#but he gains this..need to make something out of it

[jinusajas]

06/24/25; 08:05pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ their favorite positions ]

featuring: jinu, abby, baby, mystery, romance

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

jinu loves having you ride him.

he’ll flash you a cocky grin while settling himself back in bed with both hands placed beneath his head. your hips would tremble with need for him while making your descent down the shaft of his cock.

and once jinu was fully sheathed within you, it would take a herculean effort to hold back the need to cum inside of you, gritting his teeth while biting back his moans with a smirk.

“c’mon baby, is that all you got?”

despite your whimpers, a look of determination would be seen within your gaze as you braced yourself on his broad chest, thrusting your hips sloppily against his as it takes you a few tries to gain your momentum-

but once you were able to set a decent pace, jinu knew that he was a goner, unable to last even a full minute with you bouncing up and down his cock so passionately. his eyes would meet your gaze, large hands gripping at your bouncing tits while playing with your hardened nipples. each time you would come down on him, you could feel his hard cock brush against your swollen clit as the hedonistic sensation was enough to tip you over the edge.

and when you finally spilled yourself on his cock, jinu couldn’t help but meet your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing the rest of your moans as he pumped you full of his seed.

abby is addicted to folding you in a mating press, tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulders as he continuously fucks his cock into you.

the demon basks in the way he’s able to make your eyes roll into the back of your head all while muttering nasty things within your ear.

look at you, droolin’ on m’cock like a needy slut.

bet you can’t even think straight, eh?

fuck look at how pretty you are.

look at how your pretty pussy clenches around me, wanting to milk me dry.

his filthy words were doing things to your body, making sweet goosebumps erupt all across your body as abby used you as his personal fucktoy, slamming into your entrance over and over again that it made you lose your mind just seconds later.

your release hits you like a freight train, with your walls clenching around abby’s thick cock, your juices spilling down his shaft when he lets out a groan of your name.

“fuck, did you just squirt on me?”

by now, the mortification you felt was palpable, the embarrassment flowing through your very veins when abby lets out a deep chuckle. steadying your legs on his shoulders once more, he slams his cock back into you, the squelching sounds of your walls taking him in echoes throughout the room as he fucks you once more, making you cry out to him when he whispers hotly in your ear-

“you’re such a good girl f’me. how about i make you squirt three more times and we’ll call it a night?”

baby lives to see your ass bouncing on his cock, with his hands gripping at your waist as he keeps you in the reverse cowgirl position.

you brace your hands over his legs, feeling baby lay back as he simply watches you struggling to take in his thick cock. each time to bring your hips down on him, you felt yourself approaching your high-

yet you were too weak to go on.

your arms were hurting from how much you had to steady yourself on top of his legs, which made you whimper with need for him.

“babe… baby… i need help… i need you…!”

despite being unable to see him, you could feel him sitting up. he presses a lingering kiss against your temples, wrapping an arm around your naked chest, “was it too much for you? does my girl need help? how cute.”

with those final words, baby grants your wishes the moment he pistons his hips upwards, fucking himself into you as he made sure he was buried to the hilt each time he returns inside of your heat. you were let a drooling mess when baby finally takes over, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t his cock as you succumbed to the pleasure he was giving you.

mystery loves having you laying on your side, with a leg tossed over his shoulder as he drills his cock into you.

this position was a particular favorite of mystery since he could see the way your tits bounced in tune with his every thrust. his hands would worship every dip and curve of your body while his lips would place lingering kisses against your ankles.

the sounds that escapes from your parted lips were nothing short of music to his ears, and he could feel his cock growing each time he thrusts back into you. the silky feel of your walls and how he manages to hit your g-spot from this angle would ultimately lead to your undoing-

with you spilling yourself on his cock as you allowed a demon to bring you to the gates of heaven.

romance (being a true romantic at heart) would be the one who enjoys fucking you in the missionary position.

there was something achingly intimate about being able to watch your every expression as he slides himself into you-

basking in your soft mewls while interlocking his fingertips together with yours each time he thrusts his cock in and out of you.

just being able to press himself oh so close to you, becoming a tangle of limbs as romance wasn’t sure where you began and he ended-

it was during moments like these that romance felt almost human again.

with a growl of your name, romance would proceed to wrap your legs around his waist, bracing himself against the bed as he sped up his movements, wanting to hear more and more of your moans and keens that echo throughout the night-

feeding his need to completely taint you with his desires as he had no intention of ever stopping.

end notes: I AM OFFICIALLY A SAJA BOYS STAN!! JINU IS MY BIAS 😭🙌🏻 this is currently unedited, but i’ll make any changes once this is posted ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[mona-risms]

hear me out.. polytrix x reader where fem!reader doesn't know about the whole demon hunter thing and is still under the hypnosis from the saja boys and the girls try their hardest to snap her out of it. 🫦

◆ MAIN COURSE: poly!HUNTR/X x fem!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: This might've SLIGHTLY teeny tinily missed the point but I hope you still like it!! I can't make a full-blown fic without getting paid bc I'm broke as hell and I'm lazy so the most you're getting is the usual hcs and snippets I fear 💔. But anyway I LOVELOVELOVE POLYTRIX 😩😩😩😩😩 I think they should all kiss together and kiss me too

This is the funniest shit ever and no one can tell me otherwise bc you've got three ninja popstars and one perfectly normal human being who just really really loves K-Pop. And you all LOVE each other????? #holyfcknairball no one would believe you until you show full proof that yes you do in fact kiss those celebrities on the mouth! Every day actually! Unless they're on tour but still! Yes you are a girls only poly couple! You couldn't be happier!

Unfortunately bc of the fact that you're normal, you won't even know that the hot new boy band, Saja Boys, are all drawing people in via brainwashing to sacrifice your souls to a Demon King named Gwi-Ma that looks like an oversized wildfire. Said people includes you I fear 💔💔. Imagine you were out coincidentally and you got to witness their debut performance and you were so drawn to them!! Why wouldn't you be??

They hear your voice before they see you—right there, right near the front row, right in front of them.

"What's she doing here?" Mira hissed, though despite her tone, the concern was glaringly obvious.

"I think she wanted to buy something? She said about baking," Zoey answered, her own concern matching up with Mira as she bounced on the balls of her feet in an attempt to both alleviate her sudden restlessness and to see you from the crowd. "But-- But what if they try to grab her? [Y/N]'s at a very grabbable distance! And the worst thing is I won't even blame them—she's really grabbable in general!"

Zoey doesn't even finish before Rumi's weaving through the crowd in an attempt to reach you, "Either way, no one is getting grabbed, least of all our girlfriend."

When Rumi does reach you, she taps your shoulder to gain your attention. Without fail, you turn around and smile widely in recognition, "Ru-- Ahem, babe! Did you see how good this new band was? They're called the Saja Boys!"

"Yeah. I heard."

Usually, you would've noticed her sudden deadpan, but you were buzzing too much under your skin from the sudden excitement of this new debut so you barrelled on, "Maybe you and them'll even collab one day! Wouldn't that be awesome?!"

"Yeah, awesome, now c'mon, we need to get out of the crowd," she effortlessly twines her fingers in yours, which you reciprocate happily as you follow her while still going on about the Saja Boys. But when she dares to look back at the boy band, she noticed the black-haired demon in disguise's eyes on you.. and then on her, as if he knew very well what was going on.

When you finally get out of the crowd, you rejoin your other two loves of your life with a cheek kiss for Mira and then a squealing hug with Zoey.

Mira doesn't hesitate to ask as you and the shortest HUNTR/X member basically wrapped yourselves on each other, "Are you okay? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"Yeah, like, did they ever, I dunno.. suck your soul out or something?" Zoey asked, and then quietly winced as Mira and Rumi both signalled not to say anything with exaggerated expressions and hand gestures behind you.

You giggled at the line of questioning, "What? No? My soul definitely felt like it ascended while watching them, though! You guys are funny."

While you and Zoey were busy clinging onto each other, Rumi pulled Mira in to whisper to her, "They know."

"Know what?"

"That we're linked together in some way? That she's a normal human? I don't know, but they know and I don't want to risk her to find out. Do you?"

And their gazes drift to you as you spoke animatedly with Zoey, equally rambling to you and matching your energy in turn—probably both invested in the situation and also well-aware of the much-needed secret debriefing.

And Mira shook her head with furrowed brows, "Absolutely not."

"Good."

Whenever the girls are all "DON'T FALL FOR THEM" you're so confused bc like. Why?? What's up with them recently???? Ever since the Saja Boys popped up, they've been so weirdly pressed about them every time you brought them up. Like, sure, rivalry's one thing, but you've seen them with rivalries before!!!!! It's not like the Saja Boys have like killed people or smth lmfao it's okay the world's not gonna end if you stan them too (cue the scene with them and Bobby looking at the same city and seeing Two Completely Different Views)

Every time you're ever with them one way or another and the Saja Boys are around/involved they are LOCKING THE FUCK IN. Constantly trying to redirect your attention and theirs like "Do Not Look At Her" and if you ever get too close they'll be all "back the FUCK up actually". And whenever thry try to pull all that hypnotising shit on you they are DRAGGING YOU AWAY and kissing you until you run out of air and forget what you were even thinking about like a min ago 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

They're so much more attentive towards you, and during the two weeks of the Saja Boys being there, you are NOT allowed to be without at LEAST one of them. Why?? Ohhhh yk cuz they just really really miss you, that's all!!!!! They did just come out of a world tour so like they wanna be with you for as much as possible ahahahaha definitely bc the boy band you're fawning over rn are actually demons that want to consume your soul!!! Especially yours!!!!!! Bc they know you're special to them all ahahahahaahahahahahahaahahhaa

Oh but it'd be devastating if Mira and Zoey saw you with the crowd after Rumi's breakdown. Not only Bobby was brainwashed, but so are you, mindlessly following the masses. And as much as they want you to fight it, to remember, they can't even blame you or find the strength; they failed, Rumi hid she was part-demon the entire time, it's over

You'd be one of the people closest to Gwi-Ma's flames on purpose I think—a twisted way for Jinu to make your sacrifice quick and painless. But when Rumi and then Zoey and Mira both clock it? Absolutely the fuck not dude Gwi-Ma just made them even fucking MADDER

At the end of it they know they'll definitely have to explain everything to you, considering. From the Saja boys to Rumi explaining herself properly ALLLLL the way to how they're Hunters and what they do. But at the very least you're not dead thank GOD

"You guys know I don't actually know how to feel right now, right? Finding out that my girlfriends have been constantly getting into near-death experiences as, like, idol ninjas with magic weapons isn't really for the faint of heart—let alone finding out demons and supernatural whatevers are real."

The four of you migrated to Rumi's bed after that whole ordeal at the Tower, tired and exhausted and in need of a good cuddle pile. Right now, you and Rumi were cuddled up against each other, her patterns casting a soft glow on your skin, while Mira was spooning you with her tall frame and Zoey clung onto Rumi like a koala.

The trio had the decency to wince a little, and Mira spoke first in defence, "To be fair, we did get trained for, like, years not to give anything away, including our Hunter profession."

"And I'm your girlfriend," you sighed as your hand traced the jagged glowing lines across Rumi's skin, "I thought we weren't going to hide anything. No wonder sometimes you lot disappear without any explanation—this whole time, you've been.. slaying demons?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You hummed.. before putting your attention on Rumi, "And you. You really think we were going to love you any less because of what you're mixed with?"

"Um. Kinda?" Rumi looked to the side, averting your gazes, "It's-- I was raised to think that I should be ashamed of it, that I need to hide. It's--"

"Why you always have a separate green room?"

"Why you don't go into the batthouse with us?"

Rumi nodded, though not without a flush on her cheeks, "..yeah."

Your gaze softened as you lightly bit your lip before cupping her face for a short but tender kiss, "You think that's gonna really scare me—us—away? Mira and Zoey came back to you after the shock, and I sure as hell don't care if you were part-turtle or whatever--"

"Being part-turtle would be cool! ..Or super slow, depends--"

"My point being," you interrupted Zoey with an affectionate chuckle, "we love you because you're our Rumi. Not an idol, not a demon, just our Rumi—the one that overthinks, overworks and gets so into her head that we'd have to shut it for her. ..No more hiding, yeah?"

Rumi doesn't respond, not for a long while, and thre three of you are content in just laying there in silence, with her patterns casting a brighter yet softer glow on all of you. But eventually she buries her head in your chest, muffling her eventual answer, "..Mhm. Thank you."

Zoey's hold on Rumi tightened as she practically nuzzled into the latter's back, all while Mira reached over to hold Rumi's hand, now back to its human shape compared to the claws she had briefly before. No one else says anything, and that's perfectly fine for the four of you.

"..So I guess I'm retiring from stanning anyone but you guys."

"Obviously!" "Duh." "You are."

[novelistwriter]

Twin Returned... kinda

DP x DC Prompt

Danyal and Damian are twins, and both want to live up to the expectations of their grandfather. Yet Danyal is always falling behind in requirements that Ra's sets. Danyal is scared, but doesn't show it out in the open, on what his grandfather would do with him if he fails too many times.

He got his answer when Ra's had killed him, but not in any slow and painful way. Ra's had killed him quickly by cutting off his head without hesitation when he had failed again. Ra's even left the room as if nothing had happened, leaving Talia and Damian in the room with Danyal's body and head.

Both of them had made sure that Ra's wasn't in the Lazarus Pit chamber before trying to resurrect Danyal, Talia having sewn Danyal's head back on to the best of her ability, Damian wasn't fight to keep his tears back like his mother. Alas, Danyal's body was consumed by the Lazarus Pit, leaving behind a grieving Mother and a twin without his other half.

Danyal was healed and revived by the Lazarus Pit, but was taken to the Infinite Realms and placed in the Fentons basement when they tried turning on the portal prematurely. Danyal has trouble speaking, as his vocal cords are still healing, the Lazarus Pit couldn't fully heal them, but he has gained some advanced healing after becoming a Liminal because of the revival, and his death scar is something he doesn't want to show, so he hides it as best he can.

Almost all of the Danny Phantom Canon happens, except Danyal is distant, quiet, and not trying to make friends. He just wants to return to Dami's side and feel his mother's embrace one more time. It's only until the Disasteroid comes that has a different outcome.

Danyal was pulled from the world, being in Clockwork's tower. He was told that all of the people in that world are meant to die by the Disasteroid, and if their deaths are prevented, the timelines of multiple realities will collapse. Danyal is not meant to die, as he is needed to grow up and become the Ghost King since he inherited the title after he beat Pariah.

Danyal is going to miss Jazz, as he grew to like her, but is still happy that he finally gets to be by his twins' side again. He didn't hear that there might be a side effect of his form undergoing an alteration that'll stick for a long while. Hence why he's currently in the Lazarus Pit that he was put in by his mother and twin. He hasn't surfaced because something is keeping him in it while his body is painfully morphing into a mythological creature known as a Hydra.

Damian is not happy to be brought back to the Lazarus Pit that had taken his twin from him, nor is he happy to see the man that had killed him. Ra's had captured Damian, looking to transfer his soul into his heir. Talia had defected and taken quite a few assassins with her to start a League of Shadows instead. Danyal's death caused the woman to drop Damian off to his father and begin preparations for taking down her father. Both of them had agreed to keep Danyal a secret, as they wanted to spare Bruce the heartache over losing a son he never met.

Just as the Ritual was about to be completed, the Bats and Talia had finally broken in after dealing with the Assassins. Yet it wasn't any of them that stopped the Ritual. It was the big Hydra that burst out of the Lazarus Pit and, upon seeing Ra's, devoured the man (Danyal is gonna regurgitate the bones of his grandfather later when he realizes what he did). With the magic gone, Damian is free, but he's having a stared down with the Hydra. Before anyone could do something, the Hydra telepathically speaks in a raspy voice that's all too familiar to Damian and Talia.

"Dami... I am... happy to... see you again"

[sunskisser]

simon ghost riley x sunshine!reader

summary: you were a specially brought in sergeant from the navy. sunshine personified, you start to break down simon’s walls.

a/n: um…. no one look at me 😭😭 i’m so behind on requests lol but i can’t stop thinking about this man!!! might write a part 2 hehe

The moment Simon laid eyes on you, he knew he was gone.

You came in like a whirlwind of warmth, like love itself had taken your name. You were everything he wasn’t, everything most seasoned soldiers had long lost — bright, affectionate, kind.

You introduced yourself as a Sergeant from the Navy, deployed to Task Force 141 for a few missions, just to gain exposure. It wasn’t like Simon had heard what you said, he was too busy staring at you, with all your pretty features and sweet smiles — but he did make sure to ask Johnny later.

Everytime he passed by you on base, you were busy chattering animatedly to someone else. And every single time you gave him a little wave, you had that damn smile on your face. 

It always sent a twinge of annoyance through him. Just how experienced were you — to be grinning in a dreary place like this? This was the military, for God’s sake. It wasn’t a place for smiles, or happiness, or anything remotely close to that.

But damn it, he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel some kind of way. If you didn’t make his heart squeeze some kind of way.

Simon’s first private encounter with you happened about a week later. He was sat in his office, head in his hand and fingers ink-stained. The stacks of paperwork sprawled over the table didn’t seem to be getting any smaller, and it was frustrating. He grit his teeth, just about to give up and ask Price to get somebody else to do it, when he heard the knock. 

“Come in.”

You poke your head in, beaming. “Morning, Simon!”

He grunts in acknowledgment, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “What d’ya need, Sergeant?”

“Oh, please, just call me Y/n,” you smile, waving him off, because of course you didn’t know how many times he’d mentally repeated your name to himself. You walk all the way in and close the door behind you, almost skipping to his desk. 

“Anywho,” you say brightly as you hold out a plastic box to him, “I baked you cookies.”

Simon blinks, staring up at you suspiciously. “Cookies? For me?”

“Mhm!” you push the box into his hands, and he cautiously accepts it. “Johnny told me you loved chocolate chips, so I rolled in some extra for you.”

Simon looks up at your smiling face, and has no idea how to respond. He suddenly feels like he has a heart. You baked him cookies, for absolutely no reason at all. How could he say no?

“Uh,” he grunts, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably as he puts it down on his desk. It’s getting annoyingly hard to keep the frown on his face. “Thanks, lass. ‘Preciate it.”

“No problem,” you gush. And Simon thought that this would be the end of it, that you’d leave once you’d given him your cookies. But no, of course not.

You unpromptedly take a seat across his desk, eyes flitting all over it. 

“Paperwork?” you ask, so sympathetic that it tugs on Simon’s (apparently existent) heartstrings. “Seems like a lot of it. Do you need some help?”

You look up at him with those big, hopeful eyes, and Simon has to resist the urge to agree immediately. Price would kill him if he knew he was getting a specially brought-in Navy sergeant to help him with paperwork, but fuck Price.

“Well…” he scratches the back of his head, feigning hesitation. “If ye don’t mind, then yeah, I could use some help.”

You look almost delighted at that, and Simon wondered how anyone could be happy to do something as monotonous as paperwork. But you proved him wrong.

You helped him file, reorganize, and proofread everything on his desk, all while chatting his ear off. You told him all about your work back in the Navy, your family, your pet dogs, even about your favourite couch back home — whatever that meant. 

Nothing he needed to know, but everything he wanted to. He could feel himself softening more and more as the minutes passed, annoyance turning into a fonder shade.

So this is what it felt like to be on the receiving end of your liveliness. This is why you were already so popular around base, within just a week of your arrival.

Simon knew he’d be asking you for help again sometime soon.

[corvusalbus93]

Astarion & the Consequences of Good Deeds

So, I did the “Stop the Presses” the other day and for those, who haven’t done it, because I missed it in my first playthrough, basically you have to stop the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette from printing a hit piece against the party. You can trigger the quest by talking to reporters Lens or Estra Stir and it becomes time-sensitive after talking to Ettvard Needle in the Baldur’s Mouth (aka article is printed after next long rest).

Since you get kicked out of the building I naturally I completed the quest with Astarion, as he’s the best for sneaking through that building undetected. So, I snuck through, found a new printing block to replace the hit piece with and made it to the printer.

As it turns out, the thing is operated by the fairy Jelliwig, who recognized Astarion (and would have probably any of any party), because Dolly Dolly Dolly had been freed in Act 2. In my playthrough this too had been done by Astarion, since his Sleight of Hand-skills had made this very easy (also no disapproval, when he does it).

Apparently Dolly can’t shut up about him and so, as a result of that action in Act 2, Jelliwig offers to drop the hit piece and print a different story. If you haven’t freed Dolly you need to pass some dialogue/skill checks.

Printing Press: Oi! Gormless! Over here. Thought I recognised you. Dolly Dolly Dolly was right – you aren’t much of a looker. Printing Press: Dolly can’t stop talking about you. Hero this, hero that, hero here, hero there. Hello, hero. Printing Press: You know, there’s some absolute filth about you in tomorrow’s edition. Seeing as you were king enough to free Dolly, how’s about I do you a favour? Printing Press: Why don’t we change the headline? We can load up something a bit less... damaging for your reputation?

So, where am I getting with all this?

Well, as we learn more about Astarion’s backstory, we find out he was often punished and tortured by Cazador. The worst of it he suffered after committing a morally good deed, saving that boy he just couldn’t bring to his master. And even early in Act 1, he sees Wyll too getting punished for sparing Karlach and he doesn’t seem exactly surprised.

If the last 200 years have taught him anything (among others), is that people with power can do whatever they want, unpunished, and no good deed goes unpunished. That is part of the worldview he has when we meet him. It’s not surprising he sees no merit in helping anyone throughout most of the game, with a few exceptions.

But as time progresses, the party helps more people things start to change. The people repay the party with gear, supplies, information, ect. - Dammon even fixed Karlach’s engine as well as he can for free. And in the end, when everyone gathered at the High Hall, in a good-aligned playthrough, the room is crowded with people you’ve helped since Act 1. As players we too notice how the game is easier, when you make allies, and the characters in game would take note of the help they receive as well.

When Astarion first receives thanks from the tieflings for killing the goblin leaders he’s dismissive, but in Act 2, when he says he’s never pictured himself as a banisher of shadows, he smiles. The role is growing on him, little by little.

Then in continuities like mine, Astarion experiences the results of good deeds in at least one very direct example, as it pays off not just immediately (Dolly blessing the party to resist the curse), but unexpectedly later on (Jelliwig doing him a good deed in turn unprompted).

Sure, sometimes doing the “right” things is punished or makes things more difficult, but I think for his character development it was also important to relearn that good deeds sometimes do pay off, can be rewarding in various ways – not just in terms of material gain but in gaining trust, respect, allies, even friends:

Post refusing the rite: Wyll: Astarion showed restraint where most others wouldn’t. He might not appreciate the sentiment – but I’m proud of him. Lae’zel: To seek power for personal glory alone is a farce Astarion was wise to see it. Karlach: He’d hate to hear me say this, but I’m so fucking proud of Astarion. He could’ve had it all, but he kept his soul instead. Wasn’t sure he had it in him, but he’s changed so much. Overcome so much darkness. Ooh, I could smooch that pointy little face!

[demothers-empty-blog]

Du bist Perfekt

I recently got this ask stating they’ve been feeling quite insecure about their body as of late. That’s okay. We all have off days, we are our harshest judges. The best thing we can do when the going gets tough is reach out and try to see things from a different perspective. Hopefully, this way, you might see yourself in a better light.

I love you, and you are loved.

The dress you’ve been eyeing doesn’t fit again. God, what would it take for you to gain a little bit of weight? Not much, just enough for the fabric to stop hanging off your shoulders, maybe give it something to cling on.

You hate this sticky feeling in your chest. Staring in the mirror provided in the stall, you try to make it work. Maybe if you pin this here… no, no, that won’t do. Maybe like this? Or like that?

You pinch the ends of the dress, making it tighter around your waist and chest area, but you’re left unsatisfied with the outcome.

A sigh leaves your lips, frustration is such an ugly feeling. You don’t want to cry but it’s coming, those burning tears. It doesn’t stem from sadness, doesn’t feel as relieving. It’s blunt, you feel stuck, like nothing’s changing.

You yearn for natural curves, something to add to your figure, maybe you wouldn’t feel as invisible.

Envy is an evil little worm, the thought that pops in your head is an unwelcome guest.

“Intrusive thoughts are not you,” you affirm, quickly wiping away the few tears that managed to slip halfway down your cheeks.

You’re tired of baggy hoodies and jeans that need belts or else you’ll be flashing every passing soul on the street with your pants around your ankles.

“Schatz?” You hear a voice calling from beyond the stall.

You must’ve taken too long. König’s sense of timing is, well, jarring sometimes.

You swing the dress over the door, “It doesn’t fit…” you mutter, voice almost undetectable. König doesn’t miss the disappointment in your lowered tone.

Your pain is his, he’s disappointed with you and it chips away at his heart. König wants you to shine like he knows you can.

Today was an unsuccessful trip for clothes but your boyfriend did not allow the day to end with a frown on your face. He guides you out of the store and to your surprise, he actually managed to find his way past the many stores scattered throughout the mall.

And found the ice cream place.

A little treat wouldn’t hurt. He presses a kiss to your cheek and your lips automatically curl up into a smile. “There’s my girl,” he says with a pleasant rumble in his chest.

Once home, König lets you settle yourself on his lap while he lets some show drone on in the background. Neither of you are really listening.

“I really liked that dress…” you finally say, not realizing you’d voiced your thoughts out loud until König responded.

“Couldn’t get it?” He asks, cautious. You give a shake of your head.

“…didn’t fit.”

König laughs and you shoot him a mean glare. His eyes widen exactly like he does when there’s been a misunderstanding.

“Nein—Nein, my love. I am not making fun,” he’s quick to say, hastily pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I am simply… erm, was ist das Wort? Relating.”

You feel him shift awkwardly on the couch and you fall further into his lap. König rests his head over yours, wrapping his arms around you tight. It’s lovely, this warm feeling. He engulfs you in this hug and you’ve never felt safer.

He just wishes he can protect you from your mind too, because who better to relate than the anxious king himself?

“Don’t overthink,” you hear him say from above. “We can struggle to find clothes together.”

There is a brief pause in the conversation, both of you needing time to gather your thoughts.

“…do you like you?” He asks.

“I like me.” You answer, “I just… wish I was a bit different is all.”

It was his turn to let out a sigh. It’s another beat of silence before he speaks again. “I suppose, it depends on how you feel, mein Schatz. Do you want to bulk, we can start a meal plan?”

The thought of eating more than you should makes you a smidge nauseous. You want to enjoy your meals, not eat as a chore.

“Burgh… no thank you.”

The conversation fizzles out and you two end up watching a bit of the show. It was okay, it’d be better if you didn’t hear commentary from yours truly every five minutes.

It’s a damn lie that König doesn’t like to yap or keep things short, that man is passionate about his rambling.

When he opens his mouth again, you cringe internally and brace yourself for another rant but instead, König was still thinking about your earlier conversation.

“You know that I love you?” He starts, making sure you’re listening carefully by tilting your head up to meet his face full of concern and a deep love words fail to describe.

“Ich liebe dich. Doesn’t matter when, or what size you come in. Won’t change the fact that I love you. I don’t want you being uncomfortable with yourself. I want you to thrive. The way I see it… you have to lean into your strengths. You are nimble, elusive… graceful. I can never be able to disappear into a crowd or squeeze myself in and out of tight spots.”

He almost seemed like he longed to be like you, be invisible for once. For him, it was a good thing. No attention, no eyes on him, no judgment.

But comparison is the thief of joy.

König is glad you are different. The world would be quite dull if we were all the same.

“Be you, Schatz. It’s who I fell for.”

[miwiheroes]

The Love Monologue + El's Arc

This is another post going onto my byler slides :)))

So today I wanted to talk about how the Love monologue is not a closer to El's arc like a lot of Milkvan shippers think it was. To me, a lot of them seem to look at this monologue in a black and white way - she was about to die and Mike spoke to her and then she escaped the vines so that means he loves her and she needed him to say it. This take is very surface level and barely seems to acknowledge all that El has been through in S4, instead just taking note of how she's interacted with Mike.

She's been apart from Mike this whole time for a reason - she needs to figure out who she is, she needs to learn to love herself. To me, that is her main arc in the entire show. Finding a family who loves her unconditionally, but also finding the strength to love herself instead of pleading for kindness from others.

Her arc with Papa in this show, to me, clearly goes:

Papa uses El to get what he wants: To find a gate to the UD to find Henry

He manipulates her into doing this by only showing her the love she needs when she does what he wants: Locks her away when she refuses to use her powers. Shows love when she improves her powers.

In s4, he poses himself as the only one who would ever accept her for causing everything: Takes her into the lab but still blames her for being manipulated by Henry. Implying she needs him for her own sense of self-worth.

In the end she says that he is in fact the monster and she is not to blame: Therefore meaning she doesn't need outward love from Papa to believe she is useful.

Papa had trapped her with a collar. When he's almost dead in the desert at the Byers-Hopper reunition thing, he is the one to open back up the collar. He says I'm proud of you. He says I've only ever wanted to help you. But this isn't as an act of love. It's all an act of self-preservation - just like all the other times he 'showed' love towards her. It was all for his gain. He hoped that she still had some guilt inside her to save him. He hoped she still had that desire for him to validate her inside him.

But she doesn't. She walks away. She says goodbye as an act of self-love. She doesn't need him anymore, she's not guilty about feeling like the monster anymore.

And since Papa is literally paralleled with Mike in the same Season?

Well. We can say that her arc with him is very different, but similar but in the sense that Mike gives her normalcy, makes her feel good about her powers but only when they save people or don't hurt anyone. He doesn't do it on purpose, but he inadvertently makes El feel like she needs his approval at the beginning of the season.

Mike's not an abusive figure, but her old abusive childhood means she pleads for unconditional love from Mike in order to calm her insecurities about being a Monster.

She creates an ideal version of herself for Mike at the beginning of this season because she doesn't have powers anymore which is what he puts her on a pedestal for, and continues to. Even during the monologue.

When that ideal image is shattered by her attacking Angela, Mike shows his disgust. And she breaks down, revealing why she felt the need to create the idealised version: she wanted Mike to love her. And why did she want her to love him? So she doesn't feel like a monster which is how Brenner made her feel. FUCK MAN-

She needs to stop tying her self-worth to men.

Anyways, so what I'm saying through all this is that El, after all that was said and done with Papa, it should be clear to the audience now that she doesn't need outward love to make her feel like she isn't a monster. She needs self-love.

Now, I wanted to point out something that I find interesting. In the scene in SBP where Mike and El joke around and then El gets kind of serious: I believe she was going to let him down easy and she knew he was going to as well.

Hear me out. Watch this scene. Can you image this carrying onto end up being Mike saying "I love you" at the end?

Mike's facial expressions of sadness and remorse, like he's about to apologise instead. El's faces of quiet sadness at the mention of their fight (it's a fight you can't come back from remember) - and how she says 'I missed you' like she's trying to cheer him up before saying something?

He breathes a sigh of relief because she's not mad. Meaning: he can apologise instead of feeling the need to do what she was mad at him for not doing!!! Now that he knows she's not mad at him for the fight, he can now begin to talk to her about the truth and "explain" himself.

The music has quiet, wistful, almost bittersweet notes to it that indicate not something hopeful like an I love you that we 'wanted'.

If this was supposed to be an "I love you" moment, then why did him saying it later seem like such a big deal? Why did Will need to be the one to push him to do it?

And besides, he gets interrupted, leaving the viewers to guess what they were actually going to do, making his love monologue seem different to what he was actually going to say here. And we know that without Will, the monologue would never have happened.

So now, we get to the monologue.

This is what we know already: the conclusion of El's arc with Papa in this season is her not needing him to feel good about herself and feel validated. She lets him go. Then, she meets up with Mike and starts a conversation that seems bittersweet rather than about them loving each other. Mike also suspects that El doesn't need him anymore - but Will, not knowing about El's true feelings or anything, sacrifices his own feelings to save their relationship and says Mike is the heart of the party and El's saviour.

So when Will again tells him this in a crucial moment where it seems like al is lost - Mike reverts what he was going to do in the earlier quieter scene and instead tells her what he believes he should.

And this is her reaction:

Yeah. I have another post on here about how this moment isn't supposed to read as satisfying or an amazing turning point, but from everything in El's story this season, Mike telling her that he loves her just......doesn't feel like what she needs???

In this scene, she's literally being told by Henry that it is all her fault that he is the way he is, manipulating her into thinking that she is at fault for even the mind flayer and Will's disappearance etc. Then he tells her that he's now going to kill all her friends because they've all already lost, so he makes her "watch" as he kills Max.

The whole time as El's listening to Mike talking, she has her eyes closed, she looks extremely afraid still, and nothing is happening. The vines are still tightening around her throat for like 3 minutes of this monologue - We have learned from her arc this season that she is trying to realise that she is not a monster by herself. She doesn't need Papa to think she is useful, she doesn't need Mike to love her to love herself.

Which is why the love monologue doesn't work until El looks at Max and is reminded to Fight.

Compare the pic of El above this one to this pic of El. They have practically the same expression except her eyes are open. The first pic is from the beginning of the monologue and this one is from the end. El's emotions never fucking changed until she looked over at Max. She was afraid the whole time - and then boom. Not anymore:

She was able to get herself out of the vines because she is reminded to fight and that she is good at fighting - she uses self-confidence to get out. Not Mike's words about her being a Superhero which overexaggerate and idealise her again just like in the love monologue.

This girl:

Is in a completely different place than this girl:

So that's why Mike saying the exact same things about being a superhero does not mean the monologue at face value is a good arc closer for El this season. Well, clearly not for the world, because El "lost" which are Mike's own words he later says at the end of the season.

Hopefully this made sense <3

[calebsdog]

You were born into a ruined world. A ruined world populated with greedy, heartless rats. Caleb hates the slimy men who tortured him and A-01 more than anything else.

But if there was one thing Caleb would give those bastards credit for— it was giving him a chance to meet you. His beautiful angel of death. In the lab, you were nothing more than a tool, another weapon crafted by the government for their own gain. To them, you were a machine.

To Caleb? You were his one and only. He knew that since he was a boy. And that feeling has not changed as he's grown. If anything, his love for his angel of death has only gotten stronger.

Your world was filled with bloodshed. Sent to battlefield after battlefield, spilling the blood of countless men. You deserve happiness more than anyone else on this broken planet. Yet you have suffered more than a weaker being could survive.

"Meimei..." Caleb wanted to be the one to give you the happiness you deserve. He wants his meimei to eat all the yummy food she can stuff into her cheeks, play in amusement parks like a little girl, until she tired herself out and fall asleep in fluffy grass.

"If you start to get scared, just tell me." Caleb would never, ever hurt you. He would sooner tear himself apart limb by limb then be the cause of your fear. He can give you all the pleasure you deserve. But he has to know you wants it.

"It's meant to feel good. You have to keep talking to me. Don't go quiet, okay? I'll take this as slow as you need."

"..." Your head rests on Caleb's shoulder. You nuzzle your face, hiding in the crook of his neck. Your lungs expand and contract together, hearts beating in sync in your chests. You and Caleb were just extensions of each other. A single soul, separated into different bodies.

"I'm not scared of you," you mumble into his throat. Your eyes were calmly shut, leaning your weight against his sturdy body. Being held in his arms like this makes you sleepy.

Caleb has never given you a reason to be afraid of him. If he wants to introduce you to something new, something he says will make you happy, why would you refuse him. Besides, he'll stop the moment you frown. He is more intune with your emotions than you are.

"Thank you." It was the greatest gift you could give him. More than he had ever dared to ask for before. But you're giving it to him freely.

Pressing a kiss to your temple, Caleb guides you to lay on your back with upmost gratitude. Before you can even touch the ground, Caleb engulfs both of your hands in his. You will be cherished. He'll make sure of it.

"I'll take care of you. Like always. All you have to do is be a good girl and relax for me, okay?"

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: one. two. three. four. <five.> six.

The sharp voice, slicing through the quiet night air, made both Y/N and Megan jump. Y/N’s heart, already doing a frantic dance, seemed to skip a beat and then pound even harder. The warmth from Megan’s hand on her arm vanished as Megan quickly pulled back, turning towards the sound.

It was Gabriel. He stood a few feet away, bathed in the dim light spilling from the auditorium doors, his usual charming smile replaced by a tight, unreadable frown. His eyes, usually so full of easy warmth, were now narrowed, fixed on them.

Y/N felt a cold wave wash over her, chilling her from head to toe. The beautiful, fragile bubble she and Megan had built around themselves felt like it might pop at any second.

"Megan?" Gabriel repeated, his voice still low, but with a hint of something sharp beneath it. "I was looking for you. The show's almost over. I thought we were going to grab some food." He didn't even glance at Y/N, as if she were still just part of the shadows.

Megan took a small step away from Y/N, a quick, almost nervous shift. "Oh, hey, Gabriel," she said, her voice a little too bright, a little too quick. "Yeah, I just needed some fresh air. It was really warm there. Y/N just came out too."

Gabriel's gaze finally flickered to Y/N, a dismissive glance that said, Of course, she'd be here. "Right," he said, drawing out the word, his eyes lingering on Megan for a moment longer before turning back to the auditorium.

"Well, come on. Everyone's heading to that new burger place near the campus gate. It'll be fun." He held out a hand to Megan, a familiar, easy gesture that used to make Y/N’s stomach churn with envy. Now, she just watched.

Megan hesitated. Her eyes, filled with that recent deep honesty, met Y/N’s for a split second. In that fleeting moment, Y/N saw a flicker of conflict, a quiet debate. The old Megan, who would have eagerly taken Gabriel's hand, was wrestling with the new Megan, who had just confessed how truly seen she felt with Y/N.

Then, with a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head, Megan spoke. "Actually, Gabriel," she said, her voice gaining a little more strength, "I'm not really feeling burgers tonight. I think... I think I'm just gonna head back to the dorm. I'm a bit tired." She offered him a small, polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Gabriel's perfect smile wavered. "Tired? But you love burgers, Megs! Come on, it'll be a blast. Everyone's going." He tried to sound playful, but there was a hint of annoyance, a slight tightening around his mouth.

"No, really, I'm okay," Megan insisted gently. "You go ahead. Have fun. I'll catch you later." She took another subtle step back, away from his outstretched hand.

Gabriel paused, his eyes narrowing again, looking from Megan to Y/N, then back to Megan. He clearly sensed a shift, even if he didn't understand it. A tiny spark of something unpleasant, like suspicion, flickered in his eyes.

"Alright, if you say so," he said, his tone cooler than before. "See ya around, then. Oh and Y/N, see you at home." He gave Y/N one last cold, hard look that said, I'm watching you, before turning abruptly and walking back towards the buzzing crowd, leaving them alone again.

The silence that fell between Y/N and Megan was thick, different from the comfortable quiet they usually shared. It was heavy with the echo of Gabriel's presence, with the weight of Megan’s choice.

Megan let out a slow breath, as if she'd been holding it in. She turned fully to Y/N, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Whew. That was... awkward." She gave Y/N a small, tired smile. "He really doesn't like it when I don't go along with his plans."

Y/N’s heart felt a dizzying mix of fear and triumph. "You... you didn't go," she whispered, still almost unable to believe it. "You chose not to go with him."

Megan’s smile grew softer, more genuine. "No, I didn't," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "I didn't want to. I wanted to stay here. With you." Her eyes met Y/N’s, and in them, Y/N saw not just the honesty from before, but a deep, comforting warmth, like coming home.

"Besides," Megan continued, a playful glint entering her eyes, "who needs greasy burgers when we could find some delicious tteokbokki and ramen?

Y/N let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, a small, choked laugh escaping her lips. The tension began to melt away, replaced by a bubbling warmth. "You're trying to tempt me with Korean food, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Megan teased, her eyes twinkling. "Is it working, Y/N/N?" She poked Y/N gently in the side, a familiar playful gesture that made Y/N giggle.

"Come on, I saw a new stall on the way here. Something with rice cakes drizzled in what looks like red sauce. You love that stuff, right or are you too cool for a little post-show snack?"

"Too cool? Me?" Y/N scoffed playfully, a wide smile spreading across her face. "Never! You wound me, Megan Skiendiel! I am the patron saint of all delicious food. Lead the way, my friend, before Gabriel realizes we ditched him for carbs."

Megan laughed, a clear, happy sound that filled the night. "See? I knew you'd understand! Much better than having to listen to Gabriel brag about his singing all night, right?" She nudged Y/N lightly. "Let's go. My treat."

And just like that, the heavy shadow of Gabriel lifted. They walked side by side, their shoulders bumping playfully, under the glow of the campus lights. They found the stall and debated which sotteok looked the most delicious, joking about sharing a single serving.

They talked about the funniest parts of the talent show, making fun of bad acts and praising the surprisingly good ones. Megan shared a story about her embarrassing first time trying to cook pan fried dumplings and burning it, which made Y/N laugh so hard her stomach hurt.

Y/N told Megan about a time Gabriel tried to bake a cake for their mom and set off the fire alarm in the dorm.

"He tried to play it off like it was a special effect for a party," Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. "Said it was a 'smoke machine.' Everyone knew he just burnt the brownies."

Megan howled with laughter, leaning against Y/N, her hand instinctively finding Y/N's arm. "That sounds exactly like him! Oh my gosh, that's hilarious. You always have the best stories, Y/N. And you tell them so well."

Megan kept finding reasons to seek Y/N out. She'd show up at Y/N's dorm with a new song she couldn't stop listening to, just wanting Y/N's opinion. She'd send Y/N funny memes she found online, knowing Y/N would actually get the humor, unlike Gabriel who'd just give a polite, confused chuckle.

Slowly, day by day, hour by hour, their world started to shrink, becoming a space where only they truly fit. It was a world built on shared jokes, quiet understanding, and the comforting knowledge that with each other, they could be completely, wonderfully, themselves.

One quiet evening, a week later, they were sitting on the steps of the university’s main building, watching the few remaining students walk by. Megan was leaning her head back against the cool stone pillar, a soft smile on her face as Y/N read aloud from one of Emily Dickinson's poems. Y/N’s voice was soft, a little melodic, perfectly suited for the quiet verses.

Megan sighed softly, eyes still closed. "That's beautiful, Y/N. You read it so... you."

Y/N’s cheeks warmed at the simple compliment. She lowered the book. "What do you think she means by 'Hope' is the 'thing with feathers'?"

Megan opened her eyes, turning her head to look at Y/N, her gaze soft and thoughtful. "I think... It means hope is light, right? And it stays with you, always. Even when things are dark. It just... sings inside you, even if you can't hear the words yet. Like a quiet promise." She looked at Y/N, her eyes holding so much emotion. "Like being with you. That's what it feels like."

Y/N’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The air felt thick with unspoken feelings, the truth of Megan’s words hanging between them like the soft, warm glow of the lampposts. Megan wasn't just talking about poetry anymore. She was talking about them. About Y/N.

Just as Y/N started to open her mouth, a sudden loud burst of laughter echoed from around the corner. Both of them looked up, startled.

"Hey, guys! What are you doing out here, still?" a cheerful voice called out.

It was Gabriel, walking towards them with a group of their friends. He had a wide, easy smile on his face, a soccer ball tucked under his arm. He looked at Megan, his smile widening even more.

"Megan! Perfect! We are headed to my room to eat. Mom said she cooked Chinese food and had it delivered at my place. Want to join us? We can go together.”

Megan looked at Gabriel then back at Y/N. Her eyes, which just moments ago had been full of quiet warmth and deep understanding for Y/N, now held a faint, troubled shadow. Y/N saw a hint of that familiar tiredness she'd seen before, the one Megan wore when she felt drained by Gabriel's energy. Megan's gaze flicked from Gabriel's smiling face, to Y/N, and then to the poetry book still clutched in Y/N’s hand.

"I’ll have to pass, Gabby. I'm feeling a bit tired now, maybe next time?" Megan said, trying her best to sound calm and natural, like this was an easy decision. Her voice was a little too bright, a little too quick, a small sign of the lie forming on her lips. "I promise, I'll make it up to you, okay?" She wasn't a huge fan of lying, but here she was, saying words that didn't feel true, right to Gabriel’s face.

Gabriel's confident smile instantly dropped, his face falling for just a second. But he was good at hiding it. Almost immediately, he put on a fake smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's fine, Megs. Are you going to go and rest now?" He sounded a little too casual, like he was trying to pretend it didn't bother him.

"Yes, I'll get going. See you guys around," Megan replied, already standing up. She gently patted her lap to remove any dust that might have clung to her clothes from the steps. She gave Gabriel's friends a polite wave, then turned her gaze to Y/N.

Her smile softened, became real, and lingered on Y/N’s face for what felt like forever – a silent promise, a quiet goodbye, a deep, knowing look that made Y/N’s heart ache with a bittersweet mix of pain and pure, overwhelming hope. Then, with a soft sigh that only Y/N seemed to hear, Megan finally turned and walked away into the fading light, leaving Y/N trembling on the steps.

Y/N watched her go, a million feelings swirling inside her. Relief, because Megan had chosen her, even if it was just to be "tired." Joy, because that shared look had said so much but also a growing fear of what Gabriel would say.

Gabriel's cheerful facade completely dropped the moment Megan was out of sight. He turned to Y/N, his eyes no longer playful, but hard and dark. His smile was gone, replaced by a cold, challenging stare that made Y/N’s blood run cold. He didn't even bother to lower his voice for the friends who were still there, shifting uncomfortably.

"Y/N?" he said, his voice low and dangerous, each word like a sharp stone thrown at her. "We need to talk. Now." His gaze burned into her, cold and accusing, and Y/N felt a shiver of dread creep up her spine. The easy peace she'd found with Megan had shattered, replaced by the chilling storm of her brother's suspicion.

Gabriel’s face was dark, his eyes colder than Y/N had ever seen them. Before Y/N could even react, he moved. Her own brother grabbed her wrist, his fingers clamping around it so hard she was sure a bruise would bloom there later.

He didn't just grab it, he yanked her, pulling her off the stone staircase so suddenly that she gasped, losing her grip on the precious poetry book. It fluttered to the ground, pages splayed open, ignored. Gabriel didn't let go.

He dragged her towards his dorm, moving with a furious speed, as if he’d been waiting, even looking forward to this moment. The latter took note of the fact that his friends didn't follow them, proving her suspicions right. Y/N didn't have a chance to pick up the book, or even breathe. She was just pulled along, her heart hammering against her ribs, knowing the storm was about to break.

Gabriel slammed the door to his dorm room shut behind them, the loud bang echoing through the small space. He finally let go of Y/N's wrist, shoving her lightly away. Y/N stumbled back, rubbing her aching wrist, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and a sudden, burning anger.

"What was that, Gabriel?!" Y/N demanded, her voice trembling slightly, but rising. "You can't just grab me like that! You hurt me!"

Gabriel scoffed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his chest rising and falling with quick, angry breaths. "Hurt you? Oh, I hurt you?" He turned to face her fully, his eyes blazing. "What about what you're doing? What have you been planning, Y/N? Trying to steal Megan away from me?"

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Y/N felt a hot flush creep up her neck. "What are you talking about? I haven't been planning anything!"

"Don't lie to me!" Gabriel yelled, taking a step closer, his voice booming. "I'm not stupid, Y/N! I see how she looks at you now. How she talks to you. She blew off a fun night with me and all our friends to hang around with you! Why? What have you been whispering in her ear?"

Y/N felt a surge of pure rage, years of hidden pain and resentment bubbling to the surface. "Whispering? I haven't been whispering anything! We just... we just talk, Gabriel! Like normal people!"

"Normal people?" he sneered, scoffing again. "Megan and I are planning to make it official! You're my sister! You're supposed to be on my side, not trying to ruin things for me!" His words were like daggers, aiming straight for her deepest insecurities.

"Ruin things for you?" Y/N's voice cracked, but she pushed on, her own anger now matching his. "Is that all this is about, Gabriel? Your perfect little life? Your perfect little girl? Your perfect image?!" The words tumbled out, faster and faster, fueled by years of silent suffering.

"Because that's all you care about! What people see! What people think! You don't care about anything that's real!"

"What are you even talking about, Y/N?!" he roared, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I care about Megan! I always have!"

"No, you don't!" Y/N shrieked, tears starting to blur her vision, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop now. The dam had broken.

"You care about having her as your trophy! Your pretty, popular girl! You don't listen to her, Gabriel! You don't see her! You just hear what you want to hear! You take credit for every thoughtful thing I've ever done for her because you're too busy being the 'charming' one!"

Gabriel froze, his mouth falling open. "What are you talking about? What credit? What are you even saying?!" He looked genuinely confused, his anger momentarily replaced by shock.

"The chai lattes!" Y/N sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at him, tears streaming down her face now. "The philosophy help! The study guides! The little notes of encouragement before her soccer games! All the things you pretended you did! All the things I did because I actually care about her! Because I see her, Gabriel! I see the real Megan! The one you're too busy playing games to even notice!"

Her voice was raw, choked with emotion, thick with years of unspoken love and heartache. Every word was a confession, a release, and a painful, painful truth. She was shaking, her whole body trembling as she stood there, finally, truly, letting it all out.

Gabriel stared at her, his face pale, his jaw slack. He looked like he'd been hit. For a moment, the room was silent, only the sound of Y/N's ragged breathing filling the air. All his anger seemed to drain away, replaced by a stunned, almost horrified look. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

And then, just as the silence stretched, heavy and tense, the door to Gabriel's dorm room, which he had slammed shut, slowly creaked open again.

A figure stood in the doorway, eyes wide, her face pale, having clearly heard every single word.

"What?" Megan whispered, her voice barely audible, but it cut through the room like a sharp knife, silencing the siblings from their furious, heartbroken fight.

previous part | next part.

a/n: Things are getting dramatic. I had fun writing this and the last part of this au. I actually shed a tear during the writing process of this chapter and the last one. I hope you felt the emotions! Thoughts? Pls? 🥹

[andromeda-pleiades]

Just Trust Me

WORD COUNT: 4,998

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

This was my first story that really gained traction. I'm so grateful to the people who left likes and comments, you all really made this worthwhile, and to the people on AO3 who left kudos and commented as well, love you all. Sadly it is time to say good bye to this story now I hope you guys are happy about the way it ended, if you want to add your two cents it makes my day to read it, if you are not happy about the way it ended let me know in the comments but be nice pls Check my other works on Tumblr and my AO3 page bye bye (。・∀・)ノ

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The road appears through the trees like salvation, a ribbon of cracked asphalt cutting through the wilderness that has held you captive for what feels like hours but must have been days. Your legs give out the moment your feet hit the pavement, and you collapse to your knees, gasping. The sound of your own breathing is foreign—ragged, desperate, animal-like.

Behind you, the forest seems to watch with a thousand eyes. Somewhere in those trees, Soap is nursing the wound you gave him, probably calling in reinforcements, coordinating a search grid. The thought should terrify you, but all you feel is a strange, hollow numbness.

You made it out. You actually made it out.

A semi-truck rumbles to a stop beside you, air brakes hissing. The driver—a weathered man with kind eyes and a trucker's cap—leans out his window.

"You alright there, miss?"

You look up at him, this stranger offering help without asking questions, and something inside you nearly breaks. When was the last time someone showed you simple human kindness without an agenda?

"Car trouble," you manage to croak, though you know you look like you've been through hell. Your clothes are torn, mud caked in your hair, scratches covering your arms like a roadmap of your escape.

He doesn't believe you—you can see it in his eyes—but he doesn't press. "Come on then. Let's get you somewhere safe."

Safe. The word feels foreign on your tongue.

The cab of his truck smells like coffee and cigarettes and honest work. He hands you a thermos without a word, and you drink the bitter liquid gratefully, letting it burn away the taste of fear that's been coating your throat.

"Name's Bill," he says, eyes on the road. "Been driving this route for twenty years. Seen all kinds of folks need a ride."

You don't give him your name. Names can be traced, tracked, used against you. Instead, you curl into the passenger seat and watch the miles roll by, each one taking you further from the nightmare in the woods.

Bill drops you at a truck stop three hours later, pressing a twenty into your palm despite your protests. "Get yourself a hot meal," he says. "And maybe clean up in the restroom. Fresh start and all that."

You want to hug him, this stranger who showed you more genuine care in three hours than Simon did in months. Instead, you just nod and watch his truck disappear into the distance.

The truck stop restroom has harsh fluorescent lighting that makes your reflection look like a ghost. You barely recognize the woman staring back at you—hollow cheeks, wild eyes, a hardness around your mouth that wasn't there before. Your hands shake as you splash cold water on your face, trying to wash away the grime and the memory of Soap's blood on your fingers.

You've hurt someone. Actually hurt another human being. The knowledge sits heavy in your chest, but you can't bring yourself to feel guilty about it. He was hunting you like an animal. You defended yourself.

That's what survivors do, isn't it? They do whatever it takes.

The next three weeks pass in a blur of small towns and cheap motels, libraries and bus stations. You learn to pay in cash, to avoid cameras, to trust your instincts when something feels off. You learn to sleep with one eye open and to always know where the exits are.

But most importantly, you learn.

In library after library, you devour books on psychology, on abuse, on manipulation tactics. You read about gaslighting and love-bombing, about trauma bonds and learned helplessness. Each page feels like a revelation, giving names to things you experienced but couldn't articulate.

You're not crazy. You were never crazy. You were being systematically broken down by someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

The knowledge is both liberating and terrifying. If Simon was that calculated, that methodical, then how far does this go? How deep does the rabbit hole run?

You're in a diner in some forgettable town, nursing your third cup of coffee and trying to make sense of everything you've learned, when Kyle slides into the booth across from you.

Your blood turns to ice.

"Thought I might find you here," he says, and his voice carries that same easy warmth you remember from childhood. But you see through it now, recognize the careful modulation, the practiced concern.

You don't look up from your coffee. "Let me guess. Simon sent you."

Kyle's expression flickers—just for a moment, a crack in the facade—before settling back into concerned friendship. "He's worried about you. We all are."

"We." You finally meet his eyes, these eyes you once trusted above all others. "So you admit it now?"

"Admit what?" But there's something guarded in his voice now.

"That you were working with him. That you've been lying to me since the beginning. Maybe since we were kids."

Kyle sighs, a sound heavy with what might be genuine regret. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" You lean back, studying him with new eyes. Everything looks different now—the way he holds himself, the careful placement of his hands, the micro-expressions he probably doesn't even realize he's making. "You've known me since we were eight years old, Kyle. You were supposed to be my friend."

"I am your friend," he says, and for a moment, his voice wavers with something that might be real emotion. "Everything I did was to protect you."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Even now, even after everything, part of you wants to believe him. This is Kyle—the boy who walked you home from school, who helped you with your math homework, who held you when your dog died.

But that's exactly what makes it so insidious, isn't it? The best manipulations always come wrapped in genuine affection.

"Protect me from what?" you ask.

"From yourself." The words come out sharper than he intended, and you see him immediately try to soften them. "You have no idea what you're doing out here. You're not equipped for this kind of life."

There it is. The condescension that Simon trained you to accept, delivered in Kyle's gentler tones. But you hear it now, recognize it for what it is.

"You sound just like him," you say quietly.

Kyle's jaw tightens, and for just a moment, you see something flash in his eyes—irritation, maybe even anger. "Simon loves you. He made mistakes, yes, but everything he did came from a place of—"

"He had you spy on me." Your voice is getting stronger now, more certain. "He had you manipulate me. He had you pretend to be my friend while you reported back to him about everything I said, everything I did."

"Because I care about you!" Kyle's mask slips completely now, and suddenly you're looking at a stranger. "Because I've watched you make one bad decision after another your entire life. Because without someone looking out for you, you'd be dead in a ditch somewhere."

The cruelty in his words steals your breath. This is Kyle—sweet, protective Kyle from your childhood—talking to you like you're a burden, a problem to be managed.

"How long?" you whisper.

"What?"

"How long have you been reporting on me? Since we were kids? Since high school? Did Simon recruit you, or were you always—"

"It's not like that." But he won't meet your eyes anymore.

"How long, Kyle?"

He's quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible. "Since before you met him."

The world tilts on its axis. "What?"

"Price has been watching you for years. Your family, your connections, your psychological profile. You were... you were perfect for what they needed."

"What they needed for what?"

Kyle looks up at you then, and there's something almost like pity in his eyes. "Simon needed someone to anchor him. Someone to give him a reason to stay human. You were the ideal candidate—isolated, eager to please, with abandonment issues that made you easy to control."

The words hit you like physical blows. Your entire relationship, your entire life, reduced to a psychological profile and a strategic need.

"They sent you to watch me," you say, pieces clicking into place. "To make sure I stayed isolated. To make sure I didn't have any real friends who might interfere."

"I was your friend," Kyle insists. "I am your friend. That was never fake."

"But you still chose him over me."

Kyle opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. Because what can he say? How do you defend the indefensible?

"Get away from me," you whisper, standing on unsteady legs.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, settling back in his seat with renewed determination. "Not until you come to your senses and come home."

But you're already walking away, already pushing through the diner door into the late afternoon sun. Behind you, Kyle calls your name, but you don't turn around. You can't. If you look back, you might see the boy who used to protect you from bullies, and that would break something in you that's only just started to heal.

You walk until you reach another diner on the other side of town, this one smaller and shabbier but blessedly empty except for a tired-looking waitress and a trucker reading a newspaper. You slide into a booth at the back, order coffee you don't want, and try to process what Kyle told you.

They've been watching you for years. Years. Your entire adult life has been a carefully orchestrated performance, with you as the unwitting star.

But even as the horror of it sinks in, there's something else growing alongside it: rage. Pure, clean anger that burns away the last traces of doubt and self-blame.

You're not crazy. You were never the problem. You were targeted, selected, groomed—but you fought back. You survived. And now you're going to make sure no one else goes through what you did.

You're lost in these thoughts when the bell above the diner door chimes. You don't look up immediately, but something makes your skin prickle, some primal recognition that has your head snapping up.

Simon stands in the doorway.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, fight-or-flight responses warring in your chest. He looks exactly the same—tall, broad-shouldered, those dark eyes scanning the room with military precision until they find you. When they do, his entire posture changes, shoulders dropping slightly in what might be relief.

He approaches slowly, but there's nothing gentle about it. It's the careful movement of a predator who doesn't want to spook his prey. He slides into the booth across from you without invitation, without permission, claiming space like he's always done.

"Hello, love," he says, and his voice has that familiar warmth that once made you feel safe. Now it just makes you feel sick.

You don't respond immediately. Your hands are shaking slightly around your coffee mug, and you hate that he can probably see it, probably cataloging it as another data point in his endless assessment of your emotional state.

"You look tired," he continues when you don't answer. "Thin. Are you eating enough?"

The casual concern in his voice—as if you're still his to worry about—makes anger flare in your chest.

"How did you find me?" you ask finally.

He glances pointedly at your wrist, and you follow his gaze to the silver bracelet still clasped there. The one he gave you before his "deployment." The one you should have thrown away weeks ago but couldn't quite bring yourself to remove.

Of course.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for the clasp. Your fingers are trembling more than you'd like, but finally the bracelet slides off your wrist and onto the table between you with a soft clink that sounds impossibly loud in the quiet diner.

"There," you say, pushing it toward him. "Now you can't follow me anymore."

Simon's eyes flick to the bracelet, then back to your face. There's something dangerous in his expression now, a predatory stillness that raises every hair on your arms.

"You think that's the only way I've been keepin' track of you?" he asks, voice deceptively mild.

The words hit like a physical blow. "What do you mean?"

"The libraries," he says simply. "Every town, same pattern. You go straight to the psychology section, check out the same types of books. Abuse recovery, manipulation tactics, trauma bonding." His lips curve into something that isn't quite a smile. "Always were a good student."

Your stomach drops to your feet. He's been watching you. Even when you thought you were safe, learning, growing stronger—he was there. Cataloging. Analyzing. Always one step ahead.

"I know you probably already know that," you say, voice hoarse with the effort of keeping it steady. "That I've been to the libraries. You're probably watching me everywhere."

"Smart girl." The praise feels like poison, delivered with that same patronizing tone he used to use when you figured out something he wanted you to know.

You take a shaky breath, trying to remember what you've learned, trying to apply all those hours of reading to this moment. "This is—you're trying to intimidate me. Make me feel like I have no privacy, no safe spaces. That's psychological control."

The words come out less steady than you'd hoped. You've read about these tactics, spent hours studying them, but sitting across from Simon now, you're not entirely sure you're getting it right. What if you're wrong? What if you've misunderstood everything and you just sound foolish?

Simon leans back, and you can see him assessing your uncertainty like a weakness to exploit. "Is that what you think this is? Some kind of textbook manipulation?"

"Isn't it?" But you don't sound confident anymore, and you hate yourself for it.

"You've got it all wrong." His voice is almost gentle now, which somehow makes it worse. "This isn't some big military operation, some conspiracy with Price pulling strings. There's no master plan, no other women, no grand scheme." He shakes his head, looking almost sad. "It's just me, tryin' to keep the woman I love safe."

The words hit you like a slap. Everything you thought you'd figured out—the files you saw on his laptop, the operation Kyle hinted at, the systematic nature of it all—what if you were wrong about all of it? What if you've been running from shadows, building conspiracies out of coincidences?

"But the files," you whisper. "I saw them. The profiles, the psychological assessments—"

"You saw what you wanted to see," Simon interrupts, and his voice is so reasonable, so patient. "What you needed to see to justify leavin' me." He leans forward, and his eyes are so sincere, so genuinely hurt. "I'm not the monster you've made me out to be."

You feel yourself wavering, that familiar doubt creeping in like poison. This is what he does—what he's always done—makes you question your own reality, your own perceptions. But knowing that doesn't make it less effective.

The worst part is, he looks genuinely wounded. This isn't the cold, calculating operative you've imagined. This is just... Simon. Flawed, damaged Simon who loves you in the only way he knows how.

"You had an app to track me," you say, grasping for solid ground.

"Because you wouldn't answer your phone," he replies immediately. "Because you'd disappear for hours and I'd be terrified somethin' had happened to you. Do you know what it's like, lovin' someone who won't let you protect them?"

"You controlled everything—the house, the car, the money—"

"I took care of everything." His voice rises slightly, and you see a flash of the temper he usually keeps so carefully controlled. "Because you needed me to. Because you were fallin' apart and too proud to admit it."

"I wasn't falling apart!"

"Weren't you?" He's fully focused on you now, intense and overwhelming in that way that used to make you feel like the most important person in the world. "When's the last time you slept through the night? When's the last time you ate a full meal without lookin' over your shoulder? You're a mess."

The worst part is, he's not wrong. You are a mess. Exhausted, paranoid, jumping at shadows. Your clothes hang loose on your frame, and you can't remember the last time you felt truly safe. Maybe you have been seeing things that aren't there. Maybe you have been building conspiracies out of coincidences.

"Come home with me," he says, and his voice has that gentle quality that used to soothe your nightmares. "We can talk about this properly. We can work through it. I can change."

For a moment—just a moment—you almost consider it. The thought of being safe, of not having to run anymore, of sleeping in a real bed and eating regular meals is so tempting it makes your chest ache. You're so tired of being afraid, so tired of being alone.

But then you remember the app. You remember the bracelet tracker. You remember the way he answered for you, spoke for you, made decisions for you without ever asking what you wanted.

"You're doing it again," you say quietly.

"What?"

"Making me doubt myself. Making me think I'm crazy for wanting to make my own choices." Your voice is getting stronger now, more certain. "This is what you do—you make me question my own reality until I don't trust my own perceptions."

"What perceptions?" His mask is slipping now, frustration bleeding through the careful control. "You call this a choice? Livin' like a fugitive? Sleepin' in your car? Eatin' one meal a day because you're too paranoid to stay in one place long enough for a proper sit-down dinner?"

"Yes," you say, and your voice is stronger now than it's been in months. "Because they're my choices to make. My mistakes to learn from. My life to live."

Something in Simon's expression shifts. The careful control he's maintained throughout this conversation starts to crack, and you see something raw and desperate underneath.

"Your choices," he repeats, and there's an edge to his voice now that makes your skin crawl. "Your choices nearly got you killed in that forest. Your choices have you lookin' like a skeleton. Your choices—"

"Are mine!" The words burst out of you, louder than you intended. The few other patrons in the diner turn to look, but you don't care anymore. "I don't need you to make them for me! I don't need you to protect me from myself!"

"Yes, you do!" He's shouting now, leaning across the table, and suddenly he's not boyfriend-Simon anymore. He's Lieutenant Riley, Task Force 141, a man accustomed to command and unquestioning obedience. "You've never been able to handle pressure, never been able to make hard decisions without fallin' apart! You panic, you freeze up, you make everything worse!"

Other patrons are definitely staring now, some looking concerned, others annoyed by the disturbance. But Simon doesn't seem to care anymore. His composure is unraveling in real time, and you're getting a glimpse of what he's really like when his control is threatened.

"Look at yourself," he continues, voice harsh with frustration. "Look what your choices have done to you. You're barely functioning. You need me."

"No," you say, and the word comes out steadier than you feel. "I needed to learn how to function without you. And I'm learning."

"This isn't functinin'!" He gestures at you, at your hollow cheeks and tired eyes. "This is survivin', barely. This is—"

"This is my choice," you interrupt. "Even if it's the wrong choice, it's mine to make."

And that's when you see it—the exact moment something breaks in Simon completely.

His face crumbles, but not in the way of someone who knows how to be vulnerable. It's angry and desperate and confused all at once, like a child throwing a tantrum because someone took away his favorite toy. He's never learned how to process these emotions, never learned what to do when control fails completely.

"No," he says, and his voice cracks. "No, you don't get to—you can't just—" He's struggling for words, his hands clenching and unclenching on the table. "I did everything for you! Everything!"

"You did everything to me," you correct quietly.

"That's not—" He stands abruptly, the booth seat scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. "You're wrong. You're wrong about all of it."

But even as he denies it, you can see the truth in his eyes. The careful facade is gone, stripped away by desperation and rage, and underneath is exactly what you suspected—a man who sees you as a possession, a problem to be solved, a variable to be controlled.

"I know you still love me," he says suddenly, desperately, playing his last card. "I can see it in your eyes. You can't just turn that off."

And the terrible thing is, he's right. Even now, even with everything you know, part of you still loves him. The part that remembers his gentle hands and protective arms, the way he made you feel cherished and special. Love doesn't die easily, even when it should.

Tears start sliding down your cheeks—when did you start crying? You don't even realize you're doing it until Simon's expression changes, becomes almost confused.

"You're cryin'," he says, as if this means something, as if tears are proof of surrender.

"So?" You wipe your face with the back of your hand, but the tears keep coming. "I'm allowed to be sad about this. I'm allowed to grieve what I thought we had."

"If you're sad, then why—" He stops, stares at you like he's never seen you before. This woman who can cry and stand firm at the same time, who can love him and leave him in the same breath. It doesn't compute with his understanding of how you work, how you're supposed to respond.

"Because love isn't enough," you say through the tears. "Not when it feels like drowning. Not when it means losing myself completely."

The words seem to hit him like physical blows. His face cycles through emotions too quickly to track—denial, anger, desperation, something that might be genuine grief.

"I never asked you to lose yourself," he says, but his voice lacks conviction.

"You didn't have to ask. You just... took. Little pieces at a time until there was nothing left of me that wasn't shaped by what you wanted me to be."

Simon's hand moves to his jacket, and your body goes cold as you see the outline of something concealed there. A weapon. Of course he's armed—he's always armed. But this is the first time he's ever let you see it, the first time the implicit threat has become explicit.

"Even if you're right," you say, meeting his eyes despite the fear clawing at your throat, "even if I am making the wrong choice—I still get to make it."

The moment stretches between you, taut as a wire. Simon's hand hovers over whatever he's carrying, and you can see the war happening in his expression—love and fury and desperation all battling for control.

But then, slowly, his hand falls to his side.

"You have no idea what you're doin'," he says, and his voice is broken now, smaller than you've ever heard it. "No idea what's waitin' for you out there."

"I know." You stand up, leaving money on the table with hands that only shake a little. "But I'd rather face the unknown than live in a beautiful cage."

You walk toward the door, your legs unsteady but your steps determined. Behind you, you hear Simon's voice, smaller and more desperate than you've ever heard it:

"Please."

The word stops you at the door, not because it changes anything, but because it's the first time he's ever asked instead of demanded. You pause, not turning around.

"I hope you find peace, Simon," you say without looking back. "Real peace. Not the kind that comes from controlling other people."

The bell chimes as you step into the afternoon sunlight. The air is crisp with autumn, and you breathe it in deeply, filling your lungs with freedom. Your chest is tight with grief and fear and something that might be hope.

You walk two blocks before you stop at a payphone outside an old gas station. Your hands shake as you dig change from your pocket. You've been carrying her number in your head for weeks now, afraid to call, afraid that Simon's control had extended even to this.

The phone rings three times before a familiar voice answers.

"Hello?"

"Sarah?" Your voice cracks around her name, three weeks of isolation and fear breaking open at the sound of her voice.

Silence. Then: "Oh my God. Oh my God, is that really you?"

You close your eyes, leaning against the phone booth for support. "Yeah. It's me."

"Where are you? Are you okay? I've been so worried—I tried calling but your number was disconnected, and when I came by the house, Simon said you were traveling for work and couldn't be reached, but something felt wrong about the way he said it, and I've been trying to find you for weeks—"

"Sarah." You interrupt her gently, smiling through your tears at the familiar sound of her rambling when she's upset. "Can I... can I come see you?"

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is thick with tears. "Of course. Of course you can. I'm still in the same apartment. Do you remember how to get here?"

You do remember. Sarah's little apartment across town, with its mismatched furniture and plants in every window. The place that always smelled like coffee and vanilla candles, where you used to go when you needed to feel human again.

"I'll find it," you say. "I might... I might need somewhere to stay for a while. If that's okay."

"It's more than okay," she says immediately. "It's perfect. I'll make up the couch, and we can order pizza, and you can tell me everything when you're ready. Or not tell me. Whatever you need."

The unconditional acceptance in her voice nearly breaks you. When was the last time someone offered you something without expecting anything in return?

"I'll be there soon," you promise.

"I'll be right here waiting," she says. "I'll leave the porch light on."

You hang up and stand there for a moment, listening to the ordinary sounds of the world around you. Cars passing. A dog barking somewhere. The hum of the gas station's neon sign.

Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

You start walking, and for the first time in weeks, you're not running from something. You're walking toward something. Toward someone who knew you before Simon, who will help you remember who you were before all of this happened.

The walk to Sarah's apartment takes forty-seven minutes. You count every step, partly because counting helps keep the panic at bay, and partly because you want to remember this—the feeling of choosing your own direction, of walking toward safety instead of running from danger.

Sarah's building comes into view just as the sun is setting, golden light spilling across the brick facade. The porch light is on, just like she promised, and you can see her silhouette in the window, watching for you.

She meets you at the door before you can even knock, pulling you into a hug that smells like home and safety and all the things you forgot you missed. You break down completely then, months of suppressed fear and loneliness pouring out in ugly, gasping sobs.

"It's okay," Sarah whispers, rubbing your back like she used to when you were kids and you'd had another fight with your parents. "You're safe now. You're home."

Home. The word feels foreign and precious at the same time.

Later, much later, you're curled up on Sarah's couch with a cup of tea and a blanket that smells like fabric softener instead of fear. You've told her everything—or at least, everything you can bear to say out loud. She listened without judgment, without trying to fix anything, just holding space for your pain.

"I'm proud of you," she says now, and the words hit you like a surprise. "For leaving. For surviving. For fighting back when you had to."

"I hurt someone," you say quietly. "That man in the forest. I cut his face."

"Good," Sarah says fiercely. "He was hunting you like an animal. You defended yourself."

The validation feels like a gift. For weeks, you've been carrying the weight of that violence, wondering if it made you as bad as them. But Sarah's acceptance helps you see it for what it was—survival.

"What happens now?" you ask.

Sarah considers this. "Now you heal. Now you figure out who you are when you're not afraid. Now you live."

You nod, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. The road ahead is still uncertain, full of challenges you can't predict and dangers you don't know how to face yet. But they're yours to face. And maybe, just maybe, you won't have to face them alone.

Outside, the world continues its ancient rhythm. Cars pass by. A siren wails in the distance. Somewhere, Simon is probably still sitting in that diner, staring at the silver bracelet you left behind, trying to understand how his perfectly controlled situation slipped through his fingers.

But that's his problem now, not yours.

You close your eyes and listen to the ordinary sounds of safety—Sarah moving around in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of a television from the apartment upstairs. Normal sounds. Human sounds.

Maybe you shouldn't have dated Simon.

All banners by @cafekitsune

[denial-permanente]

Hello Mrs Edge and Tom. I don't have an account here so I'm using my husband's. I am the "ebony goddess wife" of KC. You posted his message here a few weeks ago.

I want to echo what he said about your blog being so helpful to me (to both of us really). When he showed me this chastity stuff I was turned off by just about everything I saw and I really did not want to think about my husband as a sissy or abused or anything like that. I have read a lot of your answers to questions and I love how you have made chastity about your husband's devotion and not just some kinky sex thing. That is where I am hoping to bring our marriage. Also I am guessing it must be Tom who picks out the pictures but it really has been nice to see images of regular looking black women (and Asian, Indian, etc) and not images that look like cartoons. They help me feel more comfortable about seeing myself the way my husband sees me.

I did want to comment about the crazy changes that have been happening to me for the past few years. I go from feeling cold to getting hot flashes that make me want to tear off my clothes and not in a good way. And I don't "feel like myself" anymore. I want to be intimate with my husband but sometimes I can't even stand the thought of having sex.

I go from feeling guilty for keeping him locked to thinking that if I feel this bad then maybe he should too! lol I've read the questions from other women in "no penetration" marriages. I had no idea that this was a thing until recently but now I understand why. The few times I have tried are just uncomfortable and don't really do anything for me for some reason.

Sometimes when I feel like an orgasm would make me feel better I do make him worship my pussy. It also helps to keep him interested which helps make me feel less guilty about leaving him locked up all the time. I also remind him that he asked for this but I have to admit that he rarely complains.

I am happy to see that you still get pleasure from PIV and you still allow your husband to get pleasure from intercourse although I'm not sure how much pleasure he gets if he has to wear a strap on lol. But I am seriously wondering if I will ever feel like having sex again - I mean intercourse - with my husband. If you have any advice on getting through this I think it would be helpful to a lot of us! lol

Thank you for following up on your husband's post. I totally understand what you mean by you "don't feel like yourself." My change came a bit earlier than most, and it was several years of hot flashes, night sweats, cold spells, and crazy appetite swings. Nothing felt right, and I started gaining weight. My doctor says that my metabolism slowed way down, I was tired, and the last thing I wanted was my husband bothering me for intimate time. When you are not comfortable in your own skin it's just so hard to relax and enjoy intimacy.

It really did take several years for me to get past the perimenopause and have things start settling down. Yes, my husband was locked up for most of it, not that he really needed to be because sex just was not on the table (or anywhere else 😆) anyway. I don't want to say that he was "locked and forgotten" but honestly he might as well have been. A few times I did offer that he just unlock the cage and take it off, more out of sympathy or pity or something. To his credit he remained caged on his own.

When I finally started feeling better, we did get back to intercourse and foxing. Fortunately I did not get the vaginal pain that so many women get after menopause. However, things were definitely different. My lubrication was very thin, and I would get sore more easily. We went through different lubes (and now we us organic coconut butter from Trader Joes lol). Oh, and I'm a lot more prone to UTIs. I used to think it was the vixskin, but boiling and disinfecting didn't help. My gyno told me that it was a common condition, and she gave me some antibiotics which I take a dose of whenever we have sex.

Now, if you are not enjoying intercourse and your gyno can't make any suggestions, it's okay. You already keep your husband locked, so he has already learned... or is learning... how to manage his own libido and how to turn his energy into pleasing you instead of worrying about his own orgasm. This is why I tell women who message me that they do not need to feel guilty about this change in your sex life. He asked for this... to be locked and for you to take charge. This is one of those things that happen in life that you have no control over, so all you can do is control how you deal with the situation.

I am learning that there are more "no penetration" marriages than I ever would have guessed, and while a lot of them are done out of some kind of kinky game, some of them, like yours are more because Mother Nature was not kind. If this is the way you are leaning, please remember that your husband wants all the best for you. You can still reward him with your hands or by letting him rub himself on you (he must have a favorite place lol), and then lock him back up. Or you can use a vibrator to help take the pressure off of him. If you have read some of the other women's stories that have written in, some men find the idea of being denied penetration to be a turn on.

Finally, please keep an open mind. You may come out of this once again being able to enjoy intercourse, at least, when you start feeling somewhat normal... or rather, when all these things that are happening start settling down. And there are a lot of resources and articles for you to check online. You may not feel better about it but at least you'll know that you are not alone. Best of luck hon and let me know how you're doing.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Riddle Rosehearts - Apprentice Chef Vignette

"Master Chef"

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Riddle Version ～Let’s Make Cabbage Rolls 1～

Riddle: Peel off the outer leaves of the cabbage and cut off the stems… Alright, I've finished the recipe up to this point.

Riddle: Next is parboiling. Once that is completed, I take the cabbage leaves and roll the meat up inside.

Riddle: There is nothing on the recipe stating what size leaf to use…

Riddle: Should I cut them into handkerchief-sized square with scissors?

Riddle: No, wait. If I were to take into account the different thickness of the leaves, it may be more prudent for uniformity to align them by their weight in grams...

Ghost Chef: Riddle-kun, what's the matter?

Riddle: Chef. Perfect timing, there is something I hope you could help me with.

Riddle: Should the cabbage leaves be of uniform shape and weight?

Ghost Chef: There's no need to align them perfectly. You can adjust when you're rolling them.

Riddle: I see. Then, I shall leave the cabbage leaves as is. May I ask another question?

Ghost Chef: Of course! What is it?

Riddle: I would like to know the volume of water necessary to parboil. This also is not specified in the recipe.

Ghost Chef: You just want enough to cover the cabbage leaves. There's no need to measure it out too precisely.

Ghost Chef: Now, go ahead and start the next step in the process while waiting for the pot to boil!

Riddle: Yes, sir.

Ghost Chef: Now then, time to make the meat filling. First, we'll mince some onions!

Riddle: Mince the onions… If I recall, that should result in 1-2 millimeter squares. Alright, I'll measure the size with a ruler…

Ghost Chef: STOOOOOOP!

Riddle: ? What is it, Chef?

Ghost Chef: It'll be OK just as long as they're fairly small in size. You don't need a ruler. Besides, they'll change shape as it cooks, anyway.

Riddle: I-Is that right? But the sizes should be as uniform as possible…

Ghost Chef: You were measuring everything down to the milliliter. Riddle-kun, you're a very cautious fellow, aren't you～?

Ghost Chef: By the way, why did you decide to take this Master Chef course?

Riddle: I believed that, as a Housewarden, I should be the best at not only academics, but also cooking.

Riddle: Also…

Riddle: In order to become more independent… I thought it would be best to start gaining experience in earning a paycheck.

Ghost Chef: Mhmm. Looking to the future is always a good motive!

Ghost Chef: Then Silver-kun, what about you?

Silver: Why did I sign up for Master Chef? Riddle invited me.

Silver: "Cooking requires concentration. This could be good practice to help you keep from dozing off."

Silver: …Is what he said, and so far, it seems he was spot on. Moreover, I had always been considering improving my cooking skills.

Ghost Chef: But it looked like you have some experience cooking, yes? You didn't seem to have any issues using the cooking equipment.

Silver: I do not know if I can state to have experience.

Silver: I do very basic cooking; simply cook with salt and pepper… That is why I would like to increase my repertoire.

Silver: I would like to provide more delicious meals to my father in return for him raising me.

Silver: In addition, similar to Riddle, I also was drawn to the premise of the paycheck.

Silver: If I can start saving up money, I would be less of a burden on my father in the future.

Ghost Chef: Sniffle… Silver-kun, you are such a devoted child!

Riddle: …Uuuu…

Silver: Hm? What is it, Riddle?

Riddle: Krk… Weeh!! I-I can't stop crying…

Ghost Chef: Ah! Riddle-kun… Did Silver-kun's story just now move you to tears!?

Ghost Chef: Yes, yes, I understand! I completely understand! I also could feel the tears start to well up…

Riddle: N-No, sir. That isn't it! Yes, it was a touching story, but that isn't the reason for these tears…

Riddle: The…

Silver/Ghost Chef: The?

Riddle: The onions are hurting my eyes～～～!!!

Ghost Chef: Wait, that's why you were crying!? That was so misleading!!

Silver: I've had the same thing happen to me before. Are you alright, Riddle?

Riddle: I-I'm not alright! What can I do to stop this from happening!?

Silver: Ah, wait, Riddle. You shouldn’t rub your eyes…

Riddle: Wah! It got even worse… I-It stings～～～～!!!

Ghost Chef: Oh, Riddle-kun! Your meat filling is looking good.

Ghost Chef: Er, I was worried when you started crying earlier, but it looks like you've made it to this point with no other issues.

Ghost Chef: Okay! Time for the next step where we roll the meat into the cabbage leaves.

Riddle: Ah, no, I haven't finished adjusting the sizes of the four meat portions yet! I just need to adjust them a little more…

Ghost Chef: It'll be fine! Once you wrap them in the cabbage, you won't even notice it.

Ghost Chef: Besides, the longer you take, the less fresh your ingredients will be.

Riddle: Hmm. It does rub me the wrong way, but… I understand. I shall do as you say, Chef.

Riddle: Now I wrap the boiled cabbage around the meat filling. The recipe said to "wrap it tightly," so…

[rip]

Riddle: Aaah! I pulled it a little too much and the cabbage ripped!

Ghost Chef: Oh dear, now the filling will spill out from the seam.

Ghost Chef: Here you go, try again with another cabbage leaf.

Riddle: Urgh…! I'll definitely wrap it up well this next time!

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Riddle Version ～Let’s Make Cabbage Rolls 2～

Riddle: The next step says… "Cook the cabbage rolls for 20 minutes"

Riddle: I'll place the cabbage rolls in the pan, add water, consommé, salt, and pepper, then turn the heat on…

Riddle: Alright, done.

Ghost Chef: As long as you remember to skim off the excess oil from time to time, this shouldn't be too difficult a step.

Ghost Chef: Now then, Riddle-kun. While we watch the pan, how about we discuss your day?

Ghost Chef: How was taking the Master Chef course?

Riddle: Let me think… Compared to how I saw Silver cooking beside me, I could tell that I still have much to learn.

Riddle: In addition, despite having perfectly memorized the recipe, there were still some difficulties when I attempted to put the process into action.

Ghost Chef: Ah, yes, there's definitely minute details or measurements that tend to be left out of the instructions, that's true～

Riddle: Right. That drove home even harder the realization that proper understanding only comes through experience.

Silver: I suppose that means that even someone who excels in his studies, like you, still requires extensive training in order to complete the Master Chef course.

Riddle: That's right. There are still many things out there that I do not have the know-how, or have never done, in addition to cooking.

Riddle: Today was a good opportunity to come to that realization.

Ghost Chef: Aaah, I never grow tired of seeing young ones like you strive to improve yourselves!

Ghost Chef: Riddle-kun, I will be looking forward to seeing you continue growing!

Ghost Chef: Now, your cabbage rolls should be nearing completion. We should bring them out to the judge to try.

Riddle: Yes, sir!

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

Riddle: Alright, time for me to bring my finished cabbage rolls to the judge's table.

Riddle: The assigned judge to taste my dish is…

Riddle: Wait, Malleus-senpai!?

Malleus: Ah, Rosehearts. I see, you are cooking today.

Riddle: Y-Yes.

Riddle: I present the cabbage rolls that I made. Please give me your honest critique.

Malleus: …Well, well. These cabbage rolls seem to differ in size by quite a bit.

Malleus: You could imagine they are parent and child sized rolls, from the way they look side-by-side.

Riddle: Urgh… That's… completely true…

Malleus: Well then, I shall give them a taste.

[bite, chew, chew…]

Riddle: (I measured the ingredients out just as the recipe stated. Looks aside, I cannot imagine that there is any errors with the flavor…)

Riddle: …How fares it?

Malleus: It is not inedible. However…

Malleus: This dish was made by someone, namely you, who constantly achieves the highest marks of all sophomores.

Malleus: I must admit, I was ecstatic to see what sort of fantastic creation would be served…

Malleus: Yet both the flavor and plating are mediocre. Perhaps my expectations were a tad too high.

Riddle: …!

Riddle: …Thank you for your honest feedback.

Riddle: …......

Ghost Chef: Now, now! You did great for your first Master Chef!

Ghost Chef: Riddle-kun, if you want to get better, I'll be happy to teach you anytime.

Ghost Chef: Please, come try this course again sometime!

Riddle: …Yes, Chef. Thank you for coaching me today.

Riddle: …It seems I still have much to learn before I can hold my head high as a chef.

Riddle: However, I can't just quit here simply because I've hit a roadblock.

Riddle: One day I, Riddle Rosehearts, will also be the best chef in this academy!

Requested by Anonymous.

[makingspiritualityreal]

https://www.tumblr.com/makingspiritualityreal/787266218433380352/hi-i-read-your-post-on-difficult-jyestha

In terms of Jyestha benefiting from being ruthless and not giving handouts like you said, would that be why is it Uttara Phalguni’s worst enemy since it has the opposite mentality of being generous without bias?

I already discussed this before. Uttara Phalguni is much more calculated than you would think with their generosity, as Solar abundance is something they’re learning. But the focus in Uttara Phalguni is on gains from partnerships, even if they’re tactical alliances (like an arranged marriage). Jyeshta is solitary, that’s why it’s an exaltation Nakshatra of Ketu, Graha of spiritual liberation through isolation, because to stay on top one has to discover you can ultimately trust no one. That’s why you don’t want the Moon in Jyeshta, because that makes for a person that chooses paranoia over connection, they don’t understand genuine benevolence and think everyone is out to get them.

I actually have personal experience with a story, that shows well how accurate Nakshatras are in real life. In Vedic tales, Indra, the deity ruler of Jyeshta, is the powerful king of the gods. One day he is visited by Brihaspati, the deity of Pushya, the supreme Guru to both the Vedas and Asuras, because Pushya is the ultimate storehouse of both Jupiterian and Venusian wisdom. Indra offends Brihaspati, thinking himself superior to him in his ego, greed and jealousy of Brihaspati being a personal advisor to Surya. Brihaspati simply leaves, and upon his departure, Indra starts facing endless obstacles, wars are being waged against him and he needs to work very hard to overcome general misery in his life. It is only then, that he realizes, that you don’t always have to curse someone to make their life painful, you can simply remove their blessings and protection, and problems will naturally follow. As a Pushya native, I’ve had an identical story with a Jyeshta parent, who ended up having an extremely difficult life for his dismissive treatment of me.

The difference here is that while a Jyeshta native only understands competition, Uttara Phalguni (ruled by a Solar deity) would never pass up an opportunity for a good partnership simply out of cunning, just like a good king doesn’t reject powerful allies, for they enrich his kingdom and his own power. Of course, there is a time and place for everything. Jyeshta is fantastic for overcoming enemies. If I had to employ a war general, I’d pick Jyeshta. But generally, for matters of Uttara Phalguni, Jyeshta attitude is not favorable, just like you may need a kitchen and a bathroom in the same house, but you don’t put the toilet next to the stovetop.

[damnitiloveyou]

I loved that episode! Lovely bounceback from the plotty one we had yesterday.

Not going to lie I'm very nervous about what the prison backstory is going to be. The 'please no' from Robert was deeply concerning. And while I still don't believe they will actually go that direction I do have trust issues with this show. They like to weave into that story angle a lot. Please, please don't. Repeated beatings, even some that maybe put Robert in the hospital or near death a few times would be plenty traumatic enough. There's no need to go the other way this time. Please.

I detest John. Seriously fuck al the way off. That gross display in the Hyde today deserved a punch. God I hope Robert gets to hit him for real before this is all over. Not involving Aaron in the parts of the story that involve John though is still a really bizarre choice. Not getting his reaction to the events of yesterday is flat out strange. I get not wanting him fully involved in the Robert/John stuff yet but his reaction to things is actually quite necessary. We're going to have to start seeing Aaron's POV on things.

I really liked the Robert and Mack chat. And Matty being involved was a nice touch. I want no part of any Robert and Mack hookup talk though for many reasons. I don't want Robert getting in between his marriage for starts. He has enough stacked against him without making him that guy in the village again. He can be Aaron's bit on the side, but only Aaron's. And I like the idea of this version of Robert surprising people and having them come around to him because they see who he is now is not who he was in 2015. And Robert needs an actual friend. Not one he wants to sleep with. Not one he wants to scheme on. Not one he needs on side in order to gain something. He deserves an actual friend. He's never really had that. An honest to god friend that he can confide in, laugh with and feel some kind of normalcy with. He's been deprived of any kind of connection for years, and yes he has Vic, but Robert isn't going to tell Vic a lot of things for obvious reasons. I think the prison backstory is going to be really awful, and he's clearly not okay, let him know he has someone on his side who doesn't want anything from him, but just wants to help make sure he's okay. He deserves an honest platonic connection with someone.

I am loving all the Sugdenland and farmer talk. I really hope they're going somewhere with that. Let him have that land, and build him a home of his own. That's another thing he's never had. A place that no one can kick him out of when he screws up. A place he will always be able to call his home no matter what. Obviously it would be Aaron's as well at some point but I cannot abide a redo of Robert constantly being kicked out of his home when he makes a mistake, because he will make mistakes, he's Robert. So let his next home actually be his. But I do really kind of get the sense that the show fully understands what they have in this character now and how much they benefit from his presence on this show. All this Sugden talk surrounding his return really does kind of feel like the show is trying to establish him into is birthright place in that village. It was never supposed to be run by Dingles.

I'm just really excited.

[aosawako]

Answer

“Feelings that come back

Are feelings that never left.”

Tobio Kageyama

Tobio Kageyama asked you to be his girlfriend in your 3rd year of middle school. It was the most he’d ever let someone in at the time. At the time, he was completely focused on volleyball and unable to let you completely in.

That didn’t mean you didn’t try. You managed to make him more comfortable with you, but you couldn’t change his mindset.

It was sweet at times, other times not so much. You understood him in a way no one else did. Understood why he never depended on anyone and chose to do it himself instead. Though, his independence in volleyball appeared in your relationship with him. Tobio insisted on not telling you anything, not communicating because he believed he didn’t need to.

He believed he could do it himself, forever and always. It started frustrating you, though you never admitted it. Instead, you tried to lightly encourage him to depend on you. At least a little. But he didn’t.

There was only so much a person could take before it became too much. Kageyama would push you away and then it would repeat. All it took was a bad game, someone else acting up, a slight mistake in his game.

Tobio would try, he really did. Though he couldn’t change because of the people around him. They just kept disappointing him over and over. Which lead to him being frustrated around you, shutting you out in the process.

That led to what happened a year ago. You told him how you felt, and he couldn’t answer you. Tobio just stared at you, he wanted to say something but he didn’t know what.

He wasn’t like you, comforting and good with words. You knew what to say to him, how to ease him even at the worst moments. He wasn’t anything like you, he couldn’t give you anything more than an, “Okay.”

It was nearing the end of the school year, a few months before summer. You had told him you wanted him to feel like he could open up with you. That you understood why he didn’t but it tired you how he wouldn’t attempt to communicate, just shut you out.

“I really do like you , Tobio.” You had sighed softly, preparing yourself. “And I’ll be rooting for you, in every way imaginable. Maybe right now isn’t the time for us, and maybe we’ll have a better chance in the future.”

Tobio Kageyama thought about that moment often. More frequently than he liked to admit. He saw you around at Karasuno, staring as you passed.

He thought about what you meant, a better chance in the future? Was his time up yet, or could he still make it?

Kageyama had changed, his team taught him more than he thought they would. He could depend on them, he wasn’t alone on the court anymore. The team irritated him but it was different this time. More for stupid reasons over anything.

Now, all he was missing was…you. He thought he lost feelings for you, but all he did was gain them back. He had grown, and you weren't there. You didn't see the fact he had changed. Tobio wasn't going to avoid communication with you, nor try not to depend on you.

So did you mean it? Would there be a chance to make it right this time?

Sugawara was the first person he asked. Kôshi supported the idea, only if Tobio was ready to be the person for you. He saw the progress and growth in him over the school year.

Then Kageyama asked Hinata before sending the message. If he really should do it, if you would even respond.

Hinata was excited for his friend, saying that if you said you really did like him, you would love him now. He encouraged him to send the message because even if it did go wrong, it's better to fail knowing you tried rather than fail not knowing if it could've worked.

You were walking home from school, chewing at your gum, headphones blasting. The music was cut off by a message being read.

‘From Tobio: I miss you.’

Then your music started up again, and you let it. Not checking your phone once as you walked, millions of thoughts running in your mind.

As soon as you got home you opened it, you saw exactly what you heard. You pondered for a moment, what to say. You had noticed his changes, they were subtle. But he had grown more from who he was.

He was in practice when you had responded. So as soon as it was over, he checked his phone. Relief filled him when he saw your name, a simple message followed but it was exactly what he needed. You reciprocated, you missed him too.

(Click photo if blurry)

His message surprised you to say the least. He was almost outside? The two of you didn't live necessarily far from each other, however it would take some time to get to your house. Was he already heading there before he sent you that?

That didn’t really matter at the moment. You quickly got yourself ready, whatever that meant. After a few minutes, you grabbed a pair of shoes. Putting them on before stepping out.

It was already dark out, but you could still spot him. He was standing in front of your house near the sidewalk. The door clicked close after you pushed it into place.

Kageyama looked back to see you, taking his hands out of his pockets. Rubbing them on his sides, was he nervous?

You approached him, walking down to the street. You were going to say something first but he beat you to it.

The top of his head was visible when he gave you a short bow, “Thank you for coming.”

“Well, I just came out of my house. I should thank you. You ran all this way didn’t you?”

Tobio stared at you, lips parting. “I did but it was nothing.” His head perked when he heard you laugh at him, he missed that.

“Thank you..Tobio. I can still call you that right?” He nodded. It was still new to him, but it was welcomed. His eyes stayed on you, he hadn’t been able to get a good look at you in a while.

“What I told you, I meant it. I do miss you and want to get back together.” Kageyama stumbled on his last words, but you could still see he was attempting to be better for you. “I promise you’ll be a priority and I’ll do my best to communicate. I won’t let you down.”

You smiled, he was so serious about it. He only really ever said something if he meant it. The silence sat for a moment, “Then..I trust you keep your promise. You’ve never let me down before so there really isn’t a need to say-“

Kageyama didn’t mean to cut you off but he couldn't wait. “Will you be my girlfriend?” He stared at you like you created volleyball itself. His ears were pink, followed by his face dusted with blush.

“Yes, I will.” You didn’t hesitate when you said it. Tobio really liked that, more than he would want to admit. You saw him bolt to the corner of the street, you were about to follow. Then he ran back, gently pushing flowers into your hands.

“I hope you like them, thank you again.” He watched you touch the flowers. His hands shoved back into his pockets, they were so sweaty. He didn't want you to see that.

“Thank you Tobio. That’s so sweet, you really didn't have to. Did you keep them over there in case I said no?” He looked away from you sheepishly.

“Maybe.” He looked back feeling your arms wrap around him. His face was so red, he was happy he didn't have any of his teammates around. Especially now that he was hugging you back, yeah. It was better that they weren't there.

Bonus ౨ৎ

Kageyama laid in bed, just about to fall asleep. His phone flashed back on, making him grab it begrudgingly. It was Sugawara.

Practice does pay off.

[havenoffandoms]

Of Mutants and Men (Geraskier, Gen)

Read it on Ao3

In all his years of being a Witcher on the Path, Geralt always tried to stay out of politics. It’s a lesson that’s been ingrained in him since his youngest years at Kaer Morhen. His teachers, Vesemir more vocally than others perhaps, had been absolutely categorical about the role of witchers in the world. If you know what’s good for you, Vesemir would remind him and his classmates incessantly, you will keep your noses out of the business of kings and the assholes who have something to gain from being involved in politics. It only breeds conflict, Master Rennes would add in a subsequent lesson, not least because fanatics only need one person to sway their way to feel validated in their stupidity. It is not a witcher’s job to play mediator to a bunch of spoilt brats whose temper tantrums have disastrous consequences, Master Varin pointedly underlined any time he had a drink in him (or any time the opportunity presented itself, which was far too often in Varin’s case). Geralt’s teachings have been very clear about taking sides in the conflict of men, elves, or dwarves - don’t fucking do it, no matter what. 

Master Rennes and Master Varin will be turning in their graves right about now, and it goes without saying that Vesemir can never know about Geralt’s adventures in Bremervoort. 

Easier said than done when Jaskier is already working on his newest, best selling ballad. 

“A good rhyme for surf?” Jaskier asks, dragging Geralt back to the present moment. 

“Uh… murph?”

“Oh dear,” comes the unenthusiastic response from a slightly offended bard, “well, we won't make a poet of you yet!”

“I am as good a poet as you are a Witcher.”

That, in turn, pulls a disgruntled guffaw from the other man, exactly the reaction Geralt was betting on. He tries not to smile at how easily Jaskier rises to the bait. He has a reputation to uphold, after all, and there are too many witnesses to break character now. 

“I'll have you know, witcher-” Jaskier points an accusatory quill in Geralt’s face, his elegantly shaped eyebrows furrowed in a discontented frown. “That I did not do too badly with a sword while you were busy pirouetting your way into certain death on that kraken! Which is more than I can say about your so-called rhyming abilities! What even is a ‘murph’?”

“Quiet, Jaskier.” Geralt shoots the other man a pointed look, nodding at the frolicking merfolk in the water. “This is a sacred union, show some respect.”

“Pah! Respect!” Unable to resist the call of romance, Jaskier's eyes do end up drifting back to the scene before them. Even though his features soften at the sight, Geralt picks up the moody wouldn't know respect if it slapped you in the face that falls from Jaskier's lips. Leaning down conspiratorially until his lips are a breaths away from Jaskier's ear, Geralt whispers:

“You make it too easy for me, lark.”

“Far from me the thought to dampen your good mood, but must it be at my expense?” Jaskier complains, though Geralt instantly notes the way the bard’s shoulders relax as he leans into Geralt’s space. Too forgiving, so is Jaskier. Geralt just knows that had Zeleste not fallen victim to Melusina’s clutches, Jaskier would've forgiven the man his faults, too. 

“Exasperation has never looked more dashing on anyone else I know. It is a burden you bear very gracefully.”

“Oh, you flatterer!” Jaskier playfully shoves at Geralt’s shoulder, with too little strength to achieve anything other than ruffling the witcher's uncomfortably tight doublet. “Very well, you win. For now.”

As Sh’eenaz and Agloval disappear into the deeps, the shell-shocked guests slowly rise from their seats to head back to the castle. King Usveldt, disgraced and having lost the respect of most of his subjects, has since retreated into the comfort of his home, where he will no doubt drown the sorrows in expensive wine and lavish feasts. Geralt doesn't envy the man, nor does he pity him. Usveldt got exactly what he deserved. 

“Witcher!” a voice, unfamiliar and ethereal, calls him from the edge of the water. Geralt glances over his shoulder and meets the gaze of the siren King Basim. “Witcher, a moment of your time?”

“What else could they possibly need from you now?” Jaskier folds the piece of parchment he's been scribbling on throughout the ceremony and stuffs it back in the inside pocket of his doublet. “Want me to come with you, dear heart?”

“No need.” Geralt meets Jaskier's gaze, his tone softening now that the crowd has somewhat dispersed. “Go back to Roach, tack him up for me?” 

“Only if you're sure,” Jaskier relents, though the worried crease between his eyebrows doesn't go unnoticed by Geralt. “Shout if you need me, yeah? I won't be far.”

“Off you go, witcherling.”

“You are so calling me that in front of your family next time we're in Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier calls out over his shoulder as he saunters away, his lute firmly strapped to his back. Geralt watches the bard leave, a small smile edged on his lips. Only once Jaskier turns a corner and disappears from view does Geralt make his way to the edge of the water. 

“Your Highnesses,” Geralt greets the couple of sirens in his heavily accented Elder, “it was a beautiful ceremony, that of your daughter and her new husband.”

The King and Queen are kind enough not to remark on Geralt’s clumsy syntax. He's not had much opportunity to practice his Elder recently. 

“We thank you for your words, vatt’ghern. And for your help during the battle,” King Basim adds, his eyes holding Geralt’s gaze easily. “We are indebted to you. You have our gratitude and friendship.”

Geralt nods his head in acknowledgement at the siren king's warm words. 

“King Usveldt compensated me for my part in this. I do not expect payment from you, also,” Geralt is quick to reassure them. 

“Perhaps you don't expect payment, but you sure deserve it.” This time, it's Queen Dahut who speaks on behalf of her husband. “We have no coin to offer, but that doesn't mean we will not compensate you for a job well done. Here.”

The Queen extends her arm, her closed fist hovering over the water expectantly. Geralt takes a few steps forward, until the seawater laps gently at his booted shins. He crouches so he's at eye-level with the Queen and reaches for her hand, stopping shy of touching her. A small vial is dropped into Geralt’s open hand. 

“What is this?” the Witcher asks as he studies the purple liquid sloshing inside the ornate vial. 

“You spoke of how beautiful our daughter's wedding was.” Basim stares pointedly at the vial in Geralt’s hand before locking eyes with him again. “And we have noticed your… attachment to that bard of yours.”

Geralt freezes, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as his gaze drops to the vial in his hands again. He curls his fingers around the glass, careful not to shatter it while also pondering how rude it would be to toss the damned thing back into the ocean whence it came. 

“We don't mean to pry into your relationships,” Queen Dahut assures him, hypocritically so though Geralt is not foolish enough to so blatantly spit on their gift. “But if there is one thing this near-war has taught us it's that love can be a very powerful weapon, to be used for evil as much as for good. What we're giving you is a choice.”

“A choice, eh?” Geralt says, unable to mask the bitterness of his tone. 

“The choice to turn into your lover's form,” Basim clarifies, just in case Geralt is too slow to catch on. 

“Afraid this generous gift might be wasted on the likes of me,” Geralt tells them, already handing back the vial to Dahut. “Jaskier is a human, as am I. A mutated human, but human all the same."

“Yes,” Dahut agrees, though there is an edge to her tone Geralt can't quite place, “and how attached are you to your mutations, Geralt of Rivia ? How often have you laid awake wondering what it would be like to be just human and nothing more?”

Too often for comfort, Geralt doesn't say. Every night on his very first year on the Path, when instead of accolades and praise Geralt’s efforts to rid the Continent of monsters was met with contempt and prejudice. The life of knighthood he'd wished for himself was a far cry from his reality as a mutated monster hunter, so far-fetched that Geralt had to kill that part of himself if he hoped to survive his second year on the Path. Turns out fair maidens aren't so quick to give out favours to scarred, cat-eyed men carrying two swords on their backs and usually covered in some kind of monster guts, or stinking to the high heavens of sewage. Geralt couldn't remember what colour his eyes were before the mutations, but there are times when he wouldn't mind finding out. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened over the vial again. 

“Please accept this gift, with our thanks,” Dahut insists, her eyes knowing. “It is your choice what to do with it.”

Before Geralt has a chance to answer, both Basim and Dahut disappear under the surface, never to be seen again. 

*

“Ah, there you are, dear heart!” The relieved smile stretching across Jaskier's handsome face is like a balm for Geralt’s soul. Not that he'll ever admit to that out loud. “Was wondering where you were.”

“The King and Queen insisted on a reward for my services,” Geralt explains off-handedly, hoping Jaskier won't ask any questions about the vial in Geralt’s pocket, the weight of it burdening him like dragging a boulder on a chain. But expecting Jaskier not to ask questions is like expecting water not to be wet, and Geralt really should've known better than to bring up that stupid conversation at all. 

“Oh, another reward! Is it more coin? Unlikely, seeing as the merfolk don't really deal in our money. Did the Queen give you her necklace? Bet that gem’ll go for a pretty fortune!”

Geralt ignores the questioning, hoping Jaskier will talk himself into a circle as he's known to do, then get distracted by something else equally asonyne to blabber about for the next few hours. Jaskier is the type to talk himself into an early grave. 

“So?” the bard prods once Geralt settles himself in his saddle. 

“So what?”

“Your reward from King Basim and Queen Dahut. What was it?”

Fuck. 

“Their friendship and eternal gratitude,” Geralt supplies, too quickly to be natural and not for the first time does he thank his mutations for his inability to blush under Jaskier's scrutiny. “Come on, Roach.”

“Woah, hey, hold up!” Jaskier steps in front of Roach, who doesn't take kindly to this fop of a man barricading his path, and lets him know as much with an irritated snort. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I'm not,” Geralt lies, badly. 

“You're acting all shifty. I can tell, you know!”

“Not one of your best qualities,” Geralt mutters under his breath as he manoeuvres Roach around Jaskier. 

“I heard that,” the man declares before grabbing a hold of Roach’s reins and only narrowly dodging the offended bite from the gelding. “Geralt. Why are you being so secretive about this? I thought there were no secrets between us.”

And whether it's those words or the fact that Jaskier looks genuinely distraught at the thought of Geralt hiding anything from him, what with his big pleading eyes and his stupidly expressive face, Geralt isn't sure. All he knows is that he finds himself unable to keep up the mystery any longer. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he pulls the vial out of his pocket and tosses it at Jaskier, who almost doesn't catch it before it hits the ground.

“Geralt, what… What is this?”

“My payment. The same potion Sh’eenaz gave Agloval.”

Geralt watches as a series of complicated emotions flashes across Jaskier's face, ranging from surprise to confusion, before finally settling on something carefully neutral that has Geralt’s insides twisting anxiously. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Geralt agrees, at loss for what else to say. Jaskier examines the vial in his hand, his brows furrowed in concentration as he does so. 

“I see. And…” Jaskier pauses, pondering his next words carefully while averting Geralt’s gaze. “Is this something you're considering?”

And that's the big question, isn't it? Geralt doesn't have a fucking clue. Part of him is definitely curious, but another, albeit smaller part of him, resents the idea of having to change who he is, what he is, in order to fit Jaskier's worldview. They've been travelling for over a decade together, not only as travel companions but also as something more, something neither of them has felt the need to define in too many words. This thing between them feels good, better than anything Geralt’s felt before, but it's also fragile and unchartered in a way that throws Geralt off balance. 

“Because if you are,” Jaskier continues when it becomes apparent that Geralt can't find the words to express himself right now, his voice impossibly tender as he meets Geralt’s gaze again, “it is your prerogative, of course. So if you choose to take this, I just need to know that you won't do it for my sake. Or for anyone else's sake other than yours.”

The words take Geralt by surprise, because this is not how he expected to see the conversation going. He realises that he anticipated Jaskier to want him to take this potion, to become more human and less Witcher. Being confronted with the exact opposite scenario is almost more frightening, because now it's up to Geralt to decide what he wants for himself and isn't that a fucking thought? In nearly six decades no one ever really cared what he wanted from his life. It's never been part of the deal. A Witcher doesn't get to choose another path than the one he's been created to walk. Except now, Geralt does have a choice to make and he finds himself unable to think straight.

“For what it's worth,” Jaskier adds, a loving smile now tugging at the corner of his lips as he levels Geralt with a look so full of adoration it makes Geralt feel sick to his stomach. “I like you for who you are, Geralt. Not because you're a Witcher, not because you can do cool pirouettes and slash your way through a monster kraken when you drink one of those potions of yours. I love you because you're funny in a way not many people bother to understand, because you speak to your horse like he's a person, because you won't kill a monster simply because you're hired to do so. You're a principled man who cares deeply even though he doesn't show it. There are so many things I love about you, you being a Witcher doesn't even crack the top twenty. Mutations, no mutations. It's all the same to me. As long as you're happy within yourself, I am happy.”

As Jaskier speaks, Geralt lets out the anxious breath he's been holding since he left King Basim and Queen Dahut. His chest feels lighter and the feelings of nausea ease, giving way to something gentler, something warmer. Geralt manages a lopsided smirk which is met by Jaskier's beaming smile and mischievous wink. 

“Come now, Roach.” Jaskier pats the gelding’s neck affectionately before feeding him a juicy apple, buying his forgiveness with that single gesture. “Let's move on to our next adventure. Cairngorm, here we come!”

As Jaskier leads on, the vial safely tucked in his breast pocket, the world suddenly straightens on its axis.