#what if you were weighing a child??? they just couldn’t use it???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

m-robinavitch · 1 month ago

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strangers.

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Female!Reader/Slight Original Female Character (No names or y/n used but called Angel as a nickname) Summary: As you stare down the barrel of residency, stress, and anxiety, you decide that one last carefree night is what you needed. And a stranger in a bar is exactly what the doctor ordered. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), hook up culture, Soft!Dom Robby, overstimulation Crossposted to AO3

“You’re too pent up angel, we need to get you laid and fast- because I’m not going into our intern year with you practically foaming at the mouth.” Elbow digging into his ribs, you scoff. You’re fine. So it’s been 2 years since you’ve had sex? You can use your fingers, it’s worked since you were 15- it’ll work another few years. But lately it hasn’t been enough and the daunting stress of your impending residency years have you wanting to chew concrete.

“Frankie I’m fine-” you grumble, nursing your beer because if you drink any faster you’ll just get another. And another. And another and that’s not good because tomorrow is your first day and-

“What about him?” He cut you off- nodding not so secretly to the man on your left a few stools away. Um- no. He looked like Langdon- freshman year, frat boy status with his cap backwards that’s no doubt hiding a receding hairline. And the frat boy look would’ve worked if he didn’t look well past the appropriate age.

“Okay- picky, picky, um- him?” Nodding to the younger bartender, slicked back hair and probably weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. No. That was a child. You’re never letting Langdon set you up again- what’s he blind? You consider scheduling an eye exam for him when-

“Oh sure- definitely him.” Frank points his beer towards the other side of the bar with a smirk and sarcasm laced laugh. But- well? He did look handsome, tapping away at his phone with a beer in his hand. Dark hair- heavy, full looking beard, soft sad eyes you can see from here but you couldn’t tell the color yet- brown maybe. Broad shoulders, hoodie pushed up right under his elbows to show his strong forearms. Oh. Oh he might work actually. And Langdon can feel you perk up a bit- okay clearly you liked them older then. Well- if that’s what you wanted- fuck it he guesses. if you like it- he loves it.

“Him? I was joking- I mean, maybe the old man can lay it down who knows?” You roll your eyes but- you were honestly intrigued. He was handsome enough that you didn’t think he would be alone or- well single. And you’re studying his face and the way the beer or his phone look so small in his hands and his eyes meet you- quickly snapping up from his phone and locking onto yours. Fuck. Quickly you look away, moving your head even to make it all the more obvious. But he didn’t look away. He clocked you the moment you sauntered in the bar with the guy next to you. The way your dress swished around your thighs. The way you threw your head back laughing at something your boyfriend, must be your boyfriend because there’s no way you were single. He watched you take a sip of your beer, looking down at the bar still and slowly drag your eyes up to meet his again. Fuck he was still looking at you- dark eyes not leaving yours and it was slightly unsettling but so fucking thrilling. Okay- maybe this could work out in your favor.

“Oh- okay he likes what he sees then?” Frank mumbles around the rim of the bottle, nudging you with his knee a bit. I mean- you have to be confident. Right? Hell yeah he likes what he sees. He should right? You’re hot, smart, a fucking doctor in your prime. He should want you. No reason that he shouldn’t want you. Other than him being taken. Or gay. Or just uninterested in you as a whole but you’ll keep the confidence for now. “Go-“ Frank nudged you again. If he’s good for anything it’s going to be getting his best friend laid tonight. It’ll help his stress more than yours. You don’t go. Not yet. Fucking butterflies in your gut aren’t drowning with the alcohol. Dammit you don’t remember how to flirt. But you and him are playing eye tag across the bar now. Eyes meeting in a game of chicken- who will break contact first. It’s you. Always you. And maybe you’re not interested in him, he thinks. Maybe you’re being polite. But you’re just working up some more nerve because- ok fuck it. Fine. You’ll bite.

“Don’t wait up Frankie” patting his shoulder you hop off the stool in the most graceful way you can manage.

“Have fun,” he finishes the rest of your beer while throwing you some unsolicited remarks, “remember we have to be at the hospital at 8, call me if you need me, use protecti-“ but your annoyed look ceased his rambling. The man across the bar watched you, watched you fucking float over to him in your short dress like a damn sign from god telling him to enjoy himself for once. Nervously chewing at your lip and pulling at your fingers, looking anywhere but at him while you walk over. You could still turn back to Frank, or pass the gorgeous man sitting alone at the bar to act like you were going to the restroom but- no. No, you are getting laid tonight. One last hurrah of your ”carefree“ twenties because the remaining few years will be dedicated to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. You needed to relax. You fucking deserved this. And this is all before you talk to him- he hasn’t even told you his name yet and you’re nervous. At least let him agree to sex first.

“This seat taken?” God that sounded awful, so fucking cliche and awkward and you should just apologize and turn around but-

“Waiting for you actually” he smiles, grabbing the stool and pulling it out a bit for you. Okay. So far so good then? You settle into the seat and start to awkwardly scoot yourself closer to the counter but- his hand grabs one of the stool legs and pulls you closer to the counter, closer to him- your knees brushing against each other just barely to where you can register the rough fabric of his jeans on your bare knee. Oh. Oh he was strong and the way his arm flexed and- okay. Focus.

“Do you always drink with that look on your face?” You tilt your head, meaning it more playfully than it came out but- he did have this, sad look about him. Exhausted look behind his eyes and- you could relate really. These last almost two years have been hell.

“And what look would that be sweetheart?” Okay, he’s taken the bait then. Good. Flirt. Flirt fucking hard.

“Like you’re just daring someone to interrupt you.” You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears, maintaining eye contact but break it- just for a second to trail your eyes down to his lips that were framed with a thick dark beard, dusted in spots with grey.

“Maybe I am?” He sees your eyes, sees the way they watch him. How they darken when you speak and- maybe he can play along. It’s harmless. That’s what bars are for right?

“Might be off putting to some,” you shrug, reaching over to take a small handful of the shitty bar mixed nuts, just needing to occupy your hands, “but I do like a challenge.”

“Is that right? Someone as innocent looking as you?” Goading you, seeing if you’re all talk or- or if you’d actually want to come home with him. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t know how to pick girls up at the bar.

“You’d be surprised what some strangers are like after a few drinks. Let me buy you another and we can reevaluate?” Waving the bartender over you ask for another round of beers- not waiting for his answer because you play to win, and dammit this prize looked handsome. Older, definitely taller than you, broad shoulders and you squeeze your thighs together tight because you can just imagine his beard-

“I’ll take that challenge then” winking, he takes a long sip of his replenished beer after clinking it with yours. Maybe this was a success? Is it working?

“Good- I’m a girl that likes to win.” He tries to not stare, not look at the innocent way your lips wrap themselves around the rim of the bottle- swallowing the bitter taste and licking your fucking lips after you do. Fuck- was that on purpose?

“Then I guess we’re no longer strangers,” he turns, extending his hand out to yours, “Michael.” Oh. His hands were big, warm, calloused- heavy.

“Angel.” Your smile was sweet, fuck. You looked up at him beneath batting eyelashes and your hands were so soft, smaller in his. He has to force himself to take his hand from yours because he’d fucking hold it all night if you’d let him.

“Your boyfriend going to be okay with you chatting me up?” He nods over to Langdon who was awkwardly drumming his hands on the bar top- a poor attempt at making himself look busy while he stares you both down from the corner of his eye, just in case you need him to rescue you.

“Who? Him? Oh- definitely not my boyfriend. Roommate.” You didn’t have time to regale Michael with the saga of Frank and Angel, it was almost a decade long and many didn’t understand the bond you two shared. So- roommate was what Langdon has been demoted to tonight. He relaxes a bit, thanking god because he’s been in weird situations where couple ask if he’d join them and he’s too fucking old and tired for this poly shit- barely has time for monogamous relationships. You both fall into an easy conversation. He finds out you’re new in town, just moved a week ago for a new job. And you don’t exactly talk about residency right away. Some men find it intimidating if you mention being a doctor right away so- you just pretend you’re someone else tonight. Someone confident and who is used to picking up strangers in a bar. He’s charming. Charming and funny and he loves the way you’re laughing at his little sarcastic jokes and you’re witty and so fucking pretty. He thinks he can do this. He can be the guy that takes home the girl from the bar- at least once right? Jack is always telling him to have fun, to not be so uptight, to fucking go to therapy but until he does go- this will definitely suffice because you’re so close now, leg almost fucking thrown over his under the counter and he can smell the intoxicating aroma of your perfume and like a fucking siren-

“Wanna get out of here?” Low- so low he almost didn’t fucking hear it but- the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes and wet your lips with a dart of your tongue and- fuck yes he wants to get out of here. He smiles, nods and pushes back from the counter to step off the stool and holds out his hand for you to hold as you hop off your own stool. And you don’t pull your hand away- he doesn’t pull his hand away as he waves bye to the older bartender. He’s been coming here for years- bar that’s close to home that he can walk to, bartender who gives him free drinks because of the work he does. And you both just- walk. Walk down the street hand in hand like you’re not practically bouncing and itching to kiss him. The breeze is nice and the conversation is still so easy- he looks at you when you talk, asks questions and adds constructive comments while ducking his head to miss a few branches that you can easily walk under.

His house was nice, quiet neighborhood with a classic single family style look- a porch where he reads the paper, sipping coffee on his day off. And you feel nervous again. Butterflies swarming around in your belly and you have no more alcohol to drown them in because his hand is on your lower back, ushering you inside. It was quiet- simple. You can admire his style while you take off your shoes- from the old record player in the corner of the living room, the shelves of books along the walls where you can make out a title or two that you’ve been dying to read. You thumb through his books, running your fingers along the spines and he has his hands in his hoodie, watching you with desire creeping up in his gut. What were you doing here with him? You were so pretty and smart and funny and- he stops thinking because now you’re rounding his couch and settling into the plush fabric while holding your hand out to him. Okay. Okay he can do this. You can do this. He unzips his hoodie, laying it on the arm of the couch.

“Yes?” He asks smugly, coming to sit next to you on his couch. Taking your hand in his- he kisses your palm, beard tickling gently- then kisses up to your wrist. He can smell the dab of perfume that you sprayed as he kisses gently. Why was this so hot? Letting him kiss up your arm and you don’t realize you’re leaning closer with each kiss until you’re face to face now-

“Can I kiss you?” It comes out barely above a whisper- as if you’re still unsure if he wants this with you like he didn’t just kiss and lick up your arm a second ago. And he laughs- soft and lightheartedly because yes, yes you can fucking kiss him. He’d beg for your soft lips on his and he doesn’t have to wait much longer now as you’re surging forward- knocking into him and throwing yourself in his lap. Okay- maybe you were a little too eager and you’re about to apologize but his hands are in your hair now and- oh this is good. He kisses so eagerly and bites your lip with a tug when he pulls back to look at you and you’re both breathing hard now after just a fucking minute of kissing. Everything feels hot and too much and his hands are on your thighs now- dragging up to your hips from under your dress and he’s actually toying with the band of your underwear now, snapping it absentmindedly. You just- it’s hot and you’re needy and you have to take initiative so you’re pulling your dress up and over your head and he groans. One hand pulls the cup of your bra down and he trails light kisses down your neck, coming up to the swell of your breast and bites- sucking a soothing mark into the stinging feeling and your hands tug at his hair now.

“Let me taste you angel,” he begs, feeling how you grind into his lap- desperately, for some sort of relief. He mumbles against your chest rubbing his beard a little and grinning at the way you gasp at the sensation while he’s easily unclasping your bra with one hand and tossing it on the floor like it’s offended him. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer- grabs your ass to grind harder into him while sucking galaxies along your breasts. “Just- fuck let me use my mouth on you, please?” He’s fucking begging to eat you out? Is he actually? He is. He hasn’t fucked in so long and he knows you’ll taste amazing and if that’s all you want is to cum on his face and in his beard he’ll be happy but-

“I don’t- I’ve never really,” you try to find the words- try to think but the way you can feel him under the rough seam of his jeans has you mindless at the moment. “It’s not my favorite.” You weren’t lying- the few times you’ve had someone between your thighs you just, laid there. Waiting until they were done because it was weird and your clit actually was a few inches to the left and-

“No?” Michael forces himself to pull away from your chest, holding your hips still from grinding and you whine a little- “do you not- like it? If you absolutely don’t want to I understand but-“

“No- no, it’s not that I just-“ you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks now. You’re practically naked in his lap and you’re having this conversation and- “it just feels weird.” You shrug. It did feel weird. Most guy just mindlessly lick and miss your clit and you can easily just use your own fingers and-

“Can I try? Please baby?” God he was begging. Maybe- maybe it’ll be good? Wordlessly, you nod- sit back on the couch to let him kneel in front of you and fuck- it was a sight. On his knees, kissing up your ankle while he slides your underwear down. Okay. Okay, fuck- this was happening. Definitely happening now as he easily pulls you by your knees and slides them over his shoulders. You were mouthwatering. Absolutely appetizing. Wet and glistening in the moonlight for him- whispering for him to taste and he actually moans when he looks.

“Lemme take care of you.” He sighs, readying his tongue between your folds.

“Yeah- sure oka- shit!” You roll your eyes back with a scream, arching your back to where it’s not even touching the couch anymore and the only thing that’s keeping you from ascending to the fucking heavens is the way he has you caged to him. Both legs thrown over his shoulders, forearms around the tops of your thighs and keeping you still. So fucking still- but open for him because his shoulders are massive and wide and you’ll feel the stretch tomorrow for sure. But you can’t seem to care right now. You’ve been on edge for at least an hour now since you’ve met him and are unbearably wet. It would be embarrassing really. He’s licked a single stripe up your cunt and- fuck. His tongue is hot, wet, flat and slowly dragging up your cunt and his beard gives a fucking heavenly scratch against your thighs and- fuck. He’s staring at you. And starting from right below your entrance, trailing so devastatingly slow up to your clit- his eyes never closing or breaking contact. Once he reaches your clit- he swirls his tongue around it for good measure before closing his lips around it and sucks. Fuck. And he was fucking moaning- finally closing his eyes and enjoying the way you tasted and how one of your hands has taken hold in his hair now, pulling just a little. God he was fucking good and you know you’re about to cum soon and it’s going to be so fucking good. He wasn’t lying- it does feel good. You haven’t had sex in so long, hadn’t really even had much time to take care of yourself between prepping for tomorrow and moving and- fuck you were already feeling that swell of ecstasy.

“Good?” He mumbles, smirking against your wet lips and you want to slap his stupid fucking gorgeous face because you can hear the fucking sarcasm in his voice as he’s clearly trying to prove a point now. And you can only nod but- “say it- look at me and tell me how good you feel angel.” Fuck. He’s stopped- you can just feel the ends of his beard against you and you try to grind into it but he’s so much stronger than you are and his eyes are dark and beseeching you to tell him how good his tongue is. How good is fucking mouth feels against your throbbing pussy and-

“Fuck- fuck yes it’s so fucking good Michael please just- don’t stop please baby I need-“ you don’t get to finish your babbles and whimpers because his lips have wrapped themselves around your clit again and you’re melting into his damn couch now. Sinking into the fabric and the only movement you can make is pulling his hair and using the heels of your feet to pull him closer to you. He teases a finger inside, just one and tries to not moan at how tight it feels. Just testing the waters- then another. One more of his thick heavy fingers getting easily sucked into you and it was tight. You’ve had your own for so long but his already have you seeing stars behind your eyes and- he’s pulling them out. No. No no wait. And he laughs because he hears you groan- looking up and he’s replacing his hand back to keep you still and he drags his tongue back down again, swiping at your entrance and shoving it deep inside while one of his thumbs start slow circles around your clit. He was fucking good, knew exactly what he was doing. His other hand finds purchase on your chest- roughly tugging at your nipples and pinching. You’re going to cum, and you’re going to cum in his mouth, and it’s going to be amazing. His tongue- while still inside you is shoved up along your top wall and licks back and forth slowly while working the same pace with his thumb on your clit. Fuck. Your nerves are on fire. Your body contracts and arches into him more as you cry out from your orgasm. Fuck it was good. Slow and steady and creeping up along your body. You’re whining his name and he’s letting you roll your hips into his mouth to ride out the heat and waves.

He was watching you. The entire time. Eyes focused on how you’d bite your lip, throw your head back, use your other hand to grab your breast and you were fucking gorgeous. Fucking ethereal and unreal- cumming on his tongue and whimpering his name so sweetly. And when you finally open your eyes you’re giggling, the adrenaline pumping through your body and you’re pulling him up by his collar to kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue. God he needed you. He needed to bury himself inside you now because he was impossibly hard at the moment and wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand not knowing what you felt like.

“Good angel?” Like he didn’t already know the answer- but you’re still smiling and can barely nod before he stands- tugging you to sit up. “C’mon baby, up-“ easily, he grabs you from the couch and you cling to him- bare legs wrapping around his waist and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. “I need you so fucking bad sweetheart.” Grunting into the kiss you’ve dragged him into by a tug of his hair- he’s maneuvering through his living room and down the hall to his bedroom but you’re grinding into him now, desperately needing some friction even though he tongue fucked an orgasm out of you minutes ago. “Fuck-“ he stops, tripping almost over the feeling of your bare pussy over him- he’s pushing you against his doorway for a moment and the corner of the wood digging into your back but he takes just a second to compose himself and- “just wait, fuck- just wait until I’m inside you.” You’re not sure if that was a threat- or he’s telling himself to hold out from blowing his load all over his jeans before he’s hand a chance to fuck you into his mattress like he planned. maybe both. Definitely both.

You get placed on his bed- gently and you look up at him with anticipation in your eyes as your hands reach up to capture the hem of his shirt and drag it upwards while you rise to your knees to be eye level. He had never been shy really, he was painfully aware that he doesn’t have the same body he did when he was 20 but- the way your eyes hungrily took him in? He did feel a small pang of insecurity. You were at least 15 years younger than he was, could’ve went home with any one from that fucking bar but you’re here now- in his bed, pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans and dragging the zipper down almost torturously slow. And your eyes didn’t leave his. You smiled. You kissed him. You pulled his jeans down and fucking gasped. Oh. It was- well it was fucking bigger than you expected that’s for damn sure. Your mouth watered, and you feel young and inexperienced all over again because you’re tentatively touching him, just a slow drag of your index finger along the length and he shudders. He was hard- but it was so heavy and thick, his cock wasn’t even able to be held up, the sheer gravity of it kept him hanging deliciously low and you leaned down to take a swipe at it with your tongue, desperate for a taste- but he stopped you.

“No- don’t- I need you now-“ he rasped, forcing himself to tell you no, stroking your cheek and shoving you as gently as he could to lay back on his bed. “I can’t wait any longer sweetheart.” He wants nothing more than to fuck your mouth- have your pretty little eyes watering and looking up at him with your lips wrapped around his cock and drooling for more. But he’s even more desperate to be inside you. He’s tasted you- felt you clench around his tongue and if stuffing his cock in you is half as good as eating your pussy, then Michael needs to fuck you now. He’s crawling up the bed with you, kicking off his jeans and kissing your lips in a firm kiss, tongue licking into your mouth and swirling around yours as he grabs your thighs to come around his waist, feeling the blunt tip of him at your wet entrance. He settles above you- one of his hands holding your thighs open while the other comes to rest atop his headboard- swiping his cock along your folds to tease and collect at the juices that have dripped and finally- he pushes inside you.

“Oh- f-fuck-“ You don’t think you’ve ever gasped when someone stuck it in before. You’re sure of it. Because you would remember this feeling. You would have remembered it because of the way Michael’s feels. Splitting you open, pushing slowly through your tight walls. You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet and where you weren’t naturally wet with your own juices- his own mouth took care of that for you. The only resistance was his size- the tightness of your pussy contracting and working the sheer girth of him through. Fuck. Fuck it’s good. It hurts in the way that feels so fucking right. You feel rearranged, feel him not even fully sheathed within you and- god he still has more? It’s been so fucking long since you’ve had anything besides your own fingers inside you and his were already stretch to begin with earlier. It hurt so fucking good and you whine when he pushed deeper inside you- tensing your thighs around his waist and dragging your nails down his back.

“Almost angel, fuck- fuck almost I-“ God he was already losing what little sense of control he had. He hasn’t had sex in ages and you were so tight and wet and sounded so pretty underneath him and he’s trying to ride out every clench you give around him- but fuck it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard when you’re whining his name and he’s not even fully buried inside you yet. “You’re doing so good for me baby, so good. Almost. Little more ok?” He moans, dropping his head down to kiss your lips because you’re biting them, biting at your lower lip to keep composed because you already feel the waves of another orgasm crawling up your spine and dancing along every fucking nerve that wasn’t burnt from the last one.

It’s hot. Fucking searing. Your orgasm slams into you all at once. The first one was a crescendo of ecstasy that his tongue slowly pulled from your body and let you ride out with it. This? White hot pleasure- ripping into your soul. You feel it in your bones, rattling and shaking with each fucking wave. You make no noise, can’t even fucking breathe because you’re sure whatever neurons you have left have been fried by the way he felt. He wasn’t even fully seated in you, a little over halfway- shoved tightly inside your walls and your body just, gave in. Gave into the indulgent way his cock was inching its way inside you, rubbing up against that spot that your fingers can never quite reach- stroking along with nowhere else to go besides deeper. Of course you came that easily- there was nothing but delicious fucking friction from the way Michael was wedging himself between your legs and how the bit of hair at the top of his cock rubbed so mouthwateringly well against your clit. All you could do was let him keep pushing inside you, his hand coming down to grab one of your legs from around his waist so he can slide it over his shoulder and- fuck.

“Fuck- I feel you cumming angel,” you somehow got wetter, aiding so he can slide in just a bit more with the angle and he presses his forehead against yours now. Sharing panting breaths and hot whiny moans together- finally his hips were flush against yours. “You okay baby? Talk to me,” taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently and kissing the back of your hand before letting it rest above your head. He starts a slow pace, inching back out of you slowly and groaning into your mouth. He doesn’t want to cum yet, he wants this, no- needs this to last longer. And it’s hard when you’re squeezing around him and whimpering his name- your perfume is dancing around in his mind and he feels himself pulling tighter and higher. Fuck he’s about to cum. He’s using his headboard to steady himself- the knock of the wood thudding against the wall in a tantric rhythm, would almost have you embarrassed if he wasn’t fucking you so good.

“K-keep going baby- don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop Michael-” you beg him. The rub and heavy drag of him felt so good. Indulgent and sinful because there’s no way sex could be this intense and not be frowned upon by the heavens. He’s kissing and licking at your ankle now, the anklet that you had was scratching at his shoulder and a charm was reflecting the moonlight and he swears he sees fucking stars. One of your hands cards through his hair, then his beard, and you drag your nails down his chest, dancing along the hair that’s trailed from his belly button to his cock and you just let it rest there, stroking your thumb gently. Resting right above his cock only to dig your nails into his lower abdomen and rub your thumb along the marks and- he’s fucking cumming.

“Fuck! Fuck me- so fucking-“ he groans, hot and deep into your calve and bites down hard enough to leave a mark but- he doesn’t stop. No- Michael keeps fucking you, he goes soft for a beat, maybe two but immediately you feel him hardening up again and nudging up into you deeper and- he’s fucking his cum into you now. It’s wet and warm and he doesn’t know what happened to his refractory period but he thanks all the gods he can in this moment so he doesn’t have to leave your tight heat. But he does- he does stop to reluctantly pull out of you and ignores your whining with a chuckle and light slap to your thigh as he rolls you over to your front. Instinctively, you start to arch your back but-

“No- lay flat baby, legs together.” You feel his voice in your ear, tongue licking the shell of it and biting at your lobe while the metal of his chain is between your shoulder blades now. He pushes some of your hair off your shoulder so he can kiss your neck, down your spine a bit with his beard scratching along the way before licking back up from the base of your spine and you shudder, sighing because it’s so good. The anticipation of what he’s going to do next. One of his heavy hands is holding your hip steady now- while the other holds his cock to slide teasingly against your folds. Oh.

“Oh f-fuck me-“ you gasp- biting the meat of your palm from just the stretch alone. The angle has you grabbing at the sheets in front of you- needing something to cling to because between his fucking thick cock and the hand on your hip that’s all you feel from him. You want to open your legs a little more, you try but his legs have you stuck and you try to surge forward to escape the pleasure and-

“No- you can fucking take it,” he growls, a slap to your ass to drive the point home. Fuck. He’s so fucking hard again, fucked you through both your orgasms and immediately still ready to keep pounding into you. “Be a good fucking girl and take it sweetheart.” It’s not slow this time. It’s fucking brutal and you can hear the slap of his hips against your ass. This man- Michael- this fucking stranger has given you two orgasms already and another is quickly flickering in the bottom of your gut- his mind shattering pace is hard to take and you think you can ride it out until he reaches under you and grabs you by your throat to haul you up so your back is pushed into his chest. He doesn’t squeeze- no but his hand is still heavy and he can feel your pulse under his fingers like a good trained doctor. He’d be able to tell you your BP if you asked and if he had the wherewithal to stop his sufferingly brutal pace to do so. He has you on your knees, holding you up with one hand on your neck and the other hand that has captured your own is now trailing down past your stomach- lowering to your soaking cunt to force you to rub your own fucking clit with him.

Fuck it’s so good. The hand of yours that’s not caught between his heavy one and your soaked clit is reaching up to tug at his hair while you turn your head a bit so you can try to see him. You try to breathe evenly because it’s so hot and the air feels heavy now and you swear there are stars beginning to form in your mind as your eyes roll back into your head now. He drags his nose along your temple- the hand resting against your neck trailing a few inches up to hold your jaw and kiss you. Biting and pulling at your lower lip when you open your mouth and moan his name. So sweet. You sound so fucking pretty and wrecked by him. He hasn’t fucked this hard since med school- you’re intoxicating. Your body fucking sings for him- every touch he gives is met with a sigh, a moan, a while of his name. Your hips are rolling back to meet his now and he groans into the kiss- feeling you clench around him again as you tug roughly on his hair.

“Fuck- just like that angel,” Michael has you pulled tight against his chest- his necklace digging into your back, one arm around your chest, hand gripping your jaw so you can look at him and see exactly what he looks like as he’s wrecking you. The other arm is strong against your stomach, his hand making your fingers rubbing vicious tight circles around your clit. “Doing so- fuck- so good for me baby. Are you gonna cum again for me? Just one more?” And you can only nod, it’s not like you have a choice, really. Between the way his fingers and yours are working in tandem to play with your clit and the way his thick cock is spearing into you from behind- you’re lucky that you can breathe at this point.

“No, no-“ he stops his movements now, feeling your whine into his mouth and attempt to push your ass back into his hips. “I wanna hear you say it baby- tell me you wanna cum again.” Fuck, you’re trying to get the friction back- get the delicious drag of his heavy cock back but he’s shoved so deep inside your wet cunt that he’s not moving anywhere. And neither are you from the way he has you pinned to his front. Fuck.

“P-please Michael,” you whimper into his lips, trying to wiggle your hips just a little so that you can feel him rub against that spot inside your- or maybe get his fingertips to brush your clit but he has your hand forced between his and your body, still and twitching for movement but he’s so much stronger than you are. “Fuck- I need to cum. I need to cum again baby. Please. F-fuck please. Please. Please. Please-“ you’re babbling and he groans.

“God- asking so fucking pretty baby. You need it?” He’s going to be an asshole- make you beg for a third orgasm like some fucking greedy bitch and you nod. You nod and whine and because you know he likes to hear you say it now. You’re saying yes. Whining really but it’s all the same to him.

“Yes baby,” nodding like a woman drunk and starved and high all at the same time. “Please I’ll be so fucking good Michael just-” you choke out at the end, he’s easing out then shoving himself back inside you now. Fast. Fast and hard and you can fucking hear colors at this point. You feel him in your veins. You’ve been injected with pleasure and it’s so good. He’s spewing pure fucking filth in your ear now and the wet slapping sound of his hips and fingers against your clit drive the point home. Growling out how good you feel. How fucking wet you are. He’s trying so hard not to cum yet- he needs this to last because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another opportunity to fuck you someone like this again. It shatters through you. Like glass spidering around every weak point of your nerves. That drop. Like the drop of a roller coaster. It’s wet. It makes you soar and float off the planet for a second and you think you can see yourself from above. You cum with a loud scream of his name and he stops fucking your pussy for a moment, stops your rubbing of your clit and moans along with you now- feeling you clench and tighten around him.

“There it is, angel, you sound so pretty for me baby.” He lets you go. Lets you slump forward but he hasn’t pulled out of you yet and you can feel him throbbing inside you still. You’re tired. So fucking tired and he’s still hard. He leans over you now, kissing the back of your neck and when he pulls out- you gasp because he’s been inside you for so long but he’s turning you back over now. Grabbing the back of your knees and slotting himself between your thighs again and you whimper because you’re so sore. But he’s kissing you so softly now, running his hands over your body and whispering praises and- pushing the head of his cock back inside you fuck- fuck- fuck- fuck.

You just- lay there now. Accepting the pleasure of his fucking. Becoming a wave of orgasm and orgasm after fucking brutal, hot, wet orgasm. He’s buried his face into your neck- kissing and biting gently but still slowly keeping a steadfast pace. He adjusts you for himself. Pushing your thighs open or closed to suit his needs. Gripping your leg to place over his shoulders or around his waist to drive deeper into you if he wants. And you just- take it. You moan and sigh his name because that’s all you remember how to do. You’re sure you black out at some point because it’s so overwhelmingly good. He asks if you’re good- if you want him to stop and you beg him- no. No. Don’t fucking stop. Please don’t fucking stop because you’ve absolutely never been fucked like this before and you’re sure it’s some gift from the gods. And how can you deny such a gift? Between his hot tongue in your mouth, beard against your skin, cock inside your pussy- you don’t even remember your name. You just- you’re more him than you at this point.

“Fuck- are you cumming again?” He stills, feeling the familiar tightness of your pussy spasm and flutter around his cock as he nips at your jaw. “Oh- f-fuck yeah you are- you’re cumming again for me baby,” slowly, achingly slow he starts his pace again, angles his hips up and- fuck. Fuck you can’t think anymore. He’s caged you in, completely has you under his control in the best way possible. You can’t even move your hips in tandem with his- you’re stuck in this position and you have to just fucking take it. Your body is being accustomed to the slow debilitating orgasms that are coming, just one after another after another after a-fucking-nother. There’s no point in counting. No point in attempting to keep score because you’re losing. Winning? No- definitely losing because it’s devastating now. You’re accepting your fate. You feel raw. You feel heavy. You feel your mind blank because all you know at this point is pleasure that’s bordering on pain- and his name.

“M-Michael I- fuck I- I can’t-” Your thighs were sore, so fucking sore from being held open by his cock but not wide enough from the way his knees are on either side of your thighs. You were gonna feel him tomorrow. Fuck you were gonna feel him all week. Your legs hadn’t stopped shaking from your first orgasm and that was at least an hour ago.

“Can’t what baby?” God, his voice was so deep, raspy and graveled in your left ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth and groaning so deep you felt it in your gut and swim along your spine. “You can- fuck, you’re doing so good for me sweetheart.” He still doesn’t stop. His cock is inching through your tight walls with no real trajectory other than to wreck you- so fucking tortuously slow. You shake your head and turn- looking at the art he has along his wall, anything to distract you from the pleasure for a moment because your think you’re going to die by orgasm and-

“No, no you stay right here with me angel-“ his calloused hand grabs your jaw and forced you to look back into his eyes. “Look at me baby- I need you to look at me so I can see those pretty eyes while I wreck you okay?” You nod along with him- obediently accepting your directions and fate. The drag- the long and heavy drag of his thick cock through your wet cunt has you spiraling, circling the drain between pleasure and pain. It feels so fucking good- his thick warm thighs bracing your own as he rocks into you devastatingly slow. The way he’s consuming you, all you feel is Michael. He’s the breath in your lungs, the taste in your mouth. It’s the scent of his cologne in your nose, the burn of his beard along your neck and jaw, the feel of his elbows digging into your shoulders with every deep, slow, hard thrust while the chain he had one is no longer cold- it drags, back and forth in the valley of your breasts.

“Just- fuck, just one more for me? Okay baby?” his voice cracks a bit- he’s almost coming to a close. He ducks his head down and swirls his tongue around your nipple then licks a hot stripe up your neck, coming to stop at your jaw and gently nipping at the skin there again while his hand gently brushes some strands of your hair from your face. Fuck- you feel it. You feel another fucking orgasm clawing its way through your body. Fuck. You have hot, frustrated tears running down the side of your face. The pain is so good. And the only thing that stops your from transcending into the fucking astral realm is how he grabs your hand, gently from its position that was locked on his back and no doubt leaving angry red marks along his skin- grabs your hand and threads his fingers between yours and squeezes gently- and kisses your hand once more. Yeah. Yeah you’re fucking cumming again. It’s ripping its way throughout your body now, hot- hot violent waves erupting from within you. Michael moans against you, feeling you clench around him and he’s letting himself go now, content that you’re spent and whimpering bonelessly under him. “That’s it- good fucking girl.”

The tightening and shakes of your orgasm inspire one in him, he’s ready to fuck his cum into you again but he just needs to be a tiny bit deeper. Michael pants, tries to slow down so he can move you how he needs, sitting back slightly and grabs your leg to wrap around his waist and you whimper. Feeling just an inch more of his thick cock inside- you whine. He’s fucking you hard in contrast to the way he’s kissing you- pressing his sweaty forehead softly against yours and “so sweet baby- so fucking good for me angel, I’m gonna cum ok?” Nodding and slamming just a bit too hard- bordering on painful but fuck, it’s perfect. And that fucking headboard again- slamming against his wall in a heavy pace. Hard and rhythmic and starting to pick up speed just from the sheer force of how he was driving into you. The waves of your orgasm are riding out as he’s cumming finally. Hard. Hard- and a deep raspy groan is emitting from him while he continues fucking you through it, shoving the remnants of his resolve deeper with each sloppy broken few pumps of his hips.

You lay there- sated and weak and let him kiss along your face with praises whispered between. He hasn’t pulled out of you yet- he needs a moment to enjoy you like this. To remember what this feels like next time he’s spiraling in his own mind. You have just enough energy to kiss his palm when he cradles your face- swiping at a stray tear and asking if you’re okay. Yes. Yes you’re okay. You’ve been fucked into his mattress, split open and completely sated. You’ve never felt better. You just wanted sex before starting residency because who knows when you’ll have time and- yeah. Michael definitely gave you more than you asked for. More than you ever bargained for.

“Give me a second,” you whine into a kiss, “I don’t remember my name.” He’s chuckling- letting your hands lazily trail over his broad shoulders, card through his beard with a twirl or two of the hair around your finger, and you push his slightly sweaty hair back from where it had stuck against his forehead. He hasn’t stopped smiling. It was so- cute? Grown man with the softest brown eyes you had ever seen, smiling after sex and it made you smile too because yeah- it was fucking good. Finally- he pulls out of you with a bite of his lip and a soft sigh. Trying to commit the feeling to memory because he’s not sure if he’ll get to experience this again. It’s been a while since he’s had sex and he’s sure it’s never been like this. He would’ve remembered vividly it being this good.

“Hey, wake up sweetheart,” you don’t even remember closing your eyes- don’t remember how long he was gone but he helps you sit up and has a glass to your lips and- “here, drink.” It’s cold, icy and immediately soothes your throat. And while you take slow sips he holds a washcloth in front of you and- “can I?” And- you just nod. You’ve never had anyone offer to clean you before. Few have even tossed you a rag but- he’s gentle. He apologizes when you gasp at the contact because you’re sore and overstimulated but the washcloth was fucking warm. He gently cleans you and kisses your temple. Who was this man? You just- you watch in awe as he cleans the mess he made of you and takes the glass from your hand to set on his night stand.

“Um, I- I should go.“ you stutter out. You should- right? You’ve clearly overstayed your welcome from what’s acceptable after mind altering sex. But he just nods.

“You don’t have to.” He doesn’t trust himself to not beg you to stay. He just- he wants more time with you. He just met you hours ago and he’s not ready to give you up yet. “You can stay- if you want. Only if you want. Offer stands.” He smiles, trying to not seem nervous because he genuinely never has done this before. He’s never taken a girl home from the bar. He’s only had sex with women he’s been in relationships with. But you just- he was fucking drawn to you since he landed eyes on you. When you tipped your head back laughing at whatever your roommate had said- he was struck. The way your eyes would dart over to him and then quickly back when he’d make eye contact. It was cute- how you bit your lip and tried to ignore him until you pat your roommate on the back and practically floated over to him. He knew he was a goner then.

“Okay,” you bit your lip and nodded- “yeah- I’ll stay.” You smiled. Leaning in to kiss him and he’s offering you something to sleep in- one of his shirts or some boxers but you shake your head and smile wickedly at him as you slither back up his bed and in between his sheet, grabbing his hand to pull him with you. No. No clothes necessary tonight.

It was his lips you woke up to, dragging along your neck with his beard in tow. You were sore and tired but it was hard to argue with the way your body opened up so easily for him. His hand splayed across your chest, not rough- just warm and resting along your skin while his lips mindlessly kissed your neck and jaw.

“Good morning,” he rasps, feeling you stir against him. He woke up maybe 15 minutes ago, your legs tangled up with his longer ones. He took a moment for himself, a moment to enjoy the feeling of someone in his bed again- no matter how fleeting it would be. You would be gone soon. And he can’t- he can’t delude himself into believing he’s ready for a relationship right now. It been a while since Janey. He’s been focused with work and things have settled down, albeit slightly, pandemic wise. And you were so- young? Clearly a woman and old enough to drink but- you two did get to talking to be fair. He wasn’t drawn to you in a way that felt deeper than physically. And maybe that was his own clouded judgment but he wanted to get to know you. He wanted to see you again. But he wouldn’t say anything- not unless you did. He wasn’t ready to get rejected or shatter a perfectly harmless fantasy. But he couldn’t help tasting your skin one more time- seeing the erupting marks along your chest and smiling to himself a bit.

“Good morning-“ you mumble, sighing into the way his lips felt along your raw skin. How was he so gentle? How could he rearrange your insides last night and place feather like kisses along your jaw now? Turning- you face him, throwing your arms around his neck and tilting yourself up to capture his lips.

“I have to go-” you’re not really trying to leave the comfort of his warm bed- sighing into his mouth as he’s pulling you into his chest. “I’m gonna be late for work- it’s my first day.” mumbling against his lips, moaning at the feeling of his hands dragging down to your ass so he can grind you into him. Fuck. No. You know you’ll never be able to leave if you stay now- feeling his heavy cock start to stir against your thigh.

“Don’t go baby,” He was going to be late too, he had a fresh crop of interns to see to, so he absolutely had to be there today but- “stay here with me.” Fuck- why was it so hard to let you go? It was one night. Stranger at a bar, something he’d never allow himself to do and he was struck. He’s grabbing your ass to grind into him harder- smiling at the way you gasp into his mouth when the tip of him catches your clit. You can hear a phone vibrating on his nightstand- probably yours, most likely Langdon calling you and wondering where the fuck you were. He did call, 3 times and texted. He had your location and you were still alive at least. He was going to have to pick you up and haul ass to the hospital.

[Frankie]: 20 minutes away

[Frankie]: Be ready

[Frankie]: Or I’m leaving your ass.

[Frankie]: Got your stuff tho

You groan, exasperated because you have to untangle yourself from Michael to walk to the living room for your clothes but you feel his strong, heavy arms circling around your waist as he’s coming up behind you to kiss your neck. God why was it hard to leave him? He was so funny, charming and- no. No, you just needed sex to get through your first day- one night stand. Someone you’ll definitely never see again because you’re starting residency and can’t afford to be distracted now. But- he was so fucking handsome.

“I really,” you pause to kiss him, “really,” another kiss, “mm, really need to go.” A moan, kissing his swollen lips again but running a hand through his beard to hold him into the “last” kiss. You make it to the living room and sit on the couch to tug your underwear on, well- trying to, anyway, because he’s grabbing at it and pulling you back into his lips and your back hits the couch. He just- he needs to get it out of his system. One last kiss. Maybe a mark that he nibbles into the top of your breast. That’s it. And as you’re pulling on the rest of your clothes he’s going back to his room to find his boxers and walk you out the door but-

“Just one more kiss-” you whine, pulling him hard and crashing your lips into his. You spend another 15 minutes trying to leave. Every time more clothes come on, one of you pulls the other back for ‘just one more kiss’.

You’re on his couch, pressing him into the arm rest now that your shoes are finally on- locking your lips against his.

He’s pushing you against his kitchen counter now as you’re reaching for your purse, hands coming on either side of you so he can cage you in and claim your lips once more.

You grabbed handfuls of his Steelers shirt at his chest, forcing him against his front door now while you try to savor the possibility of a last kiss.

He would walk you to the car- but he’s so fucking hard again that there would be no hiding it from his neighbors or your roommate in broad daylight. So he claims the official last kiss, cradling your face in his large hands and- this one was gentle. Not hungry. Not desperate. Gentle like- like it would be happening again. But you’re not delusional. It’s won’t happen again. You didn’t get his number, he didn’t ask for yours. You’re definitely never going to that bar again because this was a one time thing you allowed yourself to have. You need to be focused. Focused now because you’re gonna be so fucking late and it’s your first day and you got hardly any sleep and Frank is fucking honking-

“Hurry the fuck up- I have your shoes, clothes, and stethoscope along with a nice cold Red Bull.” Fuck he was the best. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you have a Frank Langdon in your life who can read your mind. “So did the old man lay it down good or?” You take the thought back immediately, jumping in the back seat to change into fresh clothes as you tell him to drive and not break any traffic laws to get to the hospital now. You’re running through the hospital- Langdon a few paces ahead because of his stupidly long legs and you’re chugging the rest of your Red Bull while running the ER nurses station to sign in and let them know you’re both here for your internship.

“Barely made it.” A voice interrupts as you both are shuffling through the doors to who you assume is the Dr. Abbott the nurse mentioned- arms crossed and pointing to the locker room for you both to await further instructions. A few other interns are already inside and what you assume are some residents prepping for their shift.

“ER?” One asks, throwing her hair in a bun while you shove what you can in an empty locker next to the one Frank picked out.

“Yeah,” you nodded- offering your hand to her with your name and introducing your other half to her as well. “You?”

“Surgery, Garcia.” You wanted to ask more but Dr. Abbott is calling everyone outside the locker room for a briefing. God, why were you nervous? You’ve never been nervous- well about work or academics anyway. But your stomach won’t stop fluttering and you’re trying to pay attention to Dr. Abbott but something is gnawing at your gut. Langdon can feel your anxiety, can feel your antsy movements and see the way you’re chewing at your bottom lip And pulling at your fingers so he grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze- making you look at him to see his wink. A silent “it’ll be ok angel.” Like he always says.

“Okay kids, the rest of this little introduction into your internship will be handled by Dr. Robby.” You don’t hear anything more- blood is rushing through your ears, mouth has gone dry, palms fucking sweating. Fuck. No? Fuck. There he was- Michael, in all his fucking 6’2, bearded, sad soft brown eyes, wide linebacker shoulders glory. As if on cue, your pussy clenched involuntarily- thighs started to ache from being held open by him for so long last night, scattered bruises across your chest started to sting. Every kiss and touch he laid on your body flared up like they knew their owner was near- like your body was calling out to his. As if your body picked up on the fact that he was near like some fucking homing signal for orgasms. And Michael, well- Dr. Robby actually, he’s as cool as a cucumber on the outside. Laying down some information and guidelines while trying to not stare at you. He doesn’t remember anyone named Angel on his list of interns. Did you lie? Of course you did- you just wanted sex and to be fair no one really calls him Michael so he can’t blame you.

And next to you? Well Langdon is practically vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t been this happy since his med school acceptance. He’s trying to contain his joy while his eyes bounce back between you and your new boss. You’re speed running through all five stages of grief and he’s never been happier because that is definitely the old man you went home with last night. He’s excited for your debriefing and inevitable crash out session at home later because you have a 12 hour shift ahead of you both and you cannot spiral. Not now. Not yet anyway.

#the pitt #the pitt fic #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch #robby robinavitch #dr. robby #robby x reader #dr robby x reader #robby robinavitch x reader #robby robinavitch x you #michael robby robinavitch x you #my random typings #sad boy Robinavitch #Robby Robinavitch fic

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angel-writes-skz-here · 1 month ago

Text

Happenstance

Bang Chan x Reader ft. Seungmin Synopsis: Chan freaks when you tell him your pregnant, Seungmin sweeps in to pick up the pieces. What happens when you and Chan meet up six years later? Warnings: ANGST, not a lot of fluff, talk of an abortion, i think that's it. A/N: There will be second part to this fic! I apologize if Seungmin seems OOC, I've never written for him before so if i got something wrong, please kindly let me know. Comment if you want to be added to my taglist. @channieehrtz I hope this is close to what you wanted! Requests are OPEN

You held the test in your hands, your heart raced against your ribs. A small little plus sign just changed your life forever.

Pregnant.

You couldn’t believe it. You and Chan had been so careful and safe using condoms and even birth control. You took a deep breath, your body shaking as the realization settles into your being.

How would you tell Chan- could you tell him? Would he even want to know? The two of you never really discussed kids at length, here and there they were mentioned. How, someday, in the distant future having little ones would be fun. Well someday is now today- or about nine months from now.

You could take care of the issue, no problem. Schedule an abortion and leave it at that. Nothing had to change. But while calling the office to get the procedure scheduled, it just felt wrong. So you hung up mid-sentence with the woman and sighed into your hands. Fear flooded your body, Chris wasn’t going to be happy.

The night he came in, stress from the day weighing him down, dread and despair filled ever fiber of your being.

“Hey, baby how was your day?”

Baby

“Long,” he sighs as he presses a kiss to your temple. You close your eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of his lips on your skin, the warmth from his body that envelopes you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you find your arms around his neck hugging him for dear life. Silent tears run down your cheeks as Chan processes the moment.

“Woah,” he says as his large hands splay over your back.

“What’s going on?” You sink into his embrace, the warmth, the familiarity. You shakily pull back, heart hammering in your chest.

“I’m pregnant,” it comes out as a whisper. Chan doesn’t say anything, his eyes grow slightly wide but he doesn’t utter a single word. He stares at you, his eyes and face both unreadable. His gaze in intense despite the unknowing emotion.

“Say something,” you urge him.

“How?” his voice is weak and cracks, “I thought you were on the pill.”

“I am, I- I don’t know how it happened, we were careful,” you stutter, anxiety picking at your insides.

“Well, are you going to get rid of it?” He asks, his voice holding the tone of complete impatience.

“I thought about it, but Chris I- I can’t,” you instinctively hold your arms over you stomach as you think about the loss of the life currently residing in your womb.

“Y/n, we can’t raise a kid. My career is way too taxing, I’d never see it, you’re not in the best place to have a kid,” he goes on but you stop him, a tinge of defense rising up within you.

“Chris, don’t tell me what I am or am not ready for.” You hold up a hand to stop him, “I’m not a child.”

Chris sighs at your words.

“I know, but I just don’t think it’s the best idea,” he tries to bring you close but the air between you has shifted.

“You don’t want this,” you scoff to yourself as your gaze falls to the floor. You knew he wouldn't be excited, but you didn't think things would shift so quickly, the air feeling like it's the beginning of the end.

“No, I don’t. And if you plan on keeping it, I can’t stay.” Your head snaps at attention.

“You’d leave me?”

“I don’t have a choice. I can’t have a kid, I’m not ready and the timing couldn’t be worse.” He sighs dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh my god,” tears brim your eyes.

“Y/n,” he tries to reach for you again. You step back. The both of you stare at each other silently; a silent decision hanging in the balance.

Chan sighs, the tension thick as smog.

“Ok,” he breathes and purses his lips nodding his head, he can’t meet your eyes. Your mouth hangs open slightly at the choice you know he’s made. Your face falls as he begins to speak again.

“I’ll be out of here by tomorrow.” He walks off to the bedroom and your left in the kitchen speechless.

Alone.

It’s been six years since Chan left, your daughter is happy, healthy, and she knew about Chan. You never hid who he was, never spoke ill of him, but she started asking more and more questions.

You walk into your apartment one night, Seungmin sitting with her on the couch. Neither of them hears you come in, and you hear her asking him a question.

“Why don’t I get to see my Appa?” Seungmin’s heart squeezes in his chest. Her little voice so sorrowful and confused. Seungmin sighs as he truly doesn’t know how to answer the little girl’s question.

“Hey you two,” you smile at your fiancée. He breathes a small sigh of relief as the little girl, once in his arms, is now pushing away from him to run to you. You bend down to her and her arms wrap around your neck.

“Hey, Mi Cha,” you squeeze her little body as she holds onto you. You stand up giving Seungmin a chaste kiss.

“Eomma,” she whines making both of you giggle.

“Come on, let’s grab dinner.” You take her hand as the three of you head out.

The three of you are sitting in a booth having a lovely dinner. Seungmin makes you laugh, and as your in the middle of it, your eyes flit to the door and your smile instantly falls and your breath hitches.

“Y/n?” he asks taking your hand. You feel it, but it doesn’t register in your brain. All that registers is Christopher. You knew the day would come, you just weren’t exactly sure how or when. Your heart begins to beat wildly as your bones turn to Jello. You hadn’t seen him since the day he left. He never called, he never texted you, he never even knew she had been born. Not that you purposefully tried to hide it from him, but it wasn’t something you were dying to tell him either. He made it very clear the day he left; he didn’t care.

Chan’s walking with two men you recognize, Han and Felix, two of his best friends. Two of Seungmin’s best friends. When the split happened, you and Seungmin were all ready close. He vowed to stay by your side, help you with doctors appointments, cooking and cleaning, anything you needed while pregnant, and as life tends to go, the two of you fell for each other and once Mi Cha was born, emotions only grew stronger.

The waitress starts walking your way and you inhale a shaky breath, a protective hand going around your daughter’s shoulders.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice you, maybe somehow, you’d be invisible to him.

Wrong.

Chan’s eyes meet yours as he follows the woman. He briefly stops in his tracks, his eyes landing on the sweet six-year-old by your side. He flits his eyes back to you before looking forward and following the woman in front of him.

Not behind us, don’t sit them behind us. Anywhere but there. You think to yourself.

“Here’s your table, I’ll be right back to take your drink order.” You hear the waitress say as she sets the menu’s down on the table right behind you. You shut your eyes and groan quietly. You feel it, the awkward tension. Does he? He has to, right? I mean he just seen his one and only daughter for the first time in six years and it’s not like he didn’t recognize you.

You look over to Seungmin who seen exactly what you did. His old friend, the father of your child, sitting in the booth behind you. He knew how broken up you were when Chan left. Seungmin wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive him for leaving you, for leaving the girl he’d come to call daughter.

“We can leave, right now. Go somewhere else, go home,” he offers quickly but you shake your head.

“No, Mi Cha wanted to eat here, let’s just enjoy our meal.” You sigh as you take another bite of food.

“Ok, but if you change your mind, just say the word.” He says and you nod.

“Thank you,” you smile. A little further into the meal, Mi Cha stands up in the booth, looking over the back of the seat.

Chan takes a bite of his food when he meets a pair of identical brown eyes. He stops mid chew and stares at the little girl, his heart aching in his chest. He knows exactly who she is.

“Channie hyung?” Han asks before following his brother’s gaze. Han’s eyes widen and Felix is the next to see her. The table goes silent for a moment. Mi Cha smiles at him sweetly, giving him a little wave of her hand.

“I’m Mi Cha,” she introduces herself. Chan’s heart flutters at the sound of her voice. Such a fitting name for his little girl. The guys look back to Chan who offers her a small smile.

He notices she has his dimples, his eye color, and chin. But your nose, eye shape and forehead. A perfect combination between the two of you.

Your heart races as you hear your little girl tell her name to the table behind you and you and Seungmin share a quick worried glance.

“Mi, sit down. That’s rude,” you tug on her dress. She looks down at you, and defiantly, hops down from the booth before you can stop her. She brings her stuffie along with her walking over to Chris.

“This is Ducha,” she says proudly as she shows Chris the stuffed dog. You slide out of the booth, ready to grab her by the arm when you see Chris take the toy from your child.

“How old is she?” He asks, his attention on her even though he can feel you staring holes into his body.

“She’s three. Eomma got her for me when I was little.” She looks back at you, Chan follows her gaze. His eyes rake over your frame, taking in the subtle highlights of your hair, the way your style had changed, and your body. Your body was just as beautiful as it was before Mi Cha, even if it did change. He offers you a smile, and you purse your lips back at him with a subtle nod.

“This is her,” she pulls you to him.

“Hey,” he says before giving your child back her stuffed animal.

“Hi,” you say and nod to Felix and Han who are looking between you like it’s the best rom com they’ve ever seen.

“Sorry to bother you, she got up before I could grab her.” You say as you start to pull her away.

“No, Eomma I was making a friend." She whines and looks back at Chris heartbroken. Chris feels a certain dominance rise up in him and he can’t let it go.

“Chan,” Felix asks as he watches his friend wipe his mouth before sliding out of the booth.

“Well, we can’t be friends if I don’t tell you my name,” he says as he bends down in front of your now seated daughter. Seungmin’s eyes are glued to Chan, and Chan’s eyes flit to you, a small smirk displaying on his lips.

“I’m Christopher.” He bows his head and your daughter giggles.

“That’s my appa’s name, but I don’t know him.” She says before picking up her fork and taking a bite. Your brows furrow with your eyes shut as Chan’s eyes flit to you.

You shake your head no and he stands up straight, giving you a look of “you should have told me” before he sits back down. Seungmin looks at you, pointedly knowing what’s coming.

“He’s gone this long,” he whispers so your daughter won’t hear.

“I know,” you respond back to him. The three of you finish your meal, the looming presence of Chan still tangible. You’re all getting up from the table when Mi Cha says she needs to use the bathroom. You look at Seungmin who offers to go grab the car for you.

“Thank you.” You tell him with a sweet kiss, one Chan doesn’t miss. You walk past his table taking your daughter to the bathroom. Once she’s finished you walk back out with her, Chan’s no longer at his table, neither are his friends.

You feel a little lighter knowing he’s gone. You expect to see the car waiting for you not far from the door, but instead it’s not there.

You glance around the parking lot only to find Seungmin talking to Chan. Your heart jumps into your throat as you quickly make your way over.

“You didn’t even care about her,” Seungmin says within ear shot of the two of you. They both hear your footsteps and look over at you.

“Let’s go,” Seungmin says as politely as he can. You put Mi Cha in the car, Chan watches helplessly as his daughter waves at him. Your eyes meet as you shut her door, Seungmin watches from the driver’s side.

“Can we talk?” Chan asks blocking your car door.

“I need to get home, Mi Cha has school tomorrow,” you try to politely decline but he won’t budge.

“Just a few minutes, I’ll drive you home if I need to.” He offers, his eyes pleading. You glance at Seungmin who raises his brows at you in surprise that you’re entertaining him.

“I’ll only be a minute,” you tell him. You chew on your bottom lip as you follow him up to the patio of the restaurant.

“What,” you ask with your arms folded across your chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You made it very clear how you felt about her.” You say simply. You get a good look at Chan, he’s bulked up since you were together, matured in many ways.

“Y/n, I know I screwed up but I had a right to know.” He tries to argue, anger rises up in your veins.

“And I had a right to not be alone during the scariest thing in my life!” Chan purses his lips.

“If I recall correctly, you weren’t.” he mumbles.

“Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, “Don’t be mad that he was the man you couldn’t be.”

Chan nods, “You’re right, he was. Y/n I was scared- petrified, when you told me you were pregnant. I know it’s no excuse, but it’s the truth. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to be a dad, I didn’t know how to be the man you needed.”

“So you chose to abandon me instead, cool.” You nod with pursed lips.

“I know it was wrong and I’m sorry, but I’ve really missed you and, and now I’ve met her. Y/n she’s amazing. Definitely not shy around strangers,” he chuckles to himself and you nod.

“Actually, she doesn’t do that very often.” You admit quietly.

“She’s not one to normally go up to people.” Chan smiles to himself.

“I miss you,” he says stepping closer to you, his right hand finding your hip. Your heart beat slams in your chest at the proximity.

“Chan,”

“Take me back, please. I’ll do right by you this time. I’ll stick around, I’ll help, I’ll learn or do whatever it takes.” He whispers, his face inches from yours.

"Just one more chance," he breathes. You go to open your mouth but he continues.

“Please, y/n, these last six years, they’ve been hell without you.”

“Chan, I’m engaged,” you show him the ring he silently noticed earlier in the evening.

“I don’t care, I want you. I want Mi Cha, I want us to be a family.”

“What about what I want? Hmm? Did it cross your mind that I don’t want you? That I don’t want you around my daughter since you could so easily leave her before she was even born?” Hurt and anger rise up in your chest, tears threatening to spill over.

“I’m getting married in six months, Chan. Seungmin loves me, he’s been there, he’s been a father to my daughter her whole life. You didn’t reach out once.” You push him back adrenaline kicking in to the point you feel shaky, but you keep your composure.

You turn on your heel to leave him standing there.

“At least let me be apart of her life,” he pleads. You freeze in your spot, you don’t turn around to face him, your profile appears over your shoulder.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“She’s my daughter,” he says defensively.

“Which is why you should understand my hesitation. I don’t want you showing up for a year and leaving because you get mad, scared or whatever else. I will not let you put her through the hell you put me through.”

Tags: @breakmeoff @krishastumblernow

Part 2- Parks & Recreation

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callsigns-haze · 2 months ago

Text

Maybe us one day

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Xaden's life has changed completely. Ever since he became King of Tyrrendor, your lover, overcame venin, his life has been perfect. Hs squad now grows, in many ways, and the old Xaden Riorson would have not suspected this to be his faith.

Word count: 13.4k

This contains mature themes: mentions of giving birth, kidnapping, blood, war I don't think there is any spoiler in fairness, it's just what I'd love the ending to be.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint chirping of birds outside, signalling the early morning. The cool, pale light of dawn filtered through the wide windows, casting long shadows across the polished countertops. You stood at the sink, the knife in your hand sliding through the stems of wildflowers with practiced ease. Each snip was soft but definitive, the rhythmic sound blending with the gentle hum of the world waking around you.

The bouquet you were arranging was far from perfect—wildflowers rarely behaved the way delicate garden blooms did—but you didn’t care. You needed this. The act of creating something with your hands, something beautiful in a world that had seen so much ruin, felt grounding. Cathartic, even. The vase stood waiting on the counter, half-filled with water, droplets clinging to the glass like dewdrops.

The house was still. Xaden was likely still asleep upstairs, his chest rising and falling in the deep, unguarded rhythm you’d come to recognize as his only true form of rest. His responsibilities as King of Tyrrendor weighed heavily on him, even in the year since the revolution had ended. Peace had not come easily—it had demanded sacrifices, including pieces of himself he’d never truly reclaim. But now, Tyrrendor had something it hadn’t had in generations: hope.

You ran your thumb over the stem of one of the flowers, feeling the ridges and imperfections under your skin. Three days ago, Violet had given birth to her son, Alic. The name had startled you at first, dredging up memories you thought you’d buried. Aaric’s brother. The man who had challenged Garrick Tavis during Threshing, who had tried to take his dragon and paid the ultimate price.

And now, there was a child carrying his name. A child Violet and Aaric had brought into a world that was finally safe enough for him to grow up in. You weren’t sure how Xaden truly felt about it; he’d mentioned Alic’s name only once in passing before falling silent, a shadow crossing his expression that you hadn’t dared to press. You’d learned, over the years, to wait for him to bring things to you when he was ready. And he always did. Eventually.

Chaire’s presence unfurled in your mind like smoke curling through a quiet room. Why are you awake, Lumiere? The sun has barely kissed the horizon, and you’re playing florist?

His voice was a rich, rumbling thing, laced with dry amusement. You smiled despite yourself, pausing to brush an errant strand of hair from your face. I couldn’t sleep.

Hmm. There was a deliberate pause, his amusement shifting into something sharper, more knowing. Or perhaps you couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d say to Violet when you see her next.

You rolled your eyes, though you knew he couldn’t see it. I’m not thinking about that.

Liar. The word was a purr, low and teasing, but not unkind. Your thoughts have been circling like vultures for days. You humans have such a peculiar attachment to guilt. Alic is long dead, and his name is just that—a name. Yet you brood as if his ghost is perched on your shoulder.

I’m not brooding, Chaire. But the truth of his words pricked at you, and you sighed, setting the knife down. It’s just... complicated.

It always is. His tone softened, the bond between you humming with warmth. But it’s done, little one. The past cannot be rewritten, and Violet’s choices are her own. They do not diminish you, nor do they tarnish what you have now.

You leaned against the counter, the cool marble pressing into your palms. The bouquet was almost finished, the wildflowers forming a chaotic but oddly beautiful arrangement. You’d placed the brightest blooms at the centre, surrounded by smaller, softer ones. It felt symbolic in a way, though you couldn’t quite articulate why.

Chaire’s presence lingered, a steady, comforting weight in the back of your mind. You should wake him, he said after a moment. Your mate will sulk if he finds out you were up before him and didn’t say anything.

A small laugh escaped you. He doesn’t sulk.

Oh, he sulks, Chaire countered, his amusement returning. And you let him get away with it, which only makes it worse.

You shook your head, pushing off the counter and reaching for the vase. The bouquet fit perfectly, the wildflowers spreading like a burst of sunlight. It was messy, imperfect—but it was yours. Just like the life you and Xaden had built here, in the fragile peace of a world no longer at war.

As you turned toward the stairs, ready to wake him, Chaire’s voice curled through your mind one last time, soft and uncharacteristically tender. You are enough, little one. For him, for this world—for yourself. Don’t forget that.

You reached for the rose, its deep crimson petals unfurling like velvet against the pale morning light. It was stunning, the kind of flower that demanded attention, even among the wildflowers you’d gathered. But as your fingers brushed the stem, a sharp sting blossomed at the tip of your index finger.

You hissed softly, pulling your hand back and glancing at the small bead of blood that had welled up. Without thinking, you brought your finger to your lips, the coppery tang of your blood meeting your tongue. The sting faded quickly, but you didn’t stop to linger on it. The bouquet wasn’t finished yet, and the vase demanded your full attention.

The roses had to go in next, carefully arranged among the wildflowers to create a contrast between elegance and chaos. You leaned in, frowning slightly as you adjusted the angle of one bloom, tucking it just beneath a spray of lavender. The quiet world around you faded as you focused, completely absorbed in the task at hand.

It wasn’t until a familiar, silky sensation wrapped around your waist that you realized you were no longer alone.

The shadows came first, coiling around you like a lover’s embrace. They were warm, alive with the faint hum of Xaden’s magic, and they tugged gently, pulling you back a step before you could react. A startled laugh escaped your lips as you straightened, the bouquet momentarily forgotten in your hands.

And then you felt him—solid, warm, and undeniably Xaden—press against your back. His arms circled you, drawing you flush against his bare chest. The scent of him enveloped you, a mix of cedar and something darker, uniquely him. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, his posture as relaxed as his hold on you was firm.

“Up before dawn and playing with flowers,” Xaden murmured, his voice low and rough from sleep. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Should I be worried?”

You twisted slightly in his arms, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His hair was a tousled mess, dark strands sticking out in every direction as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Which, judging by the lazy smirk on his lips and the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, he probably had. He was shirtless, his skin still warm from sleep, and the soft gray sweatpants slung low on his hips left little to the imagination.

“You’re awake,” you said simply, your voice softer than you intended.

“I am now.” His lips curved into a smirk, though his dark eyes were warm as they swept over you. “You’re making enough noise to wake the entire citadel.”

“I’m not noisy,” you protested, though your tone lacked conviction. You turned your attention back to the bouquet, but Xaden didn’t let you go. His arms tightened slightly, keeping you anchored against him.

He glanced over your shoulder at the arrangement in your hands, his expression softening as he took it in. “It’s beautiful,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “You’re beautiful.”

A flush crept up your neck at the unexpected compliment, and you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. “It’s just a bunch of flowers.”

“It’s more than that,” he countered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The sensation sent warmth pooling in your chest. “You could make a battlefield look like art.”

You didn’t respond, too flustered by the quiet intensity in his voice. Instead, you focused on the bouquet, adjusting one of the roses to avoid meeting his gaze. But Xaden wasn’t one to let you off the hook so easily.

He shifted slightly, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips, his touch light but possessive. “Are you going to tell me what’s really on your mind, or do I have to guess?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the stems of the bouquet. But before you could answer, Xaden leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. It was gentle, almost absentminded, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you all the same.

“Take your time,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that made your knees feel weak. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he rested his chin on your shoulder, his dark eyes watching as you arranged the final flower. The weight of him, the warmth of his presence, made the world feel a little less heavy. For the first time in days, you let yourself exhale.

You leaned against the counter, turning the bouquet slowly in your hands, the flowers casting long shadows on the marble as the early sunlight caught their petals. Xaden still stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. The quiet intimacy of the moment was grounding, yet the words you needed to say caught in your throat like thorns.

He noticed, of course. Xaden always noticed. His hands, rough and calloused yet achingly gentle, tightened slightly on your hips. “You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, his voice still carrying the rasp of sleep. “Too quiet. That usually means there’s something weighing on you.”

You swallowed, staring down at the vibrant arrangement in your hands. The roses seemed brighter now, almost glaring in their perfection. You set the bouquet down carefully on the counter, buying yourself a moment to gather your thoughts.

“It’s not an easy thing to explain,” you began, your voice softer than you intended. “I love Violet and Aaric. I really do. They’ve both been through so much, and seeing them find this kind of happiness after everything…” You paused, exhaling shakily. “It’s beautiful. I love that they invited us to meet their son. I want to be there for them. I do.”

Xaden didn’t say anything, but his presence behind you was steady and grounding. His thumbs traced slow, comforting circles against your hips, silently encouraging you to continue.

“It’s just…” You hesitated, your fingers brushing absently against the edge of the countertop. “It’s complicated. You and Violet—you’ll always have this bond because of Sgaeyl and Tairn. And I know that’s not something either of you chose, but it’s there. It always will be.”

His silence was heavy, but it wasn’t impatient. He was giving you the space to speak without interruption, and for that, you were grateful.

“And now, with Alic…” You trailed off, biting your lip. The name felt heavy on your tongue, weighted with a history you weren’t sure you could untangle. “He’s theirs, Xaden. Their son. And I know it’s irrational, but it makes me feel…awkward. Like I don’t belong in this part of their lives. Like I’m intruding on something I can never fully understand.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and the moment they did, you felt the sharp sting of vulnerability settle in your chest. You turned your head slightly, catching Xaden’s gaze. His dark eyes were unreadable for a moment, his expression guarded yet softened by something that looked like understanding.

“Say something,” you whispered, the weight of your confession pressing down on you.

Xaden’s lips pressed together, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed your words. Then, slowly, he shifted, turning you in his arms so that you were facing him fully. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones. The tenderness in his touch sent a pang through your chest.

“You’re not intruding,” he said, his voice low but steady. “And you’re not irrational. This…all of this…it’s complicated as hell. I won’t deny that. But you have just as much of a place in this as anyone else. Violet and Aaric invited us because they care about us, because they want us to be part of their lives. Not because they feel obligated, not because of the bond between Sgaeyl and Tairn, but because they trust us. They trust you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. The gesture was intimate, grounding, and it silenced you before you could protest.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” Xaden continued, his voice softer now. “But you don’t have to figure this out alone. We’ll go. We’ll meet Alic. And if it feels awkward or messy or too much, then we’ll leave. Together. But you’re not an outsider in this, love. You’re mine, and that makes you part of everything I am.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweatpants as if anchoring yourself to him. His words settled over you like a balm, easing the ache in your chest.

“You always know what to say,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

He smirked, leaning back just enough to brush his lips against yours. “Only because I know you better than you think.”

You smiled softly, the tension easing slightly as Xaden’s words sank in. His hands were still cradling your face, his dark eyes searching yours with a mixture of tenderness and quiet intensity. But even now, you couldn’t help the teasing edge that slipped into your voice.

“Did you read my intentions just now?” you asked, tilting your head playfully as you raised an eyebrow at him.

Xaden’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smirk forming. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re doing that thing,” you continued, pretending to be serious even as the corner of your mouth quirked upward. “The whole ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking before you say it’ thing. Did you read my mind or something? Because I didn’t feel you reaching through the block.”

His smirk deepened, and the low chuckle that escaped him sent warmth curling in your chest. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“You didn’t deny it.” You grinned now, leaning into his touch just a little more. “I’m onto you, Xaden Riorson. Admit it—you’ve been secretly reading my mind this whole time.”

“I don’t need to read your mind to know you,” he countered smoothly, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re an open book to me. Always have been.”

You scoffed, trying and failing to suppress the flutter in your chest. “That’s what someone who’s secretly been reading my intentions would say.”

His smirk grew wicked, and before you could react, his arms tightened around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. A squeal of surprise escaped you as he spun you around, his laugh rumbling against your back like a thunderstorm.

“Keep teasing me,” he said, setting you back down but keeping you firmly in his grasp. “And I might have to prove just how well I know you.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, breathless but grinning. “You’re too soft to prove anything right now. You just woke up.”

Xaden leaned down until his lips were hovering just above your ear, his voice dropping to that dangerously low tone that always made your knees weak. “Careful, sunshine. I might be soft now, but I can change that.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were utterly still, caught in the heat of his words. Then you shoved lightly at his chest, laughing as you pulled away. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” he said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile as he pulled you back into his arms.

You didn’t argue, because he was absolutely right.

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out, light and airy as it escaped your lips. It started softly, barely more than a sound of breath, but quickly grew until you were grinning, the tension in your chest unravelling completely. Xaden tilted his head at you, his dark brows raising in that way he always did when he caught you in a moment he didn’t entirely understand but found entertaining nonetheless.

“What?” he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. His arms were still looped loosely around your waist, keeping you close, his body warm and steady against yours.

You shook your head, biting your lip as another laugh bubbled up. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice light and almost incredulous, like the weight you’d been carrying had been lifted so suddenly you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. “I was so worked up about it—about everything—but now… I don’t know. I just feel excited. Like—there’s a baby in the squad now. A baby, Xaden.”

The words tumbled out of you in a rush, and the giddiness in your voice was impossible to miss. You let out another giggle, leaning your head against his chest as the realization fully hit you. “I mean, how weird is that? After everything we’ve been through—revolutions, battles, betrayals—and now we’ve got… a baby. In the squad. Can you even imagine?”

Xaden’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think Alic’s going to be taking on Threshing anytime soon, if that’s what you mean.”

You snorted, swatting playfully at his chest. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I just… I don’t know, I think it’s kind of amazing. After everything we’ve lost, everything we’ve fought for, there’s this little life now. Something innocent and good. It feels… hopeful.”

The words came out quieter, softer now, and you looked up at him, your eyes shining with a mixture of emotion and newfound excitement. Xaden’s gaze softened, his usual sharpness giving way to something warm and unguarded. He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment before trailing down to your jaw.

“It is hopeful,” he agreed, his voice steady and certain. “And you’re allowed to feel excited about it. You’re allowed to feel everything, even if it’s messy.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling as his words settled over you. And then, as if you couldn’t contain yourself any longer, you let out another laugh, stepping back slightly but grabbing his hands in yours. “Can you imagine? Violet’s probably already teaching him strategies to overthrow the government, and Aaric’s probably arguing about which flying technique is the safest for kids.”

Xaden chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you could feel the tension in him ease as well. “They’ll be lucky if Alic doesn’t try to steal a dragon egg by the time he’s ten.”

You laughed harder, the sound filling the kitchen like sunlight. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him. With parents like that? He’s bound to be trouble.”

“And if Sgaeyl and Tairn have anything to say about it,” Xaden added, his smirk growing. “The kid’s going to have two of the most overprotective dragons in history watching his every move.”

“Oh, definitely.” You shook your head, still smiling. “Can you imagine Sgaeyl trying to teach him manners? She’ll probably lecture him about posture and poise while Tairn sneaks him extra treats behind her back.”

The thought sent you into another fit of giggles, and Xaden finally broke, laughing quietly along with you. He pulled you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as your laughter finally subsided into a contented sigh.

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice soft against your hair. “You know that?”

You looked up at him, your smile still lingering. “Yeah, but you love it.”

He smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “I really do.”

You were still smiling, the warmth of your earlier laughter lingering as you glanced back at the bouquet on the counter. A faint hum of excitement buzzed through you, thoughts of tiny Alic and the strange, hopeful future ahead swirling in your mind. You reached out to adjust one of the flowers, still chattering, your voice light and teasing.

“Do you think Violet and Aaric are ready for the chaos? I mean, a baby with their genes? That’s a future instigator of revolutions if I’ve ever seen one—”

You trailed off mid-sentence, realizing Xaden hadn’t responded. Slowly, you turned to glance at him over your shoulder, expecting to see his usual smirk or a quip forming on his lips. Instead, he was just… watching you.

His dark eyes were fixed on you, unblinking, his expression unreadable. There was no teasing smirk, no sharp remark. Just an intensity that made you feel like he was seeing through every layer of you, like he was memorizing the way the morning light kissed your face, the way your lips quirked as you spoke, the way your fingers danced absentmindedly over the counter.

“What?” you asked softly, tilting your head at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched, leaving you confused and just a little unsettled. You shifted your weight, your brows furrowing as you studied him. “Xaden?”

Still, he said nothing, and the longer he stared, the more your nerves bubbled to the surface. “Okay, seriously, are you trying to read my intentions again? Because I’m telling you right now, there’s nothing particularly exciting happening in my head.”

That earned the faintest twitch of his lips, but it wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. He just shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, your voice quieter now, edged with curiosity. “The whole mysterious, brooding thing. What are you thinking?”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and almost hesitant. “Nothing,” he said, his words deliberate, like he was choosing them carefully. “I just… You’re incredible. That’s all.”

Your confusion deepened for a moment before your chest tightened, warmth flooding through you at the sincerity in his tone. “Xaden,” you started, but he cut you off, stepping closer and lifting a hand to brush his fingers against your cheek.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how incredible you are, do you?”

You blinked up at him, his words sinking in slowly, leaving you momentarily speechless. The weight of his gaze, the warmth in his touch, it was all so much and yet not overwhelming. It was grounding, like standing at the edge of something vast and infinite, knowing that he was there to catch you if you fell.

“I—” you started, your voice faltering slightly before you cleared your throat. “You can’t just say things like that, you know.”

His lips twitched, but the smirk that usually accompanied his teasing remarks didn’t fully form. Instead, he cupped your face with both hands, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “Why not? It’s true.”

You scoffed lightly, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed your attempt to play it cool. “Because it’s not fair. You say something like that, and now I’m the one who doesn’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first,” he said, his tone lighter now, though the depth in his gaze didn’t waver. “You’re never at a loss for words.”

“Guess you’ve finally managed to shut me up,” you quipped, your voice soft but carrying the hint of a smile.

His lips finally curved into a proper smirk, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll consider it one of my greatest accomplishments.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound quiet and warm between the two of you. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

The teasing glint in his eyes was back now, but there was something deeper there too—something steady and unyielding. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The heat of him, the strength in his hold, it was all-consuming in the best way.

“I’m still here,” you agreed softly, your hands sliding up his bare chest to rest against his shoulders. “And I always will be. No matter how insufferable you get.”

His expression softened at your words, and for a moment, the teasing melted away, leaving nothing but raw honesty in its place. “Good,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his tone, sent a shiver down your spine. You reached up, your fingers brushing through his dark, unruly hair, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re stuck with me, Riorson. Get used to it.”

“Gladly,” he murmured, his voice low and rich with promise as he pulled you even closer, the world outside fading away entirely.

You pulled back just enough to glance at him, a playful glint returning to your eyes as the weight of the moment lightened. “Alright, enough of the sentimental stuff,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. “You’re going to help me wrap this bouquet, right?”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, his fingers still resting on your waist. He seemed amused by the sudden shift in mood, but there was no hesitation in his gaze as he nodded. “I didn’t realize I was a florist now, but for you? Anything.”

You laughed, stepping away from him and moving toward the counter where the bouquet was resting. “Good. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need all the help I can get. And since I’m not exactly a professional when it comes to flower arrangements—” You gestured vaguely at the messy array of stems and petals, “—I think it’s only fair that you do your part.”

Xaden grinned, following you to the counter, his hands resting on the edge as he looked down at the flowers with a mock seriousness. “Alright, what’s the plan? Do I need to make them look pretty, or are we going for the ‘just throw a bunch of stuff together and hope for the best’ look?”

“Definitely the first option,” you teased, picking up the roll of floral wrap and a pair of scissors. “I’m not leaving here with a disaster on my hands. I need this to be at least presentable.”

He made a show of dramatically inspecting the bouquet, his eyes narrowing as if the flowers were a puzzle only he could solve. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” he said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the chance to tease you right back.

You handed him the roll of floral wrap, and he immediately began unrolling it, his focus intense as he fumbled with the edges. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “You look like you’ve never wrapped a gift in your life.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m an expert at unwrapping things,” he shot back, his smirk widening as he glanced over at you.

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” You rolled your eyes playfully, moving to straighten the flowers as he awkwardly tried to manage the wrap. “Just try to keep it together, okay? We need this to look like it wasn’t made by a toddler.”

With exaggerated concentration, Xaden carefully arranged the wrap around the stems, but his movements were all slow and deliberate, as if he was savouring every moment of the task. You could tell it wasn’t exactly second nature to him, but there was something endearing about his determination.

“I don’t know if it’s the flowers or the fact that I’m just trying not to make a mess, but I feel like I’m getting a crash course in floral design,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Well, consider it a life skill,” you teased, watching him carefully as he worked. “Every person should know how to wrap a bouquet. It’s a part of being an adult.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied dryly, finishing the wrap with surprisingly decent precision. “How’s that?”

You took a step back to inspect his work, your lips curving into a smile at the sight. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely good enough for what you needed, and the effort he’d put in was more than enough to make you appreciate it. “Not bad, Riorson. I’ll let you keep your ‘florist’ title for now.”

He gave a smug little nod. “I knew I had it in me.”

“Alright, now let’s tie this off.” You handed him the twine, and without missing a beat, he wrapped it around the stems, securing everything in place with surprising ease.

When he finished, you stepped back, your hands on your hips as you surveyed the bouquet. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Sure, if you’re into making flowers look presentable,” Xaden replied with a teasing smirk.

You grinned at him, feeling lighter than you had in days. “You know, I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” He gave you a knowing look, stepping closer and brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “After all, I’m the one who helped make this bouquet look almost perfect.”

You carefully set the bouquet into the water, making sure the flowers were resting comfortably in the glass vase, the soft morning light highlighting their delicate petals. The faint scent of roses filled the air, and for a brief moment, everything felt serene, like the calm before the storm of excitement about to follow. You stepped back, admiring the bouquet before turning to leave the kitchen.

Just as you stepped into the hallway, you felt a pair of strong arms slip around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off your feet. A startled laugh escaped you as Xaden’s presence enveloped you. “Alright, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and amusement.

Xaden didn’t answer immediately, only holding you securely against him. You glanced up at him, catching the way his lips curved into a playful smirk, his eyes dark with that signature look of mischief. “I’m carrying you,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half baffled. “What happened to I’m just going to stand here and look at you like you’ve lost your mind?”

He gave a low chuckle, carrying you effortlessly as he started up the stairs toward the bedroom. “I figured we could mix things up a bit,” he said. “Besides, you’ve got enough on your mind with the baby talk. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart fluttered at his gentleness. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice was light, teasing, but there was a tenderness behind it that made you relax against him.

You couldn’t help but grin at the easy banter, but as he carried you into the bedroom, you found yourself feeling a sudden surge of excitement that wasn’t entirely about the bouquet or the quiet morning. You had been looking forward to hearing all about Violet’s baby, and you wanted to share what you’d learned from Brennan and Mira.

“You know, Brennan and Mira are absolutely over the moon about Alic,” you said, your voice soft with affection as you settled against his chest, your fingers tracing light patterns along his arm. “They met him yesterday.”

Xaden’s grip on you tightened slightly, but his eyes remained focused on the path ahead. “Yeah?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious. “What’d they say?”

“They’re completely taken with him. Brennan couldn’t stop talking about how perfect he is, how he already has his eyes, like Violet's, and how he's got this little furrowed brow when he’s thinking,” you said with a fond smile, the image of the baby, so new and innocent, filling your mind. “Mira kept going on about how tiny his hands are, and how he’s going to grow up with so much personality because Violet’s already spoiling him rotten.”

Xaden’s lips quirked at the mention of Violet spoiling her son. “I don’t think she’s going to have much of a choice, considering the way Tairn’s already attached to the kid.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agreed, laughing softly. “Mira was saying Tairn is practically hovering over him, like he's the new baby dragon. She said if Alic makes the slightest noise, Tairn’s on alert.”

Xaden’s expression softened at that, his eyes briefly flicking over to the side. “Can’t say I blame him. It’s probably strange, for all of them, having a baby in the family after everything that’s happened.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a change.” You paused, your fingers lightly brushing against his chest as you leaned into him more, your mind turning over the complexities of the situation. “But, I think it’s a good change. Like… a new chapter. For everyone.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and thoughtful. “I’m glad we’re part of it. I’m glad you’re part of it.”

As Xaden stepped through the door of your bedroom, he gave a small sigh, lowering you gently onto the bed. You shifted slightly in his arms before your feet hit the ground, and without a second thought, you darted toward your vanity across the room. The soft light from the window illuminated the space, casting everything in a gentle glow that made the room feel peaceful—but not peaceful enough to stop you from running around like a whirlwind.

Xaden blinked in mild confusion, watching you rush to the vanity. His brow furrowed as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracing your movements. “It’s still early, you know. You don’t need to get all dressed up this early,” he said, a note of concern in his voice, though there was amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

You didn’t even glance at him as you practically flung yourself into the chair at your vanity, pulling open the drawers to rummage for your essentials. “I have to make a good first impression, Xaden. It’s important.” You replied in a voice that was far more serious than it should’ve been, though there was an undercurrent of excitement. Your hands worked quickly, pulling your hairbrush through your tangled hair, ignoring the small knots as you made the swift, efficient motions.

Xaden’s confusion deepened. “First impression? Who exactly are you trying to impress this early in the morning?”

You paused for only a second, catching the glint of his dark eyes in the mirror’s reflection. Your hands didn’t stop moving, however, as you pulled a strand of hair back from your face and began curling it with a quick flick of your wrist. “Alic,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You focused on smoothing down a few stray strands of hair, your motions precise. “I’m meeting him today, and I need to look like I didn’t just roll out of bed.”

Xaden’s eyebrows shot up as he slowly walked over to the side of the bed, clearly still processing. “You’re getting ready for a baby?” he asked, the bemusement in his voice barely contained. “He’s, what, like… a day or so old?”

“Exactly!” You practically bounced in the chair, turning to face him with a grin as you applied a light coat of mascara to your lashes. “And I need him to know that Auntie YN is cool. You know, I’ve got to look the part.” You winked at him through the mirror, your energy suddenly sky-high.

Xaden crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser now, clearly bewildered but trying to hold back his own laugh. “You’re serious,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re over here getting dressed up for a baby that can’t even see straight yet?”

You threw your head back with a laugh, a quick, light sound that bounced off the walls. “It’s all about the vibe, Xaden. First impressions are everything. Even for babies.”

Xaden just watched you, his eyes softening as he took in the way your hands moved with such precision, as if every moment mattered. He didn’t interrupt as you finished curling your hair and began lightly applying makeup, your face growing more polished with each swipe of product.

“Alright, alright,” he said, his tone a mix of mockery and affection. “But if you end up spending all this time getting ready, you might miss your chance to actually hold the kid.”

You shot him a side-eye, your grin playful. “I’m making sure I look good doing it.”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, looking over your work so far. Your hair was falling in soft waves, and your makeup was subtle but perfect, enhancing your natural features. You really did look like you were about to step into the room and make a strong impression—not just on a baby, but on anyone who saw you.

He couldn’t help but smile at you, the affectionate look in his eyes finally matching the teasing grin he often wore. “Well, I’m just glad you’re not trying to impress anyone else, or I’d be jealous.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you finished adjusting the last strand of hair. You gave him an exaggerated pout. “Oh please, Xaden. You know you’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

Xaden stretched out on the bed, feeling the cool sheets beneath him as he let out a deep breath. The energy from the morning was still buzzing in his veins, but his body was craving the soft embrace of rest. He had no intention of fully falling back asleep, but the idea of relaxing for just a few more minutes sounded too good to pass up. His eyes flickered over to you as you adjusted yourself by the vanity, but his thoughts quickly drifted to Violet.

With a mental nudge, he reached out to the bond between him and Violet. His connection to her wasn’t one he used lightly—only in moments like this, when he felt the pull of the bond, like he needed to check in on her.

The warmth of her presence washed over him, the familiar sense of her emotions seeping through the bond, like a slow-moving river that always carried the weight of their history. He settled into the connection, finding a calm, steady rhythm in the flow of her thoughts.

Violence? he sent, his voice playful as he mentally prodded her.

There was a brief pause before her response came through, thick with exhaustion but also laced with amusement. Xaden... Her voice was soft, a little worn, like she had been through a battle. Which, in a sense, she had. What do you want?

Xaden couldn’t hold back a chuckle, his mind’s touch light as he teased. You’re the one who woke me up, Violet.

Her mental voice tightened with a hint of surprise. What?

He grinned, imagining her expression even though they weren’t physically in the same space. You didn’t close me off when you gave birth. Your emotions flooded through the bond, and now I’m awake since then in fear of a surprise attack. Thanks for that.

There was a brief moment of silence on her end, and then Violet’s mental voice returned, slightly breathless and tinged with embarrassment. Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I must’ve forgotten to—

Yeah, I can tell. He mentally laughed, not really bothered by it. His tone was playful, like an old friend joking about an old habit. But I’m glad you’re doing alright, even if you forgot to close me off like you usually do. You know, the next time you're about to have a life-changing experience, I’d appreciate a little heads-up.

Violet’s response was a soft groan, and he could practically feel the weight of her exhaustion in the brief shift of her emotions. I didn’t exactly plan on having to keep track of all that right now, Xaden. It wasn’t exactly a quiet birth.

He smiled, his connection to her soothing as he reached out with a comforting thread. You don’t have to explain. I can only imagine what it was like. How’s the little guy?

Violet’s mental presence softened, and there was a warmth in her emotions as she shared a picture of little Alic in her mind, a tiny bundle wrapped in blankets. He’s perfect. Just… a little overwhelming, you know? But he’s perfect.

Xaden’s heart softened at the image, feeling his affection for her and her son surge through the bond. You’re handling it like a pro. But you’re going to be on your feet in no time, just like always.

There was a pause before Violet responded, a wry edge to her mental tone. I hope so, because I’m not sure I can handle much more of this. It’s not exactly easy, especially with Tairn being so... She hesitated, unsure how to describe the dragon’s devotion to his new son.

Overprotective? Xaden offered with a chuckle, knowing full well how Tairn could be. The dragon had a soft spot for Violet, and now that her son was here, it only made sense that the dragon would be just as protective.

Exactly. Violet’s mental voice was tinged with humour, but there was a fatigue to it as well. If he wasn’t so big, I’d say he’s just a big baby himself.

Xaden laughed at that, the sound filling the space around him. You two are alike in more ways than you think.

Violet snorted mentally, though it was accompanied by a fond affection for her bond with Tairn. Maybe. But I’m not sure I’m ready for this. There’s so much I need to figure out.

And you will, Xaden reassured her, his tone steady. One step at a time. Besides, you’ve got plenty of people who’ve got your back. Everyone’s here for you.

There was a moment of silence before Violet’s mental presence softened again, almost as though she was sinking into her exhaustion. Thanks, Xaden. I don’t know what I’d do without you... and without the rest of them.

Xaden smiled, his heart warm with the unspoken bond between them. You’re not alone, Violet. Never have been.

She gave a mental sigh of relief, a quiet smile in her voice. Good to know. Now, I’m going to try and get some sleep before I’m asked to be social again.

Sleep well, Violet, Xaden responded, his mental touch lighter now. And remember to close me off next time.

He could almost feel her smirk through the bond as she replied. I’ll try not to forget. No promises though.

With a final chuckle, Xaden broke the connection.

You stepped back into the bedroom, brushing your hands against your dress to smooth out invisible wrinkles, your energy practically radiating as you prepared for the day ahead. The bouquet was ready, you were dressed to make an impression, and everything felt like it was starting to come together. Xaden was sprawled out on the bed, his head propped up on one arm, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to your whirlwind of activity.

He turned his head to you as you entered, his dark eyes softening with a flicker of amusement. “You’re buzzing around like a little sparrow,” he teased, his deep voice warm and steady. “I feel like I should warn Alic to brace himself.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, grabbing a stray hairpin from the vanity and tucking it into your hair. “I’m just excited, okay? I want to be ready.”

Xaden chuckled and sat up, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he spoke again, his tone shifting to something quieter, more thoughtful. “I spoke to Violet through our bond a few minutes ago.”

That caught your attention immediately, and you turned toward him, your hands stilling in your hair. “You did?” you asked, your brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. “How are they? How’s Alic?”

“They’re good,” Xaden said, his voice softening further, as if the weight of the bond lingered in his chest. “Violet’s tired—she didn’t exactly get much sleep last night—but she’s okay. Aaric’s handling it well too, from what I could sense.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you stepped closer to the bed, sitting on the edge beside him. “That’s a relief,” you said quietly, your voice filled with genuine warmth. “I’ve been wondering how they’re holding up, especially Violet. This is such a huge change for her.”

Xaden reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over yours as he gave a small nod. “It is, but she’s tougher than she thinks. She’s already so smitten with him, and Tairn’s practically glued to her side. I think she’s going to be just fine.”

The tenderness in his voice made your heart ache in the best way, and you squeezed his hand lightly. “That’s good to hear,” you murmured, your mind already imagining Violet with her son, Aaric by her side, the love between them shining bright.

Xaden’s thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on you as if weighing his next words carefully. “We should head down to see them in about an hour or so,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Give them a little more time to settle before we show up.”

You nodded, the idea making sense, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “Oh, so now you’re the one telling me to slow down?” you asked with a playful smirk. “Weren’t you the one practically dragging me out of bed last week to spar at dawn?”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a grin. “That’s different. Sparring is a necessity. This? This is you trying to impress a newborn.”

You laughed, leaning into him slightly. “Touché. But fine, we’ll wait an hour. I can pace myself.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back on his hands as he watched you with that relaxed, confident air that was so uniquely his. “And maybe in the meantime, you can stop fretting about whether Alic will like you. He’s a baby, YN. He’s not going to hold you to some impossible standard.”

“I’m not fretting,” you protested, though the faint blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “I just want to make a good impression. You only get one first meeting with a baby, you know.”

Xaden’s laughter was deep and rich, and he leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You’re unbelievable,” he said affectionately, his breath warm against your skin. “But that’s one of the things I love about you.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you leaned into his touch for a brief moment before pulling back with a grin. “Alright, fine. I’ll calm down—for now. But when that hour’s up, you’d better be ready to go.”

Xaden smirked, his gaze following you as you moved to the other side of the room to grab your shoes. “I’m always ready, sunshine. The real question is, are you?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face said everything. Today was going to be a good day.

Two hours later, you found yourself standing outside Violet and Aaric’s bedroom door, the hallway quiet except for the faint hum of activity somewhere deeper in the house. Xaden stood beside you, holding the bouquet you had painstakingly put together earlier that morning, though his grip on it was far from what you’d call ideal.

“Xaden,” you whispered sharply, your eyes narrowing at him as you adjusted your hold on the box of baked goods in your arms. “You’re holding it wrong.”

He turned to you, eyebrows raised in amusement. “How am I holding it wrong? It’s flowers, YN, not a sword.”

You huffed, reaching out with one hand to tug the stems slightly so they rested more evenly in his grasp. “You’re crushing the leaves on this side,” you muttered, fussing over the arrangement. “I spent forever making it perfect, and now you’re about to walk in there like it’s been through a hurricane.”

Xaden smirked, his free hand brushing against yours as he let you adjust the bouquet to your liking. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you replied, standing back to assess the bouquet in his hands, now satisfied that it was presentable. “First impressions matter, and you’re not ruining this one with your terrible flower-holding skills.”

“Noted,” he said, his smirk widening as he adjusted his stance slightly, now holding the bouquet with exaggerated care. “Better?”

“Much,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Now, just stand there and look charming. I’ve got the baked goods covered.”

Xaden gave a soft laugh, but his eyes flickered to the door as you raised your hand to knock. The sound was light but deliberate, and you shifted slightly on your feet, the box of goods balanced carefully in your arms.

The door opened after a moment, revealing Aaric, his expression warm and welcoming despite the exhaustion visible in his eyes. His blonde hair was slightly dishevelled, and he looked like a man who hadn’t had much sleep but was still running on the high of becoming a father.

“Aaric,” you greeted, your voice bright with excitement as you offered him a warm smile. “Hi! We brought some things for you and Violet.”

Aaric’s gaze flickered between you and Xaden, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks,” he said, his tone genuinely appreciative as he stepped back to let you both in. “Come on in. She’s just feeding Alic right now.”

As you stepped into the room, you caught the faint scent of lavender and something warm, like freshly laundered blankets. The space was cozy, and though it was clear they were still settling into this new phase of life, there was an undeniable sense of peace here.

Xaden gave Aaric a small nod as he stepped inside, holding the bouquet with exaggerated precision, which didn’t go unnoticed by Aaric. “Nice flowers.” Aaric said with a teasing grin, glancing at Xaden.

You bit back a laugh. “Ignore him,” you said to Aaric, your tone light. “He’s been subjected to flower-handling lessons all morning.”

Aaric chuckled softly, closing the door behind you. “I’ll make sure Violet appreciates the effort.” He gestured toward the small seating area near the window. “You can sit if you want. She’ll be out in just a minute.”

You glanced at Xaden, who shrugged slightly before moving to set the bouquet down on the nearby table with a carefulness that made you stifle another laugh.

As Aaric gestured for you to sit, you set the box of baked goods on the table and turned toward him, your curiosity getting the better of you. He looked tired, but there was an undeniable happiness in the way he moved and spoke, like he was still soaking in the reality of his new life.

“How have you been?” you asked gently, tilting your head as you took a seat on the edge of one of the chairs. Your voice was warm but laced with genuine concern. “I mean, it’s only been a few days, but… how are you really holding up?”

Aaric ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair, the corners of his mouth lifting into a tired smile. “It’s been… a whirlwind, honestly,” he admitted, leaning against the back of a chair near you. “Violet’s doing great, but it’s a lot to process. I didn’t think I could function on this little sleep.”

You smiled softly at his candour. “It sounds like you’re handling it pretty well. I mean, you’re still standing, so that’s a win.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Barely. Alic’s got a strong set of lungs for someone so tiny. But seeing him—holding him—it’s…” Aaric paused, his voice softening as he searched for the right words. “It’s something else. Nothing can prepare you for it.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. “It sounds like you’re already an amazing dad,” you said earnestly. “And Violet… how’s she doing? Is she okay?”

Aaric’s expression softened even more at the mention of his wife. “She’s incredible,” he said quietly, his voice full of pride. “Even when she’s exhausted, she’s so focused on Alic. She’s a natural with him. I just keep trying to make sure she gets enough rest and doesn’t push herself too hard.”

You nodded, your admiration for Violet only growing. “That sounds like her. Always taking on the world without hesitation. But I’m glad she has you to look out for her.”

Aaric smiled at that, his gaze dropping to the bouquet on the table. “She’s lucky to have friends like you and Xaden too,” he said, his tone genuine. “It means a lot that you’re here.”

“Of course,” you replied softly, glancing over at Xaden, who was leaning against the wall, quietly observing the conversation with his arms crossed. His gaze flicked to you, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if to silently echo Aaric’s sentiment.

“Well,” you added, looking back at Aaric with a playful grin. “If you need backup for anything—diapers, baby cuddles, sneaking in naps—just let us know. We’re here for all of it.”

Aaric chuckled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “I might take you up on that. Especially the nap part.”

The door to the adjoining room creaked open, and all three of you turned instinctively. Violet stepped into the room, her petite frame wrapped in a soft robe, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. Her arms were cradling a small bundle, swaddled snugly in a pale blue blanket.

“Hey,” Violet greeted softly, her voice warm but tired as her gaze swept over you, Xaden, and Aaric. There was a light in her eyes, one that was both new and deeply familiar—the quiet, fierce joy of a mother.

You felt your breath catch as you caught sight of Alic. He was impossibly small, his delicate features just visible beneath the edge of the blanket. His tiny hand peeked out, curling into the fabric, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room stilled, all attention focused on him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Violet said with a small smile, shifting Alic slightly in her arms as she walked closer. “Feeding him took a little longer than I thought.”

“Take your time,” you assured her quickly, rising to your feet. “We weren’t in any rush.”

Xaden pushed off the wall, standing straighter as his dark eyes flickered to Alic. For all his usual confidence, there was a softness in his expression now, a quiet respect for the moment unfolding in front of him.

Violet moved to sit on the edge of the couch, her movements careful and deliberate. Aaric stepped forward instinctively, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he sat beside her, the silent support between them palpable.

You couldn’t help but inch closer, your gaze locked on the baby. “Oh my gods,” you breathed, a smile breaking across your face. “He’s perfect.”

Violet’s smile widened, and she tilted Alic slightly so you could see him better. “Meet Alic,” she said softly, her voice full of pride. “The newest—and loudest—member of the squad.”

You laughed quietly, leaning down to get a closer look. “He’s so tiny,” you murmured, your heart melting as you took in his delicate features—the tiny nose, the barely-there eyebrows, the faintest dusting of hair on his head. “And so cute. Violet, he’s beautiful.”

Violet’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced down at Alic with a look of pure adoration. “He’s already stolen all of our hearts,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even Tairn’s been quieter than usual, like he’s trying not to disturb him.”

You glanced at Xaden, who was still standing silently nearby, his eyes fixed on Alic with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you wondered what he was thinking, but before you could ask, Violet looked up at him.

“Want to hold him?” she asked, her voice gentle but teasing. “Or are you scared he’ll cry the second you touch him?”

Xaden’s lips twitched into a smirk, and he stepped forward, his usual confidence returning in full force. “I think I can handle it,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

As Violet carefully passed Alic to him, you watched the transition with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Xaden’s large hands cradled the tiny bundle with surprising gentleness, his movements careful and precise. He held Alic close, his expression softening as he looked down at the baby.

“Well?” Violet asked, her tone light but filled with affection. “What do you think?”

Xaden’s eyes didn’t leave Alic as he spoke. “He’s perfect,” he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet reverence that made your chest tighten.

You smiled, stepping closer to stand beside him. “Told you need a good first impression,” you teased softly, glancing up at him.

He met your eyes briefly, a rare warmth in his gaze. “You might be right about this one,” he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Violet and Aaric shared a look, their hands brushing briefly as they watched the moment unfold. It felt like the room was filled with something unspoken—a quiet bond between all of you, forged in the presence of new life and old friendships.

As Xaden stood there, holding Alic with a level of gentleness that almost didn’t seem possible for someone of his size and strength, you watched as something in his expression shifted. His dark brows furrowed just slightly, his gaze flickering—not at Violet, but at something unseen.

You knew that look.

He was reaching for their bond.

It was a connection that had existed long before you, something forged through their dragons, Tairn and Sgaeyl, being mates. It wasn’t something he could break, nor something Violet could ignore, no matter how much life had changed between them.

Violet, who had been watching him carefully, exhaled a small laugh through her nose, shaking her head as she adjusted the blanket around her lap. “Checking in again, Xaden?”

You turned your gaze toward him, curious but not surprised.

Xaden’s lips twitched slightly, though his eyes were still distant, as if he were focusing on something beyond the physical world. “Making sure you actually closed me off this time,” he murmured, voice carrying that dry amusement that only he could pull off. “Unlike during childbirth, when you conveniently forgot and woke me up at an ungodly hour.”

Violet rolled her eyes, but there was humour in them. “In my defence, I had more important things on my mind.”

Aaric chuckled, shaking his head. “Like bringing a person into the world?”

“Exactly,” Violet quipped, lifting her chin slightly in triumph. “Priorities.”

You smothered a laugh behind your hand, watching as Xaden’s gaze refocused, his attention snapping back to the present moment. He shook his head slightly, as if shaking off whatever emotions had bled through their bond.

“She’s exhausted,” he announced, though it was clear Violet already knew that. His gaze flicked down to Alic, still cradled in his arms. “But happy.”

You glanced between them, watching the way Violet’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if there was something comforting in the confirmation—even if she hadn’t needed it.

Xaden exhaled, rolling his shoulders before turning his attention fully back to Alic. “And apparently, this one doesn’t know how to sleep unless someone’s holding him.”

Violet smirked. “Welcome to parenthood, Xaden.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “You’re officially part of the baby squad now.”

He shot you a look, but there was no annoyance in it—just something softer, something unspoken. He didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it.

And you figured that was answer enough.

Xaden shifted slightly, adjusting Alic’s tiny body in his arms before glancing at you. His dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable—maybe amusement, maybe curiosity—as he lifted the baby just slightly toward you.

“Here,” he said casually, as if he were passing you a training weapon instead of a newborn.

Your eyes widened, and you instinctively took a step back, hands held up in protest. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’ve never held a baby before.”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Alic. “And?”

“And that’s a really small, really fragile human being,” you said, voice slightly higher than usual. “I don’t even know how to—what if I drop him?”

Aaric snorted from his seat beside Violet. “You’re more likely to trip over your own feet than drop him.”

“That is not reassuring!” you shot back, your pulse kicking up at the thought of somehow doing this wrong.

Violet laughed softly, shifting forward in her seat. “I promise, it’s not as scary as you think,” she said gently. “He won’t break.”

Xaden, still holding Alic effortlessly, tilted his head at you. “You fight people with swords and dragons, but you’re afraid of holding a baby?”

You gave him a pointed glare. “Yes, because swords and dragons make sense! Babies are unpredictable and squishy.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re being pushy.”

Aaric leaned back, crossing his arms. “I, for one, am enjoying this.”

Violet elbowed him lightly but was clearly holding back a laugh.

Xaden sighed, his grip shifting slightly on Alic as he studied you. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice carrying that teasing edge. “Guess I’ll just have to keep him all to myself.”

You crossed your arms. “Good. You do that.”

Violet grinned. “You’ll cave eventually.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response—but deep down, you knew she was probably right. Aaric exhaled softly before pushing himself to his feet. He reached down, offering Violet his hand with a knowing look.

“Come on, Vi,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “You need to rest.” Violet blinked, clearly fighting exhaustion, but didn’t protest as Aaric gently pulled her up. She swayed slightly on her feet before leaning into him, her body visibly relaxing against his.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, though her eyelids were already drooping.

Aaric huffed a quiet laugh, steadying her as he led her toward the bedroom. “Sure you are.”

She didn’t argue, only letting out a soft hum as they disappeared into the adjoining room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the space suddenly quiet. You glanced toward Xaden, still holding Alic, his gaze fixed on the tiny sleeping baby in his arms. The room felt different now—smaller, more intimate.

“So,” you said after a moment, shifting slightly. “It’s just us and the baby now.”

Xaden hummed, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his lips. “Looks like it.”

You eyed the newborn warily. “You’re still not handing him to me.”

His smirk widened. “Not yet.”

The room was quiet now, save for the soft crackling of the fireplace and the occasional shifting of Alic as he breathed in his sleep. The warmth of the space wrapped around you, making everything feel more intimate, more delicate.

Xaden still held Alic effortlessly, one strong arm supporting the tiny bundle while his other hand gently adjusted the baby’s blanket. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain reverence in the way he looked down at the newborn, as if he were memorizing every detail of him.

You swallowed, watching him carefully. “You’re… really good at that.”

Xaden’s dark eyes flicked up to you, his brow lifting slightly. “At what?”

You gestured toward Alic, still keeping a careful distance. “Holding him. Like you’ve done this before.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “I haven’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then how are you so—”

“It’s not difficult,” he interrupted smoothly, shifting the baby slightly. “You just… hold him.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “That’s easy for you to say.”

His smirk deepened, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You’re really afraid of this, aren’t you?”

You hesitated, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability at the realization. “I just… don’t want to do something wrong.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment, his expression softening just slightly. “You won’t.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “You don’t know that.”

He studied you for a long moment before shifting Alic slightly in his arms. “Come here.”

Your eyes widened. “Xaden—”

“I’m not handing him to you,” he said, cutting you off. “Just… come here.”

You hesitated, your feet rooted to the ground. But the way he was looking at you—calm, sure, unwavering—made something in you melt.

Slowly, cautiously, you stepped forward.

Xaden adjusted Alic in his arms, tilting him just slightly toward you, enough that you could get a closer look without having to hold him. The moment you were near enough, your gaze dropped to the baby’s tiny face.

Your breath caught.

Up close, Alic was impossibly small. His tiny nose, the way his mouth moved slightly in his sleep, the faintest furrow of his brow—it was overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected.

Xaden watched you carefully. “See?” he murmured. “Not so scary.”

You exhaled softly, unable to tear your eyes away from the baby. “He’s so… small.”

Xaden chuckled under his breath. “They usually are.”

You shot him a quick glare before looking back at Alic. Your hand twitched at your side, a sudden urge filling your chest.

Xaden caught the movement instantly. “You want to touch him.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to wake him up.”

“He sleeps through worse,” Xaden murmured. “Go ahead.”

You hesitated for only a second before slowly, carefully, lifting your hand. Your fingers barely brushed against the soft blanket wrapped around Alic’s tiny body.

Warm.

So warm.

A strange feeling swelled in your chest—something protective, something unfamiliar but deeply instinctual.

Xaden watched you the entire time, his expression unreadable. But there was something softer in his gaze, something almost knowing.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Okay,” you murmured. “Maybe I don’t fear babies.”

Xaden smirked. “Told you.”

Your fingertip barely grazed the soft fabric of Alic’s blanket before instinct took over, your hand moving with careful precision as if he were made of glass. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, delicate and impossibly small.

And then, without warning, his tiny fingers twitched.

You froze.

Alic’s hand, barely the size of your thumb, moved blindly before curling around your finger. His grip was weak, barely there, but it was enough.

Enough to make your breath catch.

Enough to shatter something deep inside you.

Your vision blurred instantly, and before you could even think to stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. Xaden noticed immediately. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer. “What’s wrong?”

You let out a shaky laugh, quickly swiping at your eyes with your free hand, but it was useless. The tears kept coming. “Nothing,” you whispered, your voice thick. “Absolutely nothing.”

Xaden didn’t say anything, but you felt the warmth of his presence beside you, steady and grounding. He watched as Alic’s tiny fingers remained wrapped around yours, his grip so small, so fragile—yet somehow the most unbreakable thing you’d ever felt.

You sniffled, glancing at Xaden with wet eyes. “He’s just… perfect.”

Xaden’s expression softened in a way you rarely saw, his usual sharp edges dulled by the weight of the moment. “Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking back down to the sleeping baby. “He really is.”

Alic shifted slightly, his little mouth opening in a quiet yawn before he settled again, still clutching onto you like you were something safe. And for the first time, you truly believed you were.

Xaden exhaled softly and adjusted Alic in his arms before stepping back toward the large armchair in the corner of the room. He sat down with an ease that made it seem like holding a baby was second nature to him, his movements fluid, instinctual. Alic barely stirred, still curled in the safety of his arms, small and warm against his chest.

You watched him, arms crossed, standing just a few feet away. Xaden tilted his head, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You’re still hesitating.”

“I am not,” you lied, your arms tightening slightly over your chest. His lips twitched in amusement. “You’re still afraid you’ll break him.” You huffed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “He’s so tiny, Xaden. What if—”

Your words cut off as something cool and familiar wrapped around your waist.

Shadows.

Before you could react, they slithered over your body in a controlled, precise motion, curling around your wrists, your thighs—everywhere they needed to be to move you effortlessly. A surprised gasp left your lips as they tugged you forward, pulling you toward the chair where Xaden sat.

“Oh, you—” you started, but your voice turned into a quiet laugh as the shadows guided you right into his lap.

Xaden didn’t even flinch as you landed against him, his free arm immediately wrapping around your waist to steady you. His smirk was pure arrogance. “You were saying?”

You shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it. “That was unnecessary.”

“That was effective.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shifted Alic in his arms, drawing your attention back to the baby. And just like that, your frustration melted into something else—something softer.

Xaden’s voice was quieter now, more coaxing. “You’re going to have to hold him eventually.”

Your heart pounded as you looked down at the tiny bundle, your fingers twitching at your sides. Xaden saw it. Knew you were seconds away from giving in.

He adjusted Alic again, then carefully, slowly, guided the baby toward you. His movements were deliberate, giving you the chance to change your mind. But you didn’t. With a deep breath, you let him settle Alic into your arms.

The second the baby’s weight pressed into you, your entire body stiffened. “Xaden—”

“Relax,” he murmured, his hand still hovering beneath yours, steadying you. “You’ve got him.”

Alic barely stirred, his tiny body curling slightly against your chest, his warmth bleeding into you. Something in your chest ached.

Xaden pulled back just enough to give you space, but his shadows still lingered against your skin, cool and grounding. His arms stayed close, ready to steady you if needed.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s so… small.”

Xaden’s smirk softened into something almost tender. “Yeah,” he said. “But you’re holding him just fine.”

The weight of Alic in your arms felt so impossibly light, yet it settled over you like something far heavier—something deeper. His tiny body was warm against you, his breaths soft and steady, little fingers twitching slightly in his sleep.

And then, it hit you.

A thick, overwhelming wave of emotion, crashing into you without warning.

Your throat tightened. Your vision blurred. A shuddering breath escaped before you could hold it back.

Xaden noticed immediately. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer.

You shook your head quickly, blinking against the tears threatening to spill. “I—I don’t know why,” you whispered, but that wasn’t entirely true.

It was everything.

It was the sheer innocence of the baby in your arms, the way he fit so perfectly against you despite your earlier fear. It was the tiny weight of him, the way his delicate fingers curled and uncurled slightly, completely unaware of the world around him. It was the fact that for the first time in your life, you were holding something so small, so fragile, and yet… he trusted you.

And he didn’t even know it.

A hiccupping sob broke free before you could stop it, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, then another.

Xaden shifted beneath you, his arms tightening slightly around your waist. His shadows curled around you instinctively, grounding, steadying. “You’re crying again.”

You let out a shaky laugh, swiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I—he’s just—” Your voice broke, and you took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment. Then, his hand brushed against your back, slow and reassuring. “You don’t have to.”

That only made you cry harder.

You curled around Alic just slightly, cradling him closer, your fingers running carefully over the soft fabric of his blanket. He stirred just barely, making a tiny noise before settling again, completely at peace in your arms.

Your heart clenched painfully.

Xaden watched you, his expression unreadable, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you now—something almost knowing.

You sniffled, finally glancing up at him through blurry eyes. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

His lips twitched. “I had a feeling.”

You let out another watery laugh, shaking your head as another tear slipped down your cheek. “I hate you.”

Xaden’s smirk deepened, his grip tightening around you. “No, you don’t.”

You sighed, glancing down at Alic again. The tears still wouldn’t stop, but for once, you didn’t care.

You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop completely. The overwhelming warmth of Alic in your arms, his tiny weight pressed against you, was something you hadn’t expected to feel so deeply.

Xaden watched you, his smirk just barely restrained. “You going to be okay?”

You huffed out a shaky laugh, still cradling Alic close. “No.”

His smirk turned into something softer, his hand rubbing slow circles against your back. You glanced down at the sleeping baby, your heart still aching in the best way possible, and then—without really thinking—you blurted out, “What if we just took him?”

Xaden blinked. “What?”

You looked up at him, a mischievous glint breaking through your emotional haze. “What if we kidnapped him? Just… casually walked out of here with him. Think Aaric and Violet would notice?”

Xaden let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, I don’t know, love. Maybe when they realize their son is missing?”

You grinned, wiping at your face again. “We could make a run for it. I think we’d be great parents.” Xaden raised a brow, his shadows tightening around you almost instinctively. “You’re unhinged.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

You giggled, rocking Alic slightly. “I’m just saying, if we left right now—”

“I fear what the lightning wielder would do to us,” Xaden interrupted, his tone dry.

That made you laugh even harder. “Oh, come on, Vi wouldn’t kill us.”

“She wouldn’t kill you,” Xaden corrected. “I, on the other hand, would be dead before I stepped outside.” You considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s fair.” Xaden rolled his eyes, though amusement still lingered in his expression. “Put the baby back before you get any more ideas.”

You sighed dramatically, looking down at Alic. “Fine. But just know, little one, I would’ve given you an excellent life.” You sighed dramatically again, shifting Alic slightly in your arms. “Fine, I guess we’ll let them keep him.”

Xaden huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Generous of you.”

You glanced down at the baby again, watching the way his tiny lips moved in his sleep, the peaceful rise and fall of his little chest. The warmth in your chest grew, deeper than before. “He really is perfect.”

Xaden’s shadows curled lazily around your waist, settling against your skin like a reassuring touch. “Yeah,” he murmured. “He is.”

For a long moment, the room was quiet—just the crackling of the fireplace, the steady rhythm of Alic’s breaths, and the occasional rustling of Xaden’s shadows as they moved around you. It was a rare kind of peace, one you hadn’t expected to find in this moment.

Eventually, you sighed. “Alright, I should probably give him back before his parents wake up and accuse me of actually stealing him.”

Xaden smirked. “You mean before Vi electrocutes me on sight?”

“That too.”

He chuckled but didn’t argue, shifting slightly as he helped guide Alic from your arms. You hesitated as you let go, your fingers lingering against the soft blanket wrapped around him. Xaden noticed. “You can hold him again later.” You swallowed, nodding. “I know. Just… didn’t expect to get so attached this quickly.”

His smirk softened into something else, something knowing. “I did.”

You shot him a look, but before you could argue, a quiet rustling sound caught both your attention.

You turned just in time to see Violet stirring in bed, her hand instinctively reaching toward the empty space where Alic had been. Aaric shifted beside her, murmuring something under his breath before settling again.

You glanced at Xaden. “Guess that’s our cue.”

He nodded, standing with effortless ease, Alic still cradled securely in his arms. You followed as he moved toward the bed, carefully lowering the baby back into Violet’s waiting arms. She barely stirred as she tucked him close, instinctively settling into the warmth of her son.

Your chest ached at the sight.

Xaden lingered for a second, his gaze flicking between Violet and Alic before he exhaled quietly and stepped back. His fingers brushed against your wrist, a silent signal.

Time to go.

As you walked down the dimly lit hallway, Xaden’s arm still wrapped firmly around your waist, you couldn’t help but sigh. Your mind was still stuck on the feeling of Alic’s tiny hand wrapped around your finger, the warmth of him in your arms. It was ridiculous how quickly he’d burrowed into your heart.

Xaden must have noticed your distraction because his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against your hip. “You’re thinking too hard.”

You huffed. “I do that sometimes.”

He smirked. “I’ve noticed.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway. His warmth was grounding, his presence something solid in the whirlwind of emotions still settling in your chest. After a few quiet steps, you sighed again, tipping your head up to look at him. “Do you think Violet and Aaric will let us babysit?”

Xaden barked out a laugh, his shadows flickering with amusement. “I think we’d have to get through Vi’s overprotective streak first.” You groaned. “Right. She’s going to hover, isn’t she?”

“Like a dragon over her hoard.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I guess that’s fair. If that were my kid, I wouldn’t let anyone near him either.”

Xaden’s arm around you tightened slightly at your words, and when you looked up at him again, something unreadable flickered in his expression. It was brief, gone in a blink, but you knew him too well to miss it.

You frowned. “What?”

His smirk returned, but it was softer now, less teasing. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Liar.”

He just hummed in response, steering you toward your shared room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you turned fully to face him, crossing your arms. “Seriously. What was that look for?” Xaden studied you for a moment, his gaze sweeping over your face like he was debating something. Then, finally, he spoke. “I just think you’d be good at it.”

Your brow furrowed. “At what?”

His smirk deepened, but there was something almost careful in the way he said, “Being a mother.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart stuttered, eyes widening slightly as you stared up at him.

Xaden wasn’t teasing.

He wasn’t joking.

He meant it.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling too warm. “I—”

He stepped closer, his shadows brushing against your skin in that familiar, grounding way. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “I’m not saying we should steal Alic for real.”

That pulled a surprised laugh from you, though it came out breathless. “Good. Because Violet would absolutely murder us.”

Xaden smirked, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Without hesitation.”

You hesitated, searching his face. “But… you meant it.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Your chest ached in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. The idea of a family—of something more, something real—it wasn’t something you’d let yourself dwell on before. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

Xaden seemed to read your thoughts, because he didn’t press further. Instead, he just tilted your chin up slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a rare, tender gesture.

“We’ve got time,” he murmured against your skin.

And somehow, that made your heart ache even more.

A/N: I was not intending it to get so long but eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame x reader #xaden x reader #fourth wing xaden #xaden rirorson x you #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x y/n #xaden riorson fanfic

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agnireed · 6 months ago

Text

IN THE DARK

summary 🏹 you end up with daryl after the fall of the prison and the isolation starts making you see the older man differently

word count 🏹 6.7k

warnings 🏹 large age gap (reader is 21), daryl is very conflicted in his feelings, using sex to cope with grief, non descriptive smut, daryl doesnt talk much

the blazing campfire was doing very little to thaw the complete icy cold your heart was currently struggling with.

you’d never felt a loss as substantial as this, something so monumental that you couldn’t even process it’s reality. there was no chance you were going to be able to fathom the grief you were carrying now that the prison had fallen along with the majority of your group, now and possibly forever.

your only reminder of what you once had was currently sitting across from you, eyes pointed down at the dirt instead of the fire that was painting his tan skin a deep and earthy shade of orange.

daryl hadn’t spoken a word since you had ran from the prison together and you’d almost grown concerned about the state of your hearing until you finally settled down and focused in on the crackling of the flames and the chirping of the bugs around you.

you had nearly missed him in the initial chaos, running any direction your body carried you without rhyme or reason, simply attempting to flee from the sounds of gunfire and the building roar of walkers. you’d barely made it into the tree line outside the gates when you heard heavy footsteps behind you, spinning around with your knife up only to drop it completely when you saw his concerned face.

he had spared a pained look back at the burning prison before approaching you and wrapping a hand tightly around your wrist, giving you a grunt that let you know it was time to go.

that was the last noise you’d heard him make and the silence was starting to drive you crazy now.

you kept watching him with the same heavy gaze and you didn’t falter even when he was finally looking away from the floor and making eye contact with you. his body locked up even though he could already feel you watching him before he confirmed it and you cocked your head curiously.

daryl hadn’t been somebody you’d put much thought to until this exact moment where he was potentially the last person on earth.

he’d been in the group before you and he was there when rick found you, standing just a few paces behind him with his crossbow permanently drawn and aimed at you like you were a threat with your shaking knees and carved broomstick.

it had made slightly more sense when you were brought back to the small house they were temporarily shacked up in and greeted by the sight of a largely pregnant woman and a small child standing in the doorway.

you didn’t take his precaution personally and it wasn’t long before you were joining the group and finding the prison together, the trauma of clearing it and losing people in the process finishing off the bonding you all needed to be able to trust each other.

he was always somewhere off in the distance watching as people had hushed conversations or heavy glances passed through the hallways, eyes observing and seemingly waiting for something that you weren’t sure of. you’d heard from carol bits and pieces about his past and you quickly learned how skilled he was in numerous areas that you couldn’t begin to understand but your knowledge didn’t go far past that.

you imagined he felt similarly about you and you were more accurate than you even realized.

daryl was aware that you were quick on your feet and silent in a way that even he feared occasionally. sometimes you’d appear behind him or other members of the group and the sudden sound of your voice would almost make him jump.

you had the same youthfulness that beth and maggie carried but the similarities between you stopped there, something much heavier weighing down your shoulders than the sisters could relate to.

he was looking away from you again and you wondered if he was thinking about the same thing you were right now, pondering over how ridiculous it was that you two were paired up out of everybody inside those walls.

on one hand you were extremely grateful to be in the company of somebody that could undoubtedly handle himself but then there was the silence.

the silence was the exact thing that was driving you to stand up from the warmth of the fire and sigh softly before turning on your heels and venturing off into the darkness of the woods around you.

you knew it wasn’t the best idea to go wandering around in the dark so close to where the flames of the prison were still raging and drawing swarms of walkers but you could almost feel the grief taking over any sense and rational left inside you. you felt dead already and there was only a slight warmth going through your blood when you heard the sounds of daryl stomping out the fire behind you.

it was easier to hear him like this, back pressed against a tree as he tried his best to track you in the dark.

you could hear occasional twigs snapping under his heavy weight and ever so often your ears caught a frustrated grunt as he struggled to find you. the human sounds were almost addicting after the prolonged mute period he was presenting you and you held your breath when you heard him nearing you finally.

it must’ve been impossible by now to locate you but you figured somebody as experienced as daryl could atleast tell that you were still nearby, even if it was as simple as feeling your presence.

you’d managed to stay still long enough that your eyes adjusted to the dark just the right amount to be able to make out his frame passing you, shoulders wide and sturdy as he froze in place and looked around frantically again.

you could see the way his chest was rising and falling with trembling breaths, undoubtedly feeling some sort of fear from how shaky his inhale sounded. you knew he wasn’t fearful of his own fate and your head cocked at the idea he was potentially afraid to have lost you.

there was a slight lapse of judgement on your part as you took an instinctive step towards him and although your foot made no outward noise, his head snapped up and in your direction. you wondered if he could see you there now, pressed against the tree and starting to meet his heavy inhales.

neither of you spoke still but then he was turning around fully and walking towards you again, seconds from passing you once more before your hand was reaching out and wrapping around his elbow.

he flinched at the sudden contact but his body lost most of the tension when he realized the hand on his skin was warm and very much alive, understanding it was you before he could even see you.

he took a step sideways and now he was standing in front of you, chest still heaving but now you could tell it was from a much different emotion. he was furious with you for disappearing and yet he still hadn’t said a word, not even about the fact your hand was still touching his arm.

you could see his face clearly now and you were sure the same was true for him, gaze looking over the part in your lips as you took small breaths and the way your eyes seemed wider than normal as you stared up at him.

you’d never been this close to the older man before and you certainly hadn’t touched him outside of the occasionally helping hand up or light grip while riding on the back of his motorcycle. your hold on his arm had turned into your fingers slowly moving up and down in a soothing manner, head cocking again as you waited for him to pull away from you.

he didn’t but you could almost see the struggle in his eyes, locked onto yours almost unintentionally like he just couldn’t bring himself to look away.

your hand smoothed it’s way up his arm even further, taking a few seconds to squeeze and rub at the tensing muscles of his bicep. you were suddenly reminded of his strength, something that was easy enough to ignore when you were able to chalk it up to being a young girl with hormones that didn’t have a place to go.

it was simple enough to be entranced by the sight of him digging graves or working on his bike in those sleeveless shirts he was so fond of, an older man already gruff to the world long before it had fallen apart.

you were able to feel little guilt for staring longer than you probably should have, always fixing your gaze back to where it was supposed to be as you busied yourself with the task for the day or just quick enough to avoid getting caught watching him by somebody else.

it was strikingly obvious now that there was no more distractions and certainly nobody who would be able to judge you.

you could feel his eyes still on your face even though yours was locked on the sight of your hand wrapping around his arm, letting it remain there for a few seconds longer before you were moving it up to his hair. he finally released a sound at this and the low grunt that fell from his lips lit up a heat in you that felt almost dangerous.

every part of you was suddenly screaming that you needed to do whatever possible to keep that heat growing higher and higher, pushing it until it was hopefully reaching the painful ice that had completely taken over your heart.

he was tenser now but not enough that he could stop you from softly pulling his head down towards your shoulder, feeling his hair touch your skin at the same moment you were turning and whispering into his ear. the desperation caused you to speak despite the overwhelming risk that he would leave you there alone with the dying heat as soon as he remembered who he was in the dark with.

“you can touch me too” your voice was so quiet that you almost didnt hear it but you knew he had judging by the way his entire body locked up at the way you practically purred.

you let him lift his head just enough that he could look into your eyes again and you felt another surge of panic at the hesitation his face held, your free hand immediately landing on his chest and rubbing downwards on his stomach to try and distract him from the obvious issue with what you had just said.

another thing you had learned about daryl since meeting him was that he was a good man.

rude and abrasive were the easiest words to describe him but it was undeniable that he was one of the best hearts your group could offer. he was devoted and loyal and there was very little he wouldnt do for the people he cared about.

all this had been something you admired a few months ago but now you were overwhelmingly frustrated by just how good he was proving to be. you could think of many men that would kill to be in the postion he was in now, alone in the dark with a young girl who was clearly longing to feel just about anything.

it made your nose automatically scrunch up to imagine any of those men here with you now instead of him and he mustve misread your sudden expression because you could feel him going to pull away from you, a panicked breath leaving your lips as you tugged him back harder than you had meant to.

your back was hitting the tree harshly and you barely had time to wince at the bark cutting into your shirt before he was falling into you, clearly unintentional. he froze up again when he heard the gasp you let out at the feeling of his chest pressing against yours and your hand in his hair tightened automatically.

he surprised you by not pulling away or distancing himself and you met his gaze again, giving him an encouraging nod as you gently tugged at his arm in an attempt to pull it away from his side. he gave in to your small nudges but still didnt touch you like you were longing for, instead just watching you as you let out soft whines and tried to get his hand to rest against you in any way.

“please.” it was the softest plea you could muster and the sound went directly to his defense, crumbling it almost completly as your wide eyes started to tear up. he was completely baffled that you were being brought to tears from how needy you were, desperate to be touched by him to the point that you were nearly forcing it.

finally he was caving in just enough to attempt to calm you down and you let out a shaky breath when his hand was landing on your side, feeling the dip of your waist and averting his gaze from yours now that he was responding to your advances.

your mouth parted again when he was squeezing your side almost absentmindely, massaging the soft flesh and letting out a low noise from the back of his throat when you tugged him impossibly closer. he was tightly pressed into you now and you could feel his entire body encaging yours against the tree, legs shifting to allow him more access to slot himself between them.

your hand was nearing frantic as you gripped his wrist and forced him to touch you more, sliding it over your lower back and angling yourself until it was touching your ass. he tensed up again but the high pitched whine you let out was almost enough for him to forget the issue at hand, worsening when your head was landing on his shoulder and your hands were gripping his upper arms like you were losing your balance over a simple touch.

he couldnt help himself now, it was simple human curiosity that led him to squeeze your ass in his first direct move. the action pulled you against him even more and slightly lifted you off the ground from the accidental force of it, another grope instinctively following when he felt your heavy breath against his neck and the way you shivered.

your hips were moving in small waves now, one of your hands back in his hair so you could force his gaze to meet yours again.

he seemed so cold as he watched you and the lack of emotion on his face did nothing but light the fire in you even more as a new desire to make him feel good emerged, his hand still gripping your ass while the other settled smoothly on your waist.

your shirt had ridden up as it got stuck against the tree bark and you felt the rough skin of his thumb smooth over your bare side, a cry leaving you at the feeling. he automatically shushed you and it was the closest you’d came to hearing his low voice in days, eyes watering as you nodded obediently and bit your lip in an attempt to stay quiet.

he was fully groping you now and your hips were rocking against him at a pace that was stealing the breath from your lungs, even more so when you were lifting your leg and resting it against his waist easily.

his core was pressing against yours and even though he wasn’t moving, he wasn’t stopping you either. you were practically using him for your pleasure and the thought made you cry out again.

this time he didn’t have to shush you because you were using your grip in his hair to pull his mouth to yours, whining as soon as your lips connected. he tensed up but you almost sobbed at the idea of him not responding to your advances and thankfully he did.

his mouth moving against yours was more intense than anything else you’d done and now the whines were impossible to hold back, forgetting about the loss you were feeling or the fact you were completely exposed to the world around you.

any potential danger wasn’t on your mind anymore and all that mattered was that you weren’t alone and you were still alive, heat fully building now as you kissed daryl and relished the feeling of his hands on you.

then it was gone as quickly as it came and you felt yourself completely ice over when he was suddenly gone, head so dizzy you almost thought he just completely vanished before you realized he had just stumbled backwards into the dark in front of you.

you knew he hadn’t left you, both because he would never do something like that and also because you could hear his raspy breaths a few feet away.

there was no confusion flooding through you because you knew exactly why he had stopped kissing you, the same reason he was currently storming off back towards where your abandoned fire was still dying out.

you waited a few seconds before you followed him, just long enough that you could still hear his footsteps without risk of ending up anywhere near him.

you weren’t stupid and you understood the mistake you had just made, especially with somebody as testy as daryl. you’d seen the way he locked up whenever carol rested her hand on his shoulder and it was obvious that he considered everyone he met a threat until given valid reason not to.

and then there was the issue of him being a good man.

daryl may come from a bloodline of men who would have no issue pressing a girl over twice their age younger than them against a tree but he wasn’t proud of that gene pool and he wasn’t going to start joining them now.

you felt guilty as you watched him from the tree line, throwing the half burnt logs roughly back onto the ashes with his face turned up in frustration and possible disgust. you didn’t join him even when the flames were back and a cold shutter was running over you, staying there in the shadows and longing for another warmth.

——

any hope of daryl choosing to forget about what happened and act normal was quickly lost when he woke you up by tossing a few loose rocks in your direction.

you had jumped awake and frantically searched your surroundings for any threat, freezing when your eyes landed on him standing there and glaring at you. he had looked the exact same since the fall of the prison but his shoulders were rigid with something else now.

you weren’t at all shocked by the fact that he hadn’t left you there, still feeling assured in knowing he wouldn’t do that to you no matter how upset he was with you.

he stood there, frozen in place, as you quickly gathered your little belongings into the small backpack you’d managed to grab during the chaos. there was an air of impatience around him that you didn’t want to test so you went as fast as you could and looked at him expectantly when you finished.

there was no mention to where you were going and you didn’t bother asking any questions, following him back into the woods blindly.

daryl walked for hours with no rest and you used all of your willpower to avoid requesting a break, keeping your exhausted pants and breaths for air as quiet as you could. he never once glanced back to make sure you were keeping up and there was periods of time where you almost lost him due to the distance between you.

at first you thought you were somehow managing to catch up every time but you quickly realized that he was stopping to wait for you.

the guilt you had felt was subsiding now as you assumed he was punishing you. you glared daggers into his back and started to purposely take your time, dragging your feet over noisy piles of leaves and sending decayed logs sprawling across the forest floor.

it took him a few hours to start sending glares back in your direction once he pieced together that your clumsy actions were clearly intentional. you both were furious with the other without really knowing why and the heavy emotion partnered with exhaustion was getting to you quicker than you realized.

“damnit girl pick up your feet.” his voice ripping through the forest completely threw you off your pace and you genuinely nearly tripped over a loose branch. straightening up just in time to see his concerned expression snap back into a glare.

“maybe if we took a break i could.” you were quick to argue back like the fact this was your first conversation in days wasn’t clouding your mind and he scoffed at your excuse.

daryl knew you well enough to know you weren’t the type to be clumsy when you were tired and that the crease in your eyebrows wasn’t a common sight. he was finding it hard to think of a rebuttal that wouldn’t reveal that level of familiarity and he settled on a mean scoff.

“do you even know where we are going?” your hands were thrown out from your sides in frustration and he watched you as you let out a humorless laugh. “is this your entire plan? walk ourselves to death?”

the jabs may have been just your anger spewing out whatever you could think but it was hitting him somewhere he didn’t know you could access. it wasn’t lost on him that you were looking to him now the same way everyone looked towards rick, although one life was way less of a responsibility than what the sheriff had taken on.

although he was beginning to question if that was true.

his lack of answer seemed to annoy you further and you wish you could’ve stopped yourself from talking but the embarrassment from his rejection and overall exhaustion was clearly affecting your impulse control.

“if you’re going to bore me to death at least let me get a drink first.” your tone was so harsh that he almost didn’t recognize it and his lip turned up in a snarl.

“ain’t even old enough to drink.” he was mumbling and turning to continue his mindless walk into the trees but you were quick with your reply.

“you know damn well how old i am daryl.” your sentence was harmless enough but the way you said it made his skin crawl, heavy implication that he had put thought into your young age.

you were embarrassed as soon as you said it especially since as far as you were aware, it wasn’t true. you had no knowledge to the fact that daryl had spent countless nights thinking about your age and wondering if you thought about him that way too. he had caught you staring a few times and watched a little harder next time you were in the room, lingered a little longer to try and gauge your thoughts.

you were a completely mystery to him and now it felt like he was an open book to you.

did you really know how hard it was for him to be around somebody as tempting as you? was it that obvious that guilt was eating him alive for even considering a world where you’d want him as badly as he did you?

his body was frozen in place as your words hit him harshly and you were so focused on your own humiliation that you didn’t even consider his strange reaction.

“look can we just…” your voice was breaking and trailing off in a pathetic way that only furthered your embarrassment and you sighed. “can you look at me?”

at first you thought that he might ignore you all together, actually wondering if he’d just stand there like that until you gave up and wandered away to find your eventual death. you let out a breath of relief when he was turning halfway to glance at you and the conflicted look on his face was different than the anger you had expected.

“im sorry that i made you feel weird but you’re the only person i have left.” you were talking without thinking and it was the first time he heard you sound so unsure of yourself, shifting in place restlessly. “i really don’t want to fight with you.”

he didn’t say anything for a long time but the fact he hadn’t immediately gotten defensive was enough for you to feel a little relief and it was only furthered by the small head nod he gave you.

“better move. suns setting.”

——

you hadn’t noticed the sky turning into a pale orange when he had mentioned it but he was as accurate as always and in less than an hour there was a dark haze obscuring your vision again.

this time daryl was more proactive and it turns out he did actually have a plan and he wasn’t just walking in circles, leading you through the woods until you were reaching a small town that was more accurately just a few run down shops and a bar.

the place looked properly picked over but daryl wasn’t stopping and looking in any of the windows or broken down cars, clearly more focused on settling down for the night rather than finding stuff to take along with you.

you almost laughed when he was leading you towards the bar at the end of the street, almost forgetting what you had said about wanting a drink to cure your boredom.

you knew there wouldn’t be anything left over on the inside but the irony was still apparent as you climbed up onto a stool and tapped impatiently on the bar top. daryl was somewhere behind you, messing around with the door locks and pulling tables in front of it to block the entrance.

you looked over your shoulder to see him glancing at you, possibly half amused at the way you rolled your eyes and checked a non existent watch.

he surprised you by actually crossing the room and getting behind the bar, searching through the cabinets and drawers for actually helpful things but also coincidentally allowing you to continue having your fun.

“so… bartender.” your voice was higher than normal and you’d suddenly gained a much thicker southern accent than your usual light drawl. “im new to town. anything fun to do around here?”

he was finally turning to look at you and you watched him curiously as he tossed an abandoned washcloth over his shoulder like he’d been drying glasses, your gaze growing heavier when he put both of his hands flat on the side of the bar and leaned slightly forward.

“pretty dead this time of year.” his voice was low and his face was as emotionless as always but his joke surprised you into a loud and sudden burst of laughter, laying your head down flat on the wood for a few seconds.

you’d never necessarily considered daryl funny but the vibe had certainly shifted from your harsh argument earlier and you couldn’t help but smile at him when you finally picked your head back up, resting your chin on your palm.

he didn’t speak for a while but he didn’t seem like he was planning to shy away from your gaze. maybe daryl was more confident after the sun had set, the bar barely lit outside of a few oil lamps he had apparently flicked on while you were playing pretend.

“what if this was how we met?” you didn’t feel stupid as you spoke even though a few hours ago you would’ve willingly ran into a tree before asking something like that to him. he didn’t respond but you noticed his grip on the bar tightening until his knuckles were white. “would you be at a bar like this?”

at first he didn’t respond and once again you felt that fear creep up, the isolation of his silence lingering in the back of your mind. then he was chewing on the inside of his cheek before shaking his head.

“nah.” it was low and gruff but it was something, almost everything to you and you were leaning even further off your seat and into your palm. “ain’t paying for shitty beer.”

you nodded at his answer and it actually made a lot of sense to you that he was the type of guy who’d rather drink at home but you wanted to pout at the fact he wasn’t playing along with you and your overactive imagination. he could see the disappointment flickering across your face but your eyes were lighting up before he could try to fix it.

“but we are here right?” you start slowly like you’re trying to paint the same picture for him that you’re able to see, maybe with some music playing instead of the sounds of walker growls in the distance. he doesn’t say anything and you take his silence as permission. “and im sitting on this stool, babysitting some shitty beer.”

you slightly mocked his accent as you repeated his words back to him and he scoffed out a laugh at the sound of your thick and over exaggerated recreation of it.

your mouth turned up at the sound of him laughing but it quickly seized when you were sliding your jacket off your arms.

daryl knew what you were wearing underneath, he’d felt the warm skin you were showcasing last night around this time even and yet he still wasn’t prepared for the image of it. he’d seen you in less if he actually thought about it but the small tank top wasn’t necessarily the point rather than the picture you were successfully painting now.

he could actually imagine the two of you at the bar in some other world, you dressed in something that would keep his eyes on you while you pretended to like the drink some asshole had ordered for you.

it was easier to forget the fact you hadn’t been able to drink before the end of the world and this was probably your first time in an actual bar when you were looking at him like that.

he wondered briefly if you meant to be as intimidating as you were sometimes, especially now as you smoothly slid off the stool while keeping your eyes locked on his. you answered his silent question by stopping to flick off one of the oil lamps as you walked towards his side of the bar.

the process continued as you disappeared with the light just to come back again under the glow of the next lamp before once again darkening it

there was a sane part of him that was screaming about this not being the time or the place, reminding him how much was constantly at stake. this was dangerous, you were dangerous and in more ways than one.

especially now that all the lights were off and you were suddenly right in front of him again, not quite as dark or close as it had been yesterday but enough for him to understand that you were once again wanting something from him that he could not give.

your hands were back on him and smoothing over his chest and arms, a repeat of events but this time there was confidence in the way you were moving. you barely hesitated before tangling your hand in his hair and pulling him closer to your lips and he didn’t resist the movement, staring down at you with that same blank look on his face that drove you to insanity.

he flinched back as far as your hands would allow when you went to kiss him, rocking on your tiptoes for a second before landing flat on your feet and pouting.

“it’s only us left in the entire world.” your whispered statement was as much reality as it was an exaggeration but he understood the point you were making before you spelled it out. “nobody will ever know.”

it was ridiculous how much your demeanor shifted under the thinly veiled mask of darkness.

this time when you were making an attempt, he was allowing you to kiss him. the pace of it was feverish from the beginning and you felt slightly smug with some solid proof that he had been wanting this as much as you had, regardless if that had started last night or long beforehand.

he wasn’t needing a guiding hand to touch you anymore and you sighed into his mouth when his rough hands were on your lower back, pulling you into him harshly like he had momentarily forgotten his own strength.

that wasn’t something you were capable of and your entire body felt like it was on fire as you remembered the things he was capable of, the things you’d seen him do to protect the ones he cared about. it wasn’t lost on you that you were included in that and your mouth felt bruised and swollen when you momentarily stopped kissing him in favor of pressing your lips along his jaw.

“god you could hurt me.” your voice was a single breath and he was opening his eyes to look at you, making brief eye contact whenever you came up from his hot skin. his gaze was heavy and alarmingly emotional, almost like he was fearing what you would say for one reason or another. “but you won’t, such a good man.”

you could tell the praising words bugged him so you didn’t object when he was grunting and kissing you again, affectively shutting you up while sparking your interest in putting your tongue in his mouth.

he was painfully curious where you’d learned to kiss so dirty, the idea of you wasting it on some idiot highschool boy getting under his skin for some reason. you were simultaneously hoping you were doing everything right and pushing yourself backwards up onto the counter to try to seem more bold.

your hands were clawing at the wood to try to get a good grip and hoist yourself up but luckily he was paying attention, easily lifting you by your waist and placing you there like it was nothing.

daryl still couldn’t see you but now he could feel your legs wrapping themselves around his middle and pulling him forward until his core was pressed against yours, drinking in the sound of your whines when you realized the position you’d put yourself into.

now you could feel that he was turned on and the knowledge was dangerous to your growing ego, still longing to hear another sound from him or to get him to fully snap and take you like you wanted.

his silence remained steely and you figured he wasn’t going to dare speak and risk putting himself too presently in the situation, bad enough that he was kissing your lips and pressing you into the bar top like some horny teenager.

he knew he had a responsibility now and before the end of the world, a moral code that didn’t stop just because the laws did. he knew you were legally an adult and aged even more by the things you’d had to go through but it didn’t stop the fact that he was over twice your age and the only person you had left, something that was settling uncomfortably in his skin.

is that the reason you were doing this, slipping your hand down the front of his chest until you were tugging at the rough leather of his belt?

“stop thinking so much.” your voice was still as breathy as it was before but it sounded firmer now, wanting him to hear your words. he rested his forehead against yours as you undid his belt and the narrow glare of his gaze was making your head spin. “i want this, want you.”

daryl tried his best to heed your advice, listen to the pure lust dripping from your voice as you told him what any man would want to hear from something as beautiful as you. he ducked his head into your neck when you finished removing his belt and he tried not to be too hasty as he roughly pulled down your low rise jeans.

he weirdly hadn’t put much thought behind what you’d look like without clothes despite his concerning amount of time spent fantasizing about different scenarios.

maybe you’d find him stupid if you knew he more often pictured you sending a youthful smile his way or grasping onto his hand when you were scared rather than what it would be like to take you to bed (or the top of an old bar counter).

you’d most likely laugh in his face if you knew how badly he wanted to protect you, feeling a heavy darkness low in his gut at the thought of you in danger.

he was thinking this like your hand wasn’t back in his hair while you did your best to pull his jeans down with your heels, pulling him back into a kiss and trying to bring him back to the present moment. you were slightly pained at how much he was clearly overthinking but you were too far gone into your desire to let it stop you from having him.

it was easier for him to get out of his head when you were whining louder and louder as he entered you, tugging at his hair and clawing at his back to hear another pained grunt from him at the feeling of your nails on his skin.

there was a lack of words from both of you now even though you had plenty to say, longing to catch your breath long enough to tell him how good he felt. or rather ask him about what he was feeling, coerce him with your tightness so he was less likely to regret what you were doing.

you wanted to make sure he knew that you weren’t settling for your idea of the last man on earth, detail how much you liked the lowness of his weathered voice and how rough his hands felt as he fumbled to grab onto any bare skin of yours he could find.

there was no part of you that was ignoring the clumsy way he dragged you closer to the edge of the counter as you both started to reach your peak, desperation causing an obvious fever in him that was making him act more impulsively.

no regret surged through you as you finished around him, bringing him back into another bruising kiss with slower rocks of your hips to try to urge him to come undone too.

daryl was completely frozen after and you almost didn’t want to open your eyes to search the dark for the look on his face, preferring to stay in the hazy moment with him still inside of you and not yet closing back off at the realization of what you’d done, what he’d done to you.

his age was showing again in the way he was still careful with you afterwards despite his inner turmoil, pouring some of your last bits of water onto the cleanest rag he could find to help clean you up and even pulling you further off the counter so he could button your jeans for you.

it was almost romantic if it wasn’t for the hovering knowledge that what had happened was technically a mistake by all moral standards.

you’d instinctively reached for his hand as he cleared his throat awkwardly and went to back away from you, letting it linger between your two bodies as you slid off the bar and stood there in front of him.

the ashamed look on his face was expected but he was mildly surprised to see the wide eye stare you were sending back, peering up at him like he had hung the moon and the stars that were lighting your faces through the dusty windows.

you had plenty of time for him to shut you out and deal with the inward battle about the lines you’d crossed together but you weren’t going to give up that easily, squeezing his rough palm and following behind him like it was completely typical behavior for the two of you.

your heart was thawed out knowing he’d come around eventually, even if it was only in the late hours of the night where it was easiest to pretend you were the last people on earth.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #twd #norman reedus #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon fluff #twd fanfiction #oldermen #older man younger woman

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briefinquiries · 4 months ago

Text

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 1

Tommy Shelby x Reader : Chapter 1

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you've seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby's) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Seeking a fresh start in Birmingham, you never expected a late-night knock at your door to pull you into the orbit of fa family like the Shelby's. But as you work to save the life of their wounded leader, a buried memory stirs, because this isn't the first time you've stitched up Thomas Shelby.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, stitching wounds, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, brief PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language.

A/N: I've decided to give a Tommy Shelby x Reader multi-chapter fic a go. Comments / replies are always so appreciated (and motivating). Thanks for reading!

Birmingham greeted you with coal-stained skies. The air was thick with smoke and iron, clinging to your skin and settling into your lungs like something you’d never quite cough out. It wasn’t warm, and definitely wasn't welcoming. But then, you hadn’t come here looking for comfort.

You had come for a fresh start.

You stood outside the house, studying it carefully. It was small but solid, tucked on a quiet street away from the chaos of the factories. The bricks were darkened with soot, the windows a bit dusty, but the roof was sound, and the door was sturdy. Nothing fancy, nothing remarkable. Just a house.

Your fingers tightened around the key, the cool metal pressing into your palm. You turned it over, studying the familiar scratches, the worn edges.

The house had belonged to your uncle, a man you barely remembered. He had been a quiet, reserved man, a blacksmith who kept to himself. You recalled visiting him once as a child, the memory hazy, clouded by time. You couldn’t even remember his face.

He had left Birmingham years ago, moving out to the countryside, somewhere greener, quieter. Then, he had fallen ill.

About a month ago, a letter arrived. It was short, written in your father’s careful, uneven scrawl. "Your uncle passed away, left the Birmingham house to the family. No other heirs. If you ever need it, the house is yours."

You didn’t think much of it at first. You were busy. Trying to survive in London while out running memories of blood and war. But as the weeks dragged on, as thoughts of the war continued to haunt you, the letter weighed heavier in your mind.

It was an escape… a place to start over.

So you took the key, boarded a train, and came to Birmingham. To this house.

You took a deep breath, the air heavy with smoke and the faint scent of metal. Then, you pushed the key into the lock and turned. The door creaked open, the hinges stiff with age. You stepped inside, the wooden floorboards groaning underfoot.

The air was stale, dust settling in the corners like forgotten memories. The furniture was sparse. In the corner, a worn armchair, a rickety table, a narrow bed in the back room.

It was yours. And that was more than you’d had in a long time.

You closed the door behind you, leaning against the wood for a moment, eyes drifting shut. The house was quiet, almost peaceful.

You let out a breath. Your fingers brushed over the windowsill, the paint chipped and peeling. This place needed work. A fresh coat of paint, a good cleaning. But that could wait.

For now, you needed to figure out your next steps. You had made it to Birmingham. You had the house. But what now? Where were you supposed to go from here?

Your gaze drifted to the bag by the door, still packed with the few belongings you had brought with you. Clothes, a journal, medical supplies.

You had been trained as a nurse during the war, a healer amidst blood and chaos. You still had the skills, the knowledge. And if you were being honest, you needed work. You couldn’t live off of memories and dust. You needed a purpose.

But the thought of returning to the sick beds, to the blood and the wounds… it made your stomach twist. You had seen enough pain to last a lifetime. Still, healing was all you knew. And despite the memories, despite the nightmares, you were good at it.

You thought about finding a clinic, a hospital, maybe even a small apothecary. Birmingham was a big city. Surely there was work to be found.

You just had to keep your past buried. No one needed to know about France, or about the war. They just needed to know you could patch wounds and heal the sick. You took a breath to steady yourself. Maybe you could find work somewhere quiet, somewhere far from the blood and gunfire.

You looked back at the window, watching as smoke curled through the streets outside, people bustling about their business.

You didn’t know anyone in Birmingham. No friends, no connections. Just a house. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe a clean slate was exactly what you needed.

…

The next morning, you set out with a clearer purpose. The air was thick with the scent of damp streets, the sky an endless stretch of gray, pressing low over the city. Birmingham was loud and alive, a mess of bustling crowds, shouting vendors, and the clang of metal from the factories.

You moved through the streets, weaving between workers with soot-streaked faces and women carrying baskets of bread and potatoes. The city had a pulse, gritty and restless.

You weren’t sure where you were going. Not exactly. But you needed to get a feel for the city, to know what work might be available, to see if there was a clinic, a hospital– something that wasn’t a battlefield.

The small apothecary caught your eye first.

The wooden sign creaked in the wind, the glass windows slightly fogged from the warmth inside. Shelves lined the walls, filled with glass bottles of tinctures, jars of dried herbs, and vials of tonics. The familiar scents– lavender, mint, camphor, grounded you in a way you hadn’t expected.

You picked up a small bottle of laudanum, checking the label, when a voice broke through your thoughts.

"Excuse me."

You turned, finding a dark-haired woman watching you with sharp, curious eyes. She was young, but there was something about her– a confidence, an ease, like she was someone who was used to asking questions and getting answers.

"Could you pass me that bottle?" She gestured to a jar on the high shelf just above you towards something amber-colored and thick, labeled in neat handwriting.

You nodded, reaching up and handing it to her.

"Thanks," she said, turning the bottle over in her hands before glancing back at you. Her eyes flickered over you, assessing. "I’ve never seen you in here before."

Your shoulders tensed instinctively, but you kept your expression neutral.

“Probably because I’ve never been here before. I’m new to Birmingham," you said simply. "Just moved from London."

Her eyebrow arched, her lips twitching with something like amusement. "New, huh?" Her eyes scanned your face again, lingering a little too long, like she was trying to figure out what kind of person you were.

"Yeah," you answered, keeping your tone even. "Looking to get settled in."

She hummed, clearly unconvinced. "You have family in the area then?”

"Used to. Not anymore. But my…" You paused, choosing your words carefully. "My uncle left me his house. Figured I’d put it to use."

The woman’s brow arched, curiosity flickering in her dark eyes.

"Whereabouts?"

You hesitated again. There was something unsettlingly sharp about her gaze, the way she looked at you like she was putting together a puzzle. But you couldn’t think of a reason not to answer. Not yet, at least.

"Small street. On the quieter side of the city, just east of the factories."

Her eyes flickered with recognition, her mouth curving into a half-smile. "That would be on the edge of Small Heath, then." She hummed, her expression thoughtful. "Not many folks live out that way anymore. It’s mostly warehouses and old workshops."

You nodded. "It’s quiet. Suits me just fine."

"Quiet, yeah," she echoed, her voice dipping slightly. Her eyes flicked back to you, sharp and knowing. "Unless you count the factory whistles, that is."

You offered a faint smile. "I’m hoping I’ll learn how to tune them out."

Her lips twitched. Amused. "Must be quite the change. Birmingham’s not like London."

"No, it’s not," you admitted.

"What brings you to the shop, then?" Her gaze flicked to the bottle of laudanum still in your hand. "Not feeling well, are you?"

"No," you shook your head, placing the bottle back on the shelf. "Just stocking up. I’m a nurse."

Her eyes flickered with something– curiosity, intrigue, maybe. "A nurse?" She repeated, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms loosely. "That’s rare around here."

You shrugged, trying to keep your posture relaxed. "Figured I’d try my luck."

She studied you a moment longer, her dark eyes tracing your face, her expression unreadable. For a heartbeat, you wondered if she could see right through you.

But then she smiled– a quick, fleeting thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’m Ada, by the way." Her lips twitched with a smirk.

You introduced yourself, though the way her eyes lingered on you afterward made you feel like she was filing the name away for later.

"See you around."

And then, she was gone, disappearing into the bustle of Birmingham.

The bell above the door jingled softly in her wake. You stood there for a moment, staring after her, trying to shake the unease creeping into your bones.

Something about Ada felt like a warning.

…

By the time you made it home, the sky had darkened, and the city had taken on a different kind of life. The distant hum of music from the pubs, the sharp voices of men laughing and shouting in the streets, the occasional clatter of hooves against cobblestone, all of it filtered through the cracks in the door as you stepped inside.

You locked the door behind you, double-checking the latch before exhaling.

Nights were always the hardest, but routine’s helped keep you steady.

You lit a candle on the worn table, the dim glow flickering against the bare walls. From your bag, you pulled out a small tin of herbal tea, a habit you had picked up somewhere along the way, one of the few things that had helped keep the worst of the nights at bay.

The kettle on the stove took its time, the soft whistle filling the silence. You let the sound settle into your chest, grounding you, reminding you that you were here, in Birmingham, not back there.

You poured the tea, letting the steam rise, inhaling deeply. Lavender, chamomile. Comforting. Soothing. Familiar.

You let the cup warm your hands as you moved to the small washbasin near the window. With slow, deliberate motions, you wiped the soot and city grime from your face, rinsing away the day. Your fingers traced the edges of old scars, faint but still there, a map of wounds that had long since healed.

You pushed the thought away before it could root too deep.

Back at the table, you took a slow sip of tea and focused on the small, simple details, like the warmth of the cup, the crackle of the candle, the soft creak of the house settling. Something in your chest loosened, just slightly.

You weren’t naive. You knew the night wouldn’t be easy. It never was.

But for now, you had a roof over your head. For now, you were safe. You had to let that be enough.

…

The days passed in quiet, measured steps.

You had spent most of your time wandering the city, mapping the streets in your mind, feeling out where you might fit. Birmingham was a city of industry, of labor, of men and women working themselves to the bone. It was restless, alive, always moving.

Finding work, however, had proven more difficult than expected.

You had stopped by a few places– a small clinic near the factories, an apothecary that looked like it could use an extra set of hands. But while people were always in need of medical help, no one seemed keen on hiring a stranger.

You filled your time with small tasks, simple things to make the house feel like your own.

The place had been untouched for years, and it showed. Dust lingered in the corners, the air had been stale, the furniture old and impersonal. You scrubbed the floors, aired out the rooms, patched the curtains that were fraying at the edges. Little by little, it started to feel less like a stranger’s house and more like yours.

You found an old wooden trunk buried in the bedroom closet, filled with relics from your uncle’s past. A few books, a rusted pocket watch, a small collection of letters yellowed with age.

You didn’t know what to do with them, so you stacked them neatly in the corner. Some part of you felt strange throwing them away.

The work kept your hands busy, your mind occupied. And at night, when the city quieted and the memories tried to creep in, you stuck to your routine. Tea. Candlelight. Wash the day away.

You set the steaming cup of tea onto the worn wooden table, the candlelight flickering as the night settled around you.

The routine had become a comfort, a way to quiet your thoughts before bed. You dipped the cloth into the basin, dragging it across your skin in slow, measured strokes, rinsing away the day’s grime, the lingering scent of smoke and iron from the city streets.

The house was silent, peaceful, save for the distant hum of Birmingham outside– the occasional shout from a passing drunk, the distant bark of a dog, the clang of metal from the factories that never truly slept.

And then– A knock.

Not just a knock. A frantic pounding at your door.

Your body tensed instantly, the cloth slipping from your fingers, landing with a soft splash in the basin.

Three sharp knocks. They were urgent– desperate.

You froze, heart hammering, staring toward the door.

For a brief, foolish moment, you considered ignoring it. Letting whoever it was move on, letting them assume you weren’t home. But then you heard another slew of frantic knocks before moving quickly across the room, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor.

You unlatched the lock and pulled the door open. A woman stood on the doorstep, wild-eyed, breathless, her coat slightly askew.

You didn’t recognize her. Her face was sharp, lined with experience, her eyes fierce and intelligent. She looked like a woman who was used to being listened to.

"You’re the nurse?" she demanded.

You blinked, the urgency in her voice rattling you.

"What–"

"No time for questions." She said sternly. “Are you a nurse or not?”

You nodded blankly.

The woman reached forward, gripping your wrist. "Someone’s dying. You need to come. Now."

Your stomach twisted. You could have said no. You should have said no.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed your medical bag, stepped out into the cold night air, and followed the woman into the dark.

The woman dragged you down the darkened streets of Birmingham, her grip firm as you struggled to match her pace. The cobblestones were slick with the night’s dampness.

"Who are you?" you asked breathlessly, glancing at her from the corner of your eye.

"Not important," she shot back, barely sparing you a glance. "What matters is that someone is hurt, and you’re the only nurse in the bloody area who can help."

That should have made you stop. It should have made you pull away, demand more answers. But something in the woman’s tone, the raw urgency, made your feet keep moving.

"What happened?" you pressed.

"Beaten within an inch of his life," she answered curtly. "Needs stitching, stabilizing. And we can’t take him to the hospital."

That last part made your stomach turn. "Why not?"

The woman finally looked at you then, a sharp, assessing glance that made your breath hitch. "Because hospitals ask too many questions," she said.

You didn’t argue, though unease curled in your gut. You weren’t completely stupid. You knew the type of folks who avoided hospitals were typically the ones who had reasons to stay in the shadows. The kind who couldn’t afford questions, who didn’t want records or police involvement.

The woman led you to an imposing brick manor, its dark windows towering above like watchful eyes. It stood apart from the grime and chaos of Birmingham, looming at the end of a quiet street, a stark contrast to the soot-stained buildings you’d grown used to.

The iron gate creaked as she pushed it open, the path leading to the heavy front door lined with manicured hedges and polished stone. Inside, the air was cooler, cleaner, but no less suffocating.

The woman moved swiftly, her heels clicking against the gleaming floor as she led you through grand hallways, past rooms with plush armchairs and dark, heavy drapes. Without a word, she led you up a winding staircase, her posture rigid, her pace quick. She stopped outside a heavy wooden door, turning to you with sharp, dark eyes.

"In here."

Your eyes adjusted to the dim lantern light, and that was when you saw him. A man lay slumped on top of a bed, his head lulled to the side limply, his body battered and broken. The white of his shirt was soaked through with crimson, his face barely visible beneath the swelling and bruises. He was surrounded by about eight other men– all cross talking and hovering.

"Jesus Christ," one of the men muttered when he saw you, his voice heavy. “Who the hell is this, Polly? Thought you said you were getting help.”

"Get out." The woman– Polly’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Firm. Absolute.

Most of them hesitated, but then they obeyed. Filing out into the hall with murmurs and glances, leaving only the one who had questioned you behind.

She turned to you. "Fix him."

You swallowed, stepping closer, taking in the damage. The man, whoever he was, had been worked over with brutal precision. Deep cuts, swollen bruises, a gash at his temple still bleeding sluggishly. His breathing was uneven, shallow.

"I– I don’t know if I have the right supplies… He’s burning up," you murmured, pressing the back of your fingers against the man’s clammy skin.

"I can assure you that you will be compensated more than fairly if you help him," Polly said firmly.

The weight of her words settled between you like an unspoken challenge. You hesitated only a second longer before nodding, rolling up your sleeves and pressing your fingers to his pulse. Weak. But still there.

You set your medical bag down. "I need clean water and more light, if you have it. And someone needs to hold him still."

The same man stepped forward immediately. "I got ‘im."

Polly exhaled. “I’ll get the water.”

You nodded once, then got to work.

You dropped to your knees beside the man and started taking inventory of his injuries. The most pressing issue was the bleeding. He had several deep gashes– one above his brow had sent blood streaming down his face, coating his cheek in dark red smears, another along his abdomen was deep and oozing. His ribs were bruised, possibly cracked, his breathing shallow and uneven.

His hands were scraped raw, the skin around his knuckles split open, he had fought back. But judging by the state of him, whoever he fought had won.

"I need whiskey," you said, peering towards the man, now lingering towards the end of the bed. "A lot of it."

He let out a grunt of approval before moving toward a shelf in the corner.

You reached for a clean cloth, dousing it with whatever antiseptic you had on hand, and pressed it firmly to the gash on the unconscious man’s head.

He flinched, his whole body tensing. Still fighting, even now. You murmured something low and instinctive. "Easy. You’re alright. Just hold on."

You focused on stitching the worst of the wounds, steadying your hands, ignoring the shake in your breath.

The man with the whiskey stepped forward, dropping a bottle onto the table beside you with a dull thud.

"This for you or for him?" he asked dryly.

You didn’t glance up as you poured some onto a clean cloth, pressing it to a particularly deep wound along the unconscious man’s ribs.

He tensed, but didn’t wake.

"Both, probably," you muttered, shaking your head.

The man let out a short chuckle just as Polly returned with a basin full of water and a stack of clean cloths. She kicked the door shut behind her before carefully setting it down beside you.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

You exhaled slowly, stepping back to assess your work. "If the fever doesn’t take him."

Another silence. Then Polly nodded once, as if that was good enough.

"He’ll make it," the man muttered, rubbing his jaw.

You weren’t so sure.

You took a step back, rubbing your sore fingers against your skirt, trying to wipe away the lingering dampness of blood. It had taken several hours– careful, grueling hours, to stitch and clean each wound, to stabilize his breathing, to keep him tethered to life.

The man in front of you was alive, but for how long was still uncertain.

"He needs rest," you said once you were finished. "No movement, no stress. Keep him warm, keep his wounds clean."

Polly nodded. But her sharp gaze lingered on you, like she was trying to see past your words, past your face, past whatever you were trying to conceal.

You held her gaze for half a second before shifting your focus back to your bag, checking your supplies, steadying your hands.

"You’ve done this before," she said suddenly.

You hesitated. Not long. But long enough for the moment to stretch. "Yes."

"In a hospital?"

"No."

Another silence.

Then she asked, “Where?”

But before you could respond, the door swung open.

"Told you she could help," a familiar voice announced.

You turned toward the sound to see the woman from the apothecary. Ada. Your stomach twisted slightly as you realized how this family had even found you.

She looked concerned, but unfazed by the scene in front of her, the gore, the man slumped on the bed, the piles of bloody, used gauze. She just strode in, coat draped over her shoulders, sharp eyes flicking from you to the unconscious man.

"Will he be alright?" she asked.

Before you could answer, the man spoke first. "He’s Tommy fucking Shelby. He’s bloody tough is what he is, ‘course he’ll be alright.”

The name made you pause. Your heart stuttered in your chest, and your eyes flickered back to the man on the bed. Thomas Shelby.

You knew that name. But from where?

You looked at him again, really looked at him– past the bruising, past the swollen eye and the split lip.

There was something… familiar. Like a ghost creeping at the edges of your mind.

And then, it hit you.

From France– from the trenches, from the cold earth and suffocating dark.

From the tunnel collapse.

Your mind reeled, the memory creeping in like a ghost, unbidden, unwelcome. You could still see it– the flickering oil lamps barely cutting through the darkness, the stench of blood and damp soil thick in the air. The cries of the wounded had blurred together into one endless, agonizing sound, but somehow, over all of it, you had heard his voice.

Thomas Shelby had been one of the lucky ones, dragged out of the tunnel collapse, barely breathing, covered in dust and blood, muttering things under his breath that no one could understand.

You had been the one to sit with him for hours while you waited for help. You pressed a cloth to his forehead, wiped the dirt from his wounds, checked for broken bones. You had been the one to sit beside him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. And you had been there when he woke up later on in the infirmary.

His blue eyes had been dazed, unfocused. He had blinked up at you, confused, disoriented, barely clinging to the present.

"You’re alright," you had murmured, your voice calm, steady, the same tone you had used on countless soldiers before him.

He had just stared at you, breathing raggedly, his chest rising and falling in shallow movements.

Then, a whisper. The words were barely audible, slipping through cracked lips like a prayer, or a curse. "Still here, then."

“Yeah,” you responded. “You’re still here.”

Then, his gaze flickered, just for a moment. "And so are you."

It had startled you then, that he had remembered you. In the chaos, in the dark, you had been just another nameless pair of hands keeping him from slipping away. But he had remembered.

Your fingers clenched around the bloodied cloth still in your hand. You forced yourself to move, to step back from him, to push away the ghosts that clawed at the edges of your mind.

"You’re not leaving, are you?" Ada’s voice cut through the thick silence, sharp and knowing.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on the present. "I’ve done all I can," you murmured, more to yourself than to them. "If he makes it through the night, he’ll live."

The man huffed. "And if he doesn’t?"

You didn’t answer. Because you had seen enough men slip away in the dead of night, their bodies giving out long after their minds had fought to stay.

You didn’t want to see another.

Polly, who had been watching you closely, exhaled through her nose, as if making a decision. “Stay the night. Watch over him. I’ll double your payment."

Your eyes flickered to hers. Calculating. Appraising.

A pause stretched between you.

Then, finally she sighed, “Triple."

“Jesus, Pol,” the man said.

“Quiet, Arthur–” she snapped.

They were desperate– his family, you had to assume. And how could you say no? They were begging in the language they knew, money.

“Triple is robbery. Double is fair,” you replied with a sigh.

Polly’s sharp gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied.

"Okay then," she said.

Ada exhaled beside her, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with something unreadable in her dark eyes.

The man– Arthur, then took another swig from the bottle of whiskey and muttered, "Fucking hell, he’d better wake up after all this."

You turned back to the man lying unconscious on the makeshift bed, his face still swollen, barely recognizable under the deep bruising. His breathing was still shallow, his body eerily still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

You reached for the cloth and basin of water that Polly had brought earlier, wetting the rag and dabbing gently at the dried blood along his jawline.

"We’ll be downstairs if you need anything," Polly said after a moment. "Ada, come on."

Ada hesitated briefly, her gaze flickering between you and Tommy, before she gave you a slight nod and followed her out of the room.

Arthur lingered. He stood by the bed, arms crossed, watching as you continued to clean the remnants of violence from Thomas’ face. "You know, when Pol said she was getting help, I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about," he admitted, voice gruff.

You didn’t look up, just kept your focus on pressing the damp cloth to the dried blood along his jawline.

Arthur exhaled through his nose, rubbing his face briefly before nodding toward you.

"But… thanks. For saving my brother."

You finally glanced up, finding something genuine in his gaze. You just nodded. A quiet acknowledgement.

Arthur lingered for a beat longer before muttering, "Right then."

Then he turned and strode toward the door, disappearing into the hallway, leaving you alone.

Next Chapter >>

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders angst #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x imagine #peaky blinders x reader

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 9 months ago

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Racing for Love

word count: 1.6k

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Wife!reader, ft. thier child

Summery: Max and Y/n navigate the challenges of raising their young son Noah, encouraging his love for racing while standing firm against Jos Verstappen's intense training methods to ensure Noah's happiness comes first.

_____________________________________________________________

The afternoon sun poured over the track, its warm glow casting long shadows as you watched your son, little Noah, zoom around in his mini-kart. He was just four years old, the spitting image of Max—same piercing blue eyes, same determined scowl as he concentrated on mastering every turn.

From the sidelines, you could feel Max’s pride radiating as he watched Noah. It had been his dream to share his love for racing with his son, and now that Noah was old enough to drive a kart, it felt like the beginning of something special. But to you, Noah was still your baby, and seeing him behind the wheel so young filled you with both excitement and a sense of protectiveness.

“He’s a natural,” Max murmured beside you, a smile pulling at his lips. He was quiet today, simply enjoying the moment without any of the pressure that used to weigh so heavily on him.

But that peace shattered the moment you saw Jos pull up to the track. You stiffened, your grip on the fence tightening instinctively. Max noticed your reaction, his own expression darkening slightly. He loved his father, respected what Jos had done for him, but the scars from his own childhood were still there, buried under years of discipline and hard-earned success.

Jos strode over with that same commanding presence, eyes flicking from Max to Noah on the track. “He’s got the Verstappen blood in him, that’s for sure,” Jos said with a grin, but there was something in his tone that sent a chill down your spine.

“I know what you’re thinking, Jos,” Max said calmly, though his jaw clenched. “He’s not me.”

Jos scoffed, folding his arms. “If you want him to be the best, Max, you can’t go easy on him. You know what it takes. You can’t coddle him.”

Your heart sank. You knew exactly what Jos was thinking—long nights on cold tracks, harsh words, endless drills until exhaustion took over. It had shaped Max into the world champion he was today, but at what cost? You weren’t about to let the same thing happen to Noah.

“No,” you said firmly, stepping forward. “We’re not doing that. Noah is not going to be pushed like that.”

Jos turned his gaze on you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You think I went too hard on Max?” His voice had that edge to it, the one that made it clear he didn’t care for dissent.

“I know you did,” you shot back, feeling your protective instincts rise. “Max went through hell growing up, Jos. I won’t let you put Noah through the same thing. He’s still a child. He’s not going to be pushed until he breaks.”

Max stood silently beside you, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. His hand slipped into yours, his grip tight, supportive.

“He’s got talent,” Jos insisted, his voice rising. “He’s got to be toughened up if he’s going to make it.”

Your eyes blazed as you stepped forward, standing your ground. “Noah is four. He needs to love this sport first. I won’t let you take that away from him the way you almost did with Max.”

The memory of Max’s childhood—a mixture of triumphs and painful sacrifices—hung heavily in the air. You knew how deeply it had affected him, and you weren’t going to let history repeat itself.

Max’s voice was low but firm when he finally spoke, his eyes locked on his father. “She’s right. I don’t want Noah to go through what I did. If he’s going to race, it’ll be because he loves it, not because he’s afraid of failing.”

Jos’ expression faltered for a moment, a flash of something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes. “I made you a champion,” he said, but the words lacked the conviction they usually carried.

“And I thank you for that,” Max replied, his tone softer now. “But I want to be a different kind of father. I want to enjoy watching Noah grow, not push him until he resents me—or the sport.”

For a moment, the three of you stood in tense silence, the sounds of the track fading into the background. Noah, blissfully unaware of the conflict brewing, came speeding around the corner, his face lit up with joy as he handled the kart like a pro.

Jos sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “Fine,” he muttered, glancing at Noah. “But don’t come crying to me when he’s not tough enough.”

You exhaled, feeling some of the tension leave your body as Jos turned to walk back to his car. The relief was palpable, but you could still feel the remnants of anger lingering in the air.

Max wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You did good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until you said it.”

You leaned into him, your heart still pounding from the confrontation. “I just want him to be happy, Max. I don’t care if he’s the best driver in the world.”

Max smiled, watching as Noah jumped out of the kart and ran towards the two of you, his laughter infectious. “He will be,” Max said softly, “because he’s got the best parents in the world.”

As Noah raced toward you and Max, his tiny legs barely keeping up with his excitement, his helmet still bobbing on his head, you knelt down to meet him at eye level. His wide smile, the mirror image of Max’s, made your heart swell.

“Mom! Dad! Did you see? Did you see me go around the corner?!” Noah’s voice was filled with that pure, unfiltered excitement only children could have.

Max crouched down next to you, reaching over to ruffle Noah’s messy hair. “We saw, buddy. You were incredible out there,” Max said, grinning proudly.

“You were so fast,” you added, placing your hands on Noah’s small shoulders. “But were you having fun?”

Noah nodded vigorously, his blue eyes shining. “Yeah! It’s just like Dad! I wanna go even faster next time!”

You smiled, though there was a flicker of concern in your heart. “I know you do, sweetheart. But remember, it’s not about being the fastest. It’s about enjoying yourself.”

Max leaned in, adding softly, “Your mom’s right, Noah. The most important thing is that you love what you’re doing.”

Noah frowned a little, looking between the two of you. “But, Grandpa said I need to be the best. Just like you, Dad. I wanna be like you!”

You felt your stomach tighten at the mention of Jos. Max glanced at you before looking back at Noah, his voice gentle but firm. “You will be, Noah, but you don’t have to be the best right away. I wasn’t the best when I started either. It takes time.”

“But Grandpa said I have to work harder,” Noah pressed, his little brow furrowing in confusion. “I want to be like you, Dad. I don’t want to let you down.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, at how much he wanted to impress Max. You reached for Noah’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You could never let us down, Noah. We’re proud of you no matter what.”

Max shifted, his expression growing more serious but still tender. “Look, Noah,” he said, placing a hand on your son’s small shoulder. “I know Grandpa says a lot about working hard and being the best, but that’s not everything. You’re still so young. Right now, it’s more important that you have fun and learn to love racing. You don’t need to be perfect.”

Noah looked up at Max, his eyes wide. “But… what if I don’t get as good as you?”

Max smiled softly, his eyes full of warmth as he gently cupped Noah’s cheek. “I don’t care if you’re the best driver in the world, Noah. I just want you to love it. If you love racing and want to get better, we’ll help you. But if you decide you don’t like it anymore, that’s okay too.”

“But I do love it!” Noah insisted, his small fists clenching with determination. “I love it so much, Dad. I wanna race forever!”

Max chuckled, glancing at you before looking back at Noah. “Then you will, buddy. And I’ll be there every step of the way, but we’re going to do this our way, okay? Not Grandpa’s way. You’re going to race because you want to, not because you have to.”

Noah seemed to process Max’s words, his tiny face deep in thought before he nodded slowly. “Okay, Dad. I like that.”

You smiled, pulling Noah into a hug. “We’re going to have so much fun together, Noah. And when you’re ready, we’ll help you go even faster.”

Noah giggled into your chest before he turned to Max, his eyes wide with excitement again. “Can we go again tomorrow, Dad? Please?”

Max looked at you, his smile softening. “We’ll see, champ. But let’s take it one day at a time, okay?”

Noah nodded eagerly, clearly satisfied with the answer. “Okay! I’m gonna be so fast!”

Max stood, lifting Noah up in his arms as your son beamed with pride. “You already are, Noah.”

As the three of you started walking back toward the car, Noah resting his head against Max’s shoulder, you caught Max’s eye. He gave you a soft smile, his free hand slipping into yours.

“You know,” Max said quietly, “I always thought I wanted Noah to be a driver just like me, but seeing him today… I just want him to be happy.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full. “He will be, Max. He’s got you—and us—showing him what really matters.”

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hoe4hotchner · 6 months ago

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Child abductions | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: Angst, no use of Y/N.| Summary: Hotch yells at you and you get sad and a little scared so you retreat. Hotch come to apoligize once he cools down. |

A/N: This is kind of inspired byt Hotch and his little temper tantrums in Gabby…. God I love when he gets angry.

It had been a long case. The kind that gnawed at your spirit and left a dark weight hanging in the air. A child had gone missing. The team had been running on fumes for days, chasing down every lead with increasing desperation. Hotch had been especially on edge, cases with children always hit him the most, the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders. Every dead end, every false lead - he took it all personally.

You knew he cared deeply for every case, but this one was hitting him harder than usual - even more so for a child abduction case. The little girl’s face was plastered across every screen, her eyes a constant reminder of what was at stake. You’d been there, trying to support him as best as you could, offering quiet reassurance when he needed it. But you knew it wasn’t easy to get through to him when he was like this - focused, intense, burdened by the responsibility of finding her in time.

You’d seen him upset before - frustrated, tired, worn down from the endless stress of your work - but this was different. The raw fury in his voice when he’d been interrogating the unsub had left everyone on edge, including you. When the team returned to the precinct, there was a heaviness in the air as Hotch began debriefing. His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in a way that made everyone stand a little straighter.

You tried to be helpful, stepping in with a small observation about the evidence, your voice gentle but sure. Before you even finished speaking, though, Hotch snapped.

“Not now!” he barked, his eyes blazing with an anger that wasn’t meant for you. “Just - stop. I don’t need you interrupting right now.”

The sudden harshness of his words cut through you like ice, freezing you in place. You stood there, stunned, feeling the weight of his anger crash over you like a wave. He had never raised his voice at you like that before. Your heart pounded in your chest, your throat tightening as you nodded quietly, retreating from the room without a word. You didn’t want to make a scene, but the sharp sting of his outburst lingered, burning in the pit of your stomach.

The team fell silent, watching you go, but no one dared to say anything. They could tell Hotch was too far gone in his anger to realize what he’d just done.

You found a quiet corner away from everyone, sitting down as you tried to calm your racing heart. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from swirling in your mind - Hotch had never spoken to you like that, and the way his voice had cracked with frustration scared you in a way you hadn’t expected. He had always been your steady, composed rock. Seeing him like this, so consumed by his anger, made you feel small like you’d done something wrong even though you hadn’t.

Time passed in a blur as you sat there, staring blankly at the floor, trying to push the hurt away. It was hard to shake the sting of his words, though, and harder still to quiet the nervous flutter in your chest every time you thought of facing him again.

It wasn’t until later, when the case was starting to wrap up and the tension in the precinct had lifted, that Hotch realized what he’d done. The anger had drained out of him, leaving only exhaustion in its wake, and as he replayed the events of the day in his mind, his heart sank. He remembered snapping at you - remembered the look in your eyes, how you’d gone silent and withdrawn so quickly. It hit him like a punch to the gut.

He searched the precinct, looking for you, dread building with every step. When he finally found you, you were sitting alone, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to make yourself smaller. His heart clenched at the sight.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room. His voice was gentle now, but you stiffened at the sound of it, your eyes darting up to meet his before quickly dropping back to the floor. “Can I… Can we talk?”

You didn’t respond at first, your hands gripping the edge of the chair like you weren’t sure what to do. He could see the sadness etched on your face, the way your shoulders were tense, and it broke something inside him.

He crossed the room slowly, careful not to crowd you. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean it. You didn’t deserve that—none of it. I was angry, and I took it out on you. That was wrong.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “You’ve never… you’ve never yelled at me like that before,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know what to do.”

The pain in your voice was like a knife to his heart, and he knelt down in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “I know,” he said, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you understood. “I was an idiot. I never want to hurt you like that again. You mean too much to me.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the regret in his eyes. The weight of his apology settled over you, easing some of the hurt in your chest. Slowly, you nodded, your body relaxing just a little.

“I just… I didn’t know what I’d done wrong,” you admitted, your voice small. “It scared me.”

Hotch’s expression softened, and he reached up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured. “I let my emotions get the better of me, and I’m so sorry. You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the silence between you softening as the tension eased. You leaned into his touch, your heart finally starting to slow, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “I’m here, and I’m not going to let anything come between us. Not even my own stupidity.”

A small, shaky smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you nodded, letting yourself sink into the comfort of his presence. “I love you too.”

Hotch pulled you into his arms, holding you close, and you felt the last of the fear and sadness melt away. You weren’t afraid anymore, not with him holding you like this. And as the two of you sat there in the quiet, you knew that no matter what, you would always find your way back to each other.

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hiraethwrote · 7 days ago

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DAMN YOU, SATORU GOJO

pairing : satoru gojo x f!reader summary : against your better judgement, you choose him — time and time again, despite it not always being the smartest choice. but it just developed an understanding that you'd follow him wherever. cw : angst, sorcerer!reader, manga spoilers, canon events, profanity, character death, some arguing, reader is smaller than satoru, unspoken feelings, crying, smidget of fluff, some namecalling, creative freedom lol, one vague description hinting at longer hair, no use of y/n word count : 5.0k

Five times you had chosen Satoru when you knew you probably shouldn’t have.

You were 15, just innocent first years at Jujutsu tech and it had been such a dumb decision to let him convince you.

“Please, please, please,” Satoru begged, propped up on his knees in front of you with his hands locked together in prayer, staring at you with doe eyes and bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

You let out a sigh, turning your attention away from the overgrown child in front of you to look at Suguru, who had a self satisfied grin smeared across his face.

“Don’t look at me. I told him already I’m not going!”

“You wouldn’t let me go out at night alone, would you?” Satoru grabbed your attention again. “Who knows what lurks in the shadows out there?”

“Satoru, it’s not allowed. We have a curfew,” you tried to argue, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Curfew? I don’t know what that word means,” he said and shuffled closer before drilling his fingers between your forearms to forcefully grab your hand, securing it in a tight grip. “Come on! This is a matter of life and death!”

“You said you wanted to go get a late night snack?”

“Same thing! Just please come with me, I don’t want to go alone!”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatic antics, taking yet another deep sigh as you weighed your options. The smart thing to do was to refuse, yank your hand out his and send him off to his dorm, like you all should be doing at this hour.

Tomorrow was yet another day of duties to attend. All four of you expected to be present bright and early for the first class starting at 8.

Not to mention what would happen if you were caught. You were sure to be in trouble then, probably having to run around the grounds of Jujutsu High, doing all sorts of ridiculous chores as punishment for who knew how long.

But you couldn’t lie — there was something nearly hypnotic about his cerulean blue eyes staring up at you, a convincing effect you found hard to fight.

You kept chewing the inside of your cheek to smother the small smirk that threatened at the corner of your lips, knowing very well he would burst with pride if he noticed. “If we get caught, I won’t hesitate to throw you under the bus.”

Satoru immediately lit up, jumping to his feet with excitement. He rushed out a hurried goodbye to Suguru, waving over his shoulder before pulling you after him and out the door.

“I’m serious, Satoru! If Yaga finds out-“

“Would you calm down,” he sighed, walking nonchalantly down the dimly lit road, fingers intertwined behind his head, seemingly not a single worry on his mind. “Yaga won’t find out! Besides, he loves me, so I’ll just work my charm and he’ll let us off the hook. Trust me.”

His head snapped towards you when you couldn’t help but scoff tauntingly at him.

“If you got something to say,” he whined childishly, staring at you with his characteristic pout.

“No, no! You're free to believe whatever you want.”

Eventually you reached the small, deserted convenient store without running into any of your superiors, so you finally let your shoulders relax when you entered the cool store. The fluorescent lights that welcomed you was a stark contrast to the darkness outside, and thus extremely unpleasant.

As Satoru strutted through the isles, you at his heels, you quickly learned that he was by no means a penny pincher, filling his basket with whatever his heart desired.

“What are you having?” He asked as he pulled a packet of biscuits from the shelf.

You quickly scanned the shelves on each side of you, “I think I’m good.”

Satoru instantly stopped in his tracks and spun around, causing you to crash right into him. He was staring big eyed at you, as if you had personally offended him.

“I just won’t accept that.”

“Really, Satoru, I’m good-“

“Come on! My treat,” he said excitedly, grinning with childlike joy.

It was only when you started school that you were reunited with Satoru, having only met briefly many, many years ago — and from what you remembered, the energetic and optimistic person in front of you was vastly different from the child you were once introduced to.

That thought, mixed with the contagious joy he embodied, made it hard to suppress any lurking smile.

“Fine, I’ll grab an ice cream or something.” The statement had his smile burn brighter, if that was even possible.

As you stood above the ice cream counter, trying to make up your mind about what you wanted, you could feel him grow impatient where he stood behind you, peaking over your shoulder. Eventually you landed on your favourite, and Satoru decided to grab one for himself as well.

Just like he had promised, he paid, happily so, and you started the walk back. All stress had left your body now, simply enjoying the moment. The ice cream threatened to melt down your hand as Satoru had planted a chronic giggle on your lips, making it impossible to try and digest your little treat.

However, the bliss was sadly short lived and the stress returned when suddenly an all too familiar figure stood in the middle of the road several feet ahead.

Yaga.

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath, both you and Satoru stopping in your tracks, too scared to approach your teacher any closer.

Before too long, you were both sat alone in Yaga’s office in front of his desk.

You grumpily had your arms knitted in front of you while your shoulders were raised up to your ears, foot tapping anxiously against the floor.

“Damn you, Satoru Gojo,” you said through gritted teeth. You turned to look at him, only feeling the anger grow when he was busy stuffing his face with some of the chocolates he had purchased not even an hour ago.

Without hesitation, you reached your hand out and yanked the paper bag out of his hand, a few pieces flying across the room. “Hey!” He yelped.

“Will you stop eating, you asshole?!” You nearly growled at him. “This is exactly what I feared would happen!”

He rolled his eyes at you before slumping further into his chair. “You’re too pretty to worry this much- ouch!” Mid sentence you had sent your hand swinging, slapping his upper arm. “Okay, sorry I got us in trouble! But I’m sure it’s not going to be anything too bad.”

You just kept scowling at him, feeling like a fool for falling for his silly charm. Not to mention how extra infuriating it was that he didn’t take this nearly as severely as you did, almost as if he believed it didn’t affect him at all.

He cleared his throat and sat up properly before leaning over the armrest closest to you. “I really am sorry!”

The crease between your eyebrows let up, hearing how his apology was genuine. By the way he was looking at you and the inner edges of his eyebrows angled upwards with guilt, you could tell he had never intended to be caught — he had actually believed you would simply return to school without any problem.

Shaking out of the trance, you fell back in your chair. “I’m still mad at you,” you grumbled quietly and directed your gaze straight ahead, knowing it would be harder to hold onto your frustration if you kept looking at him.

“Justified,” he sighed.

As Satoru had expected, the punishment wasn’t too bad. You simply had to clean up the kitchen after dinner for a week — and if anything, you were almost thankful because you had a lot more fun than you would ever have expected.

The time spent cleaning up ended up taking twice as long as what was scheduled, just because you both were a whole lot busier talking, laughing and in general messing around — acting like the teenagers you were rather than doing what you were supposed to. In the end, the punishment only served as the first building block in what eventually evolved into an untouchable bond.

The next time you chose Satoru when you knew you shouldn’t, was over something a lot less trivial — it was forever doomed to claw at your conscience.

You had turned 23, and life looked a lot different now than when you were teenagers. So much had happened over the years, things one couldn’t dwell on for too long because it would only pull one into a depressive spiral — and you and Satoru had grown closer as a result of it.

One of the most significant moments was when Suguru defected.

Describing the whole ordeal as traumatic didn’t even begin to cover it. If there was a way for you to forget it all, be that a deal with the devil, you’d take it just for some solace.

However, life goes on whether you want it to or not.

Your close quartet shrunk into a trio — but there was something deeper that spawned between you and Satoru. Whatever it was, it went unsaid because neither of you ever managed to find the right words to explain it. All you knew was that it had you gravitate further into each other’s orbit, out of reach from everyone else.

One was rarely seen without the other, always pairing up for missions — even when your superiors didn’t want you to.

For years you we’re inseparable, until you found yourself entangled in a whirlwind romance with a lovely man outside of jujutsu society. Before you knew it, you were swept up in all his charm.

It seemed perfect — he was nice, respectable, patient; all the qualities one looked for in a partner. You were under the impression that things were going well, which was why you were shocked when he sprung the ultimatum on you.

“Me or him?”

Your jaw kept opening and closing at a loss for words, sitting on the edge of the couch with your hands pressed between your thighs. You could tell this was something that had been heavy on his mind for a long time based on the sadness that harboured in his eyes, standing in front of you, a shell of the person you knew.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, seeing how his shoulders sank. And when he spoke again, his voice was low and determined, “I won’t ask again. Me or him?”

“Him.”

The word slipped out of you like a quiet squeak. Your answer had come on pure instinct, like every part of you knew there was no other option.

You prepared yourself for yelling and shouting, an endless stream of ‘how could you?’. But it never came.

Instead his posture relaxed. He huffed what you thought was supposed to be a lighthearted laugh before he took a seat next to you.

“Damn you, Satoru Gojo,” he breathed.

You didn’t know what else to do than stare at him dumbfounded, “I’m sorry,” you stuttered.

“Don’t be,” he turned to you with a sad smile painting his lips. “I think I kinda always knew.” Again, he let out a sound you thought was supposed to be a laugh but it just didn’t quite get there as he placed a hand on your knee. “But I needed to hear you say it.”

“No, I am really sorry!” You reinforced, placing your hand on top of his.

“You really don’t need to explain,” he flipped his hand to quietly intertwine his fingers with yours — one last moment of intimacy. “What the two of you have-“ cutting himself off, he tried searching for the right words to describe whatever it was you and Satoru had. You clearly weren’t the only one struggling to put the importance of your relationship into words. “I’ll never be able to compete with that. So don’t be sorry.”

You mirrored his melancholy smile and gave his hand a squeeze.

For another thirty minutes you sat there and talked, reminiscing of good times — there were quite a few, you both agreed. But it was clear this couldn’t continue any further. So you gave him one last hug and left.

You took your time walking back to the grounds of Jujutsu tech, your head heavy with churning thoughts.

When you had driven your brain exhausted with these new revelations, you found yourself craving a little snack before heading to bed, b-lining for the kitchen first thing — your heart skipped a beat when you were met with Satoru stood with his head in the fridge, peaking out to meet your gaze when he felt your presence enter the room.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too,” you scoffed at him, throwing your bag on the kitchen isle before jumping up on it.

“Weren’t you supposed to be with-“ he waved his hand about, “whatever-his-name-is tonight?”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. “We broke up, actually.”

Satoru very abruptly stopped searching for whatever he was looking for, closing the door to the fridge and leaned up against it. “I’m sorry.” You simply shrugged in response. “What happened?”

“Uhm-“ how were you supposed to tell him that he was the reason for your breakup? You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Now having been made aware of the fact, it became clear to you that you and Satoru were dancing on a fine line — more than friends, but not quite lovers. An unspoken thing that one could feel dip into a romance. But you didn’t want to be the one to bring attention to it and break the illusion that there was nothing there. That would only create unnecessary pressure to what was essentially a nonexistent issue.

“Just didn’t work out,” you sighed.

“His loss,” he smirked — and there it was again, that tension that was impossible to label, traveling between you. It suddenly became very clear why your ex had proposed the ultimatum in the first place. “But you’re okay?”

For a second you just looked at Satoru, a content smile stretching across your face as you nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good! Then I can come clean and say I never liked the guy,” he said and returned to rummaging the fridge.

“Oh, believe me, I know!”

“What do you mean you know?” His voice muffled in the fridge in front of him.

“You thought you were subtle?” You teased.

He just peaked a look at you over his shoulder, his eyes full of mischief, and even though it was hidden behind his arm, you know he was smiling with satisfaction.

The fourth time around, you were 28 years old and you had no clue how this choice would unfold itself.

“You have to trust me on this!” He begged, and even through his blindfolds you could feel his pleading eyes drill into you.

“Satoru, I don’t know.” To say you were reluctant was an understatement, seeing this choice venture down a handful of potentially dangerous routes.

“You’ve always agreed with me that the higher ups don’t have a single clue what they're doing. They’re too scared to see the chance we have here.”

You only sighed, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning up against the wall behind you. Sure, there was a long list of descriptive words you’d use for the higher ups before even the first positive one would pop up, but this case was severe enough to actually be able to see their perspective.

“You trusted me with Yuta, now I need you to trust me with this too!”

“You cannot begin to compare these two cases!” You scoffed. “Yuta didn’t have the literal king of curses inside him! You too have to see how these are wildly different scenarios?”

The hypothetical question hung in the air as he mirrored your position against the opposite side of the hallway.

The list of consequences the higher ups had presented was long — excruciatingly long. You’d felt like an idiot stood behind Satoru as he argued and argued, while you kept your lips sealed, witnessing the powerful individuals in front you discuss so aggressively you swore you could feel the temperature rise.

Your silence definitely took them by surprise, so used to you always taking Satoru’s side without question. But this time around, you didn’t see it as black and white as you usually did.

“I’ve looked at this from every angle, and I believe this could work.” Worry pinched your eyebrows together, never letting your eyes leave the strong sorcerer in front of you, who now looked more timid than you’d seen him in years. “And should the worst happen, I’ll stop it! I promise.”

A lump formed in your throat as what you believed was mostly your concern spawned in your mind.

Everyone else saw the worst scenario being Ryomen Sukuna regaining physical footage in the real world, and the earth’s strongest sorcerer wouldn’t be able to stop it and be eliminated in the process.

Your worst scenario was losing Satoru.

“He’s just a kid,” he continued to plead.

Letting out a deep sigh, your head fell forwards to hide how your eyes had turned glossy. “Damn you, Satoru Gojo.”

“So you trust me?”

You nodded slowly as you kept your head directed at your feet. “I trust you. You know I do.”

A strange and eerie, though somehow also comfortable silence filled the empty hallway. You just hoped you wouldn’t end up regretting this.

As you could feel an oncoming headache sneak up, you closed your eyes and slowly began to rub circles on your temples, hoping the faint agony would release. It had truly been a few stressful days.

You let out a small whimper of relief as strong fingers placed themselves on your temples, causing your own hands to lazily fall to your sides.

You just enjoyed the moment, letting Satoru soothe you for minute before muttering a quiet “thank you.”

“Feel better?” He asked, low enough so it was only audible to you.

The exhaustion had seemed to grow permanent in your body, only able to slightly lift your shoulders in a small shrug you weren’t even sure he saw. “Don’t know, but it’s nice,” you smiled weakly.

“Feel like you’ve had more and more of these headaches.”

“These are trying times,” you attempted to lighten the mood by the small quirk in your voice, but it wasn’t as successful as you’d hoped for when he never responded with an anticipated chuckle.

“I don’t like it.” His voice came out a little rough, fingers still moving in comforting circles on each side of your face.

“I’ll be okay,” you sighed.

Carefully you tilted your head upwards, a little sad the black cloth around his head blocked direct eye contact to be made, even though you knew they were looking right at you. You lifted your hands again, tenderly placing them on top of his big ones, making him stop massaging you.

“Promise me-“ a small spark of fear halted your sentence for a second. “Promise me I won’t regret this.”

His right palm flattened against your cheek. “I promise.”

The fifth time you chose him took place not many months after the choice regarding Yuji Itadori — but not without a heated discussion.

“I can’t believe you went as far as set a date, without even talking to me!” You shouted at him, anger having driven you to stand so close to him you could feel his body heat radiate off of him.

“I’m sorry, but it was the best decision to make in that moment.” He fired back, but his voice possessed a tenderness yours lacked. “This gives us a month to prepare.”

“No!”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no,” you said, voice cracking at the end. “I won’t allow it.”

His head fell back in frustration, “this is our chance to end this!”

“I don’t care, it’s too risky! We’ll find another way to stop Sukuna.”

“There is no other way!” He said, pronouncing every word very clearly.

You licked your lips, a shaky breath exhaled through your nose as you fought off tears. “What about Megumi!?”

“This is how we save him,” he argued back.

“I said no. It’s just too dangerous!”

Slowly but surely you felt yourself losing grip on your sanity, all the death and suffering you’d all been through that had lead up to this moment, catching up with you and presenting you with yet another dilemma.

You ran your fingers through your hair, tugging at your roots. “I just need you to trust me! One more time-“

“Damn you, Satoru Gojo!” You sobbed, cutting him off before he was able to finish his sentence. “I won’t lose you!”

You drew a sharp breath to choke back the bubbling sobs, shoulders bouncing as you sniffled, the sound muting the conversation instantly.

His lips parted with a sad sigh, letting his muscles rest as he now saw you were not in a position to receive any hard arguments. “You’re not going to lose me.”

“Take your blindfolds off.”

Softly he spoke your name.

“Take your blindfolds off!” You repeated with a raised tone. “I want you to look me right in the eyes as you give me your word!”

With two fingers he hooked a hold of the dark fabric, and with one swift motion he did as you demanded. His tufts of snow white hair falling to cover his forehead as his eyes stared right into yours.

His gaze flittered between your eyes, causing your hands to fall at your side. The intensity in his crystal pools caused your chin to quiver, salty tears leaving wet trails down your cheeks.

“You’re not going to lose me.”

The words left his mouth, and your face scrunched together with sorrow, shutting your eyes as the waterfalls continued. Hesitatingly, you nodded your head so shyly you hoped the movement was faint enough for him not to notice it — Satoru quickly placed a hand on each side of your jaw and you felt his hair tickle you softly before resting his forehead against yours.

“You won’t lose me,” he reassured you, “not ever.” You pulled back, wanting to look in his eyes again. “I’m not the strongest for nothing.”

You wished you could spare him even just a small chuckle, but his attempt to change the atmosphere for the better was doomed useless. If anything, it only made it worse — reminding you of the burden placed on him by powers he hadn’t chosen for himself.

“Just make sure to take use of that,” you whispered, his thump wiping away one of your silent tears.

“I will.”

You opened your mouth, faint sounds coming out as you were in an internal discussion of whether you should say what rested on your heart or not — “there’s still things for us to do. You and me.”

It was his time to slowly nod along in agreement, confirming what had gone unsaid for so many years without taking use of the actual words. “I know.”

The chilly wind was slowly blowing through your hair, your arms wrapped around yourself more in an attempt to hold yourself together rather than to keep yourself warm.

It seemed only fitting the skies were grey, the sun trapped between layers of dark clouds — because all brightness had left the world when Satoru did.

You looked down at the simple headstone, engraved with his name, his birthday and his death day, the one you had insisted needed to be placed in the peaceful backyard of Jujutsu high.

Then you started to think back at the first time you chose Satoru Gojo — had you only known then how much pain you would have spared yourself if you had chosen differently.

The earth had orbited the sun many times since then, when he could only be labelled a stranger. Not even ten years old when you spotted a kid in your local playground, all in his lonesome as he let the tips of his shoes slowly wiggle him back and forth on the swing-set.

Now, when your entire future looked nothing but dark and gloomy, you wished you’d listened to your initial instincts and just continued the trip home. He was none of your concern, no matter how lonely he looked.

But that was just it — you felt bad. A kid wasn’t supposed to be alone in the playground, especially a kid who seemed in desperate need of a company.

A little annoyed with yourself, you let out a frustrated huff before letting your bike tip over and strut towards the boy sitting with his back facing you.

“Hi there!” You said loud and clear. He stopped staring at the gravel, jumping off the swing-set and quickly spinning around to look at you, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “Whoa-“

Once eye contact was made, you felt it — he was like you. You didn’t know much about the jujutsu world, or your powers for that matter, at this time. All you knew was that there was something about you that made you different. Special.

And the kid staring back at you was part of that too. Though you had no idea to what degree.

“Who are you?” The innocent question stumbling out of you with awe only possessed by a child.

For a second it looked as if he didn’t want to answer, kicking a small rock in front of him. “I’m Satoru Gojo,” he mumbled.

You only blinked at him, trying to understand why he said his name like that — like you were supposed to know who he was.

“Nice to meet you, Satoru Gojo,” you recited the pleasantries your parents had thought you before telling him your own name. “You’re like me, aren’t ya?”

He narrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean ‘like you’?”

“Special! That’s what my mom says at least.”

He just lifted his shoulders in a shrug, “I guess.” Satoru really didn’t like how the word left you like a compliment. Because Satoru knew he was special. He’d been told so for as long as he could remember. And at ten, he wanted nothing else than to be ordinary.

“I’ve never met someone like me before. At least that I know of.”

Satoru blinked at you, the crease between his eyebrows narrowing further in confusion. You seemed absolutely clueless about the world you truly belonged in, and he envied the ignorance. “Now you have.”

“What are you doing here all alone?” You tucked your arms behind your back, as you began to continuously shift your weight from your heels to your toes, and to your heels again.

Again he shrugged. “Having fun.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re having much fun.”

A frown settled on his entire face, taken aback by your blatant honesty. “Well, it is,” he argued stubbornly, retracting his hands from the pocket and crossing them in front of him.

“Can I join?” You asked, head tilting to the side. Again you surprised him, but this time it was a more delightful one.

“Okay,” he stuttered, waiting for you to come closer and take the lead in whatever it was you considered to be fun.

And you did — happily so. You both lost complete track of time. Especially Satoru, who couldn’t remember ever really playing with another kid like this.

After nearly two hours, you glanced at the small watch wrapped around your wrist. “Darn!” You exclaimed. “I was supposed to be home by now.” You scattered to your feet, wiping off the gravel dust that was coating your knees and ran back to your bike. You only got halfway there before Satoru called your name.

“Will I see you again?” He looked nearly sad as the innocent question was spoken.

A toothy grin greeted him in return. “Yes, I’m sure of it!”

Nervously he fidgeted with his fingers. “How do you know?”

Never letting your smile waver, you made up your mind right then and there. “I’ll find you again. I promise.”

That was the last thing you said to him before riding off.

Whatever it was, something connected you to that strange boy that day and you knew, someday in the future, you would follow him wherever he went.

Several times a month you would think of the promise you made to Satoru, his name appearing in your dreams every once in a while, making sure you wouldn’t forget about him.

Five years later you were finally reunited, now a lot more familiar with the world you belonged to.

He had recognised you immediately. You could tell by the peaceful smile he served you with, watching how some of the stress he desperately tried to suppress, simply disappeared from his body.

“Hi there!” He greeted you, just like how you had captured his attention when you were kids. That was the only thing you ever acknowledged of your adolescent encounter, letting it stay a holy secret only in the memory of you and Satoru.

That way no one could touch it — no one could taint it.

“Damn you, Satoru Gojo,” you sniffled and wiped your nose with the back of your hand. “You and your stupid promises!”

Taking a few steps forwards, kneeling down in front of the stone, you let your fingers trail each letter of his name.

“I think I’ll curse you forever for that,” tilting your gaze down at the wittered flowers you had planted when he was first buried. “We were supposed to have more time you and I.”

You wrapped your arms around your bent knees, sitting much like a child who had their laser focus on something in front of them would, gaslighting yourself into thinking your own embrace made you feel better — in reality, you wished it was Satoru’s arms that enveloped you.

“But I’m choosing to believe I’ll find you again,” a whispered promise, the words floating along with the wind to a place you hoped he would hear them.

That was the sixth and final time you chose Satoru Gojo.

author's note : aaaah can yall believe this took me less than a week???? and i am kinda happy with it?? the hell is happening. anyways, in my satoru feels lately

tags (open — link to taglist form) : @sad-darksoul . @gdamnackerman . @madaqueue . @toadba . @harperluvgojo . @nishislcve . @ichore . @sugurunugget . @megapteraurelia . @loveyislost

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chaptersleftunwritten · 10 months ago

Text

Down on all fours

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Blurb: After you unwillingly come clean about your undying love for Eddie Munson, your life is swept into a whirlwind of deceit, lust, confusion and regret… and glitter that Eddie can’t seem to shake from his pockets.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Steve Harrington x Chrissy Cunningham

Warnings: 18+, slight angst (?), alcohol consumption, reader referred to as girl, cheating/unfaithfulness, drugs mentioned (weed), mentions of blood, depictions of violence, cursing, bodily insecurity, implied sexual themes. Character are 20+ and in a college setting!

divider by @cafekitsune

The movie theatre would never be the same anymore— not to you. Not since that day. A place once associated with joy and child like wonder, where you watched your beloved characters come to life on the big screen and where you could laugh openly, unattractively and purely with your friends.

Tainted. Forever changed.

But not forgotten. Never forgotten.

The memories have been eating you alive, feasting on your insecurity and your shame. Despite the look of fearful regret on Eddie’s face, you still thought about him.

Day and night— morning and noon. Before you slept and before you awoke each morning. He even infiltrated your dreams. Dreams are meant to be sacred, private affairs and yet, Eddie Munson still ruled them like the King of all of your desires. His ring clad fingers were still clutching onto your heart— squeezing and loosening his grip around the vital organ as he saw fit. He had the upper hand; the control.

He always did. He always has.

You couldn’t bring yourself to face them— any of them. Not Steve, not Robin, not Chrissy and especially not Eddie. It was peculiar, the addictive need to see Eddie no matter the cost— no matter the humiliation. It out weighed every sane thought you had.

You would steal glances at him from across a room, hiding in plain sight. Desperate for the shadows to claim you as their own; for the walls to hug you back. You felt other worldly, as if your soul was floating outside of your body and you had no rational feeling. No say. No voice.

Confessions should be freeing; but you have never felt so trapped. Chained. Soul tied.

Love conquers all, but love also might just conquer you.

It’s mid-week, and although college parties always attract unwanted attention you could never have prepared to see this many people crashing your family home. Precious photos were knocked over, the smashed glass from the frames line the top of shelves and cabinets- glittering them in a forbidden pixie dust.

Your bedroom has been occupied by a couple you didn’t recognise and if it weren’t for the pleasant buzz of alcohol coursing through your blood you most certainly would have screamed at them to leave. The sicker parts of you were envious of their engagement. Their human closeness and connection.

Why couldn’t you have that? Didn’t you deserve that?

So instead of blowing your top, you roll your eyes and scoff before slamming the familiar door obnoxiously loud and coke to nest at the bottom of the staircase; the wood is hard and cold against your bare thighs which causes you to pay some uncomfortable attention to your outfit. Sparkly, twinkly and stupid.

Your heart sinks to the abysmal pit at the bottom of your stomach at the realisation that nobody here really knows what this party is for. Who it is for.

Your birthday streamers that once decorated the walls proudly have become unpinned from the concrete, cascading down the wall in a massive spiral and hiding the message written on the plastic.

Happy birthday!

Not a single person had uttered those words to you the whole night. Even on a day where you were meant- born to be celebrated, you have been forgotten. A bystander in your own life. An observer in a theatrical play written for you. About you.

And the humour of it all?

You were used to it now.

Nothing could break your heart; because it was already in pieces.

Shreds. Splinters. Fragments. Puzzle pieces never to be solved or mended again. A heart shaped hole stamped into your chest where someone once lived.

Cobwebs inhabit the vacant crevasse, dust gathering on the sensitive walls. The sensitive walls that have hardened into a volcanic crust.

The only thing left behind in your impenetrable fortress? A single crumpled envelope with Eddie’s name written on it in cursive. The ‘i’ in his name punctuated with a loveheart.

He was the only tenant you wanted living there. And in reality, he should have been evicted a long time ago.

But nobody said love was easy. Nobody warned you that it would be this hard, though, either.

Was love supposed to make you this low? Was it supposed to make you find your bearings at the bottom of a red fizzing cup? The carbonated bubbles in your drink seemed to be your only friend tonight.

Would it really be your birthday if you didn’t cry at least once? Or twice… or thrice.

“Hey! Does anyone have any weed?” Your quiet attempt at a yell comes out of your mouth in the form of a drunken hiccup and you are debating the possibility that you may have stood up too fast, “Anyone? No?” Frustrated you pinch the bridge of your nose as you sigh loudly into your hand, your ears met by silence from your peers.

“I might.” You can hear a comedic tweak in his voice and you swear you can feel part of you die on the inside.

“Steve,” You say through clenched teeth, forcing a smile, “I didn’t know you smoked?” You also weren’t aware that he would be here— but you can’t deny the attention that this party is demanding from the neighbourhood. You are partly surprised that the police haven’t been called yet, but your neighbours aren’t known to be snitches.

“I don’t usually,” he shrugs dismissively, “I didn’t know you were throwing a party? Thankfully word travels fast in this town, huh?” His elbow gently nudges into your arm playfully, “There’s no better time for me to give you this.” He hands you a small box that has been wrapped all too perfectly in a sage green wrapping paper; brought together with a pretty black tulle bow. For a moment you are totally stunned, eyes inflated as you gawk down at the gift in your slightly shaky hands.

“You…” you search for the words, lost in his kindness and when you finally gather enough courage to meet his sweet brown eyes you nearly drown in their depths, “You got me a gift?”

He flashes you one of his signature Steve smiles and your drunk brain can’t seem to comprehend if this is a joke of not.

“Of course I did? You’re one of my best friends!” His voice is a happy chime as he ruffles his fingers through his chestnut gelled hair, offering the stiff strands some movement. You notice his pupils flicking between your face and the present in your hands, one of his eyebrows raise with subtle confusion, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Yeah- yes! Yes, of course!” You set your empty cup down on a nearby table before your nimble fingers come to wrestle with the sticky tape, painted fingernails clawing like an animal to get to the goods inside. There is a nervousness that comes with the unwrapping of the gift and you don’t quite understand why. The moment feels significant… special. You finally feel somewhat special tonight.

Eagerly, Steve keeps his warm amber eyes trained on you. A soft, dreamy smile itching at his lips as he awaits your approval. You and Steve had been friends for such a long time, you even opened your college acceptance letters together in his family dining room with his parents. He had always been there for you, through everything. One of your best friends— possibly your only friend.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while— how have you been?” His voice is laced with genuine concern but all you can do is ogle at what is displayed in front of you. A shiny silver necklace that had been personalised to have your name dangling from the chain with small colourful charms decorating the metal plating sit inside of the small box that Steve had handed to you. It was beautiful. It was you. And not to mention… it perfectly matched your outfit.

“Shut up!” You gasp, picking up the chain from the safety of its box and dangling it in front of Steve’s face, the neon stream of lights from the party reflect off of its pristine surface, “Steve!! What the Hell? This is stunning!” You become a fit of excited girlish giggles and Steve shakes his head at your outburst, finding it adorable.

“You like it?” He is booming to be heard over the increasingly loud music and you squeal, fumbling with the latch on the chain.

“Like it? I love it! Thank you so much!” You reach around your neck, fighting to clip the necklace and Steve offers you a helping hand accompanied by an amused chucklez, “It’s perfect, Steve, truly! I love it, I love it!” You brush your hair over your shoulder, allowing Steve to access the chain and clasp it securely.

“There! Pretty as a picture.” He winks at you and you toy with your name displayed across your chest; an honest smile gracing your lips.

“Happy birthday.” His large palm rubs the flesh of your shoulder and you nod at him in acknowledgement. There is an after glow that lingers after Steve’s touch disappears and you are not even aware of where he wanders off to but when you realise that you are stood alone… you feel that all too familiar feeling start to creep it’s way back into your chest. An icy chill. A storm brewing.

“Steve?” You call out to him, however your voice is wasted with how small it was and goes totally unnoticed. Your eyes drink in the sea of dancing, sweating bodies around you. The number of people in your home is multiplying— like a deathly virus.

The perky smile falls from your cheeks and only then do you remember why you were even talking to Steve in the first place— you wanted some weed. You needed some.

Or did you?

You wanted to escape life. To feel free from the bounds of Eddie Munson, free from the shackles of your mind. This is the only way you knew how… sleep wasn’t an option— he could reach you there.

Even the darkest corners of your mind, where even the ghosts refused to venture, were haunted by Eddie— there was no fleeing from him. You were his.

But he was Chrissy’s.

You find yourself outside, sitting in the cool night air by the side of your house. Your face is flushed from the alcohol and your skin feels as though it is prickling with heat; fiery.

Your mini skirt hugs your hips and thighs and you fist the fabric, suddenly uncomfortable with the way your body looks in the garment. The way the flesh of your thighs squish the ground beneath you has you stifling a scream and you wrap your arms tightly around your torso to shield the rest of your body from the world.

Your eyes flicker and blaze with the mirrored light from the street lamps, the orange hues meeting the chunky glitter that dominates your eyelids. The heavy makeup was starting to irritate your eyes, but you would do anything to seem half presentable. Anything to feel and look your best.

A choked laugh emits past your lips; it was ludicrous. How you had been exiled from your own birthday party. Left to the wolves of the wild. You didn’t mind too much— it meant you could finally take off this weighty mask you had been hiding behind all night. No more untruthful smiles, no more biting back teary eyes.

You could finally feel. And breathe.

However, your reign of peace and solitude doesn’t last long as your ears perk involuntarily at an all too recognisable thundering chuckle. This whole time, you had been preparing for him to show face and yet you have never felt so startled. A deer in headlights.

The chains around your wrists tighten as you stiffen, unable to move. Unable to respond or breathe or think.

Eddie had arrived.

“Woooah! Lookie’ here! If it isn’t the birthday girl,” Even in the dim light of the garden you can see his Cheshire smile examining you, “What you doing out here all alone, Sweetheart?”

Your breath remains lodged tightly in your throat, wound up like a coiled spring and you are unable to speak. It’s almost as if you are paralysed— has he hit you with a tranquillising dart? Or was that just his cologne that had you so wrapped up in everything that he is.

He called you sweetheart…

He called you sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

His sweetheart?

“Hello? Are you okay?” His hand waves in front of your face, causing you to blink and flinch momentarily at the sudden action, “Aren’t you cold out here?”

“No…” a whisper is all you could manage. It’s all you could afford to give him.

There wasn’t much of you left to give. Soon you would be this vacant polished shell of a human being— beautiful on the outside and hopeless on the inside.

“Okay, well… Happy birthday.” He nods at you enthusiastically, his voice like a siren song lulling you to your demise. He shoves his hands into his ripped jeans pockets, letting out an exaggerated shiver before he says, “Hey, have you seen Chrissy? She came here an hour ago and I haven’t really heard from her.” He tries to disguise the worry in his voice, but you can read him like a book. The way his hands are twitching from his pockets to rub anxiously at his neck, or how he bounces on the balls of his feet— the adrenaline causing him to be restless.

You wish Eddie could do the same with you. You wish he could see past this makeup and this charade. You wish he could recognise just how much that simple sentence had ruined your evening.

Of course he was here looking for Chrissy, why else would he have showed up? For you? Please. The thought alone was laughable.

“I didn’t even know she was here.” Your chin tilts to your shoulder where you can eye the large window looking on into your kitchen. The lights are out but there are neon fairy lights twinkling and illuminating the darkness. It’s almost as if you are looking through a kaleidoscope.

It had taken you hours to hang all of those lights, only to watch other people enjoy their warmth instead.

“You should come back inside, you don’t seem like you’re having a lot of fun out here in the dark.” Eddie takes a leisurely seat next to you and out of instinct you shuffle a few inches away from him, trying to create as much distance as possible, “Are you wasted? You’re being eerily quiet.”

“It’s a party, Eddie.” You sigh, answering him without leaving a single beat, an abrupt newfound confidence helps you to untangle your voice, “People get drunk at parties— I just wish I had some weed.”

It was ironic, wishing for weed as you talk to a weed dealer.

“Is that really your birthday wish? To have weed?” His shoulders bounce lightly as he laughs, his hands coming to find his coat pocket. You shrug in response to his question, tipping your head back and swallowing the last of what was left swirling around in the bottom of your cup.

The truth was, you hadn’t even lit your birthday candles yet. There hadn’t been a right time and you didn’t want to be that person. But if you had sparked those candles… you would have wished for him.

Not for weed. Not for money. Not for beauty or brains.

You would have wished for Eddie Munson.

“Here.” He is careful to take your hand into his, gently prying your fingers open and dropping a bud of weed into your palm before he is securing your fingers back over it, “It isn’t much, I know that but… if I could make your birthday wish a reality then I suppose that’s pretty alright, huh?” He holds your wrist loosely in his grip and your fuzzy brain can’t compute if you are dreaming or not.

You had expected fireworks from his touch— a massive explosion of technicolour and bright blinding lights.

But what you got was far more sensual than that. An electric shockwave travelled along your skin from your arm to your back, zapping down every vertebrae in your spine and coating your body in a blanket of goosebumps. Every single one of your hairs stood on end and this might have been the most alert you have felt all day. You felt awake. Resurrected. Alive.

“Are you sure?” You gulp, mouth suddenly dry, “I can pay you…” You start to frantically search your person for any sign of loose cash— your bra, did your skirt have pockets this morning? No. Where the Hell is your purse?

“No- no! This is a gift, from me to you! It’s your birthday for crying out loud!” Eddie is holding both of your wrists now, his attempt to still your nervous jittery movements, “Just enjoy it, okay? Just… just smile.” His deep pleading voice is painful as it enters your ears.

Just smile.

Smile? Weren’t you smiling?

“Thank you…” up until this point you hadn’t fully perceived just how close of a proximity you and Eddie were nestled at. His slight body leaning in closer to yours, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. He was within kissing distance and all you could do now was stare at his dimpled smile. The sight alone was enough to cause your own lips to tweak up at the corners.

“Do you know how to roll a joint?” Eddie could evidently sense the growing tension and he pulls away from you, not in a moment of disgust and terror— but out of respect. Attraction was clear but Eddie was like a loyal dog to Chrissy. There’s no way he would betray her.

“Oh- uhm… no, no I don’t.” You laugh slightly as you look down at the drugs held captive in your hand. Your skin being tinged with the ponging smell.

“Luckily for you, I’m a bit of a master at it.”

“Eddie?” A whimper. A whisper. Weak. Sorrow filled.

“Yeah?” His heavenly eyes had you questioning why thieves ever bothered to steal art— when you were looking at a masterpiece.

A pause. Nothingness. Expectation. Shadows.

“Why do you hate me?” The question is shuddered out through constricted teeth and you find an ungodly comfort in that familiar ache inside of your sternum, “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me, Eddie.”

“I don’t hate you-“

“But you don’t love me. You don’t… like me.” You push your feet into the soft earth, coming to stand shakily in front of Eddie’s seated frame, “Every time I look at you, I can't help but hope you feel the same butterflies in your stomach when you look back at me.” Your eyes settle on the empty street, the only noise circulating the neighbourhood was coming from inside your house. Thumping bass beating in harmony with your heart, “But deep down, I know all you feel is pity."

“That isn’t true and you’re being cruel.” Eddie launches to his feet, darting to stand in front of you, “Where is this coming from? If I have hurt you, I assure you that it was never my intention— I could never hurt you purposely.”

“You didn’t have to purposely hurt me, Ed’s. All I had to do was sit back and watch you love someone else. Someone better than me… that was enough to break my spirit.”

A disruption shakes the interior of your house, a commotion surfacing and you can hear the cheers and whistles from your peers. Eddie clocks it as well, and you can see a panic distort his puppy like features.

“Please can we talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober and… and we can both just figure this out? Please?” His hands find your shoulders, holding you steady as his chocolate orbs bear into yours. His attention is on you, but you can tell that his feet are ready to sprint indoors.

Quietly, you nod. Anything to please him. Anything to make him happy. Plus— you were also intrigued as to what was happening behind in you. Whatever it was, it had stirred up a whirlwind.

Eddie is quick to leave your side, like a whippet released onto a race track, taking the porch steps two at a time and you are hot on his heels. You are clumsy in your kitten heeled shoes, but you are right behind him.

‘I’ll follow thee and make a Heaven of a Hell.

To die upon the hand I love so well.’

William Shakespeare, Helena

“What’s going on?” You stagger into the shoulder of a Frat member, whispering an inaudible apology as he turns to glare down at you. Though, after he takes in your appearance his solid and annoyed expression softens into amusement and what you can only assume as blind lust.

“Harrington and Cunningham got caught banging in the bathroom— can’t believe you missed it! It was fucking priceless.” He drapes his heavy muscular arm over your shoulders and your knees nearly buckle beneath you at his weight pressing down on you.

“What?” You peek up at him through your eyelashes, clearly dazed. You have to make sure— you have to hear him say it again.

“Cunningham? Chrissy?” He is laughing rudely into your face and your nose scrunches distastefully at the stench of beer on his breath, “And Steve Harrington! They were fucking! He had her bent over the bathroom sink, man! His hands full of her hair— pretty sure the mirror is gonna be covered in lipstick!” Finally he unhooks his arm from around your neck and you feel like you may just float up to the ceiling.

You push away from him, using his massive hulking body to propel you further into the mob, your eyes desperate to find Eddie in the crowd. And when you do… it’s ugly.

Anguish, rage, indecision and fear blaze in Eddie’s tear glossed eyes. The gears inside of his head were working like clockwork and you knew where this was about to go as he stares murderously at Steve. Jaw wired tightly shut, nostrils flaring into bullet sized holes and fists so punishingly rigid that you can see the bones of his knuckles straining against his skin; turning his skin to a snow like shade of white.

Steve descends from the top of the staircase alone. His hair is tossed into a messy heap upon his sweat soaked head and you can read from his slumped and lazy stance alone that Steve is totally gone. His hands grasp the bannister, clinging onto the wood for dear life in hopes that he won’t fall down the steep steps.

“Eddie- no, don’t do it!” You try to move toward him as quickly as your boozy brain would allow, but it’s too late. Eddie is flying toward Steve like a bat out of Purgatory.

Time appears to speed up as you watch the violence unfold in front of you alongside the rest of chanting crowd. Eddie has smashed Steve against the wall by the collar of his shirt and you swear you hear some sort of cracking noise come from concrete from the connection of Steve’s back hurling into the plasterboard.

“Fuck! Guys, stop it!” Not only are you terrified of Steve getting beat to a pulp— but your parents would kick you out of the house if things got tarnished beyond repair. And that includes the paint work.

A brutish punch thrown by Eddie bursts Steve’s cheek open and you squeal in horror at the stream of pure gore that spurts from the gnarly wound, “Jesus Christ, Eddie!!” Marching up the staircase you wedge yourself between the two men and Eddie’s movements still. He allowed himself one punch. One good punch, as a warning and also as a courtesy. He didn’t want to frighten you and he also didn’t want to take advantage of Steve’s inebriated state.

One punch is all he needed to satisfy the sickening anger bubbling within him.

And then he fled— like a killer at a crime scene.

“Eddie! Wait- fuck!!” You curse, your hands finding your hair as you tug on the roots of the delicate strands. You are beyond stressed. All you can do is watch as Eddie weaves his way through the mosh pit of bodies who had all quickly gone back to dancing— like nothing had happened.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Steve blubbers next to you and you turn to him, your eyes widened with shock and distress but it doesn’t take long for your glare to become vexing.

“What did you do, Harrington?! If you weren’t already bleeding right now I would slap you in your goddamn face!” Your grip on him is scolding and hurried as you manage to help him down to rest on one of the wooden steps, your eyes unable to waver from the crimson leaking gash on his face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” His face rests in his hands as he breathes deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth. And just as you prepare to give him a bollocking of a life time, Chrissy emerges from sanctuary of the top floor, desperately trying to rescuer her bra straps back onto your shoulders. Her clothes are twisted sloppily around her body and she, too, is undoubtedly, totally, 110% fucking hammered.

Both your and the blondes eyes meet and your lips pinch downwards into a frown. Your head shakes disapprovingly and your mind is clouded with nervy thoughts for Eddie’s wellbeing and all you can conjure up to say to the dishevelled woman is;

“How the fuck did this happened?”

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae

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cressidagrey · 9 months ago

Text

Stars all aligned - Chapter 5

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

The silence in the room was so oppressive Zahra could almost feel it pressing down on her skin, crushing the very air from her lungs.

All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat, thumping in her chest with a steady, pounding rhythm. She could feel Azriel’s gaze on her, but she didn’t dare to look at him.

Zahra wouldn’t be able to bear seeing the pity in his eyes.

And she knew it would be there.

Her hands were so tightly clenched in the sheets that her muscles ached. Her eyes were still squeezed closed, trying to keep in the tears.

Gods, she couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. She’d already bared enough of her soul to the male. He knew far more about her than anyone else in the world.

And that realisation was terrifying.

She hadn’t wanted anybody to know. She hadn’t wanted anybody ever to find out.

It would have been her secret to take to the grave with herself.

Nobody would have needed to know, right?

Not even her mate. She would have gladly kept it a secret from him too. Would have gladly never told the male fate had in store for her, how broken exactly she was. How…destroyed she was.

Zahra swallowed, feeling the warm and large hand around her own. He was too gentle with her, too careful to touch her.

She didn’t deserve that gentleness. Didn’t deserve it when she was the one that had been damaged and broken and used. “Zahra,” Azriel whispered, his voice deep and quiet. “Please look at me.”

And so she did look at him, even when she didn’t want to…looked at this man that she loved…the tears that filled them pooling but not falling. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, and her heart ached at the sight of him.

His lips were set in a grim line, a frown creasing his forehead. His eyes traced across her face, scanning every little part of her. She didn’t want him to look at her. Didn’t want him to see…her like that. Didn’t want him to see the ugly and jagged edges that stuck out like spikes… The shadows swirled and curled over his body in an almost protective barrier.

And still…he was so gentle…so kind.

“You’ve survived so much,” Azriel said quietly. “So much pain and horror. And you…you don’t deserve any of this. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, none of it. He hurt you, and you were hurt for years.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed heavily.

A tear finally escaped from her eye, trickling down towards her temple and into her hair.

Years.

She had lost count of how often it had happened. She didn’t want to know an exact number either. She didn’t even want to think about what he had done to her.

She didn’t want to remember.

Azriel seemed to sense that.

“Do you want a bath?” Azriel asked her, still holding her hands. “Wash off the blood? The shadows can help you.”

She took an uneven breath, her eyes still locked on his face. Zahra hated how gentle he was being, how careful and soft and concerned for her he was. She didn’t deserve either his care or his concern.

She…she shouldn’t…

She didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve that kindness and that gentleness.

Still, she nodded.

Bath. Clean. As clean as she could get anyway…

His hands, warm and large, reached out to her. And when he scooped her up like she weighed nothing…she was too tired and pained to protest.

It still ached…deep within her.

And she hated it.

Zahra rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. She felt the shadows whisper soft touch against her skin, as Azriel carried her into the bathroom, the bathtub already filling…he lowered her into it, hot water lapping at her skin.

She slumped against the side of the bathtub, letting her eyes flutter closed. The hot water felt strangely soothing against the pain and ache of her body.

“The shadows are here if you need anything,” Azriel said softly. “If you need anything, just tell them. I’ll put clean sheets on the bed.”

She couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of him dealing with her bloody linens.

“You don’t need to do that,” she protested. He didn’t need to… her sheets were drenched with her blood.

He stilled, and Zahra could almost hear the frown creasing his forehead.

“I am not about to leave you here to change them yourself,” Azriel said drily. “I can just about manage to put fresh sheets on a bed.”

“They are drenched in blood,” she replied weakly. He knelt down beside the tub, and she opened her eyes to look at him.

“I have dealt with blood my whole life. It doesn’t matter,” he promised her.

Yeah, but that hadn’t been…that had been blood spilt from a wound and not…

His mouth was set in a grim line, anger simmering in those dark eyes, as he saw the shame on her face. “Don’t,” he said sternly. “Don’t you dare think for even a minute that I find you…repulsive or tainted, because of this, or because of what happened to you and what you’ve had to do. You’re not. ”

She swallowed, still able to hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice. It wasn’t anger directed at her, but it was anger all the same.

Every thought and emotion Zahra was feeling was swirling in a confusing, chaotic torrent in her mind. She was so tired, but her brain would not be silent. And it kept going over the same thing, over and over.

“But I am,” she said hoarsely. “I am tainted.”

His eyes darkened at that, and he clenched his jaw. The shadows around them grew even darker, swirling agitatedly in the air.

“You aren’t,” he disagreed firmly. “The things that have happened to you…gods above, they should never have happened. But they didn’t taint you. ”

“Of course they did,” she snapped. It was like all the anger and pain and bitter resentment that she’d smothered away and locked deep in her chest was bubbling up, escaping past her attempts to keep it hidden. “Of course, they did! If you know what he did to me, you wouldn’t even be able to look at me!”

He took it. All the rage that she was throwing in front of his feet because she needed throw it at somebody… he didn’t flinch. He didn’t back down.

He weathered it. He reached out…one of those horribly scarred hands cupped her cheeks instead.

“I would,” he disagreed with her. “I refuse to let you think that whatever happened has somehow lessened you in my eyes, that it somehow makes you unworthy or tainted.”

She couldn’t stop the new trickle of tears that escaped from her eyes, the pain in her heart and her body too damn overwhelming.

“How?” She asked hoarsely. “How can you say that?!”

These hazel green eyes met her own.

“Because I care about you, Zahra, and I can’t stand you thinking that this….this horrible, vile thing has changed anything,” Azriel promised her fiercely. “And because…because you are my mate. And nothing will ever change that. ”

No. No, this wasn’t… he couldn’t be her mate. He couldn’t be…He…

He was too good for her. Too kind. Too…too gentle.

This perfect, scarred, beautiful male. One of the fiercest warriors in the Night Court. The Shadowsinger. Her mate.

How could he even entertain that thought.

He wiped away the tears that trickled down her cheeks, endlessly gentle as tears ran down her face. “You’re stuck with me,” Azriel said hoarsely. And I don’t care what you’ve had to do or what you had to sacrifice. This will not change what you mean to me.”

Her chest was aching so painfully she could hardly breathe, and it was like her heart was breaking itself apart with grief and shame.

He said he didn’t care what she’d had to do. But he hadn’t let her speak of the worst of it. He didn’t know, he didn’t know.

“You might change your mind when you know everything I’ve done,” Zahra whispered.

His hand paused, the scarred palm cupping the side of her face. “No,” Azriel said firmly. “I won’t. And don’t think that I can’t guess half of what you had to do. I know that you had to endure far, far more than anyone should ever have to, but it changes nothing between us,” he promised her.

“Take that bath,” he said softly. “You don’t need to decide anything. Not right now. I’ll change the sheets and then you can go to sleep. And we’ll talk whenever you are ready.”

Her eyes were burning again and her heart twisted, but she nodded. She wanted to protest and argue and insist that she was alright, but he wouldn’t listen to her anyway.

“Fine,” she whispered. “Alright, I’ll—alright.”

Everything hurt. Her body ached as it had after the worst of it, ached and hurt.

She scrubbed at her skin until it was red and raw, as though she could wash away the memories and the pain and the shame.

But despite the hot water, it felt as though she was freezing, and the memories kept floating into her mind.

She could hear Azriel move in the other room, heard the steps he knew were only audible because he wanted them to be.

It was comforting, hearing those footsteps. Hearing him move around just beyond the door, so close and safe and near to her.

Zahra almost told him to come back, just so she could see him and be with him for a few more moments. But she didn’t. It wasn’t fair to him to be around her while she was like this, not when he deserved so much better than her.

She floated away into the numbness, her eyes closing. She felt the shadows jostle her gently, but she didn’t even react. They had never hurt her before.

Why should she flinch away from them.

“Sunshine.” Her eyes only opened weakly. Azriel was back. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Her limbs felt strangely and eerily disconnected from her body, even as Azriel’s hands moved her out of the tub, as the shadows wrapped her into a towel…even as they helped her into a fresh nightgown, letting them move her like some kind of strange lifeless doll.

Azriel scooped her up into those strong arms, holding her against his broad chest.

She thought that she should protest. That she should struggle and fight and insist he put her down. But when she was held so close to him, all she wanted was to rest her head against his shoulder...all she wanted was to nuzzle into the warmth of him.

He laid her gently down on the mattress. The sheets were clean and fresh, smelling of crisp soap, and her bed was soft and warm beneath her.

He went to move away and leave her, but before he could, she reached out and fisted her hand in his shirt.

She forced her eyes open, forced herself to look at him…and then she felt it.

The unfurling of something inside her chest. Something warm and safe and secure.

The bond. The Mating Bond.

Even as the realisation sank in, the link between them flared with that feeling. Warmth and safety and a fierce, possessive protectiveness that she had never felt before.

Azriel’s eyes widened, and she could see the realization dawn in his expression.

He’d felt it too. Felt the bond snap into place between them like a line of rope, tying them together in a way they could never untangle.

“Stay.“

He blinked, his eyes flickering over her face.

And then, without a word, he climbed into the bed.

He laid down next to her, and he pulled her gently against him. His arm wrapped around her waist, one wing came down to cocoon her and she felt more comfortable and safe than she ever had before.

“Rest,” Azriel said again. “Just sleep. It’s alright.”

She shut her eyes, letting the tiredness crash down over her. She breathed in the scent of him, of that cedar forest scent mixed with rain and mist.

He was safe, and she was protected. And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to relax into the touch and comfort.

And for the first time in a long time, her sleep was dreamless.

***

Zahra was sleeping. Her face was still pale...but she had curled up against his side, and her breathing was even and deep...

She was his mate. His mate.

He had waited 500 years for her. And now he had found her, in Zahra.

In his friend. Because that's what they had become. Friends.

Though he had been a horrible friend for not even realising even a smidgen of what had gone on.

Part of him felt like he should get up and walk away. Let her sleep and not disturb her rest.

But the other, louder part of him that was utterly possessive and protective of her wouldn’t let him even think about it.

He wanted to hold her. Wanted to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe. The urge to protect and comfort and have her as close as possible was overwhelming.

As was the urge to slaughter that human man who had dared to lay a hand on his mate. We’ll kill him, his shadows hissed. Slowly. Hurt him until he begs for mercy.

His shadows had always been somewhat possessive of him. Over the years they’d even become somewhat protective towards the other members of the inner circle... but never had Azriel ever seen them react with this kind of anger.

This wasn't anger. This was fury.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind that the shadows would be upset by what had happened to Zahra. But they were.

The thought of hurting the man wasn’t even a consideration. Azriel would gladly tear the human limb from limb for what he’d done.

He couldn't help but snarl silently, as he remembered everything she had told him.

His hands clenched unconsciously, his arms tightening around her body in a protective vice. She was his mate, and he would do anything to keep her safe now.

Azriel had never had this desperate protectiveness before. It was the bond, he told himself. His mate instinct taking over his brain, making him want to guard and defend and keep her.

Ours, his shadows hissed. Ours, ours, ours.

She was his mate. And no one was ever going to touch her again. No one was ever going to hurt her. Not physically, or emotionally.

He and his shadows would keep her safe. They’d keep her with them, safe and secure and loved for the rest of her life.

No one would ever hurt her again. Ever.

Not that human male. Not any fae. He would lay waste to the entirety of Prythian to make sure that Zahra would be safe.

Every single instinct was screaming at him to keep her here. To keep her close, where she was safe and protected and no one could harm her.

She was his mate. A part of him. The thought of her being in danger, of being hurt, made him feel sick to the stomach.

He would burn Prythian to the ground if it meant keeping her safe. He would start a war, he would do anything.

And he counted their family into this equation as well. Before some of the treatment that Zahra had received from her sisters had upset Azriel, had felt unfair. Now...now he was so fucking furious that he didn't trust himself not to rip out Nesta's throat the next time he saw her.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this angry with his family. He might have felt hurt or annoyed, or even frustrated....but he had swallowed it all down. Hadn't wanted to have that argument...hadn't wanted....But now...

Now though... now it was anger and fury and a vicious protectiveness.

The thought of how they’d all treated her before—how they’d laughed or joked or been rude or simply ignored her—made his blood boil.

How dare they treat her like that? She was his mate.

His own family had done this to her. His own family, her own sisters, had treated her so cruelly for all this time. And they hadn't known what Zahra had sacrificed for their survival...didn't know what she went through on a daily basis as a result of it.

Either she was treated like she didn't matter or like she didn't exist. Ignoring her and berating her in equal measures.

His jaw hurt, his teeth gritted together as he thought about the way they’d treated her.

Zahra had put up with it. She’d taken it all, silently. And that only made him angrier. Because she’d allowed them to treat her like she was a burden like she was nothing. She’d never complained or spoken about it, even once. Like she didn’t deserve anything else. Like she wasn’t worth more.

They would not do that anymore. Ever.

Azriel was done.

No one was ever going to treat her like that again.

Even the thought of it made his jaw hurt. He’d never felt this furious before. The thought of what they’d done to her…his own family…

He’d thought they would do better. Thought that the inner circle were all…better than that. Thought that they wouldn't be so heartless. But they’d ignored Zahra, over and over again.

His shadows hissed, writhing angrily around him, and he had to bite back the urge to snarl.

Because he himself hadn't been better either until it had been nearly too late.

He had been so blind. So utterly useless, not to have seen how she had been suffering and struggling...

Not to have realised that he’d been missing out on a beautiful, kind, intelligent female. Just because he’d been so absorbed in his own pity party.

He should have done better.

He would do better now.

He’d never make this mistake again. Not when it came to his mate.

He didn’t deserve her. He knew that much. But he would spend the rest of their goddamn lives together until he made up for how he’d been so blind.

He deserved nothing. He deserved to have his head on a spike for being so stupid.

But he would spend the rest of their days paying this debt.

He would keep her safe.

He would never allow her to feel small or insignificant again.

He would make damn sure of that.

He tightened his grip around her. She was curled against his side, her head laid against his chest. She was safe. She was safe.

His arm was wrapped around her protectively, and he thought, for the first time, that he understood how Rhys felt about Feyre. Understood that desperate, possessive, protective urge.

She was his. And he would not allow a single person to hurt her ever again.

Not even himself.

He would take care of her.

He would do anything to keep her safe. To keep her healthy and happy and loved.

She was his mate.

He reached out for that mental tether that Rhys kept for him and yanked at it sharply.

The reply came just as quickly.

What is it?

Rhys’s mind voice echoed into his head.

I need to talk to you, Azriel replied, as Zahra shifted a little against his side, her arm moving across his chest. Now.

It's the middle of the night, Rhys said drily. If you are having one of your temper tantrums, can it wait until tomorrow?

Azriel wanted to bristle. He didn't.

I met my mate, he cut off Rhys. I figured you would like to know that. I’ll take the rest of the week off. You’ll have my reports on your desk come tomorrow.

The mental silence on the other end of the mental link was enough to tell him that Rhys had been shocked.

Your mate, Rhys’ mind voice finally echoed. You’ve found your mate?

Yes, Azriel replied, as Zahra shifted a little again, her arm rubbing over his chest.

There was a pause, and he could practically see the disbelief and surprise on his brother’s face.

Who is it?

Good Night, Rhysand, he shot back.

And he cut the link between their minds before Rhys had a chance to protest.

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