#which were very progressive for the time and are still startling on several fronts now but also showing definite signs of age

[wolves-in-the-world]

the thing about eliot spencer as a character, right. the thing about him.

(and as always your mileage may vary on my analyses so if we disagree that's cool actually)

is that he is in fact a somewhat emotionally constipated idiot who is occasionally sensitive about his perceived masculinity and gets defensive about emotional intimacy around other men (largely hardison, who's much more comfortable expressing affection and embracing a softer kind of masculinity), but eliot displays enough emotional awareness and sensitivity and respect for women etc etc that anyone who's been subjected to that era of television will put on rose-tinted glasses without even looking twice.

(and he is, don't get me wrong, incredibly emotionally aware for a professionally punchy guy with enough trauma to sink the titanic. it still startles me to see.)

on top of which we have the layers and the accessories and the excellent hair with the secret braids and the way he barely has an ego and he's good with kids and protective of his team without taking it too far, and some of us never stood a fucking chance.

[deceptive-daydreams]

So me and @gravedigginbbydoll were talking about Eddie after the upsidedown and I decided I needed to share it with y'all so you can cry with us

Eddie x reader, hurt/comfort blurb - post upsidedown Eddie, angst with fluff at the end

I'm thinking about post upside down Eddie, his injuries rendering him disabled, his left half of his body being weaker and not as mobile as his right due to nerve damage. He keeps getting better and better through physical therapy and hes super excited for his next doctors appointment because he's been making a lot of progress. You take him to his appointment and they tell him that the nerve damage is too severe and that this is probably the best it's gonna get which means he'd need to continue using his cane to walk and would still require assistance for basic tasks. They tell him that there's very little chance that his condition improves even as he continues physical therapy. As the doctor explains this to him, his expression is blank, no emotion behind his eyes. He hums every now and then to let them know he's listening but he seems very removed.

The doctor discusses the best course of action, instructing that he continues to live with someone who can assist him in his day to day until he's able to adapt to his new lifestyle. You hold his hand, brushing your thumb over his knuckles as a comforting gesture but he still stares straight ahead emotionless, only humming in response after every other sentence.

When the doctor asks if he has any questions he shakes his head, devoid of any kind of reaction. You take the initiative and ask things like if he should continue his exercises that he's learned in physical therapy, if there's anything at all that he can do to create a best case scenario and possibly improve his condition, etc. Throughout the conversation Eddie's like a ghost and completely checked out, eyes glued to the sterile white wall.

As you drive him home, back to his new trailer which had been paid for by the government, he maintains his stoic expression, staring ahead and not engaging in any conversation you attempt to start. When you try to ask him if he wants to stop by the diner for milkshakes before heading home he just shakes his head, not once offering you any eye contact.

When you pull up to the trailer, he gets out with a groan, his injuries still causing some pain though he persists through it and slams the car door, making his way to the wooden steps. You rush to his side but he waves you off, muttering an "I got it." somewhat irritably but still with a blank face.

Once he gets inside he sits on the couch, cane grasped in his hand tightly, his knuckles almost turning white. You're unsure of what to do from here, if you should leave him alone for a little bit and maybe just do some chores around the trailer or if you should keep him company. You don't want to make the wrong move, not because there's really any consequences but because he was just given some really life changing news that would scare anyone if they were in his position. You can't imagine being told that you aren't going to get much better when your mobility is already highly impacted. That you'll be fatigued almost 99% of the time. That it'd be best to look into finding a new profession, the role of a mechanic off the table. It's all so overwhelming.

Before you can decide if you're going to give him some space or simply sit with him and maybe hold his hand if he lets you, he tosses his cane to the floor, knocking against the coffee table in the process and startling you slightly. He's tugging on the roots of his hair before burying his head into his hands, a few sniffles heard from him.

At his outburst, you rush to him, kneeling on the floor in front of him, running your hands down his arms and whispering to him that it's okay. You know it's very clearly not okay but what else was there to say? He needed some kind of positivity. You knew it would be okay but right now it wasn't. Not for him. You start to whisper "I know, I know." sympathetically, running your fingers through his bangs gently.

Suddenly he's burying his face into your chest, clutching your shirt in his hands tightly as he sobs, gutteral cries erupting from him. Something you'd never heard come out of him before. You let him sob, scream, cry, everything. You don't tell him to shhh soothingly, you don't tell him to stop crying, you just let him feel. Because his life is never going to be the same and maybe there was some part of him before that somewhat knew that but to receive confirmation is a whole different thing. To hear someone else say those words to you is a different kind of startling. So you know in this moment he just needs to feel his emotions and let everything out. You hold him for several minutes, running your hands down his back, raking your fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck how he likes.

When he finally calms down enough to talk, his cheeks are stained with tears, lashes collecting them before they fall, his voice broken. He starts talking about how he hates being a charity case, someone holding everyone else back, how no one deserves that, how you and Wayne don't deserve that. He doesn't want a babysitter. He hates that you have to help him all day, assisting in the most simple tasks that he used to be able to do with no issue. He hates seeing you fold his laundry, hates that you do the dishes and clean the kitchen, hates that you cook him meals. Not because he's ungrateful but because he should be able to do all those things himself. And now he knows he can't and it takes a toll on him.

He talks about how he'll be percieved by Dustin and the rest of the kids. How they won't think as highly of him anymore and that they'll forget all about him since he's unable to do everything he was once able to. DND nights will be limited because fatigue washes over him like a wave at the most random times and one second he'll have a good amount of energy, the next he feels so out of breath and needs to take a second. He thinks the kids will suddenly hate him and think he's such a downer with the way his condition wears him out and how slow he walks. He talks about how they were all so excited for this trip everyone had been planning to the waterpark and how he could technically still go but he wouldn't be able to do anything, he'd just sit there all day and probably get sun burnt without the fun of actually getting to go on the waterslides. Steve would probably revel in the fact that he'd become the go to 'big brother' figure, leaving Eddie in the dust.

You just hold him and shed a tear or two along with him because his life will forever be changed but you know he's still the same Eddie and he can't seem to grasp that. He thinks so lowly of himself and you can see in his eyes that he's devastated. You tell him that no matter what, everyone still loves him and that no one is going to forget about him just because he's disabled now. Sure, he's going to have to adapt to a new lifestyle but if anyone can do it, he can. You reassure him that no one will think less of him, that they'll still invite him to outtings even if most of them he may turn down due to his fatigue. They'll still include him regardless of his condition, even if it's something he might not be able to necessarily do, they'll still find a way to include him. His friends aren't just going to stop being his friends.

You remind him that you don't mind helping him throughout the day and neither does Wayne. You tell him that this has become one big family and after the events of the upsidedown, everyone is essentiallly bonded to each other. Wayne would rather him be alive than anything and the fact that Eddie almost died really did a number on him. So if Wayne has to help him with every day tasks, he doesn't mind one bit if it means he gets to continue living with his rebellious, loud nephew, if he gets to continue laughing with him over stupid late night shows on the couch and sit down at the diner every week to debrief and talk about life.

Although you mention the bright side of life and how his condition isn't going to define him and that he can still do the things he wants, just maybe a bit differently than he's used to, he doesn't take well to it. It's understandable, he was just given the news that his life will never be like it was before the stupid upsidedown. So him lashing out isn't exactly a surprise to you.

He doesn't yell but he does raise his voice and it almost sounds like he's reprimanding himself more than you. His words are harsh and he says things like "maybe everyone would be better off if I didn't make it out, you'd like that wouldn't you?", "What, so you think I'm just gonna hobble everywhere?", "You have no idea what it's like, my life has been taken from me, I can't play shows anymore, I can't even fuckin' work, I'm useless." You can tell he's being irrational, the news still fresh in his brain, causing him to act out and give in to the taunting words in his mind. When he tells you to leave him alone you do your best not to take it personally. He says it until you finally walk away, continuing to take care of some chores around the trailer which only drives him even more nuts. He sits there on the couch shaking, his world crumbling around him. You want to stay by his side, you need to be by his side but you also know that what he needs more is some space before you even try talking to him again.

You can tell that he's glaring at you for cleaning again so in order to provide him some ease you step outside onto the porch to sit and ponder. It breaks your heart that Eddie, your beloved boyfriend is so hard on himself and thinks he's become some kind of a nuissance when in fact its the opposite. The kids have been asking to see him but he's refused, hating that they'd see him like this. Dustin calls every day and asks how Eddie's doing, sometimes he stops by and drops off his favorite pie, an apple pie that Dustin's mom made once and Eddie can never get enough of. She had been making a lot more of them recently when she heard about Eddie. But every time Dustin dropped them off and politley asked if he could see Eddie, Eddie would refuse to come out of his room and tell you to thank Dustin for him but that he couldn't face him. He'd tell you to blame it on him being tired, that he was still recovering, which he was but Dustin knew something else was up. There was no changing Eddie's mind though and both you and Dustin knew that, respecting his boundaries and letting him make that call for himself.

When you step back inside the trailer, Eddie is right where you left him, sitting with his head tucked into his hands again, a few sniffles escaping him. He hears the door shut and his head snaps up and he's immediatly telling you "'m sorry, 'm so sorry I didn't mean to take it out on you." and you're just shushing him calmly, telling him that it's okay and that you're not mad at all. It makes him feel shittier because throughout this whole thing you've been so understanding and he feels like he makes it so hard. He's stubborn and he knows that.

You assure him that you know he's having a hard time with the news he received that morning and that you would've probably done the same thing. It's not easy to be told something like that and he should be able to go through his emotions, it's part of the process to acceptance. Eddie keeps apologizing and you're holding him, soothing him and telling him that he doesn't need to be sorry.

Once he's calmed down, you help him into the bathroom and set up a nice bath, the water steamy how he likes it so that it soothes his aches, some epsom salt sprinkled in the water along with a dash of your bubble bath because you know he not so secretly likes it. Even though to tell him you love to do this for him, he still feels humiliated, his face going red and hesitiance in his movements as you help him into the tub. So you join him and sit in front of him, facing him as you clean him, gently moving the rag over his skin and smearing bubbles along the way. It's tender and emotinal and he could cry again if he had any tears left just watching you care for him. No one should ever care this much about him but you do. You love him.

And he loves you. More than anything. You've stuck around even when shit got bad, really bad. He almost died and he knows the kind of trauma that inflicted on you and yet you remained his rock through the entire thing. He's been an asshole and he's lashed out several times in the sense that he gets verbally upset and says things in the heat of the moment and you still remain calm and collected as he backtracks and apologizes. Every nightmare he suffers through, you're right there with him doing his breathing exercies and comforting him, making him hot chocolate in the middle of the night, mini marshmallows, whipped cream and all. Eddie knows he is such a goddamn mess, his entire life one giant shitstorm after the other but you still find it in you to love him unconditionally.

After you clean him up, you get him situated in bed, all cozy and covered in his favorite blankets. You comb through his wet curls and use that stuff that he thinks smells so good on them to keep them nice. As you comb through his bangs, you jokingly tell him he could use a haircut and that you'll book him an appointment ASAP, him laughing, knowing that you're the one who trims his hair. Then you press a kiss to his cold nose. Once everything is all settled, you curl up in bed with him, carefully laying your head against his bare chest just how he likes. His stronger arm wraps around you and a small smile graces his lips. Life isn't perfect but with you it's bearable. With you he knows he's loved even when he feels he's at his most unlovable.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

From the Ashes Pt. 19

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, Jaime POV

Words: 3203

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 3.5  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

Melisandre made her way to Jaime’s side as he intently observed his younger sister sparring with a ruthless Weles. He flinched every time the Leader of the Fiery Hand got close to slicing (y/n). Like a dancer, his sister would twirl out of his way and evade the blade’s edge. Light on her feet and fast as a whip, it was still taking Jaime time to get used to her fighting.

“She will be ready for battle soon.” Melisandre muses, startling Jaime. Her unnatural red eyes always disturbed him as it was a color that he had never seen anyone possess other than animals. They shined like rubies but always reminded Jaime of blood. “Nuahlin and Benerro are very proud of her progress she has made. The darkin will be no match for her now.”

Pursing his lips he chanced a glance at the Red Witch as he thought of her. The powers she possessed weren’t normal. Not that Jaime had experienced anything normal in quite a while. But her powers were very much similar to the darkin’s which made Jaime wary. Always wary and suspicious, even in a place like the Red Temple where (y/n)’s safety had been promised time and time again yet Jaime couldn’t easily rest. They had been in Volantis for several months now and Jaime would have liked to say that he knew the temple fairly well. He patrolled the hallways at night, making sure there wasn’t a would-be assassin like they had experienced so many times throughout Essos. There must be more still coming from whoever was hiring them.

The loud metallic shriek of swords colliding has his heart racing as he returns his attention back to (y/n). She held her blade against Weles’ before swiftly jumping back and preparing for the next lunge that would be dealt. With the waves of the sea crashing behind him, Jaime became all too aware of Melisandre’s continued presence; the breeze that passed them swept her hair up and spread the lovely scent around. Nutmeg and cloves.

Her eyes watch Jaime and he suddenly feels vulnerable and open. He places his hand on top of the pommel of his sword for some security. It only makes her chuckle. “You do not have to be scared of me. I am only thinking of how wonderful of a guard you are for (y/n). But you don’t need to flinch everytime she is attacked. It is obvious she can handle herself now.” Searching and searching, those red eyes don’t leave Jaime’s tanned and freckled face. He hadn’t had freckles before in Westeros. With so much exposure to the intense Essos sun made them pop up like daisies however.

“I’m not scared of you.” He smoothly replies with resentment. He hated that (y/n) had strung along Melisandre in her entourage. How could she be trusted when she hailed from the same land of the darkin who was trying to kill his sister. “I just don’t trust you and your red eyes.”

What was meant at a jab only made her chuckle. “Yes, I do not blame you. After all, her safety and protection has been left to you for so long. It must not be easy to let anyone else in.” She folds her hands in front of her. “Must be even harder to acknowledge that she doesn’t need your sword to protect her anymore. Now there are many who are willing to die for her. Tell me, how many assassins had you encountered before entering the Red Temple?”

Jaime’s neck hairs prickled up. She truly was a witch. He turns on her, managing to tower over Melisandre who was already taller than many men. She only had to lift her head up a margin to meet Jaime’s dangerous gaze. “How do you know of the assassins?”

“We watch over (y/n) as well.” Was all Melisandre was willing to give Jaime.

It made him want to scream at her. So careful he had been to keep (y/n) unaware of the danger that followed them.

Cheeks red, he calms himself enough to mutter out “Don’t you dare tell her.”

“I would never want to make her worry. She has enough worries as it is.” Melisandre nods in agreement. “Will you tell me why you don’t want her to know?”

“I don’t want to scare her. She’s been so carefree since we escaped Westeros. Adventurous even. I don’t want her to lose that to fear of someone trying to end her life.”

“And because you think it might be your twin?”

His head was reeling. Damn fire readers. Damn them and their capability of seeing things that they were never meant to.

“Alizah sees the flames better than anyone.” Confesses Melisandre. “The truth cannot evade her and ultimately all is revealed to her. Even the fact that your sister was the one who hired the darkin. But you already had your suspicions. The Lannisters are rich enough to hire such a commodity such as a darkin. Their skill makes them the best assassins. It’s a disgrace. They were given that gift to assist Azor Ahai in defeating the Others. To use it in such a violent manner-” Here, Jaime caught Melisandre hiss and contained her anger “It’s simply disgusting.”

Sweat beaded on his palm as a wave of dizziness swept him up. He knew. He knew all along that it had to be Cersei. Jaime just never wanted it to be true. Never wanted to think that the girl he had held in his arms after love making was capable of such a horrendous thing. She was a Lannister through and through. And Lannisters were known to hold intense grudges.

He felt sick to his stomach.

At the same moment there were worried gasps that made him see just in time, (y/n) holding her bleeding hand.

Jaime moved to go to her, but Melisandre stopped him. “Leave her be.”

“She’s hurt!” He snaps back.

“I can see that. As can she. Nothing good will come from your coddling of her. You have to let her go.” There was something else lying underneath what she said.

(y/n) grimaces at her hand, her sword hand. Even from a distance Jaime could see the bright red dripping from between her fingers. To his shock, his little sister rips a part of her training top and wraps it around her injured hand; securing it back to her pommel. She looks up at Weles and gives him a cheeky smile. She wouldn’t let a wound stop her.

Weles grins with pride and charges at her.

“What’s he thinking?!” Hisses Jaime as his anxiety for his sister gets the best of him. “She’s hurt!”

“(y/n) does not fear injury. I’ve seen the one on her back. She is familiar with the sting of pain. It’s the fear of injuring others that worries her.” There was admiration in the timber of her voice. (y/n) was the pride and joy of the Red Temple and she was proving to live up to all of what was expected of her. “Deep breaths, Jaime Lannsiter. She will be okay.”

Each slam of the swords made Jaime sweat more. (y/n) was so little compared to Weles. Like a kitten amongst lions. But she was growing more confident in her steps and in each play of her sword. She was advancing on Weles, making him take steps back. With (y/n), Weles didn’t brandish his Moon Blade even though he had taught (y/n) how to defend herself against the weapon. No, his focus was on making her excel with a long blade.

And she was excelling. That much was clear. The fact didn’t make Jaime feel any less anxious. When she advanced, Weles changed his tempo and put more offense and giving (y/n) more of a challenge. He saw (y/n) begin to struggle to keep Weles at a distance. Pretty soon the scene was playing the other way around to where now (y/n) was taking steps back. On the training ground, the other Fiery Hands had formed a small crowd, everyone holding their breath. Who would win? Their captain or their champion?

On his usual bench where he liked to keep an eye out, Nuahlin observed the two with eyes like a hawk. Even as an old man he still felt the responsibility of the Fiery Hand on him. He was still as much the captain as Weles was. Beside him was a smiling Alizah as she appeared to be staring off into space, but Jaime knew better. Melisandre was right, even blind Alizah could see better than anyone.

Rhiannon wasn’t as calm as Alizah as she paced back and forth, matching (y/n)’s steps. Her gold eyes crinkled with worry. Vidarr had to put a hand on her shoulder to settle her down as he whispered into her ear. Evidently whatever he had said to her calmed Rhiannon down but she still looked worried. Tall Siofra wrapped an arm around her shoulder in comfort.

(y/n) dove and tumbled out of the way as Weles struck at her, her long blonde hair becoming dirty as she rolled to safety. Back on her feet in a heartbeat, (y/n) is able to catch Weles’ blade in time. For his height, Weles was fast, but not as fast as (y/n). She held on tightly to her sword, even with a wounded hand that continued to bleed freely. Fierce as she parried and danced around Weles, making him slightly dizzy.

“Who knows. Maybe one day she will be the one to save you.” Melisandre mused.

“Wha-”

There was no time finish that thought. At that very moment, (y/n) had locked her blade with Weles once more, but this time she was letting him escape.

Locked together, Weles’ dark eyes stare right into (y/n)’s. “That’s it. Show me the fire inside of you. You are no lion nor a dragon. What are you?”

In a hypnotic way, (y/n) moved her feet swiftly around Weles. Green eyes narrowed fiercely to prove that she wouldn’t be the one to lose this match. Blood and sweat had filled her months as she learned from the best how to become a true warrior. Jaime couldn’t shelter her from her fate as one, try as he may to change her fate. Watching her now, he knew that one day she would lead him and many others into battle against the cold monsters.

Stray hairs stick to her forehead as she leaps. The force of the impact of the clashing steel was enough to make one wince. It sang up to the sky, startling the hovering birds. She twisted them with great force and knocked Weles down to the ground with a sweep of her leg, the air in his lungs being ripped out of him when his back hits the ground.. His sword skidded along the ground. (y/n) had unarmed him. Quickly he rolls to try and get it but (y/n) stabs her sword into the ground near his head, utterly trapping him.

“I’m a champion. I am Azor Ahai reborn. The ender of the Long Night.” Her breathing is ragged but strong as she leans on her blade. Now she trusted in her words and what the others called her. Before her she saw what her hard work rewarded her. Slowly but surely she was beginning to dawn the armor of Azor Ahai.

Sirvart screamed at her victory as did Rhiannon who was clapping her hands. Fiery Hands alike roared with approval, it vibrated throughout Jaime’s skeleton.

“Congratulations, ñuha kosh.” Weles is beaming down at her as he finally gets to his feet, grinning ear to ear. “You have learned to wield the fire inside of you and utilize it through your blade. It is time you receive your own Lightbringer.”

Taking her head in his hands, Weles kisses the crown of her head.

As if to tell Jaime ‘I told you so’, Melisandre grins at him. Flushed he rushes toward his sister just as Weles lifts up her arm in victory. There was a crowd forming that Jaime had to push his way through. “Īlva kosh! (y/n) Targārien, Azōr Ahaī sigligon!”

He heard her tired yet gleeful laughter as someone lifts her up high above the crowd.

His beautiful, radiant sister who was covered with grime and blood; smiling as if she had received the best gift ever for her name day. Never had he seen such a radiant smile on her.

This was what she was born to do. Who she was truly meant to become. There was no stopping her fate or protecting her from anything. The world was her’s.

(y/n) didn’t need Jaime.

Maybe years ago when they were children, when she needed his protective arm. Now though? It was too late for him.

Wincing at Rhiannon cleaning her wound, (y/n)’s toes curled inward as she grimaced. “Is it deep?”

She had just come out of the bath, her hair clean and still dripping over her bare shoulders. A deep orange robe hung off of her, revealing her lovely skin and pronounced collar bone.

Inanna looked over Rhiannon’s shoulder and frowned. “That Weles. He never did know how to restrain himself.”

“Give him some credit. He could have easily taken off her whole hand.” Sirvart comments, reclining on the opposite chair of (y/n). “You repaid the favor though. What a beautiful match it was.”

Sheepishly, (y/n) smiles and bashfully flutters her lashes down.

“It was beautiful.” Jaime makes his presence known, averting his eyes from the opening of (y/n)’s robes. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

The compliment from her older brother had her even more flustered. “You could’ve easily taken him out in a shorter amount of time.”

“Not quite as skillfully as you did. (y/n), you were amazing out there.” He knelt in front of her and took her free hand in his. It was trembling from the residual adrenaline that had been pumping through her during her match. His thumb ran over her knuckles, so soft; they weren’t a warrior’s hands. They had never killed anyone or maimed a soul. She was by all accounts pure. Not for long though. On the track she was heading, it was bound to happen, her first kill. Weles would insist upon it to get her ready. He couldn’t see her as a killer though. Not his sweet (y/n). Jaime wanted her to always be smiling and know nothing of war.

(y/n) picked up on his melancholic aura. She looks up at Rhiannon and the others in her room. “Would you mind leaving us for a moment?”

Scrunching her eyebrows together, Rhiannon insists on staying. “My lady. . . Your wound needs tending to.”

She smiles at her attendant. “And it will be. But I need to speak with my brother. Just for a few moments.”

Unsure, Rhiannon glances at Sirvart for guidance but the Fiery Hand warrior nods and gives her consent. “We’ll just be waiting outside.”

Making sure they were alone, (y/n) moves her injured hand and puts it under her robe so that Jaime didn’t have to see it. “Are you okay? You look. . . sad. Is it because I got hurt? I promise it looks worse than it really is.”

Jaime tenderly pulls her injured hand back into view despite (y/n)’s reluctance. He had never felt so scared for someone in his whole entire life. Not even for Cersei. But never had he cherished anyone as much as he did (y/n).

Indeed it was a deep gash, like a canyon running through her palm. Pink and swollen, fresh blood was beading up to the surface. He grabbed the cloth that Rhiannon had been using to mop up her blood and dabs to clean it up. Jaime wished she didn’t have to go through what she had to. “I’m. . . I’m fine.” To make himself sound positive, he forces a smile onto his face. “Azor Ahai. Weles has deemed you ready to wield your very own Lightbringer. Suppose a champion can’t just go around slaying monsters with a dingy old sword. I spoke with him after the red priestesses escorted you to the baths. Tomorrow you will go with him to the city and get yourself your own Lightbringer.”

Her eyes sparkled immediately. “Really?”

Jaime chuckles. “Yes. You need a blade worthy enough. I mentioned perhaps Valyrian steel.”

Widening with shock, (y/n) sits up straighter. “Valyrian steel? I didn’t think anyone forged that anymore.”

“No, but for you it will be done. There is a man in Volantis, old but still an incredible blacksmith. His ancestors were the ones to create Aegon the Conqueror’s sword. Can you imagine? You’ll be going down in history just like Aegon with a fine weapon.

She releases a shaky breath, the grin never leaving her face as tears now prickled in her eyes. “I. . .” (y/n) looks away.”

Curling her fingers in, he kisses her knuckles. “It’s okay. There’s no need to say anything. I’ll leave you be, let you rest.” He moves up to her face, lips hovering over her’s before settling for her forehead.

Exiting (y/n)’s chambers, Jaime bumps into Alizah who had been rounding a corner.

“Pardon.” Jaime excuses himself.

“No worries. I was actually going to seek you out. How fortuitas.” She smiles.

“About?”

A whisper tickles Jaime’s ear as the fire in the torches flicker. Alizah’s smile falters as her normally cheery demeanor evaporates. “I can see it you know. Your desire for her. Clear as day.”

“What are you going on about?”

“Do not play coy with me, Jaime Lannister. You know better than that.”

He bites the inside of his lip. Alizah was the wrong person to try and lie to. He did know better than to try and deceive her. She saw everything.

“You play it off well and I commend your discipline. However. . . What will you do when the temptation is too much?”

Cold was creeping in on him, sending his skin to rise up in goosebumps.

“I know you are strong. But not as strong as you think yourself. You have conquered every enemy except for this one. I doubt you ever will.”

“What’s the point you’re trying to get at?” Gritting his teeth, he couldn’t help but want to escape from Alizah’s pitch black eyes. The permanent black tint on her lips looked like she had swallowed ink. It made her appearance that more disarming.

“Does there always have to be a point? You Westerosi are so straightforward. You’re a good man Jaime. That is why I must warn you that this love you harbor for her will be your doom, as much as the love you harbor your twin. Let her go. You know very well that nothing will prosper. She will never return your feelings.”

“Don’t you think I know that already? It’s easier said than done!”

Out of pity, Alizah sighs. “For starters, go back to Westeros.”

“I could never leave her.” Jaime immediately spits out. “And if you can see everything, you would know that already.”

The sad expression on her face told Jaime that she indeed foresaw this. “Never say I didn’t warn you.

Taglist:

@boywivlove

@esposadomd

@domoron

@yentroucnagol

@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

[estel-of-the-eyrie]

When I went to watch LOTR in the cinemas for the first time last week, my brain kept catching new details I'd never noticed before. One of those in TTT was the broken statue at Helm's Deep by the stairs. Which then spawned this little fanfic moment I wrote in the car home at midnight for Myths of Its Own:

Tagging @tathrin @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @scyllas-revenge (purely as I think you might like a read? )

Groups of refugees from across the nearby hamlets and towns were still coming through the front gates of Helm's Deep on a regular schedule, though their numbers were gradually dwindling as time between safe travel and a siege in progress narrowed. Wren had helped where she could with Edoras' displaced civilians before seeking a quiet corner for her to sit and wait for news.

Her leg swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth counting the seconds when there was no news from any quarter. She hoped that the small warning would have been enough to prevent anything else changing; the life of one man was enough - if it ended up being an exchange of one life for another...

No, she shook her head. Now is not the time to spiral.

So Wren let her eyes wander. Over the crowds of people were the walls of stone that had remained standing for so long, and three tall stone statues. Each had their backs to the main keep, looking outwards, ready for an attack.

From her seat Wren could make out most of the closest pair - though the one closest to her was damaged and broken, only surviving up to the waist. The blade of a sword was still distinguishable up to the hilt, well designed and very Rohirric though less grand and not identical to its sibling statue on the other side of the walkway.

Wren idly wondered who they were. Many of the statues mentioned in Tolkien's work were grandiose and their histories long and storied, but these were small, quiet, everyday reminders passed by on daily watches or sheltered beneath in the afternoon sun.

"My lady-" a voice from somewhere to her left startles Wren out of the trail of thoughts; pushing away from the wall, she turns to see one of the riders. He was perhaps not much older than herself, somewhere in the late years of his second decade or the early ones of his third, and looking at her beneath his helmet with some consternation. "Are you well?"

"Oh um ... yes, thank you." She's taken aback, trying to stand gracefully despite almost certainly standing on her cloak several times and nearly toppling over the small outcrop on the third instance. "I was just wondering about the statues."

The unknown rider frowns, his head tilting to the side a little. The spray of white hair from the top curls around his shoulder.

He gestures to the one standing taller towards the front. "Of Helm Hammerhand." A gesture to the pair flanking the stairs. "And his daughter and son."

"But I thought ... that Helm only had sons?"

His laugh is light, and for a moment Wren panics thinking she has caused offence (or just generally made herself seem a fool) but the responding smile is understanding.

"So say the bards -" the rider stands a little and turns to muse over the broken statue for a moment. "-but the tales miss out most of the truth I find. Haleth, she was styled. The name afore has not been remembered but that is well. For the one that is," the rider pauses and smiles down at Wren, half a foot shorter. "Is far more suitable for a Shieldmaiden of the Mark."

"Shieldmaiden," Wren turns the word over in her mind. Coupled with the look that this rider was giving her, it seemed that he was making many connections between her, himself, and the broken statue of the woman.

"Names are a grander weight here, my lady, than it seems you are aware of. But one thing is certain that all agree upon. That, were it possible, she would have been a Queen that the entire realm would have loved."

She knew what he was trying to say, in a different language with different words, but she had read historical texts to have caught onto the implications - the tales hidden in plain sight. The hidden rainbow flags waving in the breeze.

It just led to more questions about the broken statue that she was afraid to know the answer to; Rohan and its people had been nothing but genial since the Five Hunters had arrived. It would not do to shatter the illusion now, so close to the siege.

[charles-rxwlands]

lay all your love on me

okay!! so this is my fic for @magpiencrow's 1.2k writing challenge.

this is based off of the song lay all your love on me, slowed, by putin

pairing: nikolai/reader

rating: general

tags: gn!reader w/ gn pronouns, fluff

summary: falling in love with nikolai lantsov told through several vignettes

or: mindless nikolai/reader fluff with a alina and ivan being little shits

warnings: right off the bat there's a nightmare about drowning in the ocean, and there's one (1) swear word at the end, but other than that, there's nothing

word count: 4.1k

read on ao3

constructive criticism, feedback, and reblogs are greatly appreciated !

I haven't written anything in a while, so i may be a bit rusty, but please enjoy :)

You were drowning, and also pretty damn sure you were going to die out here. Your lungs were on fire, screaming for air, but you couldn't emerge from the ocean for long enough to suck in a breath. Sure, your hand or head breached the surface every now and then, but a wave would come crashing down on you immediately after, destroying all your progress.

      The undulating waves threw you around like a football - a very pathetic one, at that. As hard as you tried to fight the current, it still insisted on moving against you (stubborn bastard), so really you weren't going anywhere. Just pathetically bobbing around in the same pathetic place. You couldn't feel your limbs - the only thing you could feel was the agonising ache in your chest. It was as if your arms and legs had frozen over along with your will to live.

      How easy it would be to just... 

...let the ocean take you...

      Suddenly, someone grabbed you by the wrist. You screamed, which was a mistake; immediately, salty seawater filled your mouth, making you gag and choke. Nevertheless, you valiantly tried to release yourself from whoever - whatever? - had their hold on you. 

      "Y/n, Y/n! Relax, darling, relax," a voice said, sounding out of breath. "It's me."

      You whirled your head around. Sagging with relief, you gasped out the name of your saviour. "Nikolai."

      "Yes. Yes, Y/n, my love, it's me. It's Nikolai," he soothed, running his hands over your wet hair.

      "Nikolai," you breathed. "Nikola-" - a wave reared up on its hind legs, ready to come crashing down onto your friend, ready to take him away - "no, no, Nikolai, NO-!"

   

You startled, eyes flying open. You were shaking like a leaf. Were you cold, or was it just the adrenaline from the nightmare still making its course? You shook your head as if to rid your mind of the dream. It wasn't real. Nikolai had saved you that night. It was fine. It wasn't real.

      But it could very well have been real, a traitorous voice in your mind whispered. Scowling, you cursed your pessimistic side. Even if a wave had separated you two, Nikolai would have fought tooth and nail to get to you again. You would have done the same. After all, you were childhood friends, and you knew better than anyone that Nikolai didn't let go of his loved ones so easily.

      He hadn't wanted you to accompany him on his journey overseas as Sturmhond. You insisted otherwise, channeling some of Nikolai's stubbornness that had rubbed off on you. ("You're not getting rid of me that easily, idiot. So let me come, unless you want me to steal your kneecaps."). 

      A half-smile appeared on your face as you thought back to the memory. Slowly, you got up from your bed. Your blanket was draped over your shoulders. You slipped out of your cabin quietly, walking down the hallway until you found yourself in front of Nikolai's room. He stirred in his sleep when you entered. The door creaked slightly, but it didn't seem like his distress was because of the noise.

      You sat on the edge of his bed. Nikolai, previously facing away, turned over to face you. His eyes were still screwed shut, eyebrows knitted together and an unhappy expression on his face. You frowned. 

      "Nikolai." you nudged him gently. "Wake up. You're okay, just wake up. It's just a dream."

      He opened his eyes, blinking at you. "Y/n?"

      "Hi," you said. A lock of golden hair fell over his forehead, and upon instinct, you reached to brush it away. He let you, not uttering any of his usual complaints. 

      "You were gone," he mumbled, undoubtedly referencing his nightmare. "I- I couldn't save you, and you were gone." 

      You shifted into a more comfortable position - your whole body was on the bed now, with your back against the headboard. He leaned his head against your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair. "It wasn't real. It's okay. You saved me - I'm not going anywhere, 'Lai."

      "Me either," he agreed, wrapping his arms around your middle. A beat of silence. Then, "Thank you."

      You were more than content to fall asleep like this. Even if it meant waking up with an ache in your neck. Judging from the way he was curled up, practically drinking in your presence, Nikolai felt the same way.

      What a feeling it was to have found solace in Nikolai Lantsov, and to know he had found solace in you, too.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

Nikolai watched from the corner of the ballroom as you laughed at one of Ivan's jokes. One would say that he was scowling, but the Prince of Ravka didn't scowl. No - he was simply observing your conversation with the Heartrender with visible distaste. He was not scowling. And he was not jealous.

      You and Ivan were smiling at each other, standing by the refreshments table, mouths moving quickly, the both of you obviously interested in whatever you were talking about. You threw your head back in a laugh. You looked gorgeous. Nikolai wanted to make you laugh like that - more than he wanted to admit.

      The last straw was when Ivan lay a hand on your shoulder, and then snaked his arm around you. You didn't seem perturbed by his touch - no, actually, you leaned into it. He bent down to whisper something in your ear that made you duck your head in embarrassment and lightly hit his chest. 

      Nikolai's glare deepened, if that were even possible. Okay, fine, maybe he was jealous. Did he even have the right to be jealous, though? It wasn't as if he was dating you, as much as he'd like to be.

And oh boy, he'd like to be. 

      Suddenly, Alina appeared at his side, seemingly out of thin air. He flinched. "Alina." 

      The girl in question had a mischievous look in her eye. Her hands were clasped in front of her, the long, flowy sleeves of her dress falling just past her wrists. The bottom half of her gown was a sparkly gold, whereas the top half was a dark blue. The two colours faded into each other at the middle, creating a gradient effect. It was a beautiful dress. You had helped Alina pick it out yourself, if he remembered correctly.

      "Hello, loverboy." she poked him in the side, grinning knowingly. "How's your crush on Y/n going for you?"

      "I don't have a crush on them, Alina, for Saint's sake."

      "Oh, is that so? You do seem... ah, what was the word... utterly whipped for them, contrary to what you just said," she said, tilting her head to the side, feigning innocence.

      "Am not," he argued. "I-," Nikolai paused, taking notice of you and Ivan walking past a couple metres away. Unfortunately, you were too engrossed in your current conversation to notice him. His eyes lingered on you. He only looked away when you disappeared back into the throng of people. 

      Alina let out a triumphant 'ha!'. 

      He directed his attention back to her and glared. "Alina, I swear-,"

      "Utterly. Whipped," she mouthed.

      "I will behead you," he threatened.

      She laughed. "In all seriousness, I really don't think Y/n and Ivan like each other like that," Alina said.

      "Well, of course not," he agreed. "Y/n very clearly has eyes for me. I can't say I blame them - who could resist all this? Everyone's all over me, as I'm sure you've noticed." 

      Alina stared at him pointedly.

      "Ah, except for you, of course. You seem to be the only one immune to my charm and charisma. An odd one, you are."

       She rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother," she groaned. "Just swear to me that you'll tell Y/n you like them soon. Within a week. Swear on... your dignity."

      "My dignity?" Nikolai drawled.

      "Yes, your dignity, because if you don't fess up soon, I'll have to tell Y/n about your crush on them myself," she grinned smugly, and darted off before Nikolai could retort. 

      He sighed. As he saw it, he had three options:

      1. Blackmail Alina (because of course she wouldn't give in to simple bribery)

      2. Get on his knees and beg Alina to not tell you of his massive crush (there! he admitted it; he had a massive crush on you! One that he'd been harbouring for just over a year now, too)

      3. Listen to Alina, and confess on his own terms

      All three were mortifying, and things he absolutely didn't want to do. However, the last was considerably easier to do, and came with the most benefits and the least consequences. You had already seen him through his most embarrassing moments (and he through yours) so even if you rejected him, the humiliation would be minimal. 

      And maybe he wanted to confess. And maybe there was hope that you liked him back. Nikolai wasn't stupid - he knew when people fancied him. He suspected you liked him back, but then again, that could've been wishful thinking, or maybe he was misreading the entire thing.

      He didn't even understand why he was so jealous of the way Ivan and you had interacted. Before he had fallen heads over heels in love with you, his childhood best friend, people flirting with you hadn't been a problem. He'd encouraged it, even. But now, bitterness flared up inside of him every time he saw someone getting a bit too cozy with you. 

      In short, his feelings for you had completely destroyed his facade of smooth, suave, sexy Prince of Ravka. And it kind of terrified him how poorly he hid it.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai had been acting strange lately, and it was bothering you. You feared the worst - had he finally caught on to your crush? You thought you'd been subtle until Ivan had approached you at the most recent party. Apparently, the scowl on your face as you watched Nikolai flirt with the guests had been fierce enough to kill.

      Ivan had given you (unsolicited) advice, telling you to be straightforward and direct. That was what he'd done with Fedyor, after all, and that had worked out well.

      You were pacing around your room. Ivan was perched on your bed, watching you have a borderline nervous breakdown like one would watch the view. 

      "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Ivan?" you demanded. "I'm about to make a life or death decision, and you're enjoying it."

      He chuckled. "I wouldn't call this a life or death decision, Y/n. If Nikolai rejects you, he rejects you, and it's his loss. If he reciprocates, good, and you'll be free to frolic in the meadows with him, all fine and dandy."

      You stared at him, your expression communicating, "Did you really just say that?", very clearly.

      "Okay, okay, fine, I'll be serious." Ivan relented. "Just tell him, Y/n. What's the worst that could happen?" 

      Just as you were about to respond - "Well, I don't know, what if he rejects me, things become eternally awkward between us, and our 10 year long friendship is ruined because I couldn't keep my mouth shut?" - someone knocked at the door. You opened it to find Nikolai waiting. His hair was perfectly styled, as always. He wore a dark turquoise suit jacket, and a simple white dress shirt underneath. The ghost of a smile appeared on your face; you had chosen the colour for him.

      "Hi, Nikolai," you greeted. 

      "Hello," he said. "Come on a walk with me. It's a lovely day outside, and both of us have been dreadfully busy lately - we may not get another chance to spend time together, I'm afraid."

      "Oh! Of course, just let me grab more suitable shoes- I'll be out in a minute- Ivan, move." You rummaged around your room in search of the sandals Nikolai had gifted you for your most recent birthday. Ivan flashed you a grin.

      "Tell him!" he whispered as you ducked out the door.

      You hoped you didn't seem too jittery as you took Nikolai's arm, even if your insides were filled with butterflies. He seemed deep in thought for the first few minutes of your walk. It wasn't until you were both outside that he finally spoke.

      "I hope you don't mind me asking, Y/n, but what was Ivan doing in your room?" he asked. 

      The question caught you off guard. Why was he so concerned about you and Ivan? It wasn't as if-

      Oh.

      Oh.

      "Nikolai, don't tell me- are you jealous?" you exclaimed.

      "Just answer the question, Y/n," he grumbled, which was enough of an answer for you.

      You laughed, only feeling a bit bad that you were so amused. Nikolai Lantsov, jealous. You found that incredibly funny. "Oh, I'm sorry for laughing," you apologised, even as another giggle escaped your mouth. "You don't have to worry, Ivan and I are strictly friends."

      He didn't seem convinced. "But the two of you at the party a few days ago-,"

      You cut him off. "Nikolai. I promise that there is nothing romantic going on with Ivan and I. And besides, I don't think I'm anywhere near his type."

      "Ivan likes men, Nikolai," you supplied, sensing his confusion. "Honestly, you need to keep up with gossip - he and Fedyor have been going strong for nearly three months now."

      "Oh," Nikolai said.

      "Yeah, oh."

      "And, uh, do you? Like men, I mean?" 

      You bit back another laugh. "Yes, I do. One man in particular, actually." 

      "Is that so? Care to clue me in on who this man is?"

      "You." 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

"You."

      As soon as that single word came out of your mouth, Nikolai's brain short-circuited, and several alarms blared in his mind. ALERT! ALERT! THE PERSON YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH LIKES YOU BACK! 

      He was too stunned to speak, which was definitely a first. So, naturally, he didn't speak, but instead leaned in to kiss you. His lips brushed chastely against yours. A pause. 

      "I- I'm really sorry, Y/n, I should have asked beforehand-,"

      "Nikolai." you took his face in your hands. "Shut up." 

      And then you kissed him, and if his brain had been short-circuiting before, this was a full blown system failure. Sparks flew inside of him, and he was acutely aware of you and you only. It was a wonderful feeling, one that he immediately missed when you pulled away.

      "Wow," you said. 

      He grinned. "I'm that good of a kisser, huh?"

      When usually you would come up with a witty response, you just smiled. It was a smile Nikolai was pretty sure he'd die to see again. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Falling in love with Nikolai had been a long process. Your simple crush developed into something deeper like a leaky faucet dripping - slowly, but steadily. And then the realisation that you were in love with him hit you like a tidal wave. Drowning you, consuming every inch of your being, but not necessarily in a bad way.

       You came to your epiphany while laying awake in bed one night after a whole day spent with the esteemed King of Ravka. It was a wonder that you'd managed to spend a whole 10 hours or so in his company without getting fed up, Tamar had teased. He did annoy you - and had today - but you bullied him back plenty enough. It was easy being with him. Easier than you were used to. 

       You loved the way his eyes sparkled after correcting someone on their use of the word 'impossible'. Loved how he devoted himself to his country so selflessly. Loved how he smiled at you so genuinely and lovingly, even when you didn't have the energy to show your love in return after a bad day. Saints, you loved him so, so much, and you were so in love with him, too, and-

       Holy shit. You were in love with Nikolai.

       You were in love. With Nikolai.

       A childish giggle bubbled up inside of you, and you sighed happily. What a feeling it was to be in love with the King of Ravka, even if he didn't know it yet. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

You twirled a small flower around in your hands as you walked side by side with Nikolai, your shoulders brushing occasionally. The taller blades of grass tickled your ankles, and a gentle breeze weaved through your hair. The sun peeked out from behind a few clouds, warming your face.

     Nikolai intertwined your fingers, sighing in content. He craned back his neck to meet the sunshine, eyes fluttering shut. He looked stunning, just standing there with his almost otherworldly beauty as light spilled over his fine features, highlighting every detail.

     "I'm in love with you," you blurted suddenly. "I love you, and I'm also in love with you, so. Yeah. I'm in love with you, Nikolai Lantsov."

     You gave yourself a mental round of applause for your eloquence and tact.

      He blinked. "Oh." The ghost of a smile appeared on his face, turning into a full-fledged grin when he finally processed your words. "Oh. I'm... I'm in love with you, too, Y/n L/n."

      You beamed back at him, and cupped his face in your hands. You gently ran your fingers against his cheeks, tracing a line down to the base of his chest. The fabric of his shirt was thin and soft, unlike the suffocating material his suits were made of. Lovingly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you close. Your heart fluttered. Saints, you adored Nikolai. More than you could put into words. 

      "I love you," you whispered. "I love you so much, so intensely that it consumes me, and I'm drowning in it. But instead of it being hard to breathe, it makes breathing easier. It makes everything easier." 

      You interrupted your little speech by kissing him, just because it felt appropriate, and continued. "I was so lost without you, Nikolai. I didn't realise it, because as I've proved time and time again, I'm more than capable of holding my own-" you smirked as he rolled his eyes at the jab to his overprotectiveness "-but I was. I was a boat lost at sea, floating around in the waves, with no destination and no goal except surviving. Then you came along, and gave me solace. You were my salvation. You and your endearingly stupid jokes and your wild yet grounded behaviour. You're my anchor, Nikolai." 

      He laughed, but not in the mean way. In the happy way. 

      "I would pay you back with a monologue of my own," he said. "but all I can think of right now is how perfect you are, and how much I want to kiss you."

      Your smile widened, if that were even possible. You met him midway, lips connecting almost desperately. The only coherent thought running through your brain was 'Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai.'

      Nikolai.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

"That one looks like a dragon," you said, pointing out a lumpy cloud in the sky.

      Nikolai tilted his head to the left. It was rather cute - he looked like a puppy, trying to figure out what its owner was saying. His right eyebrow curved in an upward arch (you still had no idea how he managed to raise a single eyebrow at a time), and he pouted slightly. Adorable.

      "I don't see it," he deadpanned.

      You sighed and shook your head, dismissing the cute puppy ideology. "Nevermind," you huffed. As hard as you tried to pretend you were upset with him, a smile teased at the corners of your mouth, anyway.

      "I'm sorry, darling, but I really don't!" he exclaimed, flopping back into the picnic blanket you two had laid out. Really, it wasn't even a picnic blanket. It was just a blanket. The two of you hadn't had time to find a proper one before embarking on your impromptu picnic. Nikolai, ever the improviser, had then brandished a quilt from Saints knew where. You suspected it came from Vasily's room, because who else would be pompous enough to own a red velvet blanket the size of China?

      You dramatically exhaled again. "I already said nevermind. Not all of us can be blessed with a creative vision such as mine, after all."

      Nikolai laughed. And Saints, the sound was downright melodic. You didn't even want to begin thinking about all the things you'd do to hear it one more time.

      A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Eventually, he began stroking your palm with his callouses fingers. You bit back a smile, and linked your pinkies together. A gathering of clouds mostly covered the sun - enough to allow only a bit of warm, gold light to seep out. You wondered briefly how Nikolai looked right now, basking underneath the faint sunshine. 

      The answer came to you easily, even without looking at him: fucking beautiful. 

      However, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of staring at him. The last time he had caught you gaping at him like a lovesick fool, he had teased you endlessly. It was ridiculous. It wasn't as if he didn't stare at you. No, actually. He stared at you all the time. In fact, he was doing it right now.

      You bit back a grin when you felt his eyes on you. But before you could tease him for it, he got up suddenly, offering you a hand.

      "Come on," he urged. "Follow me."

      "Where to?" you questioned curiously.

      He smirked. Tugged on your hand. Winked. "You'll see." 

      "Right, that's not cryptic at all," you muttered. 

      Eventually, after a minute or so of walking (and plenty of you trying to weasel more information out of him) the two of you had seemed to reach your destination. A huge tree hung above you, offering its shade. You plopped down, but Nikolai remained standing.

      Strangely, he was looking rather nervous. Repeatedly tugging at the collar of his beige button-up shirt, and kicking at the grass. 

      "Y/n, darling, don't just sit there, you're making me nervous," he whined. 

      You giggled, but stood up anyway. "I could say the same about you. What's on your mind, dear?"

      He took a deep breath, and looked you dead in the eyes. "I love you, Y/n. I love you, and I'm in love with you. I always have, and always have been. It's just- you're wonderful. And intelligent. And charming. And I am so, so glad you are my partner - in the romantic sense, and the platonic sense. If I'm being honest, I'm quite sure I'd be tearing at the seams without you to sew me back together every time I do something particularly foolish. 

      And I hope you'll always be there to ground me. Because I will always be there for you. Th-there's no other way to say this, my darling, but I'd quite like to spend the rest of my life with you, so..."

      He brandished a dark blue box from his back pocket (this probably wasn't the time, but you had to mention that you could never fit something that large in your pocket. Why did men's clothing always have bigger pockets?) and got down on one knee. 

      "Will you do me the honour of marrying me, Y/n?" he finished.

      Holy fuck. Holy mother of Saints. Holy everything. Was this real? Saints. This really was real, wasn't it? Nikolai Lantsov was proposing to you.

      A sob escaped from your throat, and you nodded frantically, not wanting him to think you were upset. "Yes," you said. "Saints, Nikolai, yes."

      He smiled. You knew that he smiled a lot, but this smile was different. Usually, he just grinned or smirked in a devilish way - this was more of a beam. He looked so genuinely happy (genuinely happy, because of you!) that it made your heart soar, and you were pretty sure you fell in love with him all over again for the second time. You'd never get tired of it, though. Not when it came to Nikolai (Nikolai, your husband-to-be!). Never when it came to Nikolai.

      You soon found yourself enveloped in a hug. He spun you around, both of you laughing (and crying). When he set you down, you could have sworn you saw his eyes welling up.

      "Now, my love, those better be happy tears," he tutted.

      "Of course they're happy tears, you stupid puppy dog!" you sniffed. "I love you."

      He beamed into your hair. "I love you, too, Y/n."

      What a feeling it was to be in love with Nikolai Lantsov, and to know that he was in love with you, too.

[headcanonsandmore]

“Half Agony, Half Hope” Chapter Four

Summary: In the aftermath of the revelations of the previous chapter (namely, that Tegan cares for Nyssa to an extent Nyssa would have never dared to dream), how will Nyssa progress from here? The two of them have drawn closer, yet a small amount of distance and hesitancy still keeps them apart. Will they overcome it? In our concluding chapter, we find out...

Tag list:  @serenbex @lonely-space-ace

~~~~~~~                      Read on FFN.                         Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~

Nyssa did not have time to dwell much on the events of the ball, although she would have dearly liked to. She did not even have a chance to speak to Tegan about what had changed between them during that conversation outside the main hall.

This was because word had reached their family that Henrietta had also been proposed to, meaning that two wedding preparations were happening simultaneously. And, since most of the extended family was now staying in Bath, the wedding preparations would be taking place in the house Nyssa and her family were staying in.

Mary and Charles had arrived, in a whirl of ‘hello’s and ‘how have you been’s.

‘And what brings Mrs Musgrove to Bath?’ enquired Lord Tremas, as he walked his youngest daughter up the stairs.

‘She’s come to buy wedding clothes for Henrietta and Louise,’ Mary replied, excitedly. ‘It is so exciting; it makes me giddy. A double wedding!’

Nyssa did not say anything, but followed everyone else upstairs. She would have dearly loved a moment to herself just to think more about Tegan, but her family (especially Mary and Elisabeth) did not seem to notice this. And so the wedding preparations had begun. Nyssa found herself ensconced in the very centre of things, as Mrs Musgrove seemed to rate her opinion very highly.

‘What do you think for Louisa’s hair, Nyssa?’ Mrs Musgrove asked her. The two of them were sat with Henrietta, sorting through various examples of fabric. Mary was stood by the window. The older woman extended two different types towards Nyssa. ‘This one or this one?’

As Nyssa leaned forward to inspect them, Henrietta spoke.

‘Louisa has become so severe, ma-ma; I wonder if she will want a ribbon in her hair at all’- the three of them giggled- ‘Give her a book of verse to hold instead!’

At that moment, the door opened.

‘Ma-ma,’ said Charles’s voice. ‘Look who I found.’

‘Oh, Captain Jovanka; how lovely to see you again!’

Nyssa froze in her seat. 

Her chair happened to be facing away from the door. She had not seen Tegan at all since the previous evening at the ball, and her nerves were immediately on-edge. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to speak with Tegan in front of everyone else, knowing what she now knew? And, oh, how was she supposed to keep her feelings hidden under the calm façade that her family had long since assumed was her natural personality?

‘I’ve been to the theatre, and I’ve secured a box for tomorrow night,’ said Charles, smiling.

‘Oh, wonderful,’ Mrs Musgrove said, before turning to Nyssa. ‘Nyssa, you will accompany us, I hope?’

‘O-oh, well I am obliged to you, Mrs Musgrove,’ Nyssa replied, her brain still reeling. ‘But I cannot; there is an evening party at Camden Place to which, I understand, you shall all be invited.’

‘An evening party?’ Charles exclaimed, doubtfully.

‘If it only depended upon me, I assure you I would prefer the theatre. But… I have an obligation to my family.’

‘Then we shall go another time when you are free to join us,’ Mrs Musgrove said, kindly.

‘Thank you.’

‘Captain Harville; please, come sit with me,’ Henrietta said, helping the man into a seat. ‘I am desperately in need of a fresh opinion.’

Nyssa got up from her seat and moved across the room, away from the others. As she did so, she could help but feel Tegan’s eyes upon her. She had still not been able to dwell too much on their last conversation. But… oh, it made her heart rejoice to understand that Tegan did not hate Nyssa for the way she had treated her those seven years ago.

‘Perhaps…’

Nyssa startled. Tegan had come to stand next to her.

‘… you have not been in Bath long enough,’ Tegan continued. ‘To enjoy these parties they give.’

‘They… mean nothing to me.’ Nyssa replied. ‘Those who hold them believe the theatre to be beneath their dignity. But… I am no card player.’

Tegan looked at her, and the taller woman’s face broke into a smile.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘You never were, were you, Nys?’

Nyssa smiled, a small chuckle escaping her lips.

‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘I have never been one for gambling. I… I am not given to flights of fancy. I simply do what I can with what I have, and I am aware that is not saying a lot.’

‘Not a lot, you say?’ Tegan replied, quietly. ‘It seems to me that you do not care much for yourself… or for your attributes, of which you are graced with a great deal, if I may say so.’

‘I… I cannot claim to agree with you,’ Nyssa said. ‘You are surely biased to be far too generous with your praise, given your own extensive list of admirable qualities, which includes great loyalty. The… greatest of loyalty, even if the person upon whom that loyalty is based does not deserve such.’

‘And if they do deserve such? Is good judgement not a quality I can claim?’

Nyssa stared at her.

‘I… I suppose the person in question must be a truly lucky person, to receive such loyalty.’

‘Luck would have nothing to do with it. Loyalty is earned, and is not given lightly.’

A moment passed between them. Nyssa was suddenly struck by how… natural this felt. It was as if the past seven years had fallen by the wayside, and no time had passed at all. Just… the two of them conversing, making the other smile. It was so easy that Nyssa found herself shocked that things had fallen back into place without her even realising it.

Maybe such a moment to elaborate on their previous conversation had presented itself? After all, the rest of the rooms occupants were so caught up in wedding preparations to notice them. Perhaps she could ask Tegan to accompany her downstairs on some errand? Nyssa opened her mouth to speak-

‘I say, is that Mr Elliott standing under the colonnade?’

Mary was still stood by the window, but had spoken loudly so that the entire room could hear her. Nyssa was silent for a moment, before sadly letting out a small sigh. Tegan’s eyes flickered, as if she noticed this. But Nyssa had no way of elaborating further; the moment had passed.

‘It cannot be,’ Nyssa said, reluctantly turning away from Tegan. ‘I believe he told Elisabeth that he had gone out of Bath for two days. To stay with some friends at Combe Park.’

‘I think I may be relied upon to recognise my own cousin,’ Mary said, irritably. ‘Come and look.’

Nyssa let out another small sigh and headed across the room to stand next to Mary. Sure enough, Mr Elliott was standing a while away.

‘How strange,’ Mary said. ‘He does not look best pleased with who he is speaking to.’

The person was a young woman and an older man, presumably her father. There was much waving of arms as well as clearly loud voices, although they did not carry across the street and through the windows.

Nyssa had a sneaking suspicion that all would be revealed the next time she visited Mrs Smith, given Nurse Rooke’s habit of notifying her of gossip amongst the gentry living in and around the city.

Nyssa came to stand beside Captain Harville, who was examining a miniature portrait.

‘Is that…’

‘Captain Benwick?’ he replied. ‘Yes. But it was not drawn for Louisa Musgrove. It was drawn at the cape, for my sister. And now… I have the charge of getting it set for another. It… it is too much for me, I confess; so she undertakes it.’

Harville nodded towards Tegan, who was now sat at the desk writing a letter.

‘She’s writing instructions to the frame makers now,’-Harville’s face grew stiff- ‘Poor Phoebe. She… she would not have forgotten him so soon. It was… well, not in her nature.’

‘It would not be in the nature of any woman who has truly loved,’ Nyssa said, quietly.

‘Do you claim that for women?’

‘I will admit that I have never been drawn to men but… from what I can gather from other women that do, women do not forget men as soon as vice versa. I suppose many cannot help themselves. Many… many women live at home; quiet, confined and… feelings can prey upon someone in such circumstances.’

Harville did not respond, and Nyssa took this as a sign to continue.

‘Those away in the navy have something to occupy them… to take them back into the world.’

‘I… I do not feel it is men’s nature any more than women’s to forget, to be inconstant,’ Harville said, quietly, looking out into the rain. ‘Or to forget those they love or have loved. I believe the reverse, I believe…’

At this moment, there was a gentle clunk as a pot from the desk fell to the floor. Tegan reached down and grabbed it.

‘Have you finished your letter?’ Harville asked.

‘Er… not quite,’ Tegan replied. ‘A few lines yet.’

For a second, Tegan’s eyes met Nyssa’s, but then she went back to writing, hunched over the desk with her expression disguised. Nyssa swallowed, unsure of what to make of that.

Harville looked back out the window for a moment, before turning back to Nyssa.

‘From what I have read, all histories seem to be against your view. I do not think I have read a single one that did not have something to say about women’s fickleness.’

‘By “all”,’ Nyssa replied, attempting to pull her mind back onto firmer ground. ‘Are you referring to the histories that were all written by men?’

Harville let out a chuckle before nodding to himself.

‘I suppose,’ he said, going back to the window. ‘If… well, I suppose it is different from the perspective who has gone away to sea. To take a last look at their family… husband, wife, perhaps, and maybe children… and watches the boat that they have sent their family off in, for as long as it is in sight… and then turns away and says “goodness knows whether we will meet again”. The glow of that persons soul when they do see their family once more… it’s something quite unlike anything else.’

‘So long as the person you love lives… and lives for you,’ Nyssa said. ‘I… well, if I can claim something for those left behind -and it is not an enviable something, I admit- is loving longest, when all hope is lost.’

At that moment, the door opened and Lady Croft appeared.

‘Come, Tegan,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘We must part company.’

‘One moment, Sophie,’ Tegan replied, somewhat awkwardly. Nyssa got the strange feeling that Tegan had been eavesdropping on her conversation with Harville. But why did she look so flustered and ill-at-ease? The words Nyssa had spoken were not especially unusual, nor poetic. They were simple truths that Nyssa knew from a lifetime of observing others.

‘Well,’ Lady Croft said, speaking to the room at large. ‘We will all have the privilege of meeting again, later this evening at your party.’

‘Harville,’ Tegan said, climbing to her feet and clearing her throat. ‘If you’re ready, we can depart.’

Lady Croft smiled at Nyssa, before leaving. Tegan and Harville followed, with the former curiously quiet.

‘Now,’ Mrs Musgrove said, walking over to the window. ‘Where have Henrietta and Mary disappeared off to?’

The door reopened, and Tegan appeared. Nyssa found her eyes glued to the taller woman.

‘Forgive me, Mrs Musgrove,’ she said, striding into the room. ‘I left my umbrella.’

However, instead of taking the umbrella and leaving immediately, Tegan stood up, placed a hand on a letter she had just laid onto the desk, and locked eyes with Nyssa.

There was a beat as their eyes met. Nyssa’s heart seemed to skip a beat. Her mind swirled. Her pulse quickened. She felt as if she was once again stricken, unable to move or think. Her brain seemed to have dissolved in a heady swirl of emotions. Through this, her last frazzled nerve spoke with a force she had known in a long time. Move, it begged her, say something, make some sign-

Tegan turned on her heel and left, without another word.

Mrs Musgrove then also left the room, presumably to locate Henrietta and Mary. Her heart racing, Nyssa hurried forward and picked the letter off the desk. It was without an envelope. Through the thin paper, Nyssa could make out the unmistakable untidy scrawl that belonged to Tegan.  

With trembling hands, Nyssa unfolded the paper.

“Come and find me. I must speak with you.”

Nyssa felt as if her head was spinning. The entire axis of her world seemed to have shifted, and she was left floundering, drifting, except for the single thought in her mind. Just one single thought. The most important.

Find her.

‘Nyssa?’

Mrs Musgrove’s voice seemed to reach Nyssa as if from another plane of existence. The older woman had presumably stuck her head through the door to check Nyssa was well.

‘I… I must go. Please excuse me.’

Nyssa hurried out of the room, past Mrs Musgrove, and down the staircase. She quickly collected her coat and hat from the cloakroom and half-walked half-ran out of the door. It was an overcast day, and she was glad of the extra layer due to the cool wind that had a habit of whipping through the city streets.

However, all the cool air in the world could not have tempered Nyssa’s frantically beating heart, which was causing the blood to roar in her ears and her cheeks to flush as if she had just run a great distance. But, in a matter of speaking, the distance she had covered in the past ten minutes within her own mind was as if between two worlds. Her own world and the world that she had previously thought it was impossible for her to reach. A world she had desperately tried to avoid thinking about for seven years. But to no avail, for hear she was, and she was travelling between them as if by a million miles with every step she took.

She hurried down the garden path and out into the road. Nyssa’s eyes darted from left to right. Where was she? Surely Tegan had not left so quickly-

‘Nys?’

Nyssa’s heart seemed to leap into her mouth as she turned.

Tegan was stood barely a few feet away, her eyes wide and burning with a fierce intensity that took Nyssa’s breath away.

‘T-Tegan?’

In her rush to leave the house, Nyssa had kept the short letter clutched in her hand. Tegan’s eyes flew to it, before darting back up to Nyssa’s face.

The two women stepped towards each other. There was barely a few inches of space between them now.

Tegan wet her lips, and began to speak.

‘You pierce my soul. I… I am half agony, half hope.’

Nyssa felt her heart beat painfully against her chest. The world outside of the two of them once again faded to a grey blur.

‘Tell me that I am not too late, Nyssa; that those precious feelings are gone forever,’ Tegan continued, her voice tender. ‘I… I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years ago. I don’t know if a woman’s heart forgets more quickly than that of a man, or whether a woman’s love has an earlier death, but I do know that I have loved no-one but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have definitely been, but never inconstant. Nys… you alone have brought me to Bath. Have you… misunderstood what I mean? A word, a look, will be enough to decide-’

Tegan stopped talking. Because, at that moment, Nyssa had leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips.

It was a kiss that had been seven years in waiting. And, oh, Nyssa felt the weight of those seven years finally ease from her shoulders as Tegan deepened the kiss. After all this time, all those long days of nothingness, the pure feeling of their lips pressed together was impossible to describe and exhilarating to experience. What poetry could accurately chart how Nyssa’s heart beat to the point of stammering? What literature could possibly convey the sparks that shivered up her spine as Tegan’s hand came to rest upon the back of Nyssa’s coat? What art could capture the explosion of colours that erupted within Nyssa’s mind as Tegan gave a soft moan against her lips?

Perfect. Utterly perfect.

The world around them could have fallen away, and Nyssa would not have noticed. She could not imagine a world that did not involve Tegan with her like this.

Slowly, their lips slipped apart, and the two women stared at each other.

Nyssa’s mouth broke into an enormous smile, which she could do nothing to temper. But she honestly did not wish to temper it. After a lifetime of keeping demurely and quietly to herself, she now wished to be as open and honest as she felt agreeable.

Tegan grinned back in response, her eyes sparkling.

‘Blimey, Nys.’

‘I take it my mouth has not forgotten you, as yours has not forgotten mine?’

‘Nyssa!’ Tegan exclaimed, face blushing. ‘We’re in public!’

‘I am well aware of that,’ Nyssa replied, still smiling. ‘But I also care very little at this point.’

‘Bloody hell…’ Tegan said, almost in awe. ‘I… that is, do you still…’

Nyssa leaned forward again and pressed her lips to Tegan’s for a moment, before leaning back, her face only a few inches from Tegan’s.

‘I… I never stopped feeling that way for you,’ Nyssa whispered. ‘I always…’

With gentleness in every movement, Tegan took Nyssa’s hand.

‘I… I tried to forget you, Nys.’

‘I am sorry that you ever felt you ought to,’ Nyssa whispered. ‘But I am also glad that you did not.’

Tegan smiled.

‘I am glad too. May we walk? I imagine the two of us have a lot to discuss.’

Nyssa nodded. She linked her arm through Tegan’s, and the two of them set off through the streets.

                                                              *

 Several hours later, Nyssa and her family were at Camden Place. Nyssa, walking back from discussing the evenings proceedings with the staff, entered the room. The candelabras set around gave an intimate feeling to proceedings, despite the many people in attendance. It was a rather splendid set of rooms, although Nyssa found these sort of occasions most dull. The sort of place that attracted self-important people who cared little for the human amusements of theatre and laughter. Nyssa was wearing her best dress; she would not have normally dressed so well for such an occasion, but she had a different objective this evening.

Henrietta and Charles were sat playing cards with the Admiral and Lady Croft. They all smiled at Nyssa as she passed, which she returned in kind. Lady Russell was sat around a table with Mary, both of them engrossed in a game of cards.

As Nyssa passed another table, a hand reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

‘When Captain Jovanka arrives,’ Elisabeth said, quickly, without so much as a hello. ‘You must not monopolise her. It is a very bad habit of yours.’

Nyssa stared down at her, and raised an eyebrow.

Penelope Shepherd, who was sat across the table from Elisabeth, gave a sympathetic look towards Nyssa. She was used to Elisabeth’s habits, although she clearly did not appreciate them anymore than Nyssa did. Maybe a few months prior, Nyssa would have simply nodded and given in. But Nyssa did not feel willing to do so anymore.

‘Elisabeth, I believe you are missing several cards from your deck,’ Nyssa said. ‘You may wish to check your hand again.’

Miss Shepherd had to cover her mouth with her hand to disguise her smile, as Elisabeth stared down at her cards in confusion. Nyssa walked away from the table, a small smile on her face.

‘Bonaparte had escaped from Alban,’ the Admiral was saying to Henrietta. ‘And raised an army. There is to be another war, by the sounds of things.’

‘So you will have to leave us again, Admiral?’

‘I believe so, yes-’

‘Captain Jovanka and Captain Harville!’

Nyssa turned, towards the door. Sure enough, Tegan had entered the room, accompanied by Harville. The staff member who had announced them was already stepping back into place by the door.

Tegan caught Nyssa’s eye, and the two women nodded at each other in understanding. They had discussed it at length that day, after all. They had wanted to when they were seven years younger, of course, but fate had conspired to give them a painful wait. But that wait had finally come to an end. And neither Nyssa nor Tegan had any intentions of delaying any longer. Not when things had finally fallen into place for them.

‘Captain Jovanka,’ Sir Tremas said, rising to his feet. ‘Come in; please, what will you play?’

‘Actually,’ replied Tegan, smiling. ‘I am here on business, Sir Tremas.’

‘Business?’

‘Yes,’ continued Tegan, and her smile grew further. ‘I am simply here to inform you that Nyssa has asked me to marry her, and that I have accepted. We were hoping to fix a date.’

There was a gasp from around the room, Mary and Elisabeth the loudest amongst them. However, the vast majority of everyone else present -including the rest of the Musgroves- looked elated and grinned happily at Nyssa, Henrietta even letting out a whoop of delight. Sir Tremas was smiling widely.

Nyssa could not stop her smile from growing exponentially as the force of the words sunk in. They were getting married. Nyssa’s family knew they were getting married. And, finally, Nyssa and Tegan could be themselves together once again. It was as if a weight had lifted from Nyssa’s shoulders that she hadn’t even been aware she was carrying.

‘Nyssa?’ Elisabeth exclaimed, hotly. She did not seem to notice the ecstatic jubilation of those around her. ‘You want to marry Nyssa? But… whatever for?’

Tegan did not reply, but instead smiled at Nyssa, her cheeks dimpling as she did so. Nyssa found herself quite elated. And, without thinking on it any further, she strode across the room, slipped her hand into Tegan’s and smiled up at the taller woman. Nyssa’s mind was suddenly full of memories she had long since locked away; of Tegan laughing as they walked in the countryside, of the two of them dancing alone in a quiet part of the Traken estate, of Tegan asking for Nyssa’s hand in marriage all those years ago. And now they were combined with new memories; Tegan and Nyssa walking under the umbrella through Bath, their lips pressed against each other, Nyssa making Tegan laugh earlier that day, Nyssa proposing to Tegan barely two hours before in a quiet public park. And more memories would be created each day, as their lives stretched out before them in a blissful panorama of possibilities.  

‘I imagine love has something to do with it,’ Sir Tremas said, jovially. ‘You have my blessing, of course; I wish you both the very best.’

‘Oh, bravo!’ exclaimed Lady Croft. Beside her, the admiral was smiling widely. ‘A most joyous evening this is! For a while, I thought you two were never going to reconnect.’

‘You knew about this?’ Elisabeth said, glaring in confusion at Lady Croft. ‘How-’

‘Oh, do be quiet, Elisabeth!’ Henrietta exclaimed, before smiling widely at Nyssa. ‘I am most pleased for you both!’

‘Thank you,’ Nyssa replied, ignoring Elisabeth’s continued gasps of irritation. ‘That means a great deal to me.’

‘And to me too,’ Tegan elaborated.

Lady Russell smiled.

‘I am very pleased for you both,’ she said, placing a hand on Nyssa’s other hand. ‘And, please, my apologies for the role I played in the events seven years ago.’

‘Thank you,’ Tegan said, somewhat stiffly. Nyssa could tell that Tegan was not so quick to forgive Lady Russell’s past actions, but forgiveness would come in time eventually.

‘What sort of date were you hoping?’ Sir Tremas asked. ‘For the wedding, I mean?’

Nyssa and Tegan shared a look.

‘It will have to be soon,’ Nyssa said. ‘As much as I regret preventing Mrs Musgrove from planning a third wedding, the war with Napoleon will come quickly. And I have no intention of staying at home, worrying about where and how my wife will be.’

Tegan’s cheeks flushed at “my wife” and clearly had difficulty trying not to smile further. She slipped her hand around Nyssa’s back and took her other hand, so that she was stood right next to Nyssa, any sense of uncomfortable distance gone. They were an engaged couple, and they could finally stop acting like two strangers.

Nyssa smiled, and squeezed Tegan’s hand as the conversation continued to buzz around them, full of excitement over the wedding and more congratulations for the two women. Nyssa did not know what the future held but she knew that, with Tegan beside her, it was going to be most wonderful indeed.

                                                            *

 ‘Nyssa?’

Nyssa slowly opened her eyes.

Tegan was sat up against the headboard of their bed. She was wearing a long nightshirt with loose sleeves, the sort that was common in the navy amongst the women. The effect was rather wonderful, especially since Nyssa knew fully well Tegan had not fallen asleep wearing it. And just what the two of them had been doing before they had fallen asleep.

Nyssa grinned at the memory, feeling her cheeks pinken slightly.

The room they were renting in Southampton was cosy and comfy, the sort of place you could enjoy spending time in. Especially since the room was their final stopover before leaving on Tegan’s command ship. It had also been the place they had lived since their wedding ceremony a week prior. Walking around the city, laughing, conversing and eating together. As befitted a married couple. A married couple. Nyssa wasn’t certain she would never stop feeling the same happy glow within her every time she thought about it. She was married to Tegan Jovanka. With all the happiness that came with it.  

‘Sorry to wake you, my love,’ Tegan said, smiling adoringly down at her wife. ‘But we must get ready to leave soon.’

‘No need to apologise, my darling,’ Nyssa replied, propping herself up on her elbow and grinning widely at the loose neckline of Tegan’s shirt. ‘I rather like this view upon waking. Although the lack of the nightshirt would also be rather enchanting as well.’

Tegan’s face flushed.

‘Now you’re just trying to flatter me,’ she said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Nyssa’s forehead.

‘And it is clearly working,’ Nyssa chuckled, sitting up against the headboard. ‘I would have thought all embarrassment would have left you after what we’ve been-’

‘Nyssa!’

Laughing, Nyssa placed a kiss to her flustered wife’s cheek, and snuggled into her side.

‘Wonderful wedding, wasn’t it?’

‘Of course it was,’ Tegan said. ‘Although I am rather biased; I’ve never felt luckier in my life.’

It was Nyssa’s turn to blush, and Tegan took the opportunity to give her wife a cheeky squeeze on her hips. Given that Nyssa wasn’t wearing a nightgown, this had the desired effect. Nyssa let out a delighted squeal, and the two of them fell sideways under the sheets, Tegan pressing kisses to Nyssa’s collarbones. Nyssa rather liked when Tegan did that.

Nyssa enjoyed the feeling of lying there for a moment, before intertwining her fingers with Tegan’s, both of whose hands had already started wandering.

‘Tegan…’ she said, smirking knowingly at her wife. ‘I thought you said we had to be preparing to leave soon? You being in command of the vessel will not excuse us from being late.’

‘Leaving soon?’ Tegan repeated. ‘Yes… as in, four hours’ time.’

‘Tegan!’

‘What?’

‘Why didn’t you let me sleep?’

Tegan raised an eyebrow, and her eyes glinted, sending a delicious shiver down Nyssa’s spine.

‘Tegan Jovanka-Traken,’ she exclaimed, giddily. ‘You are incorrigible!’

‘Well, excuse me for getting distracted by my gorgeous wife.’

Nyssa pressed a kiss to her wife’s lips. Oh, she would never grow tired of being referred to as Tegan’s wife, nor of referring to Tegan in the same way. There was something so wonderful about it all. Like a dream from which she would never have to wake up.  

‘By all accounts, I should be the one making that remark.’

Tegan smirked lopsidedly.

‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’

‘Given the evidence, I would say it irrefutably does, my darling.’

Tegan grinned, bobbing her nose against Nyssa’s. That was another thing; referring to Tegan as her darling had been a startlingly wonderful realisation. Every time she did so, an inner warmth enveloped her and, judging from Tegan’s reactions, the effect was mutual. Oh, she hoped it would never leave!

‘I love you, Nyssa.’

‘I love you too, Tegan.’

Tegan pressed a kiss to Nyssa’s lips, before her expression shifted to contemplative.

‘Are you sure you’ll be okay with being onboard ship during a war?’ she asked, softly. ‘It won’t be easy. Even being the wife of a captain, you wouldn’t be out of danger completely.’

Nyssa smiled up at her wife, trailing her fingers through Tegan’s curly hair. The sun seemed to sparkle through the air around them, drifting slowly in through the curtains over the window. Outside, the world went on. But, within the small confines of this room, just for the two of them, was Nyssa and Tegan’s world.

‘I’ll be fine. Considering what my family are like, a war with Napoleon seems almost calm by comparison.’

Tegan chuckled.

‘Only if you’re sure.’

‘I am sure,’ Nyssa replied, wrapping her arms around her wife. ‘I’m like you, Tegan; indestructible.’

                                                           *

I love a happy ending, especially when it's about these two. 😊

Thanks for reading along, everyone; I hope you enjoyed this Persuasion AU as much as I enjoyed writing it! I don't have any multi-chapter fics planned for a little while, but stay tuned for more Tegan/Nyssa adorable one-shots soon!

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3 

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes:  Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged) 

@mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy. 

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card. 

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression. 

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way. 

You grumble  as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets. 

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers. 

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group. 

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh. 

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit. 

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed. 

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable. 

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe. 

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today."  He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture. 

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have."  You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments. 

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside. 

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee. 

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today. 

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity. 

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman.  "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear. 

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile. 

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you. 

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is." 

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor. 

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down." 

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked. 

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom. 

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.

[lilevixen]

heyyy, idk if u write bertholdt or are even taking requests, but if u are can i request giving bertholdt an orgasm denial from a f!reader and it’s been like 3 hours that he’s had to hold it? thanks if u can :)

sweet boy

Characters: sub!Bertholdt Hoover x dom!female bodied reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1.9k

Description: Reader teaches Bertholdt a lesson after he gets a bit too touchy with them in front of their friends

•WARNING- 18+ CONTENT: orgasm denial, no-contact orgasm, descriptions of oral sex (male receiving), dacryphilia(ish?)•

“Baby, please, I said I was s-sorry!” Bertholdt whined from across the room for what felt like the millionth time that evening. You casted a look of faux boredom over your shoulder from your small wooden desk, trying your best to remain blasé at the mouth-watering sight of your boyfriend still sat criss-cross applesauce completely bare on the bed. He was so good for you, so obedient; his arms never once left from behind his back for entirety of the time you had him there. How long did you have him there? After you two got back from the dining hall, minutes easily spilled into hours in the smudgy haze of repressed lust you had established. The only indicator of how long Berthodlt had been sitting there for, cock upright and twitching for attention, was how absolutely worn out he looked. Every inch of his deep, tan skin was glittering with sweat, cords of muscle in his thighs and abdomen strained beneath his flesh so severely they looked like they could snap any second, his chest heaved erratically as if he had just run a marathon- this was absolute torture for him, you could tell. You would’ve felt bad, if he hadn’t disobeyed you in the first place.

“Huh? I was reading, sweetie. I didn’t hear you,” a bald-faced lie on your part. Your eyes kept tracking over the same paragraph over and over again without absorbing any of the information in your brain, the sweet pleas of your boyfriend claiming all the space in your mind instead. His lip quivered at your persistence in feigning ignorance of his situation and tears quickly filled his dark eyes.

“P-Please! Can you please t-touch me? I need you so bad I think I might e-explode,” he stammered out, his voice meek but desperate, shameless, so needy and you felt it throb between your legs, adding to the arousal already collecting along your inner thighs. Despite how incredibly turned on you were, you let out a slow sigh hiss past your lips as if you were getting irritated.

“Well, you got to touch me plenty, sweets. In front of everyone, just like I asked you not to,” excitement overtook your annoyance some time ago, but what you brought up was a genuine point of contention. From the very beginning you made it clear you wanted your relationship to be private. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of him or anything, you just hated all the unnecessary attention couples garnered, all the mindless gossip and speculation of who plays what role, the whispers, the stares. And once Bertholdt had gotten comfortable with you, always seeking your touch like a love sick little puppy, you knew this was something that needed to be discussed. He agreed at the time, ‘if it means I get to be with you, I guess it’s okay,’ he said, but as things progressed he would give away your relationship in little ways. At first it was just the way he would look at you (which was only natural given your feeling for each other, you supposed), staring at your lips for a little too long when you spoke, a little twinkle of fondness in his warm eyes. You let this slide, because it was minimal and no one seemed to notice. But slowly, he started doing more and more things that you had to call him out on, resting his head on your shoulder, using his thumb to tenderly swipe crumbs of food off your face, nearly calling you baby- until finally, tonight in the dining hall while having supper with your friends, he practically announced you two were together by kissing your hand when you burnt it on a scalding bowl of soup. Porco was too involved with his food to notice, but you could feel Reiner and Annie’s eyes hovering over you as if you were an alien. Too embarrassed to handle their reactions, you excused yourself to your room and quickly left before they even had a chance to say anything, Bertholdt obviously right on your heels. He tried to embrace you and kiss you and apologize to make it all better, but his penchant for physical affection was what got you in this situation in the first place. So that’s when you decided to give him a little time-out. Even though, your edge was starting to wear down after hearing him whine out for you for so long.

“I know! I-I just don’t like seeing you get hurt! I didn’t think they were looking at us, I’m sorry Y/N!” he choked out, squirming against the air as if that would provide some sort of relief. “I’m s-so hard for you it feels like ‘m gonna pass out.”

“Oh really? And what do you want me to do about that?” You asked in a snarky tone to mask the unadulterated lust pulsing through you, going back to fake-reading your text book.

“I want you to touch me! I want to feel you, any part of you, until I cum over and over…” you could hear the thought in his voice as he got lost in what he was describing, and you didn’t need to turn around to know he was biting his lip with his head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut and brows knitted. Another hot rush of arousal swirled in deep in your stomach.

“You know I can’t do that, baby,” you said against your own body’s command.

“Y-Yes you can! I promise I’ll be good from now on, I w-won’t hold your hand or kiss you or hug you in front of anyone again! Just please, I need you Y/N,” maybe it was your own excitement, or how fucking good he sounded begging for you like a pitiful little boy, but this finally broke your resolve. It would be cruel to let him stay there like that all night, anyway. You pushed yourself out of your seat and made your way to Berthdolt’s trembling form on the bed. Even you just getting closer to him caused his heavy breathing to pick up pace.

“How do you want me, my sweet boy?” you purred, laying down flat on your stomach before his lanky body so that his dick towered above you like a skyscraper.

“A-Any way,” he looked down at you beneath his dark, fluttering lashes, swiveling his hips in anticipation of your touch. You let out a soft scoff.

“Be specific or I can’t help you~,” you said with a sweet lilt in your voice, harsh words laced with honey. His eyes blew open wide at your threat to leave him a writhing, unfulfilled mess for even longer than you already had.

“Can you take me in your mouth? Please?” A new wave of blush spread across his cheeks as he said this, and you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he was.

“There you go, baby,” you giggled. You guided your featherlight fingertips along the slick muscle of his thighs, causing him to tense up immediately, and you could actually see the thrum of his heartbeat racing beneath his skin in faint flits. He was so sensitive by now you didn’t doubt he would explode just like he said before. Your fingers playfully walked along the slope of his legs, working their way inwards, and you teased them to a gradual stop mere inches from where he needed you most. He was panting like a dog at this point, chest rising and falling violently as he looked down at you, jaw slack and eyes cloudy with frustrated tears.

“You’ve been waiting for this, huh?” You dragged your tongue along your lower lip and leaned in close to his pulsating cock so that your breath fanned across his shaft, digging your fingers into the tendons of his inner thigh. He gasped, the shock of you finally gracing him with some sort of stimulation overwhelming his worked-up body, and a throb of pleasure shot through his dick with such alarming intensity that you could see it expand in his veins and swell at the tip. You blinked up at him, a bit startled yourself. He was so close already and you barely even touched him… Maybe you didn’t even need to touch him.

“U-Uhuh!” He nodded frantically, tears now spilling down his flushed face and drool dribbling down his chin; the sight would’ve been sad if it wasn’t so fucking hot. You massaged your fingertips into the thin, sweat-slicked skin on either side of his balls and slowly moved your lips upwards so that they were ghosting the hot, leaking head of his penis. His whole body shuddered underneath you, hips eagerly twitching to meet your lips, but only mildly, timidly, making it clear he was still completely under your control.

“I bet you’ve been imagining this for so long, my lips around your cock, feeling me squeeze you in my throat,” you hummed, your lips just barely brushing his dickhead as you spoke, and to him the vibration of your voice and the warm flutters of your breath against him felt just as sensational as the euphoric grip of your walls after hours of waiting for any kind of attention. This was exactly what you suspected, what you were hoping. He was such a desperate mess that he could get off to just your words and proximity. “Can you feel it? My pretty little mouth drooling around you?”

“A-Ah! Yes!” He cried out, and his stiff cock slapped against his belly eagerly as if he was truly feeling every bit of what you were describing, hell, even you were starting to feel it from his reactions alone, the ache between your legs growing almost painful.

“Does my sweet boy want to cum down my throat?” You kept steady eye contact with him, savoring every bit of watching him crumble before you, intentionally letting your breath pour past your lips in heavy pants, and he bucked into the air with each puff, his abdomen flexed tight and his thighs shuddering.

“Ahaha y-yes please!” He whimpered, the rhythm of his hips gently rising to meet your breath becoming twitchy and unstable, a clear sign that he was on the brink of long-awaited release. A coy smile played at the ends of your lips as you batted your lashed up at him.

“Then cum for me,” and on command, his whole body convulsed under the weight of sweet, sweet climax, at long last, the hugest load you’d ever seen erupting out of him in thick, hot torrents that sprayed right in his face. You were so proud of him, your poor baby, putting up with your little act for hours on end despite yearning for you so immensely that you didn’t even need to touch his cock for him to bust. He just loved you that much and why exactly? You quite honestly didn’t know. You almost felt the need to apologize for treating him so cruelly, but at the end of the day you were trying to teach him a lesson, and based on how he was looking at you, right eye squeezed shut to prevent cum from getting in his eye, body rattling with exhaustion, it was safe to say he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. The least you could do was help him clean up. You got up on your knees and took his clammy face in your hands, gliding your tongue along his salty skin to get rid of all the cum, saliva, tears- whatever fluids were coating his face. When you were done, you pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I love you, my sweet boy.”

||

A/N:

HEYYY LOVELIESSS💓💓 here’s my first official completed request (woohoo)!!! Bertholdt is not usually a character I would accept writing but this request kinda had me GRRRR ya know (thank you for that anon, I truly hope you’ll enjoy this! This was my first time writing orgasm denial too so idk if i did it right NAKWKA)? BUTTT yeah here ya go, bloop ilyyyy

~Bunny

[airis-paris14]

See You Again

A/N: Just something short I never posted. It probably sucks, but I thought I'd share anyway. WE OUTSIDE YALL. (Please be outside RESPONSIBLY. COVID is still a thing. Please get vaccinated and or wear a mask.) Love Y'all.

Masterlist

“My King,” Okoye called, handing T’Challa a bag he forgot. “Next week.”

“ I know Okoye. I promise I will be ready to leave.” Okoye nodded before reboarding the jet. The king watched before beginning the short walk up to his friend's front door.

He rang the doorbell before staring up at the building. It’d been years since he’d last been in this apartment. Freshman year of college to be exact. Anaya’s parents had invited him to spend Thanksgiving with them after finding him and their daughter studying together on a surprise visit to their daughter's dorm. They weren’t in the room, lucky for them, but it seemed that her parents were invested in a dream that wouldn’t come true. Not that either of them was ready to admit they couldn’t be together either. At least that early on.

So much has changed since then. They graduated. Got two Ph. Ds respectively and then moved on. Anaya became a celebrated fashion historian and critic, and T’Challa a king. Halfway across the world, they’d reconnected by chance in Paris and hadn’t let go since. Somewhere T’Challa had been holding on to a silly notion that maybe he and Anaya could give being together another go, but he knew it was a fruitless endeavor.

Same as his ringing of the doorbell had been. Worried, the king began knocking on the door. “Quit your racket! She’s not here!” An elderly woman crooned from her front porch. “Pardon?”

“She ain’t here! The baby called.” The woman chuckled to herself, “Ran outta here like a firecracker. Her two friends following close behind.”

“She was pregnant?”

“Don’t know how you missed it sonny, big as a blimp, carrying high though. My bets on a girl you know,” she paused to size up the young king. “And you must be that no good bastard baby’s father. Walking out on her like that you know I should-!”

“Ma’am, I promise you I am not him. As much as I wish I could have been,” the king mumbled the last part.

“Well then now’s your chance son. The real father ain’t here, and I hate to see that child grow up without a father figure. What’s keeping you from claiming that child?”

“A lot more than you’ll ever know..” T’Challa looked up, despair written across his face. The woman's gaze softened. “You’ll never know till you try. At least go and see her. I mean you came to her house. All dressed up with flowers and a bag of gifts. You must really care for her.”

“I do.”

“She’s at the university hospital.” The old woman instructed. “Thank you,” the king nodded. “Anything to see her happy, ever since her parents died she’s been sitting up in that house all alone. Make it right.”

Two hours and four phone calls later, T’Challa pulled up to the hospital in his hired car. The driver opened the back door of the SUV to allow the king and his baby present out into the air. He nodded at the driver before making his way up to the reception desk. “Hi, how may I help you?” The woman looked up from her computer. “You must be looking for our maternity ward. This your first?” She nodded at the gifts. “You could say that,” T’Challa chuckled.

“May I have your name and the patient’s?”

“T’Challa, and Anaya Johnson.”

“Great, Ms. Johnson is in room 408 in the maternity wing. Go down the hall, on the left, there will be an elevator. Take that up to the fourth floor, make a right and it should be the fourth door down. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” the king smiled hoisting up the big teddy bear, careful not to crush the flowers and various other bags. “Would you like an escort Mr. T’Challa?”

“I believe I can handle this one,” The king insisted. “Very well, and congratulations.”

The king frowned. “Thank you.”

Four floors up, and three doors down, T’Challa finally stood outside of room 408. He took several steadying breaths before knocking. “Who is it? A familiar voice called. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door before it carefully creaked open.

“T’Challa?”

The king smiled in surprise. “Tella? Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” The brown skin woman beamed, opening up the door, her eyes widening slightly as she saw all of the gifts.”She said she hadn’t heard from you in months.”

“Yeah, I was on my way to visit Anaya and her neighbor told me she was here, having a baby.”

“Yeah, um come in. She and Jean went for a walk, the doctor said it would help with contractions.” Tella grabbed the bear from T’Challa and moved to set it in a corner, while he found space to set down his other gifts. “So how’ve you been? We used to get status updates from Anaya for you. Then you just vanished.”

“Well, there is a lot I haven’t told you all. Wakanda is a monarchy, and my father, and his father, and his father, and his mother, and her father, and his mother, and so on, have all ruled our country. Now it is my turn.”

“To rule?”

“To rule.” The king nodded. “So you vanished because you became king?”

“I vanished because there was a coup, an attempt on my life, which was almost successful. The coup sent my country into a civil war,” The king explained.

“T’Challa, this doesn’t even sound real,” Tella interrupted. “I mean, how is anyone supposed to believe you?”

“May I see your phone?” T’Challa stopped her.

“T’Challa,”

“Just let me prove it to you. I did not ghost Anaya by choice. I still want to be with her.”

“After all this time-”

“Please, I know it seems implausible, but let me show you,” the king reached out a hand.

“Fine T’Challa-” Tella handed over her phone. “Ask siri,” the king instructed.

“Seriously?” Tella frowned. “Just ask her.”

“Siri, who is the king of Wakanda?”

Her phone glowed before responding, “T’Challa Udaku was crowned King of Wakanda after the passing of his father last summer during a United Nations Assembly. I found this article online from the New York Times and several other sources.”

“T’challa if this is true, I mean since this is true, the prospects of you and Anaya getting together is now even more impossible. Why are you here?”

“Because she is my friend, and I love her. She is having a baby, and I will support her.”

“You are not its father!”

“Don’t you think I know that? Do you know how much it hurts me to know that I’m not? That I may never be the father of any of her children.”

“This isn’t about you T.”

“I know, but the child’s father is not here. I am. Even if he was, I still would be, because she is my friend too Tella.”

“I just do not want to see her hurt. Don’t give her false hope T’Challa.”

“On the contrary, I believe it is she who gives me false hope,” the king sighed. Tella pulled him in for a hug. “Just give it time, and who knows, you’re a king now aren’t you?”

“That I am,” T’Challa nodded as the room’s door squeaked open. A nurse helped Anaya back into the room and T'Challa couldn’t help the way his eyes widened at Anaya’s pregnant form. His heart erupted in butterflies, imagining if that had been his child. Tella slapping his arm startled him back to reality. Tella jerked her head towards where the nurse was trying to help Anaya and maneuver the IV stand back into the room with her. T’Challa hurried over to wrap an arm around Anaya’s waist and grab her other hand. The nurse smiled in thanks and surprise. No surprise could top Anaya’s expression. She gaped as T’Challa shot her a smile. “Long time no see,” The king teased as he helped her further into the room and onto her bed. A grimace stole her smile as another contraction hit.

“I’ll grab Dr.Ben and she’ll be right in to check on your progress, Ms. Johnson.” The middle-aged black woman smiled at the expecting mother. “Thank you,” Anaya smiled before turning back to her best friend. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you, only to find out from your neighbor that you were in labor,” The king smiled.

“Mrs. Patterson told you where I was?”

“I guess so,” the king frowned. Anaya and Tella laughed. “What did you do to her? Mrs. Patterson doesn’t like anyone. Especially men.” Tella explained.

“She did almost try to beat me up when she thought I was your ‘bastard baby’s father’.” T’Challa told the two women who groaned. Anaya grimaced her way through a contraction and T’Challa stepped over and offered her his hand. The mother smiled at his touch and threaded her fingers through his as the contraction dissipated.

“I’m gonna go find Jean in the gift shop,” Tella excused herself, leaving T’Challa and Anaya alone. “What’s been going on with you King T’Challa,” Anaya teased as she tried to push herself into a seated position.

“Nothing much. The world of politics cooled off for a while and I wanted to apologize for being awol these past months.” T’Challa helped rearrange the pillows so she could sit up. “What about you soon to be umama?”

“Well, this has been my life pretty much, still don’t know how I’m going to manage working at museums and shows towing this one around.”

“Where’s the father?” T’Challa asked softly. A tear formed in Anaya’s eye, “He doesn’t want to be involved. We were drunk that night and you know…..”

“You don’t have to explain,” T’Challa squeezed her hand. “Thanks,” she murmured. “What are you having?” The king inquired, sweeping some box braids back over her shoulder. “I don’t know. I wanted to be surprised.”

“Your neighbor thinks it’s a girl,” T’Challa laughed. “She’s been telling me about me carrying high since it became visible I was pregnant.” Anaya laughed. “I guess we’ll find out today or tomorrow.” T’Challa chuckled. His face quickly fell as she slipped into another contraction. He tried to help her breathe the way he’d seen on television but ended up making her laugh. “You’re really bad at this,” Anaya reclined back onto her pillows rubbing her stomach absentmindedly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” T’Challa smiled. “It’s two quick ones and long out. Not in out in out,” Anaya explained. “I’ll do better next time,” T’Challa promised.

“How long are you visiting, you don’t have to stay. It could be another day or so before I give birth.”

“I’m here for the week, until next Tuesday. And Anaya I want to stay. Besides, I can give Tells and Tonya-Jean a break to walk around.”

“Thanks,” the pregnant mother smiled. Her face contorted as another contraction washed over her. “There you go,” T’Challa soothed as she squeezed his hand. He helped her breathe through and eventually, she settled back. “At this rate, it’ll only be a couple of hours until they’re here with us,” the mom to be sighed. “Then I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me be here,” T’Challa kissed the back of her hand. Sweat had gathered on her forehead and he reached for something to dab it away. “I want you here as long as you can be, distract me.”

“Why? You are not enjoying the miracle of life.”

“Says the man not currently pushing a baby out of his body.”

“Fair enough,” he raised his unoccupied arm in surrender. “Tell me about Wakanda and being a king,” Anaya asked, groaning through another contraction.

“Well,” T’Challa started.

Eight hours later, the room was silent. Tonya and Tells had gone home to catch up on sleep. Anaya was sleeping off her exhaustion and the king of Wakanda sat rocking a sleeping baby girl. Well, she was sleeping. Sydney Iesha Johnson’s big brown eyes fluttered open and stared at the man holding her. She stretched out her tiny body and T’Challa’s heart soared at the feeling of her moving around in the swaddle.

“Hi pretty girl,” he whispered. “Hi,” he cooed, smiling as she yawned. “You are so beautiful, just like your mommy. She was the most beautiful girl in the world and now she’s tied with you.” He rocked the infant softly. “T’Challa?” Anaya croaked. “Hey,” the king stood up and walked the baby over to her mother. “She was fussy in the crib, and the nurse suggested I hold her, I hope you don’t mind,” he rambled. Anaya laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. “It’s fine. I love seeing you with her.

“You know I’m here for you right? Both of you now,” the king searched her eyes. “I know I’m not her father, and I’ll never try to be that for her, but she’s a part of you and that makes her important to me.”

Anaya teared up and nodded.

“I want you to move to Wakanda.”

Taglist: @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @derangedcupcake @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @sarcastic-sunshines @sarahboseman @faatassbitch @lady-love-and-glitter-roses @cxnismajcr @tchallasbabymama

[love-and-monsters]

Jackalope Fae

GN human reader X M Fae, 8,340 words

This one's a bit all over the place, I'll admit. You rescue a Fae from the battlefield after a fight. He'd injured, but determined to return to his king's side. Unwilling to leave him on his own, you accompany him on his journey.

Content warning for descriptions of battlefields, wars, and injuries

You picked your way across the battlefield, scarf tied around your mouth and nose. No matter how tightly you cinched it, the smell of blood and viscera still made you gag. It was thick in the air, hanging in nearly-visible clouds around you.

There were bodies everywhere. Humans and Fae littered the ground. Your shoes sank into the ground slightly. Red stains covered their sides, soaking into the fabric. You tried very hard not to think about it.

There was no feeling in the world more helpless than the one of standing on a battlefield after the battle. All these people… all these corpses. Husbands and fathers, wives and mothers, children and lovers. All of them were dead and gone and there was nothing you could do to save them.

Something near your foot twitched.

For a moment, you thought it was just a trick of the tears blurring your vision. You went still, staring. The body nearest to you was some sort of Fae. His clothes were too bloody to make out any sort of army affiliation. A set of antlers sprouted from his head and his ears were elongated and floppy, drooping like rabbit ears. The rabbit idea continued down on his legs, which were elongated, fuzzy, and built powerfully.

As if sensing your gaze on him, he gave a little gasp and sucked in a choked breath. A fresh wave of red soaked through his jacket, mingling with the dried blood that was already there.

Alive. This one was alive!

You knelt next to him. “Don’t move.” His eyes opened. They were hazy with pain and blood loss, and a piercing, crystalline blue. One of his hands fumbled for the sword at his waist. You froze, but he was too weak to even draw it. His eyes fluttered shut again.

“Stay still,” you told him, though you weren’t sure he could even hear you. Hurriedly, you slipped your bag from your back and tugged it open. The strips of cloth inside seemed pathetic in comparison to that much blood, but they were all you had. Ignoring the dried blood flaking off under your fingernails, you pulled open the front of his jacket.

Under the coat, his skin was covered in a fine, velvety-soft layer of fur. At least, it would have been velvety soft if it hadn’t been matted with blood. The long cut across his chest still wept blood from a few open areas. You pressed down as many bandages as you could, tying them into place.

The Fae groaned and opened his eyes again. He twisted to look at you, gaze still unfocused. His long, black hair was matted to his face, marring some of his fine features. Despite his circumstances, his face still made your stomach do a little leap. Why were all Fae so damnably attractive?

“I’m going to try to move you,” you told him. He didn’t seem to be registering your words. “It’ll probably hurt, but I need to get you out of here.” Battlefields were breeding grounds for infections. Even the resilient Fae had succumbed to battle-rot and other diseases.

You crouched down, your knees protesting the position. Gritting your teeth, you hooked your arms under his armpits and started to haul.

The Fae made a high, keening noise, so startling that you dropped him. He made a choked noise as he hit the ground, and didn’t move again. For a moment, you were terrified you had killed him, but no, his sides were still moving with his steady breathing.

After a moment, when he did not move again, you bent back down and went back to pulling him. This time, he made no sound. He was as limp as a ragdoll as you hauled him across the battlefield and to your tent.

You could drag him, but there was no way you were lifting his long, lanky form up into a cot. He looked slender, but he must have been pure, corded muscle, because he was heavy as anything. Instead, you spread out a blanket on the floor and tugged him onto it. Moving him had reopened some of his wounds. You could see the fresh blood soaking into his shirt. Hurriedly, you stripped him of his clothes and started padding his wounds with bandages.

He was more injured than you’d thought. There was a massive cut across his chest and more nicks and gashes all over his arms and legs. He was out of it, but his sleep was fitful. Every time you tried to clean off one of his cuts, he would twitch and growl. His eyes even opened once or twice, but they were clouded with pain and unfocused.

Once you were sure that he was in a stable condition, you took his clothes outside and dunked them into the washbasin. You’d left him with a blanket tied around his waist, to preserve his modesty, but you’d needed to completely remove his clothes. Some items had been completely destroyed- they were so caked to his wounds with blood that you had needed to cut them apart to pull them away.

The water in the washbasin slowly grew redder and redder as you washed off the shirt. It had been so thoroughly covered in blood, likely his own and other people’s, that you couldn’t see the color of it anymore. And as the blood washed away, your stomach started to sink.

The shirt wasn’t the deep, midnight-blue of the Sansivore army. It was the bright, emerald-green of the Aerethes.

You took a deep breath and kept scrubbing. He was a member of the Aerethes army. Well, fine. It didn’t matter. You would save his life. Just like all the others.

Once the clothes had been made as clean as you could get them and had been hung up to dry, you returned to your tent. The Fae was still lying there, breathing slowly and evenly. His sleep had gone from something fitful into something deeper, more even. You let out a slow breath. That was a good sign.

You ate dinner and then tipped a little bit of broth in his mouth, carefully encouraging him to swallow. He coughed, sputtering a little, and you lowered the cup. He’d probably gotten enough. He just needed a little, to keep his strength up.

After you finished feeding him, you wrapped him in a blanket, ensured that he was still in stable condition, then went to bed yourself. Despite the aching in your muscles, you were tired enough to fall asleep almost as soon as your head hit your pillow.

You woke to a prickling feeling on the back of your neck, all your senses alert. Something was wrong.

One of your hands stole under your pillow for your knife. It was a small thing, barely more than a scalpel, but that didn’t matter. Precision was more important than size, and you knew exactly where to drive the knife to kill someone in seconds.

Three… two… one! You rolled over, ready for a fight, then froze.

The Fae stood over you. He was enormously tall, balancing on digitigrade feet. You had to crane your neck back to look up into his face. His bright, blue eyes glittered like cold diamonds. His entire body was made up of rippling muscles. He looked like he could tear you limb from limb with little effort. His antlers only served to make him more impressive, like an oversized crown. The effect was a little ruined by the cute, fluffy bunny tail that sprouted from just above his butt.

It was as you looked down at his butt that you realized he was completely naked. The towel was lying behind him, discarded on the floor. Fortunately, his bandages were still attached, and his wounds hadn’t opened up during the night.

“Where am I?” His voice was dry and scratchy from disuse, but hearing him speak at all nearly sent you out of your skin. For some reason, you hadn’t really expected him to speak, much less in perfect English.

“You’re in my tent,” you said, once the burst of shock had worn off. “You should probably sit down. You’re still injured.”

His lips curled and his long, floppy ears twitched. “You are not a healer of the Aerethes army,” he said.

“No, I’m not. But I am a healer, and I need you to sit back down.” There was an unsettling trembling in his legs now, and it was starting to progress upward.

“I need to return. My army needs me. My king. I-” The trembling hit his knees and he wobbled. You darted forward, barely managing to brace yourself against his weight. Heavens above, but he was heavy. He snarled as his wounds were strained.

“Stop struggling!” You lowered him to the ground as gently as you could. He groaned, gritting his teeth. He had little fangs, you noticed. “Lie still. You’ve been injured, and I need to check your wounds for battle rot.”

He stared at you, then, apparently deciding there was nothing else he could do, submitted to your ministrations. You untied the bandages, dribbled cleaning solution into the wounds. He snarled, body flexing. “I know it hurts, I know,” you said, your voice automatically dropping into its most soothing register. “It’ll be all right.”

He snarled again. Even in his prone, injured position, it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “You. Tell me. What. Happened,” he said between flinches of pain.

“I don’t know exactly what happened. There was a battle. You were injured. I rescued you.” He twisted his head toward you, nose twitching.

“You are not a healer for the Aerethes army,” he said after a moment.

“No. I’m…” You paused. There was no official term for what you did, and you weren’t sure which unofficial term he’d know. Not to mention that most of them were unflattering. “I’m here to help.”

He stared at you, gaze growing more suspicious. “I cannot stay here. My people-”

“You are not going anywhere. You can try to leave if you want, but if you make it further than the tent’s entrance, I’ll be stunned. There’s about three severe- hey!”

The Fae rolled over and heaved himself to his feet. He wobbled for a moment before managing to catch himself. He was still naked, you noted, though he didn’t seem to care. Instead he made for the tent entrance.

He made it a grand total of four steps. Which was one more than you’d been betting on, so good for him.

“Are you all right?” you asked. He made an effort to get back up and collapsed again. “Okay. Come on back here.” You took a moment to haul him back onto the blankets. His eyes cracked open and he glared at you. “I did warn you. You’re exhausted. You probably got hit with iron. It’ll take a few days to clear your system.”

The Fae closed his eyes and sighed. “I was hit with iron.” His eyes opened again, this time with clear effort. “I need to… My king…” His eyes closed. “My…”

You waited for a moment, but he didn’t reopen his eyes. His chest rose and fell with stuttering breaths. He looked uncomfortable, but at least he was resting.

Confident that he wasn’t going to get up again, you stepped out of your tent. You cooked yourself breakfast, making a small, extra portion in case he woke up and needed food again. You also boiled off your water and strained it, and spent a few moments checking your medicine stores. You were starting to run low on river root. The army hadn’t traveled by a source of running water any time soon, which was really starting to become a problem. You might have to peel off for a while to replenish everything.

When you walked back into the tent, the Fae was awake again. His bright blue eyes followed you as you put down your supplies.

“How are you feeling?” you asked. It was often hard to tell how sick Fae were at a glance. Pale and gaunt seemed to be their natural state.

He stared.

“Good? Bad?” You crouched in front of him. He stared at you some more, teeth gritted. “I’m trying to help.”

“I do not need your help,” he growled. “I need to return to my king.”

“I’m going to help you do that. But you need to heal first. What good are you to your king if you’re half dead from your wounds?” The Fae’s long ears twitched. He lowered his gaze to the ground. “How are you feeling?”

He took in a deep breath. “I am feeling… tired. Sore. I was struck with iron- it burns in my veins.”

“I don’t know how to treat iron poisoning,” you said. The Fae shrugged.

“It cannot be treated. It must be endured.” He sagged to the ground. “Why are you helping me?”

The question came right out of left field. You rocked back onto your rear. “You needed help.”

The Fae sighed, as if he were talking to someone exceedingly slow. “Yes. But there were many people who needed help. I was not even a member of your army- you are not on the side of the Aerethes, are you?” You shook your head. “I thought not. Your tent is constructed in a different style. And yet, you rescued me. You appear to be trying to save my life. I had considered that you were attempting some method of interrogation, but I fail to see why you would avoid using iron tools or allow me to overcome my own iron poisoning.” He paused for a moment, panting heavily. His chest rose and fell rapidly with obvious exertion.

“I’m not trying to interrogate you,” you said, keeping your voice gentle. “I really did pull you off the battlefield because I wanted to save your life.”

He rolled his gaze back over to you. “Yes, I had surmised as much. So, I ask again: Why?”

You sighed, crossing your legs underneath you. “Do you know what Hippotherinism is?” He gave you a head shake. “It’s… well, a lot of people call it a religion, but I think that’s stretching the truth a little bit. It’s more of a philosophical movement. It comes from the idea that all people should seek to do as little harm as possible and seek to help as many as they can. I’ve been following those principles for years now.”

The Fae stared at you. His gaze was interested, if slightly confused. “What does that have to do with saving me?”

“War is against Hippotherinistic principles. We don’t participate as soldiers and we are forbidden from advocating for it. But when there is a war, we are also compelled to save lives. We aren’t allowed to pick and choose. If there is someone who needs our help, human or Fae or any species, we are compelled to help them. You were the first person I came across in savable condition, so I saved you.”

The Fae stared at you for a long moment, thinking hard. Then he slumped back onto the ground. “You are strange.”

“It’s strange to me that you all spend your time fighting,” you said. The Fae’s eyes opened again.

“I don’t spend my time fighting. I am an advisor to the king,” he said.

You paused, uncertain how to continue without offending him. “But you were fighting. Why else would you be on the battlefield?”

“My king was there. His advisors are also his guards, his allies in battle. If the soldiers fight, the king must fight, and if he fights, we go with him.”

“Well, at least your king fights with you,” you said. “Better than can be said for the Sansivore army.”

He seemed mollified by your compliment. “Yes. If your leader will not fight with you, then they are not fit to lead.” He prodded absently at his wounds, testing them. “To be absent from my king’s side… it is a disgrace. It shows that I am weak. I am sworn to follow the king until my final breath. As I am still breathing, I should be at my king’s side.” He closed his eyes. “But I am not.”

“When you’re healed, you can go back,” you said.

He sighed. “You misunderstand. I have abandoned my position. I am in disgrace.”

You parsed that. Their dignity and position were everything to a Fae. To lose their place in society meant a loss of their identity. “You didn’t abandon it,” you pointed out as gently as you could. “You tried to stay. You were injured in battle.”

“As long as I breathe, I should be at my king’s side. If I was left on the battlefield, I should have died there. I am disgraced, dishonored.”

You sat back on your heels. You had never heard anyone so unhappy at having their life saved. He seemed despondent.

“Can you return?” you asked.

“I must,” he said. “I must, and I will throw myself on the mercy of my king. If he elects to reinstate me, I will spend the rest of my life in gratitude for his kindness. If he does not, the court may kill me.”

You blanched. “The court will what?”

“If the king accepts that I am disgraced, that I have abandoned my position, and with it, my honor, I will have all my rights and positions in the land revoked. I will become one of the nameless, stripped of all that I am. The court will tear me apart and those that kill me will earn fragments of my power or land.”

You stared at him, a hand clamped over your mouth. “That’s terrible.”

“It is a mercy. If I were to become nameless, my life would be nothing. No power, no identity, no position. The king holds my name. Should my failure be so great that he decides to destroy it, I would be dead in all but body. To complete that is merely putting things right.” He gave a few raking coughs, then settled back onto his blanket.

You twisted and untwisted a piece of fabric in your hands. “You said the king has your name?”

“He holds the names of all his advisors.”

You closed your eyes, kneading at one of your temples. Names were important to Fae, both in a cultural and metaphysical sense. If he had willingly given it over to the king, that was a bond beyond anything you could think of. He would never voluntarily give up on going to the king, even if he knew that it meant certain death.

“Okay,” you said, the word coming out in a sigh. “Okay. Fine. I’ll help you.”

The Fae stared at you, ears twitching. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ll help you. Get back to the king, I mean. You’re not in a condition to be traveling on your own, not for a little while longer, at least. But if this is really important to you, then I’ll help you.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips curled up, showing off his short but sharp fangs. “What do you want in return?”

“I don’t want anything. That’s not why I’m doing this. I saved your life, so now I have a responsibility to make sure you’re going to be okay.” He looked at you a little blankly, but didn’t seem keen on protesting.

“You agree that for your service, I will not be indebted to you? Forced into repayment at a later date?” he clarified.

“There’s no terms or conditions,” you said. “I don’t want anything in return for it. If it works, we’ll probably never see each other again. And that’s all right. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

There was a long silence. He stared at you. There was something odd shifting in those crystal-blue eyes of his, but you couldn’t read it. Maybe it was some Fae emotion only they could comprehend. Finally, he shook his head. “Humans are fools. But if you offer this to me, then I will take it.”

“Okay. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning. First things first. Let me take another look at those cuts. I want to set them up so you’re not going to make them worse by moving around. And maybe put some more antiseptic and painkillers on it.”

The Fae lay back and allowed you to poke and prod at his cuts. He twitched as you probed his stomach and chest. Some of the noises were definitely pained ones, but there were a few sighs he made as you moved your hand along his toned stomach that wounded suspiciously like pleasure. You tactfully ignored him. There was no point in embarrassing him.

After you’d finished your examination, you gave him some clothes, which he put on without complaint, despite them being slightly too big for him. He curled up on the ground, back toward you. Despite yourself, your eyes lingered on him, admiring the shape of his body. No. Bad. Bad doctor. You don’t look at your patients like that.

You went to bed and tried very hard not to dream about anything inappropriate. You didn’t quite succeed.

The Fae seemed more alert and active in the morning, but you still refused to allow him to help you take down the tent. “I’ve done it many times before,” you said. Everything you owned could be folded into a bag that was a little more than half your size. You needed to be able to carry all your stuff from spot to spot. It wasn’t easy, but you had developed pretty good muscles from hauling it all around.

“Do you know what direction the army would have headed in?” you asked as you finished lashing the bag to your back.

The Fae fidgeted. “I have a general idea, yes.”

You waved a hand ahead of you. “Then by all means, lead the way.”

The Fae started out ahead of you. He moved with surprisingly fluid strides, despite his injuries, though there was a stutter in his step. You stayed close to him, even if that meant jogging a little. His legs were really long and he had a habit of hopping slightly, like a rabbit.

The pair of you headed northeast. Every now and then, the Fae would pause to sniff at the air or examine some flowers. The markers didn’t mean anything to you, but they seemed to reassure him that you were going in the right direction.

There was something comfortable about traveling with him. He was quiet, but the quiet wasn’t tense. It seemed more like he was appreciating the little sounds of the forest.

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, you noticed him slowing down. He kept putting a hand to his side, fussing with his bandages. “Hey. Sit down a minute.”

He glanced back at you. “I am fine.”

“Uh huh. Then just do it to humor me. I want to take a look. And I want to put more medicine on it so it doesn’t start rotting.”

He bared his fangs, but slumped down against a tree. You crouched next to him, swinging off your bag and rooting through it.

“It will likely take days for us to catch up to them,” he said as you unwrapped the bandages. “They are no longer moving, most likely, but we are much slower than they would have been.”

“Will they stay put for the time it’ll take for us to catch up to them?” you asked. The deepest cut had stopped bleeding and showed no signs of infection. That was good.

“Likely. They usually enchant the location to hide it and settle in.” He gritted his teeth as you dripped medicine into the wound. “Ahh.”

“Sorry. I know it hurts.” He snorted and turned his head away. “You don’t need to act so tough. It’s all right if it hurts. The pain tells you something is wrong and where to fix it.” You patted his shoulder.

The Fae blinked at you. In the sunlight, his blue eyes looked even brighter than before. A strange feeling moved along your spine and gathered in your stomach. You were blushing, you were sure of it. “Everything looks pretty good. I’m glad you’re healing well.”

The Fae pulled himself back to his feet, almost before you had finished securing the bandages again. “We need to keep moving,” he mumbled brusquely, then started padding through the woods again. You slung your bag up onto your shoulders and kept after him.

It was a long day of trekking through the thick undergrowth. The Fae kept ahead of you, but didn’t deliberately leave you behind. Every few moments, he checked behind himself, ensuring you were still there.

By the end of the day, you felt like your lungs were on fire. The Fae seemed perfectly fine, not even bothered. When you settled in a semi-cleared area to start setting up your tent, he glared impatiently. “We should continue.”

“You said they’re not going anywhere,” you said, slumping back against a tree. “We can afford to take a break. And I need some sleep. Humans aren’t as hardy as Fae.”

He hesitated, looking like he was considering continuing without you, then he turned and padded back into the camp.

It took a moment or two to gather the energy to stand back up. Perhaps walking all day had been a bad idea. You weren’t used to trying to keep up with a Fae on foot, and usually you took a more leisurely pace when you were following the army. All of your limbs felt like lead. It was hard to put up a tent with arms that you could barely lift over your head.

The Fae watched as you pulled the tent into place. His gaze was just as inscrutable as ever. It made an odd fluttery feeling start up in your middle again.

By the time you had the fire going, you were almost too tired to move. Thankfully, you had some dried rations. You shoved them toward the Fae. “Here. Eat.”

He opened the bag and started to munch on dried fruit and meat. Judging by his expression, it wasn’t the sort of fare he was used to in the king’s entourage. You slumped on the ground, trying to get up the energy and motivation to actually walk into the tent. Maybe even change your clothes before you fell into bed.

“You are not eating,” the Fae said. You blinked your eyes open. Had you actually fallen asleep for a moment? The Fae was a lot closer to you, practically on top of you.

“No,” you said. “I’m too tired to cook.” A massive yawn punctuated the sentence and proved your words.

The Fae frowned, then held out the bag of rations to you. You pushed them back toward him. “I need to stock up on those, and you need them more than I do.”

He frowned at you. “Humans need to eat.”

“Trust me. I’ve gone longer without food.” You yawned again, stretching your arms over your head. “I’m gonna- hey!”

The Fae dropped the rations on your chest. “Eat.”

“I’ll eat in the morning,” you said. “I just want to sl-hey!”

The Fae shoved you. “Eat.”

You groaned, pushing yourself upright. “I thought I said you should finish it.”

“Humans need food. Fae need less.”

“You’re injured.”

“You are exhausted.” The Fae narrowed his eyes. “Eat!”

He didn’t seem keen on giving up, and it would be faster to just agree with him than to fight until one of you passed out. You munched on the dried fruit and meat for a few minutes. The Fae watched you, ears and tail twitching occasionally.

He didn’t stop watching until you’d finished eating. Once you were done, he lay down, legs curled close to his body. You watched him for a moment longer. He was probably just concerned that you were going to pass out from hunger and possibly delay him. But there had been something in his eyes when he had looked at you. Something close to genuine worry.

That idea made something flutter convulsively in your chest. You swallowed, trying to dampen the feeling. Fuck. Don’t think about your patients like that. With one glance back at the Fae, you crawled into your tent and fell asleep.

You and the Fae set off again early in the morning, soon after the sun had risen. The Fae hung out close to your side. He seemed to be making an effort to stay close to you this time. You couldn’t say you were disappointed by it.

“How long have you been following the army?” the Fae asked. His question was startling. He hadn’t asked you anything out of curiosity, which you had been fine with. Fae weren’t known for appreciating small talk.

“It’s been a couple of years. Before the army, I studied medicine at a hospital. I considered being a medic with the army, but…” You trailed off, shifting your bag on your back. The Fae’s ears pricked slightly.

“But?” he nudged.

“I joined. But they don’t let you help the enemy soldiers. Even the ones that weren’t badly injured. I mean, I get it. They’re the enemy and you don’t want to give them supplies that could be used to heal your own people. But… There was this young man. He was a Fae, I think, but he was young. He looked like a child and he was scared. I had to leave him on the battlefield. I could have saved him. The wound was deep, but survivable. But they told me not to save him. I took another man back, a man with far worse wounds. He died three hours later. And when I went back the next day- the Fae was gone. Battle rot set in. If we had tried, we could have saved him. But we ignored him and he died. And when I looked at his body, something in me broke. I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. So, I left. I can’t save everyone this way. I still have to leave people behind. But at least now I don’t have to just look at people I know I could save and ignore them anyway.”

The Fae stared at you for a long moment. One of his ears ticked. Silence stretched out between you. You could almost hear him grasping for something to say and coming up empty. “Thank you,” he finally said.

You stared at him. “Thank you for what?”

“For bothering to save me,” he said. “There are many humans who would have been consent to save their own army. Many Fae who would do similarly. Yet you took a more difficult path. And because of that, I now live.”

You smiled. “Thought you wanted to die nobly on the battlefield?”

“If I can live and continue to be of service to my king, then I wish to live.” He hesitated for a moment longer. “And your decision to save me was noble. I can’t fault that. You were acting with good intentions and with no regard for yourself. It is something I rarely see. It is… refreshing.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said. The Fae nodded in your direction. His eyes roved over your body for a moment before flicking away, back to surveying the forest.

“It was intended as such.” The walk lapsed back into silence, the only noises being the soft sounds of the forest.

You were distracted a bit by the compliment. You kept replaying it over and over in your mind, rolling the softness of his voice and eyes around in your head.

It was so distracting, as a matter of fact, that, in crossing one of the rivers that flowed throughout the forest, your foot slipped.

If you had been paying attention, you would have tested the rock before you put your whole weight on it. But you weren’t paying attention, you stepped casually onto the rock, and it wobbled under your feet. You heard the Fae shout something as you stumbled and fell into the river.

The water wasn’t deep, but it was shock-cold. Your muscles locked as soon as you were submerged. Your mouth opened to scream and a filthy wave of river water flowed into your mouth.

A hand grabbed you by the scruff of your neck and hauled you back up. The Fae was clinging to you, speaking in a rough voice. He held your soaked body against his chest as you shivered.

The Fae dumped you on the shore and yanked your bag off your back. It was wet, but you hadn’t been in the water long enough for everything to get soaked. The Fae pulled a blanket around you, scrubbing furiously.

You automatically slapped at his hands when he started trying to undress you. He completely ignored you. You were too shocked and cold to fight him off properly, so in minutes, you were stripped down to your underwear. Fortunately, he stopped there.

Shivers rolled through your body. The Fae tugged the blanket more securely around you, trying to dry you off. “Humans are so terribly clumsy,” he complained. “And you are already freezing to the touch.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you mumbled through chattering teeth.

“I am not looking for an apology! Take better care of yourself.” The Fae sat back on his heels and gritted his teeth. His sharp little fangs clicked against each other.

“We can keep moving,” you said. “J-just get me new clothes.” You fumbled for your bag and pulled out your other outfit. Unfortunately, the clothes that had gotten soaked were your heavier outfit. Even with the fresh clothes on, you were still shivering.

The Fae tilted his head to one side. His crystalline eyes glittered with thoughtfulness. He picked the blanket up off the ground and started wrapping it around his shoulders, tying some of the corners together.

As soon as it was secure around him, he scooped your bag up and slipped it onto his back. “I can carry my own stu-” The Fae ignored you, bent down, and picked you up.

You froze. The Fae completely ignored your reaction. He instead tucked you into the blanket around his chest like a sling.

“What are you doing?” you asked. The Fae made a ‘tch’ noise.

“It will be slower if we wait for your to warm up. This will help,” he said. There was something oddly tight in his voice. It was hard to tell through his fur, but you thought you could see him flushing pink. Not that you could blame him. you were pretty sure your own face was on fire.

The Fae took off through the woods. Clearly, he had been slowing down for your benefit before. Each stride seemed to eat up several feet of ground. Your head bobbed against his chest. Even with his speed, you could hear his heartbeat pounding as calm and steady as ever.

Being carried against his chest warmed you up considerably. It reminded you of how long it had been since you had been held by someone. Your chest fluttered. Stop it, stop it, he’s just doing this to be practical. Don’t get all flustered because of it.

The Fae kept running as the sun sank lower in the sky. You nodded off at one point and woke bleary and confused at the tail end of sunset. The Fae had slowed down, moving more delicately through the undergrowth. The foliage was unusually thick and green, and you could see little glowing motes dancing between leaves and branches.

“You were correct,” the Fae said. One of his hands was cradling you, resting right between your shoulder blades. You were distractingly aware of the point of contact. “The entourage did not go far after all.”

You could pick up some strain in his voice. He swayed as he came to a near stop, then leaned against a tree. His breathing was labored.

“Put me down,” you said urgently. The Fae all but dropped you onto the ground. You managed to land mostly upright and hastily got to your feet. “Are you okay?”

“Tired,” he panted. One of his hands moved to his side, where he had been wounded. There was red seeping through the bandages.

“Let me see,” you said. You moved toward him, but he shifted, trying to push you away.

“No. Leave.” The motion made him shudder with pain. You pushed toward him and touched his wound. He made a high, keening noise of pain.

“You opened up the wound again while running. I need to close it again.” You leaned close to his side, prodding at the wound. He groaned, but didn’t push you away again.

“You should go,” he said. “I… I must present myself to my king.”

“Let me clean the wound beforehand,” you said. The Fae swung your bag down from his shoulders and you pulled out a roll of bandages. He allowed you to prod and rebandage the wound. Under his fine fur, he looked terribly pale.

“It’s getting worse,” you said. “Whatever you did while running, you really ripped it back open. You’ll need to-”

The Fae went still under your hands. He took in a shuddering breath. You froze, eyes still fixed on his wound.

“You live.” The voice was harsh, roughly female, but with an edge to it like a blade running along metal. Slowly, you lifted your gaze. A woman with blades curving off her skin stood over you. Her eyes gleamed bright red.

“I live,” the Fae said. He struggled into a full standing position. “I returned.”

The woman smiled. Her teeth were all metallic, sharp as knives. “With a little mortal in tow, I see.”

The Fae shifted his position, trying to put himself between you and her. “The mortal is none of your business.” Under his breath, he hissed, “Run,” to you.

You stayed where you were. “Not until you’re bandaged. I need five minutes.”

“Run!” he snarled at you. The woman shook her head.

“Don’t send the little mortal away! Surely, our king will want to see who brought his loyal courtier back to him.” The woman’s hand curled around your upper arm. You froze. Blood seeped onto your fingers through the bandages.

The Fae gritted his teeth, but he nodded. “Stay close to me,” he murmured to you.

“Got it,” you said. You weren’t moving away from his side, at least not until the bleeding stopped.

Inside the clearing, the trees and undergrowth had shifted to form a sort of natural building. Fae of all shapes and sizes, dressed in wild and ornate fashion, stood all around. In the center of everything, seated on a throne, was who you assumed was the king.

He looked young, younger than you were expecting. He looked barely eighteen, possibly younger. His hair was straw-blond and he had a fair, fine face. The only sign that he was anything more than human were his eyes, which were pitch black, no sclera at all.

He smiled as you approached. “My old friend. How glad I am that you survived.”

The Fae dropped to his knees. “My king. I apologize for abandoning my position. I was poisoned with iron on the battlefield. I expected to die. I was only saved by the mortal here.”

The king tilted his head, observing you. You gave a slight bow. The wound was still bleeding, and you were desperate to get back to it. “The mortal saved your life?” the king said. He smiled. “How interesting.”

“As soon as I was able, I returned to the court,” the Fae said. “I throw myself at your mercy, my king. If you wish it, I will sacrifice myself for you. I expect nothing and will be grateful for-”

“Enough.” The king’s voice was mild, but the Fae fell silent immediately. “Mortal. Is what he says true?”

You took a deep breath. “Yes. I pulled him off the battlefield. I prevented him from dying or returning to you immediately, as he wanted to do. I had no other reason for doing this other than simply wanting to save his life. I expect no favors. I came along only out of concern for his health.”

The king looked at you strangely. “You are telling the truth,” he said. “You want nothing more than to see him well.”

“It is what I believe in,” you said. “If you accept him back into your court, I will leave. You don’t need to give me anything, and I won’t hold anything over your head.”

“And if I don’t?” the king asked. “I assume he told you what would happen if I turned him away?”

You took a deep breath. “Yes, he did. I… well. I doubt I could save him if you decided he should die.”

“You saved him and came here knowing that he may not survive? That you may be in danger as well?” It was hard to read the king’s expression. His tone was completely neutral.

“I followed what I believe to be right. If that leads to my death, then at least I will die nobly.” Your voice was steady, but you could feel your knees shaking. The king tilted his head at you.

“A mortal who does only what their conscience demands. Interesting,” he said. Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a breeze picked up. The trees surrounding the clearing groaned. A shudder moved through the ground. The king lifted his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Hm. Interesting.”

The Fae gripped your calf with one hand. You glanced at him. “You okay?”

“The Queen.” His eyes were wide, frightened. “She is here.”

You looked around, despite not being entirely sure who you were looking for. “Where?”

He gestured widely around you. “Here. Everywhere. She so rarely leaves her kingdom. That’s why she sends the king…”

“What are you talking about?” you asked.

“The Queen is more than any other Fae. She is a part of the world around us. Beneath our feet, in the trees. The king is her consort. He rules only through her favor,” the Fae said hurriedly. His ears were twitching. The hand on your calf tensed and loosened alternately.

The king looked relaxed as he glanced around him. He seemed to be listening to something you couldn’t hear. “Truly? Hm. An interesting idea.” He tapped his fingers along the line of his jaw. “Mortal. The Queen has taken an interest in you.”

The Fae at your side sucked in a sharp breath. It was hard to tell whether it was due to being impressed or being concerned. Having a Fae take in an interest in you could mean anything from grand favors to being recreationally tortured, just to see how you’d react. The hand on your calf was tightening gradually until it started to hurt.

“Has she? I’m flattered,” you said in as neutral a tone as you could manage.

“Yes. She says that among both mortals and Fae, there are few who would stick to their principles so stridently.” The king tilted his head, again listening as the wind picked up. “Mm. Come here.”

He extended a hand toward you, palm up. You stared at it uncertainly. The Fae was still gripping your calf. His face was toward the ground, but what you could make out of his expression was terrified. Whatever the king wanted, it was dangerous.

The only thing more dangerous than accepting a Fae’s offer, though, was potentially offending the Fae. You were cornered. Slowly, you stepped forward, shaking the Fae’s grip off your calf, and took the king’s hand.

Everything faded. Noise became muffled and a faint, gray veil descended over the world around you. It was like you were looking at everything through a thick mist. The only vivid thing in the world was the pulsing form of light that had appeared next to you.

It was shaped vaguely like a woman, with streamers of light trailing off its vague head. The light pulsed in multiple colors, moving from red to yellow to green to blue. It wasn’t bright enough to be blinding, but looking at it head on hurt your eyes after only a few moments.

“You’re the Queen,” you guessed, lowering your head respectfully.

A voice, layered and vaguely feminine, echoed around the area. INDEED. The voice was vaguely amused. I AM GLAD TO SPEAK TO YOU. YOU INTEREST ME.

You licked your lips. “I’m surprised a mortal can hold the interest of one as impressive as you.”

The Queen laughed. NO NEED FOR FLATTERY. I SO RARELY MEET THOSE, MORTAL OR FAE, WHO HAVE PRINCIPLES THEY STICK TO SO RESOLUTELY. TELL ME. WHY DID YOU ACCOMPANY HIM HERE?

“He wanted to return,” you said.

THAT IS WHY HE CAME HERE, YES. BUT I ASKED WHY YOU CAME WITH HIM. SURELY YOU KNOW THAT A MORTAL APPROACHING A FAE COURT IS DANGEROUS? YOU COULD HAVE WASHED YOUR HANDS OF HIM AND NO ONE WOULD THINK YOU A POOR HEALER.

You hesitated. “His wounds. I couldn’t leave him. I needed to make sure he would make it back here.”

YES. I SURMISED YOU WERE FOLLOWING TO PROTECT HIM. BUT WHY?

You paused again. “Because I saved his life. He told me I should have left him to die. I saved him, so I needed to make sure he was going to be okay. A healer’s job isn’t just done when the physical wounds are healed. I needed to make sure he was going to be able to survive on his own. And if I didn’t help him, there was every chance he would have died.” You lifted your chin, looking in the vague location of the light’s face. “If I save his life, I am responsible for protecting it.”

INDEED. The Queen sounded pleased by your answer, though her echoing, pulsing voice made it hard to tell. THEN MY DECISION IS MADE.

“What deci-” The fog retreated and you were suddenly blinking into the king’s face. He smiled placidly and released your hand.

“The Queen has decreed it,” he said. “And I concur. Mortal. In saving his life, you have proven yourself worthy of ownership of it. I grant you his name, his land, and his titles.”

You blinked again. Very suddenly, with no idea how you knew, you knew the Fae’s name. You turned to look at him. He was staring back at you, looking bewildered.

“I thank you for the years in my service, old friend,” the king said. “When the mortal has passed on and your name is your own, you may return. I look forward to seeing you again.” He waved his hand. “Now, go. Leave.”

You were vaguely aware of being marched away by armed guards. Mostly, you were just looking at the Fae, who was staring back at you with a similarly lost expression.

The guards left when you were a sufficient distance from the king, melting back into the trees. Only then did you feel comfortable to turn to the Fae. “What just happened?”

“He gave you my name,” the Fae said, clearly still processing everything. “My life is yours. My land, my title… Should you wish for it, they are all yours.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times. “I don’t want it,” you finally said. “Can I just… give it back to you?”

The Fae frowned. “No. The Queen herself decreed it. To give it away would be a terrible insult. I wouldn’t accept it, and even if you managed to return my name, you would be a disgrace to the Fae Court and hunted for the insult.”

You huffed. “Then what am I supposed to do with it?”

The Fae knelt, head facing toward the dirt. “My life is bound to yours now. I am your humble servant, as I was to the king. If you wish it, I will take you to my lands. You can live there pampered and sheltered. I will care for all aspects of ownership. You will merely live in peace, as the guardian of my name and the owner of my life.”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah, I don’t want that.” The Fae’s mouth twitched, a kind of amused smile, like he had known what you were going to say, but was pleased by the answer nonetheless.

“Then what is it that you want?” he asked.

“I want to keep helping people,” you said. “To continue my work. And I don’t want someone bound to me through servitude and an ownership over life. You’re not property. You’re a person.” You took a breath and looked up into his face, into his crystalline eyes. “What do you want?”

“I-” He paused, then pressed his lips together, as if uncertain himself. “I want,” he began again, haltingly. “I think I want… to learn. The Queen was right. You are fascinating. Even if I were not bound to you, I think there would be a part of me that would remain so. I would like to learn from you. See the world as you see it. Learn to value things as you do. If that would be amenable to you?”

Somehow, despite being taller, he gave them impression of looking up at you from under his lashes. It was a remarkably shy expression, and one that fluttered all throughout your chest before settling as a warm glow behind your heart. “All right then, Sarscillis. I think we can make that work.” You held your hand out toward him. Slowly, his rough palm met yours.

Sarscillis smiled at you. “I look forward to learning from you. And to being with you.” His smiled widened. “Even if you returned my name, I think I would have followed you. And I shall follow you still.”

[newtonsheffield]

I love love love love love this Brigerton and sons universe! You’re such an amazing writer! I wish I had even half of your talent!!! 😍 I was just re-reading it from the start and was wondering something (Just me being too involved in this story, sorry!) but how did things go the first night Kate and Anthony slept together. I know there was obviously a lot of passion but was there any awkward bits. I can imagine knowing someone that long and then the relationship progressing might be a bit weird

Oh Heyyyyyyyy

I love love love love love you for reading this ridiculous little universe that I keep forcing into existence with reckless abandon! I think at this point Julia Quinn herself would have to be like “Molly, honey, you have to stop” and then maybe I would consider it. You’re very kind to comment on my writing style which is...chaotic at best but then my character alignment has and always will be chaotic good so can we really be surprised? And Talent? She surely has none (she is me) but I will say this for myself: I’m certainly very determined and indeed I genuinely feel bad for people trying to search for Kate and Anthony content in the tags and have to wade through my relentless posts to find it! 

Ahhh Kate and Anthony’s first night together. It was beautiful and they were both very satisfied. Let’s leave it there. 

I’m kidding, Let’s dive in. (I’ll apologise in advance for it because... it’s...well bad... eh you’ll see for yourself)

Kate Sheffield had been attracted to Anthony Bridgerton for an embarrassingly long time by the time she found herself in the back of a town car with him, his teeth grazing her collarbone in a way that had her spine shivering with anticipation. From the very first time she’d seen him there’d been a little flutter in her stomach when their eyes met that she’d pushed down under layers of frustration and irritation and yes, possibly some denial. But she’d never really thought about sleeping with him, would have honestly never have allowed herself to, and definitely hadn’t intended too tonight. She certainly couldn’t be blamed for whatever images her demented subconscious had twisted into that dream where Anthony’s eyes had burned into hers and they’d moved together and his voice had whispered rough in her ear Come on Sheffield, Let go and she’d woken with a start her hands twisted the sheets and had to stand in the open door of the refrigerator to cool down. And she certainly couldn’t be blamed for the startling frequency with which it recurred.

And honestly, she’d barely been thinking by the time she’d stumbled into the front entrance of his house and he’d pressed her up against the door and whispered “Can I take you upstairs?” His voice like a desperate whine in her ear. And when she nodded a little desperately herself and he growled as he practically dragged her up the stairs, laughing and giggling the entire way, threw open the door of his bedroom with a startling bang! and pushed her firmly down onto his mattress she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to think again. 

By the end of the night she had learned three delightful facts about Anthony Bridgerton  

He was unfairly attractive. And yes, perhaps this shouldn’t have been news to her given the fact he’d had her in a panic every time he’d so much as stood next to her for nearly a year now. But he seemed even more so in this setting. She’d known he would be muscular, could feel it against her finger tips when she’d hastily unbuttoned his shirt, delighting a little in the way the muscles had jumped a little at her touch, as though she held electricity in her finger tips. But it was quite a different thing to see him crouching over her, the moonlight highlighting his face, to feel his muscles, and the powerful tension they carried pressed against her was something different entirely. And suddenly she had the startling realisation that she’d probably never ever be able to look at him across the conference table at work again without thinking about how his stubble had scraped at the inside of her thighs and how is hair between her fingers had felt positively sinful.

He was very generous. He’d pushed her back on the mattress after he’d slid her dress off and his eyes had washed over her and she’d felt the heat of his gaze linger on her lingerie for just a moment before he’d knelt before her, ripping his shirt off that still hung unbuttoned on his shoulders, tugging her firmly towards him and Kate had had time to feel only a little self conscious before he’d looked at her with such longing as his fingers had run little patterns around the tops of her stocking and he’d said This is... This is okay right Kate? As though he was waiting for her to slap his hands away and run crying from the room and the way he was looking at her was so absolutely intoxicating how could she say but God Yes. Please Anthony and the wicked little smirk he’d given her had been sent straight from hell to ruin her she was sure as he dragged her stockings down with his teeth, catching her thighs just a little, and when she’d fallen apart for him three times in embarrassingly quick succession he’d surprised her very much by saying God Kate, I’m so sorry I wanted to wait longer but I can’t wait anymore. And her only coherent thought in her very blissful state had been Jesus what more could you possibly have wanted to do?! But instead she’d pulled him firmly towards her pulling his lips towards hers and whispered Don’t then just before they met. 

He was very chatty. Sure, Anthony had always been vocal enough when they’d sparred verbally across the table. But in general, he was the stoic silent type, only speaking when he had something important to say. And, Kate supposed, perhaps he found this important to say. Talking during sex had never been something Kate had been particularly fond of, in fact during one awful interlude at the end of their relationship Kate had said Jesus Harry can you just stop?! but when Anthony Bridgerton was moaning in her ear. God she thought she might die right then and there. It was relentless. A constant stream of So beautiful, So good, Oh god, Fuck Kate,Perfect and her name whispered like a prayer again and again into the night. And Jesus Christ she couldn’t help herself as their moans mingled together. And when he collapsed on top of her, and she’d made a half hearted attempt to roll away from him after several seconds, even though she loved the sound of his heartbeat slowing in her ear and she was sure if she tried to walk, her legs would collapse from under her if she tried to stand, she’d felt very content when he’d made an exhausted disgruntled noise and pulled her tightly against him again. And truly when he’d whispered I’ve never felt like this before. I didn’t even know I could. She’d had to try her best not to cry

Truly, in the end Kate had been surprised by how natural everything had been, how right it had felt to take this step with a man she’d known for so long and professed to hate so publicly. She’d thought it might be awkward and stilted and that she’d feel desperate to cover herself from his gaze. But honestly, she’d never felt so desired or considered or loved (as terrifying as that was) as she had, right there in Anthony Bridgerton’s bed. That didn’t of course mean she was going to let him get away with things so easily, that she could stop herself from saying 

“That was a real date right?” and being very satisfied by the startled choking noise he made. 

God. I am so sorry. Somebody kill me             

[jaskierswolf]

A very happy birthday to @endrega23 🥳

Please accept my humble offering of Geraskier at Kaer Morhen! (1.6k)

________

Jaskier stared open mouthed at the great witcher keep of Kaer Morhen.

He’d been lucky enough to meet Geralt when he was just eighteen. His very first real witcher. Monsters were scarce these days thanks to the efforts of the witchers and most of the monster hunters had branched out, specialising in other trades to support themselves. Jaskier had even had a teacher at Oxenfurt from the School of Cat that had become a travelling bard several years before Jaskier had even been born. Aiden had served as great inspiration for Jaskier’s own chosen career path. Many of his professors had tried to get him to teach or at the very least find a cosy court to make his home. He was talented enough for either, but it hadn’t been enough for Jaskier. No. He wanted to travel the world just like Aiden had. He wanted to see what was left of the remaining monsters and immortalise them in song. He wanted to watch the monster hunters fight before their job became defunct.

Geralt had been that chance, the White Wolf, formerly the Butcher of Blaviken. Jaskier had clung to him like a leach and never let go, and after all these years his devotion had finally paid off? He was going to see the elusive witcher’s keep in the Blue Mountains. They’d met a few other wolf witchers along the way, most of their kind still returned home for winter, a tradition that had never been broken.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed in awe. The keep was magnificent. Snow coated the turrets of the tallest towers, and icicles hung down over the doors but more than anything… it was alive.

It was bristling with an energy that Jaskier had come to associate with Oxenfurt. Torches were lit all around the keep, some witchers were leading horses to the stables, others were sparring in the courtyard. There was a witcher sharpening a sword against a grinding stone in front of a huge blacksmith’s forge and he waved when he saw Geralt and Jaskier arrived.

“Geralt of Rivia!” The blacksmith set his sword aside and strode across the courtyard.

Jaskier’s eyes widened. The man had a vicious looking scar on one side of his face, twisting the broad smile in one corner, but aside from that and Geralt’s snowy white hair…. they looked almost identical. The same sharp jawline that Jaskier had felt under his fingertips, the same crooked nose that he frequently lavished with kisses, the same golden eyes that shone brighter than the sun, slitted like a cat and so unbearable radiant in beauty.

“Eskel,” Geralt greeted warmly and pulled the man, Eskel into a hug.

Jaskier watched the two men fondly, as Geralt pressed his nose until Eskel’s neck, scenting the other witcher. It had been strange the first time Jaskier had seen Geralt greet a fellow wolf witcher, but after almost a decade of travelling together he was more than used to it. Geralt explained that the different mutagens of different schools affected each witcher differently. For the wolves it had created a high familial instinct, which was a big part of why most of them still returned to Kaer Morhen for winter. It was a time to be with their pack once more.

“Oi! Geralt!” another witcher called, bundling over. He had long dark brown hair, tied up similarly to Geralt’s. Unlike Geralt and Eskel’s pale skin, he had tanned skin and his face was covered in freckles. He had the same golden eyes, and now that he came to think of it, all the wolf school witchers had warm yellow cat eyes.

Aiden’s eyes had been a sharp emerald green in contrast, and one of the witchers he’d seen at court had had startling blue eyes not dissimilar to his own, but with slitted pupils just like Geralt’s.

“Markus!” Geralt called and waved the brunet over. Like Geralt, he had two swords strapped to his back; another monster slayer. Markus and Geralt scented each other’s necks just like Geralt had done with Eskel, and their arrival was now drawing the attention of the others.

Jaskier chewed his lip as he waited. It was a strange feeling, not being the centre of attention. Normally it was Geralt that slunk into the background whilst Jaskier commanded the room, but it was different here. Jaskier was the outsider in Geralt’s home. His heart fluttered fast in his chest and he tried to quell the rising anxiety but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head that he didn’t belong.

He shouldn’t have come here.

He was intruding.

An outsider.

Witchers were everywhere and he was the only human. Gods, why had Geralt invited him? He should be at Oxenfurt teaching, adored by his students, but he hadn’t been able to resist the idea of wintering with his lover, and it would have been rude to refuse after so many years of dropping hints and quietly pestering Geralt about spending the winter together.

Geralt’s laugh rumbled next to him. and familiar calloused fingers laced with his own. He started and looked at his witcher. Geralt wasn’t looking at him but had reached for his hand. Jaskier’s heartbeat must have given away his anxiety… a heartbeat that dozens of witchers could hear.

Oh fuck.

Would they even be allowed to have sex? Unless the walls were enchanted then Jaskier couldn’t imagine there were many secrets in Kaer Morhen. Geralt was a naturally private person, would he want to have sex when there were so many witchers able to listen in?

“And this is Jaskier,” Geralt introduced him, squeezing his hand tightly.

Jaskier blinked, the mention of his name pulling him from his thoughts. He plastered a wide smile on his face and extended his hand to the nearest witcher, Markus. “Hello, I’m Jaskier, Geralt’s boyfriend.”

“Markus,” came the gruff reply. “I cover Kaedwen with Lambert and Jonas.”

Jaskier nodded. “Right, yes, yes. I think Geralt’s mentioned that. We cross into Wolf territories all the time?” he glanced over to Geralt who gave a small nod.

“I roam between the Wolf territories, sometimes I’ll get a call from the bears if they need a hand,” Geralt reminded him.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose as he tried to remember the etiquettes of the witchers. It wasn’t as political as the Royalty and Nobles of humanity but he’d grown up learning about them so that was easy. He could name all the nobility and Royal families at the drop of a hat. Witchers laws were still a work in progress. Witcher territories were there to ensure that the monster slayers all had enough work to do and there would always be a witcher nearby to help the humans should a monster problem occur. It was deemed offensive to hunt in another school’s territory without permission, a slight on that school, but nothing that would end in bloodshed.

The only exception being the cat witchers.

They were quick to anger and fiercely protective of what was theirs. Jaskier had seen that one first hand. It had been a messy affair. He’d never thought of his fun and flirty professor in the same way ever again.

If Jaskier wanted to travel outside of the Wolf School’s land for bardic competitions then Geralt had to leave his swords and armour behind. It was almost like a holiday! Not Geralt was ever very happy about it. It made him angsty to travel without his swords, especially when bandits and monsters still roamed the forests.

“You have a beautiful home,” Jaskier sang sweetly, winking at Markus and giving the witcher a cheeky smile. “Much nicer than the bedrolls we’re used to, isn’t that right Geralt?”

“Hmm… save the charm for Vesemir, bard.”

Jaskier licked his lips. “Ah, right, well… doesn’t hurt to try?”

Geralt chuckled and pulled him closer, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s temple. “We don’t want to be late for dinner on our first night, let’s go bathe.”

“Oh if you insist,” Jaskier purred, running his fingers down Geralt’s chest.

“Actually bathe, Jask.”

“Pity.”

The other witchers roared with laughter. “You really weren’t kidding about this one, Geralt.” Eskel said in his deep bass tone that made Jaskier a little weak at the knees. Damn witchers were all so stunning. What was a bard to do?

“He’s a flirt, and he’s mine,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier did the only thing he could think of… he jumped at Geralt so that the witcher had to catch him in his arms. Geralt grunted under his sudden weight but caught him easily. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, placing a sloppy kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “Yours, my love.”

Geralt hummed, a happy purr rumbling in his chest. “As I am yours.”

Jaskier’s heart fluttered, a giddy warmth spreading throughout his body despite the winter chill. “Mine,” he agreed and pulled his witcher into a kiss. Geralt softly lowered him back to the floor. As his feet hit the ground his hand cupped the back of Geralt’s neck, gripping the nape tight between his fingers. Geralt purred loudly and melted against him. Jaskier giggled against Geralt’s lips and wrapped an arm around Geralt’s waist to support him before he slid to the floor.

Neither of them paid any attention to the protests of the surrounding witchers. It had been a difficult journey up the mountain and Jaskier was happy to be home. Not at Kaer Morhen, but with Geralt, his home.

[silverdragon-imagines-blog]

does any part of four feel more left out than the others, specifically green? cause i havent seen a lot of stuff centering on green, if any at all. most of the fics ive read have to do with the other parts and green is just kinda left behind. honestly i just want more green content and angst 😅 so yeah. hope this helps spring up more ideas 😊

[Decided to take this as a prompt since it's still technically Four Weeks of Four. Green angst sounds pretty good honestly. Take some self-reflection ^u^ Also this is unedited. Let me know if I need to tag anything differently.]

Warning(s): talk of self-blame and unhealthy habits, but it's pretty brief.

For once, it was quiet at home. Everyone was still asleep, but Green found that he couldn't sleep anymore. With a quiet sigh, he sat up in the large bed he shared with the other Colors, taking a moment to smile at the sight of them cuddled close together.

Red seemed to have grabbed Blue in his sleep, huddled into his chest in his spot between Vio and Blue. The former had wrapped his arms around the both of them, his lankier frame easily encompassing the both of them. Blue had grabbed Green's shirt in his sleep with one hand while the other was holding onto Vio. It was a comforting sight.

Carefully, he peeled Blue's hand off of his shirt, trying not to startle the other awake. As he slipped out of bed and onto the chilled hardwood floor, he took a moment to check around the crowded room. The other heroes were asleep as well, and for that he was grateful.

He took a moment to count heads, Wild cuddled up against Twilight, Sky holding Hyrule and Wind close, the latter of which had a hand on Hyrule's shirt, Legend was back-to-back with Hyrule with Time laying still on his back in between Legend and Warriors, the latter of which was pressed up against the wall.

Stepping carefully around the sleeping bodies, he made his way to the stairway. Avoiding the creaky steps, he entered the main room and headed for the kitchen. He could see the sky from the window and could see that it looked to be a cloudy day. Silently he hoped it wouldn't rain. Grabbing a kettle, he filled it with water and headed to the living room, stirring the fireplace to life and setting the water to boil above it.

The quiet was nice, refreshing even, especially with how loud it could get with so many heroes in one place. They had taken them splitting quite well, especially the Veteran who had seemed to already know about it. It was relieving and allowed them to split much more often. The very fact that they could have time to be away from each other for even a short while was perfect. A fact that Green was currently making the most of.

When the kettle whistled, he quietly cursed and hurriedly took it off the fire. He walked back into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cupboard until he found a suitable mug and his box of tea. Pulling out the small wooden box, smiling slightly at the chiseled and painted green air element symbol on the front, he grabbed a tea bag and dropped it into the empty cup. When the boiling water had been poured inside, he set the kettle on a hot pad to avoid burning the wooden counter (like he had many times before to Blue's frustration).

He made his way back to the living room, a small jar of honey in one hand and the steaming mug of tea in the other. Setting the mug on a coaster, he sat and waited for it to steep. His mind seemed to be just as loud today as it had been when the four were one.

He thought about the groups' goal, to fight the Shadow that had brought them all together. His mind drifted to a similar Shadow, how he had sacrificed himself for them on their last adventure. How they had tried to find a way to bring him back, only to find no leads. How Vio had taken that fact badly and shut down nearly completely, Blue had gotten angry with even the slightest mention of the missing Shade, Red had tried to stay cheerful despite how he would quietly cry alone when no one was watching.

He had ignored his own needs then, trying to make sure everyone was okay and taking care of themselves. It took time, and in fact, it was still a work in progress as every mention of the Shadow they were chasing had them all flinch and clench their fists. He had tried to keep the peace, tried to make sure that they'd all be okay, and now that he had the time to reflect on everything, he realized he was tired.

After their adventure, he was worried that he'd lose them all, that he wouldn't be good enough or strong enough to keep them all safe and alive. The addition of eight other heroes to worry about only made his already stretched worries stretch even further.

With a start, he remembered his tea and quickly took out the teabag. He frowned at the darker color of the tea, knowing he had over-steeped it. He sighed, taking the honey and pouring in a more generous amount than he normally would. He stirred it and then took a sip, the taste not as strong as he had feared it would've been. He chuckled slightly, self-deprecatingly as he realized that maybe he needed a longer break than he thought.

He sat back against the cushion of the chair, holding his warm mug of tea and staring at the fire burning away in the hearth. Each sip of his tea relaxed him further, though not as much as he hoped it would. The quiet sounds of the fire crackling away and the wind blowing against the house was comforting, yet he felt uneasy. He could feel the discomfort of not doing enough right now to help the others growing, making him fidget, but a small part of him, sounding similar to Vio, simply stated that everyone was still asleep and that there isn't anything to do currently.

It was the truth, the only thing he could do currently was cook breakfast, but he had a feeling Red would throw a fit if he wrecked yet another of his pans. The memory of the first time that happened made him chuckle, how Red's face turned the color of his namesake as he yelled and gestured with the mishappen pan. Green had been apologetic and slightly fearful, but Red had calmed considerably when he had offered to make him new cooking tools.

His mind then turned to other memories; Blue demanding a sparring session with him several days in a row, losing often enough that he vowed to knock Green on his ass one day. Vio pulling him aside one day to get him to go on a trip to a far-off town just so he could learn about the culture and people there.

And then newer memories with the group; Sky sitting next to him and asking questions about his era, eyes sparkling with wonder at each new story of their life. Time helping them with taking down bigger opponents, offering pointers that sounded as though from experience. Twilight letting him hitch a ride on his back after he had embarrassed himself by stumbling and twisting his ankle in front of the other Colors. Warriors going over strategies with him late into the night after they had encountered several unfamiliar enemies. Legend helping them with weapon maintenance and trading stories of awful customers as they worked. Wind and Wild taking them on a little adventure to explore a new area no one had seen before. Hyrule going on an even smaller adventure with them to a Minish Village for a celebration.

Green couldn't help but smile more genuinely at each thought, each memory of simply hanging out and having fun or even doing something that he enjoyed. He finished off the mug of tea, now fully relaxed as his mind had finally drifted away from the more stressful topics. As he put the mug into the sink and put the honey away, he found that maybe it would be a good idea to stop keeping such thoughts of his worries bottled up. He would tell one of the others, starting with the other Colors.

'But for now,' he thought, finishing cleaning up after himself with a small smile and glancing out the window to the sun peeking through the clouds, 'I think I'll enjoy the quiet and distance from everyone and take a break.'

[the-hopeless-haze]

Oh, My Precious Whore

A/N: didn’t really think I’d ever be posting fic on here again… but I am tired and need a distraction so… have this as a treat

Pairing: Claire Underwood x f!reader, implied Duncan Shepherd x f!reader

CW: derogatory pet names, implied smut (will not occur in full until the next part)

Description: idk this is just pure filth bc there’s a severe lack of f!reader fic and… Robin Wright is hot af. Also had to throw in some Duncan in there bc I love Cody Fern

Maybe you should feel worse right now about what you’re doing, but you don’t.

You, at the very least, should feel scared. The Underwoods, or well, Underwood... she was a powerful woman and if you stepped a millimeter out of place your life was likely in danger. Or so they said. Your in-laws were wary of her, you know, but she was wary of them, too. You think. She’s a difficult woman to read.

The rumors concerning the crimes her late husband supposedly committed are lengthy and convoluted, but you suspect they hold some truth to them. Most rumors usually aren’t based totally in fiction. Her husband was truly a ruthless motherfucker. Claire... Claire doesn’t seem to be ruthless. Nor does she seem to be what you would describe as a motherfucker.

No, she’s a cold hearted bitch. A bitter, sociopathic cunt.

But you never wanted what was good for you.

Sometimes, you swear you love Duncan and you wish it was easier to convince yourself. He a good husband, all things considered. Perhaps a little too focused on work, but... he treats you well to make up for it. He is loyal to a fault, if anyone ever was. You met him through a friend, and though it makes you feel guilty you used him in a vain attempt to get closer to Annette.

But Annette didn’t swing your way, as she told you in not so many words. Or, rather, she said, “Just be a good pet and marry my son. You on his arm will do well for everyone all around. Your dalliances on the side are no one’s business as long as you keep them secret enough that not even Duncan finds out.”

So you agreed, and accepted his proposal you figured she no doubt hounded him into. It’s not so much that you don’t like men, you do, and Duncan is such an attractive man, and he’s a thorough lover... it’s just you suppose you have a preference for women. Older women. You used to joke in high school that you wanted to be a high-end escort for rich older women getting away from their CEO husbands for the weekend.

But your parents would have never approved of that plan. So you went to law school instead. Which was fine. You make decent money without Duncan, but with him you’re somewhat of a young, hot power couple. You’re not really interested in policy the way his family is - you just like ingratiating yourself amongst these people with influence. You get off on brushing shoulders with the powerful. Parties don’t mean much to you. Everyone is truly an evil son of a bitch, no matter what they say when the cameras are on. No one cares about progress, not unless it’s self-serving.

The first time you met Claire, you thought you might die. She barely gave Duncan a second glance but you? She stood and chatted with you about your latest case your firm had taken - how she knew about it among all the other things on her mind, you don’t know - but it was a pleasant conversation, all things considered. You know her and Annette used to be close. You wonder how much Claire does know about you.

You know you can’t trust her. At all.

But after that incident, Duncan grinned and shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to give credence to those rumors. She might have it out for you.”

“Rumors?” You asked, panicking already. Did he know?

“That Claire is a lesbian. It’s been floating around some circles, that that’s why she wasn’t truly upset at her husband’s death, that that’s why she’s pushing so hard for female rights. It’s interesting. It is the first time I met her, but having done so it wouldn’t entirely surprise me.”

You can tell. That woman probably isn’t a lesbian, or if she is, she’s very good at utilizing her charm to make it seem as though she’s not. If anything, you’d peg her as asexual. She uses sex as a weapon. Fair enough. You’ve seen even weaker women feel the need to use it.

You wonder if she’s ever had sex purely for herself and not for manipulation purposes.

You wonder if she could even do that. You reckon you don’t really care if you found out the hard way.

It’s a few weeks later that you receive a message stating the President required your audience. And you know you should tell Annette, or Duncan at the very least, but you don’t. You know you shouldn’t show up at all. But Annette said to keep your dalliances secret. So secret they will stay.

“How loyal are you to the Shepherds?” Claire asks when you arrive. Straight to the point. Good.

“As loyal as I have to appear,” you tell her.

Claire smiles a little. “Why did you marry Duncan? He doesn’t seem quite your type.”

“And what do you presume my type is?”

“Perhaps more feminine. Older.”

“Mm. And what is your type, Ms President?”

“Why did you marry him? Did Annette threaten to out you?” she repeats.

“Not in so many words,” you say.

“Hmm. Interesting. He has no idea, I presume?”

“Why did you call me here?” you ask, your anxiety getting the better of you.

“I need information on the Shepherds. And I believe I have something you’d want in return.”

Your head starts spinning, but no, spinning is an understatement. It’s fucking doing somersaults. You cannot believe what she’s proposing.

“You want to prostitute yourself to me for information?”

And Claire does the last thing you ever expected the bitch to do. She walks across the room and slaps you across the face. Hard enough to sting, but not as hard as you bet she could. You feel the cold metal of her wedding ring press against your cheek as she grabs your chin, her cold blue eyes piercing through to your soul. “Don’t you dare fucking accuse the president of the United States of debasement, and don’t ever assume you have the upper hand.”

“Claire—“

“Are we on first name basis, slut?” she asks, her hand slithering down to your throat. Holy shit, you think. This bitch might actually fucking kill me. You think you’d care more if this wasn’t possibly the hottest thing that ever happened to you. “I didn’t think so. Now. What are your loyalties? Who are you closest to?”

“Duncan, obviously. Annette lets her guard down around me because she likes that I think she’s hot, but she still doesn’t like me. Bill and I don’t get along.”

“Interesting. How much does Duncan know?”

“I know more than Duncan.”

“Really, now? Are you just saying that? Because if you don’t prove to be useful...”

“What? You’ll kill me?”

Claire laughs. “No, you’re much more fun to me alive. But tell me… do you know where Duncan came from?”

“I mean, I truly don’t know how Annette’s cunt could birth anything, given how much of a bitch she is, but…”

Claire smiles. “Yes. Much more fun alive. Duncan is not her child.”

“Well, that’s a relief I don’t have any chance of keeping the Shepherd bloodline alive,” you snicker. “Where did he come from, then?”

“I’ll tell you… in time. But you have to tell him, too. In front of Annette and Bill. I want them all to know.”

“They’ll skin me alive if they knew I was here.”

“Do you want to fuck me or not? These are my terms.”

“So that is why I’m here?”

She only smirks at you, the wrinkles around her blue eyes crinkling as she does. “Your attraction to me is far more interesting than... well, men are pigs, right? I’m sure you are well aware. But you, you look at me like you want to fuck me, sure, but you also know your place. You respect me, even if you try to talk back. Men don’t know any better.”

“Have you ever slept with a woman before?”

She only smiles. “Does it matter?”

“Just wanted to know if there was credence to the rumors.”

“Rumors? You’re quite bold. I’m the one with my hand...wrapped around your throat.”

“It’d be pretty messy for you if you killed me right now,” you retort, wincing and rubbing your legs together as she increases the pressure on your neck.

“You’ll learn not to talk back, whore. To think you’re a married woman...”

“Yeah? Did you hold your marriage sacrosanct?”

There’s that smile again. She’s beautiful, ethereal, but there’s something so inhumane about the way her lips move upward to smirk at you. Maybe you should learn to shut your mouth, but you always were a brat. Besides, it’s more fun this way.

“I did.”

“Liar,” you accuse, smirking at her as you do, and she lets go of your throat and before you can miss the feeling too much she slaps your face again, the right cheek this time, much harder than the first time. You let out a startled, strangled moan on impulse, stumbling back a little against the wall.

“Oh, did that hurt?” she coos at you condescendingly, fixing a piece of your hair that fell out of place as you stand back up, pressing your back flat against the wall for stability. Claire crosses her arms and stands directly in front of you.

“I can take it. I can take more than that,” you say boldly.

“Oh? What else do you like, slut?”

“You name it, I’m game.”

“Anything? Handcuffs? Whips? Knives?”

You nod at everything she comes up with. Jesus, you would let this woman carve out your heart if she wanted it.

“If I make you bleed?”

“Better.”

“Interesting. Does Duncan play these little games with you?”

You laugh. “No.”

“You only want a woman to do these things to you?”

“Precisely. Are you kinky, Madam President?”

“Whatever my partner requires... I make certain I provide.”

“But what do you want?”

“I’m a hard woman to please.”

“Oh. Is that the kind way of saying Frank wasn’t good in bed?” you ask, feigning sympathy. She only smirks again. “I’m surprised you didn’t slap me for that. He must have really been awful.”

“You think you could do better?”

“Women do everything better,” you laugh, earning perhaps the only genuine smile you’ve gotten from this woman the whole time. “That’s why I wanted to know if you’ve been with a woman...”

“No. But I’ve thought about it. Never had a woman as interested as you.”

“I find that very hard to believe. Maybe you just never noticed. What gave it away?” You’re aching for her to touch you again, give you anything, even pain, but she stands still in front of you.

“I can just tell. Besides, I was interested to meet you. You’re the Shepherd’s weak link. I knew Annette didn’t vet you carefully enough.”

“Are you saying me being gay is an issue?”

“Are you so naive to think it wouldn’t be, given the state of this country?” she retorts. “But that’s not all. I can tell you don’t like them. I could tell you were easy... on more than one account.”

You roll your eyes. “I fucking hate Bill. I mean it’s awful to say, he’s not doing well physically, but he’s just made life a living hell for me.”

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

“I don’t know. Maybe he hates gay people. Maybe he hates women. Both. Don’t know.”

“So everyone knows but Duncan? Funny how he’s kept out of all the good family secrets that concern him.”

You sigh. “See, sexuality’s a funny thing. I like Duncan. I do. And sometimes sex with him is good if not great. He’s a good partner. But I just prefer women.”

“Must be nice to have it figured out. Your generation did have it easier.”

You look at her questioningly. You never thought someone like her was human enough to struggle with such a thing, but perhaps that’s an unfair assessment.

Or she’s playing you.

Still. She’d have to be quite a good player - not that you should underestimate her skill - to talk about something as personal as her struggles with sexuality. Straight people just don’t get it. Would she really be this easily well versed if it was a game?

“There’s still a long ways to go,” you say.

“I intend to rectify that.”

“Of course you do.”

Her eyes narrow at you and she tilts her head. “Do you think I should be doing better?”

“Yeah. Come out, for starters.”

“Says the woman in a sham marriage.”

“It’s not a sham. I love Duncan,” you protest.

“Then why are you here, selling out his family just for a chance to fuck me? You’re not much better than I am.”

“I don’t think I’ve told you anything yet. Besides. It’s not his real family… as you say.”

“No. You haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know. But I haven’t fucked you yet either, have I?”

“Touché.”

“Come over here,” she beckons, leaning against the desk and once again it strikes you where you are - the fucking Oval Office. Are you seriously going to have sex in the Oval Office? Conservatives would be disgusted by this (although it wouldn’t be the first time this office was defiled). “Don’t look so scared now. You can’t back out at this point.”

You nod, trying not to look as nervous as you feel and walk the few steps over to her, your legs inches from hers. God, you’re practically dying from the anticipation alone.

“Does Duncan ever tell you how beautiful you are?” She asks. You’re absolutely shellshocked. There’s no trace of sarcasm in her voice.

“Sometimes,” you murmur.

“Just like men to not appreciate what they have.”

“Mm. Frank didn’t appreciate you, Claire? Didn’t make you feel good? I would. If you were my wife I’d make you come every fucking day,” you say, and boldly you decide to punctuate that statement by pressing your lips to hers.

Mistake. Or maybe not, you don’t know.

Her hands tangle in your hair and you feel her stand up, press against you firmly before backing you into the desk, pushing you onto it until your back is flat on the wood, and she’s hovering over you, her lips ghosting yours.

“I’m a hard woman to please,” she reiterates and you realize she never fucking lost her breath while you feel like the wind was knocked out of you. “I’m ambivalent about attention in general. But look at you, whore. You crave it, don’t you? Just want someone to tell you that you’re a good girl... oh, look at you squeeze your thighs together. Are you wet for me, slut?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” You ask, spreading your legs slightly for her.

She shakes her head, her straight platinum locks shifting as she does so, brushing against your face. “See? You’re not a good girl. You’re a dirty filthy whore and you just don’t know when to shut that whore mouth or close your fucking legs.”

You stay silent - you’re not sure what to do now. Do you antagonize her, push her further, see if it will rile her up again? Or do you try and kiss her again?

Claire has other ideas. “Beg,” she hisses in your ear. “Get down on your knees and beg for me.”

—- and I am evil and ending it there! Plz let me know if I should continue this!

[asian-hero]

oh also, wouldn’t it be funny for like, momo, iida, bakugou (basically the parent friends) finding out that their s/o listens to their music on full blast when they’re using earbuds/headphones and is just choosing to go deaf?? (totally not exposing myself lmao -❤️)

A/N: Honestly that’s me too, and every time I have to get my hearing checked I get nervous because of how loud I play my music 

Bakugou Katsuki

Katsuki would be the first to judge you, but have absolutely no room to talk

This man, while it may seem as though he’s reckless and careless, he’s anything but. Of course, he goes to bed at eight, but he also makes sure that he eats a balanced dish for every meal of the day in order to get all of the nutrients that’s needed to sustain his body, he also keeps up with his hygiene, and he also makes sure that whenever he’s listening to music or watching a video, he tries his best to turn it to the lowest volume he can while still being able to hear what’s playing

Though, of course, with his quirk comes some negative setbacks, such as being hard of hearing, which is why he often ends up yelling most of the time, just so he can hear himself and make sure that he’s saying the right thing

However, when he walks up to you one day, screaming your name, he’s extremely surprised to see that you don’t flinch, or even acknowledge that he’s there. At first, he just assumes that you’re trying to be a smart ass by “pretending” to not hear him, so he yells your name again, a bit louder than before. When you still don’t respond, he wonders if he did anything to upset you that day, and takes a seat next to you, finally gaining your attention when he puts his hand on your thigh

Of course, you jump slightly, turning to face him while pulling an earbud out of your ear, looking at him with such a confused expression while asking if he needed anything from you. He stares at you for a few moments, just silently wondering how loud your music was playing for you not to be able to hear him. So, like the gremlin he is, he pulls your other earbud out, and puts them both in his own ears, finding himself surprised when the noise blasting from your phone hurts his ears

Not even a second had passed when he rips them out and yells at you about why your music is up so loud, if you want to go deaf, if you have hearing problems. When you tell him that’s just how you like it, he looks at you as if you’re the stupidest person on the planet. 

Snatching your phone away, he holds down the volume button, and you watch as it slowly lowers down to a more acceptable range for him. He then shoves the earbuds back into your ears and moves your phone away from your grasp, not allowing you to even try and touch the settings

Though you’re annoyed at the fact that your music is much quieter, you feel a sense of giddiness in the pit of your stomach, knowing that Katsuki cares about you, even if it is in his own harsh, abrasive way

Resting your head on his shoulder, you close your eyes, allowing yourself to drift into another place, all the while Katsuki has a pretty pink blush on his cheeks, though if anyone were to call him out, he’d shove you off and vehemently deny it

Iida Tenya

Tenya, while he means well, can often be overbearing and obnoxious when it comes to the sake of your health

Most of the time, he’s extremely strict and responsible, purely because that’s how he’s always been, ever since he was a little kid, but he also tends to be a bit more strict when it comes to you, because he wants you to thrive and be happy and healthy, so he often asks you questions like “have you eaten yet?” or “when did you go to sleep last night?”

It’s very sweet, and you know he comes from a place of good intentions, but sometimes it can be rather annoying

One day, while the two of you were just relaxing on the couch, with him reading a book and you scrolling through your phone, your music blasting through your headphones, he noticed just how loud you were playing your music. After all, he was able to hear it, and he wasn’t even wearing them, so he worried about how loud it was for you. Setting down his book, he gently called your name, waiting to see your response. When you didn’t respond to him, he called once more, except a little louder, and in the tone he usually reserved for scolding your classmate. When you still didn’t respond, he moved himself in front of your face, making you freeze a bit in surprise, before a cute smile brightens your face

Pulling your headphones out, you tilt your head in confusion, asking if everything was okay, how his book was, just mundane things that were making Tenya question whether or not he should scold you for your unhealthy habit. However, his rational side took over, and he asked how loud you were listening to your music, since he could hear it

When you sheepishly smiled, rubbing your neck in embarrassment, he sighed, shaking his head as he started his little rant about how you shouldn’t listen to your music that loud, that it could cause serious damage to your eardrums, and that it would impact your overall health. Of course, he didn’t use his “strict” voice with you, but he did make it sound as though it wasn’t a request to turn down your volume, more so of a demand. You told him that you’d make more of an effort to be conscious of your volume, and that seemed as good enough of an answer for him

So, as the two of you got back into your positions, with you resting your back against his arm, and him going back to the page he bookmarked, you two fell into another comfortable silence, with your music being lowered down significantly

Of course, whenever he wasn’t with you, you’d subconsciously turn it back up, being used to it blaring through your headphones, but whenever he was with you, he’d simply take your phone from your hand, lowering the volume while giving you such a sweet smile that you couldn’t really deny him

Yaoyorozu Momo

There’s a reason for why many people considered Momo to be the “mom friend” of the group

She’s always the one that’s checking up on her friends, making sure that they ate well that day, if they were doing alright, and if anyone needed something, she’d be the first to show up on their doorstep with at least several different kinds of items

When it comes to you, her partner whom she absolutely adores and wants to see succeed in everything that you set your mind to, she almost becomes a mother hen of sorts. She’ll always be fussing about, making sure that you’re as comfortable as possible, even going out of her way to get you things that she knows you like, just so she can see that adorable smile across your face

Momo also texts you at least five times a day, one saying good morning, one asking if you had anything for breakfast, another for lunch, asking if you wanted to eat dinner together, and finally, one that told you good night and just how much she loves you. Every day she texts you that same five core messages without fail, and if you don’t respond to her within thirty minutes or so, she’ll just show up to wherever you are and check in on you herself

So, while the two of you were working out together, of course in her own private gym, she finally noticed one of your bad habits: having your music turned up to max volume while having your headphones in

At first, she was simply doing some cardio, while not-so-subtly checking you out as you lifted weights. However, she could hear something very faintly, almost as though someone were playing music from the floor above. But as she finished up her run and headed closer to you, she noticed that the noise was getting progressively louder and louder, up until she was standing right next to you, and she could hear your music perfectly clear. She waited until you finished up your final set, not wanting to startle you when you were working out, but as soon as you put the weights back, wiping the sweat from your forehead, she simply plucked out one of your earbuds, a small frown on her face

When you asked her what was wrong, she answered you by asking if your ears were hurting, or if you needed something to aid your hearing. At first, you were confused, unsure of where she got that idea. However, as she continued to glance at you, and then to your headphone, then back to you, you finally realized that she could hear you from across the gym. Laughing, you told her that you like to blast your music whenever you’re working out, and that you didn’t mean to disrupt her workout

She instead told you that you could never bother her, but she was concerned about your hearing, and suggested that you lower it just a bit, or, even better, just play it through a speaker, since she didn’t mind your music taste. Because you didn’t want to worry her, since she was always making sure that you were happy and healthy, you agreed to play your music out loud instead

So now every time the two of you go to workout, you connect your phone to the speaker, and the two of you jam out while you work out, and your sessions often end with the two of you dancing together, albeit a little silly. Though you wouldn’t change it for the world

[catxsnow]

REPLACED part two

Summary: Part 2 to replaced. It was Damian’s time to train you, this time you were ready

Warning: mentions of blood, canon violence, Bruce being an ass 

A/N: Had this requested a few times lol. Here it is! Also I’m rewatching The Witcher and 🥵🥵

Part one

Word Count: 2.3k

"Again."

Sweat dripped down your body and you were heaving for breath. The cold training room now emanated with heat just from your movements. It had to have been hours that you were down there, working until you had perfected your motions. Hours of blood, sweat, and tears, but that wasn't going to make you stop.

You rested on your hands and knees, trying to catch your breath. Today had been harder than the rest, you had been pushed far past your limits. Frustrated tears gathered in your eyes from not being able to get this down packed. Again and again you failed miserably - just like you had for years before.

"Again!" Damian repeated louder. He stood over you with his arms crossed and a nonchalant stance. Sparring with him was terrible. You never won and he never held back. You would leave the training room with bruises and cuts every time. He was ruthless, just as he was trained to be when he was a child.

Damian had taken you up on your offer to train you. Unfortunately, he only knew one way to do it. Damian wasn't patient like Dick, he was frustrated the second that you fell to the mat. He didn't worry about you or your feelings like Tim did. The only thing that he did do, was teach your more than Bruce ever had.

Your hands clenched into fists at his anger towards you. You swore that the only reason that Damian kept this up was because he liked to win so often. In your months of working together, he never seemed to gain any more like towards you. Not that you were surprised about it, his heart was cold.

Every muscle in your body screamed at you not to get back up and fight. You needed rest from this. It drained you more and more every day but if that meant that you would get to go out on patrol, to prove everyone wrong, it was worth it. You had improved so much with Damian's help.

"Get. Up!" Damian yelled.

"I can't," you finally whispered. Your voice was broken. Damian had barely heard what you had said. He dropped his sword onto the mat beside. Instead of walking off like you had expected him to, Damian grabbed the collar of your shirt and heaved you up to his eye level. You were startled by the movement.

"You get up or you get out," Damian threatened. His eyes were narrowed as he waited for your response. He wasn't going to waste anymore time if you weren't willing to put in the effort needed. He had spent years being pushed by his grandfather, his skills didn't just come naturally.

Damian was letting you off easy with his version of training. Had it been his mother instead? You would never have made it past the first day. He was stern, but he would never treat you as he was treated. No one deserved that.

You had no response. Getting back up seemed impossible to you. Defeating him seemed impossible. Damian scoffed at you lack of motivation. He dropped the collar of your shirt, letting you fall back to the ground. The echo of his footsteps walking away rang through your ears.

Just another person giving up on me.

No. No, you had come way too far for someone else to give up on you. You needed to do this, not for everyone, but for yourself. Proving that you could do this is the one thing that you always thrived for. Giving up couldn't be an option anymore. This was your time to become who you were always meant to be.

Damian paused as he heard the clank of his sword being picked up. You stood tall and proud, the heavy metal tight in your grip. Damian turned back to face you, a smirk on his lips as he saw you wipe away the blood from your busted lip. As long as you weren't going to give up on yourself, he wasn't going to give up on you.

"Again," you parroted his words. It was the first time that you held his weapon. For some reason, it felt at home in your palms. Maybe you had been taking this whole training from the wrong perspective. You were always trying to be like Bruce, and even Dick. Maybe if you were going to be trained by Damian, you needed to use the same kind of weapon as him.

Just from mimicking the moves that you had seen him do time after time, you had moved so much more effortlessly. It seemed almost natural to swing the great blade around, like you had been doing it for years.

Damian ruthlessly attacked you, giving you everything that he had left in his system. For once, you had been able to hold you ground. You felt confident in what you were doing - both on offense and defense. Damian was shocked by your sudden skill - he hadn't even considered that you wished to use a weapon like his.

Damian had jumped up to get a higher angle against you. It was as if every gear turning in your body had been perfectly in sync - you knew exactly what you needed to do. Just as Damian was mid-air, you had landed a perfect kick right into his abdomen. It had caught him so off guard that he didn't have time to catch himself before hitting the mat.

You stood above him, the tip of his own blade pressed lightly against his skin. After months of training, you had finally taken him down. You removed the sword, spinning it around in your hand before offering him help up. Damian accepted it, along with his weapon that you handed over.

His usually angered scowl was replaced with a prideful smile. It was the first time he had looked at you like this. You had genuinely taken him down without going easy on you. Damian was impressed, which didn't happen very often.

"You did good, (L/N)," he congratulated you. Of course you still had a long way to go, but if you continued to progress at this speed - you would be just as good as everyone else. "I believe it's time to test the new suit."

Your eyes widened in shock. With Damian taking your place as Robin, you had to create a completely different persona. This one, suited you far more than Robin ever would have. You hadn't gotten the chance to go out to the streets to use it, Damian still deemed you unready. Until now.

Bruce was out of the city that week - it would be just the two of you out there. For some god forsaken reason, it didn't scare you anymore. Being by Damian's side out there excited you.

"I'm ready."

><

The smile on your face wouldn't disappear.

After coming back from patrol you had been ecstatic about it. The night had gone perfectly smooth. Snobbish criminals were out and about - the perfect candidate for your first night out. Damian would watch from above, ready to swoop in if you ever needed help. There was only once where you had been far too out numbered.

A couple bruises here and there but nothing that was going to slow you down. You would have been out until dawn if he would have let you. Being out there, saving people, it made you feel alive. There was nothing more that you wanted than to go back out. Saving people, it was a whole thrill you didn't realize you were missing out on.

Damian could see how happy you were to be out there. When under Bruce's training you had gone out a few times here and there, but each time you were to stand by, never to dive in unless necessary. Damian had let you take the lead all night, it was a learning curve that you needed to accomplish.

Even getting back to the cave, you were still vibrating with excitement. As soon as you hoped off your motorcycle, you had flipped all around the cave. Damian only watched you - even though you were several years older than he was, it felt as if he was the adult. This whole time training you it felt as if he was older.

"That was incredible, Damian!" You grinned, stopping in front of him. The high of your night wasn't going away any time soon. It had gone well tonight, but Damian dreaded to see you after the hard nights. The nights that you couldn't save everyone. He suddenly felt protective of you, not wanting you to see how cruel it really was out there.

"What the hell were you thinking?" A sudden voice bombed through the cave. You and Damian were on high alert, weapons raised as to who was angered at you. Bruce stood at the entrance of the cave, his suit on and cowl lowered. You could see the scowl on his lips and feel the anger that radiated off of him.

He must have come back early from his trip. Bruce came home to an empty cave with both your suits out of their cases. He had known about your training with Damian, your sudden rebellion against him. He never imagined that Damian would be so reckless to take you out on the streets without him.

When he noticed the matching swords in your hands, he had only gotten more angered. Bruce hated Damian's choice of weapon - it was deadly and if used incorrectly could do more damage than it was worth. To have you pick up on his bad choices as well? It had enraged him. In the short time that he was gone, it seemed like you had betrayed him more than ever.

"Father-" Damian tried to explain.

"(Y/N) could have been killed because of this reckless behavior! Innocent people could have been killed!" Bruce shouted. He stormed towards the two of you. Whatever mission he was on must have gone bad, he was angrier than usual. "They're not ready! You had no right to lead a patrol without me knowing like that! It was irresponsible and-"

"Enough!" You yelled. You were tired of Bruce treating you like a little kid still. It was like he still saw you as that weak child that showed up to his home. You had grown, far more than ever in these few months. Bruce couldn't accept that you were old enough to realize what you could handle and what you couldn't.

Bruce and Damian looked over at you in shock at your sudden outburst. Ever since that fight with Bruce in the library, you had been giving him the cold shoulder. This was the first time that you had outburst to him in a long time.

"Damian's trained me better than you ever have Bruce," you narrowed your eyes at him. Damian noticed as you stepped between him and his father, as if you were protecting him. "You just don't want to accept that your son is better than you will ever be! I'm ready to be out there! I'm ready and you just can't fucking admit that it wasn't you who got me here."

"Dick, Jason, Steph, they were all right about you," You continued. "You raised kids as weapons, and as soon as they defy you, you can't handle it. Everyone left you, Bruce! Can't you see the pattern! It isn't because they're grown, it's because you're too fucking stubborn to see things any other way."

You scoffed at him and his ridiculous anger for thinking that he still had control over what you could and couldn't do. Damian watched as you stalked away from the both of them, slamming into Bruce's shoulder as you passed. Just like the rest of the kids that he had taken in, it was your time to leave as well.

Even if you appreciated everything that Damian did for you, you couldn't stay in that house anymore. Having Bruce watch over you, waiting for you to make one mistake so he could revoke your privileges, you couldn't handle it anymore. Bruce was the one holding you back for years, now that you were liberated, you weren't going to let it continue.

"(L/N)," Damian called out for you. He was jogging to catch up, leaving his father in the cave to ponder your words. It wasn't time for him to leave his father, not yet, but he understood where you were coming from. Bruce was the one to hold you back, you needed to be free of his reign to grow even more.

You paused for Damian, wondering what he had to say to you. You wished him to join you, the two of you could become your own dynamic duo. Damian would do better with you then he ever would with Bruce. Even if you had much to learn from him, he too had so much to gain from you.

"I just wanted to say," he awkwardly coughed before finishing. "I'm proud of you. For learning, adapting, for standing up for yourself. Whenever you wish to train more, I would feel honoured to help. I wish you the best of luck."

"Don't worry, Dames. I could never replace you."