#I still have an ask in my inbox that I need to draw something for to respond properly > | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugary-strawberry-shortcake · 8 days ago

Text

Reverse Blossom (Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Poison Ivy‘s Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 4

A/N: i‘m back from my trip!! And seeing elephants for the first time was amazing!! Also I want to thank all of you guys for your love and support 🩷. I will answer all of you now. By the way my inbox is open for asks, request, anything!! I have the next 4 chapters of blossom reverse already prepared just need to edit them:) also if you want to be on he taglist the post is here.

I decided to give Y/N green eyes since she is the daughter of Poison Ivy, but if that bothers you try to imagine them as a different eye color. In a few chapter she will be wearing contact lenses.

He remembered the first time he met her.

It had been late. The manor was quiet. Bruce and Alfred had just returned from Gotham’s south ward, where Pamela Isley had finally been subdued—again. But this time, she’d left something behind.

Or rather, someone.

A toddler. Two years old. Big green doe eyes. Wrapped in a pale green cardigan and a layer of silence.

She stood behind Alfred’s leg, clinging to the fabric with both hands. Dirt smudged her face. Vines clung to her shoes like they didn’t want to let go.

He hadn’t known what to say at first.

But then she looked up at him—eyes wide, curious, cautious. He felt his heart soar.

He crouched.

Soft smile. Gentle voice.

“Hey there, Little Flower.”

She blinked, then giggled.

That was it. That was her name. “My Little Flower.”

The one who would follow him for years to come.

⸻

A few weeks after that, everything changed.

Bruce got stricter. Patrols got longer. Dick’s time at the manor became fragmented. Split between being Robin and trying to figure out who he was outside of the mask.

And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, she kept growing.

She started knocking on his door with drawings.

“Dicky, do you wanna see what I made?”

“Can you help me with this book? It’s about flowers and I thought you’d like it.”

“Do you have time for me today?”

And every time, it was—

“Not now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Busy.”

Always busy. Always trying to protect Gotham.

Trying to live up to Bruce.

Trying to survive the weight of the Bat.

And then Jason died.

And the manor stopped feeling like a home.

Dick left. Blüdhaven became his distraction. His escape.

He told himself he was doing it for his own mental health. That Bruce was spiraling and Gotham was suffocating and—

And she was fine.

Alfred was there. Bruce would keep her safe.

He had no idea she’d wait for him to come back everyday.

No idea she started leaving her drawings at his door instead of knocking.

(Y/N)

She’d stopped knocking after the the tenth “maybe next time.”

She’d stopped drawing for him after the 20th.

She told herself it was okay.

Dick was busy. He was Robin. He had villains to fight. Gotham to protect.

She was just the quiet girl in the hallway with too many flowers in her hands.

If he wanted to spend time with her—he would.

That’s what she believed.

Until Tim came.

And Dick was there. Teaching him, praising him, sparring with him in the cave while she sat on the stairs with a book in her lap and a smile she kept forcing to stay in place.

Until Damian came.

And suddenly Dick was everywhere.

Taking him to movies.

Letting him win at arcade games.

Buying him snacks.

Sparring, laughing, teaching.

She’d ask:

“Can I come too?”

“Maybe next time.”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

But there was never a next time.

One night, she and Damian fought. Badly.

She didn’t want to remember what he said. Or how he made her cry.

But what hurt more was when Dick had found them—

And scolded her.

“What did you do to set him off, Little Flower?”

“He’s still adjusting. Try to be patient.”

She had just stood there.

Her hands were scratched. Her lip was bleeding.

Damian hadn’t even apologized.

And Dick hadn’t asked what happened. Didn’t care if she was fine. No one had.

He just assumed.

Because she was always the easy one. The quiet one.

The one who could be told “next time.”

(Dick)

He remembered now.

Her outside the cave door. Watching while he trained Damian.

Sitting crisscross on the hallway floor, pretending to read while her eyes never left him.

Waving at him from the garden window when he pulled out of the driveway.

He remembered saying “I’ll make it up to you.”

And then never did.

Maybe he hadn’t ignored her out of malice.

Maybe it was fear.

She was soft.

Delicate.

Too sweet for the blood-soaked world they all lived in.

He told himself he was protecting her by keeping her out of it.

But now…

Now she was disappearing before his eyes.

He stood alone in her room a while longer.

Just breathing.

The air smelled faintly like soil and old petals. The kind of smell that came from a garden that hadn’t been touched in too long.

He looked at the empty desk.

The clean corners.

The lifeless gray sheets.

His hands curled into fists—then relaxed.

“She’s still the same girl,” he told himself.

Just quieter. Just older. Just waiting for him to show up again.

He could make this right.

He just had to be present now.

He’d take her out this weekend.

To the movies. Or the bookstore—she used to love stories about mythical plants.

He could show her around Blüdhaven, take her for ice cream, walk her through the park.

Anything she wanted.

He’d ask what music she listened to now.

What books she liked.

If she still knew how to braid flower crowns.

He’d be a good brother this time.

The good brother.

Because she was still his Little Flower.

And she hadn’t wilted.

Not really.

Not yet.

He just had to reach her in time.

_____

The cafeteria buzzed with laughter and noise, trays clattering and chairs scraping against tile. Y/N walked in with a calmness that looked effortless—but only because she’d mastered it.

Her hair was pinned back neatly today. A soft cardigan over her uniform hugged her shoulders. Her smile was sweet, polite. The kind that melted teachers and made her friends giggle and call her “an angel.”

It wasn’t real.

But no one here needed to know that.

⸻

She spotted Damian at his usual table across the courtyard—half-shaded, slightly elevated, surrounded by boys who wore smugness like an accessory.

She hadn’t approached him in almost a month.

Not since she came back.

And even now, it twisted something sharp in her chest.

But she needed a cover.

She needed someone to relay the lie.

⸻

“Wayne,” one of his classmates grinned, nudging Damian with a cocky elbow. “Look who it is. Thought your baby sister forgot we existed.”

Damian looked up lazily, already annoyed—until his eyes landed on her.

For half a second, his face flickered.

Surprise.

Then nothing.

Just that familiar sneer curling on his lips.

She stood in front of the table with her hands folded in front of her skirt, like a model student waiting to speak.

Her smile was gentle. Practiced.

Too practiced.

“Hi, Damian,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t answer at first.

His eyes ran over her.

Slow. Quiet. Calculating.

Her tone was too even.

Her smile too polite.

She wasn’t trying to sit. Wasn’t looking at him with adoration like she used to.

He didn’t like it.

She cleared her throat lightly, still smiling.

“I have an after-school activity today. For a group project. I’ll be back by seven or eight, but I’m going with a few friends, so I don’t need Alfred to pick me up.”

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

“That’s it?” he said finally, voice flat.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded sweetly. “Just let Alfred know for me, please?”

There was a pause.

“You’re lying.”

The words were quiet. Not loud enough for the others to hear. Just for her.

Her smile didn’t waver. Although her heart stopped. She has always been a bad liar and Damian had always been too clever.

“Please,” she repeated. “Tell him?”

He stared at her.

She stared back.

And that was when it really hit him.

She wasn’t asking like she used to.

Not with hope. Not with that little-girl eagerness she used to wrap around him like a ribbon.

She was just… managing him.

Like one more problem to solve.

His jaw clenched.

"Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever. I’ll tell him.”

She beamed—too perfect—and turned without another word.

He watched her walk away.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t smile or thank him. Didn’t hesitate.

Just floated back to her group like she had never been at his table at all.

His classmates cracked a few jokes, tossed around stupid theories—“You think she’s got a secret boyfriend?” “Maybe she finally got tired of the prince of darkness”—but Damian barely heard them.

His eyes didn’t leave her.

Not for a second.

She was hiding something.

He didn’t know what.

But it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

There had always been a softness about her that grated on him.

But now that it was gone?

He found himself trying to figure out where it had gone.

And who had taken it.

She left the building last.

Her friends waved at her from the school gates, their usual chorus of laughter and affection echoing behind her.

“See you tomorrow, babe!”

“Text me the homework!”

“Don’t forget your scarf!”

Y/N smiled, waved, nodded.

Every move was practiced.

Perfect.

Painless.

She slipped the scarf higher up her neck once she turned the corner, tucking her hair into the collar and pulling the fabric loosely over her head like a hood. She walked fast. Quiet. Unseen.

By the time she reached the end of the block, her expression was gone.

Fear. Nervousness.

The bus ride took fifty-seven minutes.

She sat near the back, eyes low, hands folded around the burner phone she had bought with the cash Alfred had given her for food to buy for herself on her birthdays. She never did buy herself food.

The phone’s battery died somewhere around Midtown, but she knew the route by heart already.

She watched the buildings change.

From clean stone and glass to chipped bricks and graffiti-covered fences.

The bus hissed to a stop at the corner of 57th and Arlen.

She got off.

The sidewalk was cracked. A neon sign flickered overhead in a language she didn’t recognize. A man stood outside a liquor store with three missing teeth and a cigarette barely lit.

She kept walking.

The address was scrawled on the inside of her wrist in faded pen.

The building was narrow. Old. Smelled faintly of mildew and paint thinner. But it had three locks on every door and no visible mold, so that already made it better than some others she’d seen online.

She rang the buzzer.

A moment later, an older man—mid-sixties, gray hair slicked back, jacket too big—opened the lobby door with a metal key in hand and a clipboard under his arm.

He stared at her.

“You… uh…” His eyes flicked up and down. Surprised. “You’re the one who scheduled the 4:30 appointment?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, adjusting the scarf and deepening her voice just a little. “I’m Emilia—Emilia Forenzi. I am… exchange student. From Italy.”

The man blinked.

Her accent was soft, light, vaguely musical. A touch of Rome, stolen from too many foreign films.

“You’re Italian?” he asked, skeptical.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I study here. I am almost eighteen. I know I look young, but it’s normal. In Italy, we… age well.”

“…Right.”

She smiled, sweet and slightly nervous. “May I see the apartment, please?”

He looked down at the clipboard, then back up. Something in her tone—her posture—seemed to relax him. Soften him.

“Fine. Come in. But I usually don’t deal with minors, alright? No funny business.”

“I understand.”

She followed him up three flights of stairs.

The apartment was small.

One room. Tiny kitchen. Cracked tile in the bathroom. Rust along the radiator. A smell of something faintly sweet and rotten in the walls.

But the window opened.

The lock worked.

The shower had water pressure.

It was… doable.

“Like I said,” the landlord muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he handed her a small application form, “this neighborhood’s not too bad if you keep your head down. But it’s still Gotham. You get a pretty girl living alone, some eyes are gonna notice.”

She swallowed. “I can handle.”

He looked at her again. “You sure you’re almost eighteen?”

“Yes,” she said immediately.

“You don’t got ID?”

“In Italy,” she lied. “I forgot to renew it before flight.”

“Uh-huh.” He frowned.

Then handed her a pen.

"You’ll need a signature. From a parent or guardian. Permission form, you understand? Legal reasons.”

She froze.

The air felt suddenly too cold.

“…P-permission?” she repeated.

“Yeah.” He gave her a look. “You’re a minor. No signature, no keys. Especially not in a place like this.”

She stared at the form.

Blank lines. Parent signature. Emergency contact.

All the things she didn’t have.

All the things she couldn’t ask for.

Her hands tightened on the pen.

“…I—I will get it,” she said softly.

The man nodded. “Alright. You get that, bring it back here. I’ll hold the place till the end of the week. But no signature? I can’t help you.”

She nodded again.

But her chest was hollow.

The girl smiled at the man and said her goodbyes. Not missing the worried frown he sends her.

As she walked back down the stairs, scarf tight around her throat and hands curled into fists inside her sleeves, she realized her pulse was shaking.

She had no one to sign for her.

She had no one to ask.

____

Damian Wayne | The Manor |

The main hallway was quiet when Damian walked in, dropping his bag onto the bench near the entrance.

The manor always had a certain weight to it after sunset—an old, cavernous silence that clung to the walls like shadows. But today, something felt off.

More than usual.

⸻

He tugged at his uniform blazer, unbuttoned it, and turned the corner—only to pause at the top of the main staircase.

Someone was standing at the bottom.

Dick.

“…What are you doing here?” Damian asked, tone flat.

His brother was leaning on the bannister like he’d been waiting for someone. His hair was slightly messy, still in his travel jacket, eyes distant and too focused for someone just home from Blüdhaven.

Dick looked up, blinking as if only just realizing Damian had spoken.

“…Hey.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Damian rolled his eyes and descended the stairs. “I live here.”

“Yeah, well… I’m visiting.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “You never just visit. You’re either gone or calling Alfred at 3 a.m. for muscle cream.”

Dick gave a weak smile but didn’t defend himself.

He was still watching the front doors.

Still waiting.

Damian paused halfway down.

“Who are you waiting for?”

“Y/N.”

Damian blinked. “…Why?”

Dick scratched the back of his neck, his smile faltering. “Just… thought I’d talk to her. Spend some time. I stopped by her room earlier. You know, just… realized I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Damian tilted his head slightly. “She’s not here.”

“I can see that.”

“She said she has a school project. After school thing. With her friends.”

Dick frowned. “That so?”

“That’s what she told me,” Damian said coolly, but something in his voice betrayed the fact that he didn’t fully believe it.

And Dick caught it.

“…You sound like you don’t buy it.”

Damian didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked past him toward the kitchen.

Dick turned, following him with a look.

“She used to come home straight after school, right?” he asked. “She’s not the type to hang around malls or… sneak out.”

Damian stopped. His jaw tensed.

“She doesn’t lie,” he said.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “But she did.”

Damian didn’t respond.

⸻

It was 6:56 now.

Dick checked the clock.

Still no sign of her.

And the longer the minutes ticked by, the more wrong it felt.

He didn’t want to be dramatic. Didn’t want to jump into full protective-mode. But something about it nagged at him.

She always came straight home after school.

She always told Alfred where she was.

And now?

“Maybe we should check in,” Dick said quietly.

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

But his eyes darkened.

_____

Her fingers were stiff by the time she reached the manor gates.

The walk from the bus stop had been longer than she remembered—colder too. The wind had picked up along the hillside, numbing her ears and flushing her cheeks, and even though the streets had mostly emptied by that hour, she had kept her scarf high and her head down.

The apartment application was folded tightly in her backpack, zipped into the inner lining where no one could see. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she’d left the landlord’s office. Even now, it beat against her ribs like it didn’t know she was safe yet.

She gripped her key in cold fingers and slipped it into the lock.

The manor door creaked open.

Warm air met her instantly. Familiar. Scented with faint woodsmoke and something rich from the kitchen. Maybe Alfred had made stew.

She exhaled, stepping in—

And froze.

At the top of the stairs, they were waiting.

Dick and Damian.

Both standing.

Both silent.

Damian leaned slightly on the banister, arms crossed. His expression unreadable, sharp eyes fixed on her like they were dissecting the very air she brought in with her.

Dick stood taller, hands in the pockets of his jacket, brows pulled in a worried line. Not angry. Just… tense. Focused.

Like they were both watching for something.

Her heart jumped.

She hadn’t expected to see him.

Dick.

Not yet.

Not this soon.

In the previous timeline, he hadn’t returned from Blüdhaven for months. By the time he had, she would have already faded into the walls. By then, he didn’t notice her until it was too late.

So when she looked up the stairs and saw him standing there beside Damian—older, taller, all soft concern wrapped in blue and black—her breath caught.

And then—

“My Little Flower.”

Her body jolted. Eyes wide.

That name. That name that hadn’t passed his lips in years.

She flinched before she could stop herself.

Dick’s brow creased. “Hey—what’s wrong?”

She shook her head quickly, lips tugging into a reflexive smile. “Nothing. I just didn’t know you were home.”

“I just got in. Wanted to surprise everyone.” His voice dipped softer. “Especially you.”

That made her stomach twist.

He hadn’t said that in years either. Not even before she died. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t even spoken that softly with her in years.

Dick came down a few steps.

Damian followed silently, slower, more calculated in his movements. His arms weren’t crossed anymore. His hands were at his sides, but stiff—ready.

“Where were you?” Dick asked gently, the kind of warmth that would’ve made her melt when she was younger. Or if she was her true fourteen-year-old self.

She swallowed. “I told Damian earlier—group project. We were at a friend’s house. We lost track of time.”

Damian’s eyes sharpened.

He took another step.

“You don’t do group projects,” he said flatly.

She looked at him.

“I do, actually. For history class. Ms. Varela assigned one yesterday.”

“Who?” Dick asked, tilting his head.

“Uh… Maya,” she said. “Her name’s Maya. She lives near Gotham Heights.”

Damian’s stare was unrelenting.

“You didn’t mention that earlier.”

“I forgot,” she said quickly. “I was rushing.”

“Which Maya?” he asked. “Last name.”

YN hesitated.

Too long.

“Rossi,” she said.

Another lie.

Another crack in the glass.

Dick’s smile was still there, but it looked strained now. Forced. He was trying to believe her. He wanted to. His little flower would never lie to him.

But his eyes flicked to Damian for a second—and that moment said more than anything.

They didn’t believe her.

She felt it like heat crawling up her neck.

“I texted you,” Dick said. “We tried to call.”

“I didn’t see,” she replied, pulling her bag closer. “Phone died on the bus.”

“You took a bus?” Damian asked.

“Yeah. It was fine.”

“That area’s not fine,” he said, voice sharper now. “If you were really near Gotham Heights, you shouldn’t be walking around alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“Then tell me where exactly you were. Street. Building number.”

She hesitated again.

The silence was too long.

“I don’t remember the street,” she said. “We just followed Maya from school.”

Damian stepped closer.

He was still a full step below her on the staircase, but somehow he still felt like he was looking down on her. Maybe due their height difference.

“You’re lying,” he said, quiet, razor-sharp.

Her breath caught.

Dick’s hand rested lightly on her slender shoulder. “Hey, let’s not jump on her. Maybe she’s just tired. It’s been a long day.”

But even his voice had changed now. The warmth was still there—but underneath, there was a thread of doubt. Of tension.

They weren’t backing down.

They were watching.

And she knew—if she gave them one more chance to press harder—

They’d start digging.

She smiled again. Soft. Rehearsed.

“I’ll go change. I still have some homework to finish.”

She stepped past them before they could answer. And neither of them moved.

But their eyes never left her.

She shut the door behind her faster than she meant to.

Click.

Locked.

She didn’t usually lock her door.

But everything was too much.

Her pulse was still high. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she set her bag down and crossed to her desk.

The room smelled like earth and blooming flowers. Familiar. Safe.

But wrong now.

Everything was wrong.

⸻

She plugged in her phone, the screen flickering back to life after a few long seconds.

Six missed calls.

Three messages from Dick:

hey, just checking in ☀️ you good?

miss you, little flower 💙

come talk to me when you’re home? 🍯🌼

Her stomach turned.

He hadn’t texted her in years. Not even once during the worst of it.

He used to leave her on read for days, weeks.

And now—he was texting her with emojis?

He was calling her Little Flower again like it hadn’t been buried years ago with every broken promise.

For a moment—just a moment—her heart ached.

Because maybe… maybe this was what she’d wanted back then.

Just a message. Just a moment of attention.

Just a brother who remembered her.

But it was too late.

And it felt wrong.

She didn’t know what was changing the past.

Or why they were suddenly looking at her again.

But it wasn’t for the right reasons.

It wasn’t love. Not really.

It was something else.

Something colder.

Something that made her skin prickle even when they smiled.

She stared at the screen a few seconds longer, then set it facedown.

Her mind was still spiraling.

What if they started tracking her phone?

What if they were already suspicious?

What if they tried to dig?

She stood and moved to her door.

Unlocked it just enough to open it a crack.

Alfred was walking past with a tray, heading toward the dining room.

“Sweetheart?” he asked, pausing when he saw her. “You’re not coming down?”

She gave him a soft, tired smile.

“I still have to finish that group project,” she said.

Alfred hesitated. His eyes searched her face, gentle and a little too knowing.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Shall I bring your dinner up, then?”

"Please.”

He gave her a little nod.

And left.

⸻

The dining room was set.

Empty seat at the end of the table.

Same as always.

Dick sat quietly across from Damian. Neither of them had touched their food yet.

Their eyes met once.

And something passed between them.

Not words.

Not questions.

Just quiet understanding.

They were both thinking the same thing:

She was hiding something.

And they were going to find out what it was.

taglist:

@justwannabecat

@c4xcocoa

@cosmicyuk1

@galaxypurplerose

@nisarelle

@exactlynumberonekryptonite

@holderoflostmemories

@runaaclou

@noclue-0

@devils-blackrose

@delias-stuff

@wizzerreblogs

@charlenexoxo1

@staarflowerr

@sleep-7372

#batfamily #angst #bruce wayne #jason todd #yandere batfam #yandere family #yandere platonic #dc universe #richard grayson #yandere #yandere batboys #yandere batman #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #damian wayne #yandere fluff #fluff #poison ivy #dark themes

532 notes · View notes

fixated-cookies · 3 months ago

Note

im kinda thinkin about.... hypnosis and smilk.... smth abt the process specifically of taking over and invading your mind.. slowly giving into it even if youre resisting the effects its having on your mind, its inevitable that he'll win and you'll succumb to his control and influence over you... your mind may be foggy, but it's so perfectly empty and moldable now... what were you doing again? do you even care?

smth about being unable to look away from his eyes once he starts it; even if you look away, something will draw you back, and it gets stronger as it goes on... at first, you can physically turn away (though you'll get dragged back by some invisible force), but eventually you cant even rip your heard away from his gaze. smth about it being unable to be stopped by anyone other than himself once he starts it... no matter how far from you he is (as long as he's well... in sightline)

honestly you can like. think abt this in any context you want . i just.... really like the concept of hypnosis with him..... its captivating to me (hah) .... sorry for the essay in your inbox damn

Anon the reason why this was rotting in my askbox for so long was because I needed to give it justice hahaha, hypnosis is totally in character for someone like shadow milk cookie, and I love it.

WARNING- slight yandere, hypnosis

Hmm, I'm wondering how it would start, he would obviously make it a game, maybe a game of truth or dare, hm? Just a little bit of lollygagging to get rid of his boredom.

So, when he asked— “Truth or Dare?”—

You made the horrible mistake of choosing dare.

His grin widened, all teeth.“Ohhh, you’re feeling bold tonight! How delightful! Now, let’s see…” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. You should have been nervous. You should have backed out. But you didn’t.

I dare you… to look into my eyes and not look away.”

Simple, right?

You almost laughed. Thats its? Thats all?

"Ah-ah, don’t look so relieved~! There’s a catch, of course. You must hold my gaze until I say you can look away. Break eye contact, and you lose."

You scoffed. What was he playing at? You weren’t afraid of a staring contest. Getting into position you held yourself steady as he looked overly excited.

For a while, it felt like a normal challenge. You stared, he stared, and time stretched between you both. But then… something changed. The air felt thicker. Your body heavier. You blinked once. It felt like it took longer than it should have to open your eyes again. You swallowed. Something felt off.

Your limbs felt distant like you weren’t quite inside your body anymore. You tried to look away—But your head wouldn’t move. "I...I-" "Tsk, tsk… You’re not trying to look away, are you? Ohh, but I can see that dazed look in your eyes already… how precious!" He started to scoot closer. Not fast. Not abrupt. No, he took his time, savoring the way your body twitched ever so slightly. How your breath caught, your fingers tightening into trembling fists against the floor. Your head refused to move. Your body felt so distant, like a marionette with cut strings, a doll that could only watch as its puppeteer inched nearer.

Your vision wavered, the edges blurring as if reality itself was losing focus. His eyes were all you could see. How could this happen? you were so sure he didn't have...any malicious...intent—huh...? What was going on...?—No, you hadn’t! You had to resist, you had to—"Mmm, that’s a good look on you… so unfocused, so lost…" He suddenly interrupted your thoughts.

You blinked, but the action felt slow, heavy, like your body was moving through water. You knew—somewhere, deep down—that this was wrong. That you should snap out of it. But… that was so difficult. Thinking was… so hard. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Only a quiet, dazed sigh.

Shadow Milk Cookie smiled, only for it to falter as your eyesight ripped away from him violently, a frustrated groan escaping you as you squeezed your eyes shut out of defiance. "Oh? You still have some fight left in you?" His voice slithered through the air, a mocking lilt woven into his amusement. How predictable. How pathetic. Impossibly close now, his presence, looming, suffocating—but when his hands cupped your cheeks, you knew there was no escape. His palms were cool, but his grip was unyielding.

"Really now, I thought you were smarter than this." His thumbs trailed lower, brushing over your lips with featherlight strokes. "Oh, my dear, sweet fool…" His voice dipped into a breathy murmur, mismatched eyes drinking in every flicker of your resolve. "...I wonder... how long will that last?"

His grip on your cheeks tightened—just enough for his thumbs to press against your skin, coaxing you, urging you—until your lashes fluttered. A sliver of light slipped through.

And the moment your gaze met his—

The air in your lungs vanished. And oh, how he grinned.

"Mmm… there it is."

His voice was nothing but a purr, smooth and saccharine as he drank in your struggle. His grip softened, shifting to cradle your face so delicately—as if he hadn’t just crushed your resistance in the palm of his hand.

"Much easier when you don’t fight, isn’t it?"

His thumbs stroked your cheeks, his tone mocking, indulgent—but there was something darker beneath it. "Go on, little puppet…" His breath ghosted over your lips as his mismatched eyes pulled you deeper, deeper, deeper. "Be good for me, yeah?" He murmurs lowly Before you could even process it, his lips were on yours—slow, deliberate, consuming. A kiss meant to unravel, to claim. His fingers pressed gently into your skin, holding you there, grounding you— or perhaps, chaining you.

And when he finally pulled away, he didn’t need to command you to look at him this time.

Because you already were.

A single finger tapped lightly against your forehead as if to mock the emptiness settling in. His victory.

"See? Much better when you don’t think."

you guys, rate my hypnosis writing I need it!! These ideas are just sooo juicy.

#shadow milk cookie x reader #yandere shadow milk cookie #shadow milk x reader #yandere shadow milk x reader #yandere crk #crk #yandere

550 notes · View notes

banj0possum · 11 days ago

Note

Zombie horde and cure researcher reader? I want to know how the boys are gonna use their new vocal chords. Ribs probably can't sing good, but soda always has that half-drunk look whenever u draw him so i bet he knows a bunch of bar songs.

felt like doing a refresher with the Zombie Horde ! this was my oldest ask in my inbox! (had to go down a long ways to get this old thang) but i figured you guys needed a long awaited part 3 of these fellas after idk a year ?? so here ya go !

Zombie Horde x Cure Researcher! Reader

💀 With the boys showing more and more signs of healing, you quickly went to recording each and every new finding you come across, as well as their individual progress.

💀 You'd help them stretch and get used to their new joints. With them being less ravaged by rigor mortis, they can be quite...clumsy..

💀 And their hair could grow normally, which is promising for your cure! But that does mean you have to cut their hair every once in a while now..

💀 The most amazing thing that came out of your serum was the fact that their vocal chords have been restored, allowing them to speak, which is very very interesting experience.

💀 Screw loves words, or more like he loves getting your praise whenever he pronounces a word correctly.

💀 His voice wasn't as developed as the others, so he had a harder time when it came to speaking again, but he tries very hard!

💀 He'd find an object, run over to you, and slowly stutter out what it is.

💀 "B-b-b..bo..ttle..?"

💀 Gets all giddy when you tell him he did a good job, but he doesn't exactly giggle, it's more like a bunch of high-pitched squealing, purring, and cooing

💀 Vocal stims a lot like humming, pronouncing letters over and over, or just repeating a word or phrase.

💀 Give him a book or some of your papers, and he'll be glued to anything with words while trying to read them out loud.

💀 Maybe there's an old bookstore in the mall?

💀 Secretly planning to relearn how to write because he wants to make you a love letter like in the stories he reads!

💀 Ribs is non-stop screaming and shouting ;-;

💀 Calm down brotha you just got your voice back ;-;-;--;-;-;

💀 Has a very dirty vocabulary

💀 British ?

💀 You can hear him from the other side of the mall..

💀 Defo pretends to be a survivor when he sees other humans scavenging the mall and then scares them away.

💀 Bo has to step in and shut him up, but he does it again anyway.

💀 Loves singing with Soda, except he's shit at singing, he's kind of just yelling the lyrics.

💀 Very giggly when he talks, especially when he's with you since he gets all shy.

💀 Mumbles incessantly.

💀 "Baby, baby! My sweetheart hehehehahahaAHH! So cute! So cute! HEEhehehehheee~~!"

💀 Soda had the easiest time to talk, his voice is very raspy yet smooth like honey.

💀 Rarely talks, mostly hums and sings, they're mostly old 40s jazz songs or just some random melody.

💀 Speaks up suddenly a lot with the most random things.

💀 "Motor oil is not a good drink..." "...what." "what.."

💀 Confuses both you and the others.

💀 Ribs digs it.

💀 Hype man to absolute nonsense.

💀 Screw and Bo just accept it, he may be a little goofy but he does have most of the brains of the bunch.

💀 And he can say some very sweet things in between all his ravings.

💀 He'd just be watching you work on your research and suddenly blurt out something.

💀 "You're the most beautiful flower I've ever seen..."

💀 Bo can talk pretty well, but it hurts the most for him since he doesn't have cheeks, plus the damage in his throat.

💀 Wouldn't say he speaks as rarely as Soda, but he does speak in very short sentences, you could 3 sentences at most in one shot from him.

💀 Prefers growling still, but talks when necessary

💀 Doesn't dare to sing, but he does love Soda's singing, not so much Ribs, but he stays to make him happy.

💀 Looks for stuff to read for Screw (he keeps newspapers for himself)

💀 Feels good whenever he gets to praise the others and you, he's a real giver :333

💀 He never wastes an opportunity to sweet-talk you, no matter how uncomfortable his vocal chords feel.

💀 "We're so lucky ta have you, doll~ Wish I could give ya a big 'ol smooch but uh... 'fraid I'm a bit short in that department.."

WAAAAA i missed writing for these guys!! auuuughhhhhhh lucky i managed to escape from my mr ring a ding hyperfixation for a while !

316 notes · View notes

biteyoubiteme · 11 months ago

Text

study break

fem!reader x han jisung

synopsis: you take a study break with your boyfriend

warnings: 🔞!! slightly innocent reader, some nipple play, fingering, oral (f!rec), prob forgot some sorry

wc: 2k

an: this was a request but my inbox ate it ;-; hope i got everything anon asked for :)) not proofread sorry :( feedback appreciated! [m.list]

You have been at your desk for over six hours studying for your next exam. Hand cramping from all the notes you were copying down from slides you missed a few weeks ago. Ones that you finally remembered you needed to go over. You had only stepped away for a shower a few minutes ago to try and calm your mind after nearly crying over a worksheet. Pacing back and forth before you caught sight of your shower caddy deciding that if the shower didn’t work as a refresher then you would just take whatever grade you got and would have to live with it.

It wasn’t until the knocking at your door that you realized how stressed you had been. The evening you had planned with your boyfriend was forgotten until you pulled open the door to see him standing in the hallway of your dorm.

“So you are alive,” Han smiles as soon as you open the door. His hair curled around his ears, dotted with droplets of rain.

“nooo I missed our date,” you softly whine leaning your head on the door. The past couple of times you've studied you turned on an app that locked your phone to help with distractions. Only now it was backfiring because Han had been trying to reach you to remind you of your night out. “I'm so sorry Han I swear I didn't do it on purpose I haven't even thought about anything else besides this exam,”

“it's okay i kinda figured so I picked up dinner,” he holds up the paper bag in his hand.

“I'm the worst,” and he only smiles shaking his head, “You perfect, I should have known that scheduling a date the night before an exam was not the best idea,”

you wave him into the small space, your books a mess on your desk, the bed rumpled and unmade. Your roommate's side is just as lived in even for her off staying at her boyfriends most of the time. You're sure this is the first time hans been in here besides you picking up something but he never made it past the doorway.

The two of you have only been seeing each other for little dates for a few weeks now. You shared a class together, working next to each other in silence for most of the semester before he asked for help on an assignment he didn't need help with at all. Confessing later that he only just got up the courage to speak and used the work as an excuse. You're closer to friends than you are really dating with how slow the two of you are moving. Neither of you moved past holding hands and one interrupted make out session. But you were new to everything and Jisung was patient.

Han kicked off his shoes, setting the food down at the edge of your desk. “Have you taken a break at all?”

“I mean I showered,” you shrug, your hair is still wet, droplets of water soaking your tank top. You didn't even notice how the fabric was wet enough to leave nothing to the imagination. The outline of your nipples draws hans eyes right to your chest.

“You are all wet,” he smiles, biting the tip of his tongue. You can feel your skin getting hot, trying to play off his stare by rolling your eyes.

“Usually what happens after a shower,” you collect a few of your books, closing and stacking them up to make room. Shuffling papers around and making sure to check you have everything turned in before the exam. You're leaning over your chair looking at the assignments calendar online when you see you forgot to submit last week's discussion post. Your light sigh is enough for Jisung to place his hand on your back leaning next to you to see what you are now focused on.

“It's already late, maybe you should save it for the morning,” he suggests, warming up your lower back as he rubs soft circles against your skin.

“it's only one question, it better to just get it over with so I'm not stressing more than I already am,” although it's the last thing you want to do, already you have given up after your long day. But you rolled your chair out sitting down to work out one more question. “you should just start eating so your food doesn't get cold,”

“no no I picked up sandwiches from the cafe by the library I can wait,” he stands behind you, hands on your shoulders, fingers flicking over the thin straps of your tank top.

You pull up the post not realizing the link attached was for a document you had to read consisting of six long sheets of tiny text. Your sigh is more of a groan this time, hans chuckle right at your ear as he looks over your shoulder. “I think that's the kind you need the magnifier tool for,”

“why the hell would anyone use text that small,” you can feel the weight of the day landing heavy right at your feet. Just when you hoped to be done, to only have to overview notes you hated this. Your teeth sink into your cheek trying to will yourself not to cry over something so stupid. You were so close to finishing not only the day but your class, one assignment wouldn't kill your grade but just knowing it was going undone would kill your pride. You let your head fall to your hands, the heels of your palms pressed to the sockets of your eyes like that would will your tears away.

“Hey,” Han whispers, pushing a few strands of hair behind your ear, “come on let's take a longer break than just a shower, we can worry about that later,” his hands slip over your arms, sliding up and down, chin on your shoulder, nose bumping your ear.

“Sorry, I've just been so overwhelmed with everything,” you say, rubbing at your eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“That's okay, you just need to relax, lay back, and forget school for a second,” his breath is ghosting over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands go to your stomach, finger tracing the seam of your top. “you know I could help you with that,” his nose brushes down behind your ear and down your neck, lips leaving slight pecks on your skin.

“t-the assignment?” It's a stupid question but you're not past the brain fog, now worsened by Han giving you the softest kisses on your neck. Your head falling back, eyes closed as he fell into the feel of you.

“no,” he kisses at your jaw, “not the assignment,” one hand slipping up your stomach, knuckles brushing your nipple. “is this okay?”

“yes,” you nod, reaching up behind you to twist your fingers into his hair. Your back bowed as he cupped you over the thin material of your shirt, fingers rolling over your pebbled nipples, his lips sucking marks onto your skin.

His free hand starts to slip past the waistband of your shorts, your breath catching in your throat, “you don't have to do that,” he pulls his hand back to your stomach.

“Do you not want me to? We can slow down or stop, whatever you want,” now you're more than a little bit embarrassed.

“No it's not that I want you to stop, I just- I've never really had anyone do that before,” you confess, face hot enough to thank the fact your back is to han. It wasn't that you were against it, only that you spent most time inside studying instead of going out and meeting guys to hook up with. And from what friends have said some guys don't like going down on girls with their mouths or hands. “and I know some guys don't like it,”

“yeah the wrong guys,” he chuckles the rumble of his laugh right in your ear before he kisses over the mark he made on your neck, “I on the other hand have been thinking of devouring you the second you sat down next to me that first day in class wearing that little skirt,”

“Really?” his fingers tugging the waistband of your shorts before letting it snap back in place.

“uh huh, thinking about how good you would taste, how pretty you would look cumming on my tongue, how perfect you would sound,” your hips instinctively roll at the idea, Han's hand slipping back under your waistband. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” the whisper is enough for Han to pull your chair out from under the desk, kneeling before you looking up like you set the best platter before him.

He kisses your knee hands sliding up the side of your thighs to tug down your shorts and panties. You should feel exposed or even a little bit shy but Han is licking his lips, eyes flickering between your glistening cunt and your face. “Even prettier than I imagined,” hooking his hands at the back of your knees he pulls you to the edge of the chair, slotting your legs over his shoulders as you lean back gripping the seat watching what he’ll do next.

“Are you just going to like...kiss it?”

“I plan on suffocating between your thighs so maybe a lot more than kissing,” he peppers kisses all along your thigh, your legs already trying to close at how each kiss sends a tingle straight to your clit.

When he finally leans down and his lips brush over your swollen nub you know you're done for. His light kiss was enough to send all thoughts and stress right out the window. And when he licks up your wetness from your entrance and swipes up to your clit latching on and sucking your head falls back and you let out a moan that doesn't sound like you. Jisungs hands move to hold your hips in place.

You swear you see stars as he sucks before he pulls away your whine making him chuckle, “Do you like it?”

Your hand moves to his hair wanting to tug him back down, “please don't stop now,”

“Look at you trying new things,” he gives light kisses to your folds, loving to watch your hips try to work on their own to get his mouth back on your clit. “already doing so good at being responsive to my touch,”

“Hannie please,” you beg and he doesn't hold back. He sucks your clit into his mouth, letting one hand free from holding you down to raise in front of you.

“suck my fingers and get them all wet and ready for me to get you to cum on them,” slipping them into your mouth you follow his orders letting them roll on your tongue before he pulls them back to rub on your pussy.

Your orgasm was building in the pit of your stomach, every flick of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge. Your legs jolt at the feel of his finger prodding your entrance, knees pulling in before he shakes his head, “Relax baby,” letting your other hip go he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit rubbing at a soft rhythm until your legs rest back on his shoulders. He's slow to slip his first finger in, dragging it out before adding the second. His smile is starstruck, feeling along your gummy walls like he found heaven, “look at that, you're doing so good for me,” the slow pumps of his fingers take up more of your mind until he leans back down to suck on your clit.

Thighs trembling your head rolls back, eyes shut trying to catch your breath before you're cumming, Han pressing his fingers into your g-spot like he's always known your body. Han is swallowing all your cum down like he can't get enough of it, burying his face in your pussy as you pulse around his fingers. Your hand on his hair starts to tug harder, your hips thrusting into his face, knees closing in around his ears. He is slow to pull away from you but knows he shouldn't overstimulate you the first time. “now if you ever need me to take your mind off of anything, you don't even have to ask I'll be right here on my knees ready for you,”

906 notes · View notes

moonselune · 6 months ago

Note

Could I request headcanons where gn!Tav said they're too plain & boring for that to happen when he asked how would they feel about being courted for Halsin, Rolan, Raphael, Gale, Astarion, and Wyll? - emoji anon

Hey hey emoji anon always a pleasure to see you in my inbox xox

Gale:

The evening sky was painted in soft hues of lavender and gold, the dying light casting a warm glow over the camp. Gale sat beside you, his fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt as the two of you shared a rare moment of stillness. The remnants of supper lingered nearby, and the faint crackle of the fire filled the spaces where words had yet to form.

You had always been a quiet presence—steadfast and observant. Gale had long been drawn to your grounded nature, your calm amidst the whirlwind of their adventures. Over the past weeks, that draw had turned into something deeper, something he could no longer ignore. Tonight felt like the right time to broach the subject.

He took a deep breath, then turned to face you fully.

“May I ask you something, my friend?” he began, his voice gentle but steady.

You glanced at him, curious, and gave a small nod.

“How would you feel about being courted?” Gale’s tone was warm, but his words were tentative, as if testing the air. “By someone who sees you for all that you are?”

Your eyes widened slightly, the question clearly not one you’d anticipated. You hesitated, looking away as if searching the horizon for an answer. Then, with a faint sigh, you shook your head. “I… don’t think that’s something I’d expect to happen.”

Gale’s brows furrowed, his curiosity piqued. “Why not?”

You fiddled with the edge of your sleeve, your voice low and even. “I’m plain. Boring. I don’t have anything special to offer. I’m not… the kind of person someone courts.”

The words were simple, almost matter-of-fact, but Gale could hear the faint note of self-deprecation woven through them. His heart ached at the thought of you seeing yourself this way—so unremarkable when, to him, you were anything but.

“Plain?” he repeated softly, as though tasting the word and finding it absurd. “Boring?”

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet his.

Gale shifted closer, his movements deliberate but unhurried. He leaned forward slightly, trying to catch your eye.

“You see yourself as ordinary,” he said gently. “But allow me to offer a different perspective.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of skepticism in your expression.

“There is a profound beauty in simplicity,” Gale continued, his voice gaining a quiet intensity. “In the way you listen so intently when others speak, as though their words hold the weight of the world. In the way you notice things most people overlook—like the way the sunlight catches on a blade of grass, or the quiet joy in a companion’s laughter.”

He paused, his gaze searching yours. “Do you know how rare that is? To move through life with such quiet awareness, to find wonder in the things others dismiss? It’s anything but boring.”

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by his words. Your fingers stilled, and for a moment, you seemed at a loss.

Gale smiled softly, his expression both kind and earnest. “And as for plain… I would argue that nothing about you is plain. Not to me. You have a depth, a quiet strength, that draws people in—whether you realize it or not. Including me.”

Your lips parted slightly, as if to protest, but no words came. The firelight danced in Gale’s eyes as he continued, his tone growing warmer.

“You think yourself unremarkable,” he said, his hand resting lightly on his knee. “But I see someone who is steady in a world full of chaos. Someone who doesn’t need grand gestures or flamboyant words to leave a mark. You do so simply by being you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The fire crackled softly, the wind rustled the leaves, and Gale waited patiently, his heart laid bare.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter than before. “I’m not sure I see what you see.”

Gale chuckled softly, a sound full of affection. “That’s all right. For now, let me see it for you.”

His words hung in the air, an offering, not a demand. You searched his face, as though trying to find some trace of insincerity, but all you found was warmth and a gentle resolve.

After a long pause, you nodded—tentative but genuine. It wasn’t an outright acceptance, but it was a start, a crack in the wall you’d built around yourself. Gale’s smile widened, relief and joy evident in his expression.

“Then I’ll consider myself fortunate to take this first step with you,” he said. “For however long you’ll allow.”

He didn’t press further, content to let the moment settle. Instead, he shifted back slightly, his posture relaxed but his gaze still lingering on you, as if committing this moment to memory.

Astarion:

The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light spilling over the camp and painting everything in silver hues. Astarion leaned against a tree at the edge of the firelight, his posture casual yet poised, as if every movement was deliberately chosen to exude elegance. He had led you here for a moment away from the others, a chance for privacy in a rare moment of quiet.

He had been observing you for weeks now, intrigued by your quiet nature and the way you seemed to exist outside the clamor of the world. You weren’t like the others, who vied for attention or filled silences with chatter. You were steady, calm, a constant presence that had unexpectedly captivated him. Tonight, he decided, was the night to act.

“How would you feel about being courted?” Astarion asked, his voice smooth and deliberate, though a hint of genuine curiosity underpinned his words. He tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes watching you intently.

The question startled you. Your brow furrowed as you turned to him, studying his face for a moment before looking away. You hesitated, as if unsure of how to answer, before finally speaking, your voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t think I’m the type of person anyone would court.”

Astarion blinked, caught off guard. He straightened, his usual smirk replaced by an expression of genuine confusion. “And why, pray tell, would you think that?”

You shrugged, your fingers idly toying with the edge of your sleeve. “I’m… plain. Boring. I don’t stand out. There’s nothing about me that would make someone look twice.”

He stared at you, momentarily at a loss. In all his centuries of life—undead and otherwise—he had heard many things from many people, but this? This was utterly baffling. Slowly, he pushed off the tree, taking a step closer to you.

“You truly think that?” he asked, his voice softer now, his usual theatrics momentarily set aside.

You nodded, still not meeting his gaze. “I’m just… me. There’s nothing special about that.”

Astarion’s lips parted, an incredulous laugh escaping him. It wasn’t mocking, but rather a genuine reaction to the absurdity of your words. He took another step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher a riddle.

“You are utterly fascinating,” he said, his tone tinged with exasperation. “And yet you don’t even see it.”

You finally looked at him then, surprise flickering in your eyes. “Fascinating? Me?”

“Yes, you,” he said, his voice gaining a playful edge but still rooted in sincerity. “Do you think I spend my time with people who bore me? Who fade into the background? Darling, you’ve done nothing but capture my attention since the day we met.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback. Astarion seized the moment, stepping closer until there was only a breath of space between you. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gesture that was surprisingly gentle.

“You think yourself plain, but let me tell you what I see,” he continued, his crimson eyes locked on yours. “I see someone who is steady when the world is chaos. Someone who doesn’t feel the need to shout to be heard, because their presence speaks louder than words ever could. I see kindness, strength, and a quiet resilience that most people could only dream of possessing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised a hand, silencing you with a sly smile. “And boring? Oh, darling, you couldn’t be boring if you tried. Do you know how refreshing it is to spend time with someone who doesn’t feel the need to posture or perform? Who is simply… themselves?”

His hand lingered on your arm, his gaze softening. “You’ve been a balm to my restless soul, whether you realize it or not. And while I do enjoy a challenge, I assure you, this—us—isn’t some idle game to me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your mind struggling to reconcile his sincerity with the image you held of yourself. For a moment, you simply stared at him, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But all you found was honesty, woven with a thread of vulnerability that Astarion rarely let anyone see.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He smiled then, a genuine smile that softened his sharp features.

“You don’t need to say anything, my dear,” he said. “Just… allow me the chance to show you how wrong you are about yourself. One step at a time.”

There was a moment of silence, the world around you fading into the background as his words hung in the air. Finally, you nodded—a small, tentative gesture, but one that spoke volumes.

Astarion’s smile widened, his usual confidence returning as he stepped back, though his eyes never left yours.

“Good,” he said, his tone lightening. “Now, let’s consider this the first step. And I promise, you won’t find it boring in the slightest.”

As the moonlight bathed the two of you in its glow, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of warmth in your chest—a spark of something you hadn’t dared to hope for. Astarion, ever the enigma, had found something extraordinary in you, and perhaps, just perhaps, it was time for you to see it too.

Wyll:

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm, golden glow over the small clearing. The day’s trials had finally settled into the past, leaving the evening peaceful and calm. Wyll sat across from you, his posture relaxed but his eyes searching your face. You’d spent much of the evening in comfortable silence, but Wyll had something weighing on his mind, a question that had been lingering for weeks now.

He straightened slightly, his expression shifting to something earnest and determined.

“Can I ask you something, my friend?” he said, his voice gentle but steady.

You nodded, turning your attention fully to him, your quiet gaze encouraging him to continue.

“How would you feel about being courted?” His words were soft, but they carried a weight, as though he’d thought about them long before speaking. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes warm yet watchful. “By me.”

Your reaction wasn’t what he expected. Rather than the usual flustered surprise or shy delight, you looked away, your brows furrowing slightly. For a moment, you seemed lost in thought, your fingers tracing idle patterns in the dirt.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet but steady. “I don’t think that’s something someone like me would expect. Or deserve.”

Wyll blinked, caught off guard. He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening with concern. “Why would you say that?”

You shrugged, the motion small, almost imperceptible. “I’m… plain. Boring. I don’t have anything special to offer. I’m not the kind of person someone courts. Especially not someone like you.”

His brows knit together, the statement hitting him harder than you probably realized. For a moment, he was silent, processing your words. Then, slowly, he shifted closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as though approaching a spooked animal.

“I think you have the wrong idea about yourself,” he said gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet conviction. “And about me, too.”

You glanced at him, surprise flickering in your expression, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve had people sing my praises for years,” Wyll said, his tone tinged with a bittersweet smile. “They see the Blade of Frontiers, the hero of Baldur’s Gate, the warlock who made a devil’s bargain to save lives. They see the titles, the stories. But do you know what’s often missing in all that admiration?”

You shook your head slightly, curiosity softening your guarded expression.

“Truth,” he said simply. “They don’t see the person behind the blade. They don’t ask about Wyll—just Wyll, the man who likes to read by the fire, who enjoys a good laugh and a quiet evening, who sometimes feels lost and unsure, just like anyone else.”

You frowned slightly, your fingers stilling as you listened. He leaned closer, his gaze earnest.

“That’s what I see in you,” he continued, his voice softer now. “You don’t treat me like a symbol or a story. You see me as I am—flaws and all. And you? You’re anything but boring. You’re steady, thoughtful, kind in ways most people overlook because they’re too busy shouting over the world.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Let me finish,” he said, his tone teasing but kind. “I’ve been surrounded by noise for so long. People who only care about the legend and not the man. But you? You’re a balm to that chaos. Your quiet strength, your grounded nature—it’s a gift, one I’m lucky to witness.”

Your gaze dropped again, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

“I’m not sure I see what you do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s all right,” Wyll said, his smile widening. “You don’t have to see it right now. But I hope, if you’ll let me, I can help you see it someday.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire crackling, the world around you fading into the background. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, something vulnerable but hopeful flickering in your eyes.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured. Wyll chuckled softly, his voice warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to say anything, not yet,” he said. “But let me court you, in my own quiet way. One step at a time.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling over you, before finally giving a small nod. It was tentative, but it was enough.

Wyll’s smile brightened, his joy evident but restrained as he respected the moment’s delicacy. As the firelight danced in his eyes, you felt a small spark of warmth in your chest, a flicker of something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

Halsin:

The two of you sat on the edge of a tranquil grove, where the whispering trees and a gently trickling stream created a sanctuary of peace. Halsin had invited you here—his favorite spot in the forest—to share its beauty with you. The warm glow of sunset bathed the grove in golden light, making everything feel almost dreamlike.

Halsin turned to you, his expression thoughtful but earnest. For days, he had been working up the courage to address the feelings stirring in his heart, feelings he couldn’t ignore. He was a man who valued honesty, and with you, there was no need for pretense.

“How would you feel about being courted?” he asked, his deep voice as steady as ever, though a flicker of vulnerability softened his usual confidence.

You blinked, caught off guard. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. For a long moment, you simply stared at him, your thoughts turning inward as you tried to process his words. Courted? By Halsin?

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, your tone steady but tinged with self-deprecation.

“I… don’t know why you’d want that,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “I’m… plain. Boring. There’s nothing special about me.”

Halsin’s brow furrowed, and he leaned closer, his large frame radiating warmth and concern.

“You think yourself plain? Boring?” He shook his head, a soft sigh escaping him. “I don’t see you that way at all.”

You shrugged, a small, almost invisible motion. “I don’t talk much. I don’t stand out. There’s nothing about me that would catch someone’s attention, let alone someone like you.”

The words were simple, but they carried a weight that struck Halsin deeply. He studied you for a moment, his golden eyes filled with quiet contemplation. Then he reached out, his hand hesitating briefly before resting lightly on your forearm—a grounding gesture, firm but gentle.

“You are wrong about yourself,” he said softly. “Painfully so. Perhaps others might overlook you, distracted by louder voices or flashier displays. But that does not make you plain. It makes you rare.”

Your gaze flicked to his, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was honesty—unflinching and unwavering.

“Do you know what drew me to you?” Halsin continued, his voice steady. “It wasn’t grand gestures or clever words. It was the way you see the world. The way you move through it with quiet grace, noticing things others miss. The kindness in your actions, the thoughtfulness in your silences. You don’t need to speak loudly to be heard, nor shine brightly to be seen.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, skepticism still lingering, but his words stirred something in you—a small ember of hope, fragile but warm.

“I have lived a long life,” Halsin said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I have seen many things, met many people. Yet none have made me feel as you do. When I am with you, I feel… peace. A sense of balance I have long sought. How could I not wish to court someone who makes the world feel whole?”

Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his words overwhelming in its simplicity. He wasn’t trying to convince you or charm you—he was merely telling you the truth as he saw it.

“I know you think yourself plain,” he added, his tone softening further. “But to me, you are extraordinary. And I would be honored if you would allow me to show you that.”

You looked away, your fingers tightening slightly against your knees, processing his words. It wasn’t easy to see yourself through his eyes, to accept the idea that someone as kind, wise, and strong as Halsin could feel this way about you. But his earnestness was undeniable, and the warmth in his gaze felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Finally, you nodded—a small, almost imperceptible movement—but it was enough. Halsin’s smile widened, a quiet joy lighting his face. He didn’t push for more, didn’t press you for an answer beyond that. He simply placed his hand over yours, a silent promise in the gentle weight of his touch. For the first time, you felt that maybe you weren’t as plain as you thought.

Rolan:

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light over the clearing where you and Rolan sat. The camp was a short distance away, but it felt like a different world out here, surrounded by the gentle sounds of nature. Rolan had invited you to join him, claiming a need to get a break from the tower, ostensibly to discuss a spell he was refining, but the conversation had meandered into more personal territory.

Rolan, ever the picture of confidence with his sharp wit and sharper tongue, seemed uncharacteristically hesitant as he looked at you now. His fingers drummed lightly against the cover of a spellbook in his lap, the only sign of his nerves.

"I’ve been thinking," he began, his tone carefully measured. "About… connections. Relationships. And—hypothetically, of course—how one might feel about being courted."

You raised an eyebrow at him, your expression unreadable, but you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

Rolan cleared his throat, his gaze darting briefly to the ground before returning to you. “How would you feel about it? If someone—hypothetically, of course—were interested in courting you?”

The question hung in the air between you, his carefully chosen words laced with something more vulnerable than he let on. You tilted your head slightly, processing his question, before finally replying in your usual quiet tone.

“I don’t think that’s something I’d expect to happen.”

Rolan blinked, caught off guard by your matter-of-fact response.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended, though curiosity softened the edges.

You shrugged, your gaze drifting away from him. “I’m plain. Boring. Not the kind of person someone would look at that way.”

For a moment, Rolan was silent, his expression frozen in something between disbelief and frustration. He closed his spellbook with a decisive snap and leaned forward, his golden eyes fixed on you.

“Plain?” he repeated, his voice incredulous. “Boring? You cannot be serious.”

You frowned slightly, the smallest sign of discomfort. “I don’t see what’s so surprising about it.”

“What’s surprising,” Rolan said, his tone gaining momentum, “is that someone as unique as you could think of themselves that way. Plain? Hardly. You have a presence that is… grounding. Quiet, yes, but not boring. Do you know how rare it is to meet someone who listens so completely? Who sees people, not just their façades?”

You looked at him, startled by his intensity, but still hesitant to believe him.

“And boring?” he continued, his hands gesturing animatedly now. “You? Boring? I’ve seen the way you notice the smallest details, the things everyone else overlooks. The way you spoke back at the grove and at the Inn. The way you find meaning in the most unassuming moments. It’s like watching someone unearth treasure where others see dirt.”

You blinked, clearly unprepared for such fervent praise. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

Rolan snorted, leaning back but keeping his gaze on you. “Oh, I assure you, I’m not. I confess I may have a penchant for flair but if anything, I’m being far too restrained. You may not see it, but I do. And the fact that you don’t parade it around for the world to admire makes it all the more remarkable.”

There was a beat of silence as his words sank in. You looked away, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.

“I’m just me,” you murmured. “I don’t think I’m what anyone would want.”

Rolan sighed, his usual sharp edges softening as he leaned forward again.

“And what if I told you that you’re exactly what I want?” he asked, his voice quiet but unwavering.

Your eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise. He held your gaze, his expression uncharacteristically open and earnest.

“I’m not saying this lightly,” he continued. “I’ve met plenty of people who’ve tried to catch my eye with flair and dramatics. And yet, here I am, drawn to you—not despite your quiet nature, but because of it. You make me feel… seen. Grounded. And that’s not something I take lightly.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The fire of his conviction left you momentarily stunned, your usual composure slipping.

Rolan, ever perceptive, offered you a small smile.

“I’m not asking for an answer right now,” he said, his tone gentler than before. “But if you’re willing, I’d like to show you what I see in you. What I value.”

You hesitated, your mind swirling with doubt and confusion, but there was something in his eyes—a sincerity that made it hard to look away. Finally, you nodded, the motion small but meaningful.

Rolan’s smile widened, his confidence returning as he straightened.

“Good,” he said lightly, though his eyes still held a spark of warmth. “I’ll consider this a victory for now.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the clearing in hues of gold and amber, you felt a strange warmth settle in your chest. A welcome warmth, one you began to wish would never go away.

Raphael:

The dim glow of the Infernal plane's ever-present crimson light cast flickering shadows across the opulent chamber Raphael had conjured for this meeting. He had whisked you away from camp, claiming that he simply had to talk to you. It's not like any of you could stop him.

So, you sat across from the cambion, the weight of his intense gaze like fire on your skin. His effortless elegance and sly charm made him an intimidating presence, and yet, here you were, an enigma in his life—a mortal who had somehow dared to pique his interest.

Raphael leaned back in his ornate chair, swirling a goblet of dark wine as a faint smirk played on his lips.

“Indulge me, dear one,” he began, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “If someone were to court you, what would you think of that? Hypothetically, of course.”

His tone was playful, but his golden eyes betrayed a glint of something deeper, something predatory and curious. He wanted your answer, and more than that, he wanted your reaction.

Your expression remained neutral, though his question tugged at something uncomfortable within you. You shifted slightly in your seat, avoiding his gaze for a moment. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, almost self-effacing.

“I don’t think that’s something I’d ever need to consider.”

Raphael arched a brow, intrigued. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

A small shrug was your only initial response. You glanced at the ground, your hands resting idly in your lap. “I’m too plain. Too boring. I can assure you, that no one would go to the trouble for someone like me.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the ambient sounds of the infernal realm fading as your words settled in the air. Raphael’s smirk froze, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply watching you, assessing.

Then, he laughed.

It wasn’t the cruel, mocking laughter you might have expected. It was something deeper, richer, though no less sharp. The sound echoed through the chamber, laced with incredulity and amusement.

“Plain?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly with disbelief. “Boring? You wound me, darling. To think you’d insult my taste so gravely.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. “I wasn’t insulting you,” you murmured. “Just… stating the truth.”

Raphael leaned forward suddenly, his goblet forgotten on the table between you. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and the playful veneer fell away, replaced by something far more serious.

“Let me make one thing abundantly clear,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “I do not waste my time on ‘plain’ or ‘boring.’ I am Raphael, cambion and devil, and my desires are nothing short of extraordinary. And yet, here I am, entertaining this conversation with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a sharp gesture.

“Do you think I value surface-level trivialities? Flashy baubles and empty charms?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No, my dear. What draws me—what fascinates me—is the quiet strength you carry, the steadfastness that refuses to yield even when the world would see you broken. You call yourself plain, but I see a canvas upon which potential is painted. You call yourself boring, yet your very presence intrigues me in ways no banal mortal ever has.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence by the sheer conviction in his words. Raphael rose from his chair and took a step closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Despite his intensity, there was no malice in his expression—only a fierce, unyielding confidence.

“You think yourself undeserving of my attention?” he said, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “I assure you, my attention is not so easily won. And yet, you’ve captured it. What does that tell you?”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “That you’re… persistent?” you ventured, your voice tinged with hesitant humor. Raphael chuckled, a genuine sound that softened the edges of his sharp demeanor.

“Indeed,” he said, his smirk returning. “But more than that, it tells you that there is far more to you than you realize. And I intend to show you exactly what I see.”

You looked away, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of doubt and hope.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Raphael tilted your chin up with a single finger, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“Then allow me the pleasure of proving you wrong,” he said, his voice a velvet promise. “You may doubt yourself, but I do not. And I am not one to be easily swayed.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You found yourself nodding, unable to find the strength to argue further. Raphael’s smile widened, a predatory glint returning to his eyes.

“Good,” he murmured, stepping back with an air of satisfaction. “Then let the courting begin. And trust me, my darling—there is nothing boring about what lies ahead.”

As he returned to his seat, his goblet once again in hand, you felt a strange mix of apprehension and warmth settle in your chest. Raphael’s words had shaken something loose within you, and though you weren’t sure what to make of it yet, one thing was certain: this devil would not let you fade into obscurity. Not without a fight.

Fun to add Rolan and Raphael to the bunch with this one, hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

P.S thank you all for your sweet messages it truly means a lot xoxo

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

672 notes · View notes

streetlamp-amber · 3 months ago

Text

batmom with endometriosis (blurb)

batfamily x batmom!reader

word count: 1.5k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

REQUEST: “when I read in your guidelines that you had chronic pain, I was ecstatic - that's exactly the ask I've been wanting to leave for weeks, a batboys x reader where the reader has chronic pain (I have endometriosis and fibromyalgia). Maybe how the boys take care of and accommodate reader's needs?" CW: miscarriage, infertility, endometriosis, mention of blood (menstrual) NOTES: march is endometriosis awareness month and as someone also in the process of being diagnosed with endo, i really wanted to take some time out of my busy uni schedule to write this one and post it this month. if you've requested something and i haven't answered to your request yet, it means i'm still in the process of writing it, i'll eventually get through my inbox haha but in the meantime i hope you enjoy this one. i mostly based the headcanons on my personal experience as well as some more commonly known facts about endo. also i'm more comfortable writing about the batboys with the reader being batmom, sorry if this wasn't exactly what was expected but i just can't see dick, jason, tim and damian as a romantic partner like they are my children frl frl. i was going with headcanons at first but then it turned too much into a story idk it's a little weirdly made but i think still nice to read?

You grew up always wanting a big family, with a few children running around your house, but your dreams were shattered when you were diagnosed with endometriosis after having a miscarriage. The screams and sobs that came out of your body when the doctor told you that carrying a pregnancy (if you were able to get pregnant at all) would be pretty risky haunted Bruce for a long time. A year later, you tried to get pregnant by IVF, but this didn’t work either and you had completely given up on the idea of pregnancy, there was only so much heartbreak you could take. When Bruce and you witnessed the death of the Flying Graysons, Bruce at first was reluctant to suggest to you the idea of adopting their son Dick. After the failed in vitro attempt and your mutual decision to stop trying to get pregnant, you hadn’t really spoken about adoption and he wasn’t sure this was something you’d be open to, so your husband was pretty surprised when you were the one to suggest to adopt Dick. As the years went by, more and more children joined the Wayne Manor and your dream of having a big family with a few children running around your house came to life.

Living with endometriosis was no easy feat. Some days you were in so much pain you couldn’t even get out of bed. You were physically and mentally exhausted for at least a week every month, and even though your job allowed you to work from home, your sixty year old male boss who had no understanding of women’s health eventually fired you. When that happened, Bruce was about ready to march into that old man’s office and get you your job back, but you decided to instead appreciate the privilege you were given by being married to a billionaire CEO and become a stay-at-home wife. Shortly after your diagnostic, Bruce started a charity to fund medical research for women’s health, particularly for conditions touching the reproductive system like endometriosis and PCOS, so once you were out of your old job, you decided that there was no better way to spend your time than by getting involved with the charity.

You were lucky to have an understanding husband who was constantly at your beck and call. Whenever your period was about to start and your endometriosis symptoms worsened, he would do simple things like drawing you a hot bath to help soothe your muscles and shorten his night patrols as Batman so he could come back to bed earlier and serve as your personal heating pad. He would rub CBD oil on your joints and your lower back to relieve some pain and it goes without saying that he tracked your periods not only to anticipate the times when he needs to be more at home than work to care for you but also when you’re more comfortable to have sex, seeing as dyspareunia (painful intercourse) was one of your most unwanted symptoms. It surprised him at first, he didn’t know this was a possible thing, but the two of you worked together to find positions that were more comfortable and less painful for you, and he didn’t take any offence if you needed to stop mid session. After all, Bruce only had your comfort at the forefront of his mind and always reassured you whenever you felt inferior for not being able to have intercourse with your husband.

Alfred read up on ways to improve life with endometriosis through your diet and made sure you never ran out of raspberry leaf tea which helped with your pelvic pain a little. He started incorporating omega-3 fatty acids in your meals and had you snacking on vegetables and trail mix in between. As the kids started appearing in your life, they each happily took the role of being your personal cuddly heating pad until they became teenagers and went through that phase where getting hugs and kisses from your mother was too cringy for them (except for Jason, the hottest furnace out of your kids and the biggest Mama’s boy). Dick, your little flexible acrobat, helped you do 30 minutes long yoga sessions every day to help reduce your pain and increase your energy levels. Tim made sure you were drinking enough water – “Well Mom, the studies say that you need to drink five tall glasses of water per day, so drink up!” – and he was always staying up to date with medical magazines and research to find new ways to improve your life.

When Bruce and Dick returned from one of their patrols with a German Shepherd dog and nobody had claimed him after an ad was put in the paper, Bruce decided to have Ace trained to help you with your anxiety and depression spells that came during your premenstrual period. The big dog was an addition to the family that you never had thought of but you were more than pleased to have him. When your husband was at work and your boys were at school, Ace would jump in your bed and lay his head on your belly or let you cuddle him for as long as you wanted, always there to soothe you and keep your belly warm.

Damian’s arrival in your life had not been easy. It opened old wounds, and for a moment there you had convinced yourself that your husband would have a moment of clarity and leave you to be with someone who could give him biological children. After talking it out through the night and Bruce reassuring you over and over again that he wasn’t going to leave you and that he was more than happy with the family you had together, he realised that maybe you hadn’t really come to terms with your fertility problems. A week later, he suggested that you see a therapist to help you with the psychological load that came with your condition and that you should also join a group for people with endometriosis who would better understand your pain and struggle. At first you were reluctant, thinking Bruce had had enough and wanted to relieve himself from the burden of supporting you, but your kids made you see that this would be beneficial for everyone, that you can never have too many support systems and the lived experiences of other people with endometriosis could also help your family find better ways to help and support you.

Once Damian warmed up to you, which took more than a few months, he was basically fighting Jason to be your personal cuddly heating pad. He loved your motherly affection and his favourite way to pass time was watching your favourite sitcom in your bed with you and Ace. One time, you unexpectedly started bleeding during the night and left a pretty big red stain on your white sheets. After making sure you were comfortable in your hot bath, Bruce gathered your bedsheets and went to bring them to the laundry room. It just so happened that Damian was getting out of his bedroom at the same time as his father and when he saw the blood on the sheets, he immediately assumed the worst and jumped on Bruce, ready to avenge you. Damian knew that you had menstruations every month, that they were the cause for your pain, but he didn’t know that they caused you to bleed this much. Thankfully, Tim, who knew you were supposed to be on your period soon, was coming up to your room to bring you your first water bottle of the day and managed to pull small Damian off of Bruce. While your third son took care of bringing the sheets to the laundry room downstairs, your husband guided Damian through your bedroom and made him stop in the doorway of the adjacent bathroom, where they could see your head poking out of the bathtub, your eyes closed as you tried to let the warm water and your favourite Leonard Cohen album soothe you. “See,” he leaned down to Damian’s height and gently told him, “Mom’s doing alright. Well, as alright as she can when she’s on her period, but she’s alive. She loses a lot of blood when she’s on her period, that’s one of the reasons why she’s so tired.”

After every laparoscopy, you'd wake up to find Bruce and your boys in your room, sat there waiting to bring you back home from the hospital. Everyone was at your beck and call, the boys mostly helped you get out of bed and walk each day to improve your blood flow. Tim was even more insisting with your water intake to prevent dehydration and everyone ate your post laparoscopy diet of plain rice and broiled chicken to avoid upsetting your stomach the first two days after the surgery so you wouldn’t feel alone in your boring diet. When you weren't out of bed doing your daily walk with one of your kids, they were all knocking at your bedroom door every fifteen minutes, making sure you were comfortable and didn’t need anything else. Bruce, who had mastered the art of bandage through his Batman activities, checked on your incision every morning and every night for any infection or if it had opened up, then cleaned it with soapy water and applied some gauze over it to prevent it rubbing against your clothes.

And every month you found yourself crying at least once, overwhelmed with how grateful you were to have a strong and loving support system helping you live with your condition.

#ailis writes #batman #batman fanfiction #reader insert #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batfamily #batmom imagines #batfam #batboys x batmom #batfamily x reader #batfamily imagines #batfam x reader #batman fic #bruce wayne fanfiction

366 notes · View notes

pazzispizookies · 2 months ago

Text

~~~~~~Dangerous Question~~~~~~

Hey guys!! Long chapter because of game day, i hope you guys enjoy, I know not a. Lot of people are active rn so this chapter might not get viewed a lot lol but im pretty proud of it, y’all will like the ending. TALK TO ME PEOPLE! COMMENT OR DM OR SEND INBOX OR IM GONNA GO CRAZY ALL ARE TOO DAMN QUIET!! YES YOU! YOU READING THIS RIGHT NOW THIS IS ABOUT YOU! TAK TO ME COMMENT OR I TAKE AWAY YALLS FIC PRIVLEGDES! (Sorry about this crash out.)<3333

Paiges POV:

“Don’t worry, we’re gonna be there soon.” I say to Azzi while driving towards the ER, its mainly just for myself to hear though,

She groans a little and holds her stomach, barely waking up.

I’m driving as quickly as I can when I get a call from Caroline,

“Hey,” I answer,

“Hey, you there yet?”

“No, i’m not, i’m going as fast as I can though,”

“Okay, I just wanna let you know that the police are here, there gonna need to talk to you soon, like very soon. I told them where you were going and there gonna meet you there.”

“Did they get him?”

“who? Your not making and sense Paige”

“Marcos, shit- did they get Marcos?”

“Get him for what Paige? Focus on the road and Azzi, you need to collect your thoughts.”

The call disconnects.

Shit.

We arrive a the hospital and my panic sets back in.

I’m carrying her into the front of the building when I shout for help.

“Hey! She-she um, she’s passed out, I think she’s drugged I don’t know—someone please help” I shout looking around for nurses,

I’m still in a haze of anger and confusion, the emotions hitting me stronger then ever.

I just want her to be okay,

I need her to be okay,

“Hey honey, what’s going on?” A older nurse asks appearing out from the front desk.

“Umm my, well she, she was at the bar—with some guy I don’t know—well I know but like- I don’t know him well, and-and then I puched him—and she’s passed out, she’s sick I think—I know her something’s-something seriously wrong, please help her.” I mutter out, trying to be as clear as I can

“Okay, okay, we’ll get your girlfriend help, just have a seat, and help me get her into this chair.” She says taking out a wheelchair and positioning it in front of Azzi,

I help her get Azzi into the chair, who’s passed out yet again, she waves over another nurse,

She talks to the other nurse for a second before she takes Azzi and disappears behind 2 large doors,

I look over at the new nurse standing in front of me, she’s younger and pretty short, looks Ike she could still be a student,

“Hey, i’m Amanda, can you please have a seat over here and tak to me a little?” She says gesturing towards a bed behind some curtains,

I follow her and sit down on the bed, she closes the curtains and starts to talk,

“so I know you came in with a girl who’s passed out, can you tell me what-“ her sentence gets cut off by her eyes darting towards my hand,

I’m so focused on anything but myself right now, only now feeling the burning pain in my knuckles,

I follow her sight and look at my hand,

It’s bruised, swollen and bleeding, just looks awful.

“Oh! Um- let me help you with that.” Amanda says moving towards some draws next to the bed, and putting on gloves.

She takes out alcohol and some cotton balls and starts to press them onto my cuts,

I wince at this and pull back a little, but she keeps my hand steady,

“So Paige, what happened to your hand here,”

“Oh um well- wait, did you say Paige?” I say back, looking up at her,

She blushes slightly and loses eye contact with me, “Oh, yeah sorry, that’s a little creepy, but I mean, your Paige Bueckers, it’s hard not to know you.” She says with a slight smile,

“Oh, well, anyways yeah, I kinda punched this guy,” I say sheepishly,

“You hit him pretty well hm? I mean I’m sure your strong enough to pack a punch, you look like you can” Amanda says back, still with a slight blush.

Is she…flirting with me right now?

that’s fucking weird.

“Yeah. I can I guess. He deserved it though.” Say back a little colder,

She leans in a little too much, holding my hand still in hers,

“What did he do, Paige?” She says, her tone light.

“he was messing with my girlfriend.” I say pulling back my hand slightly,

Azzi, is indeed not my girlfriend.

Not even close too it.

But in this moment I don’t care, I care about her enough for it to be possible,

And this bitch is flirting with me,

And I don’t want that shit, not now.

Not with her at least.

“Oh um, okay,” Amanda whispers back, clearly shocked

I hold back the urge to laugh at this, but I mean, the look on her face is fucking hilarious.

She wraps up my hand, a lot quicker then she took to clean it might I add,

Soon after while she’s cleaning up, The first nurse I saw walks, opening the curtain slightly with a uneasy look on her face,

Amanda turns around and sees her, she sends me a quick, polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and steps out to talk to the other nurse closing the curtain behind her,

They have a hushed conversation that I can’t hear exactly, but then Amanda steps back in again,

“Paige, the police are here to talk to you, is it okay for him to come in here?”

I nod my head and she walks out again,

A minute or so passes, then a officer opens up the curtain,

“Good Afternoon Paige, My Is Officer Jameson, and I just need to talk to you about the events of tonight.” He says calmly with a tone of authority,

I nod and he continues,

“So can you start from when you saw Azzi and the man interact for the first time this night?”

“Uh yeah, we were at the bar and I turned around and saw her with Marcos, uh the guy, that’s his name. and well, I got kinda mad and left to go talk to my friend outside, when I was walking back into the bar a few minutes later, He came out grabbing her wrist and she was stumbling being led. I knew something was wrong, I can’t explain it just, something was just off. So I kinda—um punched him…and he passed out I think, and then Azzi passed out later on, and well, I drove her here.”

He nods slowly taking everything I say in, writing it down on a notepad,

“and may I ask, what do you think was happening, and why?”

“well, I don’t know for sure— but I think he drugged her or something, I know her and well, I know she doesn’t handle alcohol well, but that’s different, she doesn’t pass out, or leave with men.” I say,

“I understand she’s only 18, correct?”

“Oh, um yeah,”

“So she was drinking underage?”

“Well, I mean, yeah but like she doesn’t often, I swear, It’s just because he bought her 2 shots, were both athletes, we don’t drink or anything often.” I ramble out,

“Okay, let’s move on from that, this man, Marcos. What’s his relationship with Azzi, is he her boyfriend?”

I scoff at his words, which probably wasn’t the right answer, “No, god no, she doesn’t really have a relationship with him, he was our sever at a restaurant like 2 days ago and asked for her number then asked her out, we just happened to run into him at the bar tonight.”

“Okay, and you’re saying that you believe he drugged her.”

“Yes, I believe he did” my tone is steady, i’m sure of myself.

“Okay, we’ll be in touch, thank you.” Officer Jameson says while walking off,

The nurses wave bye to him and he disappears behind the door,

The nurse comes in with a weary smile on her face,

“Well Paige, you’re all set for tonight, Azzi should be ready to leave in 30 mintues, she’s had her stomach pumped because she showed some signs of… drug overdose. she’ll need to rest a lot, but you got her here quickly before it all settled into her bloodstream. She’s going to be okay, she’ll just need to take off a while, and make sure she has someone with her, tonight will most likely be a little traumatic, I’m sure for you both.” She says while walking me back to the waiting room.

“That’s it? She’s on be okay??” I ask a little shocked at this news.

“Yes Paige, you’re a good girlfriend.” she says while patting my shoulder and smiling warmly,

“Oh um I’m not—um, Thank you,” I say debating whether or not to correct her, but I can’t bring myself too.

She walks away and I settle in to the chair, waiting for Azzi.

It feels like hours pass, I can’t do anything but sit and wait,

After about 15 mintues, I call Caroline,

C-“hey. Hows our girl?”

“Good, well kind off, she had her stomach pumped about an hour ago, I’m just waiting on her now,”

C-“oh, that’s horrible, what do you think happened?”

“they said it was a drug overdose,”

C-“‘w-what? Azzi?”

“Yeah….Marcos was there, she ran into him and they started talking,”

C-“yeah I saw that, we all thought he was just leaving with her, for…yknow.”

“Yea, well nothings confirmed, but he bought Azzi a drink, and ten 10 minutes later, was dragging her almost passed out to his car”

Caroline falls quiet for a beat then starts to speak again

C-“your saying Marcos drugged Azzi.”

“Yeah Caroline, looks like it.”

C-“I…What? I mean—why?”

“Me and you can only be great full that we don’t know why, the important thing is Azzi’s safe,”

C-“Y-yeah I just, I mean, I’m kinda shocked, I dragged her out here tonight, I-I shouldn’t have, shit.”

“It’s not your fault, It’s no ones fault, its just something that happened…..we can only put it in the past now, and maybe Azzi can too.”

C-“Fuck. That’s so scary P. Ill tell the girls what happened, everyone’s in KK and Ices suite,”

“Yeah, and can you do me a favor? Can you ask Nika to spend the night in someone else’s suite? I think I’m gonna take Az back to mine and maybe ill sleep in Nikas room and she can stay in mine,”

C-“yeah yeah of course, I’ll drop some of Azzis things off. Should we tell coach?”

“I think so, We have practice tomorrow and Azzi clearly can’t go, we should tell him why.”

C-“Okay, i’m gonna leave that to you though, maybe tell him tomorrow before practice starts, Im gonna go talk to Nika.”

I hang up with a goodbye,

After a few more deadly mintues of silence, the nurse walks out.

“Paige? You can come get Azzi now.” She says standing in the doorway,

I jump up and quickly walk towards her,

She points to a room to my left and I start to head towards it,

I open the door and I’m met with a sight I never want to see again,

Azzis laying in the bed, her eyes barley awake and IVs hooked up too her, her shirt was cut through to make room and she has dark rings under her eyes and no color in her skin.

“Oh Az,” I say making my way to her,

I lean down beside her, I push back her hair with my hand, stroking it ever softly,

“Paige, can we go home now?” she whispers, leaning into my touch,

I look up at the nurse and she smiles and nods,

I get her wheelchair and start to help her get up,

She winces a little, but im glad she can feel things again, anything’s better then the state she was in before,

the nurse pushes her and waits for me to pull the car around,

It takes me a few seconds to get the car to the front of the building, but I slam the door and walk back over to Azzi,

The nurse helps me get her in the passengers seat and I say goodbye and thank you, Turing on the engine.

silence fills the car as we drive back to the dorms,

she’s not asleep, she’s just looking out the window, staring.

I can’t stand this,

She’s supposed to be ignoring me with teasing comments, talking my ear off about a book,

Not quiet,

I take a hand off the steering wheel and place it on her thigh, something I’ve never done before.

She doesn’t push me away though,

Instead she takes her own and hand and puts it on top of mine without saying anything.

my heart flutters at this small action,

Azzi looks over to me,

“Paige Beuckers. Are you blushing right now?” She teases breaking the silence. Her voice is horse and soft but in the moment, it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.

“Yeah. Yeah I am Azzi Fudd.”

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers uconn #pazzi fics #pazzi #uconn #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #azzi35 #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers #azzi x reader #azzi stud #paige buckets

136 notes · View notes

deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 year ago

Text

Half A Bed

No, this is not the "only one bed" trope I'm afraid, although if anyone has any ideas for a fic w that trope, do drop you ideas in the inbox!

Summary: You and Astarion share a bed

At this point, it has become a habit for Astarion to move and leave half his bed free for you to plop yourself on whenever you enter his tent, despite all his grumbling about needing to move from his comfortable position. You then accept the invitation and happily lie down next to him, stretching your arms above your head with a relaxed sigh.

Tonight, Astarion wraps his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck and deeply inhales your scent. He loves how you smell like him, bergamot filling his nose and he lets out a contented sigh. You exude a pleasant warmth as per usual, sharply contrasting his own cold body. He shifts a little so that you can wrap an arm around him, nestling him in a cocoon of your embrace. His cold slender finger draws random shapes on your stomach while he rests his head on your shoulder, enjoying the silence that has befallen his tent.

It wasn’t long ago when such silence would have made him uncomfortable, unsure of what to do, unsure of what you wanted to do, but you had explained yourself upon noticing his discomfort, telling him that sometimes you were just too tired to do anything but still wanted his company. He had agreed to allowing you to do that, despite his reservations about what he himself could do during that time but soon realised that you really didn’t mind what he did.

If he felt just as exhausted as you, he would simply lie next to you, cuddling in the bed. If he still had some energy to spend, he would play with your hair or trace doodles on your stomach. If he felt peckish, he would drink from your neck. The only thing he couldn’t quite bring himself to do was trance whilst you were still awake. He told himself it was because he wanted to watch over you, but in reality, it was because deep down, he still feared that one day you would leave him.

The comfortable silence washes over the both of you, save for the quiet sound of your breathing and the rustle of book pages as you read the book you had brought along with you.

You glance down to check on your vampire lover, a small smile on your face when you notice how relaxed he is and start running your hand through his hair with your free hand. He croons in response and leans into the rhythmic touch, letting the calm wash over him. Your smile only grows wider, a small chuckle slipping from your lips which causes Astarion to look up at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“What, may I ask, is so funny?”

“Nothing, Star. Don’t worry.” You press a kiss to his creased forehead. “Although, if you keep frowning like that, there will be permanent wrinkles on your forehead.”

“Excuse me? I am a vampire! Eternally young and beautiful, all thanks to my already handsome features from before I was turned.” He huffs, burrowing his face deeper into your shoulder.

“Mmhm, if you say so,” you hum, setting aside your book to fully focus on him. As you play with strands of his curly silver hair, he gives yet another exaggerated huff, wrapping his arms around you and lightly nips at your exposed shoulder. He gives you a pout as he has done many times before and at this point, you would think you’d be immune to it but something about the way he pouts makes your heart melt each and every time.

“Come here,” you groan, rolling over to wrap your arms around him. He grins, happily nuzzling into your shoulder and welcomes the familiar embrace, filled with warmth and love. He feels safest like this, knowing that whatever happens, he will always have you to return to, that you will always have his back just like he has yours. You’re also permanently warm, and while that was something you found annoying, Astarion thanked whoever it was that made you such. He never needed to worry about the cold, not when all he needed to do was snuggle against you whenever he started to get cold, or simply felt like it. Not once did you ever turn him down, and he doubted you would ever do so.

You bury your face into his soft curls, suppressing yet another chuckle when you hear him mutter something along the lines of being one of the most beautiful vampires in all of Faerun.

“My apologies, one of the most beautiful vampires in all of Faerun.” You snort.

“Apology accepted,” he crows, ego stroked.

You can’t help but laugh, holding him close and pressing more kisses to the top of his head.

“Simply calling you beautiful doesn’t do you justice, you know.” You ruffle his hair.

“Oh? Do go on, darling.” His eyes twinkle with amusement and happiness.

“You see,” you indulge him, “it’s really easy to call you beautiful because everyone does that, and the phrase ends up losing all meaning. Calling you…say…��my entire world’ however, still holds a lot of meaning because nobody else calls you that.” You’re not sure why you’re being sappy tonight but you do know that you’re more than happy to give Astarion all the compliments in the world and more. He deserves at least that much.

Tears prick the edges of his eyes at your words and he quickly buries his tearing face in your shoulder, not wanting you to see how your words have affected him.

“It means everything, coming from you,” he whispers, the words struggling to leave his clogged up throat. He squeezes your hand tightly, hoping that the small gesture can convey everything he cannot say and from the look you give him, you’ve received the message.

He shifts to rest his head on your chest, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat and closes his eyes, letting the feeling he can’t qute describe wash over him. He sinks into the endless abyss of warmth that is you, barely aware of your arm moving to wrap around him to pull him closer but he likes the support that it brings. Even if he were to sink, he knows — no trusts — that you will be there to catch him. Maybe he could let his guard down for just a little while, a short respite from the exhausting day and trust that when he opens his eyes again, you’ll still be there, watching over him with that soft look in your eyes. You wouldn’t leave him when he’s at his most vulnerable, would you?

Ignoring the nagging feeling in his heart, he lets himself slip into a trance, lulled by the soothing sound of your heartbeat and the warmth of your body heat. It’s times like these where he misses being alive, he wishes he could feel his own heartbeat, feel the warmth of his body but when you still curl up against him even on the chilliest of nights, he thinks to himself that perhaps he is alright the way he is, with his cold undead body and sanguine hunger. You may have already told him such when he was confronted with the choice of ascending but while you may have accepted him as who he is, he still struggles with it from time to time. Doubts continue to claw at his thoughts, no matter how many times you drive them away, but if you will continue fighting against them for him, he will not give up.

Your heart flutters when you realise he’s drifting off into a trance. He subconsciously curls tighter into your side, fingers tightly grasping whatever they can reach.

“Rest well, my star.” You murmur, lips ghosting his forehead. It doesn’t take long for you to drift off as well, holding your world in your arms.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion fic

941 notes · View notes

misshoneyimhome · 1 month ago

Text

What’s up buttercups!

Another day in paradise—aka Chapter Fifteen (or something like that…) 🌙 You know what they say: three things can’t stay hidden forever—the sun, the moon, and the truth 💕 And let’s be honest… nothing good ever comes from keeping secrets from your best friends.

Well—except maybe hot, steamy sex with a certain captain… but who’s counting? 🙈

As always, happy reading, and all my love from yours truly 🥰

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, language, 18+ soft: soft dom/sub play, praise kink, lip biting, handcuffs, tied up, oral pleasure (f receiving), sex toy (vibrator), some overstimulation, unprotected vag sexual intercourse, cum inside, aftercare

Word count: 7.3k Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three ; Chapter four ; Chapter five ; Chapter six ; Chapter seven ; Chapter eight ; Chapter nine; Chapter ten; Chapter eleven; Chapter twelve; Chapter thirteen ; Chapter fourteen

Some who might have interest: @hockeybabe87 @tonyspep @thesecretestblogever @delayed-delusions @kurlyteuvo @emsdevs

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter Fifteen: A Knight's Move

“Dearest Toronto readers,

We’re still breathless from the heat of Wednesday night—on and off the ice.

Auston Matthews may have played like a man possessed (one goal, one assists, and more smirks than shifts), but it was the post-game hallway showdown that had our inbox flooded. A little birdie tells us that Ryan-the-ex made an unscheduled appearance backstage… and walked out with more than just a bruised ego.

But here’s what we know: the Queen didn’t wait to be saved. She stepped in. Defended her king. And later? Well, let’s just say the treatment room saw more action than the crease.

So now we ask… what happens after the passion? After the blood, the bruises, and the breathless confessions?

Word on Bay Street is that cracks are beginning to show—not on the ice, but in the Queen’s camp. A surprise visitor. A tension-filled lunch. And whispers that her most trusted knight may be turning away.

Meanwhile, the Ice King has gone silent. Brooding. Cold, even for him. The team feels it. His smile’s gone missing. And the locker room? Let’s just say not everyone’s in love with his love life.

All we’ll say is this: when knights move, they don’t fall quickly. But they do shake the board.

Hold your crowns close, darlings.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

Thursday –

Chase had always been mildly annoying—too smug, too polished, the kind of guy who used the word “leverage” in casual conversation. But lately, his attention had shifted. You noticed it in the way he lingered near your desk a bit longer, the way he asked about Auston with too much curiosity and too little subtlety. He’d started dropping into your inbox more often too—quick messages about player media timing or sponsorship visibility that didn’t need to come from him. Always signed with a too-chummy “Talk soon ;)”.

“You know, I was just telling Dani in Partnerships,” he said on Thursday morning, leaning on the corner of your desk like he owned it, “we should really leverage the Matthews momentum this quarter. Maybe pitch a few co-branded charity activations? PR gold, right?”

You kept your expression neutral, eyes flicking up from your laptop just long enough to be polite. “Sure. I’ll run it by his team.”

Chase smiled too broadly. That smile he used when he thought he knew something. “Or you could run it by him directly. I mean, you two are pretty tight these days.”

You felt the words land like a pebble dropped in still water—small, but spreading. Your fingers paused above your keyboard. “We work well together.”

“Right,” he said, drawing the word out, tone dripping with meaning. “Work.”

He straightened his tie like he’d just checkmated you in a game you hadn’t even realised you were playing. You made a point of turning back to your screen, eyes narrowing slightly at your inbox.

“Anyway,” Chase added, already taking a step back, “if you ever need a second opinion—or a media push—you know where to find me.”

You didn’t answer. Just clicked into a blank email draft and started typing nonsense until he finally walked away. But your stomach stayed tight for the rest of the morning, the echo of his implication crawling beneath your skin.

He didn’t know. But he was close.

And that was almost worse.

Friday –

By contrast, Friday morning had started with promise.

Jess had texted the night before: Girl day prep. Mani/pedi & chai lattes? 11am. Bring gossip.

You’d taken the day off, and you’d practically clung to the plan like a lifeline all week—craving a break from the chaos, the gossip, the heat of Auston’s body pressed to yours and the lies you were barely keeping straight. Time with Jess felt like an exhale you hadn’t had in weeks.

You pulled on your softest cream sweater, the one with sleeves that hung over your wrists like a comfort blanket, and a pair of high-waisted jeans that didn’t scream “trying too hard.” Your hair went up in a claw clip, a swipe of mascara on your lashes, and a dab of gloss before you slipped into your boots. Civilian armour.

Jess was already waiting outside your usual coffee spot, oversized sunglasses perched atop her head and two drinks in hand.

“Look who remembered how to dress like a normal person,” she called as you approached, holding one of the cups out toward you like a prize. “No Leafs logo in sight. Are we okay? Blink twice if you’re being held hostage by the equipment manager.”

You laughed, wrapping your fingers around the warm cardboard sleeve. “Give me a break. I’ve been living in jerseys and PR-grade blouses for the past month. I forgot what normal felt like.”

“WAG life changes a woman,” she said with a teasing grin, linking her arm through yours as you fell into step. “Look at you—coffee in one hand, boyfriend in the starting line-up, your name getting whispered on Reddit. Auston’s been glowing lately. You keeping secrets from me, babe?”

You snorted into your cup, the chai burning just slightly on the way down. “Please. If anyone’s glowing, it’s Knies. His skin looks photoshopped.”

“Oh, I’m not denying the baby Leaf is thriving. But you,” Jess pointed a finger at you. “You’ve got that… post-honeymoon haze. That ‘I’m getting absolutely railed on a weekly basis and also maybe falling in love’ kind of glow.”

You nearly choked. “Jess.”

“What?” she laughed. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You opened your mouth, ready to volley something snarky and vaguely defensive, but before the words could land, a voice pierced through the soft buzz of the street.

“There you are!”

You turned instinctively—and froze.

Your mother.

Wearing oversized sunglasses, carrying a miniature designer handbag, and smiling like she’d just walked onto a talk show set. Her heels clicked confidently on the pavement as she closed the distance.

“Mum?” you blinked, voice sharper than you meant. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” She waved you off, air-kissing the air near your cheek like you weren’t halfway to a meltdown. “You said you were doing a girls’ day with Jess the other day, so I just figured… to be one of the girls.”

You whipped your head toward Jess mouthing, I’m so sorry.

“I thought I’d surprise you both,” your mother continued, slipping effortlessly into your inner circle like she’d RSVP’d. “It’s been ages since we had proper time together. And I have been dying to talk more about this Auston.”

You stared. At her pink-tinted lips. At her ridiculous sunglasses. At the universe, who clearly hated you.

Jess blinked. “Did… she just say dying?”

“Oh yes,” your mother chirped. “I mean, the dinner was lovely, but I didn’t get nearly enough time with him. He was so charming. And tall. I was telling your aunt about him last night. And don’t even get me started on those shoulders.”

You closed your eyes.

“Kill me,” you muttered into your chai.

Jess squeezed your arm once and murmured, “Babe. Breathe.”

The next couple of hours were bearable—just. Your mother was in her usual form: polished, pleasant, and passive-aggressively maternal. She asked about Auston’s schedule, his taste in wine, whether he was “still planning to do something nice for your birthday,” which you hadn’t even mentioned.

“He’s just so lovely,” she said at one point, sipping her chai. “I hope he’ll be around for Christmas. Your cousins would adore him.”

You nearly choked.

Jess watched you carefully, her brows pulling tighter every time your mother spoke about ‘plans with Auston Matthews’. You tried to smile, nod, make non-committal noises.

You should have known it wouldn’t stay easy for long.

After shopping, an awkward lunch and way too many excuses not to talk about Auston, your mother insisted on coming back to your flat. “Just a little chat,” she’d said, all bright smiles and false lightness. Jess had naturally come too, filling the train ride with stories about work drama, anything to keep the mood floating like a balloon you didn’t dare pop.

But now, inside your living room, the walls felt like they were pressing in.

Jess excused herself to the bathroom with a breezy “two minutes, promise,” leaving you alone with your mother, who perched on the edge of the sofa like a woman about to deliver a sermon.

You perched on the other end, your tea cooling fast between your palms.

She reached out, placing her manicured hand over yours, her voice low and purposeful.

“Darling, I’m only saying this because I care. If you and Auston are serious—truly serious—you need to start thinking about the future. Careers are important, but they can be flexible. Love… doesn’t always wait for you to be ready.”

Here it was again.

That same sentence, dressed in different lace.

The one she used when you didn’t call enough. When you chose late nights at the office over brunch with extended family. When she asked if you’d frozen your eggs yet, casually, over dessert.

But this time, it wasn’t about you.

Not really.

It was about him.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

Maybe it was Chase’s smug face still lingering in your mind, dripping with implication. Maybe it was the constant pressure of your mother’s picture-perfect expectations. Maybe it was just the exhaustion—of keeping the story straight, of keeping yourself straight, in a life that had long since spun off script.

You opened your mouth to respond, but she was still talking, already steamrolling ahead, her tone bright, oblivious.

“I mean, of course you should have a wedding here in Ontario, but—”

“Mum!”

The word ripped out of you too loud, too raw, like a snapped bone.

She blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

You stood up so fast your tea sloshed, setting it down with a clatter you didn’t mean.

“You have to stop,” you hissed, hands shaking, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. “All of this—you can’t talk like that. Like it’s real.”

A frown etched across her forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” you said, gesturing helplessly at the air between you. “Me and Auston. It’s not real. It was never real.”

Your mother’s face froze, confusion hardening into something colder.

“You had dinner with him at our home,” she said slowly, disbelieving. “He helped your niece with her spaghetti.”

You let out a broken laugh. “Yeah. He’s really good at pretending. It’s an act, Mum. We’re not truly in love.”

Your voice cracked again, splintering under the weight of it.

“It was fake, okay?” you said, softer now, the admission falling out like ash. “We made a deal months ago. He needed help with the media, I needed credibility at work. It was supposed to be light, staged, strategic. And then it just… kept going. Got messy.”

Your mother’s mouth opened and closed, her hand withdrawing like you’d burned her.

“You… lied?” she said finally, almost breathless. “All this time?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said weakly. “Not like this. I didn’t think anyone would care—”

The soft sound of a door creaking open made your stomach lurch.

You turned.

Jess stood frozen at the edge of the hallway, one hand still resting on the doorframe.

Her expression was blank, but her eyes—God, her eyes were wide and hollow and wounded.

Your heart stopped dead in your chest.

“Jess—” you croaked, stepping toward her.

She flinched back—not dramatically, but enough that you felt it like a slap.

“I need a minute,” she said, her voice eerily steady, like she was holding herself together by the thinnest thread.

Then she turned, braid swinging with the force of her exit, and before you could move, before you could call after her, the door clicked shut behind her.

You stood there, breathing hard, the living room spinning slightly around you.

Behind you, your mother stayed frozen on the sofa, hands folded neatly again like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just watched you unravel.

The clock ticked on the wall.

The room smelled faintly of cold tea and steam from the bathroom and everything you couldn’t say.

You didn’t sit back down.

You just stared at the door Jess had left through, feeling the hollow pit in your chest stretch wider, deeper.

You weren’t sure what hurt more: the look in Jess’s eyes, or the fact that telling the truth hadn’t fixed anything.

It had only broken what little you had left.

You: Please just text me when you get home. I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to happen like that. Please, can we talk?

There was no response.

You stared at the screen, willing the typing bubble to appear. It didn’t. After a few minutes, you locked your phone and pressed it flat against your thigh, as if closeness might summon forgiveness.

Your mother stood near the coat rack, her sunglasses pushed up onto her head, tapping her fingers against the leather of her handbag.

“Well,” she said eventually, her voice clipped with that brittle calm she defaulted to when she didn’t know which tone would land right. “I’ll give you some space.”

You nodded but didn’t look up. Not because you were angry—but because it was easier not to see the confusion on her face. The quiet disappointment. You didn’t owe her the full story, not now. She didn’t press. Just adjusted her coat and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind her with a softness that still managed to echo.

Silence followed instantly. Heavy. Dense.

You sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the untouched mugs on the table. The tea had gone cold. Your chest felt the same—distant. Unwarmed.

You sent another message.

You: Please talk to me. I never wanted to lie to you. It just got complicated.

Still no response.

“Oh, dear readers. We always knew the Queen’s crown was heavy—what we didn’t expect was how sharply it would tilt when the truth finally slipped free.

The court is splintering. Whispers have turned to thunder. And now, a once-loyal knight has laid down her sword—not with a grand declaration, not with tears, but with a silence sharp enough to draw blood.

Sources say the Queen confessed a secret meant to stay buried, a truth too jagged to fit the fairy tale. What started as a game of appearances has grown teeth, and the wounds it leaves behind? They are real.

And what of our Ice King? Word from inside the locker room says he’s colder than ever. Quieter. Disconnected. The kind of distracted that leaves coaches frowning and teammates whispering behind closed doors.

Something has shifted, Toronto. The board has cracked. The knight has moved—and now, for the first time, the Queen stands truly alone. - The Benchwarmer.”

The air inside the locker room still held the sticky bite of morning skate—sweat, detergent, damp tape, and whatever godawful cologne Knies had decided was his “signature scent” this week. Auston sat on the bench, hunched over his skates, aggressively yanking at the laces like they’d insulted his mother.

Mitch flopped down beside him with all the grace of a man who’d never learned how to sit quietly.

“You good?” he asked casually.

Auston didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

From across the room, Morgan Rielly gave a loud, disbelieving snort. “Ah yes. The ancient hockey lie.”

Mitch smirked. “Seriously, though—you’ve been weird.”

Auston shot him a look. “Thanks for the diagnosis.”

“No, like… mood swing weird,” Knies added, towelling his hair dry. “You were full-on Captain Hardass in video review yesterday, and then I caught you literally humming during warmup.”

“It was Lovebug,” William added without looking up from his phone. “Not even ironically. Just… sincere.”

Auston groaned. “Jesus. Are you all stalking me now?”

Morgan leaned against the wall of his stall. “Nah, man. You’re just loud with your moods. You snapped at the equipment guy because your laces were too short.”

“They were too short,” Auston muttered.

“And then you texted me at 12:47 am asking if I knew a florist,” Morgan continued, deadpan.

“I was ordering flowers. For my mom.”

A beat of silence.

“You hesitated,” Mitch said gleefully. “You totally hesitated.”

William glanced up. “Your mom also the one who made you smirk like a movie villain when she showed up in your jersey on Wednesday?”

Auston yanked off his second skate with more force than necessary. “Can everyone shut the hell up?”

“Oh, he’s pissed,” Knies grinned. “Classic denial stage.”

“Not denial,” Auston muttered. “Just don’t see why it’s your business.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Well, considering you’ve been stomping around like you lost a fight with your own feelings? Kinda is our business.”

“I didn’t lose a fight,” Auston snapped, then paused. “Not—emotionally.”

“Oh, he’s admitting there was a fight,” Mitch stage-whispered.

Auston glared at him.

Morgan held up a hand. “Alright, let’s just run through the facts: You met her family. You text your defenceman at midnight for bouquet advice. You skate like a god when she’s watching and brood like Batman when she’s not.”

“I do not brood.”

“You are brooding right now,” Knies said, pointing with a grin.

Auston leaned back against the locker, jaw tight. The cool metal pressed into his shoulders, but it didn’t ground him the way he needed. Not today.

“She’s just…” He trailed off, jaw working.

“Just what?” Morgan pressed.

“It’s complicated.”

Mitch’s eyes widened theatrically. “Ooooh. That’s what people say when they’re in love and scared shitless.”

“I’m not in love,” Auston said quickly. Too quickly.

Silence.

Knies raised both eyebrows. “Not yet, or not admitting it?”

Auston didn’t answer.

Morgan crossed his arms, voice softening just slightly. “Look, man. We’ve seen you play lights-out when she’s around. We’ve also seen you spiral when you’re in your own head. She’s good for you—even if it started weird, or messy, or whatever you don’t want to say out loud.”

Auston stared at the floor.

“She’s not just some girl,” Morgan added. “Not anymore. And if you’re seeing your mom this week?”

Mitch let out a low whistle. “Yikes. Mama Matthews will get it out of you, dude.”

Auston dragged a hand down his face, sighing hard enough to blow the hair from his forehead. The cut under his lip still stung when he moved too much. Everything felt like it was catching up with him—Ryan, Jess, you. His temper. His heart.

“I don’t know how to talk to her,” he said finally. “Not about… whatever this is.”

“You already are,” Mitch shrugged. “You’re just doing it with your eyes and not your mouth.”

William nodded once, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Tell her before someone else does. Girls don’t wait around forever. Especially not ones like her.”

There was a pause. Long enough for the weight of it to settle in Auston’s chest.

Knies cleared his throat. “You’re not fooling anyone, man. Just call her.”

Auston stood, grabbing his hoodie from the hook behind him. “I’ve got shit to do.”

“Like what?” Mitch called after him.

Auston didn’t stop walking. “Like figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

He shoved the hoodie on over his head and muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “why do things always have to be so fucking messed up.”

William smirked as the door clicked behind him. “Think he finally got it?.”

Your phone buzzed just as you were folding a hoodie you didn’t want to wear and didn’t want to put away. The cotton was soft, worn at the seams, smelling faintly of clean laundry and memories you hadn’t decided whether to keep or let go.

Auston: Come over?

Two words. No emoji. No punctuation. Just space. An open door. A question wrapped in quiet.

You sat on the edge of your bed, the fabric bunched beneath your thighs, phone resting heavy in your palm. You stared at the message, thumb hovering like it was waiting for some divine cue. It wasn’t the kind of text that demanded a response. It didn’t shout.

It whispered.

Like he knew you were drowning a little and didn’t want to pull you under—just offer a hand, open and patient, if you wanted to take it.

You didn’t know what to say. Jess still hadn’t answered your messages. Not even a read receipt. Just silence. And every minute that passed only deepened the hollow in your chest, carving out more space where the ache lived.

You were tired.

Of lying.

Of pretending you weren’t aching.

Of chasing a version of yourself you barely recognised anymore.

You didn’t want to talk.

You just… didn’t want to be alone.

So, you typed one word, hand barely steady:

You: Okay.

—

The Uber ride was a quiet blur. You didn’t bother with makeup—your skin still carried the soft salt of dried tears and city air. You’d pulled your sleeves over your hands, thumb rubbing along the seam like it might keep your pulse steady. Outside, the world was grey and blurred—lights smeared across rain-speckled glass, buildings and people reduced to silhouettes.

You didn’t bring a bag. Just your phone. Just your body and the ache sitting inside it like ballast.

Auston’s building loomed familiar now, like a place you returned to more than you meant to. The lobby lights were soft, golden, the hum of the elevator muted and warm. The front desk guy gave you a nod but didn’t say anything, just tapped the counter lightly—like a secret handshake only the two of you understood.

His door was unlocked.

The hallway was quiet. Carpeted silence. And when you pushed it open, the soft scent of him hit you immediately—cedarwood and something darker. Muskier. Intimate. Like skin. Like comfort.

There was no music playing. No TV flickering in the background. Just the faint hiss of the furnace kicking in and the soft buzz of the refrigerator.

And him.

He was standing in the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed up over his forearms, the drawstrings tangled loosely at his chest. His hands were planted flat on the counter, knuckles pale, like he needed the contact to stay grounded. His head was bowed slightly, hair a little messy, jaw dark with stubble.

He didn’t turn when you stepped in. Just exhaled. Like the tension had known you were coming before he did.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Your throat tightened around the word waiting there. “Hey.”

He glanced over his shoulder—only briefly, but enough for his eyes to catch yours. There was no smile. Just something softer. Something raw.

“You came quickly,” he said, voice low and even. “I mean… it’s nice to see you.”

The words slipped into your chest like warm hands pressing gently against your ribs. Not demanding. Not coaxing. Just… kind.

You nodded. Didn’t trust your voice not to crack. Not when you were already barely stitched together.

He stepped back from the counter, gesturing slightly with one hand. “You hungry?”

You shook your head. Even the thought of food turned your stomach. He must’ve known.

His eyes lingered. Dark and steady. Like he was reading you—scanning your face like it held all the answers he didn’t know how to ask. You saw the faint twitch in his brow, the way his jaw worked, like he was biting back instinct. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t push.

He just walked over and stood in front of you. Not touching. Not demanding. Just… there. A little slouched. A little tired. Like you.

“I’m not good at this,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “But I’m trying.”

You looked at him then—really looked. At the faint purple shadow still blooming beneath one eye. The cut on his bottom lip, a thin slash of red half-healed. At the way his shoulders stayed tense, like he was bracing for a punch you weren’t going to throw.

You stepped closer. Rested your forehead against his chest.

His hands found your waist instantly. Hesitant. Gentle. But certain. Like he’d been craving this moment all day and didn’t know if he was allowed to reach for it.

You closed your eyes and breathed him in.

He smelled like skin warmed under fabric. Like clean laundry and cedar and something you couldn’t name but knew by heart. Your fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie.

“Rough day,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said against your hair. “Me too.”

You stayed like that. Breathing in sync. Hearts thudding too loud.

Then, slowly, you slid your hands under his hoodie, palms smoothing over the warmth of his bare stomach, up across the planes of his chest. His breath hitched the moment you touched skin. His muscles tensed beneath your fingers.

“I… I don’t want to talk… or think,” you murmured. “Not right now.”

His head dipped, lips brushing your temple. “Then don’t.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. The light in the room was soft, catching the edges of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows.

His eyes were already darker. Focused. Waiting for permission.

“I don’t need sweet,” you said. “Not tonight.”

His jaw flexed. “No?”

You shook your head. “I just need… less thinking. Less feeling. Just… forget about everything and fuck.”

He exhaled through his nose—slow, controlled—but his hands gripped your waist tighter.

“I can do that.”

And then he kissed you.

Not softly.

Not cautiously.

It was heat and hunger and restraint wound so tight it sang in your bones. His mouth opened against yours, tongue brushing deep, one hand tangling in your hair while the other held your hip like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You whimpered into his mouth, fingers curling into the hem of his hoodie, pulling him closer. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t wait. His hands found your thighs, gripping tight as he lifted you onto the counter with a grunt that rumbled deep in his chest.

The granite was cold beneath you, but it didn’t matter. Not when his body pressed between your legs like gravity.

His hands bracketed your hips, thumbs digging into denim.

“I want to play,” he murmured against the skin of your neck. “I want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

Your heart skipped. Your breath caught.

“Go as far as you want.”

He froze—just for a second. Just long enough to look at you. To see if you meant it.

“You sure?”

You nodded, voice trembling. “Please.”

His gaze swept over you—slow, deliberate. He saw everything. The ache. The want. The weight.

Then he kissed you again—deeper this time, rougher.

“Bedroom,” he growled.

And you let him lead. You let yourself fall.

He didn’t speak as he led you to the bedroom—just took your hand and walked you down the hallway, slow and steady, like he already knew you’d follow. Like there was no question of where you belonged. The hallway light cast soft shadows over the floor, and with every step, your heart beat louder in your ears.

The door clicked shut behind you with a quiet finality.

No candles. No music. Just the hush of the room breathing around you.

He pulled his hoodie over his head with one swift motion and tossed it to the chair in the corner. His chest rose with a sharp inhale, the muscle beneath his tattooed skin was tight with tension that didn’t quite feel like restraint—it felt like purpose. Pressure, waiting to break.

You stood near the foot of the bed, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat, spine tingling with anticipation.

Then Auston turned to face you fully. His jaw was tight and his eyes unreadable. He didn’t smile.

He just looked like a man ready to unravel.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, voice low and deliberate.

There was no question in it. No pause. Just command.

Your stomach flipped just a little, but you didn’t hesitate. Because it wasn’t a bad feeling, it was… thrilling.

You peeled off your sweater, the fabric catching slightly on your fingers. Then your jeans along with your knickers, slow and trembling. You unclasped the hook of your bra behind your back, straps slipping from your shoulders. And then you stood there bare before him, shivering slightly—not from cold, but from the weight of his stare.

He watched all of it. Silently with arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he was trying to commit the image to memory.

And then he moved.

Crossed the space between you in two strides. One hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing lightly beneath your chin. His eyes searched yours—not for hesitation, but for confirmation. And he found it.

Then he kissed you.

Hard.

Hungry.

His mouth slanted over yours with a force that stole the air from your lungs, all grit and heat and unspoken ache. You opened for him instinctively, gasping into the space between your lips as his tongue swept against yours. His other hand came to rest at your lower back, pulling you flush against the bare heat of his chest.

Your hands roamed his muscular chest - or his arms, or neck. Just anywhere you could touch.

He groaned against you, deep in his chest like the sound had been waiting to come out all night. His mouth lingered near yours, his breath hot, lips brushing yours again—soft, but laced with restraint that only made you tremble harder.

And then he bit down on your lower lip.

Just enough to sting. To claim. To make you gasp into his mouth like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

When he finally pulled back, your lips felt swollen. Your breath was ragged.

His thumb dragged slowly over your bottom lip, eyes dark with heat and something unreadable. His voice came out rough, frayed at the edges. “Fuck, you look good like this.”

You barely had time to respond before his tone shifted.

“Get on the bed.”

The words were low, deliberate, and commanding in a way that made your knees nearly buckle, your body responding before your mind had the chance to question it. You obeyed without hesitation, moving back slowly until the backs of your legs brushed against the mattress. Breath shallow, heart drumming loud in your ears, you climbed up and sank into the sheets, lying back near the headboard with your arms loose at your sides and your eyes never leaving his.

He didn’t move immediately. He just watched you for a beat longer, his expression unreadable, jaw tight as if holding back the weight of everything unsaid. Then he turned, walked to the bedside table, and slid open the drawer with calm purpose. The faint sound of metal shifting inside broke the hush of the room, and when he turned back to you, he was holding something small, cool, and silver between his fingers.

Handcuffs.

Not fuzzy. Not playful. Just sleek and cold.

His gaze locked with yours, his tone quieter now but laced with authority. “Do you trust me?”

The question hung thick in the air between you, humming with tension and electricity. It wasn’t gentle or coy—it was rooted in something deeper and heavier, edged with promise.

You nodded.

But he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it,” he murmured, voice huskier, hungrier.

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t hesitate. “I trust you.”

He moved toward you, slow and sure, and climbed onto the bed, kneeling between your thighs with a deliberate steadiness that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were warm and certain as he guided your arms upward, positioning your wrists together above your head. The first cuff closed around your right wrist with a soft metallic click. The second fastened your left and to the metal loop in the headboard. The restraint was firm but not harsh, and when you tested the give, you realised you were bound—open, vulnerable, and entirely his.

But surprisingly not afraid.

He leaned down and pressed a single kiss to your shoulder, the heat of his lips branding you gently, and then he pulled back just enough for you to see the shift in his eyes. The hunger. The control. The promise of what was coming.

“You want to forget?” he murmured, voice like velvet and fire. “Then I’m going to make sure you don’t think at all.”

The words sank into your chest like a fuse being lit.

You whimpered, just barely, and that was all he needed.

His mouth curved into something feral as he reached for you, hands gripping your thighs firmly. In one rough pull, he dragged your body closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him, his strength making your breath catch as your cuffed arms pulled taut above you.

Then he dropped to his knees.

His palms settled on your hips, fingers flexing. And then his mouth met your cunt—hot, sure, and consuming.

“Oh fuck, Auston—”

He didn’t pause, didn’t tease. He licked into you with single-minded focus, no warning, no slow build. His tongue was firm and relentless, working you like he was trying to wring every last drop of tension from your body. Like he needed to punish you and pleasure was the weapon.

Your hips bucked instinctively, searching for more, for relief, but the cuffs held you down. Helpless beneath the onslaught of his mouth, you couldn’t move, couldn’t shift, only take what he gave you.

His grip tightened on your thighs, anchoring you as his tongue circled and dragged and pressed in maddening, perfect rhythm. The obscene sound of wet heat filled the room, and your legs were already trembling, breath catching with every flick of his tongue. His nose bumped your clit just right, again and again and again, pushing you further until it was almost too much to take—

And then he stopped.

You gasped, hips twitching in the air as he stood, leaving you bare and throbbing in the quiet.

Your eyes followed him, still dazed, as he reached back into the drawer and pulled out a slim black vibrator. He flicked it on with a soft buzz that seemed to echo, and the low hum filled the room like a warning.

Your breath hitched.

Your eyes widened.

But he simply smirked.

“You said no more feelings,” he said, voice low and unapologetic. “So, I’m going to give you everything.”

He climbed back between your legs, dragging the vibrator slowly along your inner thigh, making your skin jump beneath the touch, teasing you with every pass but never quite giving you what you needed.

And then he pressed it against your clit, firm and direct, so your whole body jolted.

You cried out, arching in the cuffs, breath punched from your lungs.

“Too much?” he asked, the vibration never letting up.

You shook your head frantically, already straining against the edge. “No. Please. Don’t stop.”

The orgasm hit too fast, too sharp, tearing through you with a force that made your vision blur. Your wrists strained in their restraints as your hips bucked, but he didn’t let up—not even for a second.

The toy stayed right where it was—circling, pressing, punishing. And then his fingers joined in—one at first, then two—slipping inside you and curling just right, perfectly, devastatingly.

You came again, this time with a cry that cracked your voice wide open. You sobbed through it, raw and breathless, as your whole body shook.

Then retreating his fingers, he kissed your cheek, your neck, his voice like gravel in your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Fucking gorgeous when you break.”

The vibrator finally clicked off, leaving a silence that felt just as charged as the hum had been. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him.

And then he stood.

He shoved down his sweats and boxers in one motion and stepped back between your thighs, cock thick and flushed, his gaze locked on yours as he lined up and sank into you in one long, brutal stroke.

The stretch was sharp, overwhelming, but you were soaked and ruined and ready, your cunt fluttering around him like it didn’t know how to handle the fullness.

You moaned—loud and desperate—as the handcuffs clinked above your head, the metal cold around your wrists.

Auston groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

And then he started to move.

Hard and rough.

Not violent, but forceful in rhythm, every thrust landing with the force of everything he hadn’t said. Deep and unrelenting as your body clung to him, spasming with every stroke.

You cried out—again and again, your voice breaking.

“Can’t handle it?” he asked, breath ragged against your skin, but he never slowed.

Tears streaked your cheeks. But your answer didn’t waver.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Don’t. fucking. stop... please”.

He kissed your temple. Just once. And then he fucked you harder.

You lost all track of time. All sense of where your body ended and his began. All that existed was the throb between your legs, the slick sound of skin meeting skin, and the low rasp of his voice when he whispered your name like it meant salvation. He was fucking your brains out.

And when you came again, you broke around him with a sob that shook your whole body.

“Fuck—baby, that’s it,” he groaned. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

Because he wasn’t far behind. You felt it in the way his hips began to stutter, in the way his hands gripped your wrists tight enough to bruise.

And when he finally climaxed, it was with a deep, broken sound in your ear. His hips jerked, his cock pulsed inside you, and his arms wrapped tight around your arms as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You stayed like that for a long moment. Breathless and bare. Tethered only to each other and the mess you’d made.

And just like that… then came the gentle part.

He eased out of you slowly, careful like he didn’t want to startle you, before he reached up and released the cuffs one at a time, massaging your wrists with tender fingers, and pressing a kiss to the inside of each.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough with concern.

You nodded, your voice caught somewhere in your throat.

He brushed your hair from your face, thumb catching one of the tear streaks. “Good girl,” he whispered. “You took all of it.”

You didn’t know if you were floating or falling, but you knew you were safe. And that was enough.

The water steamed around you, beading down your shoulders, washing away the sweat, the heat, the high. Auston stood behind you in the shower, one hand braced against the tile near your head, the other resting lightly on your hip, steadying you. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

His fingers then moved slowly across your back, soap lathered into his palm, every touch careful and reverent—like he was trying to wash away more than just the night. You tilted your head slightly, letting it rest against his chest. The solid weight of him anchored you. His skin was warm, his heartbeat steady beneath your head, and for a moment—just one—it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. Like this space, fogged with steam and breath and heat, was the only place that made any sense.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Something that felt gentle and almost thoughtful.

“You good?” he asked, voice quiet, rough with sleep and something softer.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He traced a slow path down your chest with the pads of his fingers. “Was it… too much?”

You shook your head. “No. It was everything I needed.”

He didn’t speak. Just exhaled, his breath brushing your temple.

The silence returned—not heavy, not cold. Just full. With everything neither of you had said yet.

But then you swallowed, your voice barely rising above the hum of water. “Jess knows.”

Auston didn’t flinch, but his fingers stilled against your skin.

And then you kept going, words trickling out like the water around you. “She overheard me talking to my mum. I didn’t mean for her to. I didn’t mean to tell anyone… not like that. It just spilled.”

He shifted, pulled you in closer, arms winding around your waist, chin resting lightly against the top of your head.

“Will she tell anyone?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know… she didn’t look angry. Just hurt. Like I’d broken something she thought was safe.”

He didn’t answer straightaway. He just held you tighter.

You let your fingers trail over the side of his forearm. “And Chase… he doesn’t know. I think… Not really. But he’s watching, and he’s asking questions.”

Auston nodded slowly, his lips brushing your ear. “We’ll handle it.”

You turned slightly to look at him. His face was softened by the steam, his hair wet and curling around his forehead. His eyes were steady. Serious. But not afraid.

“We?” you asked.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. We.”

The word landed in your chest and stayed there. Solid. Quiet. Sure. Like something you could build from, if you dared.

He reached in front of you and turned off the tap, and the silence that followed was almost loud, the gentle drip of water echoing in the small space as you stood together, bare and vulnerable, skin to skin.

He took a towel and wrapped you in it first, arms sliding around your shoulders as he tucked you in like instinct. Then he grabbed one for himself, rubbing at his hair with lazy hands before glancing toward the bedroom.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You can stay if you want.”

You hesitated. Just a breath. Just long enough to feel the weight of what wasn’t being said. You didn’t know what this meant—not yet. You didn’t have a plan or the right words for the shape this thing had taken between you.

But you didn’t want to leave.

Not tonight.

So, you just nodded, and he offered a smile—small, almost shy. Like it mattered more than he could say.

In the bedroom, he handed you a T-shirt—long and soft and worn in all the right places, unmistakably his—and waited while you slipped it over your head. Then he pulled back the covers, climbed into bed, and held them open like an invitation.

You climbed in without a word.

The sheets were warm and smelled like him. Like the sex you just had.

You then curled into his side, your head on his chest, his hand resting gently at your hip under the covers, fingertips drawing slow, aimless circles into your skin.

And there, in the hush of the room, with the storm outside your mind finally quiet, you let yourself drift.

“Dearest Toronto readers,

We told you the board had shifted.

While the Ice King skated through morning drills with a jaw like stone and a stare that could curdle milk, whispers began to curl around the edges of the rink. His mood, some said, was unstable. But we disagree. It wasn’t the throne cracking—it was the walls around his heart.

You felt it, didn’t you? The silence behind locker room doors. The soft unravelling in hallway glances. The storm before something honest.

And then—she appeared. Not on a red carpet. Not in a press release. But quietly, in a hoodie and tired eyes, walking into the Ice King’s private domain like she’d been there all along.

We hear the suite was quiet that night. No champagne. No flashbulbs. Just hands held under running water. Secrets whispered between kisses. And a woman who knew exactly what she needed: not a saviour, but a sanctuary.

Even the sharpest observers sometimes miss the softest truths.

But not us.

Not when the Queen lays down her armour and still commands the room. Not when she admits what hurts—and lets someone else help carry it.

She didn’t need rescuing. But she still chose to be held.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

#The Benchwarmer #inexperienced!reader x Auston #auston matthews fanfic #Toronto maple leafs fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl romance #nhl imagines

109 notes · View notes