. Deep down you hated it, but there was no other choice. It was either this or going hungry tonight. At the end of the day it didn't matter, money was money. That was the mindset that's kept you alive for so long. You spot the chosen victim, he's a businessman, seemingly in his thirties, wearing an expensive tailored suit. Jackpot.

You wind your way through the crowd of shoppers, scurrying towards the unsuspecting man. You're right beside him, giving a light pinch to his left side. As soon as he turns to find the source, you quickly reach into his right pocket and pull out his wallet, scurrying into the crowd to disappear. That was almost too easy. You could tell by the texture alone that it was expensive. You turn it around and read the embroidery on the flap, 'J. Rippner'. A man who has good taste.

But before you could open it, someone grips the back of your neck. A large leather hand digs into your skin. You cry out, dropping the wallet as both of your hands reach for the stranger's. He turns you to face him. It's Rippner, and he's pissed, "Where the hell do you think you're going? Hm?"

"I...I.." you were at a loss of words. He drags you by the arm into the nearest alleyway. You look around for someone, anyone who would see what was happening and stop him. No one, of course. Who would help a thief like you? He slams you hard against a brick wall, your head throbbing in pain from the impact. It takes you a while to catch your breath as all the air had escapes your lungs. He uses his body to trap yours between the cold stone, caging you with him.

He growls, "You wanna steal from me you thieving little bitch?!", he's fuming, "I should drag your ass straight to the police station," he hisses, his features twisting with anger. You could tell by those cold, piercing eyes that he was not an easily forgiving man. Yet still, you tried to persuade him, "W-wait! Please! I'll do anything! I-I swear!"

Jackson pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering up at down your quivering form. He's thinking of something that would satisfy his growing hunger, "Show me your tits," for a moment, you couldn't believe what he had just said, brows furrowing in confusion, "I-I'm sorry?" you look at him as if he'd grown two heads. He leans in, now grumbling, "Show me those tits, and I'll decide if you're worth letting go,"

His hands grip the front of your jacket as he unzips it. He rips open the buttons off your blouse, ignoring your protests. Finally reaching a lacy bralette hidden under all those layers. He whistles, "Well I'll be damned, you weren't expecting anyone, were you?" he mocks. Your fingers dig into his arms, but it was futile. You bare your teeth at the man holding you hostage, "Go to hell you perv!" that remark only worsens your situation. He drags the fabric down, revealing both your breasts to the winter air.

You gasp, trying your best to cover them. A leather gloves reaches to twist one of your buds. His voice is stern, "I'm sorry, what was that?" pulling harshly at the sensitive nub. You yelp from his touch, retreating in hopes that he would halt his actions. You were wrong, instead that bratty tone from earlier, landed you a harsh slap on the chest. His gloves didn't ease the impact. He delivers strike after strike against your bare flesh. Until both buds began to peak on their own.

He fondles them in his hands, eyeing his work, "Nice tits..." he gives both of them a squeeze, pulling them towards him, "Very responsive..." his deep voice now a purr. All you could do was glare back at him with tearful eyes, trying your best not to cry. You hadn't expected a complete stranger to be so cruel. You, a literal thief.

Jackson dips a finger into your mouth. When you try to bite down, he delivers a light tap on your jaw. Holding the back of your head with an iron grip as he points in your face, "Don't even think about it, I'm not joking I'll drag your sorry ass bare naked down the streets," he threatens. His hands reach around your waist. He yanks your pants down to your ankles. Exposing your bottom half to him.

He takes a look at the panties you were wearing. Staring back at the teddy bear print and smirks, "How adorable..." his fingers slide in between your legs, caressing the now slick folds though the fabric. You turned your head to the side to see if any onlookers would pass by. He notices and angles his body to cover your form. He whispers in your ear, "Shh...I just need you to help me, and I'll help you, then we're even," it sure as hell didn't feel like it.

He reaches around the waist of your panties, slowly sliding off your underwear. He groans at the sight of it, licking his gloved digits before sliding them up and down your slit. You whine from the light, sensual touches. He reaches for your opening, collecting any wetness. His breathing increases, as does yours. He captures your bud in his hand, teasing it until you almost lost footing. You grip his shoulder for balance. He chuckles, "Oh you like that, don't you?" he teases. That earns him a harsh slap.

You were done being his little plaything. No more, you weren't going to whore yourself out to anyone. Especially not to some trust-fund baby. His head whips the other way, strands of his hair now dangling against his forehead. His cheek twitches, as if there were a battle going on inside him, "Oh, you've fucked up now..." both his hands are around your neck, squeezing it as hard as he could. You try fighting back, fingers digging into his wrists.

But it was futile, there was no way of stopping him. When your vision begins to blur and grip starts to weaken, he lets go. You cough hysterically, trying your best to breathe again. He waits until you're done with the dramatics. He grips your chin, eyes boring into your own, "That, was a warning," he pushes both your shoulders down until you're on your knees, "This, is your punishment," slotting his foot in between both legs.

He forces you to sit on his leather shoe, tilting your head to look him in the eyes, "Get yourself off," he commands. By now, you know not to disobey his orders. You try testing the waters, the cold leather felt uncomfortable against your bare mound. It was almost unbearable. It takes a while before you collect any slickness. Your ears getting warmer despite the weather.

Rippner chuckles, he retrieves his foot before you've had a chance to finish. He examines his now wet shoe. He sneers, "Really? You're seriously getting off on me using you like this?" a cruel grin plays on his face. He presses his shoe against your bare pussy, he mushes it against the opening, "Of course you'd like that...you're nothing but filth..." his cruel words made you blink back tears. They feel hot gliding down your cheeks. It almost makes him feel bad for doing all of this to you. But then again, you did just try to rob him.

He sighs, "We've got to do something about that mouth of yours," he suddenly unzips his pants, pulling out his half-hard cock. Your eyes bulge at the sight of it, pressing your lips shut in protest. He held his girth in one hand and your hair in the other. Jackson glides his shaft across your face, his leaking tip smears precum on your cheek. He mockingly taps his cock against your lips. His voice is raspy, "Does this make you squirm?" he knew exactly what he was doing to you with those words.

He pinches the bridge of your nose to cut off any air supply, forcing your mouth to open. He doesn't waste any time shoving his member deep inside. His tip now touching the back of your throat. It makes your eyes water. The corners of your lips rip from the stretch of his girth alone. How it could fit, you hadn't a clue. Both his hands grip the sides of your head, as he begins to buck his hips. He groans, "Oh fuck...you feel fucking amazing..." moaning with each thrust.

He stops himself from going any further. He wants to cum inside, but not in your mouth. No, he'll save it for some other time. He pulls you away from his cock and you're an absolute mess. Spit and tears everywhere. He lifts you by the shoulders, pressing you against the brick wall, again. He aims his tip against your cunt. It takes you a moment to process what was happening. Then in a split moment both of your arms shoot out, "N-no! Not there!" You cried, "Anywhere but there!" your voice starts to break.

Even after losing everything, you still didn't want your first time to be with a complete stranger. He could do whatever he wants, just not that. His long fingers wrap around your neck, adding a bit of pressure as he whispers in your ear, "Oh? And why is that?" genuinely curious. Your answer is faint, almost silent. He didn't quite catch what was said, "I'm sorry, what was that?" he held your jaw in place so he could look at you in the face. There was no way, not at your age. Did he hear you correctly?

You were starting to get pissed off, "I said I never fucked before, asshole!" that had you receive a harsh slap on the ass, "Ow! Ow okay! I'm sorry, just stop already!" that explains a lot. How you managed to leave his gloves and shoe soaking wet. As much as Rippner wants to pump a load into that sweet pussy, he decides to save it for later. Instead, he flips you over, your bare chest now against concrete.

Jackson bites his lips. He can't believe he's getting on his knees for someone like you. He parts both your cheeks, spitting at your rim to get it nice and wet. He flattens his tongue, lapping it against the tight ring before thrusting it in. Your knees began to buckle, you use the wall for support. Pressing your face against the brick. He bobs his head to a rhythm, and you can't stop moaning. His tongue reaching deep inside the muscle. His free hand reaches to rub at your clit, while the other pumps his cock.

After a while he stands up, aiming his now leaking tip against the rim, "This is going to hurt, a lot," he starts to enter, pushing inch by inch. You squeal at the stretch. A gloved hand muffles your cries. He began to give short, small thrusts. He grunts from how tight you were. Almost climaxing from the squeeze you gave. He quickens his pace, wrapping his other arm around your waist for better leverage. From there he went on autopilot, ignoring your pleas to slow down. He simply couldn't, he doesn't want to.

Finally, he releases a load deep inside. You felt his hot spunk coating your insides. Your head felt heavy after already reaching your own orgasm. His head hung over your shoulder. His breathe felt warm, "I've been eyeing you for a while, little mouse," It's true, he's been watching you for some time. You had first caught his eye when his chauffer was stuck in traffic. He watched as you went into action. It was remarkable, that talent of yours.

He's been planning this for some time. Today he wanted to see you up close. He had to know more about you. Even asking his ride to drop him off a few blocks. Jackson purposely took this route knowing that he'd get robbed. He needed an excuse to talk to you, his little specimen of interest. He knew the exactly how you would steal from your victims. Although he couldn't feel the hand reaching into his pocket, it was pinch you gave to his side that indicated him the wallet had already been stolen. That was his sign to take over the situation.

His arms are still wrapped around your upper body, hands now playing with your tits, "I'm Jackson by the way, Jackson Rippner," he tells you while still buried deep inside, "You've been targeting this street for a while now, you live around here?" no answer. You downright refused to entertain him any longer. He gasps, "Oh...that's right I completely forgot..." he grips your hips, slowly pulling out his member. He hisses from the feeling. It's almost too good to stop.

He retrieves a napkin from his coat pocket and hands it to you. When you refuse to take it, he isn't mad. Although you were testing his patience. He helps you get changed, satisfied that you kept his load in. Your panties were probably soaked by now. Once the both of you were decent, he asks you again. Yet still, no answer. For that he lands another slap on the same spot. You yelp from the impact, "Here! I live here!" "I know that, but where? This is a shopping district, there aren't any homes in this area, so, answer my question: Where do you live?"

You look out the alleyway to a place across the street. He pulls you in, with an arm now wrapped around your waist. From a distance it seemed as if the two of you were lovers. You guide him to where you've been living in the past few months. Right across the street in a small, worn-out vehicle. Jackson raises a brow, "You live...in a car?" he sounds genuinely surprised.

It's the dead of winter. Not exactly the perfect time to be stuck out on the streets. But it was all you had. You turn around to face him, "Yeah well, some of us don't have daddy's money to get us by..." you scoff. He likes that answer. Good, you wouldn't have anyone to miss you. He grins from ear to ear, tilting his head, "If that's the case, you're coming with me," He drags you to a mysterious black car with tinted windows. Your feet drag against the pavement. You' we're too exhausted to fight back.

It felt uncomfortable trying to find a sitting position. Jackson hops in right after, sitting unbearably close to you. He held you close, like a lover would. He sighs with adoration, "You don't have to worry about your things because I'm keeping you," he taps the tip of your nose, "But no more stealing? Got it?" he'd rather not draw any negative attention your way. Jackson then hums a holiday tune, which one you didn't care. All you could think of was how much you regretted ever stealing from him. He held you close to him, stroking your hair before giving a chaste kiss, "Merry Christmas to me, eh?"

[tamurilofrivendell]

A Kiss | Thranduil x Reader

Pairing Thranduil/Female Reader

Read on AO3

Content: It's pretty much just smut. Consume responsibly.

Prompt: (#9 on this list). It’s in bold in the text below.

Requested by anon.

The throne room had been abuzz with movement and noise all day as audience after audience took place before the King in quick succession. You could see that Thranduil was getting frustrated and drained as the time wore on. It barely showed of course, he was very adept at keeping himself composed, but you noticed all the same.

Truthfully, you couldn't keep your eyes off him and your attention continually drifted from the carousel of people who came to stand before the throne, to the King who sat there at the top of it. He was still wearing his winter crown, the spring season not yet fully flowered. Dressed in expensive fabric of mossy greens and muted golds, he sat with his silver waterfall of hair flowing down his broad shoulders, and his head was tilted just ever so slightly, looking far more interested in those before him than he actually was.

“Stop looking at me like that.” The Elvenking’s deep booming voice was fairly nonchalant when it came, as the doors closed after the final audience had concluded, but there was an edge to it. An edge that you mistook for anger until the rest of the sentence fell from his lips a beat later. “Or I’m going to kiss you.”

You blinked up at him. Oh. So, your looks had not been quite so subtle as you had thought them to be. You turned, sweeping your gaze across the room. Everybody had left. You knew guards were positioned at the entryway but the one that usually stood below the throne while Thranduil held court in here was missing.

With a soft smile, you turned back to look at him. His intense gaze was pinned on you and you could see a darkness in his eyes that you recognised immediately as desire. That, too, had been the reason for the edge in his earlier tone.

"Would that help your mood, my lord?" You asked innocently as you moved towards the steps at the bottom of his throne. Thranduil was watching you intently, his head tilted again, this time definitely as interested as he looked.

"A kiss?" You concluded, your feet moving and carrying you slowly up the steps, moving towards where Thranduil sat waiting.

He hummed softly, an affirmative, keen eyes following every little movement you made, every step that carried you towards him until you were standing directly before him.

Amusement danced with the desire in his gaze as he looked upon you.

"I do believe that would certainly help, little dove." Thranduil said in response, holding eye contact. You could have squirmed under the intensity of it.

"As my king wishes." You murmured in response, taking a step towards him. Thranduil's knees parted and a shiver ran through you as you stepped between them and leaned in slowly. Pausing just briefly before pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Thranduil growled his disapproval as you started to pull away again, a playful smirk tugging at your lips, but you didn't get far as he locked his knees in, trapping you between them. "Now, little star." He looked up at you with a small smirk in spite of himself, aware of the game you were playing with him. "That is not what your king wishes."

You looked back at him for a moment before you leaned in again. You had thought about getting him to chase you but he had caught you before you could even move so you decided you would comply. However, you were just a little disappointed, thinking that you'd have liked far more than a kiss and this was hardly the place.

Or so you thought.

As your mouth met Thranduil's, his hands gripped your waist and pulled you down with ease. You squealed in surprise and he took advantage of your open mouth, sliding his tongue in as you found yourself seated with your legs astride his lap.

You happily deepened the kiss, enjoying the taste and the feel of him. His hands soon began to wander, sliding up under the little intricately stitched lace top you had paired with your skirt that morning, causing another delicious shiver to shoot through you.

Thranduil continued his exploration of your body, delighting in your warm skin, hands moving of their own accord up to your breasts. You gasped softly into his mouth as his skilled fingers kneaded and massaged, tugging softly on a nipple every so often.

You writhed under his touch, kisses becoming harsher at his ministrations but it was nothing compared to when his fingers worked their way back down your body, one arm sliding round your waist as support and the other edging ever lower, down beneath your skirt, Thranduil seeking his most desired prize.

Bucking slightly at the feel of his fingers brushing between your legs, you broke the kiss and sucked in a deep breath. Your eyes opened so you could look at him.

"Here...?" You asked breathlessly, even as his fingers began to gently stroke between your legs, pulling soft sighs from your lips.

Thranduil nodded, watching your every expression like a hawk, every movement and sound you made only heightening his own desire, which was quickly making itself known between you both as he felt himself harden.

"Here." He replied firmly, voice hoarse as he pulled you in for another kiss.

In the same moment, one of his fingers dipped inside you and you gasped again, the sound quickly swallowed into the hot cavern that was Thranduil's mouth.

Soon, a second finger had followed the first and you were squirming and wriggling in his lap, the movements only causing friction against his own arousal. He gritted his teeth as he continued to move his fingers inside of you, wanting to make you ready for him. His thumb focused on your swollen nub and he groaned softly as his fingers slid a little deeper, past where first they had found resistance.

His mouth had moved from your own by this point and he was tracing delicate little kisses down your throat and across your collar bone. Your head had tipped back to grant him easier access as you lost yourself to the pleasure he was bestowing upon you.

Thranduil practically growled as he felt you tighten against his fingers, moving faster as he pushed you towards your impending orgasm. A cry ripped itself from your throat as you came, his fingers leaving you empty as you gripped onto his shoulders to hold yourself steady.

When you opened your eyes, you noticed Thranduil had removed his erection from his slacks and was lazily stroking himself to the image of you coming undone before him.

Hot desire ripped through you at the sight of him.

Ignoring your still-shaking legs, you reached down between you both and replaced his hand with your own, giving him a few soft strokes, delighting in the sounds it pulled from him.

He could take it no more, you knew, as his hands harshly gripped your waist and moved, helping you to position yourself above him. You began to sink down onto him but it was too slow for his liking and he tugged at your waist, sheathing himself inside you.

You barely knew where his moan started and your own ended.

Thranduil started to move then, impatient, but you were more than happy to meet his thrusts, finding you'd recovered enough from your previous orgasm.

The empty throne room was suddenly full again, this time with your loud moans and gasps, neither of you caring how loud the two of you became. The guards at the entryway were more than loyal and you knew they would act as though nothing had happened at all.

Watching Thranduil as he thrust again and again, you could tell when he was reaching his peak. His breathing became more laboured and his thrusts more sloppy as his eyes began to fight to stay open.

He liked to watch your face but sometimes he could not stop his own pleasure from overcoming him completely.

You wanted it to.

As he thrust up to meet you one last time, your hand moved down between your bodies. He didn't even notice until, suddenly, your hand came into contact with him, lightly cupping his balls.

A cry ripped itself from his throat at the sensation and his grip on you tightened, his hips stuttering as he hit his peak, spilling inside you as you soon followed with your own pleasure.

Then there was a silence that was only broken by the pair of you attempting to catch your breath. Your legs were jelly as you slumped forward, your forehead against his firm chest. Thranduil sucked in a few more deep breaths before he finally lifted his hand and ran his fingers through your hair. He kissed the top of your head with a little chuckle that caused you to raise your head to look at him.

"Now that, little dove, was exactly what your king needed after such a dreadful day."

Smirking, you smacked his shoulder playfully as he laughed again and then stood, sweeping you up into his arms. You relaxed against him with another sigh as he moved out of the door that connected his private chambers with the throne room.

A nice long hot bath and a relaxing rest of the night with you in his arms was in order, he decided.

[butididntpourthewhiskeys]

🤍 seven feet in the swing - I 🤍

As Taylor pushes open the door, the familiar creak feels heavier than usual, like a warning. The house is quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling studio she just left behind.

"Trav?" she calls out, her voice wavering slightly, but the only answer is the silence that envelops her. She sighs, drops her bag by the door. She sighs when she receives no answer, turns on the lights in the hallway and realizes that he's not home. The gym is locked by the alarm system. The lights are off. And it's not the same. It's not the same as it used to be when she came home from the studio, knowing he was in the city. The living room greets her with its disarray—pillows scattered, his stinky sweatshirt from his earlier workout hanging over one of their dining chairs. Her sigh bounces off the walls, but it's met with only the soft patter of paws coming from their hiding spots, weaving around her legs gently. She kneels down to scratch Olivia behind their ears. She smiles. In contrast to her sister, this cat will forever be happy to see her. 

"Where's dad?" she whispers to herself and the cat and gets up again, the phone she just placed on the dining table lighting up. 

Hey babe, I'll be home late. Got caught up with some stuff. Don't wait for me.

Stuff. She can imagine what that word implicates. He met up with a few of his buddies for drinks. A new habit of his that she wasn't used to up until last year. Last year when he hurt his knee bad enough to know that he won't be able to play for another cycle. Last year on that rainy day in Rhode Island, when she held him for hours, his face pressed against her chest, crying like a child, knowing that one of the most important times of his life would come to an end soon. She knows he's been struggling ever since he quit football, but it feels like he's pulling further away, like the distance between them has become a chasm. At first, she thought he just needed time to grieve the end of football. She thought he needed time to clear his head, get clear on what projects he wants to focus on post season. But then, he did get those projects kick started. He got the roles he wanted, he got the success he wanted and she's there. She's always been there, to celebrate and support him at every step of his way. But still, things are different. Old feelings of anxiety are slowly interrupting her dreams at night nowadays. Songs that once were about the deep feeling of happiness have slowly become more dark, angsty, melancholic. She's been here before. Right before she left London four years ago, she found herself in the exact same spot. Next to her partner, but feeling completely alone.

Taylor swallows, making her way into their bedroom. She can't think like that, can't always compare her relationship to past ones. She quickly turns on the little night light, yawns loudly as she sits down on her side of the bed and takes off her shoes. A lot has changed in this house since Travis moved in as well. Getting married has made it even easier to turn every single one of her houses into their house. A bigger bed, more space for his sneakers and a new wallpaper are lighting up the room. It's not just her space anymore, it's his space too. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't love it. She loves sharing her life with this man. From the moment he made her laugh for the very first time, almost exactly three years ago, Taylor knew that her heart would never be the same. He opened up areas of her soul she thought were closed up forever. He brought nothing but joy, excitement and magic into her life and she wants to be the same for him, especially now where he's the one dealing with some hard stuff. 

Taylor yawns once more, changes into one of his t-shirts that she usually sleeps in and enters their shared bathroom. It's not even ten o'clock but she's absolutely exhausted, which is not typical for her at all. She's usually a night owl, having a completely different sleep rhythm to most people she knows, which entails going to bed more often when the lights come out and sleeping well into the afternoon. She's gotten a lot better after the eras tour has ended, but going to sleep at ten o'clock is early, even for her. 

Taylor reaches for one of her hair clips to stick up her hair a little before washing her face with warm water. A few minutes later she's brushed her teeth, moisturized her face and sighs slightly annoyed when picking up some of Travis' socks that he managed to toss right underneath the sink instead of simply placing them in the laundry basket. She still doesn't understand why that's so hard? With cold hands and a few cramps in her stomach, Taylor turns off the light in the master bathroom and sneaks under the sheets of their shared bed. She reaches for her phone and checks her emails for a moment. Benjamin has just made his way onto the soft bedsheets and Taylor just caresses the soft fur for a moment.

"I know. Dad is coming home late. We can go to bed already.." she mumbles to the little cat that confusedly starts to pull at Travis' side of the bed.

A few moments later, she closes her eyes, fighting sleep until her body just gives in.

___

Taylor wakes up all of the sudden, a loud bang of the front door causing her to sit up in bed upright. She feels dizzy, slightly nauseous from having been taken out of her deep sleep all of the sudden. Her night light is still on, and even the cats are looking at her confused. Trav's side of the bed is still empty. She swallows. Her hair in all directions, her eyes puffy from sleep.

"Trav?" she yells tiredly, realizing quickly that the loud bang of the door must have been her husband coming home, finally. She checks her phone quickly. 1:37am. She can't believe he is just now coming home. For a moment, she can't hear anything from downstairs. He also didn't answer her, which is absolutely unlike him.

"Baby?" she tries one more time. No answer. Taylor feels panic arise in her. She's alone in the house. If this was Travis, he would've replied to her already. Just when she reaches for her phone to give him a call is when she hers footsteps coming up the stairs and towards the bedroom.

"Travis?" she yells again, no answer. Immediately, Taylor feels her hands getting sweaty. Her breathing pattern becomes faster and more shallow. Someone broke into the house. She needs to call security, right now, before whoever this person is gets to her. With shaking hands, she tries to unlock her phone, but fails. Panic builds up in her like a tidal wave. This is it. The person who intruded her home will be in this room in less than two seconds. For a moment, she feels helpless. A whining cry emerging from her mouth all of the sudden when she starts to rummage the drawer next to her bed for her pepper spray. This is it. Her biggest nightmare is coming true. She can feel Benjamin jumping from his spot, seeming to feel the fear radiating from her. And just when she was about to scream, he just stands in the doorway. Him. The big, tall guy she knows so well. Within a second, she starts crying and he looks at her with utter confusion.

"Tay, what.."

"Why didn't you answer?!" she sobs yelling, immediately getting up. She feels so ridiculous all of the sudden. Ridiculous, ashamed, angry.

"What do you mean?" he just asks, standing there in his sweats in confusion, taking one of his AirPods out of his ears.

"I heard you come home and I called you and you didn't answer!" she says, tears streaming down her face. She's angry. Angry and terrified. For a moment, she really feared for her life.

"I.. I had my headphones in listening to a podcast. I'm sorry, babe. I didn't hear anything when I.."

"You know how scared I get when I'm alone in the house and.."

"Tay, I swear to god, if I had heard you, I would've.." "You can't just walk up the stairs in the middle of the night and not let me know that it is you." she says then, standing in front of him in nothing but his oversized tee, her long hair curly and in all directions, arms crossed and tears rolling down her cheeks. He feels horrible all of the sudden, notices her hands shaking uncontrollably when she tries to wipe away the tears from her cheek.

"Fuck, I.. I'm so sorry, Tay. I wasn't thinking..."

He's glad she's not yelling anymore. Glad she seems to listen finally.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I really didn't mean to scare you. Come here." he mumbles, immediately pulling her in for a tight hug. His face quickly finds the spot he calls his home. His face in the crook of her neck, the smell of her skin entering his nose and wandering up to his blood stream. Coming home means coming to her. How could he ever forget. How could he forget this feeling for just a second? 

"I'm so so sorry, sweetie." he whispers into her skin a few times, beardy kisses tickling her neck. But all she does is hold on to him with closed eyes. She's safe again. She's finally safe again in his arms.

Travis pulls back, his two hands landing on her cheeks. She can see the shock in his eyes, too. He really didn't mean to scare her. She knows. Her hand wanders to his and she nods, her chin still trembling from before. Travis slowly leans down to plant his forehead against hers. He feels her take a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. He gives her a few seconds, then comes closer to kiss her lips. For a moment, she enjoys his proximity. But then, she notices something else. A very particular smell.

"Have you been smoking?" she asks then, has pulled back and looks at him in confusion. Smoking weed is something he struggled with in school and college, she knows. But it's been something he has done only twice since she knows him. Both times were the night out after winning a Superbowl - a good excuse to pretty much do anything you would like to do to celebrate for the night. But aside from that, Travis pretty much stays away from anything intoxicating at all times. She knows that ending his career as an athlete means more food and alcohol freedom, but she isn't used to him coming home at almost two in the morning on a Tuesday evening smelling like weed. She knows she guessed right, when he just lets go off her face, takes a few steps around the bed to his side, and starts to take off his watch.

"Maybe." he says, and he knows she doesn't like it.

"Uhm.. okay, why?"

He looks at her in pure disbelief, letting out a low hissing sound and shaking his head.

"You're asking me why I smoked?" he says, and she knows this is not a question. He's mad at her for asking. And she's having none of it. Her arms are crossing instantly.

"Yes, I'm asking why you decided to smoke weed on a Tuesday evening."

"Well, mom, I went to celebrate my friend's Parker's fortieth birthday and we tried some of his cigars and then had some weed later on. Is that a problem for you?"

"Why didn't you take me to your friend's birthday party?" she clearly hates the fact that he just called her 'mom' but she won't get into this now. She doesn't understand why he didn't tell her about his plans earlier today. Doesn't understand why he didn't ask her to join him, the way he usually always does. 

Travis just snorts amusedly at her earlier comment, tiredly rubs his eyes while taking off his shirt.

"Baby, this was a boys only thing. None of the guys had their spouses there."

"Okay." she just replies, tries really hard to not make a big deal out of this. And she usually wouldn't. Two years ago, she would've welcomed him with open arms, giggling into his chest over the fact that he smells like an Irish pub on a week night. She would've asked him to walk half naked on a line to prove his alleged sobriety and probably couldn't wait to feel his naked body weight on hers in bed finally. This is how the old Taylor would have reacted. The version of herself that was imminently, ridiculously and uncontrollably in love with this man. Her best friend. Her man. Her future husband. 

The love of her life.

But two years ago, things were different than they are now. There were no texts left unresponded. No weekends in the same city spent apart. No absent of sex for over a week while sleeping in the same bed every night. He's depressed, absent, not himself at the moment. She knows. But she misses him. She misses his smile, his big hands, the happy sparkle in his eyes. She misses the man who always made an effort to be his best version for her. Not the shell of a person she finds standing across the room from her now. Absent, annoyed, almost...cold. 

She swallows, just watches him get ready for bed. 

"I thought you had to fly to LA tomorrow morning?" she asks then, following him into the bathroom where he stands half naked in front of the sink, brushing his teeth with two left hands. He's still high as hell, and there's no denying it. She can tell.

"Yup. Meetings."

"When are you gonna be back?"

"On the eleventh." he mumbles with his toothbrush in his mouth.

"Great. So you'll be gone for a good week and this is how we spend our last evening." she murmurs, obviously hurt and just steps bare feet back to bed. He sighs, rolls his eyes for a moment and follows her to bed as soon as he's dried his face.

"Tay, it's a week. I'm not going away for a month."

She doesn't say anything, just turns off her little night light and tucks herself into bed, facing away from him. She's annoyed, and he can tell. But he's way too out of it right now to have a serious conversation with her right now. It's not a big deal, and he doesn't understand why she has to turn this into one.

Travis snuggles into the sheets as well, sets his phone alarm and turns off the lights on his side, too. He lets himself fall into his pillow, then moves his arm to hold her close. From behind, his lips find their way back into her hair and remain there, kissing her head a few times.

"I'm sorry, baby. Don't be mad at me." he whispers and she sighs. She's not angry, she's sad. For whatever reason, all she can feel is worry and sadness.

"I'm not mad." she whispers back, her hand landing on his that is wrapped tightly around her torso. "I just miss you." she says then and he doesn't react, his lips stealing her naked shoulder one kiss. "I'm right here. I'll always be right here, Tay." he replies and she stays silent for a moment. 

"You're not." 

Travis doesn't move for a moment, then turns around in bed and managed to turn on the little night light again. 

"What's up?" he asks again, now sitting up in bed and looking at her. She's got watery eyes and he has no idea what is going on with her. She also slowly sits up now, her curls standing in all directions, which he loves so much. 

"Nothing. I just.. I'm worried about you." she says then, and he looks at her in confusion. 

"Why?" 

She hesitates for a moment, can't believe that he doesn't feel it, too. He must feel that something has changed, that their relationship has changed. But instead, he acts like it didn't. 

"I don't.. I don't feel as close to you anymore as I used to." she finally gets out, her eyes hyper focused on her hands now, her voice on the verge of breaking. She doesn't know where these emotions are suddenly coming from, but they're there. They're there and she feels them stinging in her chest. 

"Tay, what.. what are you talking about?" he replies now, feels worry rise in him for the first time tonight. He doesn't know where she's going with this, but for a moment it scares the living hell out of him. 

The blonde looks up at him, a little tear escaping her eye and making its way down her cheek. 

"I know that.. that you're just getting used to this new schedule of.. of no football and refocusing your life, and.. and I'm so proud of you." she says, her voice shaky but steady. She looks into his eyes, for the first time really tonight, a slight smile on her lips. 

"I'm really so proud of you and excited for what's to come. But.. sometimes, I feel like we're drifting apart, Trav. And.. and it scares me so much.." she murmurs, her voice breaking in the end. And he can't believe it. He can't believe her mind would even go there. 

Travis watches her pick her fingers and places his hands on hers, interlocking both of her hands with his. 

"Baby, we're not drifting apart. I love you." he says, looking deep into her eyes and she nods for a moment. She's still not happy and he knows it. 

"I know. And I love you, too." 

He sighs for a moment, hates to see her like this.

"Why do you think we're drifting apart? Where does this come from?" he asks, confusion and worry in his voice. She picks up on that quickly, and in some way it relieves her. He still cares. He really does. 

"I think.. I think our relationship has changed, which.. which is normal. I think the time leading up to.. up to getting married is always exciting and magical and then once that's over you sort of fall into this low where.. where things slow down and a marriage begins, and.. and life becomes normal again. And, trust me, I love that. I love just.. living life with you as my husband. It's just.. we never used to fight and we do now. And I know that's normal for couples, but.. we didn't have sex all week, Trav. All week. And.. this has been going on for months now. This.. this is the first time in three years, where..." 

He sighs, and she can't tell whether he's angry. All she can feel is him letting go off her hands and it breaks her heart for a moment. 

"Tay, I've told you that this has nothing to do with you or us, I.. I'm stressed. I.. I can't do it when my mind is just.. so busy. I-" he stops talking and this time, she's the one coming closer again. She gently places her small hands on his. She knows, she nods. 

"Hey, I know. I'm sorry for bringing it up. I just wish I'd know what is going on in your mind, so I can help you. You.. you always used to let me in. I just... I want you to let me in again." she said, got more and more quieter in the end. He looks into her eyes, for real for the first time tonight, and the look he gives her almost breaks her soul. Tears form in his eyes, his chin starts trembling as he starts to speak but stops again for a moment, trying to collect himself. She immediately places her hand on his cheek, won't stop looking at him. This is him opening up. This is him finally opening up.

"I just feel so different, Tay." he then gets out, his face sunk, a first tear meeting her hand on his cheek. "I'm not.. I'm not me anymore since..." 

She nods, immediately. She knows what he means and she feels his pain as if it was hers. 

"I know, baby." she just says, doesn't argue with him, doesn't force him to be fine again. She's just here, sitting on his lap in the middle of the night, holding his face and listening to him crying. 

"Everything feels so meaningless. I used to be.. like.. great at something. Now, I'm mediocre at everything. And.." 

"You're not mediocre, Travis." she says, almost mad for a moment that he would talk about him like that. "You're.. funny, charismatic, smart. Things that.. things that people go to acting school for comes to you naturally. That's not.." 

"I just.. I just don't think I want to be an actor, Tay." he says then, his eyes desperate and lost, just looking at her for help. She's never heard him say these words and in a way, she never thought they would ever cross his lips. This has always been his plan. Ever since she met him, this was his post-football plan. 

"That's okay." she just says, her hand still caressing his stubbly cheek. "Whatever you want to do, I'm with you. I'm not team Chiefs, or team Actor, I'm team Trav. Whatever you want to do, baby, I will support you." she reassures him and he nods, just sinks his head. For a moment, she comes closer to him and kisses his forehead gently. She can feel his grip tighten around her torso. He needs her. He pushes her away when in reality he needs her more than ever. 

"I just don't even know what I want to do. I'm just.. lost." he whispers, half to himself, half to her. She swallows. This is officially the lowest she's ever seen him. And it scares her. It scares her to witness the rock of her life to be so helpless and small all of the sudden. 

"You're not lost. You're here. With me." she whispers, her hands now on his shoulders, forcing him to look up. She forces a smile to reassure him, then places another kiss on his head. 

"You're more than your career, Trav. It's okay to get some distance to it all. Let's take a break together. Let's.. travel somewhere, just you and me." she says, her eyes full of stars for a moment when imagining him and her on adventures together. It reminds her of the summer two years ago when he followed her around Europe for tour. Late night walks through Italy, bike rides at night in Amsterdam, laughing with him at the sausage museum in Germany. He's always been her favorite person in the whole world and she would do anything, take him anywhere, just to see his smile one more time. 

"I don't know, Tay. I don't think running away will help me. Or us." he just gets out and it sobers her for a moment. 

"Maybe this is it, Trav." she says then, can't believe her brain has gone there. But it did. And she even found the courage to let these words slip her mouth while looking into his eyes and being so close to him. 

"What?" he whispers, because she's so close. Their noses are almost touching and he loves to feel her hot skin under his shirt that she's wearing. 

"Maybe this is.. this is the time where.. we actually do what we always used to talk about." 

"Why do you talk in riddles, Swift?" 

She snorts laughing nervously for a moment, her hands playing with his hair, then wiping away one last tear from his cheek. 

"Let's make a baby." she says, nervously biting her own lip. He just looks at her in shock and confusion. 

"You... what?" 

She smiles, takes a deep shaky breath. "I.. I don't know, but.. we always said once you retire and we're married we would start a family. And.. lately, I don't know. I just.. I feel ready, Trav. I'm not scared anymore. I want us to be an actual family. Not just us and the cats. Just.. a real family. And before you, I could never see myself even wanting that. But maybe, you being unsure where to go next, and me just.. trying out stuff in the studio without direction.. I don't know, maybe this is the right time to.." 

"Have you absolutely lost your mind?" he just says and for a moment, she feels like she didn't hear him right. 

"What?" she says in shock, as he already has let go off her and left the bed, leaving her in between the sheets cold and alone. 

"You.. you must have absolutely lost your mind for saying this." he mumbles, angrier than she's ever witnessed him, pacing up and down their bedroom, trying to make sense of what she just said. "What.. Trav, why.." 

"I'm.. I'm sitting here, in your arms like.. like a goddamn looser. Crying like a little girl, telling you how lost I'm feeling and.. and you tell me this is the right time for me to become a father? Are you.. are you even serious right now?" 

She looks at him in shock, pain swelling in her chest and tears filling her eyes once more. 

"I don't see why you wouldn't be a good father, Trav."

"That's not the fucking point!" he yells at her and for the first time in her life, she gets scared. Scared of his tone, scared of his anger, scared of how unexpected he reacted. It's quite the opposite of how he used to make her feel. Quite the opposite of the familiarity and emotional safety she used to know when it came to him. 

"Stop yelling at me. I'm scared." she mumbles with a shaky voice and he just stops wandering around the room, his hands covering his eyes. He nods. 

"I'm sorry for yelling." he says then and she can hear in his voice that he's tearing up. She's shocked. This is not her husband. This is not the person she knows and loves so deeply. 

"Tay, this.. I just can't believe you would think that this is.." 

"Why not? Why is it so fucking wrong of me to suggest this? I'm almost thirty-seven. I can't.. I won't be able to get pregnant forever. And you know that. And.." Taylor is the one getting loud and emotional now, almost unable to stay in bed. She's shaking, her entire body feeling the anxiety of this moment. This was their plan. Why is he not sticking to their plan. 

"Trav, I know you're struggling at the moment. And you know I'm here for you. But.. your reaction to me suggesting this, is just.. shocking." she says, a first tear rolling down her cheek. She swallows, looks at him with begging eyes. Begging for him to become her everything again. Begging for him to fall on his knees, apologize, and tell her he can't wait for them to have a baby. That he was wrong. That he's just scared. 

But none of that happens. 

He just sits down on her bedside, still unable to look at her. But he has calmed down. His voice quiet and steady now. 

"Tay, you know I love you. You know I want to have kids with you. I just... I'm not ready to become a father right now when my career is just.. a fucking mess. This is the first season I won't be playing. I have no clue where I'll be a year from now. And.." 

"Are you ever going to be ready to have kids with me then?" she says, tears streaming down her face. She can't believe this. She can't believe he wants her to keep waiting. She can't believe he won't choose their dreams, their plans, their family. He chooses the gods of his bluest days and leaves her alone. With their dreams, their plans, their little family that she's been day dreaming about for four years.

"I want to, Tay. It's just.. how can I take care of a human when I can't even take care of myself at the moment." 

She looks at him, nods. She presses her lips together, trying to suppress her tears, her anger. 

She's heard these words before. 

"I didn't mean to yell, earlier. That was.. that was out of line. I know you.. you mean well, but.." 

"It's.. it's fine." she lies, slowly pulling the blanket from her legs and leaving the bed. "I just.. I need.. some air for a moment.." 

Travis just looks at her and sighs as she leaves the bedroom. His head sinks in his hands and he feels hot tears streaming down his face. He knows he fucked up. He knows that his anger at himself just did more damage to the only person he's ever loved than he would have ever intended. 

To be continued.

[sorceresski]

Moments together - Ruben Dias

(plus bonus IG post)

Pairing: Ruben Dias x reader

Summary: In which you celebrate winning the UCL with our favourite cb

Arriving at the stadium ahead of the match it felt like deja vu. The last time you had attended a ucl final, you had left heartbroken. A few nights before, Ruben had confided in you. But he didn’t even need to, his nerves were palpable.

He’d lost the final before and it had made him even more determined. But this time was different, a treble was on the line.

“I’m worried.” He was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling in the dark room. “We’ve achieved so much this season and it would all look pointless if we lose this final again.”

You let him talk, reassure him, hold him to sleep, by the next morning he was gone. He had a plane to catch to Istanbul.

Now, you felt those butterflies in your stomach, like you were going out onto the field as well. You stood with his family in a sea of sky blue and watched him step onto the field with his teammates.

Your vision blurred as the ref blew the final whistle. His brother was shaking you but your eyes were fixed to where Ruben had fallen to his knees in the middle of the pitch.

The next moments were a blur. Deep hugs with his family and the other wags. The team lifted the trophy while you and his family made your way down from the stands.

“Y/n!” He called when he saw you, arms wide, waiting for you with a huge smile on his face. You broke into a run to cover the distance between you two and he lifted you effortlessly, like he didn’t spend the last 90 minutes running up and down the pitch. You threw your arms around his neck and wrapped your legs around him.

Nothing and no one else mattered in that moment. It was just you and him. You buried your head in his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair. He was sweaty, the medal was cold and hard against your chest but it didn’t matter.

“I’m so proud of you.” You pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Te amo,” was his response.

“Save some for the rest of us,” his brother joked as he and Ruben’s parents finally caught up to you. He set you down and gave them each equally deep hugs.

You felt the love you had for him swell in that moment, like you could burst.

Days later, after the celebrations had died down, you’d often catch him staring at the newest addition to his trophy shelf. He took any excuse to walk past the medal multiple times a day.

“I’m starting to think I’m the second best thing in your life,” you’d huff playfully.

youruser

Liked by rubendias, erlinghaaland, ivandias and 4535 others

youruser Passion has led you to victory. With you every step of the way. I’m very proud of you my love 💙😘

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Rubendias l love you❤️

yourbestfriend what a night!

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A/n: sorry this is quite short, I just had to get this out❤️‍🔥

CTID!💙

[whereserpentswalk]

It had been many years since the prince of heaven and the prince of hell had talked to eachother. They had drifted apart long ago, they were husbands once in ancient days, but as time went on they drifted further and further, and now they stand as sworn enemies. But now within their endless feud the prince of hell dared to go into the golden throne room of the prince of heaven. And though the angelic guards thought to protect their prince, the prince of heaven told them to lower their rifles, and let the prince of hell speak.

And the prince of hell made a bet with the prince of heaven. Nobody knows what they were betting with, but whatever it was it was dire, something neither would lose quietly. And the terms of the bet were thus: they would show the soul of a dead both heaven and hell, in all their truth, with no trickery or deception, and let them choose where they would rather go. And whoever's kingdom the mortal chose would win the bet.

So the two princes went to limbo, a neutral place with a grey sky, filled with dead malls and broken down highways. And the land of limbo was filled with countlese souls, those who had not, yet been considered qualified for heaven or hell or nirvana or valhalla, and were stuck waiting for a more permanent afterlife to be selected for them. And the two princes found and average looking soul who died and average death, who had died young but not too young, and lived happily but not that happily. And they told her, that she would be the first soul since humanity crawled down from the trees to get a choice between heaven and hell.

And first they took her to heaven, up in the fluffy clouds below a sky of forever blue, and precession of angels greeted her, all in perfectly tailored uniforms. And she skipped the line at the pearly gates without even having a season pass. And upon the clouds were countless houses, all with their own perfectly trimmed lawns, and all the same perfectly painted colors. And it was bright and the soul knew it would be bright there forever. She walked passed saints and angels all in their button downs and polo shirts, with their pretty little wives at their sides. And they told her there was no crime as there were cops at every street and security cameras at every corner. And there was no want, as long as all their fast food restaurants were open, and big box stores sold goods of all ages. And she stood there, and as she wandered it was more and more the same. And she saw peace, but as that kind of peace loomed more and more it was just quiet, and the holy air conditioners made everything so cold. And she felt alone in heaven.

And then they came down to hell deep in below the below in the pit of ever black, and hoards of devils and unseelie faeries and nameless gods greeted her excited to shake her as she walked into a crowed of terrifying things. And deep in the abyss were apartments and tightly packed row houses whose windows gave the only light, and there were murals and graffiti all around, that scared her at first but seemed so pretty in their own way. And it was dark and the soul knew it would be dark there forever. She walked past the devils and the sinners, all smiling and talking amoung eachother as they walked the narrow streets, all dressed so oddly and so uniquely, as they kissed and laughed amoung themselves. And no soul feared the baton or the tear gas. And no soul feared that they couldn't take the food they needed, from countless unique stores and boutiques. And she walked there, and there were more fascinating details and amazing things, the more she explored. And she saw horrors, but as those kind of horrors loomed more they just were. And it felt warm. And she was not alone in hell.

Nobody knows what she chose. Though heaven can be quiet all it's residents will brag at how safe it is. And though hell is chaotic everyone there says they'd never leave. And nobody knew if the prince of hell's bet was won.

[verbenaa]

Hi, first thank you for your amazing work!! (and opening requests!) I had an idea for some fluff: after a few days travelling in the Underdark, Astarion misses the sun. To cheer him up, druid (?) Tav takes up his hands one evening and conjures (a soft) Daylight in them for him to enjoy :) enjoy the rest of your Sunday!

𝑎/𝑛: thank you so much for such an amazing request omg!!! this prompt is so fantastic, I really truly LOVED writing it! Also me and my triple earth signs LOVE druids, so I really vibed with that. This ended up being more sentimental than I originally planned, but I think it's really soft and sweet 💕 I really hope you enjoy this! Have a great rest of your Sunday too!!!

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/gn!Reader, Astarion/Druid!Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: hurt & comfort, fluff

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 1.2k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: none, really!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

we grow like ivy, twisting together with vines of the deepest green

Your fingers card through silver curls, the thick waves soft as your fingertips drag through the strands with ease, the motions soothing to you both as Astarion pillows his head on your thighs. 

His weight is a comfort after the past few days combing through the best and the worst the Underdark has to offer; a seemingly endless amount of horrors against a world as dark as night, the neon effervescence of glowing mushrooms the only light by which you have travelled. 

Your magic feels so different down here. You’re just as connected to the earthen ground beneath your feet as ever, of course; but the lack of sunshine, the absence of the moon’s rays, and of a world full of green always leaves you feeling slightly off-kilter so deep below the surface. 

Taking residency in this technicolor world had been a transition for you both, but that was fine; as with the ever-changing beauty of the landscapes around you, you would grow, learn, adapt to whatever seasons this new life with Astarion may bring.

Astarion adjusts his head slightly as he absently twirls a gold piece between nimble fingers as he stares up into the endless black of the Underdark above, his form tense despite your calming ministrations.

“Just where in the bloody hells are they?” He releases the words on the breath of an overdramatic sigh, those elegant features of his that you love transforming into a childlike pout. There’s a frustration in his voice that he tries to smooth over, but you know him better than that by now to not hear it in the slight tremor in his words.

“There’s 7,000 of them, they’re bound to turn up eventually.” Such pragmatic words, though you find yourself wondering more and more with every passing day exactly when that statement would be coming true. You look down on him once more, taking in the tension in his limbs with narrowed, assessing eyes.

“What’s on your mind, Astarion?” The coin falters a bit as it moves from finger to finger, twisting up and over his knuckles. Astarion abandons the sight of the cavernous ceiling above, his crimson irises flitting to your own as he considers your words, rolling over them in his mind as you wait patiently for him to grant you a response, whatever he chooses it to be.

His throat bobs as his mouth opens and closes as he works to find his voice to speak, words faltering as they work their up the elegant column of his throat. You don’t stop the hand that brushes through his hair, letting the constant of your touch be his guiding light as he picks through the emotions weaving through his mind.

“I hate it down here. It’s dark and damp and everything smells positively wretched.” Bitterness coats the words as they fall from lips twisted into a frown. With a flick of his wrist he captures the gold coin in his palm, pocketing it with a swift motion.

Your head tilts slightly as you listen to his words, ears catching onto the way he says the word ‘dark’, spitting the word out as if it were acid on his tongue. 

“Astarion” The hand in his hair smooths down over his temple to brush against the sharp bone of his cheek instead, thumb sweeping over his soft skin as you cup his face. 

There’s a depth to the sadness that resides in his eyes, unhidden from you as you gaze into those incarnadine orbs, the reason behind this particular bit of melancholy suddenly obvious as you put his words together once more in your mind.

“The sun.” You lips part to say the words so he does not have to, a small nod deeper into the plushness of your thighs the only sign of affirmation he will give you.

“I…I just never thought I would truly miss something I barely ever had, I suppose.” He averts his eyes now, staring at the smooth leather that covers your legs instead. “I’ve lived long enough in the darkness, I don’t understand why it’s suddenly so hard to be without it now.” 

You stare down at him momentarily, his words clawing into your heart with sharp talons as your mind whirls through what you could possibly do, what you could ever say to him, when you catch onto something—an inkling of an idea that may grant you both a small reprieve from the impenetrable darkness that surrounds.

“Up.” You smile at him as you bounce your legs from where they rest underneath his head, a small nod of your chin gesturing for him to fill the space across from where you sit. Astarion complies with your request, eyes slightly narrowed as he attempts to puzzle together whatever the plan is that has filled that beautiful mind of yours. He sits close, knee to knee, as he waits for your words.

“Give me your hands.” Your words are gentle as you hold your own palms open in offering, waiting, for him to press his own into your warm hands. There’s a brief moment of hesitation, Astarion’s mind turning over the possibilities of the action, but it passes almost as quickly as it appears, fading into the air around you as he slowly lets his hands rest into your own. 

Your fingers close over his own, the warmth of your skin permeating into the chill of his as you turn his hands to face palm up, cupping them gently within your own.

You feel a familiar pull through your body, magic moving up from the ground to flow through your veins, like the greenest of ivy that carpets the ground of the world above the one you now reside. Even down here you are radiant, needing no sun or stars or moon by which to guide the power that winds its way through your soul. 

The little ball of light starts small as it burns above your hands; the glow minute as it forms in an undulating circle. It brightens, growing ever so slowly larger in time with your breathing as it hovers there in its brilliance. You channel your energy into the spell, careful to keep the power you allow to flow from you minimal so that it does not overwhelm and instead manifests only as that beautiful, beaming orb. Its warmth permeates the air around you, a literal pocket-sized star emanating little waves of heat outward onto your faces, coloring Astarion with an aura of burnished gold.

Your smile grows as you look onto it in wonder, its radiance a spot of beauty in an otherwise dark world.

“And you have the audacity to say I’m the dramatic one.” He huffs at your sentimentality despite the fondness sticking to his own words, eyes focused onto that little glowing ball of sheer luminosity emanating from both of your upturned palms, the warmth cascading over you both. 

His eyes slowly look up to find your own searching his features, the glow of the little sun that shines in your joined palms a balm on both of your weary hearts and you hope that once this moment ends and you have to carry on with reality that a little piece of the afterglow will remain in some form or another. 

“We’ll find our way, Astarion. Even if it means having to create our own light to go by.” 

[strawurberries]

Tongue and Teeth

Summary: Vash x reader porn with absolutely no plot.

Authors Notes: I got a little lazy near the end, and I haven't proof read this yet so please be nice 😭 ASDFGHJHGF But i hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral (m/f receiving), uhhh idk? It's porn lol

“W-wait!” Vash slapped a hand over his mouth, lewd songs leaving his bruised lips. If he wasn’t so fucked out he would’ve cringed from embaressment—never would he have guessed that one day he would be laying in a moonlit room, tangled in the blankets and body of his lover. It had to be a gift from God, or perhaps fate; regardless, whoever had given him the chance to experience this moment, whether it be divine, devilish, or mortal? He thanked them sincerely. 

Another touch ghosted over his thighs, so unbearably warm. A small line of drool pooled out the corner of his mouth, hitting scarred his shoulder with embarrassment and longing. He couldn’t take this anymore—the fleeting touches, the giggles, and feather-light caresses. It had taken a while to coax his cock—well, something similar: beautiful and a light, glowing blue textured with bumps and ridges—out of him. Shly hidden in the depths of his slit, curling and waiting for any sort of stimulation. She had pressed a finger into him, thumbing his flesh walls as her tongue tasted everything he had to offer. Within a couple minutes (and God, what an eternity rested in those minutes) he had revealed himself fully, the cool desert air making him shiver and throb with desire. Since then, since her victory, she had done nothing but tease! Tease! Tease! Tease—

A hand rubbed the top of his slit, slightly touching his cock as sharp teeth found their way into his inner thigh. Pleasure and pain were a combination that brought him back to the stars, the high he’ll never attain again—the infinite possibilities of the universe all twisted into a mural of dots painting along the horizon, and he was lucky enough to be able to see it. 

Another bite and another flick of her finger.

A sob got caught in his throat.

“I’m sensitive!” he whined, slamming his eyes shut—as if every mortifying noise he made would fade into the darkness and leave his burning, red cheeks alone. He knew, though, that he was in trouble now. She didn’t like it when he turned his head away—or closed his eyes in this case. She loved to make sure he watched his own reactions, his body as he moved in ecstasy, and observed as she did every dirty thing he could ever hope to imagine. It made his entire stomach twist when she’d grab his face, force him to watch as wrapped those plump lips around him—

Oh god.

The thoughts that plagued him—the images of her, neatly seated in between his thighs, elbows on the bed and face so close against him he could feel her hot breath as it fanned across his cock—he whimpered and tossed his head to the side, panting like a dog. The image was too good, too divine. Those soft eyes, soft skin, her warm mouth. . . he bucked his hips and gasped. “Please!” He didn’t know what he was asking for, what he wanted so badly his entire stomach coiled in suspense and desire, but he knew that if he begged enough, she’d understand and give him what mortal love he longs for. 

A soft, delicate, almost feather-like touch dusted along his chest. He sucked in a deep breath, shuddering out a sigh when he heard her voice, lips brushing along his ear, “darling, you know the rules.” Her voice dripped like honey, sweetening his mouth to the point that all he wanted was to taste her again—feel her every essence. He was an addict, and Oh God did he enjoy every second of it. 

He whined, bucking his hips, again “I can’t!” He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. A delicious pain throbbed at him, ebbing him closer to abandoning all sense of pride. A spike of pleasure, seasoned with the feeling of emptiness and hurt, crushed through his heart as it slowly made its way down further, further. . . further until it hit that delicious spot in between his legs.

She laughed and pulled back, setting herself on him—oh no. Her deliciously hot flesh thrummed against his, pressed against his erection, but she did nothing with him. She watched, observing as he waited for something, anything, to happen. With a grin and grabbed the base, blowing cool air over the tip.

A spike of pleasure shot through him so quickly, overtaking his senses in such a flurry he didn’t even realize he had grabbed her hips, throwing his entire body into her as his eyes snapped open. He lifted her up slightly, relieving enough pressure off his cock so he could think straight. Her hand slid off slowly, painfully slow, as if she didn’t want to let go (he didn’t want her to let go but he was scared, nervous of how wonderful he felt. Does he deserve this? Deserve her?)

“I’m sensitive,” he repeated breathlessly. Through hooded eyes he watched her: curves illuminated faintly by the midnight mood, hair messy from the ruthless tugging he had inflicted upon her, and that gorgeous face. 

“Oh?” she grinned and pressed herself into him

He yelped, throwing his head back. “M-mayfly! Wait! Wait!”

She dragged her hand down his chest, tickling his scars as she went, “you’re getting awfully distracted, aren’t you?’

“Never! I’ve never been dis—” he moaned when she finally reached where he wanted her too. With a firm gasp she grabbed him, kitten icking the tip. Several strings of saliva dripped off her teeth, rounding the curve of her bottom lip only to connect with the burning flesh she held just below her mouth. 

“How’s that feel?” she licked again, pulling away the moment he squirmed or gasped. “C’mon Vash, answer the question or I’ll stop here.”

He whined. It was too much, he couldn’t do it. The pulsing pressure that kept dulling fading in the pit of his stomach, only to rear its head the moment she touched him—this is what the ocean tide must feel like. One moment everything he lusted for was rushing towards him, only to be ruthlessly ripped back and tossed into the swirling depths of the sea. “P-please,” he cried, eyes stinging painfully. 

She hummed, “answer the question, Vash, and I’ll make you feel good.”

He slapped a hand over his eyes, stomach tight with anxiety. “I-it’s good but I need,” he sucked in a deep breath, “I need more, please.”

“All you had to do was ask, Love.” And, with that, she wasted no time lowering her head, lips wrapping around him and showing him what heaven felt like. Her tongue swirled around him, tucking itself under every ridge and bump that decorated him; warm saliva mixed with his precum, dripping messily out of her mouth and onto the parts of him she couldn’t take with her mouth alone. Once she realized her mouth was lacking, she used her hand to pump the rest of him, bringing her other hand to fondle her breast. 

He gasped and gripped the sheets, fingers digging into the mattress. A flurry of white hot pleasure started to build down within him, slithering through his veins like a disease that he could only praise. She hollowed her mouth, sucking her cheeks in, her teeth grazing along him—”fuck!” He slammed his head back into the pillow, bucking up. “I’m–’m so so sorry!” he groaned as he shoved his hips into her face again, unwillingly moaning at the choking sound she gurgled out. “Please!” He frantically grabbed her head, lightly tangling his fingers in her hair as he guided her; moving her head slowly as first, but quickly picking up pace as the knot within the depths of his belly began to coil into an impossibly tighter sense of pleasure. He pressed his free hand into the bed, pushing himself up—oh God. 

She had nearly half of him in her mouth, one hand pumping what she couldn’t fit, and the other slowly trailing down to her cunt. Her fingers lazily rubbed her clit, focused mainly on making Vash feel good. He choked back tears and mumbled out a string of barely unrecognizable words. At the sound of his voice, she glanced up, making eye contact with him and he mewled. He slammed her head down, crying out another apology as he hit the back of her throat, feeling the vibrations of her gag echo through him and in one, shuddering sigh, he fell back onto the bed with a thud. In a daze he heard the sound of a pop as she took him out of her mouth. A hand pressed into his chest and he turned his head to face her, face heating up at the sight of his cum leaking down her chin. “D-did I hurt you?” He grabbed her waist, nervously rubbing the flesh. 

“No,” she smiled, “I like it when you’re a little rough.”

His heart skipped a beat and he nearly started crying.

“So I was rough?!” he buried his face into the base of her neck, “I’m sorry! So sorry! I won’t do it again! Promise. I-i just got caught up in everything, you know? I—”

She nibbled on his ear, drawing him away from his ramblings. “You’re fine, Vash. But if you’re really sorry, I have an idea of what you can do to make it up to me.”

He sucked in a deep breath, “y-yeah?” Several stray tears fell down his face, but she kissed them away quickly. After a moment of silence she pulled back and shuffled up to hover over his chest, “I wanna feel good too~” she pressed one hand against the headboard, the other going back to fondle herself. “Watching you be all fucked out—” he whined and gripped her hips tighter, “made me jealous.”

“I’ll make you feel good too,” he mumbled, nodding his head frantically, “whatever you want!” He watched as she rolled her nipple in between her fingers, panting lightly at her own touch. He bet he could make her feel better than she would ever be able to do by herself. His cock started to throb again.

“How kind,” she grinned, bringing her slick covered hand to his lips, wiping herself on him. “Are you ready?” 

He licked his lips and nodded, not trusting himself to speak with excitement and lust so strongly beating at his throat. This almost felt like a prize, yet shouldn’t she be mad? He was too rough, he had made her choke! Wouldn’t she rather—

"Good boy,” she cooed. “You know what to do, right?”

Oh god. He bucked into her, all thoughts leaving his head like the good boy he was. If she wanted this, who was he to deny that? “Of course, Mayfly!” He shimmed under her, hands gripping her thighs as he stared up at her cunt. “Beautiful,” he muttered, tugging her down lower, “so beautiful.”

He pressed her nose against her, inhaling her scent as he debated on whether or not to tease her, but her slick dripped down his face, and he decided he didn’t have the patience for that tonight. Like a starved man, he attacked. His tongue ran along her folds, sucking anything he could wrap his lips around, periodically finding his way back to her clit; he’d slowly circle his tongue around it, lightly scraping his teeth against her as she shivered and moaned. 

He pulled back, admiring his world. She was wet, needy, and so mesmerizing. If this was his last sight before he died, he would die a happy man.

“V-vash!” she moaned.

He ignored the urge to tease her more, licking his lips as he hummed an acknowledgement. He plunged his tongue into her, lapping and drinking whatever came his way. Soon, he was lost in the haze of desire, teeth lightly gnawing and lips coated in layers of his lover's cum. After a moment he realized her legs were shaking, light cries leaving her lips. He grasped her tighter, positioning her so he could hold her with one hand as he brought his other hand—his prosthetic hand—to caress her more. 

She screamed with delight and sung his name with such lust he nearly cummed again.

He shoved two fingers into her, stretching her walls as he moved back to her clit, savoring the moaning that drowned out the wet slap of his mouth against her. She gripped his hair, cursing and praising him all in one go, tugging harshly. He let her take her anger out on him, moaning into her as a flash of pain struck him. 

Her thighs flexed and she thumped her head against the wall, “Vash! Vash!” He didn’t stop, feeling her clench around his fingers. With a loving hum he flicked his tongue faster, sucking on her like she was going to be her last meal. With a couple more pumps of his fingers, she gasped and collapsed onto him, his mouth greedily leaving her clit to consume his reward. 

“Such a good boy,” she mumbled, “so, so, good for me.”

After he finished his meal he sat up, bringing her to sit in his lap as he wrapped his around her. “Anything for you.” He loved her more than she could ever know. And he longed to serenade her all day with how amazing she was, but, for now, a hug would have to suffice. 

She sighed and buried her face into his chest. She wiggled and then paused, looking at him tiredly, “are you hard again?”

He awkwardly moved his hips and huffed, “maybe?” He gave a sheepish grin.

She smiled and laughed, trailing a hand down his chest once more, “fine by me~”

Tags: @sunspottss @cascading-escapist

[darkwing-katy]

The Spider and the Fly Part VII

Pairing: Eventual Leland x Reader (sorta? You’ll see what I mean)

Word Count: 4,071

Summary: All you want to do is get through your online courses and keep your best friend from making bad choices in men. But there’s this creepy therapist who is absolutely insisting on you making an appointment with him. Who the hell is this Leland Townsend, and why won’t he leave you alone?!

Part seven of seven. Takes place sometime around/between/during season three.

The series is inspired heavily by my favorite poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829) by Mary Howitt. This poem is in the public domain.

Tagging: @primosflowergarden; @vi-er

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

—————————————————————————————

And now, dear little children, who may this story read

To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed

It’s been a long, long time since the incident with Leland. So long that you’ve almost forgotten about all of it.

Almost.

Your traitorous brain won’t let you forget it, not completely. Every now and then, you wake up with an ache between your legs and the memory of bright blue eyes peering at you through rectangular glasses. On those days, your hand hurts a little more than usual, though the cut has long since healed into a faint scar.

You pretend you hate those moments, but it’s a lie. One that you can live with, since Betty knows nothing about it. She asked you about your therapist appointments once after she returned, but you told her that it didn’t work out, and that was the last she’d mentioned it.

Life had moved on, summer turning to fall and fall to winter. Now it was the end of spring, summertime nearly back upon you. You’re walking to a job interview—your job at the bookstore simply wasn’t enough for the rising cost of rent, especially now that Betty had to reduce her own working hours. She still contributed to rent as best as she could considering her coursework, which was nonetheless frustrating for you. But you loved your friend, and you wanted to do your best to support her in this endeavor, so here you were.

You glance up at the stout building ahead of you, your eyes pausing for a second on the massive 320 that rests above the entrance, and suck in a deep breath. Okay, (Y/N). You got this. 

You stride into the building. Your interview with DF will be on the 12th floor, you see as you scan the list of companies residing in the building. You give a nod to the woman manning the front desk as you go to the elevators and press the button.

Nerves are starting to squirm in your belly again. Your hands are clammy, and you wipe them off on your black slacks. “I can do this,” you chant to yourself. “I’m good at this kinda thing.”

The ride to the twelfth floor is simultaneously too long and too short. When the doors open, you inhale another fortifying breath before stepping out. Let’s do this!

You walk past a couple of people chatting at what appears to be a lounge table and to the massive glass doors that lead to DF’s offices. There’s a woman manning what you assume is the reception desk. You go up to her. “Hi! I’m here for an interview with Sheryl?” you say.

“What’s the name?”

You give her your name. She glances at her computer, then picks up the phone on her left and dials a number. While you wait, you look at the massive flower picture that’s on the wall. There are two chairs in front of it, along with a round glass table. You nod your head at the scenery. Man, they really like glass a lot here, you think as you observe that the walls within the inner offices also seem to be made of glass.

A young woman comes out. She’s got short, dark hair and she’s wearing a green dress. “(Y/N)?” she calls, waving at you to get your attention. 

You nod.

“Follow me.”

You do so, passing by a coffee bar on your right and a bunch of young adults sitting at their computers, some of them talking on Bluetooth headsets, on your left. You’re too nervous to focus on what they’re saying, but suddenly you realize you don’t know where to go from there.

The woman leading you is smiling at you. “Sheryl mentioned that you’d be coming in today. Her office is right over there.” She points at a glass door past several computer desks. “You can just go in; she’s not busy at the moment.”

Alright. Let’s do this, you think again. “Thanks.” You give her an appreciative smile. She nods before turning and walking into what you think is a larger lounge area. You briefly wish you could order yourself a coffee, but if you get the job, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. “You got this, (Y/N),” you muster under your breath one last time before saunter to the door, tug it open, and poke your head in.

There’s an older woman sitting at a large desk. She’s got long blonde hair that falls in waves over her shoulders, and she glances up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Hi. Uhm. My name’s (Y/F/N). We, uhm, had an interview for today?” You offer her a winning smile. “I know I’m a little early, but someone, uh,” you nod your head in the direction the young woman had gone, “told me I could just come right in.”

“Who?” The woman frowns, her eyebrows dipping low over her eyes.

“Uh, she had short dark hair?”

“Green dress?”

You nod. “Yep.”

“Ah. Leslie.” The woman squints at you. “What’d you say your name was?”

“(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N),” you repeat.

“Oh, yes!” The woman rises to her feet with a smile. You notice she’s wearing a black dress with a scaled red jacket that looks to be made of crocodile skin. You’re genuinely not sure if it’s real or faux, but you don’t have too much time to wonder before she offers you a hand. You rush forward to take it. Her nails are a bright red, matching her jacket. “I’m Sheryl.”

You blink at her. “Oh, you’re Sheryl? The person I talked to over email?”

She smiles at you. “That’s me.”

You smile back. She seems friendly enough. “I wasn’t expecting DF to reach out directly to me like that.”

“What can I say?” Sheryl gives an exaggerated shrug. “We’re pretty hands-on here.”

You laugh at that. “Yeah, and when I read the job description and pay, I, uhm, I couldn’t say no.”

Sheryl chuckles. “It’s a loooot of money, isn’t it?” she whispers conspiratorially, and you snort as you nod back at her. She releases your hand and motions for you to take a seat. You do, and she leans against her desk. “Well, I don’t know what exactly you were told, but honestly, there’s no need for an interview. This is just a formality to introduce myself to you.”

“Really?” you ask, confused. “I was expecting to—,”

“To tell me about yourself and why you’re qualified?” Sheryl finishes.

You nod.

She grins. Even her lipstick matches her jacket. “Yeah, there’s no need for that. You came highly recommended for the position.”

There’s something odd about the way she’s said that, and it snags at the back of your brain, but you ignore it. “Recommended by who?”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” she replies with a flippant wave of her hand, and there it is again, something odd about the way she’s saying that.

“Ooooo…kaaay,” you say instead. You clasp your hands in front of you. “So…I guess the question is what do you need from me, exactly?”

Sheryl gives you another smile, and it reminds you of something, but you can’t articulate what. “All we need is for you to fill out the paperwork,” she explains. 

“And you’re sure there’s no need to talk to me? What about a background check? What if I’m a serial killer or something?”

She chuckles again. “Believe me, that wouldn’t be an issue here,” she says, and good God, why does that feel so…off? “If anything, that’d only be more impressive on your resume.”

You laugh awkwardly, unsure of what else to do. She’s joking, right? Gotta be.

She is silent for a moment, her eyes tracing over you. “You do understand what this job is, right?”

You give her a hesitant nod, but she seems to come to a conclusion that you have no clue what you’ve signed up for, so you take it upon yourself to demonstrate that you do: “I would research risks and possible exposure for DF.”

Sheryl smirks. “So basically, you’re making sure DF doesn’t accidentally fuck itself?”

Her language jars you, but you crack a smile at it. “That’s how I understood it, yeah.”

“Well, you understood it correctly. Except you’ll basically be doing the opposite, and for them.” She waves her hand again, this time towards the window that looks down onto the city.

You blink. “Them?” you ask, confused.

“Competitors,” Sheryl explains. “And…others who may not want to work with us.” She moves her hand to gesture at herself. “And then you’ll report that information to me.”

You bite your lip, suddenly wary. This sounds different from what you’d expected, and it’s a little unsettling. “And what’ll be done with that information?”

She gives you a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’ll use that to convince them that they do want to work with us,” is all the explanation she gives you.

You’re not an idiot. You feel your eyes narrow as you say, “You mean blackmail?” You purse your lips at her.

Sheryl shrugs. “Is that a problem?”

You open your mouth to say yes, hell yes, that’s a major fucking problem, but then you remember just how much they want to pay you to do this. “No,” you mutter. “It’s not a problem, I guess.” Betty better appreciate this.

Sheryl chuckles again. “You’ll get used to it,” she says, and she sounds like she’s trying to be reassuring, but you feel like she only half-means it. 

The two of you have a moment of silence before she claps her hands together. The abrupt sound makes you jump in your seat. “So! Paperwork, and then you can start tomorrow. How does that sound?” She flashes you a smile that you return, though it feels fake, stretched awkwardly across your face.

“Sure,” you say as she walks around her desk and reaches for something. You hear a drawer open and close. “I-I mean, good. That’s, uh, tomorrow? That’s fast but…” you give her an exaggerated thumbs-up. “But alrighty then.”

Sheryl gives you an odd look, and you wonder if she’s regretting the decision to hire you already, but she sets down a thick packet of papers on the desk where you can reach them. “I’ve gotta go do something really fast, but here.” She hands you a red pen, which you accept. “I’ll be back soon.” With that, she exits, the glass door closing behind her with a soft ‘thud’.

You look at the pen she’s given you and have the strangest thought that you’re signing your soul away. But that’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing as demon contracts, no matter who likes to pretend it’s real. 

You haven’t spoken to Kristen for almost a year, but some of what she’d told you about people believing in demons and stuff must have lingered in the back of your mind for you to be thinking like this.

You glance around the office, studying it, but there’s not much to look at. You heave a sigh. “Alright. Let’s do this, I guess,” you mutter under your breath.

There’s so. Much. Reading.

Your eyes are glazing over, but you’re trying to read every word because dammit, you wanna know what exactly you’re getting into here. It had seemed like an offer that was too good to be true, and you’re starting to think it might actually be so, even if you’re planning on accepting it nonetheless. 

It doesn’t make you feel any better that Sheryl’s office has glass walls looking out to the other workers. You know they’re not watching you, but you feel like they are, like their eyes are staring at you, judging you for signing yourself away. Can they see your secrets? Do they know that you used to blackmail people like this for fun?

You sign your name for the sixth time.

Well, at least you know you’re gonna be really, really good at this job. You certainly have a lot of experience. It’ll be nice to get paid to do this rather than doing it on your own dime, even if it’s a little less personal.

You finish filling out the paperwork and set it back on Sheryl’s desk. It thumps onto the smooth wood, and you wonder just how many times you signed or initialed. Feels like sixty, even if it was probably only ten.

You lean back into the chair. There’s nothing more you can do now except wait for Sheryl to get back. You look at the office once more, but honestly? It’s minimalist and boring. It doesn’t seem like Sheryl’s bothered to decorate it in any way. Sure, there’s pictures on the walls, but they’re black and white landscapes. The most colorful thing in the room was Sheryl.

As you sit, you begin to drum your fingers against the sides of the chair. The stack of papers feels like it’s looking at you, judging you for being so willing to help sabotage other people. You scoff to yourself. Since when have you cared so much about this kinda thing? Even knowing what you did to Samantha hadn’t given you this much anxiety. You’re probably just overthinking it. 

Though to be fair, you probably weren’t gonna tell Betty the truth about what your job entitles. She’d definitely judge you for it, even if it meant she could pursue her degree without worrying about finding a new place to live.

With a sigh, you glance out the glass walls just in time to spot Sheryl returning. She opens the door and gives you another smile, the sole pop of color in this room. “You wanna see where you’ll be working from?”

You nod and make a mental note to bring some things to accessorize your own desk tomorrow. Maybe you could bring your Samara funko pop with its cute little well. It would only be appropriate, right?

She motions for you to follow her, so you do. She takes you to a desk with a fancy computer and fairly comfortable-looking rolling chair. There aren’t cubical walls per se, but each desk has raised edges to give the illusion of privacy. “Right here is where you’ll be, (Y/N).” She motions for you to take a seat, so you do. The chair is as comfortable as it looks, which is a nice little bonus to everything. You relax your arms onto the armrests and look up at Sheryl. “I’d have someone show you how it all works,” she indicates the computer, “but you’re not in the system yet. We’ll have you in there by the time you show up tomorrow.”

You nod in acknowledgement, but you see something moving in the reflection of one of the offices across from you. You don’t know why it’s caught your eye, but it has. It’s a silhouette of someone talking to someone. You squint at it—not that it’ll help, since it’s a reflection and it’s a bit blurred, but you squint anyways. Sheryl’s still talking, something about security or ID badges or something like that, so she hasn’t noticed that you’re tuning her out as you stare at the reflection.

Silhouettes don’t typically look familiar even when they’re not impeded by glass, but this one does. The person turns away from the other person to walk in what seems to be your direction. You still can’t make out the face, but you could swear you know it. 

There’s a knot tying in the pit of your stomach right now. The faint scar on your hand twinges. “Hey, Sheryl,” you blurt, cutting her off mid-sentence. 

Sheryl looks annoyed at being interrupted, but she looks at you. “Yeah?”

“You said I came highly recommended. Who recommended me?”

Sheryl’s eyes flash some unidentifiable emotion. “I’m not supposed to tell you that.”

Your eyes have not moved from that silhouette. You know it. You’ve seen it before, even if the last time was almost a whole year ago. “I know, but, like, I signed the paperwork. Surely you can tell me. Was it my old boss?”

She purses her lips together, forming a thin red line. “It wasn’t him,” she admits, and there’s that nagging feeling, that itch in your brain again.

“Then who?” you ask in a firm voice that teeters on the line between polite and demanding. You don’t wait for Sheryl’s response before you whip your head around. You need to see—need to confirm that this is who you think it is. Because what are the odds—what are the fucking odds that the man behind you talking to the woman who sent you into Sheryl’s office is—

Right at that moment, he turns to look in your direction, and the grin staring back at you is none other than Leland Townsend. Your heart plunges into your stomach. He looks exactly the same as he had the last time you’d seen him.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper.

Sheryl hears you and turns to see what the hell you’re staring at. “Hmm?” She sees Leland and huffs. “Sounds about right. You’ve met?”

You give her a dazed nod as Leland starts towards you, that ever-widening grin still plastered to his face. “Yeah.”

He’s behind you in what feels like an instant, grinning the whole damn time. “Sheryl!” he exclaims cheerfully. “You ready for our meeting?”

Sheryl makes a puzzled sound of confirmation but says nothing, and that’s when Leland turns his attention to you.

“Oh, and look who it is! (Y/N)!” he exclaims, practically dripping with feigned innocence. “Wow! I didn’t expect to see you here, of all places! Do you work here, too?”

Sheryl is looking back and forth between you two, no doubt clocking the casualness with which he’s treating you. “So you two already know each other?” she says to him.

His grin morphs into a smirk. “Ohhhh, yes. We’re quite well acquainted. Aren’t we, (Y/N)?” He tilts his head at you, but your words are gone, locked away somewhere deep inside of your throat. What the fuck would you even say, anyways?

You give a dull nod, and Leland’s smirk now looks more like a sneer, especially from this angle.

Something clicks in your brain. “It’s you, isn’t it?” you say, and Leland raises his eyebrows at you. “You’re the one who recommended me for this.”

He winks at you. “Guilty as charged. But we needed the best person for the job, and you’re it. She filled out the paperwork, right?” he asks Sheryl, though he’s not looking away from you. Sheryl makes a mm-hmm sound. “Good.” He stoops a little, bringing his face closer to yours, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Gotcha, he’s saying. 

The glint is triumphant, hungry, even. You lick your lips again, your heart thudding in your ears. You’re tempted to stand up and walk away—bolt like the hounds of Hades himself are chomping at your heels—but then how the hell would you explain this to Betty? Rent is coming, and unless you take this job, you’re both screwed. Sheryl’s email had found you at just the right moment to save both of your asses. You’d thought it was convenience, mere coincidence. But now?

Coincidence? Ha! You think the fuck not. This entire fucking thing was planned by him.

And now you’re stuck here, and Leland fucking knows it.

He straightens. “Well! I wouldn’t want to intrude on the tour,” he declares, finally looking away from you. “But it’ll be nice to catch up later, won’t it?”

You say nothing. You try to dig deep, try to summon the rage you used the last time you spoke to Leland, but it’s not there. What happened to it? Where’s all the determination? The ballsyness of not putting up with his shit?

It’s gone. There’s nothing there but despair. He’s won. He’s caught you at last.

He seems to take your silence as agreement, because he flashes you another winning smile. “I’ll be waiting for you in your office,” he tells Sheryl, who nods, though her eyes are rapidly flicking from you to Leland and back, over and over again. “Take your time. But not too much time. And I’ll see you tomorrow, (Y/N),” he adds.

Somehow you manage to summon enough emotion to glower at him as he saunters away, humming You’ll Be Back from Hamilton, of all fucking things. Sheryl tries to say something, but you can’t hear her. You can’t hear anything now. There’s a low buzzing sound in your ears that’s drowning her out, drowning out everything, really, everything except his footsteps as he walks away.

When Leland goes into her office and the door shuts behind him, his hold on you is suspended, if temporarily, and you can finally tear your eyes away from him. Sheryl’s giving you a worried look. “Are you okay?” she’s asking, probably for the third or fourth time.

You stare at her, mouth slightly agape, then you rise to your feet fast enough to send your chair rolling backwards. “I have to go,” you say numbly.

She blinks at you. “Okay. Well, uh. We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You swallow. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

With that, you leave your desk. You can feel Sheryl’s eyes on you as you walk out, but you don’t turn around. If you turn, you’ll end up walking straight to him, and you refuse to give him that satisfaction. So you put one foot in front of the other until you’re back at the elevator, and then until you’re back outside.

You’ll Be Back is stuck in your head the whole fucking time.

The sky is a bright blue, the sun shining down with nonconsensual warmth. You hate it. You want it to be grey and cloudy. You want it to mirror the turmoil that’s roiling in your soul right now.

“Fuck!” you hiss as you bring your hand to your face. It’s shaking. “Fuck fuck fuck!!!”

You’re breathing heavily as you walk, trying and failing to blink away hot tears. Where you’re going, you have no clue, but you’re getting the hell outta there for now. You walk until you can’t see the ground anymore through the thick haze of tears, and then you stagger to a small bench. Apparently there’s a park within walking distance of DF’s offices. “Fuuuuuuck.”

He caught me, you think. He fucking caught me. And now I have a whole fucking year of dealing with him all fucking over again.

You look up at the sky and seriously consider staring at the sun until your eyes burn out. But then you won’t be able to see anything else, and that seems a little extreme just to eradicate Leland Townsend from your life.

It takes a long, long time, but eventually, your breathing returns to normal. “Okay. It’s fine. It’s just a year. I can deal with him for a year.”

It’s a lie, but maybe if you repeat it enough times, you’ll believe it. 

You close your eyes. “It’s only for a year. Only for a year. I can deal with him for only a year.”

Holy fuck, why the hell does he still look so handsome?

“Only. A. Year.”

And then you can run far, far away from him, from DF. You can save up and find a job elsewhere, away from that leer, away from those gorgeous blue eyes, away from that love of violence—that fierce desire to make him bleed. Now that you’re away from DF, your emotions are flooding back, filling you with fury at being conned into working there. Fury at the audacity of him recommending you for a job like this.

Is it actually fury if you still want to jump his bones and finish what you started almost a year ago?

Your cheeks heat as you remember that night, how you’d thrusted your tongue down his throat, how he’d grabbed your ass while you tried to pull off his suit. How in that moment, all you could think of was getting him inside of you, how maybe, just maybe, that would get rid of these dark, dirty thoughts in your head.

You feel a familiar aching between your thighs and groan in frustration.

“Holy fucking shit, I’m screwed.”

Unto an evil counselor, close heart and ear and eye

And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly

———————————————————————————

Aaaand that’s the end, folks! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing (I was literally fixing things in this chapter eight hours ago, so talk about last-minute!).

[goforth-ladymidnight]

The Perfect Gift

Pairing: Tamlin x Feyre (Feylin)

Rating: G

Word Count: 5k

Summary: What do you give a High Lord who already has everything?

Read in its entirety below the cut:

Snow was coming, but not to the Spring Lands. The sky beyond the dining hall windows was heavy and gray, but the magic over the Spring Court kept all but the gentlest rains at bay. Then again, the newly reinstated High Lord of Spring had been rather distracted lately, tending to his Court and countryside in the wake of Amarantha’s reign. And it was late enough in the year that it could possibly snow, just a little.

Had it already been three months since their triumphant return from Under the Mountain? Those dark days were like a bad dream, darker than the darkest night of the year, which was fast approaching. Winter Solstice was in less than a week. Even though it was not a Spring holiday, there was much to celebrate. There was much left to do.

The servants had already begun decorating for the grand celebration. Faerie lights twinkled in the evergreen wreaths and garlands adorning the hearths and halls of the manor. The air was filled with the spicy scent of pine, mingling with the perfume of the large bouquets of white roses on display in every room. Crystal vases and bowls sparkled on their beds of delicate white lace, filled with flowers or an assortment of mixed nuts or colorful sugar plums.

Even the dining table looked festive. Gold plates and fine silver gleamed in the light of a half dozen brass candelabras as fine beads of white wax rolled down the tall tapered candles. Fragrant steam rose from savory tureens of herbed, golden broth, wreaths of freshly baked bread, and a large dish of seasoned fingerling potatoes. There was also roast lamb, mincemeat pie, and slabs of sweet and smoked cheeses amidst pots of honey and bowls of fresh fruit. Cut-crystal decanters of white wine stood tall between the platters of food. If anyone was still hungry, the kitchen had prepared a sweet, dark plum cake for dessert, purportedly the High Lord’s favorite as a child. The only thing missing was the High Lord himself.

As Feyre stood beside the table, she took a slow deep breath, willing her wild heartbeat to slow. The lunch hour was growing late, and Lucien had promised to send Tamlin to the dining hall, alone, where Feyre would be waiting for him. It had taken her nearly two weeks of planning to arrange everything. Alis had helped her select the menu, and Lucien had agreed to keep Tamlin busy until the table was set.

Once the room was ready, no one else was permitted into the dining hall. This was no easy task, but it was the only place she could spend with Tamlin alone, at least outside the bedroom. Tamlin gave her as much attention as he could, but it was nearly Solstice, and he was very busy.

Feyre twisted the fingers of her velvet gloves, her eyes darting between the door and the foods she had so carefully chosen. Was it enough? Would he like it? Oh, when was he coming?

Sssoon enough… The tattoo on her left hand seemed to writhe in answer. She frowned and tugged the hem of that glove down further. If a certain High Lord of Night dared to show his face now after months of silence… Ugh. It would be just like him to force her to join him for Winter Solstice, just to torment her and Tamlin… That arrogant prick… Just as she imagined slapping his smug face with the same glove she wore to hide the bargaining tattoo, the doors to the dining hall opened.

She sucked in a sudden breath, then, when a familiar figure stepped through, she straightened up with a glad, grateful smile.

Tamlin glanced around the empty hall with a furrowed brow and slowly stepped inside. “Feyre? What… Where is everyone?”

Feyre took a deep breath and spread her hands wide. “Surprise.”

With a bemused smile, he stepped closer. There were still faint lines where his enchanted mask used to be, but, like the memories Under the Mountain, they were beginning to fade. Even so, they did not detract from his otherworldly beauty. His unbound hair curled softly around his broad shoulders, as warm and golden as his flawless skin and the flecks of amber in his spring green eyes. The tunic he wore was much darker, evergreen edged in gold thread, which was one of the more formal ones he wore to meetings, of which there had been several, lately.

As he came to stand before her, Feyre continued, “I… I asked Lucien to take over your duties for the day.”

Tamlin’s eyebrows raised. “Take over…?” He let out an amazed chuckle and rubbed his chin. “That explains his odd behavior…” he murmured, then asked, “What on earth did you have to promise Lucien in exchange for that?”

She gave him a wincing smile. “Unrestricted access to your wine cellar… for a year.”

“Oh, is that all?”

She twisted the fingers of her gloves as she admitted, “And… no border patrol assignments for a month.”

Not to mention keeping Ianthe away from him for an entire week, she thought, but since Tamlin seemed to value the High Priestess’s counsel, she kept that to herself.

Sss-sss-sss. The tattoo seemed to mock her, but a quick pinch on her wrist seemed to silence it.

If Tamlin noticed, he showed no sign. Instead, he chuckled wryly and rubbed the back of his neck. “That will take some rearranging,” he mused, “but I’ll manage.”

Feyre grimaced. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make more work for you. This was supposed to be an early Solstice gift for you…”

“Is that right?”

She blushed, then halfheartedly gestured to the table set for two. “It’s just… You’ve been so busy lately, I thought…” She hugged her arms and mumbled, “Never mind. It was a silly idea.”

Tamlin stepped closer and placed his warm hands on her arms, being careful not to de-puff her puffed sleeves. “It’s not silly,” he insisted. “It was very thoughtful of you to arrange all this.”

“Thoughtful,” she scoffed. “If I were truly thoughtful, I would have known what to give you for Solstice.” She shook her head and shrugged. “But what do you give a High Lord who already has everything?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then looked away as he considered her point. “Well, I… That is… I mean…” He spread his hands and shrugged. “You don’t have to give me anything at all. You went Under the Mountain for me… If anything, I should be showering you in gifts—”

She huffed a laugh and stepped back. “You already have,” she said, gesturing to the blue velvet gown she was wearing. “I have enough gowns to clothe a small town.” She dropped her hands and sighed. “I just… I wanted to give you something because I… I love you,” she said softly.

He smiled sadly. “I love you, too.”

She nodded. “I know you do.” She sighed again, a heavier sigh as she gestured to the table. “We’ll have lunch together, and then you can go back to your usual duties. I won’t keep you.”

“No, please. Keep me. You already have me,” he insisted, touching her arm, then he looked over at the meal she had thoughtfully planned. “You said Lucien agreed to take over my duties for the day, right?”

“For a price, but… yes.”

“Hmm.” Tamlin rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “You know,” he mused, “that means that I have the whole day—we have the whole day—to do whatever we want. And I don’t want to be High Lord anymore.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up.

“In fact,” he went on, “I would rather follow orders instead of give them. So, Feyre Cursebreaker, how would you like to be High Lady for a day?”

She realized her mouth was hanging open, but she managed to find her voice as she pointed to herself. “Me? High Lady?”

“It would only be for a day,” he assured her. “And only if you want to.”

She looked at him askance. “This doesn’t involve any transference of magic, does it?” she asked cautiously.

“No,” he promised. “At least, not unless you plan on putting me out of my misery,” he added with a teasing wink.

She bit back a chuckle. “I think you’re safe.”

“Then you agree?”

She nibbled on her lower lip, considering it. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“No one can know that we’re doing this,” she said firmly. “I don’t think I could handle anyone else calling me High Lady… Not Alis, not Ianthe… If Lucien found out, I would never hear the end of it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling him, or anyone else,” Tamlin promised, placing his hand on his heart and giving her a solemn half-bow. “High Lady.”

She let out a sudden giggle, then pressed her fingers to her lips. “So… what exactly does a High Lady do?” she asked nervously.

“Whatever she wishes,” he said, straightening. “Unlike certain unfortunate emissaries, she has no meetings to attend. No important decisions to make. No duties, whatsoever.”

Her shy smile grew into a grin. “None?”

“None.”

“And you…?”

He waved his hand with a flourish. “I am but your humble servant, my lady,” he said, bowing deeply. When he rose, although he tried to maintain his solemn air, a coy smile touched his lips, and his green eyes sparkled with mischief.

It reminded her of the Tamlin she had fallen in love with, before they went Under the Mountain, when there was time for riding horses and lying beneath singing willows and swimming in pools of starlight… Which gave her an idea…

“Very well, then, my loyal subject,” she said, drawing herself up, which made Tamlin’s eyebrows rise. “My first decree as High Lady shall be… a picnic.”

“A splendid idea, my lady,” he said grandly, which made her grin. As he offered her his hand, he asked, “Where to?”

After a moment’s consideration, she slipped her hand in his calloused palm and declared, “Somewhere I’ve never been. You know the Spring Court best. Surprise me.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I know the perfect place.”

He winnowed them there in the blink of an eye. One moment, they were standing in the dining hall, the next they were outdoors, surrounded by falling snow. Except it wasn’t snow, for the air was warm, and the scent was sweet and fragrant. Feyre gasped as she turned around and realized they were standing in the middle of an apple orchard in full bloom.

Falling blossoms drifted past and landed on her hair and shoulders, which made her giggle like a child. The sky was still gray, but it didn’t matter. She felt lighter than she had in a long time. How long had it been since she let herself laugh? Too long, she realized, as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back and let the blossoms fall from her hair and tickle her cheeks.

“You look so beautiful,” Tamlin said in an awed voice.

She opened her eyes to look at him and found herself speechless. Despite his fine dress, he looked right at home among the flowering apple trees, a true prince of the wild. And when he smiled, her heart fluttered like blossoms on the breeze. This was the Fae she had fallen in love with, the one she had gone Under the Mountain for, and she would die for a hundred times over if it meant spending eternity with him.

She found herself blushing under his attentive gaze.

“So do you,” was all she could think to say, even though she meant it. Being Made High Fae had not made her any less tongue-tied. She could only hope that would become easier with time. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her, which was why she had come up with this arrangement in the first place. She hoped he liked it. She hoped it would be enough.

He smiled again and nodded. “Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the blanket spread out at his feet, and it gave her something new to stare at.

It would have taken a dozen servants to pack the feast from the dining hall and transfer it to the blanket underneath the apple trees, but Tamlin had done so in the blink of an eye. There was the dish of potatoes, the bread, all the cheeses, the pies, the roast lamb… He had even poured the wine, or at least his magic had.

“Ohh, it’s perfect,” she breathed, and it was.

A similar picnic in the mortal world would have seen them picking stray blossoms off their food, or awkwardly repositioning themselves around protruding tree roots, or even spilling their wine when they set their goblets down on uneven ground… but this wasn’t the mortal world. This was Prythian.

The lamb stayed warm, the wine stayed cool, and the plum cake tasted like it had been baked with faerie wine, which it had probably had. The combined flavors of steamed fruit and rolled spices burst pleasantly upon her tongue, and the hint of faerie wine gave her a pleasant buzz.

Tamlin was seemingly not immune to its effects, either, for he set his empty plate aside to lay back upon the ground, looking less like a High Lord and more like a human… that is, the faerie equivalent of one. As he tucked his hands beneath his head, he closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I had plum cake,” he said contentedly. “My compliments to Her Ladyship for her most exquisite taste.”

Feeling immensely pleased with herself, Feyre rested her back against the nearest tree and smiled. “I’ve never had plum cake before,” she admitted, picking up her wine to salute him in turn. “My compliments to the High Lord for his taste. What a pity he can’t be here to enjoy it.”

Tamlin opened one eye and smirked at her. “I’ll be sure to save a piece for him when he gets back,” he quipped.

She chuckled and lifted her wine for a sip.

“What about you? What did my High Lady enjoy for Solstice growing up?”

She nearly choked on her wine, then ducked her head in embarrassment. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth on her glove. “Chocolate torte, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Tamlin rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “Don’t you know?”

She shrugged. “Sweet treats and fancy dresses were the first thing to go,” she admitted reluctantly, looking away. “You know. After my father…”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his bemused smile fade as he remembered her poor, mortal life in the cottage, and she wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

“Look, it doesn’t matter now,” she said hastily, trying to distract him. “Today is about you. This is your Solstice gift, remember?”

“I remember,” he said firmly. “I also seem to remember appointing you High Lady, which is why—” He shifted from his side onto his knees in one smooth, fluid motion, “—I want to know how to make today special for you, too.”

Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, or perhaps it was the wine. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he insisted. “You’re my High Lady…”

“I don’t want to be your High Lady,” she said irritably, then wished she could take it back when she realized how it sounded, when she saw the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said quickly. “I meant—not your High Lady—I mean, I still want to marry you—not that you’ve asked yet—I-I mean…”

She covered her hot face and groaned. When he didn’t speak, she managed to take a deep breath, then sighed. As she lowered her hand, she looked away so that she wouldn’t be able to see the disappointment in his eyes.

“I don’t want to give you orders,” she said softly. “I don’t want to give anyone orders. Please. Take back your title, and let’s just pretend that I didn’t say anything. All right?”

She glanced up in time to see him sit back on his heels and take a slow, deep breath. After a long, painful moment of silence, he nodded. “All right,” he said gruffly, then offered her his hands to help her stand.

The picnic was over, then. So much for her Solstice gift. She set down her wine with a sad sigh, then slipped her hands in his. As she stood, she opened her mouth to apologize and say that she would gladly continue the game, when something cold hit the top of her head, and she could only squawk as it fell across her face and her hair.

“What the…?” She let go of Tamlin’s hands to brush away the cold something, only to find clumps of snow sticking to her gloves and melting in her hair.

A soft, rather sly laugh distracted her from her shock, and she looked up to see Tamlin trying—and failing—to hide his smile.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, mouth twitching. “When I winnowed us here, I didn’t expect the trees around us to be so… low.”

This was the second time today that he had left her standing there with her mouth wide open, and she closed it with a snap. “You winnowed us…?” She looked around at the pale landscape. “Where?”

“The Winter Court, of course,” he said simply, as if they hadn’t been standing in a Spring orchard only a moment ago. “At least, the outskirts,” he added, gesturing to the snowy pines and the mountains behind him. “I didn’t want to alarm Kallias by dropping in to his Court unannounced. Wars have been started for less, you know.”

“You don’t say,” she drawled, then sucked in a quivering breath as she rubbed at her blue velvet sleeves, trying to ward off the sudden chill. She was standing ankle deep in a snow drift, and her breath was visible in the icy air. “And we’re here because…?”

“Oh, forgive me,” he said, flicking his hands and unfurling a heavy cloak that hadn’t been there a moment ago, from somewhere between. As he stepped forward and drew its welcome warmth around her shoulders, he said kindly, “There now. That should help.”

As she gratefully pulled the fur-lined cowl closer to her chin, she sniffed and remarked, “Thank you, but you still haven’t told me what we’re doing here.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said with a sly twinkle in his eye.

She looked at him askance.

“Your first—and last—decree as High Lady was to take you somewhere you’d never been. So, here we are. Somewhere you’ve never been.”

Her eyes widened. “I meant in the Spring Court!”

“Did you? You never said.”

She barked a laugh and slowly shook her head. “You’re mad.”

He gave her a grand bow. “You flatter me, lady.”

With a twinge of guilt, she remembered her earlier retort. “I didn’t mean what I said before. About not wanting to be your High Lady…”

He slowly straightened, his smile fading. “I’m afraid it’s too late,” he said quietly.

The icy air seemed to stab her lungs, and her hand froze at her throat.

Before she could reply, he continued, “If you want your title back, you’re going to have to take it from me.”

Her eyebrows rose as he stepped backward in the snow with a slowly growing smirk. As an understanding smile touched her mouth, he turned around and dropped to all fours, changing into his beast form. His golden hair turned to golden fur that then sprouted all over his changing body, and bone-white antlers sprouted from his head. The transformation was almost too quick to follow, but she was High Fae now. His beast form didn’t frighten her anymore; she marveled at the sight of it.

Tamlin took a few bounding leaps into the snow, then shook the flakes of snow free from his fur as he turned to face her. His plumed tail slowly wagged as he dropped his forelegs into a strangely playful bow. She bit back a laugh, for it reminded her of a dog wanting to play fetch.

“Well?” he asked, in his deeper, beastlier voice. “Do you want your title back?”

She slowly nodded. “Yes,” she breathed.

“Then come and get it.”

She hesitated with her gloved hand still at her throat, then, when he didn’t move, she took a slow, deliberate step toward him.

As the snow crunched beneath her boot, he bounded away like a deer in the woods, startling her with his swiftness. She scarcely had time to register his movement before he circled back with a huge, beastly grin. “You’ll never catch me at this rate!” he called out before running away again.

Her laugh carried across the snow as she watched him, then, gathering her courage and her heavy velvet skirt at the same time, she began to give chase.

Her pretty white boots were not made for snow, but the snow was fresh, and she had more strength as a High Fae than she ever did as a human. Still, she stumbled occasionally, but running kept her warm. Tamlin never ran as far away as he did the first time, and he often circled close enough that she could almost reach out and touch his fur… Almost.

Her laughter echoed through the snowy woods each time she came close enough to see the wicked green gleam in his eye, and his beastly grin told her that he was laughing, too. But he would not let himself be caught so easily. A distant part of her wondered if anyone in the Winter Court would notice their game and report back to their High Lord, but aside from a few startled birds, she saw no one, and she was grateful. Not because she was afraid of looking foolish, but because she didn’t want to share Tamlin with anyone else.

After several minutes of this, she paused to catch her breath in the middle of a clearing. She was too winded to call after him, so she dropped to her knees and watched as Tamlin zigzagged through the snow-laden pines, a golden blur in the gray mist. It didn’t take long for him to notice that she was no longer chasing him. He quickly circled back and padded to a standstill at the edge of the clearing.

“Do you give up?” he called out, breathing hard himself. Although his words could have been taken as a challenge, there was a cautious nature to his tone. This was just a game, after all.

She sniffed and wiggled her stiff, frozen nose as she pushed herself to her feet. “Not yet,” she called back, then, straightening up, she launched the snowball she had formed and hidden beneath her cloak. He was fast, but not fast enough. She was High Fae, too, after all. His green eyes widened just before the snowball struck his muzzle and spattered all over his beastly face.

He shook his head, but not in a pained way, then pawed at his muzzle to brush away the rest of the spatter.

That was all the distraction she needed.

“Oof!” he cried as she tackled him, throwing her arms around his furry neck. They fell into a great heap there in the snow, and she would have cried out “Victory!”, but she was laughing too hard.

It took her a moment to realize that he was laying beneath her, unmoving, and his stillness made her smile vanish. She pushed herself off of him, then leaned over him and touched his great furry shoulder. “Tam?” She swallowed hard, then gently shook him and said, “Tamlin… Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

He didn’t answer, but opened one green eye before suddenly rolling onto his back and pulling her along, pulling her against him and trapping her with his massive paws.

“I’ve been slain,” he moaned as she giggled into his fur. “The High Lord has been slain! Who would have guessed his consort was capable of such treason?”

When she managed to stop laughing, she said, “Treason, indeed,” then lifted her head high enough to look into his eyes. He winked. She smiled and wiped away the last of the snow from his muzzle. “I thought it was rather clever.”

“Indeed, it was,” he agreed, then changed shape as he laid beneath her, shrinking back into his High Fae form. His heavy paws shrank into hands, and his antlers disappeared into his hairline. He was still wearing his green and gold finery, although he looked a little more tousled than before. More than that, he looked… happy. He brushed a melting tendril of hair from her cheek as he smiled up at her and murmured, “High Lady.”

Her breath caught. Unable to speak, she traced his jawline with her fingertips, then bent her head and kissed him. His fingers were welcome warmth as they threaded through her hair at the back of her neck, as he slowly and lingeringly kissed her back.

“Thank you,” she breathed when they parted.

His head fell back into the snow as he sighed, still smiling. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said, then huffed a laugh and touched the side of his nose where the snowball had struck him. “You earned it.”

She bit back a shy laugh. “I didn’t mean that,” she said, reaching up to rub that spot on his cheek. “I meant… Thank you for giving me another chance. For forgiving me at all.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he assured her, covering her hand with his. “I did trick you, after all.”

She couldn’t help her smile. “So, you did. Was it worth it?”

“Without a doubt,” he said firmly, then sat up with her. “I haven’t had this much fun in years. Centuries, in fact.” He brushed off his sleeves and glanced around. “As much as I love Spring, there’s something to be said about getting away from it all, if only for a day.”

“That’s what I wanted for you,” she said eagerly, then blushed when he looked at her curiously. “I… I didn’t think you would agree if I asked you to come away, so… I suppose I tricked you, too.”

“You’ll have to trick me more often, then,” he said, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. “The Cauldron knows I needed it.”

She reached out and tucked a stray, wet strand of hair behind his arched, pointed ear, which was beginning to turn red in the cold. “Why Winter?” she asked him. “You could have taken me anywhere in Spring, yet you brought me here. Why?”

“Do you remember that painting you gave me?”

Her brow furrowed. Had he guessed that she had tried—and failed—to paint something for him for Solstice? She hadn’t enjoyed painting since—with a sudden gasp, she remembered. The painting of the frozen woods.

“I couldn’t take you over the Wall,” he explained with a sad smile. “I couldn’t risk you being seen in the mortal lands as High Fae, but… I wanted to show you those snowy woods. So, I brought you here, where I knew you’d be safe, because I wanted to remind you—just as you once reminded me—that you’re not alone.”

Tears pricked her eyes as he continued, “We’ve been through hell and back these last few months. We both have our bad days, even now, but… just like the frost at the edge of the forest, we can’t let them take over. We can’t let them win.”

She swiped away a stray tear and huffed a laugh, if only to keep from crying. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” he said, taking her frigid hands in his. Her thin, velvet gloves were soaked in melting snow, but somehow his hands were as warm as sunshine cracking ice. He bent his head and breathed the warmth of Spring itself onto her hands. “I should have said something sooner, but I thought, with Ianthe there, you’d be all right.”

Feyre tried to hide her grimace. She couldn’t tell him that the High Priestess, who hadn’t even been there Under the Mountain, and who, with her effortless beauty and her ambition and her clever wit, made her feel lonelier than ever. Instead she murmured, “She’s not you.”

He said nothing, but released her hands to cup her neck and kiss her. It was a wonder the snow didn’t melt around them from the heat of his touch alone.

She sighed when they parted, and was glad when his hands didn’t leave her neck. She welcomed his warmth. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it, not when it was always Spring outside.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I couldn’t go to you when you needed me Under the Mountain, and I shouldn’t have continued to let someone else take my place at your side, even if it was temporary.”

Feyre winced at the memory. “I know you’re busy—”

“You’re a part of my Court, too,” he declared. “You shouldn’t have to bribe Lucien into taking over my duties just to see me once in a while. You’re my consort, and I love you.”

She smiled away her tears. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “But… I’m not your consort.”

His soft smile vanished until she reminded him, “I’m your High Lady, remember?”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Come along, then, my lady. Let’s get you out of the cold.”

He pulled away to take her hands and rose to a crouch to help her stand, but she pulled back on his hands and asked, “Where are we going?”

A sly smile touched his mouth. “I was going to take you home and bundle you in furs in front of the fire, and feed you chocolate torte and mulled wine, but… you’re my High Lady. Where would you like to go?”

It was a tempting offer, and one she would gladly accept that evening, but, at the moment, she had something else in mind. “We still have half the day to ourselves,” she reminded him with a smile. “You know Prythian best. Surprise me.”

He grinned. As he helped her to her feet, he said, “I know the perfect place.”

~ The End ~

[orchideous-nox]

i'm still counting down all of the days (pandalily microfic)

Inspired by Subway by Chappell Roan

Pandora didn't appreciate the winter, but seasons were unfortunately non-negotiable. It was much less comfortable to have the cold biting at the tip of her nose than to have the sun gently heating it, but with her scarf wrapped around her neck and a thick jumper paired with her maxi skirt, she was simply having to accept that the loss of feeling in her finger tips wasn’t going anywhere. Gloves were now mandatory.

As she nearly tumbled down the steps at the underground station, Pandora caught the tote back slipping off her shoulder, hoisting it back up as she came to a stop between an old man carrying his dog in his arms and a pregnant woman clutching onto a toddler’s hand. The train had just pulled up as she righted the braid that had come untucked from behind her ear, perfect timing.

In her pocket, Pandora felt her phone buzz and she looked down as she retrieved it, noticing the text from her brother to let her know that he was waiting at her door when she got home. She was so focused on tapping out a reply that she was just getting on the train that she didn’t notice how busy it was until she walked into the shoulder of the man holding his dog. Muttering an apology, she slipped in her earphones and turned up the volume on the button in the tangled wire.

It was too hot now, the scarf which had been necessary when she was walking about outside was now too much when she was crammed between bodies. With three weeks until Christmas, it wasn’t too surprising. Unwinding the knitted length from around her neck, a gift from Regulus, she stuffed it into her tote bag with a huff.

When they reached the next stop, more people thankfully got off than got on, giving Pandora a bit more room to breathe. She was able to turn a bit and grab hold of one of the metal poles for stability as they began moving again. The woman with the toddler was sat on seat to her left, the toddler crouched down and running a finger over Pandora’s sage green skirt, feeling the embroidered flowers along the hem. When the mother reached out to stop him, smiling politely at Pandora as she uttered an apology, she made sure to let her know it was fine. Stooping down, she asked the child if they liked the flowers, and told them what each one was.

As she stood up, however, something hit Pandora, a smell that had been missing from her life four months ago. The smell of orange blossom and jasmine that used to remind her of being wrapped up in pristine white sheets that did not belong to her, but now poisoned Pandora as she looked around.

Pushing past her, a woman with hair the colour of autumn leaves moved between people to get further down the carriage, telling someone on the phone that she couldn’t quite see them yet, that perhaps she was moving in the wrong direction down the train. Deep inside Pandora, something ached that had been like that for too long. It might not be her. In the whole city, what were the chances that this was Lily?

But then there was that laugh, and Pandora would have bolted if she could.

Lily flung her arms around the neck of a young man with glasses and untamed dark hair, kissing him squarely on the lips before smiling wider than Lily had ever smiled at her. This had happened before, except usually the woman would turn around and it was just another person with ginger hair. This time, when she turned around in the circle of the man’s arms, Pandora’s eyes met hers and the smile dropped.

Lily Evans was the type of girl you pined over, the girl you craved in those moments you were alone after she left the room, the girl who seemed to float around unaware of how beautiful she was. Pandora had spent years watching her across the room, the way her skin was painted with freckles and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled. Whatever they’d had was never going to be permanent, it was the type of torrid affair made to be brief, Sunday mornings which stretched into lazy weekends. Lounging in the park on a checkered blanket became grocery shopping together, until suddenly the bed was too big and there were too many sandwiches in the picnic basket and Pandora remembered that she preferred her orange juice without bits and the sacrifices she had made for Lily were no longer necessary.

Pandora was supposed to have moved on. She’s told Evan she was fine now, that she was over Lily and open to dating again. Clearly, she had lied. As the doors opened, Pandora realised they were nearly at her stop, and she watched Lily take the man’s hand as they walked off the train onto the platform. The doors closed and they began moving again, but Pandora stood still, watching as the blur of blazing auburn passed the windows.

Pandora was counting down the days until Lily was just another person who had broken her heart, just another passenger on the underground, just another girl. After resetting that countdown too many times, she came to realise that this long-awaited day was not today.

Until then, she would continue letting life pass her by, she would dream about moving away from the memories that haunted her until one day she would stop looking for her when she smelt that perfume and could instead smile and remember Lily as the girl who got away.

[hiding-under-the-willow]

oooh ok LaHoF questions

1. what was the first scene you came up with? (im pretty sure it was . well. the house on fire. but just in case.) (and if it was where did you go from there/what did you think of next?)

2. how did you come up with the idea did something inspire you or did it just spontaneously appear in your mind one fateful day or what?

3. what is your favorite part(s) ?

YIPPEE!!! These are such good questions man

1. The first scene i came up with was actually the tent scene from the first chapter! The fire came next, the rest of it came from me trying to figure out how to link those two scenes and build on the themes and deciding where the story would go after that. I think the deep dark thing was the third thing that came up. Oh, fun fact! The chapter with Wels and Hypno, the one where Wels and Hels have their fight out in the nether, didn't exist in the original story outline! I got to that point in the writing process and went 'no wait there's something missing here' and ended up with that like 7500 chapter which helped immensely with pulling everything together for that bit of the story.

2. Okay. This is the point at which I let you all in on a little secret. At least half of the things I write start off as Zeph storylines in my head. The tent scene was originally thought up as an encounter between Hels and Zeph, bc I was interested in like the idea of what would happen if a hermit were to mistake him for Wels, how he would use that opportunity. Zeph is like my little test dummy I throw scenarios at them and sometimes I take one of those scenarios and extract the themes out of it and go 'oh actually this would be incredibly compelling with this character instead'. Which is exactly what happened with that tent scene.

I had always kind of wanted to explore Hels and Beef's dynamic before this since it isn't explored in canon and tbh is kind of ignored by a lot of fic writers, but this was the only idea I had which had ever really compelled me in that department. It was like watching the puzzle pieces all fall into place at once it was great. The fire also came very naturally. I've always had an association between Hels and fire, and the idea of him burning one of the hermits' bases has always kind of been living rent free in my head bc of his whole 'I am going to destroy this place and everything you hold dear' mentality. It's something that's bounced around in Zeph storylines, and a series of dreams I had a few years ago that a few old followers might remember me posting about, but this was my first good opportunity to put it to paper in a way that was narratively fulfilling. Something about the season 10 setting just really lended itself to this narrative and I don't know how to explain it but it is quite literally the easiest a fully formed storyline has ever popped into my head in my life.

3. The chapter 3 deep dark scene is so everything to me. The fire as well is obviously beloved in many ways. There are a million little character moments i could name that drive me personally insane. I actually fucking loved writing Beef's dream flashback to the cloning machine from the fire chapter? Something about taking the actual events and dialog from his video and recontextualizing it was so satisfying. I love artistic recontextualization!!!! Then there's a chapter coming up soon. That i am very excited to write. To say the least. I've had a draft of the dialog sitting around in my notes for months. There is an illustration already done for it that I can not wait to post as well.

[starqueensthings]

Pairing: pirate!Kix x Fem!reader

Summary: the final chapter of Colder Weather. This one is exceptionally long… and it didn’t need to be, but sometimes I can’t just reign it in and that’s okay. Please read the prior two parts before proceeding to this one, and please heed warnings below.

Rating/Warnings/WC: Teen+ for subject matter, TW: mentions of a complicated labour, mentions of postpartum challenges. This chapter is probably 60% sad angst. 40% happiness, but the happy parts make up for the sad parts. 8000ish words (sorry lol)

A/N: y’all… I was so close to killing off the reader, but I’m glad I didn’t. He’s made his mistakes, but deep in his heart and soul, our favourite medic Kix deserves a happy ending. Thank you for reading. Not proof read because this has gone on long enough. If you see a typo… no you don’t.

part one | part one.five | part two

“When I close my eyes I see you, no matter where I am. I can smell your perfume through these whisperin’ pines. I’m with your ghost again, and it’s a shame about the weather but I know soon we’ll be together, and I can’t wait ‘til then.”

That intrusive hum should not have wielded enough power to yank you so unceremoniously from the embracing, semi-lucid doze you’d unintentionally fallen into. That brief reprieve of darkness was meant to be nothing more than just an extended blink; a momentary break from the throbbing headache brought on by several days without sleep, yet that whirring, artificial whine had instantly imbued you with such an unbridled panic, that a gasp near-left your lips as your eyes snapped open and darted urgently toward the front window.

Nightfall had already begun to kiss the horizon, the last of that so reclusive winter sun bathing only that of which it could reach between barren branches. The soft hush of dancing leaves, and the indignant squawks of native wildlife begrudgingly adapting to the change in season, had long since silenced; their departure triggered by the crystal blanket of frost that never failed to drape itself upon every unmoving surface during those extended hours of darkness.

The jarring return to reality had your heart hammering heavily against the walls of your chest, and attempting to reaffix your senses to that disturbing rumble proved nearly impossible over the rhythmic pounding in your ears. A moment's pause had you nearly convinced that familiar hum was nothing but the remnants of a nightmare wiped clean from your memory upon waking. Perhaps your weary mind had clutched so vainly at whatever semblance of sleep it could find, knowing reality would continue to rob your being of the repose it so desperately needed yet continued to neglect, but its stark contrast to the the cherished serenity of nature rendered it harrowingly familiar, and there could simply be no further denying that grinding vibration.

“No,” you implored to the empty room as the implications of that wretched noise forced a shiver down your spine.

You hurried to press yourself into a seated position, and that near-debilitating crest of pain radiating from the tender space between your legs had your face contorting tightly and a soft whimper issuing from behind pursed lips, but with the entirety of your waning focus attuned to that haunting roar, you could spare no attention to your body’s plea for stillness.

“No!” you repeated sternly, as if begging some divine force to halt the imminent invasion.

Snatching the ice pack from its nestle between your thighs and tossing it onto the seat of the chair by the window, you clambered to your feet as gingerly as your frantic mind could permit.

The intensity of your labour only days previously had left you “wiggly”; an inappropriately comical label for how unstable you found yourself in those handful of purgatorial moments between sitting and standing. But a trio of sluggish blinks were all you could offer to placate the stars erupting in your vision… there was simply no time for the deep breath your body craved. The sound of that sputtering engine meant you had mere seconds until it parked itself atop your gravel drive, bringing its unwelcome rider to within only feet of your front door.

“No… no… no… no, no!”

Every resounding thump of your socked feet descending the stairs had that defiant refusal pouring from your snarling lips. The adrenaline doped blood pounding in your veins kept your legs in motion; the desperate need to fortify your home by whatever means necessary quickly diminishing those electrifying jolts of pain between your thighs to nothing but an annoyance, and you utterly refused to suspend your frenzied actions until the satisfyingly audible click the deadbolt met your ears.

Breast heaving under agitated breaths, you pressed your forehead to that cool, steel barrier, reaching a trembling hand to blindly activate the lock and engage the chain across the door. That infuriating hum had ceased, replaced by the sporadic ticking of an engine entering slumber mode after a long journey and the rhythmic crunch of heavy boots treading apprehensively across compacted gravel.

A faint draft danced across your ear as you pressed it flush against the gap between door and frame, biting your lip in an effort to quiet the huffs still pouring from your lips.

How many steps until that calloused hand wreathed itself around the glimmering gold door knob perched innocently at your navel? He drew nearer with every exhale; already his steps had near-muted as they transferred his weight from gravel to pavestone. A potent remorse swelled like noxious gas in your chest, pure exhaustion and repressed sadness flooding your mind with flickering images of all the times you sprinted down that cobblestone path and threw yourself, unabashed, into his embrace..

A shiver stole down your spine as you backed away from the door, folding your arms over your chest and fitting a thumbnail between your teeth. Every moment on your feet saw your body beginning to yield further into exhaustion and the primal need for rest, yet the resolve required to yank gaze from the door and head back upstairs for a fresh ice pack and a long nap had utterly abandoned you.

The stare you affixed that dome of gold was unrelenting, and had the Maker blessed you with even a fraction of the power those old wizards known as “Jedi” once possessed, there was no doubt that gold knob would have burned red hot under the intensity of your gaze.

Your thumbnail continued to shred and fray under the anxious gnawing of your front teeth, little shards torn painfully from the tip of your finger and spat unceremoniously to the floor at your feet were offered none of the attention that you’d affixed to the sounds of his impending arrival. His boots had stalled their movements on the other side of the threshold, and the small scraping of plastoid against plastoid sounded through the door as he shifted to remove his helmet. Any second now that knob would wiggle under his touch. Any second now…

“Go away!” you shouted at the first signs of that handle failing to permit his entry, your anxiety momentarily abated by the same surging rage that sent your hands curling into fists.

“Wh— what? Did— did you say ‘go away’?” That voice. That stupid, forsaken voice.

“Sure did!” you spat back at the man who didn’t deserve even an ounce of the confusion that had stalled his advance. “Get your ass back on that bike and get out of here!”

“Mesh’la…”

Your blood boiled at the outrageous levity in which that endearing coo left his lips, and had it not been for the abandoned baby monitor in the next room, interrupting your increasing indignation with the beeping reminder of a dying battery, at least one of your shaking fists would have crashed heavily against the back of that door.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” you seethed through clamped teeth. “Now get away from my kriffing door before I grab my blaster and shoot you through the peephole!”

A brief moment's weighty silence preceded his answer. “I would deserve that,” Kix acknowledged, no doubt sensing the validity of your threat, having personally dismantled and cleaned the pistol you kept hidden in your nightstand.

“Yeah, you would. Now, goodbye!” you snarked back at him, the responding, poignant sigh that left his lips failing to soften your invective.

“Look, Mes— ”

“Didn’t I just say, don’t call me tha—”

“Okay. Okay…” Every emotional huff expelled from his lungs was a breath that only further ignited the embers of your vexation, and saw you withdrawing further and further from the door. How dare he be upset? How dare he feel exasperated? How dare he even show up here, let alone stand at the entryway to your home and attempt to belittle the agony of his betrayal with his own undeserved feelings of remorse?

“I owe you some big explanations,” he muttered slowly. “I have a lot to apologize for, and I— I want to say it all because you deserve it.”

“Oh I ‘deserve it’?” you snorted near-maniacally. “Now? And not six months ago when you hightailed it out of here, and left me in the kriffing clutches of hell?”

“Of course you did, Mesh’la,” he assuaged. “You’ve always deserved it, and I’ve been— well… I’ve struggled a lot, but you know that and it’s no excuse. Can you please unlock the door and let me in?”

“No.”

You intensified the knot of your arms across the tender swells of your chest and snarled as silence ensued. Every elongated second that ticked present into past saw your jaw begin to mutiny against the continued force of irritably grinding your molars together, the discomfort only masked by the powerful pangs of pain between your legs as your body continued to beg for your retreat. But physical agony was mere childsplay; nothing… nothing compared to the debilitating heartbreak that had rendered you emotionally distraught and struggling to keep your head above water since he last fled your embrace, the haunting image of his anguished face erupting in your mind's-eye every time you sought the respite of sleep.

“No,” you repeated weakly. “You’ve had so many chances to talk, Kix. You made your choice.”

Sorrow and grief, respawned by the reminder of a life longed-for and lost, threatened to envelop you. How many months had you begged him for the knowledge that he was now, inexplicably, offering? How many nights did you attempt to chisel away at his walls, refusing to see the efforts as futile, and doggedly convinced that he would feel the same devotion to you if he would just let himself? Now here he was, offering all the things you’d once prayed for on a silver platter at your door, and the undeniable longing that had previously seen you gazing limitlessly into his eyes, still held the maddening power to sag your shoulders and wet those tired eyes.

You hastily wiped the emotion from your face and shook the malignant thoughts from your head; too many tears had already been shed on his account, too many nights had vanished from underneath you, lost in the shadow of loneliness.

He upheld a near-suffocating silence from his unseen perch, and it lingered just long enough to make you wonder if he’d simply turned on his heel and left. Despite reminding yourself that such a departure would ultimately be for the best, the notion of another temerous abandonment at his hands wrapped itself like an iron fist around your gut, further restricting every already pained inhale.

A gentle thunk against the door exposed his presence, and your eyes darted to the area where he’d likely just rested that weary, tattooed head.

“Well,” you offered sadly, unknotting your arms and stretching the tension from your neck. “Not that this hasn’t been… enlightening… but I’m in desperate need of some sleep, so… goodbye.”

You cast one last glance toward the peephole before turning to ascend the stairs again, attempting to placate the twisting in your stomach with a deep, controlled inhale.

“Goodnight, Cyare. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your hand froze on the railing, chilled toes ceasing their movements at his unexpected valediction, and the slow breath that had promised you some semblance of relief, now escaped your nose in a huff of indignant disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” you barked over your shoulder at the deadbolt.

“I’m not leaving,” he explained. “You deserve an apology and I’m giving it to you. I’ll sleep in the driveway if I have to.”

A scoff left your lips as you shook your head, eyes rolling extravagantly at his unprecedented impudence. “It’s freezing outside,” you snorted coolly.

“Not cold enough to stop me.”

With patience utterly diminished by both his audacious dedication, and the continued throbs of pain in your core, you turned and stomped back down the stairs, a frustrated growl leaving your lips as you unlatched the deadbolt and yanked the door open only wide enough to peer out into the increasing darkness.

There he stood. Your Kix. Those characteristically piercing, dark eyes now so soft they were nearly unrecognizable, and framed by knitted, forlorn brows. Those subtle creases across his forehead, of which typically only emerged in moments where surprise or potent emotion lifted his brow toward his hairline, had deepened and embedded themselves with the same plea swaddling the rest of those familiar features. His tall frame still hid behind that scuffed and blemished blue plastoid kit, that marred and dented helmet hung loosely at his side as it always did when not masking his face, and that bushy, unkempt beard failed to conceal the emergence of several blue, day-old bruises, their pigmentation only matched by the swollen bags beneath those brown eyes.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” you hissed at him through the door’s meager opening. “Where do you come off thinking you can just show up here and make demands? What makes you think I even want your dumb apology?”

“I’m not here to make demands, Mesh’la,” he pleaded, the perimeter of his frame disappearing behind the door as he stepped as close as the gap would permit.

“Then what do you want?” you pressed him sternly, mirroring his unintended concealment by narrowing the gap in the door. “Why are you here?”

“Because I love you,” he urged in a whisper. “And I want to explain everything. Please… just let me in.”

That pure and unfiltered expression of love nearly cleaved you in half; his admonition monetarily overpowering your composure and threatening utterly rob you of the dwindling resolve you’d somehow funnelled into continued refusals.

“No, Kix,” you argued in little more than a pathetic whine. “You’re not coming in her–”

“Why?” he challenged.

“Because! The second you're within arms reach, I’m going to want to smack you for all the bantha-shit you’ve pulled, and I’m not doing that in front of my newborn baby!”

Kriff.

It slipped from your lips… that unintended profession leaving your mouth on a wave of unbridled emotion. You hadn’t formulated exactly how or when you planned to break the news to him in those frantic seconds between learning of his imminent arrival and this moment. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected the conversation to get this far… hell, you hadn’t even expected this conversation to happen. He should have just conceded to your wishes and left when you demanded it of him, not stubbornly refused to leave your side, and revealing the birth of his child so casually and without intent had unmistakably shaken him.

You could only watch regretfully as his head snapped upward from its solemn hang, tired eyes widening and darting back and forth between yours as if peering into their depths would offer him an unfiltered truth. That cherished, sharp jaw softened with shock; lips falling open, chest heaving beneath that old distressed cuirass as you reciprocated his imploring gaze with a diffident, guilty one of your own.

“You— you had the baby?” he choked, eyes boring into yours as the aluminum threshold creaked under the weight of his step, his hand rising to grip the edge of that door as if its previously irksome existence was now the only thing stabilizing him.

Too laden with self-resentment for having so-loosely uttered the revelation, you cast his gloved fingers only a fleeting glance as they pressed the door open as wide as the chain would permit, but the mental space quickly earmarked for regret and self hatred was near-instantly usurped by an unprecedented sense of pity as your gaze fell upon his again.

“Yes,” you admitted in a whisper, nearly cowering beneath the intensity of the plea in his eyes. “Four days ago.”

His throat bobbed, eyes unfocusing as they darted to and fro between yours, and you could only watch apprehensively as those familiar lips parted and closed, continuously failing to communicate the myriad of thoughts and allegations currently ravaging his mind. “But… you weren’t due until the end of this month?” he managed to splutter out. “Weren’t you? That’s what you said: ‘The baby isn’t due until the last week of the year…’”

“Yeah, well… these things happen sometimes,” you answered apathetically, a weak shrug lifting one shoulder as you averted your eyes downward to your toes. “I was shocked too, if that makes you feel better.”

His abrupt about-face stole your attention back immediately, his boots scraping across the cold stone as he drug his feet toward the grass and stooped over. His helmet hit the lawn with a thud, dark hair disappearing entirely as his hands fell to his knees and his chin hung to his chest.

The shift in his demeanor froze your breath in your lungs, his derailment such a surprise that even attempting to locate a consoling word amongst your own tornadic thoughts was feat proven impossible. A sigh left your nose, the biting chill of the breeze turning your exasperation to cloud as your fingers drummed indecisively against the soft cotton of your sweater. The urge to barrel into the darkness and wrap your arms around those sagging shoulders was near-irrepressible, yet doing so would communicate a message you weren’t entirely certain you wanted to send in this already tense moment. You swallowed heavily, confusion sending your thumbnail back between your teeth as you maintained your position behind the door, resignedly averting your eyes from the discomfited sight of a man completely defeated.

“I missed it…” he breathed, standing upright and turning back toward you, his lips pressed tightly together in a disappointed grimace. “I can’t believe that. I— I thought I had time.”

You fought against every ounce of sympathy surging through your veins. You simply did not want to feel bad for him; that wandering pariah had dangled happiness in front of your nose only to snatch it away one too many times to warrant feeling slighted in this moment.

A shiver stole down your spine as you reached blindly for the door handle and began to close the door. Triggered by the squeak of the hinges, his gaze darted toward you, the torment behind those darkened eyes intensifying as your figure slowly disappeared behind that steel barrier again. But his crestfallen frame was hidden from you for only a moment as, against your better judgement, you disengaged the chain from the door and pulled it wide.

“We always think we have time,” you grumbled, leaning against the door frame and perching one cold foot on top of the other. “Until someone we love vanishes, and we’re left with nothing but pieces of ourselves and no desire to reassemble them.”

He took a selfish moment to breathe in your appearance, eyes shifting from your head to your toes, lingering for a fraction of a second on that soft bump still protruding underneath your clothes. You hurried to fold your arms across your chest again, the abrupt exposure to both his eyes and the cold sending another sending your shoulders ashiver again.

“I know the feeling…”

It was barely audible. Had you not been near-glaring at him as he spoke, those whispered words would have simply wafted away with the cold breeze, yet the way his jaw clenched as he trod eagerly back toward you had rendered you more immobile than the horrid implications of his passive statement, and you stood rooted to the spot as he reached to cradle your elbows with his palms.

“Mesh’la,” he beseeched. “I’m sorry about a lot of things. But kriff, it kills me that you went through that alone.”

“Almost killed me too if I’m being honest,” you groused, jerking your arms from the tenderness of his touch. “For making an early entrance, he sure put up a fight on the way out.”

“He?”

‘Maker, have mercy,’ you grumbled inwardly, instantly aware of your second monstrous mistake. As you hurried to shield your face with your hands, he intercepted your need for a moment's separation by enclosing your fingers with his and holding them tightly.

“Please, love,” Kix begged. “Please, let me in. There’s so much to sa—”

“I don’t have it in me for another one sided conversation, Kix,” you interrupted dispiritedly, attempting to snatch your hands from that devastatingly familiar grip. “I did that for years and you fled every single one of them. I’m too tired—”

“I won’t run this time,” Kix urged, letting your hands tear away from his before hastening to gently drape them around your elbows again. “I’m done running. I promise. Once I can say what I’ve been meaning to say, we can stay up for a week straight and talk. Or— or I’ll get back on the bike and leave if that’s what you really want. I’ll do anything, Mesh’la. Please.”

The glorified return of his touch to your body both wilted and unnerved you; the urge to simply fall into him and let those strong arms carry your weary self to bed was strikingly dominant despite the deep-seated resentment that you undeniably still harboured for the reticent pirate.

“Fine,” you hissed, not waiting to gauge his reaction before turning on your heel and climbing gingerly back up that handful of stairs, leaving him to cross the threshold and kick his boots off alone.

Your frigid feet took you on a direct path to the caf machine, desperate for that glorious nectar to reinvigorate your languid senses and grant you something near an open mind so Kix’s pertinent apology wasn’t just a minute wasted as it wafted through your exhausted and cautious ears. By the time you returned from the living room, tucking the baby monitor under your arm and reaching for its charging cord on the table, Kix was stepping apprehensively into the kitchen, crinkled eyes scanning the surroundings that he hadn’t seen in the better part of a year.

“Help yourself,” you muttered, gesturing sightlessly toward the gurgling caf machine.

“Thank you,” he answered politely, pulling a pair of mugs from the cabinet beside the window.

Resolute in reserving the offering of any niceties until after this allegedly imperative explanation, you ignored his every movement, plugging the baby monitor into charge as noisily as possible, clunking it down heavily onto the table in front of you and flinging the cord around while he poured two mugs of caf. You refused him even a glance as he crossed the kitchen and placed the first of the steaming cups on the table in front of you, the only offering of thanks was a quick compression of your lips.

Perhaps sensing the intentional disconnect, Kix perched himself against the counter in front of the sink across the room, bringing one ankle over the other and wreathing the green ceramic mug he’d chosen for himself in those gloved hands. He watched you silently as you snatched an ice pack from the freezer and limped back toward the table, repressing a wince as you lowered yourself onto the seat of a rickety old wooden chair, immediately wedging the icy addition into place and begging the stars that it provide you some semblance of relief.

“Why does it sound like you always had plans to come back here?” you asked him coldly, hoping the bite in your words would eradicate the worry in his eyes as he watched you struggle for comfort. “Would have been nice to be included in that secret.”

“I know,” he said, banishing his mug to the countertop so he could lean backwards on his hands. “You’re a smart woman, Mesh’la, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that I ran out of here more scared than I ever have been in my life. I… it’s been a long time since the idea of fatherhood crossed my mind. So much has happened… it— I didn’t think it would ever be on the table for me.”

Your petulant scoff captured his attention from his toes immediately, his crinkled eyes affixing on you again. “I know it means nothing now, but the second I left here, I wanted to come back. I felt sick the second I turned that bike on, and the entire drive back into the village I kept pulling over and… and telling myself to just turn around. But I’m a smart guy too, and it wasn’t lost on me what I’d just done to you. I couldn’t get the look on your face out of my head, and… and part of me knew I’d just completely broken what little trust you had left in me. So I kept going.

“Ithano could tell something was wrong, and he wouldn’t let up until I told him, but by the time I could bring myself to physically say the words, we were already at the other end of the galaxy. I’ve— I’ve seen him pissed off before, but never like that. He called me an “excuse of a man”; told me that no one in their right mind would pass up the chance for safety and a family; that you were a gift from the stars to make up for all the shit I’ve been through, and I was just throwing you away because I couldn’t see past my own volatility. And, maker, did that make me sick… because I knew it was true. By the time the suns came up the next day, I’d made my decision. I told him I needed some time to square up some old debts, and then I was done. He said he’d help me clean up every mess I’ve left on every planet, and get me ready to wash my hands of the nomad life. So… that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been from one end of the galaxy to the other making sure my name is clear so I could come back here and…”

His voice trailed away to silence, his ashamed gaze dropping back to his toes as you fought to ruminate his words.

The confession was profoundly altering, and while taking your weight from your feet had somewhat loosened the grip of that iron fist around your gut, a large portion of your already dwindling lucidity had been abruptly stolen from you by the stunning implications of his explanation. In the wake of his last, harrowing departure, you’d found solace in utterly villainizing him; pretending that he’d laughed maniacally as he drove away, convinced yourself that he’d find another woman somewhere in the village to use as a means to forget you and the hell he’d bestowed upon you. But despite wanting, with every cell in your body, to despise the olive skinned, peripatetic man that had stolen your heart, there wasn’t even the ghost of a villain hiding behind those features.

And then there was the excuse itself… no, the explanation. Despite having never met you, Ithano had always been in your corner; Kix had expressed on countless occasions that the leader of his crew would like nothing more than for the bereft man from the lost-and-found to plant roots somewhere and leave the hand-to-mouth life behind him. Claiming that he was simply too disoriented by his past and the ghosts that haunted his every step, Kix had adamantly refused the sedentary life, yet had never quite been able or willing to let you go. If this story had validity, and there was something about the way his eyes pleaded for your understanding, was it enough to diminish the hurt he’d left you with?

“The bruises?” you asked him solemnly, gesturing with a small lift of the finger to the discolouration peeking out from the wild expanse of his beard.

“Just a… parting transaction… that didn’t go as smoothly as intended,” he admitted, reaching for his caf again and bringing it slowly to his lips. “Took a little extra effort, but it’s done.”

Your molars clicked as they ground together, fingers drumming thoughtlessly atop the knot in that old wood table as you absently rubbed the pad of your thumb along the spot where the varnish had worn away. “You could have told me, Kix,” you exhorted.

“I should have,” he corrected. “And it would have been lightyears better than radio silence, especially after how I left you, but I knew how upset you were… and I didn’t want to add any worry on top of everything else. And I did have every intention of being back here by the end of the year so I could be with you when the baby was born but… little guy beat me here, I guess.”

You could feel his surveying gaze from across the kitchen, seemingly uncertain if the correct thing to do would be to let you process the information, or to continue his reasoning lest you suddenly get up and extract your pistol from the nightstand. Periodic slurps were the only interruption to that suffocating silence as you aimlessly took sip after sip of caf, sighing periodically as you blindly watched the newborn sleep happily in his cozy bassinet.

“An apology will never be enough,” he continued quietly after clearing his throat. “I know that. And I could spend every second for the rest of my life uttering those words, but they’ll never mean as much as I need them to mean.”

It wasn’t until he pushed himself away from the counter and approached your seat that you offered him a glance, and when he was near enough to reach you, he pulled your hand from your mouth and swaddled it with his own, dropping to a knee in front of your chair and looking directly into your eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he repented. “I’m sorry for every time I’ve walked out on you. I’m sorry for not instantly giving you every bit of love and commitment that you’ve always deserved. You’ve been nothing but supportive, and I’ve been nothing but dismissive. I’ll tell you everything… all about my past, my family, where I’m from, what I’ve done, who I am. I promise I won’t waste another second of your time making you feel unworthy or unwanted, because Mesh’la— you are neither.”

A sob escaped your lips as your eyes clamped closed, forcing a tear to cascade down your cheek. He dropped your hand immediately and moved to delicately cup your jaw, brushing the wetness from your skin with a soft swipe from the pad of his calloused thumb. “You’ll never be able to hate me as much as I hate myself for what I’ve done to you,” he whispered. “But I’m going to work on regaining your tr—”

“I don’t hate you,” you choked thickly as another tear slipped from your overflowing lids. “But I wish I did. I’ve wanted to hate you for years but I just can’t, Kix.”

“Good,” he nearly laughed, chasing away the stray tear. “Then love me. Keep loving me like you always have because it’s making me the man I should be and I’m done fighting it. I’m ready. It’s unexpected and unbelievable and I know that, but just trust me one last time and I’ll prov—”

A shrill, choked cry echoed around the kitchen, the indicator light on the monitor flashing a series of red and orange to alert you that some sort of commotion was issuing loudly from two rooms over. You hastily swallowed the sob still perched in your throat and snatched the device off the table, watching your baby boy’s mouth spread wide in a wail that could only mean his butt was wet and his belly was empty.

“I have to get him,” you choked, pulling your face from his clutches and wiping your nose quickly on your sleeve. “I’ll be back. Just… I don’t know… take your armour off or something.”

He nodded faintly, eyes affixed on the monitor as you placed it back down on the table and stood. He took the ice pack from you blindly, placing it on the table as you strode around him and left the room.

In the dozen or so minutes required to collect the baby, change his diaper, and redress him in a warmer onesie, Kix had take your sage advice and shed his rigid exterior, the kit now stacked neatly on the chair in the living room, while his broad frame paced anxiously around the kitchen. His apprehension was immediately apparent by his incessant fidgeting; his arms swinging madly by his side, each pendulous swing of his hands triggering a snap of his fingers while his feet carried him thoughtlessly from fridge to stove, and back again.

You paused in the hallway and watched him take several deep controlled breaths, pausing in his cadence for a quiet moment before shaking his head and resuming his fervent soothing, but at the first sign of your return, his ministrations ceased entirely, fingers frozen and poised mid snap while his shoulders squared in anticipation.

“That’s— that’s him?” he asked foolishly as you entered through the open doorway, gently rocking the cooing baby swaddled loosely in your arms. “That’s my son?” The sudden surge of potent reality fractured his voice, and he hastened to cover his trembling lip with a bare hand.

“Mhmm,” you answered with a small nod. “Do— do you want to feed him?”

He held his hand in place over his mouth, wide eyes darting upwards to yours with a look of unadulterated trepidation. Your lips had barely parted to retract the offer, poised to reassure him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, when Kix’s pallid face nodded.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, taking the remaining few steps across the kitchen until you were nearly chest to chest. “Turns out the whole ‘parent’ thing comes pretty naturally. Just be very, very gentle, and make sure you cradle his hea—”

“Cradle his head,” Kix breathed, extending his arms towards you. “I know. I mean— I remember. I learned it so long ago, but…”

His sentiments waned to silence as you placed the baby in his arms and stepped away, hesitating for only a moment to see if the unnatural hold or foreign aroma might trigger a tantrum, but the boy remained placid and observant in his father’s arms, so you turned to pull a prepared bottle from the fridge.

As if instinctively, Kix’s broad shoulders began to sway gently from side to side, guided by the gentle shifts of his hips while soft shushes issued from his lips. It wasn’t until a sniffle met your ears did you realize that the gruff pirate had been utterly robbed of his composure by the innocent boy in his arms. You lingered as long as you could manage in the fridge, hands needlessly shifting items around the shelves in an effort to offer the pair a moment of privacy. Several softly spoken “Hi little man” ’s pulled a smile to your face as you finally closed the fridge and reached to retrieve the kettle from the stove, filling it with enough water to boil.

By the time you’d filled an oversized mug with hot water and placed the bottle inside to heat, he’d begun softly humming the tune of an unfamiliar song, gazing glassy-eyed into his arms.

“Never heard that one,” you mumbled through a smirk.

He turned as if surprised to see you, as if the rest of the world had simply vanished into nothingness once his baby had entered his embrace, and you were quick to raise your eyebrows at the unintentional fracture of his stupor. And then… he smiled. The first smile you’d seen adorn that handsome face in months, and you were instantly sure that way it robbed you of breath had cast a bashful look across your face nearly identical to his.

“It’s an old Mando’a tune,” he admitted, as the lingering embarrassment of being caught mid-vulnerability flushed what was available of his bruised cheeks. “I’m surprised I remember it, honestly.”

You nodded gently and reached for the bottle, upturning it and placing a small droplet of the liquid on your wrist to gauge the temperature. “So… what exactly was your plan then?” you asked as you wiped the milk from your skin.

Kix stopped humming and glanced back at you, the first signs of anxiety reemerging behind his eyes and robbing his features of the bliss they’d welcomed upon cradling the baby. “Well…” he started after a heavy swallow. “I was hoping I could come home and… and stay. If you’ll still have me?”

You sighed and placed the bottle back in the water, immediately dropping your gaze to your thumbnail so you could continue its absentminded destruction. You, truthfully, weren’t entirely convinced of his intentions. While you deemed large parts of his story to be genuine, and while you could not deny the plea in his eyes as he cradled your face with his hands and confessed his devotion, the sting of his past mistakes, regardless of his planned atonement, was an injury that you were confident may never fully heal. You loved him with your entire heart, this had never been in question, but how much could you trust him going forward, and how patient was he willing to be while you two rebuilt the previously precarious relationship?

“Well… we’d definitely have to start things slow because I already feel like I’m pouring from an empty cup,” you admitted shamefully. “But, pending you can communicate as well as you say you’re going to, I think I’d be okay with trying.”

“I’m good with slow,” he answered instantly, dark eyes alight with that familiar, ravishing twinkle. “I’ll sleep on the couch… and— and give you whatever space you need.”

You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip in an effort to withhold the smile attempting to dome your cheeks. “But unfortunately,” you admonished, feigning seriousness, “I no longer run this kriffing house, so… you’ll have to get Jesse’s permission too.”

You pursed your lips together as tightly as you could, funnelling every effort into suppressing the coy and exposing grin attempting to peel across your face as you waited for understanding to dawn on the love-struck pirate still swaying happily in the center of the room, yet he met your smile with nothing but a cocked brow and a grimace of confusion. “Ask Jesse,” you repeated, pointing toward the gurgling bundle in his arms.

You watched with glee as realization widened his eyes and parted his lips.

“Jesse.”

It was little more than a whisper, an exalted comprehension having nearly robbed him of his voice. Something near a strangled sob escaped his lips as he tipped his head backward and gazed listlessly at the ceiling, a pair of tears trailing from the corners of his eyes and leaking downward into that dark beard.

“Well,” you pressed, dabbing at your eyes with your sleeve. “Go on. Ask him.”

“What do you think, little man?” Kix choked to the infant, gently prodding at the wide nose that almost perfectly mirrored his own. “Want to hang out with me for life?”

A single, pudgy hand emerged from the depths of that soft knitted blanket, wrapping itself around the tip of Kix’s battle worn finger and clamping it tightly.

***

You woke with a gasp, the true horror of the situation immediately apparent through your narrowed and crusted eyelids. It was much too bright; there was simply too much sunlight pouring in from the window beside the bed for only a few hours to have passed since you put the baby in his crib and stumbled wearily across the hall into bed.

Wrenching the blankets off, you threw yourself to a standing position and dashed from the room, panic erupting in your chest as your bare feet trod frantically toward the nursery. Why was Jesse not screaming? He was surely starving, surely had a wet diaper, surely needed someone to hold him and gently pat the air that had accumulated in that tiny tummy?

But the crib was empty, the blanket you’d wrapped him in the previous night tossed haphazardly across the changing pad on the adjacent table. You sprinted from the room again and hurried down the hallway toward the living room, eyes narrowed against the near-painful onslaught of daylight beaming in through the open curtains. The couch was just as barren as the crib, Kix’s donated pillow and blanket folded neatly and perched on the sofa’s arm, the soldier nowhere to be found.

The unmistakable smell of freshly brewed caf met your nose as you stumbled into the kitchen, but the typically heavenly gurgling sound of the machine brewing a whole pot of that glorious dark liquid was smothered by the panic pounding in your ears.

“…he was that kinda guy, you know?…”

You froze in the threshold of the dining room.

“…he always knew what we needed to hear when things got really rough. He was a man of few words, but everything he said we took right to heart.”

Kix’s voice wafted in through the patio door; the shockingly warm fall breeze surging fresh air through your home and sending those white linen curtains dancing in the sunlight. You crossed the room and pressed your ear to the crack in the doorway, letting the breeze brush the hair from your shoulders.

“I know I’m biased, but I really think he was the best Captain in the whole GAR. I would have died for him. I would have died for any of th—”

The patio door squeaked in its track as you slid it open and stepped out onto the back deck, the interruption halting him mid sentence and stealing his attention immediately. But his surprise was nothing near yours. You stopped in your tracks, mouth falling open at the unexpected sight in front of you.

That surging panic and dread evaporated from your mind as Kix looked innocently at you, the lagging sweep of dark lashes over his eyes appeared in slow motion as you fought and failed to process his appearance. The beard was… gone, his smile exponentially more apparent now that it wasn’t utterly shrouded by an expanse of wiry black hair. His hair had been neatly cropped and pushed backward off his face, the clean cut of his hairline clear evidence that years without holding a trimmer had dulled none of his hidden barbering abilities.

“There’s mama,” he gasped quietly through a dazzling grin, shifting the baby in his arms to face you. “Give her one of those big gummy smiles so she isn’t mad that we let her sleep in.”

“Kix,” you whispered, still momentarily dumbfounded by the unexpected youthfulness imbued in all his features. “You— I’m not mad, but… but Jesse needs to eat every couple hours. You can’t just let me sleep through feeding—”

“I did it,” Kix answered with a shrug, thoughtlessly running a palm along his shaven chin.

“You did it?” you repeated, mouth falling open.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He started doing the hungry tongue thing just after you went to bed, so I heated up a bottle. Then again a few hours later. Maker, can this guy ever burp.”

“You… you did both feedings?” you whispered.

“Yup,” Kix chuckled, patting the seat of the identical chair next to his. “And he went right to sleep after both. Falls into food coma’s like his dad. Though, I’ve been lucky enough to never shit myself after.”

You exhaled the panic from your lungs and took a seat next to him, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting the impossibly warm autumn sun wash the tension from your features. It wasn’t until a calloused hand came to rest gently on your knee did you reaffix him with your attention.

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la…” he lamented, squeezing your leg. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I just wanted to let you get some sleep. I imagine you probably haven’t gotten much lately.”

“You can say that again,” you answered with a forced chuckle, lifting your hands to pull the dried bits of sleep from the corners of your eyes.

“You’ve done so much on your own…” Kix continued sadly, retrieving his hand from your leg to tenderly shift the blanket away from Jesse’s chin. “Well… you’ve done everything on your own. But that’s done now.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over at him, trying to keep the skepticism from your eyes.

“Go get yourself a caf, and then tell me if you’re ready,” he spoke, gesturing with a flick of the head back toward the kitchen while gently and rhythmically patting the baby’s bum and beginning to slowly rock his chair.

“If I’m ready?” you repeated, cocking an eyebrow and shifting your weight onto the armrest closest to him so you could watch Jesse fall back asleep. “For what?”

“To know everything.”

And the way his gaze bore into yours so deeply, had any ounce of skepticism pushed to the perimeter of your mind; the way his eyes glimmered with light as they wordlessly promised you the truth, promised that nothing would change in those fleeting seconds it would take you to pour yourself a caf.

“And if you change your mind?” you mumbled, refusing to avert your eyes from his.

“I won’t, Cyare. Those days are done. My mind isn’t changing. Go… and then I’ll tell you all about CT-6116. About Kamino… the clones… the war… my brothers… Jesse… Rex… Fives. All of them. Everything."

***

“Dadddd! Where’s Jesse?”

Kix snorted as he flicked the last of the soap suds off the tips of his fingers and dried them on the dish towel. “He’s in the orchard, picking apples with your mom,” he chuckled, placing the now cleaned and dried mug carefully on the mug tree. “Remember the fit you threw when you realized they left without you?”

“Ughhhh, no!” Rex grumbled at his fathers seemingly deliberate stupidity. “I meant uncle Jesse. Where is he?”

Kix hesitated, the smile slipping from his lips as his eyes unfocused into the depths of the sink. “You know where he is, buddy,” he answered, looking over his shoulder at his youngest. “He’s in the stars with Uncle Rex… with all of my brothers.”

“But why did they go up there?”

“Well…” Kix started slowly. “They had to go. The stars needed their help brightening the galaxy.”

“So then they was super smart?” his son asked, mouth gaping in awe.

“Definitely super smart,” Kix repeated with a grin. “And super brave, super loyal, super funny…”

“Do you ever miss ‘em?”

Kix paused again and sighed heavily, attempting to conceal the pain that furrowed his brow whenever his brothers were unexpectedly mentioned. “Everyday,” he nodded. “But I can see them at night when I look at the sky. The brightest stars are the ones powered by people we love.”

“So I could see ‘em too?!”

“Sure you can. You and I can climb up on the roof later and we’ll say hello. Jesse and ‘Soka can come too if they wan—.”

“No!” the little blonde boy argued instantly. “No, dad. Just you and me…”

“Okay,” Kix nodded with a smile. “Just you and me. But, Rex… you have to wear your coat this time or your mom will give us both timeouts. Deal?”

“Deal!” The little boy sprinted from the kitchen without another word, dashing out into the backyard where Soka was hanging by her legs from a tree. You appeared through the tree line just to the right, Jesse standing nearly as tall you were, shoulders carrying overflowing baskets of apples while you buffed one on your apron and laughed about something.

And another sigh stole from that aging pirates lips as he leaned forward onto the counter and watched you, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve such happiness.

.

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