#fractured header

[bowelfly]

header art courtesy of @skelizard

A WANDERING MERCHANT AND HIS TRUSTY STEED ENTER AN UNFAMILIAR CITY FULL OF MYSTERY AND DANGER

WITHOUT WARNING THE UNIVERSE SHATTERS!

SEVEN JAGGED PATHS BRANCH OFF THROUGH TIME AND SPACE, THEIR FATE CONTROLLED BY SEVEN TEAMS OF ARTISTS, EACH BLIND TO ALL BUT THE LAST THING DRAWN

HOW WILL THE STORY UNFOLD ACROSS THESE FRACTURED TIMELINES? FIND OUT BELOW IN...

HYDRAPHONE 2025

Choose a path:

BRANCH 1 | BRANCH 2 | BRANCH 3 | BRANCH 4 | BRANCH 5 | BRANCH 6 | BRANCH 7

[devdozes]

♥ Love you Love you Love you Love you

AND 100 FOLLOWERS THANK YUO SO MUCCH AAAA FLAMEREAVER PHAINON AAAA!! Phainon header art is mine!! Flamereaver phainon fanart below at the end of the post

The first time you met Phainon, he was leaning against the marketplace wall, bathed in the amber glow of Amphoreus' setting sun. His fluffy white hair ruffled in the breeze, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he greeted you with a grin, the picture of an ordinary young man with a penchant for teasing.

But you were never one to trust easily. Especially not when his swordsmanship—so graceful, so precise—felt oddly reminiscent of a ghost story whispered through the alleys at night. But in the end you fell for him, you fell into an inescapable rabbit hole for him.

The Flamereaver.

A nameless swordmaster who carved a path of ruin, driven by a thirst for the Titans’ Coreflame. A shadow in the black tide, their identity unknown.

You brushed the thoughts away at first. Phainon was charming, sometimes irritatingly so. He paid attention to the smallest details, catching things even you overlooked. His laughter was easy, his movements controlled, but there was something about him—something lurking beneath the surface. A momentary flicker in his gaze when he spoke of fire, of war, of lost things.

And then the Grove of Epiphany burned.

You stood at the edge of the ruin, the scent of ash thick in the air, staring at the lone figure amidst the wreckage. His back was to you, but you knew that stance. That impossible, immaculate swordplay.

A gust of wind carried the embers, and he turned.

Phainon’s blue eyes met yours, and for the first time, they were cold.

Madness and obsession entwined within them like an inferno restrained by sheer will. His sword—slick with molten red—gleamed under the fractured moonlight.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice still as light as before, but tinged with something… older. “I suppose you’ve figured it out now.”

Your heart pounded. “You’re the Flamereaver.”

Phainon sighed, running a hand through his ashen locks, expression almost sheepish. “I preferred when you just thought I was a little too perceptive.”

“Why?” The word came out raw, barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head, considering. “Because I must. Because the Coreflame calls.”

His sword rose, an invitation, a warning.

“Will you stand in my way?”

You didn’t know how to answer.

Because the Phainon you knew—the one who smiled, who made a game of guessing your thoughts, who felt so achingly human—was standing before you, wreathed in the flames of a legend that should never have been real.

And yet, he was still Phainon.

Still the man who watched the stars with you.

Still the man who now waited for your answer, his gaze unreadable, his grip on his sword loose—but ready.

The flames crackled around you both, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat.

And his quiet, unwavering breath.

Then, he spoke again, his voice softer, almost pleading beneath the weight of something neither of you could control. "I didn’t choose this. The Coreflames… they are my burden. I must take them all, or—" He clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes for a moment before opening them again, burning with desperate resolve. "Or everything will be undone."

His fingers tightened around his sword, knuckles pale. "It’s madness, I know. But I have no choice. Every Coreflame I claim brings me closer to an end I cannot escape." A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, but there was no mirth in it. "So tell me, will you hate me for it? Will you turn away now, knowing what I am?"

His gaze softened—achingly so. Even with those cold, inhuman eyes, he looked at you as if you were something precious. Something he wished he could hold onto, even as the fire consumed him.

"If you stay…" Phainon exhaled, his grip trembling for the first time. "You will see what I truly am. And I fear—" He hesitated, his voice dropping into something barely above a whisper. "I fear that I will not have the strength to let you go."

The fire roared behind him, licking at the ruins of a past he could never return to.

And yet, in this moment, with his sword lowered and his heart laid bare, Phainon stood before you—not as the Flamereaver, not as a legend, but as a man on the edge of despair, clinging to the last remnants of something real.

You.

And then, as if realizing his own weakness, Phainon took a step back, forcing steel into his voice. "You should leave." The words were clipped, calculated—like the swing of a blade meant to sever something before it could grow too deep. "Go before I change my mind."

But his eyes betrayed him.

Even as he turned away, as he tried to retreat into the cold, his gaze lingered, filled with something twisted and aching. A love so consuming it bordered on obsession. A longing so desperate it threatened to unravel him.

Phainon had always been good at deception. But not with you.

Not when his very soul was screaming for you to stay, even as his lips told you to run.

And in that moment, you understood.

Phainon did not fear the Coreflames. He did not fear battle or ruin or even his own demise.

He feared losing you.

And the worst part? He already had.

Your breath hitched as you took a hesitant step forward. The embers danced around his silhouette, painting him in a light both divine and damning.

"Phainon…" You whispered his name, but he did not turn. His grip on his sword tightened instead, knuckles bloodless.

Another step.

The blade was at your throat before you could react, its edge gleaming with the reflected flames of everything he'd destroyed.

"Don’t."

The word was hoarse, raw, barely above a breath, but it carried the weight of something lethal. Phainon's expression was composed, carved from cold steel—but his eyes.

His eyes betrayed him.

They held the torment of a man drowning, even as his hands pushed you away.

"You don’t know what you're doing," he continued, voice sharper than the blade itself. "I warned you. You should have listened."

But you did know. You knew exactly what you were doing.

And you knew what he was doing, too.

You could see it in the way his fingers trembled, the way his chest rose and fell with breathes too uneven for someone as disciplined as him. You could feel it in the space between you—so close yet impossibly far.

"Then tell me to leave," you said, voice steady despite the sting of metal against your skin. "Tell me you don’t care. Tell me you wouldn’t regret it if I walked away right now."

A flicker.

Just for a second, his lips parted—silent, breathless, as if the words had caught in his throat before they could escape.

Then, his jaw clenched.

He pressed the blade a fraction closer, the bite of it sharp but not enough to draw blood. It was a warning. One that you knew, deep down, he would never follow through with.

"Go," he forced out. "While you still can."

And yet, despite his words, his gaze remained locked onto you, burning with something far more dangerous than fire.

Something desperate.

Something that screamed that if you took another step, if you reached for him—he would break.

And he would take you down with him.

But maybe… maybe you were already falling.

"One more step," he murmured, his voice flat, almost bored, "and I’ll carve you open like the rest."

A lie.

You knew it was.

You could see it in the tension coiling through his muscles, in the way his grip on his weapon was almost too tight, as if it were the only thing tethering him to this wretched act of self-denial.

But his eyes—

Those blue, frostbitten eyes were void of the warmth that once greeted you at dusk. They didn’t waver, didn’t soften. They remained locked onto you with the lethal calculation of a man who had convinced himself of his own monstrosity.

And still, you moved closer.

Another step.

Another drop of blood slipping from his blade.

Something inside him snapped.

With a sharp inhale, Phainon moved faster than breath, his weapon slashing outward—stopping just short of your throat. Close enough for you to feel the whisper of its edge, for the heat of freshly spilled blood to radiate between you.

You didn’t flinch.

He noticed.

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a snarl. "You don’t get it, do you?" His voice was quiet, laced with something dark. "I am not playing with you."

His weapon remained poised, steady, the weight of it absolute.

And yet, in the flickering light, you saw it—the minuscule tremor in his fingers, the unspoken war behind his stare.

He wanted you to fear him.

He wanted you to run.

But even now, with his face splattered in blood and his hands heavy with ruin—he could not bring himself to push you away.

"Why aren’t you afraid?"

You didn’t answer. Because you knew fear had never been the problem.

He let out a sharp breath, his control slipping. "Damn you," he whispered, his grip tightening. "You should be running. You should hate me."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He took another step forward, backing you into the ruins. Not to corner you—no, it wasn’t that. He just wanted to be closer. To see you clearer.

To feel your warmth in the cold abyss he had thrown himself into.

His free hand, the one not gripping his sword, twitched at his side. He wanted to touch you. To brush the soot from your skin, to trace the shape of you with reverence, to make sure you were still real. That you hadn’t left him behind like the rest.

Phainon inhaled sharply through his nose, his expression twisting. He was losing this battle.

"You don’t understand," he growled, his voice raw now, slipping past the walls he had built. "I would burn this world for you. I would tear the Coreflames from the Titans themselves if it meant keeping you safe."

His blade lowered an inch. His control cracked another fracture.

"But you… you are the one thing I cannot have." His voice was hoarse, his breathing uneven. "Because I would ruin you. I would drag you into my flames, and I would never let you go."

You could see it now, the full weight of his obsession. The way it clawed at his ribs, at his very being. He could not afford to love you, and yet he did—so completely, so utterly, that it hurt.

And still, despite it all, you took another step. Closing the space between you.

Phainon shuddered. His sword fell from your throat. He let it drop, let it clang uselessly to the ground between you. His hands, empty now, hovered—hesitant, desperate, aching.

His breath was unsteady, his entire body wound too tight, as if one more second of restraint would shatter him entirely.

"You should run," he whispered one last time.

But his hands had already found your face. His sharp golden claws went over your skin, the cold metallic claws made you shiver, touch featherlight, as if he was afraid he would break you.

Or maybe… as if he was afraid you would break him.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm, shaky. His heart thundered against his ribs, wild, unrestrained.

"I should let you go," he murmured, but his grip only tightened. But Then— Phainon trembled.

For all his power, for all the flames that had swallowed cities at his command, he was fragile beneath your touch.

His breaths came shallow, uneven. His body was wound tight, every muscle locked in a battle he had already lost. And when your fingers—warm, steady, unbearably gentle—cupped his face, he broke.

A sharp, wounded inhale. A shudder.

Then, the first whimper left his lips.

It was soft, barely there, but it shattered something inside him. He tried to hold it in, to swallow the weakness, but it was too late. His knees buckled slightly, his weight pressing into you, seeking something—anything—solid to hold onto. His forehead still rested against yours, but now he was trembling, his breath hitching as the first tear slipped down his cheek.

"I…" His voice cracked. His hands, rough with callouses and stained with blood, clutched at you like you were his last tether to sanity. "I can’t—"

Another whimper, this one quieter, almost strangled.

Phainon, the Flamereaver, the man who had stood alone against armies, who had burned everything in his path, was crying.

Not for the world he had lost.

Not for the lives he had taken.

But for you.

Because he knew he could never have you the way he wanted—not without dragging you into his fire, not without dooming you to the same madness that consumed him.

And yet, he couldn’t let go.

His fingers dug into your waist, clinging as if you might disappear. His body shook against yours, and when you ran your thumb over the tear-stained skin of his cheek, another broken sound escaped him—something between a sob and a sigh of surrender.

"You shouldn’t be here," he whispered, but it was an empty protest. One he didn’t believe himself.

Because when you held him, when your fingers combed through his bloodstained hair, he leaned into you like a man starved.

Like you were the only thing that had ever been real in his world of fire and ruin.

"I love you," he choked out, the words raw, torn straight from the depths of his soul. A confession and a curse all at once. "I love you so much it’s killing me."

His grip tightened, desperate.

"And if you don’t leave now…" He exhaled shakily, pressing his damp face into your shoulder, his body curling inward, caging you against him. "I’ll never let you go." . . . . . You had always loved Phainon. Not just the man who teased you beneath the golden glow of Amphoreus’ sun, not just the warrior with an unreadable gaze and a blade that moved like lightning, but all of him—the bloodstained, broken, and burning parts too.

Your heart ached, raw and desperate. He had tried to push you away, to scare you with the sharp edge of his blade, but he had underestimated you.

You were just as lost in him as he was in you.

With trembling hands, you cupped his face, your thumbs gliding over his cheekbones, wiping away the smears of blood that marred his skin. The red smeared under your touch, streaking his pale skin with warmth that did not belong to him.

His breath stuttered, his lips parting slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

He never could, not from you.

Your thumbs brushed down, grazing the corner of his mouth, lingering there. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, his breath hitched—a shuddering, fragile thing—and you could see the war raging inside him.

The desperation. The love so overwhelming it made him weak.

Phainon’s hands twitched against your waist, torn between pulling you closer and keeping you away. But you made the choice for him.

You surged forward, claiming his lips in a kiss that burned.

It was not gentle. It was not soft. It was everything you had both held back for too long.

Phainon inhaled sharply against your mouth, a strangled gasp lost between your lips as his hands finally—finally—snapped up to grasp you, no longer holding back. One hand tangled into your hair, the other clutching your waist so tightly it almost hurt, pressing you against him as if you might disappear if he let go.

You deepened the kiss, tilting your head, and he whimpered against your mouth. The sound made your stomach twist, heat pooling in your chest as your fingers slid into his silver-white locks, pulling slightly. He groaned, the sound low and needy, and then he kissed you back with a fervor that nearly stole your breath away.

Phainon kissed like a man who had never known softness, like he was trying to carve the memory of you into his soul. His lips moved against yours feverishly, desperately, like he was terrified this moment would be ripped away from him.

His tongue flicked against your bottom lip, hesitant, seeking, and you granted him entry without hesitation. The kiss deepened, turned messier, hotter. He swallowed your gasp as his arms caged you in, his body pressing you closer, like he was trying to mold you into him, to make you his in every way possible.

Your hands slid down, over the hard lines of his shoulders, his chest, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. His heart pounded beneath your palm, beating wildly, erratically, and you realized—he was scared.

Not of you. Never of you.

But of what he might do to keep you. Of how far he was willing to go.

Phainon broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm and uneven. His hands trembled where they gripped you, his body taut with restraint, as if he was fighting himself even now. "Please.. Stay.. By you, I am forever incomplete."

THIS WAS RUSHED IM SORYRYR IM USING MY MOBILE DATA

[fireheartpages]

my boy | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader

masterlist

word count: 4.9k

summary: the three times bodhi called you his, and the first time you called him mine.

notes: second person pov with a femreader. canon typical violence. no use of y/n. written in past tense bc by the time i realized it was too late! human beings are flawed by nature. turned out a lil angstier and longer than i intended. onyx storm fucked me up so bad and i missed him. the scene that inspired this whole thing got cut so do with that what you will. set during iron flame. in my head this is bodhi and baby from toml but you don’t have to read that to read this. just a lil drabble. also bringing back headers bc my fics need a little sparkle. proofread after three glasses of wine.

Your face stung.

"I'm sorry," Bodhi said quickly, hand jerking back. "I know, I just—"

"It's fine." You swallowed hard and shut your eyes, like maybe if you didn't see the bloodied cloth with antiseptic on it, it would hurt less.

"That flier did a real number on you," he said quietly, and you felt the warmth of his hand settle on your cheek, before the cool bite against the wound.

"Those challenges are bullshit," you ground out.

There was a heavy sigh, and then the touch lightened. You opened your eyes to see he had moved his hand away, setting the rag down. "I think you need to see a mender."

You shook your head. "It's a scratch. Put an adhesive on it."

"There's a lot of swelling," he said, waves of concern radiating off of him. "What if there's a fracture?"

"I will heal," you snap.

You watch as his eyes flare with surprise, and he quickly masks the hurt. You sigh, shoulders slouching.

"I'm sorry." You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling him closer. "I'll be okay, Bo. Seriously."

"Let me go get Brennan," he said gently. "Just to check—"

"I really don't want you to," you said, pleaded, and he seemed to relent. "None of us can have preferential treatment."

"It's not preferential treatment if you need it," he whispered, gingerly placing a bandage across your cheekbone.

"It was an ill-timed punch," you said. "I'll live."

You met his gaze as he pulled back, and he seemed to search you, looking for something you couldn't name. He sighed, looking down.

“Your hands?”

Your head snapped up, and you quickly tucked your hands away, forcing yourself to stop picking at the peeling skin. Wrapping them for sparring always made it a little bit worse.

“It’s fine.”

He only sighed and pulled your wrists gently, tugging them until he could see the splitting on your palms, between your fingers. He reached for the extra salve you kept next to his bedside, and gently began to message it into the skin there, taking extra care where it had split and where it was the thinnest. "Not all fliers are so bad. Syrena is really nice, if you ever get the chance to meet her."

"I like Maren," you supplied, studying the lines of his face. The delicate hook of his nose, the arch of his upper lip, the slope of his cheekbones. "Her best friend is a real piece of work, though."

Bodhi laughed at that, exchanging out your hands. "Yeah, Catriona is... a lot."

"That's one way to say it," you mumbled. You sucked in a deep breath—and wince. A hand went to your ribs.

Bodhi’s head snapped up, a furrow between his strong brows, and he abandoned his task, instead cradling your side with one hand and your face in another. Concern laced in his features. "You didn't say your ribs were hurting."

"I didn't realize they were," you answered. "Got me better than I thought, I guess."

He shook his head. "Let me—"

"No." You cut him a glare, but there wasn’t much menace behind it. "I'll be okay. I just need... sleep, probably."

"Let's get in bed."

You screwed up your nose. "We still have half a day of classes."

"Fuck that," he said sincerely. "My girl is hurt."

You arched a brow. "Your girl?"

He flashed a sheepish smile, ducking his head as his curls fell over his temple. "Sorry, I just... liked the way it sounded."

You sucked in a breath. Suddenly, there was too little space between you. "You still have half a day of classes."

"There is literally nothing I care about less," he said earnestly. "Let me lay down with you. Please."

You glanced at the bed, the black blanket covering it looking like the most inviting thing you'd ever seen. You sighed. "I'm fine. We should go."

"Baby," he said, and you liked the way it sounded. You always liked the way it sounded.

“We probably shouldn’t walk back together,” you said, reaching for your flight jacket. You winced as you tried to pull it over yourself.

A hand on your shoulder stopped you, and Bodhi gently spun you around to face him. “This is about the ‘my girl’ comment,” he said, and pinned you with a look that made all the fight leave your body.

“No,” you said, and it wasn’t a lie. You weren’t sure if it was the truth. You sighed. “I just don’t want people to get any ideas.”

He stepped back. “You don’t wanna be seen with me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you said quickly. “You’re talented, and you’re in leadership, and I’m a year below you. With everything between us and the fliers now, someone’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

His shoulders slumped. “You don’t want someone saying you slept your way to safety.”

You nodded, looking down, because it was suddenly impossible to meet his eye. Your cheeks heated. "I can fend for myself."

“Okay,” he said, taking a step closer. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your gaze until you were forced to look at him. You expected sadness, hurt, disappointment even, but all you found was mirth. “Sure. I like a good secret anyways. Makes it more fun.”

You couldn’t have even tried to fight the smile as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was delicate at first, gently exploring, sensing what you would give him. But you had learned a long time ago that there wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do for the boy in front of you.

Your hands found the nape of your neck, twisting into the curls there, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

He broke the kiss only for a moment. “Can it still stay a secret, and we stay in bed for the rest of the day?”

“Someone’s gonna notice we’re both missing,” you say, barely more than a whisper against his cheek.

He brushed his nose against yours. “My cousin owns the place. I think we can get away with it.”

You giggled, nodding as he pulled you back. He sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly framing you between his thighs and looked up at you reverently. His lips were glossy from your kiss, eyes half lidded, and you breath caught in your throat at the sight of him gazing up at you. He smiled lazily.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and you couldn’t help but think the same about him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You had to stop finding yourself in these situations.

The same flier that had challenged you was in front of you and spitting mad. You weren’t even sure what it was about this time, but his shouting had drawn a crowd. Your cheek hadn’t even fully healed yet, and now you had another split lip. Courtesy of this asshole.

You couldn’t even remember his name if you tried. Something with an A? Ash, maybe? It didn’t really matter, once he started swinging. He was a first year, and unused to the fighting style of riders, but by Dunne if he wasn’t giving you a run for your money.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Violet and Sawyer come up behind you, thankful for the back up. Sawyer immediately tried to shove him off you, but was quickly gifted a darkening bruise around his eye.

“What the hell is your problem?” That voice belonged to Ridoc, and you weren’t even sure when he had gotten there. More people pushed around you, until you were surrounded by what looked like your entire section.

Including Bodhi.

“I thought you riders lived and died by your stupid Codex!” the flier spat.

“Our stupid codex says also says I can kill you if I feel like it, so maybe watch where you put your hands,” you snapped, and you feel someone brush at your shoulder.

But not before the flier’s fist landed square in your jaw.

Damn, he must have remembered where he hit you the first time, because the pain is blinding for a moment. The edges of your vision darkened, and you stumbled into a strong, familiar chest. An arm wrapped around you, and you’re shoved to the side. You felt the vibrato of his words in his chest, as if the anger was a palpable thing.

“Touch my girl again and you’ll lose the fucking hand—”

“Bodhi!” you snapped, turning to him with blazing eyes, because now he’d really done it.

Fuck, you practically felt the surprise radiating off of half of the people surrounding you—and there were a lot of people gathered for the show.

The anger in your morphed into something else—something new, something more volatile. Now, you were pissed at this flier, and ready to throttle Bodhi. Gods, you just had this fucking conversation. What did he think he was doing saying shit like that—

“Getting out of a fight because you’re warming leadership’s bed is a lot blow, even for a rider,” the flier said, and you saw red.

More shouting erupted. Bodhi nor anyone remaining soul had even a hope of catching you before you threw the next punch at the flier. It made its mark, landing so hard he stumbled back. Blood immediately sprayed from his nose, and you were too pissed off to care. You shoved the hands grabbing you off, ready to lay into the kid again, but a familiar figure pushed through. Rhiannon got in between the three of you, holding a hand up and sending Bodhi one of the nastiest glares you thought you’d ever seen her produce.

“Am I seriously breaking up fights between other cadets and my Section Leader?” Rhiannon hissed, and Bodhi faltered for a moment, looking to her, then to you, then back to the flier. “This is ridiculous. Go find something else to do with your spare time. Asper, you’re a first year. Pick on someone your own size if you want a chance to win the fight.”

“That’s—”

“I’m not finished.” She turned to you and Bodhi, opening her mouth to say something before shaking her head. “You two… I’m just disappointed. A second year and a Section Leader? Get yourselves under control before you embarrass me any further.” She looked back to Asper, who was still seething at you and Bodhi. “Go find something more productive to do with your time before I find something for you. You won’t like my pick, I promise.”

The flier scoffed. “You’re not even my squad leader.”

Another flier in brown leathers with a mop of brunette hair piled on top of her head appeared behind him. She wore a frown and looked utterly annoyed. “No, but I am.” She grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him away from your trio, but not before Asper managed to send a parting glare over his shoulder.

Rhiannon shipped to the two of you, eyes blazing. “Seriously?” she asked, and there was no part of you that wanted to respond. “He’s a first year.”

“He started it!” you protested, and immediately shrunk back. Wrong move.

Rhiannon shot Bodhi a glare. “You’re a Section Leader. You should have been the one to finish it.”

She marched away without a second glance, leaving the last part unsaid. That if you were any other second year, in any other situation, it wouldn’t have escalated the way it did.

A snort came from behind you. You turned and shot Ridoc a glare, but it didn’t deter him from opening his mouth.

“Didn’t know you guys were public like that.”

Four pairs of eyes turned on him.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You were pissed, and everyone around you knew it. Including, no other than the object of your chagrin.

"I just don't understand why you're mad at him," Saywer said for what felt like the millionth time, and you groaned at the history book in front of you.

"I do get it," Ridoc supplied from where he was seated next to Sawyer, the pair of them across from you at the study table you had snagged in the library. You were supposed to be working on assignments. The boys in front of you had, however, taken it upon themselves to lecture you your love life. Ridoc hadn't even opened the book in front of him. "I just think you're over-reacting."

"Bad choice of words," you warn, shooting him a scalding glare. He remained unperturbed.

"Sure," he continued. "But you know what I mean. Things are different now. Aretia isn't Basgiath. The rules are looser—"

"Hold on," Sawyer interjected.

"I mean, just look at Riorson and Vi," Ridoc continued. "Everyone knows they're together. And he's a lieutenant."

"We are not Xaden and Violet," you said, exasperated. "The point is that I didn't want to shout it from the roof tops. Because look what happens when you do!"

"The fliers hate us," Saywer supplied helpfully. "Your relationship status really has nothing to do with that. They would have chosen one thing or another to be picking fights about anyway."

"Besides, with Violet here, you and Durran are the least of their problems," Ridoc finished.

"You're still missing the point," you said, shaking your head.

"Explain it to me like I'm five, then," Ridoc said, attention focused on you. He had his arms crossed over his textbook. This study session was a damn lost cause.

"She's been doing that," Sawyer mumbled. He looked up to you, then behind you, and his eyes went wide. Ridoc glanced behind you as well, and you almost turned to look—you assumed it was Jesinia. Sawyer had been downright smitten lately, but there was the audible smack of Ridoc hitting his friend under the table. He shook his head.

"Ignore him," Ridoc said, attention turned back to you. "Continue."

You sighed, resigning yourself to the torture of having to explain this bullshit out loud. You had to admit, though. Having people to talk about it all with helped, even if it made you feel more and more like an idiot.

"Yeah, there's the fact that anyone who knows about..." You cringed. "…our situation is going to assume I'm sleeping with him for safety. Or power. Or whatever the hell they think. And that's annoying, because it's a mark on my character. But it also degrades what we have. And so we had that conversation, and I set a boundary, and then the second things get hairy, he crosses it. He makes both of us look like an ass. Makes me look like I can't protect myself without him there. If it had gotten out some other way, I couldn't have handled it. I've never been afraid of the gossip mill. But saying we're together and him overstepping and trying to fight my battles or me are two completely different things."

Ridoc nodded sagely. Sawyer just glanced behind you with wide eyes.

"Baby," and, oh, you know that voice.

You spun around, standing quickly as your pulse skyrocketed. Bodhi was behind you, looking for all the world like you had just kicked his puppy. Or maybe he was the kicked puppy. You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You whipped back to Ridoc. The bastard had a shit-easting grin on his face.

"You did that on purpose," you accused.

He just shrugged. "Wanted to make this all easier on you."

Sawyer smacked him upside his head.

You turned back to Bodhi, ready to say something, but all you could was shake your head.

"I didn't know," he said, and he took a step towards you. You took one back.

His face crumbled, and it was the sort of things a playwright put in a tragedy. Your chest nearly caved in at the sight of his fallen expression, and something broke inside you. Cracked right in two, and you knew then and there that the only glue capable of putting it together again was him.

"You just assumed," you said softly.

He sucked in a sharp breath, nodding. He was no longer looking at you. "Can we talk? Please?"

You grabbed your book from the table, sending Ridoc one last parting glare. You shook your head as you stepped towards him. "I'll see you tonight."

You made for the exit of the library, and when you rounded the corner, you had assumed he had let you go. That you'd made it all the way out.

"Wait, please."

You slowly spun around to see him there.

"I don't like watching my girl walk away upset," he said, low, quiet, and intimate. Private, just for you.

You sucked in a shaky breath. You held out a hand to the library door, as if you could motion at all of your thoughts and feelings and emotions like they were tangible things. "You heard what I said, I guess."

Bodhi nodded, and this time, when he stepped towards you, you didn't step away. "I'm sorry. Gods, I am so, so—"

"Can we talk about this later?" you asked, voice thick.

Bodhi's brow had a deep burrow, and it was clear he wanted to object, but he didn't. He instead shut his mouth, and nodded.

"I'll see you tonight," you said.

And like a fool, you walked away from him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

There’s not much time for relaxing anymore. No more weekends, no more free time, and certainly no more parties. Leaning to fight venin is hard work.

But every once in a while, someone makes it happen. Leave it to a bunch of bored, pent-up twenty-somethings to find a stash and have a party. The alcohol wasn’t good, by any means, but it was making your head foggy, and you had nothing to do until, like, noon the next day. You were practically free.

It was the best you had felt in a long while. Everything was a little hazy around the edges, and you had trouble staying perfectly still now. There was a makeshift bar at the dais of the room where everyone took meals, and you had ventured up to get yourself a drink. And one for… Shit. You were not supposed to return empty handed. You just weren’t sure how many not empty handed you should be returning with.

When you stumble, there are strong hands on your hips, steadying you. Strong hands that settled much too low to be casual, but you are much too far gone to have reprimanded him. Or, noticed, or cared that much.

“Careful,” Bodhi said, and it was low in your ear, a little more sensual than it should have been.

But then he stood a respectable distance away from you. And through your alcohol-induced haze, he looked so good. You knew, distantly, that you were still pretty annoyed with him. But his leathers were casually undone at the top, just enough to be a tease. His hair was mussed, black curls that fell in a way that should be messy but instead just drove you insane. Like, this should be against the codex. Just looking at him made you want to leave. Made you want to be back in his room, showing your appreciation, giving him your own apology with your mouth.

“I think Violet’s drunk,” Bodhi said, and his gaze was somewhere beyond you.

You frowned. “We’re all drunk.”

Bodhi cocked his head. “I think she’s a little more drunk.”

You nodded sagely. Fair enough.

“I’m gonna go make sure she’s okay,” he said. “Or, at least, makes it to Xaden okay.”

You nodded again, and he departed with a smile that made you giggle like a damn school girl. He was so aware of the effect he had on you. He just chose not to care.

Or maybe, he was finally respecting the line in the sand you had drawn.

“All alone in a room full of people who could kill you? Where's your body guard?” a voice asked.

You turn, and it’s Asper. The fuck ass flier that beat you up, like, twice now. What the hell—

“What do you want?” You tried for venom, but it came out a bit more slurred than you would have liked. Too round about the edges, too loose.

“I know we settled our differences,” Asper said, and he held up a hand. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Then what do you want?” you repeated, and it was a little whiny this time. Fuck. Great.

“You know you’re gorgeous, right?” It was the last thing you had expected to have come out of his stupid mouth.

No way this fucker was hitting on you.

“What?” you snapped. Wisely.

“You’re smart. Clearly good in combat,” Asper said. Like that was an answer. “And you’re beautiful.” He leaned in, like the two of you were sharing a secret. “You could do so much better than the dragon feed around here.”

You were picked by a dragon through.

“He’s flirting,” said a voice. Your dragon. Thank you. As if that wasn’t painfully obvious enough. You go to say that down the bond, but you can’t find the right channel. Shocair grumbled. “I heard it.”

“Whatever you’re trying to do,” you said, “I’m not interested.”

“I think you are,” Asper said. He stepped closer. He put his hand on yours.

“My boy’s gonna get real angry if you keep fucking trying your luck,” you snapped.

“Your boy?” he asked, and he was laughing. The asshole was laughing.

You yanked your hand back, and reveled at the look on his face. Anything to wipe that smug grin off his face. “Yeah. My boy.”

Asper rolled his eyes, and for a moment, you had a vision of punching him. Of clocking him square in the jaw, sending blood flying. Your words were a lot steadier than you felt. As soon as you stood up, the world spun. But then there was a hand at your waist, and everything straightened out. Gods, you knew him by touch alone, knew him even through the haze of alcohol. You could be deprived of every sense you have, and still know his presence by memory. He was ingrained in you.

“You heard her,” Bodhi said, low and dangerous and angry and—fuck, really really hot. “She’s not interested. And she shouldn’t need to threaten you with senior leadership to get you to fuck off, Asper.”

The flier scoffed. “I don’t think she’s talking about her section leader.”

Bodhi stepped around you, and shoved him. Hard. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a section leader or her fucking husband. When a woman says no, she means it.”

Asper held his hands up in surrender, turning a deep shade of red and finally walking away. But not before throwing glare back to Bodhi.

When he turned around to you, finally, your cheeks were hot, your breathing choppy. You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Fuck, you hadn’t realized he would over hear you. Hadn’t realized what kind of effect his words would have on you.

Possessive Bodhi was one thing. When he would leave bruises all over your chest and neck, knowing when you stripped your leathers for sparring, they would be visible. When he keeps his hand in the small of your back for a little too long in formation. When he cleans your wounds and punches fliers and calls you his girl.

But protective Bodhi? You were fighting to stay upright.

He knew you knew how to fight your own fights. You were a decent fighter and could fly circles around rider and flier alike. If someone had an issue, or someone started something, you were good on the follow through. That first fight, or the second when he interfered weren’t about anything other than making it known to everyone else that you were together.

When the end factor was nothing less than a name in front of yours, of his girl tacked onto everything, you were chagrined. When the end factor was keeping you safe, was making sure you had arms to fall into at night? All bets were off.

“Are you okay?” Bodhi asked, a deep furrow finding home between his brow.

You couldn’t catch your breath. Gods above, the way he was looking at you—

“I didn’t know you were there,” you answered.

"I didn't mean to overstep," he said quickly, averting his gaze.

"You didn't," you replied, and suddenly, your eyes were watering. You swallowed around the knot in your throat. "I'm being an asshole."

His head snapped up, and you weren't sure if it was your words or the emotion in your voice that brought the panicked look to the set of his brow, the line of his lips. "No, baby, no—"

"I got overwhelmed," you barrel on. "I got scared, and worried, and I I feel like I'm punishing you for it."

Bodhi shook his head frantically, carefully stepping towards you like you were a scared animal he was trying to approach. "You set a boundary," he said. "I could never fault you for that."

You tried to nod, but instead the tears started to slip out. God, this had to be the alcohol. You were not a crier.

Gingerly, Bodhi's hands were on the sides of your face, thumbs brushing away the escaped tears. "Is this okay?" he whispered.

"All of it is okay," you said meekly. "I was holding onto an idolized version of what I wanted in my head. But people know now, and the world isn't ending."

He laughed, pulling you into him. Your head rested on his chest, right at the perfect angle for him to tuck you under his chin. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and it felt like coming home.

"I never meant to push your boundaries, and I'm so sorry I ever did," he said into your hair. "I know exactly what you're capable of. I don't want you to ever think I'm going to willfully underestimate you."

"I know," you whisper into the fabric of his shirt, and the it occurred to you just how many people were around you. You had just made about a big fuss about the levels of PDA you were willing to accept. And now, here you were. You pulled back. "Can we go back to your room?"

He nodded firmly, eyes raking down your body. "Yes," he said. But he didn't move. "How much have you had to drink?"

You considered for a moment, tilting your head. "Not too much to have not been able to coherently have this conversation, but enough to want to ask you for a kiss right now."

He smirked. Damn infuriating smirk. Gods above, he was beautiful. "A kiss? What, just to tide you over?

"Yeah," you replied, not even bothering to hide how desperate you well and truly were. Your entire body had started to hum.

He leaned in, his head tilted to fit against you. He stopped, his lips a breath away from yours. "In front of all these people?"

"Everyone knows by now. Gossip mill in this place is honestly rather impressive," you said. "Besides, if anyone says anything, I'll just send you after them." You pouted. "I don't even like sparring. I'm no good at it."

He'd leaned in even closer, practically speaking into your mouth. "I can teach you."

"Every time you try to teach me to spar better, I end up pinned underneath you and we end up rushing back to your room. You have absolutely no pure intentions when it comes to sparring. Will you kiss me now?"

He didn't say anything else. Just pressed a smile against your lips. It sent sparks down your spine, and you couldn't help the way you sucked in a breath. It was entirely involuntary, the way your body bowed into him, like you're magnetized in your very core to his.

The kiss was gentle at first, just the press of his lips against yours, but then you opened your mouth, pushing back into him, and his tongue ran along your bottom lip. Your knees nearly gave out.

"Your room," you said, and it was a plea down to its very roots.

Bodhi practically dragged you out of the hall. The trip back to the residential wing was a blur. He kept stopping to kiss you, to run his hands along your waist, up the nape of your neck just to watch you shiver. Finally, and with great effort, the pair of you made it up the corridor and to his room.

He shoved open the door, and snaked an arm around your waist, pressing you into the wall next to it, just inside his room. His lips trailed up your neck, and you nearly whimpered at the contact.

When he pulled away to look at you, his eyes were heavy and lidded, low and dark. So full of adoration and yearning that your chest felt weird. Like it was rearranging so that if you wanted to slot Bodhi's beating heart in next to your own, you could.

"Your boy, huh?" he asked, voice husky.

You smiled, carding your fingers through his hair. "My boy."

Bodhi kicked the door shut behind him, and ascended on you.

[delicateperspective]

The Observer : Phase Two

Now that we have entered a new phase of The Observer, I am moving this information to it's own post. But if you are just now joining in, please check out my original post that covers everything from March 9 - 28th (the dartboard saga). You can find it here. (Please note: most of this information was being uncovered in real time. Some dates skip around because connections were not formed until later or new information was uncovered. I'm doing the best I can to keep it together guys!) A HUGE THANK YOU TO @fookinhellcurlyyy and @tonix3!! Check out their write-ups on The Observer as well because they're often faster to respond than I am!

On March 29th, 2025:

At 1:00 PM, we get this tweet:

Bits and pieces of never and forever: A mosaic of moments that make a home. https://instagram.com/fromanobserver — The Observer

The profile picture stays the same — dart in the bullseye.

The Observer’s Twitter header updated. And while the image still centers on the same massive lavender-blue iris, the figure is missing.

The original header showed a tiny person on a ladder, peering through a telescope. Now? The new header shows only the eye. No ladder. No telescope. No figure.

The Observer remains the eye. But An Observer has stepped into a new space.

For the first time in this saga, we are pulled off Twitter and into a new space. The Instagram account is called @fromanobserver. The display name is “An Observer.” The bio is: “Through the looking glass an observer watches, craving what is just beyond reach.”

(This is the original bio from the Twitter account.)

There is one post only.

Let’s Talk About the Image

A large central circle, like the rim of a lens or an old mirror, a sun, or a planet. It’s empty. Or waiting. It’s surrounded by orbit-like rings.

A small dark circle sits on the outer edge of the ring — as if it’s in orbit around the center. A satellite?

A telescope rests in the bottom-left corner. No ladder. No figure. Just the instrument — aimed upward (in retrospect its telling us to examine the large circle which will change daily), but unused.

A dartboard sits in the bottom right. Fully detailed. But it doesn't quite look like the real-life dartboard of the previous saga. This has changed. It's got less rings. It's more stylized. More like - a compass.

This dartboard isn’t really a dart board— it mirrors the shape and

12 Stars and a crescent moon float in the background.

March 30th, 2025

2:00 PM — An Observer posts on Instagram

A close-up of a hand grasping red fabric. Caption: “Old tracks, new verses.”

The zoomed-in image is from a paparazzi photo of Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik, dated March 3, 2015, just days before Zayn left the band.

That photo was taken as 1D returned to London from tour — a moment of impending fracture.

The caption suggests not a repeat of the past, but a rewriting of it.

“Old tracks” = 1D, Zouis, the break.

“New verses” = reconciliation? A new narrative?

This post reignites Zouis speculation, especially considering Louis’ attendance at Zayn’s LA show on January 29, 2025 — their first public overlap in a decade.

2:20 PM — The Observer tweets:

“The silence healed what the noise once strained.” — The Observer

This appears to confirm the Zouis context — referencing the years of silence between the two. “The noise” could be 1D fame, the fandom, the press, or even internal band tension. Now, years later, there’s space to reconnect — and that seems to be what’s happening.

March 31st, 2025

1:00 PM — An Observer posts on Instagram

A black triangle on a blue knit background. Caption: “Macroscopic and Microscopic life.”

It doesn't happen for a few days but EVENTUALLY fans trace the triangle to The Observer’s Book of Pond Life by John Clegg — a field guide to organisms both visible and invisible.

Harry was photographed with this exact book (with this exact cover) in his 2022 Rolling Stone cover shoot.

That same article revealed Harry’s love for Love Island. Louis, historically, has said he hates the show — but once admitted he was “sucked into” watching a season. Louis is reportedly dating Zara, a former Love Island contestant. And Harry was spotted at a Sabrina Carpenter concert in March - with Zara's friends in the box beside him.

These are not isolated facts. They form a micro and macro ecosystem — much like a pond. Interconnected. Subtle. Coded. Alive.

1:20 PM — The Observer tweets:

“Something in the Blue — The Observer”

The triangle was printed on a blue knit — literally: “something in the blue.”

11:12 PM — The Observer tweets:

“But the Sun isn’t an anatomical entity, it’s an inanimate object. How can we possibly fight it, Sergeant-Major?” — An Observer

This is a quote from It Ain’t Half Hot Mum, spoken by a character played by John Clegg — same name as the Pond Life author.

But the timing is key: That morning, The Sun published a tabloid piece about Louis’ son and Briana — their first mention in the press in years. It reads like a planted PR piece, detailing their lifestyle, location, and routine.

The Observer quote feels like a message to the fandom:

You can’t fight the Sun. Don’t feed the noise.

APRIL 1ST, 2025

2:00 PM – An Observer posts on Instagram

A close-up image of a guitar neck, featuring a black capo and steel strings. Caption: “Same steel, new stories.”

The photo showed a black-necked guitar with circular fret markers. The wording appears to be a clue to what happened later on Instagram Stories.

2:40 PM – The Observer tweets:

“No more makeshift moments now that you are home. — The Observer”

This was a direct reference to Louis’ Instagram Story from Nov 29, 2024, where he used a yellow pen and charging cable as a makeshift capo.

The implication? Someone is home bringing the real capo back with them.

5:09 PM — Louis posts on IG Stories He's listening to “Favourite” by Fontaines D.C. at 1:14.

~40 seconds later — The Observer tweets:

Favourite — The Observer

The lyric at 1:14:

“Well, look who’s just the newest clown / 35 hours coming down / How the sun shines on new pavement / And you don’t even feel it…”

This is not a love song for a new flame. It’s about:

Things being different than they were when you were young

Being worn down by life but one person always being the same

Still clinging to someone who’s always been your favorite

Later lyrics:

“Ah, it makes sense when you understand The misery made me another marked man And I'm always looking over my shoulder And each new day, I get another year older Shoulder bound to the frame of a door? Chewed into shape like a stone on the shore But if there was lightning in me You'd know who it was for”

This parallels:

“Seems you cannot be replaced. And I'm the one who will stay, oh In this world, it's just us. You know it's not the same as it was. .” (As It Was, released THREE YEARS AGO ON THIS DAY - April 1, 2022)

Both songs are about change, distance, and enduring emotional connection.

Harry attended Fontaines D.C.'s album launch in August 2024 (Hot Press source)

Louis followed Fontaines D.C. on Instagram on March 26, 2025

Harry celebrated their BRITs win in 2024 (TikTok proof)

9:15 PM – Louis posts on Instagram Stories

A full photo of the guitar — confirming it’s his.

Note: The location is not Ibiza, where Zara McDermott is currently posting from.

The picture of the guitar shows a pool that has clean, modern lines, a concrete barrier, and overlooks the Pacific — consistent with Louis’ known LA rental.

Please keep in mind: this could all be coincidence. I'm not here to convince you one way or another. There are a thousand ways to debunk or explain this away. That's the point of plausible deniablity.

[fanaticsnail]

Upon receiving an invitation from the lord of Kuraigana to train his wards, you never expected your career as a governess to lead you here. As your tour of the keep was conducted, a ring was slipped onto your finger: invoking an ancient curse you truly did not understand. Setting three conditions for marriage, your newly betrothed immediately made haste to complete them with you blissfully ignorant that his life hung in the balance should be fail his task.

Themes: Mihawk x f!reader, arranged marriage, supernatural curses, lord x subordinate, class differences, longing, pining, hesitancy to wed, marriage, contractually obligated, where is my wife trope, dancing, period-drama style piece.

Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Fic Art Links

Header Image by @/i-am-vita

Muddy Warlord by @/feral-artistry

I'm doing my best, my lady by @/fanaticsnail

Dancing with your Beloved by @/i-am-vita

The Whole Series as a Book by @/thenotsofantasticlifestory

Series Spotify Playlist

Notes: this was an original tale based on the fairytale "Sapsorrow" or "Donkeyskin" with several supernatural elements thrown into it.

I wrote this for my sister, (her anon request here) who adores the World's Greatest Swordsman and fractured fairytales. She was the reason I began writing fics, so this was my gift to her for encouraging me from the very start. Love you, Smol-Snail 🫰.

[kxsagi]

“𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫”

a/n: all those aki edits were driving me to a point and here we are (yes this was inspired by a c.ai bot LEAVE ME ALONEEE) 

i also wanted to write something that wasn’t a request because it’s been a while 😩

note: i do not condone smoking or littering. 

(header art credits go to ndsoda)

the sky is painted in deep, bleeding hues, indigo melting into navy, streaked with the last traces of violet from the sun’s slow departure. it’s blue hour. the city below is a sea of fractured light, neon signs and headlights flickering like stars scattered across the asphalt. 

the faint hum of traffic drifts up from the streets, muffled by distance. from aki’s apartment balcony, the world feels quiet. removed. like you’re watching it through frosted glass. 

it’s cold. the kind of winter cold that clings to your skin, slipping beneath the wool of your coat and biting softly at the tips of your fingers. your breath rises faintly in the air, turning to pale mist. 

aki leans against the balcony railing, sleeves slightly pushed up despite the chill. the fabric of his black coat brushes against your arm, the wool rough but warm. he’s still wearing his formal work clothes beneath it, dark slacks and a white button-up, faintly wrinkled from the day. his tie is loosened just slightly, the top button undone. 

he lifts a cigarette to his lips with one hand, shielding the flame with the other as he lights it. the tip glows amber, briefly illuminating the faint redness in his knuckles from the cold. 

he takes a slow drag, the embers crackling softly in the quiet. his fingers are trembling faintly when he exhales, but he doesn’t say anything about it. just hands you the cigarette, letting the material brush against your fingers. 

you take it without a word. the paper is slightly damp from his lips, still warm. you bring it to your mouth, inhaling slowly, the burn sharp against your lungs. 

neither of you speak. you simply stand there, side by side, coats brushing together softly in the wind, sharing a cigarette while the city quietly breathes beneath you. 

aki’s eyes are fixed on the skyline. the blue hour light casts a soft glow over his face – the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows. there’s a stillness to him tonight. not the usual calm he carries with him, but something heavier. more brittle. 

and then he speaks. 

"wanna run away together?"

his voice is low, rough around the edges, barely louder than the wind that cuts through the narrow gap between the buildings. the words are so casual, so offhanded, that for a second you almost think you misheard him. 

you glance over at him, the cigarette dangling loosely from your fingers. "you getting sentimental on me, aki?" you tease softly, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. 

but he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even blink. 

he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes still fixed on the skyline, cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers. 

"i mean it." 

his voice is quieter this time, barely above a whisper. 

your smile slips slightly. the smoke lingers faintly between you, curling in the cold air. when you glance at him again, you notice the tightness in his jaw. the way his throat bobs slightly when he swallows. 

"yeah?" you ask evenly, keeping your voice composed. your eyes stay steady, calm. "where to?" 

for a moment, he doesn’t answer. he brings the cigarette back to his lips, but his hand shakes just slightly when he takes another drag. 

"doesn’t matter, whether it’s france or switzerland," he mutters after a beat. his voice is hoarse, barely louder than the faint buzz of the city below. "just… somewhere far away. where no one knows us. where we can –" 

he stops himself, inhaling sharply through his nose. his fingers tighten slightly around the cigarette. 

"where we can what?" you ask softly. your voice is steady, but you keep it low, careful not to let it slip through the cracks in his. 

he exhales slowly, but the breath is shaky when it leaves him. 

"be something else," he murmurs at last, the words slipping out hoarse and brittle, barely louder than the wind. 

his grip around the cigarette weakens slightly, and when he passes it back to you, you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers. you take it without a word, bringing it to your lips. 

there’s a brief stretch of silence, just the two of you standing there, smoke curling softly between your faces, coats brushing faintly as the wind cuts through. 

then quietly, you say, "you know it won’t matter, right?" your voice is steady, but the weight behind it makes the words feel heavier than they should. 

he exhales sharply through his nose, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly into something that isn’t quite a smile. 

"i know." 

of course he knows. you both do. there’s no running away. not from this. not from the ticking clocks carved into your skin by devils with crooked smiles and indestructible contracts. 

your time is slipping through the cracks in your fingers, no matter how tightly you try to hold on. you can feel it every time you step outside, every time you come back with blood on your hands that isn’t yours. 

there’s no escaping it. just delayed endings. 

"but still," he adds softly, voice barely louder than a breath. "i think about it sometimes." 

his eyes are heavy when he glances at you, the cigarette smoldering faintly between your fingers. 

"you?" he asks, quieter this time. 

you meet his gaze calmly, unflinching. the smoke lingers faintly between you, but neither of you move away. 

"yeah," you murmur. your voice is steady, almost casual, as you take another drag from the cigarette. the paper crackles faintly, embers dimming slightly in the winter wind. "all the time." 

his lips twitch slightly at that, just barely. it’s not a smile. more like the ghost of one. faint. tired. 

without a word, you hold the cigarette out to him. he doesn’t take it right away. just watches the way your fingers shake faintly from the cold, from the weight of it all. then he leans in slightly, close enough that his lips brush against your knuckles as he takes the cigarette from you. 

he doesn’t lean back. not all the way. he stays close, his breath warm against your skin, his forehead nearly brushing yours. 

"stay," he murmurs softly. the word catches faintly in his throat, brittle and frayed at the edges. 

there’s no hesitation when you reach for him. your fingers brush against the back of his neck, warm against the cold skin there, and you gently tug him closer. 

"i’m right here, aki," you breathe softly. 

when he kisses you, it’s slow and quiet. not desperate, not rushed. just heavy. tired. his lips are chapped from the cold, tasting faintly of nicotine and something bitter, but the way he holds you makes your chest ache. 

his free hand finds your waist, clumsy and trembling slightly, fingers curling into the fabric of your coat. you feel the faint, uneven shiver of his breath when he exhales against your lips. 

when he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. his forehead stays pressed softly against yours, and his eyes, half-lidded and heavy, stay fixed on you. 

"let’s run away," he whispers, softer this time. it’s not a question anymore. it’s a quiet plea. 

you kiss him again, slow and steady. your hand tightens faintly around the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, grounding him. 

"okay," you whisper softly, voice barely above the wind. "let’s go." 

and for the first time in a long time, aki hayakawa lets himself imagine the possibility of something else. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[deliciouskeys]

I threatened to write something for Butchlander week and well... I have written, uh, something. *skulks back into the abyss*

Written to accompany this wonderful art I commissioned from @semains whom I love dearly-- thank you for indulging my requests for setting and exact pose as well! Commission them!

Butchlander Week NSFW Saturday prompt: Roleplay/Roles. Because it might be the role of a lifetime for Butcher, but you know Homelander is having the time of his life pretending he can't escape / pretending it hurts sooo much.

(yeah, double dipping) Cozy Corner Kinktober prompt #5 Buttplug (sort of. I can't explain myself. I have no excuses. It might be disturbing, so apologies in advance. Pure Id, aka wtf).

My header is getting longer than the ficlet, gdi

"Harder." Homelander's tone is haughty and whiny all at once–  so grating that Butcher wishes he could deliver on the request. Who'd have thought that this grandiose straightedge little cunt would get so hard having a stranger smack him over and over? Who'd ever guess that this supe celebrity– maybe the world's most famous person, and definitely the darling of the American public– would be into this kind of shit behind closed doors? That he wouldn't be bloody ashamed of himself whisking Butcher off to his bizarrely decorated apartment every single night.  Bypassing all of Vought security, so that Vought's public enemy number… if not #1 then at least top 10… could make himself comfortable sitting on his bed. Not all that comfortable, since the bed is a strange upholstered leather number and stiff as hell, but Butcher supposes a supe might not feel the difference between this and a Tempur-Pedic.

He brings him here every night, and every night the script stays largely the same. Homelander plies him with some alcohol, sometimes a glass of whiskey, but more often just a bottle of Heineken. Butcher sits down, Homelander eagerly drapes himself over his lap, pulls and folds his cape underneath him, as if he doesn't trust Butcher enough to spread it out next to him. wiggling his hips, insisting Butcher pull down his pants and spank him. And Butcher obliges every time, even though it's clearly hurting his hands much more than it hurts Homelander– they alternate sides every night but Butcher suspects he already has stress fractures that don't heal because his hands ache all the time and never quite recover between sessions. But despite the pain, and despite the very little to no pain he's actually inflicting on the spoiled brat who always asks to be hit harder, there's just something irresistible about it. About finally being allowed to take out his aggression on the man he hates most in the world. The man he hates most in the world, who also happens to have a surprisingly perky ass that jiggles hypnotically if you hit it hard enough and just right, so Butcher hits him with his full strength not because of the cunt's whiny demands, but because he just wants to see the flesh wobble.

"I said harder!" Homelander's voice cuts through Butcher's thoughts, and Butcher can't help it any longer.

"You want me to hit you harder, you're gonna have to find a paddle."

Homelander's breath hitches and he says nothing in reply. No, this sick cunt clearly craves skin on skin contact to get off, Butcher already knows this, which is why he knew what to threaten him with to get him to shut up.

But he does wish he could hurt him. The achy joints of his hand plead he stop. Butcher stares down at the well defined muscular globes, skin turned a nice blush color where he's been hit but Butcher wishes he could turn it black and blue. Purple and green. He wants the cunt to really feel the intensity he's supposedly asking for, just to prove how wrong he is.

"I'm waiting," Homelander reminds him.

"Just taking a breather, alright? Enjoying the view." Butcher tries to squeeze a handful of flesh, but it's never as soft as it looks. "Look like one of 'em marble statues you got out in your lounge area."

Butcher hears Homelander's breath hitch and sees him take a peek at the mirror above, clearly checking himself out. This is all a game to him. It flatters his vanity that Butcher does this for him. Butcher would like nothing more than to turn this around on him, make it less of a game and more of an actual punishment.

A strange idea creeps in. Butcher leans back to reach for the Heineken bottle he emptied earlier and put on the nightstand, always on a coaster Homelander insists he use. God forbid he get a water ring on the antique looking furniture, with the creepy little cameo portraits of people who died last century. The beer is mostly just to take the edge off before Homelander lies down over his legs– he and Homelander mutually figured out the session goes better if he's slightly buzzed and maybe just a little numb to the pain in his hand. And they figured this out because Homelander happened to whisk him away right after he stumbled out of a bar on a late Saturday night, after which point Butcher understood that Homelander would come and find him wherever he was– even if he wasn't at home past midnight. It's sexual slavery, is what it is. Butcher would resent it more if he didn't somewhat enjoy getting to beat this cunt on a nightly basis before being dropped off at home.

Homelander shifts, growing impatient while waiting for another round of spanking to start after the breather. "Come on!" he says through gritted teeth, and he sounds angry, and fucking self-righteous, as if he's complaining about customer service he's paid for. It's not Butcher's fault that the cunt only seems to come after he's gotten spanked for minutes straight, at some point his body finally deciding that this is such an enjoyable moment that his hips start grinding forward into Butcher's leg and he comes, the same pathetic little hitched moan escaping his lips every time, the same toe-curling Butcher can see because the cunt does take off his boots to lie on the bed. Thank god he never pulls his pants far down enough, because he never gets any jizz on Butcher's jeans. Homelander seems to think Butcher doesn't notice, or at least they both pretend they haven't. As if Butcher can avoid noticing his leg being humped violently, wondering if this is the night the cunt breaks one of his limbs out of pure excitement. As if it's not clear what just happened from the flushed face and glazed over eyes the supe has when he rises off the bed, finally satisfied. But if no one tells and no one asks, it didn't necessarily happen, and both seem content to keep it at that. Homelander takes a quick shower and suit change before dropping Butcher off at his apartment, without any further ceremony or pleasantries, and by morning Butcher is half in denial about any of it even happening.

"Are you fucking deaf? Why did you stop?" Homelander says and starts to turn his head to look back at him, but Butcher shoves his face back to face forward. 

They have an unspoken agreement not to look each other in the eye when they're doing this, ever. Homelander almost broke the agreement, but obediently looks away again after the lightest push.

"Shut your fucking trap already. I heard you the first ten times just fine," Butcher growls under his breath, and his mind is made up about what he was hesitating to do. He forces the neck of the empty bottle into the cunt's tight crack, moving it around, looking for give.

Homelander's back arches, clearly not expecting the sensation. "The fuck are you doing?"

"GIving you something harder, like you were whining for, you spoiled brat." Butcher gives up doing it blindly and pulls one of the cheeks towards him. "Now where's your fucking chocolate starfish? You even have one?" And as if to punctuate that last word, Butcher finds the place and  breaks the initial resistance resistance, the bottle neck beginning a slow slide in.

Homelander breathes harder. "I don't like it," he mutters, and his ass flexes in protest.

"You better like it and accept it, or else you're going to end up with a pile of glass shards inside you."

Butcher is skeptical that glass could really do anything to this supe's internal organs, but it seems Homelander wants to avoid the mess anyway, and his muscles relax.

"That's right. Now stop whining and take your punishment."

He tries to push the bottle in even further, feeling more and more protest.

"I don't like it," Homelander repeats, sharply this time, as if it means something.

"You ain't supposed to like it," Butcher says and decides to finally smack him on the ass with his other hand after keeping him waiting. Butcher doesn't anticipate that Homelander's body will convulse, shatter the bottle, grind into him, and come all at once.

"The hell was that?" Butcher asks, pulling back the jagged bottle's bottom half that survived. Homelander's body is still twitching underneath him and he's panting. Maybe this was going to be it. Butcher overstepped the line. Homelander was probably immersed in some unresolved childhood trauma or fantasy or whatever the fuck about having a father figure who would discipline him with a firm but loving hand. This must have ended the illusion for him. Maybe enough that Butcher is about to meet his end– sometimes it's hard to remember that the whimpering quivering pathetic mess draped over his knees is the selfsame terrifying force of nature that can take out an entire army if he ever just chose to do so.

But the cunt won't even pick his head up. He's buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Is he fucking crying? Butcher wonders for a second if it's possible that he's actually fucking done it. Actually hurt him. Maybe a plug of C4 won't kill him but maybe it'll make him feel the hurt? A whole assortment of images races through Butcher's mind. He wants to try everything now. His crowbar, a bat studded with rusty nails, maybe the same bottle but a Molotov cocktail this time. Payback for thinking he can just force Butcher to indulge him, to make every night about getting him off. This opens up a whole new world of possibilities.

But Homelander stirs and starts to sit up, and Butcher winces and his teeth are set on edge when he can hear the crunching sound of glass grinding against glass, and tiny green shards start dropping out of him as Homelander tilts to sit back on his heels.

"That was— amazing…" Homelander whispers, breathless. His hands are folded demurely in his lap as if he didn't just orgasm to being diddled with a bottle of Heineken. "You want another beer?"

"No!" Butcher says, sounding more emphatic and more disturbed than he intendedto let on. "No, you sick fuck."

"Does your hand hurt?" Homelander asks, and it's without any impatience in his tone, maybe even a note of real sympathy, completely ignoring the insult just lobbed at him. Before Butcher knows what's happening, Homelander leans down and licks the hand that had just been spanking him. Butcher jerks it away defensively, but Homelander follows it licking it, laving each finger with his tongue before leaning into it with his brow ridge, then his nose, rubbing himself into it. It feels soothing and takes away some of the sore feeling, Butcher is loath to admit.

But he needs to regain what little control he has in this arrangement. "You want me to pet ya? Then lie back where you belong," he says. It's gratifying to see the supe cunt immediately obey him. He stretches himself back into his former position, and Butcher kneads the flesh of his ass.

"We can do the bottle again if your hands hurt," Homelander says, sighing contentedly and breaking the rule– looking back at Butcher with a look that is disturbingly similar to fondness.

"We can," Butcher agrees, trying to ignore the glass that's spilled out on the sheets and forget the crunching sound the bottle made when it snapped in half at the neck.

(AO3 link)

[yourbasicqueerie]

Letters Of My Dreams (f. seward x fosca)

Summary:

Florence, who is now working at a London clinic, comes across an Italian medical journal featuring a clinical study called "The Case of the Hysterical Woman of Piacenza." Outraged by its language and conclusions, she sends a sharp telegram to the author, Dr. Tamborini. Instead of Tamborini, the letter is answered by the patient herself: Fosca. And what can Fosca do if not reply?

Notes:

I wrote this to feed my absurd love for letter writing, it was also absurdly inspired by @anthewitch ‘s gorgeous gorgeus self whom ledes me her beautiful art as a header. I need to dedicate this to @pattisl0ver , because of the half assed emails i wrote to her during exam season (highlights of my day honestly) and having inspired this idea. darkliterotica on ao3 for having created this ship (genius material) and last but not least least emma, for being the best beta reader I could have had for this! I did make a playlist for this fic and you can find it here! ════════════════════════════════════════════════

There were few things left in the world that stirred Florence Seward to rage.

Not the decaying state of the clinic’s plumbing. Not the gas-lamp that flickered each evening like a dying firefly over her desk. Not even the bone-deep exhaustion that clung to her like coal dust, days stitched together with morphine doses and fractured dreams. No, what ignited her now was something colder than anger: contempt.

She read the article a second time.

"The Case of the Hysterical Woman of Piacenza"Published in Il Giornale Medico di Parma , March 1906. By Dr. Emilio Tamborini.

It was printed on heavy paper that smelled of ink and foreign mildew, its edges already curling as if recoiling from its own contents. Florence had received the journal through the hospital’s archive clerk, a favor reluctantly offered after she’d endured three weeks of paper-thin reports from English institutions that seemed more interested in diagnosing hysteria than understanding it.

But this—this was something else entirely. Tamborini’s study was a horrid dissection dressed in the language of detachment: “Subject exhibits classical signs of derangement. Morbid fixation. Cataleptic episodes. Morally compromised.” There was no description of the woman’s voice, her pain, her history. No curiosity, only cataloguing. Like a butterfly pinned through the thorax.

Florence closed the journal, her hands trembled with something close to fury, or perhaps its elder sibling, sorrow.

She stood abruptly, the legs of her mahogany desk chair scraping against the ground in protest. Outside the infirmary window, the gray London afternoon thickened like cream in tea. She wrapped the coal colored fleece tighter around her shoulders, strode to the communications room, and found the telegraph clerk asleep beside his typewriter.

“Wake up, Mr. Lowell,” she said briskly, dropping the journal onto the metal counter. “We’re sending something to Italy.”

He groaned and sat up with a creak. “To Italy, Dr. Seward? Bit far for a prescription, isn’t it?”

Florence ignored him, pulled a blank telegraph form from the stack, and dipped her pen in ink.

May 4th, 1906From: Dr. Florence Seward, Queen Charlotte Hospital, London, EnglandTo: Dr. E. Tamborini, Clinica Medica di Piacenza

Telegram Message:RE: YOUR ARTICLE “HYSTERIA IN THE FEMALE FORM”CONCERNED BY LANGUAGE AND CONCLUSIONS REGARDING FEMALE NERVOUS DISEASE

QUESTIONING YOUR USE OF “DERANGEMENT” AND “MORAL FEEBLENESS” REQUEST CLINICAL CLARIFICATION AND PATIENT STATUS – DR. F. SEWARD

Florence didn’t expect a reply. She wasn’t even certain why she’d sent it. But she felt lighter after the words had been hammered into the wire, fed like a warning through the veins of Europe.

The next day, she  had already forgotten about it.

And then, a week later, a letter arrived.

It came wrapped in pale vellum. The handwriting on the envelope (looped, elegant, undeniably feminine) immediately caught her attention. It was not from Tamborini. The name was unfamiliar.

"Signorina Fosca."

The envelope smelled faintly of lavender and sorrow.

Florence stared at it for a long moment in her office, her fingers tingling as if she were about to open a locket left by someone long dead.

She slit the top carefully, like she was handling evidence. Inside there was cream-colored paper, the same elegant hand.

May 11th, 1906Clinica Medica, Piacenza

To Doctor Florence Seward,

Your message arrived not to Dr. Tamborini’s office, but to my room. It was a clerical error, or perhaps the nurse took pity on me, and thought I should see it.

I could not help but laugh, quietly, lest they hear me, for who else but a woman would speak so boldly to the gods of medicine? I know them well. Their coats of starch, their words like scalpels.

I am the woman in that paper.

Not the one you read. Not the specimen. The one who remained afterward.

I read your message many times. It did not feel like science. It felt like rescue.

Allow me to reply fully.

In this clinic, I am sometimes permitted paper and sometimes not. Today, I am permitted.

I was not “hysterical.” I was abandoned.

Yours,

Fosca

Florence read the letter once. Then again. She didn’t sit down: she paced the room with it clutched in her hand, like it might vanish.

The tone was measured, almost cold. But something inside it—beneath it—throbbed with recognition. This wasn’t just a patient’s reply. It was a voice breaking through confinement. A flare through fog.

She glanced back down at the bottom of the page. "Fosca." A name that felt more like a key than a signature.

The air in the office suddenly felt too thin. Florence reached for the armrest of her chair and sat down slowly, as though she'd just stepped off a ship after months at sea.

The woman in the case study had become real. And she had written back.

Florence folded the letter carefully, slipping it into her desk drawer—then paused. No. She took it out again, and instead pressed it inside the small, leather-bound poetry journal she kept hidden in her satchel. Next to the folded paper, she slid in a sheet of unused stationary.

And in her mind, already, her pen was moving.

READ MORE ON AO3

[vivalas-vega]

fine line / part one

look at me trying new things !!! dipping my toe into a new fandom - long time lurker, first time contributor. first four parts are written, I just wanted to get this out and get some feelers and feedback. this is gonna be a big one, i'm working very hard !! please please please, let me know what you think (gonna update the header - just wanted to put something for now lol)

fine line / mcu x reader / part one

summary: Three kids from Brooklyn. A war that asks too much. And a woman with secrets stitched into every seam.

also - seems obvious bc of the title but fine line by harry styles is the song for this fic, if you like listening while reading that should def be on your playlist (maybe I’ll make a playlist, I’m undecided)

to be tagged in future works, please turn on post notifications for @vegaslibrary

word count: 2.5k

warnings: (not specific to this part, but for the series as a whole. this fic is 18+, you are responsible for your own media consumption). language, angst, drinking, smut, violence, references (and descriptions) of bucky's abuse within hydra, canon-typical situations - this is the mcu y'all, shit will get a little crazy, and a little devastating

Summer, 1943

“Come on, doll,” Bucky sighed, hand on your waist gripping firm to try and stop you but you just gave him one of those looks that was so classically you. A little annoyance, a little mischief. “A double date with Steve and Bonnie isn’t really what I had in mind for our last night.” 

His hand shifted just slightly, not enough to be considered indecent for how publicly you were situated, but enough towards your hip that you knew what he meant, what he wanted. “There’ll be plenty of time for what you’re suggesting later, Sergeant Barnes,” you replied, the smirk on your lips completely undercutting how innocent you sounded. You pushed him closer to Steve, forcing them to soak up as much conversation as they could before Bucky left at first light tomorrow morning. 

“I don’t see what the problem is. You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.” Bucky said. “You know there’s three and a half million women here?” He was trying to make him feel hopeful and optimistic about his departure but you and Steve both knew it was fruitless. Bucky was leaving, leaving the two of you behind to go fight the war. It had been just you three since you were children, against the world, and your trio was about to fracture… in ways the boys didn’t even know. 

“I’d settle for just one,” Steve sighed and you flashed him a bright smile, trading places with Bucky and looping your arm through his. 

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ve taken care of that, isn’t it?” you asked, waving to Bonnie in the distance, waiting for you all just at the entrance.

“What did you tell her about me?” he asked apprehensively.

“Oh, only the good stuff, Steve,” you replied, leaning closer, “and there was a lot to tell.” You made introductions and nudged him forward, trying to push him out of his shell but Steve didn’t do well with letting the rest of the world see who he was. You and Bucky were larger than life, and so was he according to you, but you two seemed to be the only people who knew that.

Howard Stark took the stage—a technology man so ahead of his time you half-believed he was a time traveler. You considered yourself a fairly practical woman, but even you couldn’t help feeling giddy as he spoke of a flying car. You watched in awe as he made it hover above the ground and you turned to face Bucky when you heard him mutter holy cow, with an awe struck smile on your face and delight in your eyes.

He leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek before turning to say something to Steve, who had disappeared at some point in the last five minutes, causing him to look around confused. You gave a sad smile, pointing toward the recruitment center. Bonnie didn’t notice, still marveling at Stark’s other inventions.

“I’m not sure why he wants to face the rejection time and time again,” Bucky said, a mix of disappointment and sympathy in his tone.

“He’s a dedicated man,” you said. “It’s a fine trait in what would make a fine soldier… I just wish they could see that.”

“Well, not everyone can see the world as you do, doll,” he said, pulling the door open for you. “But it’d sure be a good thing if they did.” You frowned slightly when you found Steve, standing in front of a mirror meant to show the person in front of it in a full military uniform… and Steve’s eyes rested where the neck was supposed to be. You thought the world of him, as did Bucky, and you hated how much him and everyone else fixated on his size. You always said a man was measured not by his stature, but by what his heart contained, though Steve could only hear you say it so many times before he stopped believing it.

“Come on,” Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder and Steve turned, almost a little embarrassed at being caught in front of the display. “You’re kind of missing the point of a double date, we’re taking the girls dancing.”

“You go ahead,” he replied, stepping away from the mirror with his hands in his pockets. “I’ll catch up with you.”

“You’re really going to do this again?” Bucky asked with a disapproving look and you shot him one of your own.

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.”

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you… or worse, they’ll actually take you.” You gave Steve a sympathetic look, you’d watched him torture himself with this since the war began, and it broke your heart.

“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this-”

“This isn’t some back alley, Steve. It’s a war,” Bucky shot back and you sighed, realizing Bucky’s little side mission before he met up with you was pulling Steve out of another fight.

“I know it’s a war.”

“Why are you so keen to fight? There’s lots of other important jobs-”

“What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?”

“Yes! Why not?” Bucky was exasperated and you let out another sigh. This is how it always was, it was you in the middle of them constantly… because you could so clearly see both sides. Bucky had points, but so did Steve. 

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky. Even Button is doing more than me,” he protested and your eyes darted around… of all the places you didn’t want your laundry aired, a recruitment center was pretty high on that list.

“Steve,” you nearly whispered, a warning. You didn’t need any attention on you or what you did for the war, the less people knew the safer you’d be and the better you could carry out your tasks.

“Sorry,” he muttered, giving you an apologetic look. “Men are laying down their lives, Bucky. I’ve got no right to do any less. It’s not just about me.”

“Right, cause you’ve got nothing to prove,” Bucky shot back and the air grew more tense around you. You wished they wouldn’t fight, not when you had a gut feeling things would never be like this again. Tomorrow Bucky would ship off to war, you’d disappear into your work, and Steve… you didn’t know what Steve would do. This moment could have been the last where you were all still just kids from Brooklyn.

“Come on, aren’t we goin’ dancing?” Bonnie called out, lingering near the entrance.

“Yeah, we are,” Bucky answered, a slight edge to his tone as he tried to pull you away but you planted your feet.

“James,” you said, voice firm. “Not like this.” You gave him a look and he glanced back to Steve, letting out a sigh as he conceded. You were right, as always.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid until I get back,” he said, a teasing lilt to his tone as he fixed the distance he’d created just a minute ago.

“How can I?” Steve asked. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” You cracked a smile, watching Bucky pull him in for a hug, both of them muttering something like punk and jerk. “Be careful,” he added when Bucky pulled away and you could see the longing in his eyes. Longing for his best friend’s safety, longing to go with him.

“Stop by the shop this week, okay?” you asked, leaning down to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek and he nodded half-heartedly. “Don’t disappear on me too, Rogers,” you prodded, keeping your tone light and he gave you his full attention, promising he would come by before you ran to catch up with Bucky. Perhaps it was a low blow pulling on his heartstrings like that, but you felt you had to. You didn’t have much time to make sure he’d be alright without Bucky… without you. You all had jobs to do, and as soon as Bucky shipped out yours would be your focus, you just didn’t know what Steve’s focus would be.

You and Bucky burst through the door like you were outrunning the end of the world, clumsily making your way inside your small apartment without letting your lips stray from his. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud and he took the opportunity to trail kisses down your neck as his hands roamed everywhere, trying to memorize the feel of you as best he could and you were doing the same. You wanted his touch burned into your skin, the memory lodged in every fiber of your being.

He groaned when you grabbed him by the lapel of his coat, one you’d made for him, and pulled him back to your lips, kissing him with such an intensity that his grip on your waist became bruising. Good, you thought. Give me something to hold onto when you’re gone. The sound that tumbled from your mouth when he hoisted you off the ground to set you on the table shot straight through him and he couldn’t get his hands to move fast enough as they pulled your coat down your arms and began working on the buttons of your dress.

Each inch of skin he exposed made him crumble for you, and his hands landed on either side of your neck to pull you back into a kiss, demanding and hungry… possessive. The slide of his tongue against yours melted you into him, sent tingles to the tips of your toes…. Your fingers were more controlled as they undid his belt, more graceful than his movements had been but the way you tugged it off and threw it on the floor was anything but. You slid your fingers through the loops and pulled him flush against your core, softly biting his bottom lip as he groaned into your mouth.

“God, Button,” he whispered, pushing the hair from your face. “You tryin’ to kill me before I ship out?” 

“Maybe just incapacitate you,” you replied and he shook his head before his lips traced a path along your chest. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he lingered just above your heart and when he lifted his eyes to meet yours they were dark, unreadable.

“You’re gonna vanish, aren’t you?” It was barely above a whisper but it felt loud as it rattled through your ears, heart still thudding rapidly and his hands still holding you like you might vanish right now. You’d grown so still you felt a little like glass beneath his fingers but he pressed on anyway. “I know what you’re planning, you might be able to fool Steve, but not me.”

You didn’t answer, just let your hands slide up to rest on his chest… not quite pushing him away, but not pulling him closer either. “You think I’m stupid?” he asked, catching your chin and pulling your gaze to him… not forceful, but insistent. “You’ve been wrapping things up for weeks, meeting people you won’t name. Soon as I got my papers, you started pulling away. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Bucky-”

“I get it. You want to do more. You’ve always wanted to do more.”

“So please don’t fight me on it,” you replied, soft and sure. “Not tonight.”

He swallowed hard, jaw flexing as he considered his next words. “I’m not trying to stop you, I just-” he exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to walk out of here tomorrow and feel like it’s really you that’s leaving me.”

“Because it’d be so easy if it were you leaving me?” you asked as you ran your fingers through his hair and he didn’t have an answer, because it wasn’t easy either way. “Forget tomorrow. Just be here. Just… be here.” 

There was nothing else to say, and he didn’t know how to deny you anything, especially not when you pleaded. His eyes scanned your face for a moment and his grip on your face squeezed, just slightly, before he pulled you back into him, kissing you with a new purpose. Now, it wasn’t just him that had to make it back home to you, you had to make it back home to him, too. He didn’t like those odds, both of you being out there.

He pulled you up and helped you pull off the rest of your clothing before pushing you back onto the bed and settling above you, hands taking in every inch of flesh they could. Each movement felt loaded, a whisper of I love you, of I miss you, of please don’t break my heart. Each push of his body into yours filled you like fire and you wished you could stay here like this with him forever… that there wasn’t a war you were both so determined to fight, that you didn’t have to worry about the world outside your apartment door. You wished you lived in a world where the only thing that mattered was you and Bucky in this bed, giving and taking everything you had to offer.

You laid curled against his side, head resting on his chest and listening to the steady thump of a heart that you knew belonged to you. Your fingers moved idly along his skin, as if you were trying to stitch something into him. “I keep thinking about everything we’re never gonna get.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. His hand moved slowly along your back, like he could calm the ache out of you one inch at a time. “Like what?”

“Sunday mornings,” you said. “Stupid arguments over curtains. You kissing me in a grocery store, and it not meaning goodbye.”

He smiled, a little sad, “I would kiss you in a grocery store.”

“You’d kiss me anywhere, Sergeant.” you teased, voice thick with affection.

“True,” he chuckled before you fell back into silence. You could feel sleep trying to pull you under, your body exhausted from the weight of his touch, the weight of what it had meant, but you fought it… wanting another minute. Another ten. Another twenty.

“Promise me something,” you said, your voice smaller than you meant it to be.

He looked down at you. “Anything.”

“Leave before I wake up.”

“Button,” he started, already knowing he’d barely be able to stand leaving you as it was.

“Don’t make me watch you walk away,” you murmured. The pain of it lived in every word. “I won’t be able to take it.” He stared up at the ceiling like it might hold a better answer, jaw tense. “Promise me,” you prompted and you saw it break in his eyes. That familiar crack, the one that always came right before he gave in… because it was you. It would always be you. There wasn’t a single thing you could ask of him that he wouldn’t do, even if it broke his own heart.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”  You stared at him for a long moment, memorizing every sharp line, every soft crease, like your eyes could hold onto him when your arms couldn’t.

You pulled him back into you, losing yourself in him again. There would never be enough kisses. Never enough I love you’s. Never enough of this.

But it had to be.

This one night had to hold all the ones you’d never get.

Time was already moving on without you. But for now, it was just him. Just you. Just this.

And that would have to be enough.

next part

[thefrogdalorian]

A Crisis of Faith

Word Count: 6052 Rating: Teen Summary: Although travelling through the galaxy with a Mandalorian bounty hunter was a daunting prospect at first, you were pleasantly surprised by how swiftly the two of you bonded. However, despite your initial closeness, the man who you were thought enjoyed your presence in his life now seems disgusted by his every encounter with you. When you finally land on Nevarro after weeks of being confined to the Razor Crest together, you hope that perhaps, something might fix your fractured relationship... Content Warnings: Din is mean and gets drunk. Slightly rough with header, shoves them away/leans over them and raises a finger to stop you from speaking but it's clear you're not physically injured by his actions and are somewhat excited by it. Kissing. Physical appearance/gender of reader is not specified but Din calls them mesh'la (beautiful in Mando'a). Author's Note: This was inspired by the line "You're a crisis of my faith," in Would've, Could've, Should've by Taylor Swift. The song is quite different in tone to this fic but I just imagined what it would be like if Din was ever pushed to a breaking point of his faith before meeting Grogu. This was the result and I regret nothing. Thanks to @decembermidnight for some words of encouragement while I was writing this one, I appreciate it!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The metallic clangs of footsteps hitting the rungs of the ladder as your travelling companion descended from the cockpit caused you to look up momentarily from the holodrama you had been quietly watching. As he approached the bottom of the ladder, you fixed your eyes back on the holopad that was propped up against your knees. You sighed deeply. There was a time when Din Djarin’s presence had not made you feel thoroughly miserable and tense. But those moments were long gone.

You didn’t move your eyes to meet his steely gaze as his footsteps approached you in the semi-darkness of the hull. Instead, you focused so intently on the bright screen propped against your knees, which was currently playing a cheesy holodrama, that your eyes began to burn under the strain.

Before you had begun travelling with Din, you had scoffed at people who occupied themselves with such corny forms of entertainment, finding them melodramatic and hollow. Since spending weeks hurtling through hyperspace with no human contact aside from your bounty hunter boss, you had reneged on your aversion to holodramas. You discovered that they provided welcome relief both from the monotony of hyperspace and your constant rumination over precisely what it was you had done to drive such a wedge between you and the man whose footsteps were now getting uncomfortably close to your favoured position to relax in. 

You felt yourself tensing up as he approached. You had retreated to your favourite little nook on the Razor Crest after showering, hoping that he would leave you alone. It was your little sanctuary, your haven away from the tenseness that lingered in the air between the pair of you. Over the past few weeks, you were pleased that you had created somewhere like this to withdraw to. Although Din was fairly neat and organised by nature anyway, you had still helped to tidy the Razor Crest when you first came aboard, organising various objects which cluttered the hull into several large crates. When pushed together and covered in a blanket and pillow, you discovered that you had created a secluded little alcove where you could relax in your own space. So, after you had taken a shower, you perched yourself on your favourite crate and launched yourself into the cheesy drama that was currently playing out on the screen in front of you. It was a welcome distraction from the turmoil in your own life. 

Turmoil that was impossible to ignore any longer, as the looming presence of Din Djarin towered over you, cutting over what little light was reaching you. He did not even have the courtesy to speak one as he stood there wordlessly, hovering over the crates you were sprawled across. You huffed in frustration. Recently, the onus was always on you to begin a conversation. His abrupt change in behaviour towards you made it difficult to believe that he had once been so talkative and forthcoming in his interactions with you. It devastated you all over again to think of the contrast between those happy memories and the tension of the present. The times when Din and you would sit together, chatting for hours about anything and everything as you flew through the stars together were long gone.

“Can I help you with something?” you finally asked, your voice belying your frustration. 

“Came down to use the fresher. Didn't know you were awake,” Din mumbled. 

You swallowed thickly, feeling your eyes sting with tears at his words. He was so brazen in admitting to you how keen he was to avoid you, that you wondered what in the galaxy you had ever done to him, to have him treat you this way. 

“Oh,” you breathed, struggling to maintain your composure in the face of such harsh words. But you were utterly determined not to show any signs of weakness. After all, wasn’t that what he wanted? To hurt you?

It was difficult to believe this was the same man you had met all those months ago. When you had first started travelling with The Mandalorian, Mando as you knew him then, you had – to your surprise – quickly bonded with the mysterious man who had hired you for your services. Mando had wanted to hire you due to your expertise in navigation and ship maintenance. While he was the muscle, bringing in numerous high-value targets, you were his assistant, taking care of everything not related to the bounties he brought back. You were discreet, never asking questions about the nature of his work. You just knew that he needed to bring as many back as possible, to pay off the loan he had taken to afford this magnificent ship: the Razor Crest.

Aside from his line of work, though, in the early days, Mando was surprisingly happy to talk to you about anything. You sensed that before you came aboard he had been somewhat lonely as he led a solitary existence, barely speaking to others and hiding behind his armour. He still hid behind his armour to some degree, of course as he had never removed his helmet in your presence. It was a matter you were never to discuss, aside from him explaining that he would never remove it in front of you. Although you were curious about what he looked like, you respected his reasons for keeping his helmet firmly fixed to his head. Whatever they may be.

Even though you had never seen his face, the two of you had quickly become close in the isolation of hyperspace. Perhaps, even friends. You listened intently as he told you details about his life; the loss of his parents and his subsequent adoption by Mandalorians. Mando even entrusted you with his real name: Din Djarin. To demonstrate that level of trust in you meant a great deal and you delighted each time the syllables rolled off your tongue. The name Din Djarin gave you a thrill each time you said it, sending a shiver along your spine. It was a strong name, one that fit him perfectly.

You did not yet know it, but the night Din had given you his name was also the night everything changed. It was the last night you shared the closeness with him that you had come to appreciate during the months you had travelled together. It spelt the beginning of the end. Ever since then, Din had inexplicably taken a step back from you. He pulled away, retreating into the quiet, solitary figure that you had first met. It had been weeks since he had had a conversation with you that lasted more than a few words. 

Din had seemed increasingly distant and withdrawn and it was abundantly clear that you were the cause of his sudden change of heart. He had not even tried to hide the fact that he was keeping away from you on purpose. It felt as though he was disgusted by your presence. You did not have the faintest inclination of what you had done to make him feel this way. You exhausted yourself by racking your brain for answers that never seemed to come. You were consumed by grief. You missed him. His company had been one of the few things keeping you sane.

Despite his intimidating presence, you had discovered that there was a certain warmth to him that he displayed when it came to interacting with you. The times he had made you laugh so hard that your ribs hurt, the way he had taught you words of Mando’a and how to polish his armour. There was even one occasion where he had taught you to wield a blaster, in case of emergencies. You could never forget how Din’s strong arms snaked their way around your waist, how safe and protected you had felt in his embrace. You remembered in aching detail the touch of the soft, smooth leather of his gloves as he held your hands with such aching tenderness, in an attempt to steady your grip on the weapon. Although, if anything, it only made your hands shake more. 

That warmth and gentleness were gone now, replaced with the cold, hard version of him that was standing before you. This Mandalorian was unrecognisable to you. There was no way he could be the same as your sweet Din. Your Din who never hated to be alone with you. Who treasured your presence, rather than treating it as offensive. Now, Din spent most of his days in the cockpit, hiding away from you. He only descended the ladder to use the fresher or prepare some ration packs when you were in your bunk, behind a pneumatic door. That was how most of the trip to Nevarro had been. Until now, as he hovered over you.

“Well, you should know we’ll be landing in Nevarro soon,” The sound of his deep, raspy voice tore you from your ruminations.

“Okay,” you nodded, eyes remaining firmly trained on the holodrama. 

“While we’re on Nevarro, I have some matters to attend to. I’d prefer it if you stayed here on the ship, but I can’t force you to. You’re not my slave,” he shrugged. 

Then, Din turned away from you and retreated to the ‘fresher, leaving you heartbroken in his wake. But you were determined not to sit there and pine after him. You would not allow yourself to dissolve into tears in a place where he could potentially see the impact he was having on you. 

You promptly pushed yourself up off the crate and walked on trembling limbs towards your bunk. You hastily sealed yourself behind the pneumatic door of the only small space that was truly yours, sequestering yourself from the anguish that lay beyond the door. The bile rose in your throat as you remembered how he had spoken to you, as though you were of as much significance to him as a speck of dirt on his armour. The tears came, then. Flowing down your cheeks in earnest. You were stubborn, however. You didn’t want Din to know the power he held over you. You would not allow him to see how much his words and actions devastated every fibre of your being. The way he shattered your heart into pieces with each emotionless utterance.

So, you buried your head in your pillow, hoping it muffled the way you cried yourself to sleep. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he could upset you. 

The worst part of the whole predicament was that you had realised you had fallen in love with him…

✯ ✯ ✯

The loud clunk of the Razor Crest as it finally made contact with terra firma for the first time in several weeks roused you from the fitful slumber you had eventually drifted off into. The noise which interrupted your sleep indicated that you had finally touched down on Nevarro. Your head was pounding. The tears that you had cried the previous evening after Din had been so cold towards you had torn through your body, leaving their mark on your fragile, shattered being. Despite how much your body was screaming at you to gulp down some water, you did not risk crossing paths with him. Honestly, you weren’t sure how much more of it you could take. 

So you waited until the doors to the ship had opened and closed and the latest bounties unloaded, before you emerged from your bunk. After gratefully chugging several flagons of water and quenching your thirst, you headed to the ‘fresher and gazed at your reflection in the mirror. The person who stared back at you was almost unrecognisable. You looked utterly broken, a shadow of the person you had once been. All the spark had gone from your eyes, which were sunken and lifeless; your eyelids were swollen from the sobs that had wracked your body before you slept. Your cheeks were gaunt, your hair limp. You couldn’t believe that the same man who had once caused you to laugh so hard that your ribs hurt had rendered you so miserable. It tore you apart to know that you had allowed someone to wield so much power over you. The man you had bonded with and trusted, who you perhaps even loved, had reduced you to this.

You knew then, that despite Din’s wishes, you had to get out of this towering metallic prison for a few hours. Even though Din would be disappointed, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were not a natural rulebreaker, though, evidenced by the way your heart pounded as you left the safety of the ship to wander around town. Nevarro was a planet full of scum and villainy, a backwater scughole most people would not choose to visit. It was certainly not the place you would choose for some convalescence. With the beggars and shady characters that lined every street, it was not the optimum environment to repair your shattered nerves. 

However, since you were travelling with an aloof Mandalorian, who appeared to be utterly ignorant of how much he was hurting you, you were left with no choice. If you wanted any air for the next few weeks, this was the best you were going to get. Din certainly wouldn’t stop somewhere more picturesque to grant you your wish. You grimaced as you stepped out. You had forgotten how stale and filthy the air of this planet was. Yet, it was better than spending another second in that stuffy metal tomb with reminders of the man who loathed you everywhere you turned. The man that you had been beginning to fall in love with before he woke up one day and decided he hated you.

Although you had hoped a day wandering around Nevarro would revitalise your spirits, you were left bitterly disappointed when nothing of the sort happened. The dismal surroundings only compounded your misery. You felt utterly trapped. If the only thing that lay beyond the confines of the Razor Crest were planets like these, perhaps a life with a man who hated you was preferable. At least you didn’t have to see such depressing sights every day of your life, although being trapped in hyperspace with the Mandalorian that hated you was still pretty bleak.

Despite ignoring Din’s request to remain on the ship, you did respect the rule he set to be back before sundown. So, when the sun began to descend in the sky and dip dangerously close to below the lava flats, you returned to the Razor Crest. You found your heart sinking as you ascended the ramp back to the ship. Back to unbearable tenseness and more heartache as you found yourself forced to survive in proximity to a man who despised you. 

The Razor Crest was silent, still. Empty. Din was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t decide if you were disappointed or relieved at that fact. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

At least it meant you would be able to eat the food you had bought from a market stall in peace. The local delicacy was a welcome break from the bland, cardboard-like rations that you survived on while hurtling through hyperspace. It was a meal that your tastebuds certainly thanked you for.

After finishing your delicious meal, you clambered back onto the crate and resumed the holodrama you had been watching before Din had interrupted you the previous evening. You sprawled out on your favourite position in the ship, regaining your strength and finally feeling calm for the first time since you had woken up. The drama unfolding on your screen was a welcome distraction from worrying over the fact that Din had still not returned from his outing. 

Despite how hurt you were by his actions, you could not help but fret for his safety. You were never sure how long Din would be gone during these visits, the times could range from a few hours to almost an entire day. But it was practically unheard of for him to be out so long after nightfall with no word as to his whereabouts. You tried to push those thoughts out of your head and lose yourself in the story on your screen. You settled in for the evening, engrossed in the story. Soon, your eyelids grew leaden…

✯ ✯ ✯

The thuds of the footsteps ascending the ramp startled you awake. You sat up swiftly, groaning slightly as you felt the stiffness of your neck thanks to the awkward position you had fallen asleep in atop the crate. The sounds were incredibly jarring to you, not just because they had woken you up from a peaceful sleep. By now, you were well used to every little noise produced on the Razor Crest, all of the little groans and clangs characteristic of the ship. This sound was different from any of them. You knew it had to be Din, as he was the only person other than you who knew how to unlock the ship. But the footsteps ascending the ramp were so irregular and uneven that it was difficult to believe it could be your Mandalorian companion. They were utterly alien to you, so unlike the careful, methodical way he usually cut a path through the galaxy. 

You found yourself panicking momentarily, wondering if perhaps he was in trouble and someone else had forced him to open up the ship. Until a few seconds later when, sure enough, the familiar brown chest plate and shiny helmet of the Mandalorian you worked with stood there at the top of the ramp.

You swung your legs around to sit atop the crate and waited to see whether Din would approach you. Whether he had even noticed you. Without speaking or making a sound, he moved towards you. You were startled at the way Din lurched towards you, his boots slamming against the floor before he hit the wall with a sickening clang. The way he was staggering, barely able to stand straight, struck terror into your heart immediately. You leapt off the crate without thinking and rushed to his aid. 

“Din, are you alright?” you asked, your voice full of concern as you approached where he was slumped against the wall. 

“I’m fine,” was his reply. Curt. Direct. Classic Din Djarin. 

You threw your arm around Din’s waist, feeling the coarseness of his cape underneath your hand. Despite his heft, you successfully managed to pick Din up off the wall. Din grunted as he threw his arm around you. You were about to ask whether he had been in a fight until your senses detected the smell which lingered on him. It clued you in to precisely where he had been. The characteristic stench of a cantina lingered in the air, emanating from his entire body. The smoke, sweat and booze of the dingy place was unmistakable.

Even though you were appalled at his drunken stupor and disgusted by his recent actions, you still cared about him. Without hesitation, you began helping Din towards his bunk. The first few steps were difficult, but soon enough you and Din settled into a rhythm. You wanted to make sure that he was alright since you feared that he had drunk too much and something terrible would happen to him in the night. You wished you could remove his helmet and ascertain his levels of drunkenness, whether he had any wounds which required bacta spray. You knew that was never going to happen. You may never have discussed his reasoning fully, but you knew Mustafar would freeze before Din would remove his helmet in your presence.

You were about halfway to the bunk when it happened. Despite the fact he could barely stand, Din abruptly shrugged off your help and shoved you away from him, as though burnt by your touch. Although he hadn’t hurt you, your throat tightened and your eyes watered. He hated you. You shakily exhaled from your nostrils. All your determination to never let him see how much he had upset you was gone. He had gone too far. You decided you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Din, please. Have I done something to upset you?” you pleaded as he continued stepping away from you, backing into the wall. Until it was physically impossible to put more distance between the two of you.

Din threw his head back against the wall, his helmet hitting it with a clunk. He sighed deeply, seemingly composing himself. After a few moments, he pushed himself off on unsteady legs and walked over to you, looming large over you. The backs of your knees were backed against the crate, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run or hide from this Mandalorian towering over you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Din grunted, voice tinged with something far darker than anything you had ever heard from him.

“Din, no, I…” you gasped, taken aback by his words.

You were practically falling over the crates now, feeling the hard surface biting into the backs of your knees as you tried to back away.

“You’re a crisis of my faith,” Din rasped. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” you stammered, stunned by his words. How could you, of all people, make this stoic Mandalorian lose composure like this? “Din, I don’t understand,” you begged.

He raised a gloved finger to your lips, shushing you instantly. You noticed your eyes widened in shock in his helmet’s reflection, standing there helplessly as the musky, leathery smell of his gloves filled your senses.

“Kriff!” Din swore, his last reserves of composure dwindling. “So innocent, mesh’la.”

In happier times, Din had taught you some basic Mando’a. He was enthusiastic to educate you about parts of his culture and you were eager to learn. You loved the way his voice sounded when he spoke the ancient tongue of his people. However, you were unable to understand that particular word. Although you were able to observe how his voice had softened slightly when he said it. You attempted to part your lips to speak, but Din hushed you again by pressing into your lips slightly harder with his glove. He wasn't hurting you. In fact, you found the pressure and his demeanour somewhat thrilling. At least he was paying you some attention, for a change.

“Do you know what the consequences would be if I removed my helmet in front of you and pressed the kiss on your lips that I’ve been aching to place there for months?” Din growled, his voice low and rough.

You shook your head vigorously, eyebrows raised at his words. Although you had initially been startled at the way Din had backed you against a crate, you were grateful for the position you currently found yourself in. At least, trapped between his body and the crate, you at least had some surface to balance yourself against. Otherwise, you feared you may have collapsed onto the cold, metallic floor of the Razor Crest at his confession.

“If another living being caught a glimpse of my face, then according to my Creed, I would be shunned as an apostate,” Din explained. 

You sighed deeply, pulse thundering in your ears as you struggled to process the implications of his words. Your heart leapt as it sunk in that Din reciprocated your feelings. You realised that his erratic behaviour had possibly been driven by his desire for you. He wasn’t running or hiding from you anymore. Perhaps whatever beverage Din had imbibed from underneath one of the long straws you knew he used when in public had given him the push necessary to reveal his feelings to you. You silently thanked Maker as finally, Din was making it clear that he wanted you. 

Yet in an instant, the hope and joy you felt were snatched away from you. Your heart settled back in your chest, weighed down by the cruelty of your circumstances. That his Creed meant that you may never get to be together in the way you both desired. You nodded your head slowly, in understanding and after a few moments, Din removed his hand from your mouth, permitting you to reply. 

“Din, I don't want you to violate your Creed for me,” you asserted, horrified at the notion. “But I wish there was some way I could feel your lips against mine. I… care about you, Din. And since you stopped speaking to me, I’ve been a shadow of the person I was. Nothing makes sense without you.”

Din sighed, bringing his hands to your waist. Shivers traversed your flesh at the way he gently squeezed your body in his hands. The care and warmth that you had been missing from him had seemingly returned. Your Din was back. Even if you could never be together, at least he had returned to you. You hoped the callous way he had treated you would now be a distant memory.

“I’m sorry, mesh’la. I know I’ve treated you terribly. I’ve been too much of a coward to accept the way I feel about you,” Din breathed, his voice shaky under the weight of his words.

“Please don’t ever do that to me again, Din,” you pleaded. “I cannot take it, the anguish of racking our every interaction in my brain. Trying to figure out what in Maker’s name I could possibly have done.”

“You did nothing,” Din insisted, emphasising that fact keenly. “I am not good with… with acknowledging my feelings. How quickly I came to care for you terrified me more than any job I have ever taken. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Oh, Din. I was terrified I had lost you forever,” you admitted, voice cracking as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

Din did not reply immediately. Instead, he lifted a hand from your waist and carefully wiped the tears that flowed down your cheeks with the soft leathery tips of his gloves.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Din sighed. “I will spend tomorrow and every day that follows rectifying the damage I have done. Will you allow me to do that?”

You nodded eagerly, unable to reply with words given the way Din was cupping your jaw with his hand and stroking your cheek softly.

“Good,” Din breathed. “Why don’t we get some rest? I need to sleep the booze off. Then, I swear tomorrow will be a fresh start for us. No more hiding and ignoring you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, smiling for the first time in what felt like months.

You helped Din to his bunk. Although he had begun to sober up somewhat, he was still unsteady on his feet. He slurred apologies into the side of your face and hair as he went, and you felt the way your spirit lifted at knowing how truly remorseful he was.

As you rested your head on your pillow that night, you grinned until your cheeks ached. The smile had not left your features since Din had told you the way he felt about you. Tonight, your body ached with glee, not under the weight of profound sorrow. No sobs were afflicting you, just happiness over the future that lay ahead.

✯ ✯ ✯

The sounds of Din’s footsteps rapping against the floor beyond your bunk caused your eyelids to flutter open slowly. For a moment, your body defaulted to the way his presence had made you feel for the past few weeks and seized up in fear. Then, you recalled the events of the previous night and everything felt lighter. As you lay there for a few moments and processed the sounds, you were immediately relieved to hear that Din’s footsteps were much more even and steady, as they had always been before last night. Your Din was truly back.

You opened the door to your bunk and grinned at the sight before you. Din was rummaging around in some crates, searching for something. For weeks when you had entered the same space as him, he had not acknowledged your existence. Now, however, when he heard the door opening which signified your presence, he looked up immediately. Din did not use his task as an excuse to ignore your existence. He seemed to be honouring the fresh start that he had promised.

“Morning, mesh’la,” Din said softly, “How did you sleep?”

“I slept perfectly, thank you,” you replied with a smile. “What are you looking for?”

“This,” Din whispered, drawing his hands from behind his back. You watched with confusion as he held up an old shirt and tore a length from it. Then he beckoned you to approach him. 

“What if I told you that there was a way to circumvent the rules, without breaking my Creed?” Din questioned as you approached.

“Are you sure, Din?” you asked, voice filled with uncertainty, despite the way your pulse had quickened.

“Do you trust me?” Din breathed, answering your question with his own.

“Of course,” you nodded in an instant, even if his response had done nothing to allay your confusion.

His gloved hands held the strip of material up taut between them. You realised, as his hands moved towards you, cloth stretching across your face, that he was about to blindfold you. You knew you should have been terrified that an emotionally volatile Mandalorian, who had been so inebriated he could barely walk mere hours ago, was about to cut off one of your senses in this manner. A life of travelling through the galaxy meant that you were well-versed in sensing danger. On the surface, this appeared to be one such dangerous situation which you had spent your time desperate to avoid. However, the man in question who was about to deny you of your most vital sense was undoubtedly a gentle, considerate man. He was your Din, a man who you knew and trusted like no other. Your Din, who had returned to you. There was no fear or hesitation in your heart as the cloth was tied around you.

With your eyesight cut off, your hearing became more sensitive. You almost gasped as you heard the hissing of Din’s helmet depressurising. This was happening. You wanted to enjoy every second of it, every touch and sound. But it was difficult to appreciate every little noise given the way your heart thundered in your chest and resonated in your ears. You barely remembered how to breathe as, with one hand, Din steadied himself on your hip, while the other cupped your chin and turned it towards his face. 

Then, his soft, plush lips brushed against yours, moustache tickling your upper lip lightly. You almost giggled at the sensation. But just at that moment your lips began to curve into a smile, Din placed his hand on the side of your neck and slid his tongue into your mouth. All coherent thought vanished. 

You could not be certain, but you supposed that you were the first person Din had ever kissed. His inexperience should not be mistaken for inability, though. You were stunned by how he was applying himself as his lips moved softly against yours, conveying wordlessly the affection he held for you. With every small gesture of his lips against yours, you were beginning to understand just how long he had been holding back. He was desperate for you, a man possessed. Hungry for the touch of your lips against his. You braced yourself against him, hands coming to rest on the cool, hard metal of his chestplate.

Eventually, Din pulled away. Your chest heaved due to the exertion of the kiss. For a few seconds, you both stood there in the afterglow, unsteady, ragged breaths melding together. Din’s hands stayed on your hips, holding you close to him. 

“I love you,” you whispered, without really thinking. You momentarily tensed up, fearing that you had said too much. But you felt the way Din’s hands tightened their grip on your waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles into the skin above your rib cage.

“I know,” Din finally replied. 

Your mouth parted in shock. Then, he stole another kiss from your lips. This time it was languid, unhurried. You smirked against his plush lips as the turn of events sunk in. For weeks, you had been so convinced that Din hated you. Never again would you feel the closeness of your bond with him. When, in reality, he was not only aware of your feelings but reciprocated them. 

“I’m so sorry for the way I treated you,” Din whispered, as his gloved thumb stroked your cheek tenderly. “I was scared by my feelings for you. No one has ever made me feel this way before. I didn’t think anyone would ever make me feel this way. That was until I met you, mesh’la.”

“I was terrified I had done something to offend you,” you admitted.

“Never. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Your presence in my life is a gift. I am sorry for not making you feel that every day.”

You almost burst into tears at his words, utterly floored by his sheer sentimentality. You knew there was a gentle, caring man underneath all that armour. He may have disappeared temporarily, but there was no doubt that he was back now.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, mesh’la?” Din spoke again when you were too overwhelmed by his words to reply.

“You can start by telling me what mesh’la means,” you smiled. “Then, perhaps another kiss.”

“Beautiful,” Din sighed, “It means beautiful, in Mando’a.”

“Oh, Din,” you whispered, as you leaned in for another kiss. This time, your hands came to cup his face, delighting in the scratchy stubble you found underneath your fingers. You could feel the strong outline of his jaw. You had never laid eyes upon him, but you knew he was gorgeous. After the kiss ended, you pulled away and held each other for a few moments.

“I love you too, by the way,” Din whispered into your hair, before adding: “Mesh’la.”

You couldn’t help but break into a wide grin. Now that you knew what the word meant, your head was spinning with giddiness. You and Din stayed that way, wrapped in each other’s arms, enjoying your newfound closeness. You would have been quite content to remain that way forever, but there was an entire galaxy out there for the two of you to explore. 

You heard the unmistakable hissing sound of a Mandalorian helmet pressurising and then gentle fingers at the material’s knot at the back of your head. When Din removed your blindfold, you were not surprised to be greeted with the steely gaze of his helmet once more. This was how it had to be. 

You supposed that perhaps it should feel strange to know that you had never laid eyes upon his face, but were certain that you had already fallen in love with him. Knowing Din Djarin, however, went far beyond seeing his physical features. You knew his heart, his inherent goodness despite the way he had lost himself for a while. You only knew what the touch of his lips felt like against yours and that he maintained a moustache and facial hair. Beyond those details, you knew nothing of his face. But you knew the bond the two of you shared, the nights discussing your pasts, your presents, your futures. The way you would laugh until your ribs ached. How protective he was over you.

So, sure, you had never seen his face… but you knew that you loved him all the same. 

You climbed the rungs of the ladder to the cockpit, following behind Din. You’d follow him to the ends of the galaxy if he so much as asked. You knew he’d do the same in return. You didn't know exactly what the future held for the two of you as you sat back in the red leather chair of the Razor Crest’s cockpit. As Din punched in the coordinates to your next destination, you sighed happily. This was a fresh start. The beginning of the rest of your lives together.

His crisis of faith had been averted. 

[christopherisfoive]

Static Between Stars

Pairing:Jedi!Han x f!Engineer!Reader (Star Wars AU)

Word count: 2.5k

a/n: originally this header was a gif and it was amazing but I couldn't resize it so here we are....self indulgence.

“Somewhere in the galaxy, a war still raged. But for a brief moment, in a forgotten station beneath a bitter sky, a Jedi and an engineer had stopped fighting. And maybe that was enough. For now.”

The distress call shouldn’t have come.

Your station wasn’t on any chart used by the Republic or the Resistance—and certainly not the Jedi. Varnis-4 was known only to the First Order and the unfortunate souls who got assigned there.

It wasn’t a planet. Not really. It was a rotating graveyard.

Varnis-4 had no real cities, no breathable atmosphere, and no strategic value beyond the secrets buried beneath its crust. The surface was covered in dust that clung to everything—clothes, skin, machines—and heat that soaked into your bones until even metal groaned under it.

The sky was permanently hazed with chemical ash, tinting the horizon in shades of muted red and burnt orange. Storms didn’t announce themselves. They rose like ghosts, loud with static and dry lightning, capable of frying entire relay towers in seconds.

You’d been stationed here for nearly eight months. Alone.

There were rotation teams, in theory. Maintenance crews that would fly in to check your progress, resupply your tools, and inspect the sealed sectors you monitored for command. But in practice, those visits had slowed. Then stopped.

Now, it was just you.

And the silence.

Which made the distress call all the more impossible.

It appeared on your console with no fanfare, no coded encryption—just a high-frequency ping. Something primitive. Desperate. Outside protocol.

You should have flagged it. Marked it for inspection. Let the static swallow it again.

Instead, you traced it.

And something in your gut shifted the moment you did.

The hoverbike stuttered beneath you as you pushed it across the canyon ridge, its engine coughing against the grit in the wind. You hadn't used it in weeks—there hadn't been a reason—but your hands moved instinctively, guiding it toward the signal.

The coordinates led you past the edge of your regular patrol range, where even your automated turrets went dark. The air here was thinner, and the terrain was fractured—old mining scars that had never fully healed.

And then you saw it.

A smear of metal carved into the landscape. Smoke curling into the haze. Whatever had gone down, it had come in too fast, with no stabilizers and no support.

You killed the engine and approached on foot, blaster drawn.

The ship was a single-seater. Scorched. Half-buried in stone. Its wings were snapped, the cockpit cracked open from the impact. You stepped over twisted hull plating, boots crunching against glass.

Then he moved.

Just a shift—a groan, low and ragged, from the shadow of the cockpit.

You saw the edge of his face first. Ash-streaked. Bleeding from his temple. His robe—if that’s what it was—hung off his shoulder in tatters. He coughed once and tried to sit up, hand pressed weakly to his side.

And in his other hand—

A lightsaber.

Your blood ran cold.

"Don’t," you said instinctively, voice sharp.

His head turned slightly, unfocused. “That obvious?” he rasped.

You didn’t answer. Your blaster was steady in your grip, aimed just above his heart.

He blinked slowly. "Are you... First Order?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not if you’re going to shoot me."

He coughed again and slumped back against the wreckage.

“I’ve had worse welcomes.”

You stood over him in silence.

This wasn’t in your protocols.

He was supposed to be dead.

And yet, here he was—bleeding, broken, breathing. A Jedi. A myth. A problem.

You should have turned around.

But you didn’t.

You dragged him back through the canyon with more effort than you’d admit.

He was heavier than he looked, or maybe you were just out of shape—your body used to tightening bolts, not hauling injured fugitives through grit and wind.

The hoverbike gave out halfway. You swore under your breath and walked the rest of the way, half-carrying, half-dragging him until the outer gates of your post came into view.

You shouldn’t have brought him back.

You told yourself that again as you punched in the override code, shielding the panel with your body like someone might be watching. You told yourself again as you guided him down the narrow hall toward the medical bay, the lights flickering overhead.

But when he slumped sideways into the wall, murmuring something you couldn’t make out, you caught him before he hit the floor.

The medbay had never held anything human before. It was designed for field kits and droid repair—functional, cramped, barely enough for one body, let alone two. But it was clean. And quiet.

You lowered him onto the cot and immediately turned to scrub your hands.

He was unconscious before you even started.

You worked quickly. Cut through layers of burned cloth, disinfected wounds, sealed what you could. The lightsaber—you placed it carefully out of reach, though part of you wanted to tear it apart just to see what was inside.

He had a name, probably. But right now, he was just a mess of bruises and blood and something far too dangerous to leave in a ditch.

You ran scans. He had a fractured rib, a mild concussion, and something—some flicker of light pulsing just beneath the skin—that your medical reader couldn’t quite parse. You didn’t need a manual to know what it was.

The Force.

You sat back in the chair across from him and stared.

The Jedi were supposed to be gone. Myth. Propaganda. Warnings passed down in dark corridors of command briefings.

And yet he was here.

A breathing contradiction.

You told yourself you’d wait until morning. That when he woke up, you’d ask questions. That if he tried anything, you’d be ready.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until the lights flickered back to life.

You blinked awake to the sound of a soft scrape against metal.

He was sitting up.

Barely, but enough to brace himself against the side rail of the cot, his eyes slitted open. The cuts on his face had scabbed, and his breathing was still rough, but he was awake—and watching you.

“Didn’t think you’d stick around,” he murmured.

You didn’t move. “Didn’t think you’d live.”

He gave you a look, half amusement, half pain. “Me neither.”

There was a pause. You expected him to demand to know where his weapon was. Or try something foolish with the Force.

Instead, he looked around the room slowly, taking it in.

“Not what I pictured for a First Order medbay,” he said.

“This isn’t a medbay. It’s a droid patch unit.”

He smiled faintly. “Still... you could’ve left me out there.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I considered it.”

“Let me guess—you’re not a stormtrooper.”

You didn’t answer.

He shifted, wincing. “You don’t wear the mask.”

“And you don’t wear a cause.”

He actually laughed. Just once. But it cracked the air between you, something sharp melting into something human.

“Touché,” he said. “So... what do I call you?”

You hesitated.

Then gave your name.

He repeated it, soft, like testing it for weight.

“Well,” he said, settling back against the cot, “thanks for not killing me. Yet.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re not staying.”

He closed his eyes again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But somehow, you knew he already was.

By the third day, he was walking—sort of. Limping, really, one hand trailing along the wall for support. You tried to ignore the sound of his footsteps echoing through the station.

It didn’t work.

You found him by the storage bay, poking through a stack of ration crates like he’d never seen freeze-dried food before.

"Don’t open that," you said.

He looked up. "Too late."

You walked over and took the packet from him, resealing it with a hiss. "That was two months of protein supplements."

"You’re welcome, then," he said, flashing a grin. "I just saved you from a very bland future."

You rolled your eyes and turned to leave.

"You always this friendly?" he called after you.

"Only when I'm armed."

Later, you caught him in the control room, staring at the relay screen.

"That’s encrypted," you warned.

"I wasn’t trying to break in. Just... watching."

You stood beside him for a long moment.

"You said you weren’t staying."

He didn’t look at you. "I’m not."

"Then stop memorizing my system layout."

That made him grin. "Too late again."

He didn’t ask for a datapad, but you found him with one later. Scrolling through old repair logs, mapping out your work like he was trying to understand how you operated.

And for some reason, you let him.

You told yourself it was harmless.

That he was just bored.

But when he asked questions—about the way you rewired an old transponder, or why your defensive grid used obsolete code—you answered.

Not because you had to.

But because you wanted to know what he’d say next.

The fight came on day five.

You were recalibrating the relay node when he stepped in. He didn’t say anything at first—just leaned in the doorway, watching.

Then, without warning:

"That frequency modulation—it can track Force signatures, can’t it?"

You froze.

"Excuse me?"

"The array. I’ve seen tech like it before. It’s not just for long-range comms. The Order’s using this outpost to help hunt Jedi. Isn’t that what this is really about?"

You stood slowly. "You’re injured, off-grid, and alive because I didn’t leave you in a crater. Don’t start accusing me of things you can’t prove."

"So don’t deny it."

"You don’t know what you’re talking about."

His voice dropped. "Don’t I?"

You bristled. "You think you’re better? You and your dusty myths and Force tricks? Jedi disappeared when they lost the war. The rest of us had to keep surviving."

"You think the Order’s survival is worth what it costs?"

Your jaw clenched.

He stepped forward, expression unreadable. "How many people’s coordinates have you relayed without knowing where they ended up? Or did you know?"

The silence after that stretched long and thin.

"You don’t get to walk in here and decide what this place means," you said, voice flat. "You’re alive because of me. That’s the only reason you get to ask questions."

His eyes softened. Not with pity. With understanding.

That made it worse.

He left the room without another word.

That night, you didn’t sleep.

Neither did he.

The storm came the next evening.

You noticed it first by the static in your comms—a sharp crackle that interrupted even internal frequencies. Then came the temperature drop, quick and steep, followed by wind that pressed hard against the station walls like the planet was trying to peel them apart.

You moved through the corridor, sealing ports, checking pressure locks. You were in the control bay when you saw it—through the reinforced viewport.

Han was outside.

You cursed and ran.

He was standing near the outer antenna, facing the horizon. Ash swirled around him in fast, tight spirals, his robes caught in the wind, hair damp with chemical mist. He didn’t flinch as you approached.

“Are you out of your mind?” you shouted, grabbing his arm. “You’ll fry out here!”

He didn’t look at you. “The sky... it hums when the storm comes.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You’re going to die listening to weather?”

“It reminds me that I’m small,” he said. “And I need that.”

You didn’t let go. “I don’t care what you need. You want to stand under Force-forsaken lightning, do it after you leave.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for once, he didn’t smile.

You hauled him back inside.

The door sealed shut behind you. The storm hit seconds later—louder now, hammering the roof with a rhythm like blaster fire.

You stood there in silence, breathing hard.

Then Han said, “You’re kind of bossy when you care.”

You glared at him. “You’re kind of stupid when you talk.”

His grin was slow. “You like me.”

“I tolerate you. Because you’re half-dead and can’t outrun me.”

“You’d still chase me.”

You didn’t deny it.

He stepped closer, just slightly. The space between you shrank.

“I could stay until the storm passes,” he said. “Just until then.”

Your voice dropped. “That’s what you said last time.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away, either.

The storm raged through the night, sealing the station in a capsule of noise and electricity. You didn’t sleep. Neither did he.

Instead, you worked in parallel. He sat at your corner desk with a tool kit, helping you recalibrate power couplings, offering suggestions that were sometimes wrong but always interesting. You adjusted wiring while he passed you parts, shoulders occasionally brushing when space grew tight.

There was something domestic about it. Unsettling, but not unpleasant.

When the lights flickered, he handed you a power cell without being asked. When the comms whined, you were both already leaning toward the controls.

You didn’t talk about the argument. Not directly.

But when he said, quietly, “You’ve done a lot of things you didn’t choose,” you didn’t correct him.

And when you replied, “So have you,” he didn’t deny it.

At some point, you caught him watching you. Not with curiosity. Not with suspicion.

With something like understanding.

You looked away first.

By morning, the storm had passed.

But something between you hadn’t.

The supply drone was late. Then rerouted. Then erased from the delivery manifest altogether.

You tried not to panic. Logged a quiet report. Rechecked your outgoing logs.

Han sat across from you at the console, watching your fingers fly over the keys. He didn’t speak.

When you finally exhaled, leaning back in your chair, he asked, “That normal?”

“No.”

He tilted his head. “Then you think they know?”

You didn’t answer.

But the knot in your stomach did.

That night, you found him standing by the sealed entrance, his pack over one shoulder.

“You’re leaving,” you said.

He nodded. “It’s not safe for you anymore.”

You almost laughed. “It never was.”

He shifted. “Still. You’ve already done more than you should have.”

You glanced at the pack. “What will you do out there?”

He smiled faintly. “Survive. Like you.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything either of you had said.

When he finally turned to go, you didn’t stop him.

But when you returned to the control room an hour later, you found something resting on your bench.

A kyber crystal. Fractured. Still pulsing.

And beside it, a small strip of scrap metal. The edge of a wing—burned, carved with a name you recognized now.

Han.

You didn’t call out.

Didn’t chase.

You just sat there in the dark, thumb brushing over the uneven surface of the crystal.

Somewhere in the galaxy, the war kept going.

But for a brief moment, in a station forgotten by both sides, you had chosen something other than obedience.

And he had walked away with the knowledge that someone hadn’t seen him as a weapon.

That was enough.

For now.

[callmewrinkles3]

Castles Crumbling - DR3 x Fem!OC

Summary: There's just four races to go until Em never has to be near McLaren again, but her anxiety isn't getting any better. With fractures growing in their friendships and people in the media talking, how could it? Not even a gift from her husband could help.

Words: 15.5k

Warnings: The 2022 F1 season, COTA 2022, mental health issues (anxiety, depression, social anxiety, issues with food, one instance of accidental self injury), Zak Brown opening his mouth, hospitals, mentions of assumed domestic abuse, medical staff, smut.

AN: Remember us? Yeah it's been a while, we know. But we're back! Tumblr is a mess right now and with this we decided to make it worse. Please, please heed the warnings here. This is probably the lowest point Em gets to, and it's not a good place. It’s a hard, complicated one. If it's not something you feel comfortable reading, that's alright. Stay safe out there. See you around. 🫰🏻

October 2022

Em had no idea why she was so nervous the day they got to Texas. There was absolutely no reason to be, they'd had some time off and it had been lovely. Her anxiety kept going up and making her stress which was the last thing she wanted. She was tucked in under Dan's arm, their friends were there, and they were in one of her favourite places in the world. Even if when Dan asked her what she wanted to do on their days off she'd said nothing. She didn't have the energy to do it.

The cancelled Russian GP felt like a miracle, giving them a full three weeks off instead of a week in London and one in Sochi. It was an oasis after the triple header of Spa, Zandvoort, and Monza. As soon as Dan finished media after the Monza curse kicked in they left the circuit. Like the year before they were holding hands, but this time it was anger and misery. He'd been on for points. Good points. And then the car just died under him. Fuck McLaren.

They'd gone straight to their favourite pizza place, getting a smile from the staff when Em ordered in Italian. Even the Tifosi in the restaurant chilled around them. There were nods and smiles, Em returning them when she could. It was there to the hotel for some sleep, and the next morning they had quick goodbyes to everyone before renting a car and driving up to Lake Como.

It was normal for them to have a getaway in Italy after races. It started with the beach trip after their first night together in Monaco, and 2019 was the nights in Milan after two impossible feeling races. But finally, after a quarantine year that cancelled their plans and then Em having to cancel them when Dan won. But finally they got to spend their time together. Dan had promised her that even if he won they were still going.

But the car gave up, so instead they said goodbye to Blake and Micahel for three days away. Em adored them, but she'd spent so much time with them that they weren't her usual safe places. Things with Michael still felt awkward, and time apart just felt right. The three days were spent alone, actually getting to wear their rings while they tanned, ate pizza and pasta, and spent hours making love on any surface they could.

The best part of the three weeks off wasn't sunny Italy, it was going to Perth. Dan had to be at the MTC for two days for sim duty before the double header so they went back to London, but as soon as they could they were on the direct flight from London to Perth to see family. It had only been two months since they'd seen Joe and Grace, but they hadn't seen the rest of the family since the super quick trip they'd made to Perth after they got back together.

All they wanted to do was hug the kids and be home. They just wanted to be uncle Danny and auntie Emmy. Even thought it was winter it was warmer than Em was used to. It was healing being back at the farm. Silence at night, family arriving in the late morning or early afternoons, it was perfect. Either they went to see people or people came back to see them at the farm for a full two weeks.

It helped Em's anxiety lessen, as did the regular therapy sessions. They had one on a Monday evening while Em was in Perth, set for a time where no matter where in the world she was she'd be able to make it. On race weeks she had one on Thursdays too. Plus seeing the constant smile on Dan's face while he was home. That put a smile on hers. If anyone deserved to be happy it was her Danny, and Em would do anything in her power to make sure he was.

The fun days ended all too soon, hugging everyone goodbye and promising to see them in Abu Dhabi for Isaac's birthday before they went back into the swing of things. Singapore and the race wasn't bad, Dan finishing with 10 points. But Japan was awful. Lando barely in front but the team acting like he was on the podium, and the weather and recovery vehicles. Dan had talked to her about Jules once before, about losing one of his best friends as a result of those conditions on that track. Her heart was in her throat as she watched Dan go around and round. It was another weekend watching the man she loved be disappointed at a track he adored, but at least they got to spend a week in London before Texas.

Once they got on the plane to head to the US, Em could feel the nerves building in her. It was different from the - high grade if she was honest - anxiety that she usually had most days. This time there was a reason. Dan was showing her the house he bought them that she still hadn't seen in person.

It had started from 2019 when she was tipsy and half asleep and whispered it while dozing in his arms that Austin would be a nice place to live. Since then he'd been searching, revealing it to her when they were in Montreal. The original plan was an apartment with a balcony and natural light, but getting that in the delivery radius of their favourite barbecue place was nearly impossible. And then between the pandemic and everything it turned into wanting so much more than a one bedroom apartment. Plus hiding it from the woman who he spent almost every waking moment with felt impossible.

He'd signed the papers when she was in Liverpool, a desperate dream that maybe Em would come back to him.

Telling himself it was an investment and worth it even when he wasn’t fully sure it was. He knew in his heart he’d never rent it out but he had to try something. It was a total lie. But then he flew down to Texas before landing in Miami to sign for the house. The original plan had been to show her when she arrived in Miami. Dan’s sick hope that she’d turn up. But then she didn’t and he just kept hoping until she was finally there.

They’d said they’d stop off on the way to Montana, fly an extra few hours so Em could see it. But she was too fragile and exhausted and trying to put her pieces together. Then it was the summer break but the news about losing his job put the kibosh on that. So finally they were in Austin and couldn’t be disturbed and Em was about to see their home.

October had felt like it would be a lifetime away then. It would be autumn and starting to get cooler. But then she was there and they’d landed in Texas, gone through immigration and were in the rental car on the way to their brand new home.

It was scarier than moving into their apartment in London had been. London had been quick, necessity thanks to living in an Airbnb and needing to find somewhere to pick together. There’d been two weeks thanks to Dan between viewing it and getting the keys. But they’d viewed it holding hands, decided what room would be what.

This was different. Dan had picked it out entirely on his own, she’d had no idea. And she’d known about it for five months, desperately wanting to see more than the photos. If Em was honest she’d half thought the photos weren’t right, the oh so normal suburban home with a little garage attached. But as Dan put the car into park in their driveway it hit her. This was their home.

A lot of the time they had similar tastes. Food, music, and clothes were the big ones, they’d match in a lot of ways. When it came to TV and movies and podcasts they had differences, but unless it was one of his UFC podcasts she was usually happy to watch what he wanted, the same way he’d watch what she put on. One of the things they almost always agreed with - except for LA but Em wasn’t going to have a discussion about how ridiculous a full mansion for himself was - was where they lived and how they decorated. They always liked the same places and were interested in the same things when it came to a home. If there was something weird or one of them didn’t like it, the other generally didn’t either. It was how it worked when they’d found the apartment in London, they’d walked in holding hands and just knew.

It’s how Em knew Dan had to have done a good job when he chose somewhere in Austin. If he liked it, she’d like it, and when the car stopped she knew she was right. Her expectations were that it’d be an apartment in a high rise building, but it was in front of a house. A little country style 1960s house, like the stereotypical one you’d see. It was nothing like the ridiculousness in LA or the farm in Perth. It wasn’t even like the place in Italy Dan was looking at for them to have as a wedding present. It was so normal.

A one family home on a suburban Texan street. A couple of houses had lawn signs out, there were kids bikes on the street. It felt idyllic as Em looked at the pale brickwork and dark door. It felt like somewhere they could relax and just be.

“I know we said an apartment, but when I saw here it was perfect. It feels like us.” Dan held up a key on a cowboy hat keychain, the Longhorns orange logo visible.

“I’m not complaining at all, it looks cute. Time to go inside?”

They walked up to the front door holding hands as a smile spread across Em’s face. She wanted to stop and take it all in, but her excitement was too much. She could stand out in the front yard later, right now was for going inside. All she could do was look up at Dan and how peaceful he finally looked. It had been literal years for him and she couldn’t be more grateful that he’d kept holding out hope for them.

Opening the front door of somewhere new was always exciting and this was no different. She slipped the key in the slot and twisted to feel the lock disengage. Em went to push the door open but before she could Dan lifted her into his arms, nudging the door with his knee.

“Dan, what?!”

“Gotta carry the bride over the threshold, right? It’s my job.” She laughed at the grin on his face as he brought them inside, carefully depositing Em back on her feet in the living room so she could fully take it in.

The room was a blank canvas. Wooden floors with lots of windows and light, white walls just waiting for paint and decoration. Somehow he’d gotten a Welcome Home sign put up in front of the fireplace. It was cosy but had enough space for them and friends to be there. The work and effort Dan had put in was making her tear up before she’d even seen anything else. Then when she did turn around and saw the lavender door she actually did shed a tear.

The one thing she’d wanted in life was to paint her front door lavender. She’d seen photos of colourful seaside towns with different brightly painted doors and decided she wanted hers to be lavender. It wasn’t from Friends, as much as people might think. She’d never been a fan of that show really. But there was no possibility she could do it as a kid, and then in her rented apartments it was never going to happen. But Dan had promised her that he’d do it, and he had just for her. She turned to hug him and held onto him until she could get herself together for a moment.

“I told you we’d have it, it was just a matter of time. I know we can’t have the outside in London, but I thought the inside in Austin would work?”

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I love it. I love you, Danny.” His arms tightened as she said it, a kiss pushed against Em’s head.

“Love you too. Wait until you see everything else, I think you’ll love it.”

Dan held her hand as they moved through the rest of the house. The kitchen was gorgeous and sitting out on the counter was a set of orange Le Creuset pans that matched the purple set they had in London. It was like her perfect kitchen was right in front of her. The doors to the back garden were there, a deck leading down to grass and it was carefully enclosed. It was safe and beautiful. She wandered outside and looked at the wildflowers growing at the end of it.

She had no idea how she’d gotten so lucky. How did he love her even after everything? After everything she’d done, everything she’d nearly ruined? But Dan loved her with everything and he did all of this for her. It was a home, not just a house, and part of her hated that they wouldn’t really spend enough time of the year here. He’d given her everything, and she didn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t have him.

A quiet sob made her turn around in panic to see a smile on Dan’s face as tears streamed down his cheeks. Her arms wrapped around him, holding onto her husband as he cried. They were both too familiar with tears by this point, and her job was to hold onto him and love him and wait until he was able to speak. These were the overwhelming tears.

“I thought I might never see this place. Especially not with you. I was waiting until you were here to see it in person and I think I’d come to terms that it wasn’t going to happen.” The rawness of his words cut her deeply, Em kissing his jaw as a reminder she was here before she could speak.

“I’m right here, Baby. I’m here. And you’re here with me. We’re together.”

“I know. I know.” Dan kissed her so gently Em thought it could have been a dream until she opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Good…what do you mean you didn’t think you’d see it? You flew out to sign?” He squeezed her and Em knew no matter what he was about to say she was going to worry.

“I did. But I didn’t come here. I signed the contract and hired someone to keep an eye on it and do what I needed. But I couldn’t come here without you. It was for us.”

“You bought an entire house without seeing it?” The disbelief was clear in her voice. Her insane, brilliant, generous husband.

“It was a bad time, don’t judge me.” She never could. Not in a million years. “I wanted to do more things, y’know? I thought about changing the windows out for ones with bigger panels of glass so you have even more light to read, put some screens up so you can open them without bugs. Have some of the flowers out the front under the living room window. Maybe change the roof? The one there is fine but it’s gonna need replacing in a few years. Plus I wanna change the fireplace cause that’s original from the 70s when this was built and I don’t like the tiles. But not without you. Even looking at furniture to buy felt wrong. That’s what you do. You turn the places we live into homes without even thinking about it. Plus, I thought it could be like an anniversary present. Five years ago this week is when I met you for the first time.”

Em settled into Dan’s arms with her head pushed against his neck for an extra moment as she took in what he said. She’d so nearly blown their lives up in April - walked away without so much as a word. But even though she did that he loved her and still believed she’d come back somehow. How could she not be utterly in love with him? She didn’t deserve him but he loved her anyway.

“We turned them into homes. Us. Together. That’s what made them into homes, and it’s what’ll make this into one too. So thanks for waiting for me to do it.” It was a sweet kiss and wiping away the tear tracks from his cheeks as she smiled up at him. They’d turn it into one. She wouldn’t ruin yet another home for them. She couldn’t do that like she had with their first flat. “Show me everywhere else? Please? I wanna see our room.”

The rest of the house was just as perfect. A bathroom with a gloriously big bath for her and Dan to fit, two spare rooms, and finally the master bedroom. It wasn’t stupidly huge, but it was perfect. She could see all the flowers that Dan had gotten planted outside through the window. Em had no idea how he managed to get it done but he did and she’d be forever grateful for it. The other thing he did was get a proper mattress for each bedroom. It wasn’t a full bed yet, there weren’t even sheets, but she could actually lay down. As comfortable as the business class seats were, she just wanted to lie down and stretch. Her sneakers came off in a heartbeat and that was about as quickly as Dan was lying on top of her.

"You like it?" Dan whispered as if to not break a spell. His head was on her shoulder while his arms wrapped around her body to pull her as close as possible.

"The mattress? It's amazing, I wonder how I'm gonna get up again. The house is very nice too." She kissed his forehead while her smile grew even wider. "I love it. I really, really love it. It's absolutely perfect, Love. I still think you're insane, but thank you."

"I'm happy you like it. You know you never need to thank me."

"Really? Cause I think I know a way to thank you and bless this place together."

All Em needed was one kiss on her neck and feeling his grin against her skin to get going. Clothes were thrown off and left on the floor, and the luxury of not sharing a wall with anyone else was perfection. The loud moan as Dan finally entered her with one slow push echoed around the near empty room.

Usually on race weekends she was careful to not mark Dan's neck or scratch his back or shoulders. Usually she'd do her best to leave no marks at all unless it was a break but that day she couldn't care less. Her hands were all over his back and holding him as hard as possible. Part of her brain screamed at her that she was fucking everything up and she needed to stop, but Dan's frown as she went to let go and the way he squeezed her made her continue. If he was prepared for any comments and wanted her to keep going then she was going to.

At least now people knew that she was the one responsible for anything. She sucked a small dark mark against his collarbone, watching as the skin reddened and bloomed. She didn't care about it in the moment. The next day she probably would when his shirt moved the wrong way and everyone saw it but right then she couldn't care less. For once her head was quiet, focusing about how warm her Danny was against her, the way his hands made her feel so good. How he was hitting the perfect spots in her, the whispers of how good she was and how she was his best girl, his only girl. The marks he was leaving against her that screamed she was his. His, his, his.

When they finished it was like magic. Like every time he held her tight and kissed as they came down from their highs, the two of them keeping the other there. It was one of her favourite moments with him since that very first time they'd slept together. The world stopped for a few moments, silent and the only people who mattered were them. When she opened her eyes Dan was there, that smile that made her fall head over heels all those years ago on his face as he stole a kiss and made her smile against his lips.

Years ago the next thing in their routine had been one of them - usually Dan - asking to stay the night even when they shouldn't. That part of their routine was long gone. But the comfort and cosiness of the moment was ruined by Em's "oh shit!" and running to the bathroom, too afraid to mess up the brand new mattress that didn't even have sheets on it. The only thing there to clean up was Dan's shirt and she wasn't doing that to him.

When she came back feeling better Dan still kissed down her legs to make her giggle, Em looking at him smiling up at her. She ran her fingers through his curls as she looked down at the love of her life. How did she get so lucky? She didn't deserve him.

It took everything to get up from that mattress. She was jetlagged and tired and wanted to stay there and fall asleep beside him. She was comfortable and didn't want to leave. But they had things to do, shopping first on the list. If they were staying there for a night before moving to the team hotel they needed basic stuff. Dan insisted they didn't need sheets for the mattress, they had toilet paper and paper cups for their celebration and could get takeout. Even while Dan was trying to say nonsense Em was rolling her eyes and pulling clothes out of one of their cases to put on. She made Dan do the same, even as he insisted she looked better without clothes on.

"Do you really want me to go to Target naked, Love?" The wide eyes and rapidly shaking head was all that Em needed for him to get up and shimmy his jeans on.

For most couples a trip to the supermarket was a normal thing. But they weren't a normal couple, or at least not that normal. Usually groceries were delivered, and the occasional times they did something like this was during the winter break in Perth. They'd go some weekday morning when it was quiet and people didn't notice them. She loved it though. It was like going out with an excitable kid who looked at everything and kept stopping. She got to hold his hand and be normal for rare occasions.

So that afternoon it was a rare opportunity for Em to drag him around. It took a pout to convince him it was a good idea, but an oak milk latte from the Starbucks before they started shopping was all the extra incentive he needed to keep going. But as they started wandering Dan was the one who kept stopping and looking. He wanted the perfect glasses, Em got distracted looking at lipsticks for a new perfect pink. Then they spent time deciding on towels and bedding for not just their room but the spares too. After all that a coffee maker and mugs had to be bought, along with the matching plates and bowls. All of that, plus a lamp, cushions, a fake plant, fairy lights, candles, and groceries for that night and the morning that could be frozen when they were leaving ended up in the trunk of the rental car. Em couldn't stop grinning the entire drive back to their house.

London was a mix of things they'd had in both of their apartments, choosing what they preferred and putting them together with new things when they really needed them. Perth, Monaco, and LA were kind of like that, Em turning professionally interior decorated places into actual homes instead of places where they just spent time. But Austin was different. It was a blank canvass where she could start from scratch and turn it into colour and home and happiness. Even if this trip was just a few things to make it better she could take time and decide what they were going to do.

She barely got to put the sheets on the mattress before Dan was dragging her back down, covering her in kisses. It had been since the summer break when they felt like this, able to hold and love each other and Em able to shut her brain up enough to enjoy it. Thye spent the afternoon and evening moving from bed to couch and back again, ordering takeout from the restaurant Dan made sure they were near, before returning to loving each other. Dan held onto her as they fell asleep, Em content and cuddled in.

The next day was when they were supposed to move to the hotel but neither of them really wanted to. The boys landed and they met with them, checking in, but deciding to spend that night in their home before having to go back to the F1 circus. Instead they spent it with Michael and Blake, Em watching the three of them laughing and joking. It was easier to stay a little on the outside of it all and watch, Dan's hand around her waist as they sat in their favourite bar in Austin yet again eating barbecue and Em drinking a coke and stealing sips from Dan's one beer before the race weekend.

Getting out of their uber and being completely alone once the front door closed was a luxury for Em. They were always surrounded by people, she knew that. Dan loved having family and friends around, loved being with everyone. She'd known that since the beginning. It was one of the reasons - besides the obvious - why she was around the boys so much. Dan loved to bring his people around and Em loved watching him be happy and glowing no matter how loud it was. Usually she could put her earplugs in and smile and it was fine. But at the track and in offices and media centres it was more of the same. There were always people, Dan was always busy.

She'd known from the beginning that Dan wasn't always hers. She had to share the man she loved with the rest of the world. And she knew this, she married him knowing it, but it was hard sometimes. She'd gone in with eyes open that especially during race weeks it was a good week to have a couple of hours alone together. The only thing she asked was that they went to bed together. She'd stay up as long as she had to to do it with him. She always fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. Dan always woke her up with a kiss on her forehead if he had to get up before her as a quiet goodbye and a heads up she'd fully wake alone. It was what they did. So one extra night where they got to wake up completely alone felt nearly perfect.

But some nights, even when they were alone, she could tell Dan's head was somewhere else. This was one of those nights. They were curled up to sleep, arms around each other, but Em could see that his eyes were open and his jaw was tense. Even with the way the last few days were nice it wasn't an easy time. Everything seemed to be slowly crumbling around them. Apart from their relationship it seemed like so much was falling apart and it was impossible. She was doing everything she could to keep the man she loved going but Em didn't have much left to give. There were some things she couldn't fix. She couldn't magic up a seat in a team for him no matter how badly she wished she could do it. She couldn't even negotiate with him, because that wasn't her job. Doing it for the McLaren severance was different, that was for their pride and to prove that team hadn't ruined them. It was personal. But talking to other team principals? She couldn't.

The one thing she could do was reach up and push a kiss to his jaw, watching as he looked down at her with sad eyes. She could ask the questions and support him and love him and give him advice.

"Penny for them?" It was quiet until Dan took a deep breath.

"Should I talk to Haas? Guenther sent over a proposal. It's a seat for n-"

"Absolutely not." The vehemence that she came out with worried even her but she kept talking. "That team ruins people and makes them miserable, and as much as Guenther has been decent to me in the paddock they're run ridiculously. Look at what's happening to Mick, he told Mick last week that he might keep the seat but now you're being offered it? They won't listen to you, they won't care about the setup. They'll mess it up and blame you. They did it to Kevin and then begged him to go back. You deserve better than it."

"It might be the only way for me to have a seat next year."

"I'd rather we call it a day and just go home." Em was blinking back tears as Dan held her closer, watching as she got herself together. "I can't spend another year watching you suffer for a team and their stupid car while you're trying to smile. This year has been so hard, Danny. You deserve better than that. You're so much better than that."

"Do you really want that? Do you want to go home?" The words echoed around her head. Home. She still didn't know what it was. Dan was her home, but she couldn't say anywhere really was anymore. But her tears began to fall and she couldn't stop them.

"We lost too much this year, Danny. We lost a baby. We nearly lost us too. We did lose us for a while and we nearly didn't make it back. I don't have anything else to give it. This sport and this team has taken almost everything. It even took my dignity in Spa. We've given it everything. Baby I love you with my whole heart and you know I will do anything for you. You know that." She took a deep breath as she tried to get the courage to ask.

"I know, Baby girl. I know. And I love you just as much. We're us, that's not changing ever." His words and the warm arms around her made her able to say it.

"You can't ask me to watch you go through another year like this one. You can't do that to me. We can't go through another year like this and you know we can't. If we try it's going to break us. Please. If you love me just...please don't. Be a reserve driver or try something else or any other driving, I'd rather watch you do ovals. Please don't make me have to go through watching you suffer like this again."

She broke down after speaking, feeling Dan hold her even tighter than he had before. She'd never said it. She never wanted to tell him not to drive, she adored him and trusted him to do the right thing. But this was terrifying to watch. She didn't know what she could do except ask him not to drive for once.

"Hey Baby, I've got you. It's alright, Emmy. It's alright. It's going to be fine, Baby girl. I promise. You just take deep breaths. Breathe in with me Baby." She followed his exaggerated breathing until she'd calmed down from the panic attack she'd nearly worked herself into yet again. Her fucking brain. She needed to be calm for this.

"I'm so tired, Dan. I'm exhausted and I don't know if I can deal with another year at a team that won't respect you. This year was too much. I can't lose you again. Please don't make me lose you again."

"It won't happen, Emmy. I swear it's not going to. I'm gonna be right here."

"It happened twice."

And that was her fear. They'd basically lost each other last Christmas, and what should have been the final nail in the coffin was Melbourne. They shouldn't be together. They'd fought for so long, they'd promised each other. But she didn't know if she could fight for another year to try not lose him.

"That was different and you didn't lose me. I fucked up but we're right here. Remember that forever promise we made?" He kissed her ring finger, Em smiling through her tears.

"I almost did and it felt like I couldn't breathe. I can't go through it again. Call me selfish but I just can't."

"You're not selfish. You're the exact opposite of selfish, Babe." The pain in Dan's voice made Em feel even worse than she did saying it.

"I feel like I am. I know how much you love racing."

"But I love you more." He punctuated his words with a kiss before continuing. "I'm chasing loving racing again, and I've stopped loving it now. Maybe it's time to let it come back to me. If it works I can try get a seat in 2024. If not I've got you, and we can work it out from there. I can be a househusband. I was thinking about it, y'know? Maybe it's time for me to be a househusband, you get your year. I'll stay home, make breakfast, do laundry, all that. You deserve a year of not doing anything after taking care of everything I've thrown at you."

"You and I both know you'd go insane if you did that. It'd be fun for a week." A watery giggle escaped, Dan smiling at her ability to laugh.

"Maybe two? But it can be your year. I want you to be happy, not just following me around the world while I'm doing it."

"All I wanna do is be with you. I just...I want you to be my Danny for a while. I don't want to have to share you with the world for once. What I really need right now is to wake up on a weekend and not go anywhere. I want us to stay in our bed, not in a hotel unless we're on holiday. I hate myself for being this selfish and asking you, but I need this."

"A weekend in bed not going anywhere sounds really good right now." Dan kissed her nose, brushing the hair out of her face to make sure Em was looking at him. "I'm telling you, you're not selfish."

"I feel like I am. I feel like I'm making a decision for everyone. Michael's gonna need a new job, it's a mess."

"I was thinking about telling him I think it's better for our friendship to not work together so that'll be fine. Jack's looking for someone for F2 next year, that might work. But you're not making a decision for everyone, you're telling me how you feel. I told you before. If you asked I'd walk away. We deserve to be happy. You deserve that."

"I love you." She held onto him tightly, desperate to make it clear how much she loved him. She didn't deserve Daniel. Not at all. Somehow he loved her even though she'd made a mess of so much. "It's just one year. Then we can go back. You can keep racing till your forties if you want like Fernando. I don't care if you do."

"You really think I want to race that long? Two or three babies and racing around the world for twenty something weeks a year?"

"Seb is. For now." She wasn't looking forward to saying goodbye to someone who'd always been kind to her.

"Yeah, but I don't think I'll be able to do that after our kids start school. There's a difference between Switzerland and Perth."

"If you want to do it the option will be there. As long as you want to keep racing and you're happy you know I'll support you. We can work around anything else." Em snuggled into him at his words, at the knowledge. He wasn't lying. They'd be happy. She'd make herself be happy.

"We can talk about it then. But Toto and Christian have already been in contact about a reserve role. Christian rang before I even did the video. But I'm focusing on you and me first."

"Thank you," Em breathed out.

"For what?"

"For being you. I just wanna be your girl. I wanna be your girlfriend in public and nothing else. I...I need to be your girl for more than a week, not your assistant. I love my job and I love working but I need this. I need to not think about the fact that I share you with the world for a weekend. I know it's a lot to ask but I need that. Just one year. Can you give me a year?" She felt awful asking, but they were there together. She knew he wouldn't feel bad about her asking.

"With one condition."

"Anything you want."

"Marry me. I'll take a year off as long as you marry me."

"Did you hit your head or something? Want to do it again?"

"We said we were going to do it properly, right? I'd propose and we'd have a wedding with our family and that's what I want for us. A year off and we can plan our wedding. Go wherever we want for our honeymoon. No schedule, no fitting it into a two week gap and a honeymoon over the summer break. Just us and the people we care about. So marry me, Emmy?"

"Yeah. This sounds perfect." She kissed her husband, grinning against him as he held her left hand and kissed the perfect engagement ring he'd given her in August when she'd proposed in LA. Getting to do this their way was more important to them than revealing anything else. It felt right.

The next morning when Blake came over for breakfast before the three of them went to the hotel they spoke to him about their decision. It was easier than Em expected it to be, Blake agreeing with both of them entirely. Dan was burnt out, Em was a mess of a human, they were shadows of who they were just a year before. It made sense.

He didn't admit it, but Em knew Blake was exhausted too. He'd been carrying her and Dan for the last six months on his own, a year away from all of their travelling and chaos would be good for him too. They could recharge and focus and next year Blake could start putting feelers out about potential seats.

The other thing they agreed was Em was taking a leave of absence from work. She hated it. She hated feeling like she couldn't do her job. But she needed to look after herself and both of her boys agreed. As soon as Dan said it she knew he was right, nodding and hugging him. At least they got to tell Blake about planning the wedding, and the hug her big brother gave her was worth everything.

Once they got to the hotel it became the normal race weekend whirlwind. Dan was in media and strategy meetings while Em stayed in her hotel room, Criminal Minds on tv while she smiled at her ring and took down little notes about the wedding they wanted. Blake was there showing her the progress he'd made on hiring the horse for Dan's grand entrance to COTA the following day. Her idiot was actually attending press day on a horse. It was entirely Blake's fault for encouraging it months ago.

When Dan got back they facetimed his parents to give them the news, Em crying as Joe said he was happy to finally get to properly call her their daughter now. It was a good day. She was taking the good day.

The only downside to arriving to the circuit was firstly that she couldn't hold Dan's hand because of the horse, and secondly having to hide her engagement ring. She didn't want to take it off, but it was an unspoken agreement that they weren't telling anyone outside their people until after the season was over. They didn't want McLaren using it for media. She didn't want an instagram post from anyone who was firing her husband congratulating the happy couple. She didn't want that orange team involved in her personal life, so the announcement could wait. The nice part was getting to pet the horse Dan was riding. Before Bluey was saddled up she got to brush him down under his groom's careful eye, and afterwards she brushed him and gave him an apple as a treat. It felt like back in Montana, brushing the horses there and her anxiety disappearing for a gorgeous few moments.

Once that was done she didn't have much to do for the afternoon. Blake was officially taking over what she'd been doing, following Dan from meeting to meeting instead of Em. To avoid even more rumours and speculation she wandered the paddock every hour or so with her iPad in hand, chatting to people she knew and acting like it was normal.

It was a weird relief that not working was a help. She still had her therapy sessions with Mildred every Monday - plus a Thursday one before most race weeks - still had her every two weeks psychiatrist appointments to talk about her medication levels, but it felt like it wasn't working. She felt like she was jumping out of her skin, anxiety a constant in her head. A decent part of her wished she could stay in their hotel rooms on any given weekend, but she had to be there for Dan.

Her weekends were most comfortable when she went from the entrance to Dan's room and back again. Nobody bothered her in there, she hid away while her friends and husband were busy, and she felt awkward sitting in hospitality with people looking at her like she was a dead woman walking. So instead she lay along the massage table pinning things to a pinterest board to start wedding planning. Her plan was to show Dan what she liked and they could decide after.

Between taking notes about not wanting designated seats so it could be a mix of people and looking at flower options she dozed off where she lay. Sleep was at a premium for Em on race weekends, but having something nice to think about helped her doze.

She woke up to Dan's kisses against her forehead, not even opening her eyes but reaching out for Dan to squeeze her hand. It was a quick murmur that he'd be back soon, he just had one more meeting and then they could go. Before she knew it Dan was back, helping her stand and fixing her hair so she didn't look like she'd spent the last hour sleeping. They walked out of the paddock hand in hand, ready for the hotel and to curl up in bed together.

"I wish we could just stay in our house instead of here," Em whispered as she looked out the window to the city view in front of them. It was gorgeous, the room was luxurious. But she wanted their house with the mattress that they didn't even have a bed frame for yet. Dan stood behind her, Em resting her back against his front. She could relax and let her anxiety float away for the next few hours until they had to get up and do it the next day and the next and the next, before the brief reprieve before Mexico.

"Saturday night after Blake's birthday dinner? And next time we're here we can stay there full time."

"That sounds perfect."

Waking up on Friday morning was nearly impossible. The universe knew Em wasn't an early bird, but she felt absolutely drained. She didn't want to think about it, but something was wrong with her. She knew when it took Dan shaking her shoulder to wake her up. Usually kisses against her forehead would wake her but the last week or so it had been harder and harder to wake herself up and move more. The kisses were still there but not enough.

"Morning Baby, hey. Sleep well? I've been trying to wake you for a few minutes." Dan was smiling at her as she blinked blearily at him.

"Jetlag? Mornin'. Do we have five more minutes?"

"We're down to ten, but we've got time." He always woke her a little bit early before they actually had to get up. Usually it was fifteen minutes but she'd burned through that time already.

"Mmm, thank you."

It was quiet for a moment before Dan spoke again. "When's your next blood test for?"

She'd been getting them semi regularly since the first doctor's appointment when she came back, the realisation that her iron and calcium levels were low not helping her mental health. The supplements were helping, but the exhaustion remained.

"Before Christmas? I think?"

"Want me to make a doctor's appointment for after Mexico? I can call when they're open on Monday for you. You're sleeping a lot, I just wanna make sure your iron didn't drop or anything. You haven't really been eating much."

She'd been exhausted and barely eating. Part of it was just not being hungry, part of it was nothing was appetising. Even her usual foods that would always make her want to eat weren't it. Even the snack plates that she'd usually pick at weren't worth it.

"Yeah, ok. Just...don't tell Michael? I don't wanna hear about it from him. I don't want more supplement ideas and stuff."

"I won't even think about it."

She went to move to get up but didn't, too comfy there. "'m sorry 'm so tired. It's just been exhausting the last few weeks."

"We'll go home after Mexico and find out. Maybe you just need a med tweak. Or we can go see a doctor here. Go to a clinic, get an iron test to see if it's something to do with that?"

"Nah, we can wait till we're back. Extra naps will work?"

"You'll be all good, Love. I've got you."

Em didn't want to get out of the bed when she was warm, comfortable, and safe in bed with her husband. She didn't want to go to the paddock, and she definitely didn't want to sit in the orange decorated building while the rest of the team just waited for Dan to fail. Again.

But she didn't have a choice, so she got up and got dressed to go stand beside him. Her makeup hid the circles under her eyes, her hair was pulled back, and her outfit was perfect. She could do this. She could absolutely do this. Before they left the hotel room Dan gave her a hug and the sweetest kiss to make her smile.

They held hands for every second they could going through the paddock. All the way down to the car, on the drive in, and walking through the paddock. Dan held her hand proudly as they went in, getting her to go through the barrier first before following her in and taking her hand again.

Em didn't want to be at the track so early, especially when Dan wasn't even driving for FP1. Palou was in Dan's car for it as a rookie driver test, and while she had nothing against Alex she didn't want to watch him. She didn't care about motorsport. It had taken her years of trying to be interested but she didn't care. She cared about Dan driving and that was it. So instead she stayed in Dan's tiny room in hospitality, reading her kindle. The second the interviews and press conferences were done she switched the tv off and kept reading. Her friends were working and getting Dan ready for the rest of the day but she stayed there.

The nice part was that between chapters and looking at pinterest on her iPad for wedding ideas Dan would come upstairs for the briefest hug. He always came with tea and a smile, a quick kiss and a "miss you". He could go back knowing she was fine there.

"You need to go back to work, you're in the car in twenty minutes," Em told him as he dawdled going back downstairs once he was in his orange race suit.

"What if I don't wanna? I wanna stay here with you." She put her kindle away and stood up to take his hand, ready to go stand in the garage to watch him for the hour.

"I could kidnap you and we can go home? Nobody knows where our house is, we can hide there maybe?"

"Is it kidnapping if I'm your husband?"

"I mean not if you go willingly." Dan laughed and his loud honk made her smile. He was there with her and it was worth it.

"You gonna stay here or wanna come down to the garage with Blake?"

"Garage. You know I'm not gonna miss you in the car, no matter what."

"If you need anything just head out, ok? I'll find you after. Just tell Blake."

"I'll be fine, don't worry." She leaned up to kiss his cheek and watched as Dan smiled at her.

"I always worry. Same way you worry about me. It's what we do."

They were about to walk out when Em pulled him back for a moment, watching as Dan looked at her. "I know weekends at your room here used to be more fun and sexy and great. I...I'm sorry it's not like that anymore. Now it's just a mess and yeah. I wish it was like we used to be. I'm just boring now."

"Baby girl, we're married and in our thirties. We're supposed to be boring."

"I'm being serious."

"I know you are." She looked away but Dan's fingers cupped her chin, pulling her up to look at him. "Look at me Emmy. You are the smartest, funniest, most interesting person in the universe. You're my favourite person. You're my wife and I love you. I don't care if we just sit in silence doing nothing for a week. As long as I'm with you I'm happy and having fun. Nobody does it like us. right?"

"Right. And I love you too. Forever and always."

"And to the moon and to Saturn. Let's go and it's one more driving session to the end of the year."

She walked down holding his hand, kissing his helmet and telling him to go fast and be safe before taking her spot beside Blake. Her headphones went on and she stood there holding Blake's hand as they watched the time tick down.

The worst part of the sessions was having to hide her anxiety, the cameras flashing to her and her name appearing on TV. Emma Smyth, Daniel Ricciardo's partner. It still felt surreal that the world knew it. It was pure anxiety as she stood waiting, taking slow deep breaths as Blake squeezed her hand. It was one more hour until she could hide away again.

She hated seeing him in that car. She'd always trusted the cars he drove, always trusted the teams he had. But not anymore. And it was hard because she knew he didn't trust it either. She hated living with the feeling that he didn't trust the car to perform the same way lap after lap. The feeling kept growing in her chest until he was finally wheeled back in when practice ended. He sent her a wink as he got out of the car, Em's smile returning seeing him there safe. If he could have Dan would have given her a hug but he was immediately surrounded by engineers to give feedback to.

By the time Dan was free to leave the circuit it was nearly dark outside. The debriefing took time, and then he had to do partnership stuff that took longer than expected. For this time she decided to be brave and go into hospitality, sitting beside Blake. He kept her distracted by asking questions about things that he really didn't need to ask. For years they'd worked beside each other and it felt totally normal, and even now she wasn't working it felt normal and looked normal. She didn't know what she'd do without him.

Saturday was a day when she had to put her bravest face on because it was Blake's birthday. Despite another day of not wanting to leave the hotel room she got dressed and smiled, following Dan to their best friend's hotel room to give him a giant hug and the presents they'd gotten for him. Her big brother gave her a hug in return, a whispered thank you more than enough for her. She had to hold on for Blake's day. Had to.

She spent practice and qualifying in the garage, holding Blake's hand as usual when they watched Dan get into the car. It had been a happy week in one of their favourite cities, her rings hanging around her neck as she looked on. But instead she watched as the man she loved got out of the car frustrated after Q1, qualifying seventeenth. This stupid team and this stupid car and she had to keep herself together because she didn't want cameras on her.

Dan coming over to say sorry to Blake because he wanted to make his friend proud but didn't broke her heart. It was all Dan ever wanted to do, to make his wife, his friends, his family happy and proud of him. She knew he was aware of the sacrifices people had made to help him, and he was determined to make it worth it. But for nearly all of this two year stint at McLaren it hadn't worked. She'd watched him try. But yet again he was putting a brave face on and a fake smile about how he was going to make up places on Sunday.

She watched him blame himself yet again in front of the media and the world and Em wanted to whisk him away. She wanted to make it all better. He deserved more. She'd seen it with her own eyes, she'd been there when he'd won races. He'd never won them easily. All she wanted was to take him away from the stress and the constant criticism. But she couldn't.

As soon as they were finally alone - after Dan had done media and cooled down with Michael, finally entering his room where Em was waiting. Her arms went straight around him, holding tightly so he could know she was there.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I thought I could get into Q2 for Blake and for you. Make this weekend good for us." She looked up at Dan, trying to keep herself from falling apart.

"It's already a good weekend. You did everything you could, Baby. I don't blame you." Dan just held her tighter, doing everything to keep it together for a few more moments. But then he had to go back to the debrief while Em packed their stuff up. The hotel restaurant was booked for that evening for Blake's birthday. Just the four of them, a chill evening before some of Blake's friends from other teams went to a booking they had in a barbecue place after the race on Sunday. Part of her wished it was just the three of them, pushing that thought away from her head. She loved Michael. She did. He was just difficult to be around lately.

In a shocking turn of events Dan's debriefing didn't take as long as expected. But even with his performance there were fans there to ask for autographs and photos. Em soaked in the love everyone else had for him as he got to glow. Even with that delay they were in the hotel slightly earlier than expected and going straight to their room to get ready.

"We don't have time for a bath, right?" Dan asked, Em kissing his cheek.

"No Baby. We have to be downstairs in half an hour. You have time for a quick shower if you want one."

"Will you come with me? Please?"

It took nothing for Em to agree to go with him, walking into the bathroom and helping Dan to undress as she got her own clothes off. Dan set the shower up while Em stepped in, feeling his arms around her as he got under the showerhead too.

"Can we have a bath tomorrow when we go home?"

"That's the best plan I've heard all week."

Em wanted to spend more time than they had there, trying to get Dan to relax. But instead she carefully washed and conditioned his hair, giving them the love Dan didn't in a normal shower. He did the same for her hair, the apple scent of her shampoo filling the steamy room. Ten minutes wasn't nearly enough but they were out, Dan pushing a kiss to the 3 tattoo on her wrist before he let her go.

Five minutes later Em was nearly ready, just running the hairdryer over her so the wet strands didn't dampen her clothes. Once it was mostly dry she was happy, taking Dan's hand to go back downstairs.

Blake and Michael had arrived before the two of them, Em catching the tail end of their whispered conversation with "-my night out, don't do that." all she could hear. As soon as they realised they were there the two men stepped apart as Blake greeted them.

She knew it was serious when Michael didn't make comments about what Dan should order thanks to his race weekend diet. It was even weirder when he didn't say anything about what Em should eat, or how much, or how she should avoid certain foods. She may have been exhausted but she knew it was Blake. The tail end of their conversation was the only evidence she needed to know he'd said something about keeping suggestions quiet.

Em hated to admit it, but it was glorious. She got to watch Dan eat an actual meal that he enjoyed and she was even hungry for the first time in a while. Finishing the whole plate was a challenge but she ate slowly, sipping her drink and putting her fork down when it was finished. The fond look on Dan's face was everything.

The three others at the table looked at her surprised when Em nodded and took a dessert menu. Michael wasn't having one and she didn't want Blake to have his birthday dessert alone. It was easy to pick a strawberry and apple crumble and ask for a second spoon. She ate it carefully in layers, smiling as Dan took a couple of spoonfuls of fruit and left the icecream for her. She ignored the looks Michael gave them as they shared, the plain green tea sat in front of him telling her everything she needed to know.

It was an early night by birthday celebration standards but with the race the next morning they didn't have a choice. It was a hug for Blake and a promise that tomorrow night would involve drinks and dancing and fun. She'd get through it for him, he deserved it.

As soon as the door to their hotel room closed and the latch went on their clothes disappeared to go to bed. The way Dan's arm had been around her waist was all Em needed to know that her husband needed her extra close that night. It was a quick trip to the bathroom to wash their faces and get themselves ready as Em pushed kisses across his face before dragging him to bed.

She really didn't think anything would happen between them, just holding each other and goodnight kisses. Dan had to get sleep before the race, but then his lips moved down her jaw and to her neck, one hand on her ass pulling her in as his knee slipped between her thighs. It was like a flame was lit in her, she needed her husband. She needed to feel him as close as possible. She needed to hear him whisper her name like a prayer, hands holding her tightly and leaving the fingertip bruises that sang she was his and nobody else's to the world. It was electric and everything she could have asked for, groaning Dan's name out as he begged her to tell him everything he made her feel.

Dan helped her up and helped her clean before she went back to bed with him, wrapped up in his arms to sleep. For once on a race night she was able to actually get asleep at a reasonable time, the lub-dub of Dan's heartbeat steady under her ear.

Getting up on race morning was the worst feeling. Em wished she could have stayed in bed. Staying there with a bottle of wine - even if she wasn't meant to be drinking because of her medication - hot water for her favourite tea, some snacks, the latest crappy romance series she was reading on her kindle, and maybe ice cream as she curled up beside Dan in bed would have been the best day. Instead she had to go to a paddock filled with people who wanted photos and autographs from Dan.

If she had her choice she'd stay back in the hotel with her favourite people but she couldn't. She had to make herself look presentable because cameras didn't lie, and she didn't need another "concerned" instagram commenter asking about if she was ok because of a photo where she didn't look perfect. Dan didn't care if her hair was a mess or if she wasn't wearing makeup or if she was in casual clothes, but the world did. So she forced herself up and prettied herself and was ready to leave. It took a deep breath as she held Dan's hand and walked out of the bubble of their hotel room. They were going to their house that night. She could make it work.

The entire drive to the circuit was cuddling under Dan's arm. Holding his hand on the backseat wasn't enough for her. She needed Dan to hold her until they got there and had to let go, and he never ever complained about it.

It was another morning of faking smiles in front of everyone, cameras recording and fans taking photos and calling Dan's name. She'd put her earplugs in before they even reached the circuit to block some of the noise but it didn't fully help. She focused on Dan's warm hand in hers and took deep breaths to keep herself calm. Em ignored the cameras and photographers watching them, instead looking at her husband and at Blake to remind herself she wasn't alone. She focused on Dan's fingers squeezing her hand. He'd promised not to let her go and he wouldn't.

Once she settled down in his driver's room he kissed her goodbye to go to the different race morning duties he had, making sure she was ok. Dan promised to see her as soon as he could and Em sat there and breathed deeply, earplugs replaced with her Beats to match Dan's and music playing. A couple more hours and they were out of there. Dan just had to go around the track and then they were free to go home. Back to their actual house to get changed and celebrate Blake, and go back to sleep on that mattress she'd already fallen in love with.

Dan came back up to get changed, Em standing up to go back to the garage with him. He'd taken the time to come up and give them enough time to see each other and make her feel better before facing the cameras. Usually he was surrounded by Blake and Michael before getting ready but this time it was just the two of them in a moment alone.

When he pulled his shirt off he took the necklace he was wearing off too, handing his rings over to Em to keep safe. She watched him get into the nomex and saw just how slim he was getting. Let the year end. Just let it end. As he stood and stretched he held out his right hand, Em taking it with her left. Just like they had in Baku and Montreal already this year they were going to the garage together. He was walking through the paddock holding her hand and not caring what the world thought. Reason one million why Em loved him.

"Ready to go?" She thought she'd hidden how she was feeling but it was clear from Dan's reaction that she hadn't really.

"You know, right?" Em whispered in response to avoid his question with the one she knew the answer to. They'd tattooed it to keep it front of mind.

"I know, Baby Girl. I love you too." Dan nodded and raised their joined hands to kiss her ring finger. Like always her wedding and engagement ring were on her necklace hiding below her shirt, Dan's joining them for safe keeping for the race. He'd be allowed wear it but that meant publicity and neither of them wanted that.

"Good. Go fast, be safe, and come back to me. Please." She nearly got it out without the final word but Em couldn't help herself, looking up at Dan and trying not to cry. Please be safe. Please come home. She was panicking more and more about what he did.

"I always will."

It was one final kiss and a long hug before they left the room. Blake was standing outside the door waiting for them, clearing a path through the crowd to get them into the garage and away from prying eyes and just where the tv cameras could catch her but nobody else. It was clear he didn't want to leave where she stood, but one nod from their best friend and Dan kissed her on the forehead and went to get into the car.

Em wished he never did.

Qualifying was bad, but finishing second to last was even worse. He'd been overtaken by nearly everyone he qualified ahead of, and he was forever behind a Haas. As much as she adored Mick Dan shouldn't have been down there with him. As soon as he was weighed he came straight to her, the two of them finding a corner to just be for a few moments before the real world had to intrude again. She knew Blake and Michael were making excuses but she didn't care, arms around Dan and holding him tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Emmy. I'm sorry I fucked up and disappointed you." The heartbreak in his voice was too easy to hear and she was so angry that he thought she could be disappointed in him.

"Hey, no. No, Danny. You can never disappoint me. Not ever. Not about a result in a race. I love you. I love my husband. I love my Danny. Fuck this entire circus, I care about you. Not cars on a track."

"I love you too. So fuckin' much. You don't know how much I do."

"I've a slight idea. You're gonna be ok. We're gonna be fine. Three to go."

"Three left. Yeah." He was quiet for a moment and she could feel him taking a deep breath in. "I don't wanna go to media."

"I'll pay the fine if you want. I offered to in Monaco. Whatever makes you happy." She nearly thought he'd take it, but instead she watched as he stood up and pressed his thumb against where he knew their rings hung on her necklace as if for good luck.

"I'll see you after? We can go and pick up our bags from the hotel before we go to dinner with everyone."

"Sounds like a plan, I'll pack up." She went to separate but took her necklace off, unthreading her thin gold wedding ring from the chain before putting it back on. Dan watched as she held it up before handing it over. "For your pinkie. I'm right there with you while you're doing it."

It took everything in her to let Dan leave and go in front of the media. She knew some of the reporters, knew the ones who'd be good to him and wouldn't ask awkward questions that left him with no hope for a good answer. They could leave soon and that was what mattered.

Her brain kept boiling over with revenge plots that she knew in her heart and soul she couldn't let happen. She couldn't destroy McLaren, as much as she wished she could. It would hurt more than help. So instead she focused on putting everything into backpacks. Usually it was done neatly, clothes folded and cables coiled up. This time she just put it all in as fast as she could. She wanted to be out of the room the moment Dan arrived up to say they were free. The TV in the corner was playing an interview with him, and the moment "I don't know how I'm continuing to continue on" came out of his mouth she was so angry. She needed to be out of the circuit.

Everything was nearly done when she heard it. The remote was in her right hand to switch the TV off when Zak Brown's face appeared on it talking about Dan's performance and how he wasn't performing. She knew but seeing him talk about personal problems made her want to scream.

Em remembered Dan's description of his anger that day in Baku when the photo of them was made public. The way everything took over because the woman he loved was hurt and he couldn't change it. He had to control himself because Em needed him. And that evening in Austin she felt the exact same way, but this time there was nobody else to stop her. Without a second thought her fist made contact with the metal door hiding her from the world, a sickening crunch heard as she made contact.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Em clutched her hand to her chest as she stared at the dent in the metal door of the drivers room. She hadn’t meant to do that. It was supposed to be a little hit just to get her frustration out. Instead she couldn’t bend her fingers and she wanted to cry.

The fucking race and Zak Brown opening his fucking mouth because he couldn’t stand that the attention wasn’t on McLaren for one damn weekend. But no he had to say the cost cap penalty wasn’t enough and talk shit about Dan and if it was his face or the door at least his face wouldn’t have hurt so much.

“Ems? You ok?” She looked up to see Blake walk into the room as concern spread across his face. “TimTam what happened?”

“Punched the door.” He moved her hand and she groaned while a tear fell. “Fuck that hurts.”

“I want Michael to look, I think you might have broken it.”

“I’ll be fine till we get to Mexico. I just need to get out of here. Please Blakey.”

She nearly got through to him and convinced him to stay quiet until the door opened and Dan and Michael arrived in.

“Emmy?”

“She punched the door, her hand’s swelling up and it’s already starting to bruise. I think she might—“

“Don’t say it. Just don’t.” She was hanging on by a thread. Someone actually saying it was broken would make her lose every moment of composure she had left.

“Let me take a look.” Dan held her waist as Michael got her to twist her wrist. Flexing her fingers was completely out of the question and even in the ten minutes since it happened it was clear that her hand was swelling quickly.

“Looks like a boxers fracture Wriggle, but you need an X-ray. It might be the finger beside it too. Hospital.”

“I can’t go to the hospital. If I get spotted? If someone realises I’m there? It’s more bad fucking publicity. I’ll be fine.” She rambled for another minute before Dan stopped her with a kiss.

“Give us a sec?” Blake and Michael left the room to let them be alone and Em looked up at Dan. “You need to go, Baby. You need to. I don’t want my wife getting any more injured. I’ll go with you and we’ll be in and out and it’ll be fine. But please. I need to make sure you’re ok.”

“Fine.”

She didn't know how they managed to get out of the circuit without attracting more attention but she would forever be happy about it. Blake found a hotel near their house and pulled up, Dan walking in with her wearing a Ric3 hat to try avoid attention. He had to fill in the paperwork because she couldn't balance the clipboard with her injured hand. Em grinned watching Dan put her married name on the sheet and marking himself as her husband. The hospital needed to know it.

The triage was miserable and she was called back with Dan, leaving Michael and Blake behind. They did the same tests before and then asked Dan to leave the room for a few moments to go out to the waiting area. Her anxiety was ratcheting up as he left after the confirmation that she'd broken a bone in her hand, the medical staff asking her exactly how it had happened and if she was protecting herself. She didn't understand why they were asking until it was too late and Em was left alone in a room with a doctor and nurse.

"You can tell us what's going on. We can protect you." Her exhausted and anxious brain didn't make the connection.

"Protect me from what? A door I won't see again because this was Dan's last race there for...possibly forever? I'm not going to punch it again. I just want to get fixed up and go home."

"Is home safe for you, Mrs Ricciardo?"

They didn't ask that. They didn't. They couldn't. Home was the only safe place she had left in the world. Whether it was the farm, the apartment in London or one of the ridiculous places they called home it was safe for her. Anywhere that wasn't another Hilton hotel room was safe. Lying down with her husband and feeling him hold her was the best thing she had going for her. That was what she needed, to curl up with Dan on their mattress and have him hold her and tell her it was going to be ok.

"Home is my safe place. I've got my home and my husband and my family. Why are you asking this? Where's my husband? Why did you make him leave?"

"We think it might be better for you to-" The soft voice of the nurse made her angry. They were trying to convince her that something was wrong and as little as Em believed in her brain right then she knew Dan was right. He was the glue holding her together.

"You don't know me. You don't know what's best for me. You have no idea. I want my husband. Please. I just want my Danny. why isn't he here?"

"Ma'am, we're just trying to protect you." Em shuffled back on the bed, away from the nurse who had medication in her hand.

"Are you not listening to me? There's nobody to protect me from! I told you already, I punched a door in COTA. My husband didn't do anything, I'm the one who made a stupid mistake. Go ask anyone out there or my therapist or my psychiatrist, my husband isn't a violent man. Danny wouldn't hurt a fly. Why aren't you listening to me? Isn't that supposed to be your job to listen?" The yelling in her head was getting even worse, she didn't want to be there. She wanted Danny and could feel the tears pricking against her eyelids as she shut her eyes. She just wanted Danny.

"Mrs Ricciardo, please. Let-"

"Don't touch me. Don't you dare touch me. I want my hand fixed, and if you think you're touching me you're only doing it in front of my husband or brother. I'm not doing it without them here."

She felt ridiculous. She was like a child throwing a tantrum but her head was screaming. She felt like her skin was on fire, the questions and insinuations about Dan making it even harder to think. Her broken hand was held against her chest as she brought her knees up, good arm wrapping around her legs.

The medical staff moved away from her and Em focused her breathing. She could do it. She'd be ok. If they didn't let her go she could run the second the door was open. She couldn't stay. The boys were outside and she knew they wouldn't leave her alone. They were just sitting outside and she could go out to them once the doctor was gone. All Em could do was try to hold herself together until she could go back outside.

-

When Dan came back out Blake could tell something was seriously wrong. His best mate was shaking his head, worry and fear spread across his features.

"DR?"

"They think I'm hurting her. They think I'm hurting Emmy. My Emmy? I...they think I broke her hand. The doctor all but wrestled me out of the room. She was crying and they made me leave. They might want to keep her in. I heard someone mention a psych consult for her room. B I can't. She can't." The guilt rushed through Blake's veins at the mention. They knew how fragile Em was. It was obvious that she'd barely made it through the weekend, they all knew that she was barely keeping herself together. But he thought Dan needed him more and left her alone and this had happened.

"It's gonna be ok. She's not staying here. It's not happening." He didn't know where the conviction came from but it did. "They came over and said they needed her insurance information. I have some stuff but you need all of it. Plus pay whatever they need before she comes out and you have to tell her whatever the treatment costs. I'll be here for when she comes back."

"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks. Both of you, I dunno what we'd do. She has to get out."

"She will. Go." He watched Dan be directed to a back office before sitting down and thinking who he could call. Who had the pull here? He wasn't sure.

"Maybe it's better she stays here. Em needs help. Travelling isn't helping. She can get better and Dan can focus on racing and after the season's over she can come back." Blake didn't believe what he'd heard.

"Take that back."

"We both know she's struggling. And you won't let me help her physically at least. Maybe this is a good thing." Michael sounded so sure and that felt like a kick in the teeth.

"We're in Texas. Austin's the good part of it but this state is dangerous for women. Add to that do you really think he'd focus? After how he was when she left. And the one person who calms her down is Dan. Why do you think I keep changing his schedule to give them five minutes?"

"But if she needs-"

"No. Just fucking no. You're fired." Dan had been considering it but after this? Once the season was up he was done. So done.

"Huh?"

"We'll talk about it later. But go back to the hotel. I don't know where we're staying tonight but just go. I don't want you anywhere near her. Not a fucking chance. Get out and stay away." Michael stood to leave as Dan came back, confused.

"What happened?"

"He's going back to the hotel. Remember we were talking about him leaving at the end of the year? I told him."

"But..." Blake didn't want to do it. Didn't want to shove another thing on his best mate's plate. He couldn't.

"He thinks Em might be better staying. He's worried about her too. I told him to go back to the hotel, it's stressful."

"If it was London or Perth I might say yes. She's been sleepy, she's been miserable. Getting out of bed is impossible. But not here, I can't leave her in the States. We just need to get to Abu Dhabi. We can get her there?" He was nearly begging and Blake nodded. Whatever it took he was getting them through the next four weeks. However he could.

"Mr Ricciardo?" An unfamiliar nurse came over and Blake stood at the same time Dan did. "Your wife needs painkillers and a cast. They want to get a psychiatrist down for her but there's nobody on call tonight. I'm assuming from what she said she has one?"

"Yeah. And a therapist. It's been helping but this year has been bad." Understatement of the fucking year as far as Blake was concerned.

"I'm a fan, I know what's happening. I've got an ortho to wrap her hand and get you both out but she won't let anyone in unless it's you or her brother? I don't want them seeing you there, is her brother here?"

"That's me." He watched her take in the clear differences between him and Em, the accents being the most prominent.

"Parent trapped or something? As long as she says you are that's what matters. Come back and we can get her out in ten."

"Deal." He followed her straight back, terrified to see how Em was when he got to the room.

-

Em was ready to fight anyone when she saw the door open, a new nurse walking in with an IV kit in her hand. But Blake was standing right behind her and Em thought she could breathe again.

"B?"

"Hey Timmy." He came straight over and took her right hand, squeezing once and it was like the crushing weight on her chest lifted slightly.

"Where's...I don't know where Dan is? A doctor took him out to ask him questions and they think he hurt me and they don't believe me? I told them. I told them what I did but they didn't believe me."

"It's ok Emmy, calm down. I'm right here, I told them it was you who hit the door. It's fine. Dan's fine, he's out there filling in forms and billing stuff so he asked me to come back to stay with you. You know what American hospitals are like." She started to calm until the bill hit her. This was going to be insane and he shouldn't have to pay it.

"No, no it's gonna be so exp-"

"You think that health insurance we have doesn't cover America? He just has to give details. As soon as you came on full time he added you to the health insurance. It's all good."

"Thanks Blakey."

"Any time, Timtam. But you need to let the nurse do it, ok? It's just a painkiller so they can set your cast. There's a new doctor who isn't a dick outside. But they can't do it unless you've got fluids and a painkiller cause it'll hurt."

"I dunno what I can take with my medication. I don't want to feel fuzzy." Tears of frustration were there about to fall. She didn't want to talk. She wanted to go back to when she didn't need to talk because Dan knew what she meant. It was too much.

"Do you trust me?"

"You know I do." It was the honest truth. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone, even herself.

"Then let her give you this so you can get fixed up and we can go home. It's all good."

The only reason she agreed was because Blake asked her. He was safe. He was always safe. He was the reason she came back in the end, the reason she agreed to go to Monaco and see Dan again. He wouldn't let anyone hurt her, and she knew that. So she took a deep breath and squeezed his good hand as the needle went into her elbow, the nurse showing her the bag of saline and the bottle of IV paracetamol before it was hooked up.

Blake held her while they went through everything, a thick white cast wrapped around her hand feeling heavy as she sat there. He kept telling her how brave she was and how good she was doing while Em just sat looked at the floor. Once she was ready to leave he helped her up and put his hoodie around her, the nurse smiling and wishing her well.

If Blake didn't have an arm around her shoulders she would have fallen when she saw Dan outside. His eyes were red, face in a frown and he just looked defeated. He hadn't looked like that since they'd gotten the call that his contract was being ended. Her husband sat in an empty corner of the hospital waiting room with a cap on trying to be unnoticed, totally lost in his thoughts. It wasn't until Blake called him that he realised they were there, standing up and arms immediately going around her. Em felt like she could finally, finally breathe again.

"Can we go home? Please?" She whispered against his chest. The terror that someone would hear and not let her leave was all encompassing.

"Let's get out of here. I finished all the paperwork, they said you were just finishing up. We're all good, let's go home."

"Can we stop for pizza? I want cheese pizza and they said I need to eat." Dan had his arm around her directing her out, agreeing that they'd stop. "Wait. Where's Michael?"

"He went back to the hotel to pack, it's all good. Let's head." Blake led the way to the car so they could finally leave. Em slid into the back seat, Dan across from her and holding her hand.

She didn't remember much of the drive back to the house. She knew they stopped for pizza, Blake getting back in the car with boxes. There was a conversation about what the official story would be, how they'd tell people she'd broken her hand. Honestly she didn't care. She didn't want to give a shit about telling people what she was doing or how she'd been hurt but she didn't have a choice in that anymore. The world got to know everything about her.

When they made it inside Dan brought her to their room, helping her get her jeans and bra off and instead putting on cosy pjs. Blake had seen her in worse, this didn't matter to her. Instead he brought her back to the kitchen where Blake had shared their food out.

She made herself eat two slices and it was enough, after that Em curled into Dan and held onto him so tightly she thought she'd burst. The painkillers had dulled her hand to a throb and she just wanted to sleep. There was talk of moving a flight and sorting stuff and she didn't care. She just wanted to sleep.

But there was a voice in the back of her head getting louder and louder. Dan wiped her face down with micellar water and helped her into bed, pulling her close once he'd stripped down. Her ring was still on his pinkie and it made her smile.

But she'd tied him down to a crazy wife who couldn't keep her shit together. She'd given him the option in Montreal. Chloe had told her about a walk up Mont Royale where you could see the city laid out beneath you. She'd said it to Dan then, that he could leave. She wouldn't blame him for leaving then. He could go and be happy and find someone who deserved him.

He didn't sign up for a girlfriend with mental health problems. Who was having a breakdown and ruining their lives. Who had days where speaking was too much for her, the words wouldn't come.

It had happened since she was a kid. Maybe not exactly like this but she'd always had to find coping mechanisms and now it didn't work. It wasn't her fault as a kid when her parents wouldn't help her and when she was in uni and couldn't afford anything apart from the six sessions from her uni gave her of therapy. But it definitely wasn't Dan's responsibility.

He deserved to be happy, he deserved to be with someone who loved him and wanted him to take a reserve role or the job with Haas. He deserved a happy wife and life and a family that she didn't know if she could give him. She didn't know if her anxiety would ruin them. It was so much.

So she was going to tell him he could leave. He deserved the world and maybe she wasn't the one to give it to him. She couldn't pull him out of drowning and she'd pull him down with her. She was going to ruin him and his reputation and his life, and she couldn't do that to him. She couldn't hurt him the way her mental health had hurt her. Anyone in their right mind would have walked away from her by then, but with the stress no wonder Dan didn't. Everyone else had left. Her parents, her extended family, her friends, her boyfriend. But Dan had been emotional and she'd proposed to him and it was so wrong. She'd basically forced him into it. It was a stupid, stupid decision and she'd ruined his life by doing it. So she was letting him go for his own good. He'd be happy to.

"Baby? Emmy you're crying. Do you need more painkillers? What's going on?" She hadn't realised she was crying. She didn't even mean to. Em took a deep breath before saying the words that were going to ruin her.

"I won't blame you. Y'know. If you want to leave. We've only been married for nine weeks, you can leave. No fault divorce, we leave with what we came in with. I don't want anything. You deserve better than a broken wife who can't keep herself together. I don't want to hold you back. I don't want anything. I can go."

The room was silent and Em could feel her heart break the longer the silence went on. It was over. Married for nine weeks to the love of her life and she had just ended it. In the same room he'd proposed to her so they could get married properly less than a week ago. How had she said yes then? She went to move out of the bed but Dan's iron grip kept hold of her.

"Don't ever say that. Never. Never ever. You are the only woman I want in my life. You're not broken, Emmy. You are here and whole and alive and beside me. I can't lose you. Please don't ask me that. Please don't ask me to leave you because I can't. I'd walk away from all of this before I lose you. You're my wife, Emmy. I promised I love you. I'm not leaving."

"You're not leaving?"

"No. I'm not going anywhere. Never. The day I got to put that ring on your finger was the best day of my life. I love you. The same way you love all of me for some reason. We're gonna fly to Mexico in a few days and we're gonna make you feel better. It's gonna take time, but we're going to be here. It's going to work. I promise. Come and sleep, Love. I'm not going anywhere."

Em curled into him, pushing a kiss against his chest. Sleep didn't come easily to her, but the noise of Dan's heartbeat and the warmth of him against her let her finally sleep.

@dr3lover @sabrinaselina55 @majx00 @tall-tanned-tattoo @lovingdennishauger @lauehr @msolbesg @f1medlife @idkwtfimdoing2 @leclercsbae @hiphopdancer101universe @mehrmonga @lewispool @saintandrea-droidsmuggler @coldheartedmar @sugarbabygirlofdaddy @nonsensical-nonce @a-distantdreamer @tita010 @leslizzle @javden @mloyer @saintandrea-droidsmuggler @magical-imagination-kgp @danarysstormborn @kakorrhaphiphobia @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @elizanav @neiich @luckyladycreator2 @scotlynaurora @belledawnidk

[meltinglikeasugarcube]

Can this be a fanfic where Taylor Swift is dating someone on a football/ soccer team . It is close to the end of the match. One of your teammates has passed you the ball and you are about to make a header to get in the goal (I have very limited knowledge of the game). You are in the air about to make contact with the ball when someone from the opposing team knocks you down and you hit the ground (mainly your head) very hard. You lay there for a moment unable to comprehend what has happened, you try to get up. When you are standing up you feel very lightheaded and nauseous struggling to keep your balance. Everything feels too bright and too loud not long after you collapse back on the ground rubbing your chest as you fall. You are going into cardiac arrest because the player tackled you to the ground. The medics run onto the field to help you, Taylor is already there. She came down the moment she saw you get knocked down; she was able to get to the field very quickly because she was right at the front of the field.

You don't have to listen to this but can have them get in an ambulance to have to go to the hospital, can this be very angsty without having them die please.

Thank you for taking the time to listen to me and consider this. You do not have to listen to anything I said also sorry if my English is bad

Title: STAY

Word Count: 559

Pairing: Taylor Swift x Female Reader

One moment, you’re airborne, foot slicing forward, the goal within reach. The next, the ground slams into you.

Pain arrives before understanding. It roots itself deep, searing through your skull, pressing in from all sides. The world tilts, spins, shudders. You don’t have time to reach for your own face before something raw and broken tears from your throat. It isn’t a choice. It simply happens, because it hurts, and your body reacts before your mind can.

Thought fractures around the pain, but one thing pushes through: Taylor. You worry. You worry about your sweet angel watching all of this happen from the sidelines. She’s always there at every game, learning the rules, tracking your movements like they matter in some way beyond the scoreboard. She’d cheered when you won, dragged you into her warmth when you didn’t. And now she’s watching this. The thought barely settles before another wave of pain drowns it out. You wish, distantly, to pass out. But you don’t.

You endure. You shift, barely, and fresh agony tears through you. Someone reaches you (paramedics, probably) but they aren’t alone.

“Baby, I’m here,” Taylor’s voice breaks through, raw and unsteady. “I’m here. Look at me.”

A voice, firm and detached, tells her to step back.

“No,” her refusal is immediate. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You feel pressure on your body, careful hands assessing, voices speaking in clipped, efficient tones. Taylor’s face appears above you, blurred, cheeks streaked with tears.

“You’ll be fine,” she says, like saying it makes it true. “You hear me? You’ll be fine.”

You want to nod. To tell her something. But the world tips, and everything goes dark.

—

You wake to the hum of an ambulance, fluorescent light cutting through the haze. The pain lingers, numbed at the edges, but the dizziness remains. Your body feels detached, foreign. Someone is gripping your hand, fingers locked so tightly around yours it almost hurts.

“She’s awake,” a voice announces.

You can’t turn your head; it’s fixed in place by something around your neck and everything is sluggish and unnatural. Taylor is there, breath hitching, pressing frantic kisses against your knuckles and it’s the only thing you can focus on.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, reaching before stopping herself.

“Don’t touch her head,” the paramedic warns. “She needs to stay stabilized.”

Taylor exhales sharply, but her hand never leaves yours. She leans in close enough that her warmth cuts through the cold air and you can see her face.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “We’re almost at the hospital. You’re okay.”

“Ow,” your throat feels thick, the words sluggish. “It hurts.”

“I know, I know,” she nods sadly. “Just stay still. Try not to move.”

Something tugs at the edge of your thoughts, foggy and half-formed, but it slips free before you can stop it.

“I was so stupid,” you murmur.

Taylor’s grip tightens, her expression hardening.

“You had it,” she says, like there’s no question. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t even think about that.”

Your vision tilts, her face shifting out of focus. Panic flickers through you.

“Stay,” you whisper, barely a sound.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she moves back into view, jaw set. “I’m staying right here and you’ll be okay.”

You let your eyes close and believe her.

[magicalbats]

Flesh-Devouring Part 3

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 18,592

Warnings: light spanking in this one (I know, tomato tomato) lots of angst and fluffy stuff, mentioned familial death, cunnilingus, blowjobs, some talk of harder more BDSM type tingz hehehe

A/N: our dear reader was on her best behavior in this one so no real punishments … but we’ll see how long that lasts. 😏

Header credit goes to the oh so lovely @jymwahuwu💕

⭐

He’d called this maintenance, but you’re not so sure that’s the right word for it. That sounds more … impartial than it really is. 

You’re a little too caught up in the buzzing high of a blissfully empty mind to parse it any further than that though, and you squeeze the back of the chaise lounge hard enough to make the polished wood creak under your fingers. 

“Thank you, sir.”

The responding crack of his palm across your bare ass makes you tip forward with a stilted little gasp, but there’s not really anywhere for you to go. 

Sprawled across the cushions at an angle, Wriothesley has you kneeling over his lap with your shuddering back facing out at the rest of the office. The power of his swing does not feel at all diminished like this, even though he’d called it maintenance and his intent was not to punish but to reinforce. It’s almost unsettling how adept he is at this oft times confusing game he’s coaxed you into being a willing participant of. The way he firmly corrects any unwanted behaviors with a hard, strict hand and then rewards the good with soft words, softer praise and the most mind numbing pleasure you’d ever experienced. 

In retrospect it probably shouldn’t have come as any great surprise that you would find yourself so easily pulled into his pace given the duke’s talents in this particular … pursuit. But it does still leave you reeling every time you think about how much you actually enjoy it. 

“Ooh … thank you, sir.” 

You seethe through your teeth, head hanging between your outstretched arms even as you timidly arch your back to better present your bottom to him. The hand he’s got anchored on your hip, that burly forearm curled around your front to prevent you from defensively hunching in on yourself and keeping you in position, gives you a tight squeeze of approval. It drags a little higher to trace the curve of your body and it leaves a tingling warmth behind in the wake of that stilted pass, making you whimper softly when he nudges just under the hem of your jumper. He doesn’t push any farther than that though. Just teases you with the suggestion, lets his heavy palm rest over the center of your fluttering stomach as if in a silent promise of more to come, when you were ready for it. 

It makes you feel ten times hotter than you already are, and you keen very softly into the static charged air. 

“You’re very welcome, little miss.” He murmurs to you, low and frustratingly unphased given your own jumbled up state. “Shall we go over everything again, or do you need a few more spanks on that cute bottom first?” 

You close your eyes, a stiff tremor working through you when his other hand — the one that’s been swatting your ass for the last some odd minutes — smooths over the curve of your sore behind to gently rub the hurt in. The skin feels flushed and tingly under his rough worn palm, calluses scraping against the lingering burn of his handprints, and you have to force yourself to draw a clipped breath to respond with. All you wanted to do was stay lost in that swimming daze of adrenaline and potent endorphins, but of course he always reels you back in before you can really sink, and you couldn’t quite decide if it was cruel of him or generous. 

“We will be going to a charity fundraiser together tomorrow night.” You finally manage to intone after gathering up enough of your fractured mind to think straight. It was so hard to do, but well worth it when you earn a savory, validating pinch on your thrumming behind. 

“Good. And in what capacity will we be going?” 

You hesitate only a moment. “Romantically, sir.” 

Drawing a slow, undeniably pleased breath, Wriothesley leans up to press his mouth to the small of your back, making you twitch at the intimate contact. “Thank you for doing me the honors, lovely girl. It will be the greatest pleasure of my life to have you on my arm.” 

“You exaggerate …” 

“I do no such thing.” The playful note in his voice brings fresh heat to your face but, luckily, he sits back to continue on with the review instead of pushing you on it. “When will you be ready for me?” 

“Six o’clock.” You huff. “On the dot. Just as his grace has instructed.” 

“And not a minute later. Because what’s going to happen if I come to pick you up and you’re not ready for me to spirit you away to a decadent hall full of stuffy aristocrats and over indulgent foods?” 

Your mouth slowly drops open but nothing immediately comes out. It takes you a beat or two to find your voice again. “… I’ll get a spanking.” 

Wriothesley hums a low sound of approval, giving your ass another savory squeeze. “And a very thorough one at that. Not like the one you’ve gotten today. I’m sure you know I won’t hesitate to take you right over my knee even in that pretty little dress I got for you.”

Pussy clenching tight, you fitfully rear back against his hand with a thin, choked off gasp. “Yes, sir.” 

“Excellent. You’re a very good girl for me, you know that?” You feel him bend close to you again, and a surprised squeak punches out of your mouth when his lips press into the swell of your sore butt cheek. Eyes big as saucers, you twist your neck around to look back at him where he’s bent over your lower half without so much as an ounce of shame to show for it. 

Your stomach wrenches at the sight. Just the thought of having his face so close to the spot between your legs makes you feel indescribably dizzy and lightheaded, and you waver in uncertainty there on the cushions. 

“Y - your grace?” 

“There’s nothing to fret over, lovely girl. I’m still playing by your rules.” Giving the heated skin one more kiss, Wriothesley slowly sits back once again to look at you. “Although it’s certainly a test of my self control when I have you spread out over me like this I have no actual intentions of betraying your trust in me, little miss. You can rest assured of that. More importantly, however, we still have one more thing to cover. What’s going to happen after the fundraiser is over?” 

“I … I’m going to invite you back to my flat and have you over for tea.”

“Good. And what else?” 

Somehow this is infinitely more embarrassing than having his mouth so close to the intimate parts of your body, and your face feels like it’s on fire as you carefully turn your face to press your cheek against the back of the lounge. Shy, and hiding from him. “W - we are going to have a nice evening chatting and sharing each other's company, and — and I’m … his grace is going to teach me how to … how to pleasure him.” 

The last is little more than a mouse squeak, so small and faltering it hardly even registers in the air. But Wriothesley hums his approval as if you’d said it loud and clear, neither pushing you to repeat it nor giving you a hard time for your stammering hesitance. 

“What a good, good girl you are. Always so sweet for me.” He praises you, soft and quiet, yet the masculine edge behind the words just makes you flush hotter still. “I hope you know just how very proud I am of you. Such a precious thing you are … is little miss ready for her reward now?” 

The hand on your ass slides inward, dipping around the pudgy curve of your inner thigh to tentatively, tauntingly nudge against your cunt from behind. Every single muscle in your body instantly locks up even as you push back on him with a threadbare, deeply frazzled moan. You catch the sound of him chuckling at your reaction over the pounding in your ears, and you loose a mewling whine when he obliges you, firmly cupping you in his palm. 

Your hips stutter when he rubs you like that, and you quickly fall into the rhythm he sets for you. Rolling your pelvis in time with the press of his blocky fingers, you lean heavily into the back of the lounge and reach down to grab at the hand on your stomach. You hesitate to do it, shuddering and stiff, but you quickly find the courage to pull him up higher. Wriothesley lets you guide him wherever you want, wherever you're ready for him to touch you, and his rough skin leaves the prickle of fire in its wake as you tug him further up under your shirt.

You feel well and truly mindless with it by the time you finally get him directed up to your chest. He reaches higher of his own accord then, dragging you now where you’re still latched on to him, and closes his hand around the meaty swell of one breast. The almost direct contact seems to punch the air right out of your lungs, making you lurch and sway unsteadily on the couch, but he remains as steady as ever. Like an implacable wall of heavy muscle and stifling body heat beside you, he doesn’t even falter when he starts to fondle you through the lace cups of your bra. 

“You really love having your tits played with, don’t you?” He murmurs, directing blunt fingertips to the straining bud of your nipple so he can pluck at it. “Perhaps I should tell you a bit about what I would like to do to them someday soon, if you would permit me? I have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to like what I have planned for you …” 

“Gods!” You hiss, your back bowing so hard under his ministrations that your spine aches in protest. Between his hands you felt like freshly wrought clay, so tender and vulnerable it was all you could do just to keep yourself in one piece. Swiveling your hips a little quicker, a bit more urgently, you carefully withdraw your hand from under your shirt so you can reach up and clutch at the back of the lounge in two death grips. It felt like the only thing that was going to keep you tethered to reality at this point. “Please tell me, your grace … I — I want to know … I want to hear it!”

Wriothesley leans in then, pressing his roguish mouth to your trembling shoulder in a fleetingly brief kiss before tipping his mouth towards your ear. “Then listen carefully, pretty girl. I’ll tell you as many times as you like, of course, but do try not to let your mind wander too much.” 

You squeak at the puff of hot air against your neck, the way his rumbling voice seems to penetrate straight into your brain to consume you, smother you, blanket you in the weight of what he’s saying to you. And your cunt positively slicks against his hand, coating him in sticky arousal that smears with each circling motion of your hips to make for a truly obscene glide against one another. 

“First, I think I’ll start by simply kneading them in my hands until you’re begging me for more. You always sound so pretty when you beg me for things … and having you ask me, nice and sweet, to play with your tits would be music to my ears indeed. I want to hear you say it, lovely girl. Hear you tell me exactly how much you want it.” 

You felt sick with want for it, but he keeps talking before you can form a semi coherent sentence on your heavy, lolling tongue. 

“Then I want to take my time just teasing your cute nipples until they’re so hard and stiff it hurts. You’ll really be begging me then, I’d imagine. So needy and worked up, but without anything you can do about it. You’ll be completely at my mercy, you know. In fact, I have half a mind to bind your wrists over your head just so I can enjoy you to my heart's content and all you’ll be able to do is take it. Would you enjoy that, sweetness? How does being helpless and spread out underneath me sound?” 

An uncontrollable, violent shudder tears through you so hard that your grinding hips come to a sudden halt. It doesn’t matter though. Even without you following the pace of his hand any longer, Wriothesley just keeps rubbing, rubbing, rubbing while the hand under your shirt offers your stiff teat a promising tug. 

“That’s what I thought.” He laughs, quiet and thin. Ever so slightly strained. “And once I’ve got your nipples so hard it makes your toes curl, I think I’ll take my mouth to them next. You’ll be quite sensitive by then, you know. I'm really looking forward to that, if I’m being honest … I wonder what kinds of pretty little sounds you’ll make while I’m sucking on your tits, hm? What do you think, lovely girl? What kind of sounds are you going to make for me?” 

You outright keen, high and faltering. You were tipping dangerously close to the edge now. If he would just rub you a bit quicker, a bit harder … “Y - your grace - -“

“Shh. I’ve got you. You’re almost there, aren’t you? I can feel your pussy tightening up on my hand and it feels so good, doesn’t it? Such an insatiable thing you are …” Pausing, Wriothesley draws a careful breath before continuing in an even more hushed voice that sounds like exquisite silk in your ringing ears. “I’ve mentioned this once before, but I have a few toys I’d like to introduce you to. Not right away, of course. I know how sensitive and easy to overwhelm you can be … but I also know what a sweet little masochist you are. I know you secretly like the pain, so I’m sure you’re going to like my toys. I have some mean little clamps that I know would look perfect on these gorgeous tits of yours.” 

He accompanies that with a tight squeeze on your breast, fingers digging mercilessly into soft flesh, and you start to tip. Your chest heaves with the weight of your impending release and it threatens to suffocate you, even as you helplessly rock between his hands with mindless, blubbering whimpers that seem to echo off the walls. You were going to cum. You were right there on the edge, you just needed that one last push. That final nudge to send you careening into a free fall. You needed — you needed - -

“I’m going to take a great deal of pleasure in clamping your nipples, little miss. I just know you’re going to shake and squeal for me. You’re soaking my hand just listening to me talk about it, imagine how good it’s going to feel when I actually do it. Are you looking forward to it as much as I am?” 

You obediently jerk your head in a frantic nod, struggling just to focus. “Y - yes, sir! I am!” 

“Would you like a little preview?” 

Eyes slipping shut in overwhelmed bliss, you eagerly arch your back to shove your chest further out. “Yes, sir! Please, sir!” 

“Hmm. I'm sure the real deal will be a bit different but,” Directing his fingers to your tightly coiled nipple, he closes them around the engorged bud to make your chest hitch. “It should feel something like this.” 

Wriothesley squeezes then, pinching down so hard your mouth flies open as if to scream but nothing comes out. Tears spring up in your eyes at the sharp jolt of pain that shoots through you, and the coil suddenly snaps. Lurching forward with a wounded, faltering sound of distress, you desperately clutch at the back of the couch while you mindlessly judder and buck through your orgasm like a wild creature in its death throes. It’s such an intense, all encompassing release that you almost don’t know what to do with it, and the way he continues to hold onto your throbbing teat even when you weakly jerk against the pain just seems to make it even more powerful. You feel it all in stunning high definition so exquisite it almost hurts to cum that hard. 

But, as always, you slowly start to come down from it some moments later and you finally slump there on your knees, gasping raggedly for air. He keeps up his pinching hold on your poor nipple for another moment longer until you eventually whimper and then he gradually lessens the pressure. The sharp, buzzing sting that rushes in to pierce the fog left behind after your climax has you hissing in discomfort, but he’s quick to tenderly caress the sore bud to work out some of the pain. 

“You really are a masochist of the highest order, aren’t you?” He murmurs fondly after a prolonged moment of quiet, once your breathing has started to even out. 

Shifting around gingerly, you turn your head to look at him through the heavy fall of your drooping lashes. “And you are the very definition of a sadist, my lord. I do believe I’ve heard tale of a marquis from long ago who shared similar interests as yours. You wouldn’t happen to be related to him, would you?” 

Chuckling, Wriothesley gives your still thrumming cunt a final pat of approval before withdrawing his hand from between your legs, bringing it up to squeeze around your waist instead. “I’m afraid not, but I’m sure we would have had a great many things to discuss with one another. That’s a pretty obscure reference, though. Are you more well versed in the depraved than I’ve given you credit for, little miss?” 

“N - no.” You quickly insist, shyly looking elsewhere now. “I’ve only heard this or that in passing, but I never paid it much attention. I had no idea I would one day be living that very nightmare out in the flesh!” 

“So dramatic.” He softly teases, a bemused look settling across his face as he carefully gathers you up so he can tug you over onto his lap. You whimper softly at the casual manhandling, and the flush quickly returns to your cheeks as he gets you settled on top of the hard press of his cock. Ignoring your squirming, he gets his arms wrapped around you so he can simply hold you against him even when you issue a low whine of protest. “Be still. I know you have a near limitless reserve of energy stored up in that small body of yours, but sometimes it’s nice just to sit, isn’t it?” 

You try not to pout, but you can’t quite seem to keep the whiny inflection out of your voice. “But you haven’t been tended to yet, your grace. It doesn’t seem fair to you …” 

“It’s not so much about being fair.” He says, perfectly amicable as he lifts a hand to toy idly with your hair. “If you want the truth, let’s just say I’ll make a bit more of a mess than you do and I don’t have much interest in cleaning up the evidence of our fun little activities. It will go away in time as it always does. Nothing to worry about. Besides,” Bending his head close, Wriothesley kisses the top of your head. “You will have your chance to tend to me as much as you want tomorrow night.” 

Listlessly, you reach up to tug at and fiddle with his loose tie. You were looking forward to the time you were to spend with him so much that you honestly wouldn’t have minded skipping the fundraiser altogether. “Must we go? The ball is only a formality, isn’t it?”  

He draws a slow breath that presses his broad chest up into you, lifting you slightly, and then lets it out on a terse exhale. “I’m afraid so, little miss. Rubbing elbows with the aristocracy isn’t exactly my idea of a good time either, but my presence would be sorely missed if I decided to skip out on it. You know how much they stand on pomp and expectation.” 

“But you are part of the aristocracy, your grace?” 

A beat of quiet passes over the office, heavy in its occupancy of something still left unsaid, but at length he just breathes out another clipped sigh. 

“Yes, I suppose I am.” 

Something niggles in the back of your mind, but you decide not to press him any further for the time being. The intimate, comfortable atmosphere inside his office was too sacred to disrupt with any more difficult conversations than what it had already seen play out between the two of you. You liked being here with him, snuggled up on his lap as you are, and you didn’t want to ruin it. A small part of you was even a little scared that you would ruin it, somehow, so you keep your thoughts to yourself. There was always tomorrow evening, when you were safely sequestered with him in the privacy of your own home to broach such topics. 

You wonder, distantly, if you’ll be brave enough to actually take the plunge. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The dress Wriothesley had insisted on gifting you despite your protests on the matter is lovely, and it fits you like a glove. A dark, slinky maroon of lace and ruffles, sheer panels that flutter around your ankles like playful specters dancing endlessly, a tight boned-corset bodice and more ribbons than you conceivably knew what to do with. You’d thought it all rather much at first, but he’d assured you it was nothing compared to what some of the other ladies in attendance would be wearing. 

Much to your gobsmacked surprise, he was right. 

The hall he leads you into is full of lords and noblewomen dressed in all manner of costume, from the soft and demure to the frankly bizarre. Right off the bat you spot a woman with a small toy boat perched atop the complicated piles of her hair, the immaculately polished pearls dotted through her sinfully dark tresses giving the illusion of a ferry navigating the starry night sea. Somewhat self consciously, you reach up to touch your own hair, and Wriothesley snorts a quiet laugh beside you. 

“Don't give it a second thought, pretty girl.” He tells you softly, the continuous din of partygoers and the playing orchestra set up along the far wall doing well to conceal his words from any nosy potential eavesdroppers. “You look lovely tonight, and much more appealing than anyone else here. In fact, I have a very strong urge to go find somewhere quiet just so I can ravage you in peace.” 

“Oh, stop that!” You hiss, sending him a heated look of warning to go with the tight squeeze you give his arm. “This is neither the time nor the place, your grace. Save it until afterwards!” 

“That is a very tall order you’re making me shoulder right now, my cruel love.” He sighs rather lamentably, putting on a convincingly put out tone. 

Your cheeks warm dizzingly fast at the first mention of that dreaded ‘L’ word, in jest or not, but on this you stand firm. “I’m serious, you insufferable scoundrel! If you humiliate me here tonight, I will never, ever forgive you for so long as I - -“

“Yes, yes. Your delicate sensibilities are in good hands, little miss. Nothing to fret over so much.” Wriothesley assures you, giving your tightly clenched hand a pat. “Now, where would you like to start your evening first? At the buffet table or shall we mingle a bit?” 

Nervously, you chew on your bottom lip as you glance around the room. You didn’t know anyone here besides him, and that knowledge has you clinging to his arm like a lost child. This was exactly why you’d been so hesitant to accept his invitation and he’d had to patiently talk you into it over many, many hours spent in his office. Even putting aside the fact you hadn’t had anything to wear, facilitating the excuse need for him to buy you a dress for the occasion, you were still just a lowly civil servant at best. You didn’t really belong here, did you? 

“You have nothing to be scared of, sweet girl.” Wriothesley tells you after a long stretch when you neither move nor speak. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time, and I won’t let you out of my sight for so much as a moment. If any of these other ladies here try to accost you, I’ll come straight to your rescue.” 

“Thank you, your grace, but that’s - -“ You cut yourself off with a painfully sharp intake of air, frantically clutching at his arm with both hands now. 

“And what’s suddenly got you so worked up?” 

“T - that’s the honorary Iudex himself standing over there! I don’t even believe it …” 

Chuckling now, he follows your line of sight across the room. “Is this your first time meeting him? Shall I introduce you?” 

You tip your face up at him with widened eyes. “Are you really on such familiar terms with monsieur Neuvillette that you can just … just — walk up to him and say hi?” 

“Mm, something like that.” He concedes, tugging you into motion even though you’re a veritable mess of nerves and would much rather dig your heels in. “I do share a history with him and we’re on friendly speaking terms, but I wouldn’t say we’re particularly close or anything. I can tell you more about it later, if you’re interested. For now though I just want you to make sure you give him that pretty smile of yours, okay?” 

Fluster creeps up your neck at an alarming rate, thoroughly disarming you to the point that you indeed find yourself smiling like a blithe idiot when he pulls you right up to the Chief Justice of Fontaine without so much as a polite pause of hesitation. The tall man turns at your approach with an almost otherworldly grace, disengaging completely from the man he’d been speaking to when he sees who it is. 

“Ah, mister Wriothesley. So good to see you, and your …” He trails off, gaze drifting to where you’re latched onto the duke’s arm. “Lovely companion for the evening?” 

Greeting him with his usual idle amiability, Wriothesley introduces you accordingly and you quickly bob a nervous curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you, your … honor.” 

Your cheeks positively burn at the way Wriothesley laughs but monsieur Neuvillette only graces you with a small, infinitely kind smile. “The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. I don’t believe we’ve ever properly met before but I’m quite certain I’ve seen you fluttering about the Palais Mermonia from time to time. Do you work there?” 

“In some capacity,” You stammer out, briefly explaining what you do and how you’ve been working with the Duke of Meropide recently to implement certain beneficial changes to the lives of the inmates there. It’s so subtle you almost miss it entirely, but something flashes behind those peculiar lilac irises at that and you have no idea what to make of it. Before you can even begin to pick it apart to find the meaning, however, Wriothesley has changed the subject to more present matters concerning the fundraiser. 

“I thought she would enjoy getting to see how these sorts of things work when it comes to securing sponsors and benefactors for funding bigger campaigns, since she’s so passionate about helping people.” He tells Neuvillette, unexpectedly sincere. 

You’re so flattered by what he’s saying, his estimation of you, that your heart gives a warm, heavy little thump inside your chest. Unfortunately he keeps talking and quickly ruins the moment. 

“And of course I was more than happy to show off my lady to a bunch of stuffy tight-collars.” 

Neuvillette’s brows slowly lift. “Oh.” 

Beyond horrified at what he’s saying, you fiercely jerk on his arm with a scathing hiss. “What is the matter with you? You’re speaking to the honorary Iudex, you baboon!” 

Politely, Neuvillette clears his throat to bring your wide eyed attention back around before he can tease you any further. “Please don’t concern yourself with it, mademoiselle. I do not mind. I am … familiar enough with the way mister Wriothesley here speaks, and I do not take offense to it.”

You sag in visible relief against your damnable beau, but before you’re able to thank him for his generosity a sudden commotion on the other side of the room has you craning your neck to find out what’s going on. What you see very nearly has your legs giving out right from under you though, and you sway unsteadily as if on the verge of fainting. “That’s … that's Lady Furina!” 

You could hardly even believe your own eyes. Was this really the type of crowd Wriothesley had access to? Oh, you were just feeling more and more like you were in over your head with this. 

“It would be my pleasure to introduce you, if you’d like.” Neuvillette says, carefully watching your reaction. “I’m sure she would like you, and you her. Lady Furina enjoys making new friends, from time to time, when she has the opportunity to do so.” 

Friends? With the Hydro Archon herself? How in the world were you possibly supposed to rationalize that in your head! 

“Don’t be nervous.” Wriothesley assures you for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, giving your achingly stiff knuckles an affectionate squeeze. “She’s a bit out there at times, but nice enough. I think she’ll like you too.” 

“O - okay …” 

And so it goes. Over the course of the evening you’re introduced to seemingly everyone of any power or influence in Fontaine; from the noble lords and ladies who were born into their roles and liked to dally with different causes to pass their time right down to the self made entrepreneurs who fancied themselves humanitarians, and Lady Furina does indeed end up liking you. She likes you well enough, in fact, to invite you to sit at her table when dinner is eventually served, and that is precisely how you find yourself seated between her and Wriothesley after a few hours of casual snacking and mingling. 

He’d been right to say she was a bit out there and you occasionally struggle to keep up with what she’s saying but you decidedly enjoyed her exuberance, as well as her magnetic charm and charisma. She was fun, and it doesn’t take long for you to wind up engrossed in conversation with her. 

“That’s very interesting, you know.” She tells you candidly, leaning close over the arm of her chair with an excitability that’s oddly infectious. “I had no idea that there was such a thing catching on in Fontaine.”

“I’m sure it’s difficult to stay on top of fads in your position, Lady Furina, so I wouldn’t be too concerned about it. You’re busy enough as it is without having to worry about keeping up with trends on top of everything else.”

She flutteringly waves that away. “Yes, but it is also my job to stay at the forefront of what’s in style and in vogue at any given time, and I fear I may have let my adoring audience down in this. Unfortunately I don’t have any dogs to dress up though …” 

You steal a surreptitious glance over at Wriothesley in his nice black suit, but he’s a bit to engrossed in the conversation he’s having with the gentleman on his other side — something about boxing, given the snippets you’re able to catch — to notice and you quickly swing your eyes back around before anyone catches on. 

“Would you like to have one, Lady Furina?” 

She thinks about that for a moment. “I’m more partial to cats, I think, but … perhaps it would be fun to have one. A small dog that I can pamper and carry around in my arms.” Eagerly, she focuses back in on you. “And you, my darling peach?” 

It takes everything you have not to glance over at Wriothesley again. “I believe I prefer the big ones.”

“Oh? That seems like it would be an awful lot of work though.” 

“I wouldn’t mind it too much. It might be worth the trouble.” 

“Well,” She says with a certain note of finality. “I admit you’ve certainly piqued this one’s curiosity, and I do so enjoy your company. Shall we make a day of it then? Would you like to accompany me to these boutiques you speak of?” 

Your mouth opens to respond but nothing comes out. She wanted to spend time with you in a casual setting? As casual as it could possibly be, given her celebrity status in the court, of course, but … still. You were more than just a little dumbfounded by this turn of events. 

“I'd like that very much, Lady Furina.” You finally manage to say around the rock wedged in your throat. “You would do me a great honor, and I’ve enjoyed your company as well.” 

“Oh! Yay, I’m so excited!” She surprises you by reaching across to take your hands in hers, clasping them between the two of you over the table. “I just know we’ll have a great time together, and perhaps we could even stop somewhere afterward and have some cake? Oh, it could be just like our own little tea party! You do like cake don’t you?” 

“I do.” You tell her with a smile. “And I like tea, as well. The duke here has thoroughly seen to that.” 

Noising a curious sound, Furina’s pretty mismatched eyes flit over your shoulder to regard the man sitting beside you. Still engrossed in his conversation, you hoped. 

“On the topic,” She says, dropping into a conspiratorial half-whisper. “I do find myself wondering … May I ask what your relationship is, exactly? 

On the other side of her Neuvillette’s cutlery loudly rattles against his plate. “Lady Furina!” 

Jolting in surprise, she lets you go and snaps upright to sit primly in her seat. “What! I was only asking a question!” 

“Perhaps, but even as the Archon — no, precisely because you are the Archon, you should know better than to ask something so impolite and lacking in tact.” 

Looking appropriately chastised, she crosses her arms in a sulk and Neuvillette turns his attention to you with a small, apologetic smile. How very odd … 

“My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle. Lady Furina has an unfortunate habit of forgetting herself sometimes, but I assure you she meant no harm and you are under no obligation to discuss anything you are not comfortable with. If you two are to be friends, then you’re well within your right to tell her it’s not any of her business.” 

Furina shoots him a silent, wide eyed look that seems strangely familiar to you — and then it hits you. It was like looking from the outside in on one of your exchanges with Wriothesley, and your brows take a very expeditious trip up to your hairline. 

“Please think nothing of it, monsieur Neuvillette …” 

Evidently satisfied, he returns to his plate and you just sit there in dumbfounded silence for a long, drawn out moment trying to make sense of it. Unfortunately you’re not given much of a chance, however, and you stiffen when Wriothesley’s closest hand finds your knee under the table. Trying very hard to keep your startled gaze on your own plate, you reach down off the napkin in your lap to grab his blocky knuckles in a tight, squeezing hold. It’s meant to be a warning for him to behave, for him to stop and return to his own space while there are so many people sitting around the two of you like this, but of course he doesn’t take heed. 

Giving your knee a brief squeeze back, that broad hand tauntingly drags a little higher to brush against your inner thigh and — 

“Your grace!” You squawk, a little louder than intended, and your cheeks positively burn when he turns to look at you as if only just noticing you there. 

“Oh, have you finally remembered that I accompanied you this evening? It looked like you were enjoying your conversation with Lady Furina very much, and I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Forcing your lungs to draw a slow breath and calm yourself first, you pin him with the most pleasant smile you’re currently able to muster. “You are much too kind, your grace. Always so thoughtful and considerate of others.” Underneath the table, you make a valiant effort to pry his fingers off your leg but the damned brute won’t budge. “Of course I would never forget you. Somehow I very much doubt you would ever permit me to.” 

He smiles at you, altogether innocent and polite, but you don’t miss the sly flash of mischief in his eyes. Not by a long shot. “That’s very kind of you to say, miss. I’m sure you know I feel the same way about you too.” 

You give a little jerk and freeze when you realize you’ve walked straight into an insidiously laid trap. Right in front of all these people you’d just said - - 

“Oh, you are such a funny man, your grace!” You blurt, desperately trying to backtrack now when you could feel everyone seated at the table curiously looking over even though they try very hard to hide it. “You’re so good at telling jokes, I really don’t think I can get enough of them! You simply must tell me where you manage to come up with these things!” 

“You flatter me, miss, but I assure you I’m being quite sincere. You will forever remain at the very forefront of my mind for as long as I may be lucky enough to live.” 

You just stare at him for a drawn out beat, trying and failing to figure out what to say to that. Never mind that he was making it impossible for you to pretend like you were anything but involved with each other, was he saying what you thought he was? 

“Y - your grace,” You finally manage to choke out, though it’s barely more than a whisper. “Although I do appreciate the sentiment, is this really the appropriate time and place to be having this conversation?” 

“You’re right.” He immediately relents, further startling your already reeling mind. “I must have gotten carried away. Will you forgive me?” 

“… yes?” 

Wriothesley gives your inner thigh a playful pinch before retracting his hand back over to his side and you just sit there, staring at him like he’s sprouted two extra heads. Of course you’d known he was rascally and unapologetic to the nth degree, but you’d thought him to have more sense than that! 

When you hesitantly turn your head to glance over at Lady Furina, half expecting her to be looking at you in furious indignation, you’re more than a little surprised to find her eyes glistening in what could only be deeply moved emotion. All at once you realize that there was nothing else you could do about it after that blatant display. So much for Neuvillette’s suggestion that you tell her to mind her own business. 

It was obvious why he’d done that. To nudge you into taking a scary leap that you otherwise would have avoided at all costs but, much to your relief, you soon come to find it’s not so bad to talk about it with her. Lady Furina seems to hang off your every word while you briefly (very briefly, when you left out the more harrowing details) explain how the two of you had come to know one another, and she outright coos in soft delight when you tell her you were still early into your relationship. You’re very glad to be able to use that as a convenient excuse for your initial hesitancy to discuss it, and she doesn’t appear to mind it at all. You even notice monsieur Neuvillette listening in with a certain amount of interest but that doesn’t embarrass you half as much as you would have expected it to. 

The night drags on in this manner, primarily with Furina accosting you from Wriothesley’s side so she can lead you around the room by your entwined arms, tittering amongst yourselves like schoolgirls while she proudly shows off her new friend to everyone who will look. You find it a little odd for her to be so very pleased over something so benign, but you don’t really mind it too much. She’s very sweet to you, and even takes you around introducing you to a handful of wealthy entrepreneurs who show a great deal of interest in sponsoring your programs at the prison when Lady Furina endorses your work to them. It was an altogether lovely, even magical experience and you were so glad for it that you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be mad at Wriothesley for that blockheaded stunt he’d pulled. 

He was certainly a massive pain in your ass, in more ways than one, but he was very kind to you. Enchanting, even. 

By the time the party starts to wind down late into the night, you’re quite glad for it when Wriothesley comes to extricate you from Furina’s clutches so you can go home and take these blasted shoes off. You’d spent perhaps a bit too much time pacing the room with her, and she makes you promise to write her soon even as she reluctantly gives you up to the duke. You’re almost to the front door with him, seriously considering asking for him to carry you and knowing he would, when monsieur Neuvillette calls out behind you for you to wait. 

Pausing together, you and Wriothesley turn at the honorary Iudex’s approach. 

“Apologies for stopping you on your way out,” He says, as polite and cordial as ever. “I thought perhaps we could chat a bit more without quite so many distractions around. I’ll be headed in the same direction as you for half of the way, if you’d be kind enough to allow me to walk with you?” 

You know by distractions he means Furina and you wonder at that, still not quite sure what to make of their relationship, but you give Wriothesley a quick nod when he glances down at you. 

“Sure thing, monsieur Neuvillette. We can always flag down a carriage after we go our separate ways.” 

“Excellent. Thank you for your generosity, mister Wriothesley.” He seems quite pleased, and you wonder at that as well as the three of you make your way out onto the boulevard. 

The two of them occupy the first few minutes with casual matters, such as recent happenings in the social justice sphere, general talk of news from around Teyvat and even a brief mention of something going on in the far distant land of Inazuma where talks of a civil war were brewing. Inevitably, though, Neuvillette’s attention finally wanders over to you, and you don’t even have the grace to act surprised when you’d been half expecting it. 

“By the way, mademoiselle,” He says rather attentively. “I meant to tell you that I think it’s a wonderful thing to see so much energy and passion for the vulnerable demographic of prisoners who are more often than not shunned by the greater part of society. It might be a bit strange for me to say so, given my role in their fates, but I believe it speaks a great deal to your character for you to have so much concern for them.” 

Wriothesley gives your hand a brief, lingering squeeze where he’s holding it between the two of you. Whether he meant it that way or not, you find yourself remembering the hard learned lesson he’d taught you about graciously accepting what you’re given, and you smile up at the Chief Justice somewhat bashfully. 

“Thank you, your honor. You flatter me.” 

He inquisitively tips his head to one side, looking at you with a certain amount of interest now. “I only speak the truth, and you are very welcome. May I ask, though, why you do it? I can only imagine there must be some reason for you to choose this cause instead of any other.” 

Your steps falter in your surprise and a dull chill rushes over you. Stamping down the urge to defensively pull away from him, you swivel your head around to look up at Wriothesley. “I … I haven’t even told you that yet, have I?” 

Something unreadable passes across his face, and he gives your hand another tight squeeze. But this time he doesn’t stop squeezing it. “It’s alright. I figured you would when you were ready. If you want to tell monsieur Neuvillette now, I won’t take any offense.” 

You still hesitate a moment, feeling more than just a little bad about not telling him sooner. But in terms of dependability, you’d come to realize that Wriothesley always meant what he said. Even if what he was saying was so indirect and confounding that you sometimes couldn’t make any sense of it, so you trusted that it really wouldn’t cause any bad blood between you two. You’d have to make sure to apologize later, though. 

Cautiously, you turn your face up to Neuvillette again. “I don’t know if this is the answer you were expecting, your honor, but … my father was an inmate at Meropide a long time ago.” 

Neuvillette doesn’t so much as blink at that information. But Wriothesley, on the other hand, gives a mild jolt that you feel run up his arm, and you gasp when he suddenly yanks you around to look at him, stopping right there in the middle of the street. 

Eyes going big, you tip your head all the way back to take in his shuttered but clearly confused expression. “What?” You yelp when he doesn’t say anything, just silently looming over you like that while monsieur Neuvillette watches on. “It was a long time ago, like I said, and I’m not mad about it anymore. You don’t have to worry about a conflict of interest on my part, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

Wriothesley huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “That is hardly the most pressing concern on my mind right now.” 

“Wha - -“

“Mademoiselle,” Neuvillette ventures softly, prompting you to warily drag your attention away from Wriothesley so you can look up at him again. “Will you tell us the rest of your story? There is more, I presume.” 

“Uh,” You surreptitiously glance between the two men, not sure what to make of this unexpectedly tense atmosphere. “Sure, I guess, but I don’t really know if I want to continue if it’s going to make the both of you mad.” 

Gently tugging on your hand, Wriothesley brings you back around to him, and you think your neck is going to get a cramp if they kept this up much longer. “No one is mad at you, miss. Least of all me. I’m just surprised, is all … but I want to hear the rest as well.” 

Drawing a deep breath to steady your nerves, you let it back out in a rush. “He was arrested for bribery and sentenced to ten years in prison. I was five at the time, so I was just old enough to somewhat understand that he’d been taken away and wouldn’t be coming back for a long time. It made me mad at first because it was just me and my mother, and she struggled to take care of me by herself. We were … we were never very well off and I think that’s why he did it. To try and get a leg up so he could take care of us better. I don’t condone it,” You emphasize with a quick glance in Neuvillette’s direction. “But I can sort of understand it, you know? Anyway, as time went on, I stopped being mad about it and instead I started to look forward to him coming home when his sentence was almost up.” 

You trail off, suddenly feeling uncertain about relaying the rest, but Wriothesley reaches out to take your other hand as well, holding them both now. “I heard a ‘but’ in there. Take your time if you need to, but please continue.” 

Floundering — and very embarrassed to be doing this in front of the honorary Iudex of all people — you shyly glance down at your shoes. Oh, how you couldn’t wait to get them off. 

“W - well … there’s not really much else to say, if I’m being honest. He never came home. My father decided to stay in Meropide instead, and he died a few years later right after I turned nineteen. They said it was a fight that got out of hand. Someone had a weapon they’d made, and they stabbed him with it. The other inmate insisted it was just an accident though. Said he hadn’t meant to hurt him like that, and I believe him. Soooo … here I am now. But like I said, no hard feelings or anything. Stuff just happens sometimes.” 

Wriothesley starts to say something, hesitates, and then draws a quick breath but it is monsieur Neuvillette who speaks first. 

“I see. I was worried it would be something like that.” 

Blinking owlishly, you turn your head to look over at him just as the first rain droplets start to come down. They’re fat and heavy, and incredibly cold, making your skin break out in clammy goosebumps almost instantly, but you can’t quite seem to tear your eyes away from Neuvillette. His expression hasn’t exactly changed in any noticeable way but something about him just looks so very … sad it wrenches at your poor heart. 

“What do you mean, monsieur?” 

“I seem to recall, now that I think of it,” He says evenly, not at all concerned about the rain quickly soaking through his hair to make it stick to his face in a few spots. “A man by the name of Antoine. He had a young wife who took the stand during his trial. She begged for leniency for her husband, citing the daughter waiting for him at home, but I unfortunately had none to give. That was your father, wasn’t it?” 

Numbly, you nod your head. “I’m surprised you remember something from so long ago…” 

Slowly, Neuvillette draws a careful breath before continuing. “The law is quite clear, mademoiselle. Although it pained me a great deal to do it, I had to deliver a just and appropriate ruling for the crime committed. This may not mean much to you, but I am sorry for taking your father from you. As for the matter of him choosing to stay at the fortress even after his sentence was served … I apologize for that too.” 

“It’s alright. That wasn’t your fault and there wasn’t anything you could have done about it anyway. You were just doing your job, monsieur Neuvillette. I don’t blame you for that.” You try to offer him a reassuring smile, but that shroud of sadness around him does not dissipate. In fact, it actually seems to become more pronounced. 

“Thank you for your kindness, mademoiselle.” He says over the rain as it picks up and really starts to hammer down on the three of you. “I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I will cherish it always. Regrettably I have just recalled that there is something I’ve forgotten to take care of for Lady Furina, so I am afraid I must take my leave and return to her now. I do hope you both have a pleasant evening though.” 

“O - okay …” You murmur, wondering if you’ve done something wrong as you watch him turn and walk away to leave you and Wriothesley standing there in the sudden downpour. 

Hesitantly, you tip your head back to share a long look with him. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Gods, I’m drenched right through!” You hiss, ripping off your soaked, elbow length gloves so you can viscously slap them down on the table with a loud wet plap! You felt like a drowned rat and you probably look it too as you turn to face Wriothesley where he’s peeling off his coat in the doorway. “Was it even supposed to rain tonight?” 

“You know how unpredictable the weather can be here,” He murmurs, hanging up his dripping jacket on the metal rack in the corner before moving across the room to close the distance. Your heart gives a startled jolt at his purposeful strides, but all he does is reach out to take your hips and pull you in against him, unconcerned with the soft wet squelch that sounds between the two of you. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I - I’m fine. I already told you that, didn’t I?” You squeak, carefully bringing your hands up to brace them on his front. He was acting so strange, and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was upset with you or not. “What has gotten into you? I’m not used to you treating me like fragile glass that will shatter at the first upset. Really, your grace, you’re blowing this just a bit out of proportion.” 

“I think you are the very last person I ever want to hear that from.” He rumbles, dragging his hands higher to cradle around your ribs. Just holding you, letting the warmth of him bleed through your soaked clothes for a long moment until you eventually shiver at the cold. Sighing softly, he begins to rub over you as if to warm you up. “If you’re positive then I won’t press the matter any further, but I hope you know how much of a surprise you gave me back there. For a moment I thought … I actually thought I had your father imprisoned in my fortress right this very moment.” 

You smile to yourself, unable to stop it. “Would you have let him out for me?” 

He snorts a quiet laugh in response, putting you somewhat more at ease. “I think that would’ve been pushing it just a little bit, don’t you?” 

“Yes, your grace. Even if he was still there I wouldn’t expect any special privileges just because you and I are … well, I suppose we might as well already be married as far as everyone sitting at our table is concerned. Did you see the way they kept looking at us?” 

“I did, and I think you handled it all with grace and poise, just like I knew you would.” 

A heavy, long suffering sigh. “You are the biggest scoundrel I’ve ever known.” 

“If you keep up with that talk of marriage, I’ll soon be the only scoundrel you know.” 

Clicking your tongue, more embarrassed than annoyed, you start to pull away, but Wriothesley just gathers you more firmly against his front. With hardly any effort at all to show for it, he abruptly picks you straight up off the floor so he can make his way over to the bathroom with you, shouldering the door open even as you weakly protest to being carried around like an invalid. Soundly ignoring you, he sets you down on your feet again and then moves to find the matchsticks so he can light the candles in the room. You huff and watch him do it, trying and failing to stamp down the excitement suddenly bubbling to life low in your gut. 

Oh, this was … 

Dutifully, Wriothesley steps over to the tub once the bathroom is aglow with a soft, flickering light, and he bends to put the stopper in place. The sound of rushing water soon dominates the cramped space when he turns the faucet on and, finally, he turns to you once again. 

“We don’t want you catching cold.” He says by way of explanation at your curious look, reaching around behind you to fiddle with the zipper on your dress. 

“No, I suppose we don’t.” 

He gives you a certain look that makes your toes curl in their much too uncomfortable shoes as the dainty zipper descends but, to your surprise, he promptly starts to pull away. 

“Take your time and get comfortable, little miss. I’ll dry off in the other room and - -“ 

Cutting off when you snag his sleeve, Wriothesley tips his head down to look at where you’re holding onto him. There’s a question in his eyes when he brings his attention back up, and you forcibly swallow down your nerves before they can get the better of you. “You can stay. If you’d like.” 

A quiet moment passes over the room. He just studies you in that time, making you feel more and more jittery inside, before eventually drawing a carefully measured breath. “Would you like me to sit and watch you bathe, pretty girl?” 

“I thought perhaps you could join me.” 

You’d half expected him to be excited about that offer, but the bemused look he gives you is more teasing than happy. “You know I’ll have to get undressed for that, don’t you? Or would you have me sit in your tub with you fully clothed?” 

You almost snap at him to forget about the whole thing then, but you quickly rein your emotions back under control. His patience with you thus far has been perfectly commendable. Nothing short of astonishing, in fact, even when you’d desperately clung to what little bit of modesty you still had to your name for weeks now. It was understandable then that he wouldn’t assume you to be ready to cross so many boundaries all at once in one night. You naked, him naked … even when you’d discussed the matter of wanting to tend to him, he’d assured you that over his clothes would be fine so this was quite a big step beyond that. 

Resolutely, you square your shoulders. “I would never expect you to do something so silly and I know what it is I’m asking for, your grace.” 

The mischief fades from his face, and he looks at you quite seriously now. “You’re certain?” 

“Yes, Wriothesley, I’m not sure how many times you expect me to say it but - -“ 

He grabs your face between his hands and suddenly tugs you up into a possessive kiss, making you squawk against his mouth in your surprise. You hadn’t expected such a reaction out of him given his initial response, but it only lasts a short moment before he’s pulling back to look at your wide eyed expression. 

“If you change your mind at any point just say the word and I’ll get out immediately. I’m sure you understand this, precious girl, but I want to make sure you know that this is not your last chance to tell me ‘no’. You’ll always have that power over me no matter what we do together, and you only need to tell me once for me to listen. Are we on the same page here?” 

“Yes, your grace.” You murmur, smiling up at him now. 

He smiles too, leaning down to kiss you again before decisively setting in to work on disrobing you. It takes some shimmying to get the wet fabric of your dress peeled off over your head when the sleeves and bodice wanted to stick, but it eventually lands in the corner with a resounding wet plap! At your weak protest he assures you he’ll just buy you another, and then his hands are working on the clasps of your brassier. 

Wriothesley is surprisingly gentle with the delicate hooks, something that you hadn’t exactly expected when you’d never let him relieve you of that particular item before, but it fills you with a great deal of soft warmth for him. Reaching up, you also get to work on unbuttoning his waistcoat, and by the time you have it hanging loose around him he’s tugging the bra straps down your arms. 

You tense up slightly, hesitating for just a heartbeat before allowing him to pull it off of you. Your nipples are stiff and cold from the rain, jutting out in attention seeking points, and he softly growls at the sight of them. As he brings his hands up to palm them, you start to wonder if you’ll even make it into the tub at this rate. You already felt so hot … 

Your eyes go big in sudden horror. “The water!” 

Snapping out of his trance, Wriothesley twists around to smack the faucet off and you force your lungs to expand with the now steamy air in the resounding quiet. All you can make out is the soft flicker of the candles, and your own wild pulse pounding in your ears. 

“We almost got distracted there, didn’t we?” He says after a pause. 

“Yes, your grace. My apologies.” 

He turns back to you, tugging roughly at the tie around his neck. “What do you have to apologize for? We would have just cleaned up the mess when we were done … though I suppose the whole flat would’ve been flooded by the time I’m done with you.” 

You impotently shudder at the jolt of arousal that tears through you. This man was certainly crass. “You are truly hopeless, sir …” 

“Only where you’re involved.” Wriothesley sends you a meaningful look across the short distance, smiling when you react with fluster. He quickly yanks his tie off over his head and then shrugs out of his waistcoat, eyeing you rather covetously while he does it. “You look beautiful standing there like that, by the way. Your tits are even prettier than I imagined them to be.” 

“O - oh,” You quake from head to toe, and shyly bring your hands up to cover yourself. He’s on you in the time it takes you to blink, however, and you outright yelp when he grabs around your middle so he can haul you up off the floor again. Your head spins with the sudden rush of movement but he just neatly deposits you into the stool in the corner you used for easy access to your drying racks. You barely have enough of a chance to process what’s even happening when you suddenly find Wriothesley kneeling at your feet, and your heart jackhammers straight up into your throat. 

All he does is reach out to fiddle with the buckles on one of your shoes though, bending his head over the task, and you somehow manage to breathe a stilted sigh of relief. 

“Thank you, your grace …” You murmur softly into the stillness, watching him patiently work with the delicate straps. “You didn’t have to do that though.” 

“You’re lucky I didn’t do it sooner. I noticed the way you were walking earlier … like you were stepping down on needles, but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate me starting to disrobe you in public.” A brief, mischievous look accompanies that and you just flush even hotter. “If these hurt your feet then you should toss them. I’ll buy you new ones that are much more comfortable.” 

“You’re offering to buy me an awful lot tonight …” 

“Only because you deserve to have nice things.” He tells you, perfectly sincere in that assertion, as your shoe finally comes off. A low hiss rises in you at the immediate throb you feel, but he’s quick to smooth his big hands over your cramping foot and massage out some of the ache. It was really sweet of him, actually, and you eventually find yourself relaxing into his touch. “Does that feel better, pretty girl?” 

“Much, your grace.” 

Humming his approval, Wriothesley gently sets your foot down so he can set his sights on the other shoe. He manages to get this one off a little quicker, and you’re soon groaning into the stilted relief his rubbing hands provide to your sore toes. You almost don’t want it to end but, finally, he sets that one down too before palming at your calf so he can slide up along your stockings to the garter clasps. This he manages to unfasten with a quick, simple flick of his wrist so he can gently tug the sheer material down and get it off. 

“Have you helped many ladies in their boudoir?” 

He snorts a quick laugh as he tosses your stocking aside, immediately going back for the other. “Hardly. I know just enough to be dangerous, that’s all.” 

“Oh, I think I’d consider you quite dangerous …” 

The sapphires in his eyes flash at you, a vague smirk tugging at his roguish mouth. Hands slipping up behind your legs to catch in the bends of your knees, he easily pulls them apart into a wide spread and you jolt at suddenly having your pantied cunt right in his face. 

“Your grace!” You squeak with no shortage of horror. “T - that’s - -“ 

He doesn’t even stop long enough to hear what you’ve got to say. 

Leaning into the space between your thighs, he presses his nose right up against you to make you go ramrod stiff, and you just stare down at him in blatant disbelief with your hands half stretched out to shove at him. Rolling his eyes up to look at you, Wriothesley seems to taunt you with it while he mouths at your pussy for an extended beat until he manages to draw a low, faltering groan out of you. Swaying unsteadily, you once again find yourself thinking that you’re not even going to make it into the tub. 

“The w - water,” You finally get out with some effort this time, shaking like a leaf. “If you do that, it — it’ll get … cold.” 

He doesn’t seem like he cares very much for that, obviously much more interested in what’s between your legs. But, after a short pause, he does slowly ease back to peer up at you. “You’re not opposed to it?” 

“… I don’t think so.” 

A hungry look passes over his face at that, and you numbly watch him rock back and find his feet. Towering over you like this, he starts to unbutton his dress shirt with practiced precision, soon shrugging out of it altogether, and your eyes almost pop right out of your skull when you see his bare chest for the first time. He was … magnificent is the only word you could think to describe it. Well toned, tight pecs, bulging biceps that flex when he moves, defined abdominals that lead straight down to - - 

“Oh.” You blurt out, with feeling. 

Shuffling close, Wriothesley silently holds out a hand towards you. You’re so overwhelmed with everything that’s happened just over the last handful of minutes that you foolishly think he’s going to help you up, and you blithely slip your fingers into his. To your sputtering surprise, however, he just takes your hand and redirects it to the front of his pants, pressing your palm over the stiff length inside. 

“This is yours, pretty girl. Do you understand that?” 

He was certainly drilling that into your brain enough for you not to forget! “Y - … yes, sir.” 

“Do you want it tonight?” 

You practically collapse right then and there. “I do.” 

Groaning so softly you almost miss it, Wriothesley leaves your hand where it’s at and reaches up to yank at the buttons of his pants. You give him a shy, tentative little squeeze, and fresh heat promptly marches across your face when it twitches in response. You’re not sure what to expect, have no idea what to even think at this point, but you start to feel well and truly faint when he shoves his pants and underwear down to his thick thighs, and a heavy cock springs up in the air between you two.

Your throat abruptly feels bone dry as you take it in, processing the weighty length of it, the dusty-pink glans, the ridged vein running along the side and the meaty bounce of his hanging balls when he shifts. Even the wiry thatch of dark hair crowning the base looks strangely arousing to you in that moment, and you hotly press your thighs together at the sight of him. Yes, magnificent was a good word for him. He was exquisite. 

“It’s … not as scary as I thought it would be.” You eventually manage to get out, your tongue feeling like a lead weight in your mouth. 

Snorting, Wriothesley holds out his hand again. “Would you like to touch it, lovely girl?” 

You only feel a slight hesitancy when you reach out, letting him guide your loosely curled fingers to his cock. You’re a little surprised at how soft it feels to the touch, his skin satiny and smooth, and so sinfully caressable you find yourself closing your hand around it before you even realize you’re doing it. There’s a pulse running through him and it throbs under the gentle pressure of your fist, straining up slightly in search of more. 

Abruptly, you recall what he’d said about rubbing it, and you slowly draw your hand up the same way he’d shown you before. 

Wriothesley catches you off guard when he viscously seethes at the sensation, bringing your startled attention up to his face. But all you see staring back at you is deeply felt pleasure, his brows drawn together to knit over the ridge of his nose, and you feel a strange sense of power come over you. Was this what he felt every time he turned your body against you? 

“Shall I do it like this, sir?” 

“A menace,” He grits out, just watching you tug on his cock with a sharp, distant gleam in his eyes. “That’s what you are, you know that?” 

“You’re the one who taught me.” 

Wriothesley sends you a heated look, letting out a thin chuckle. “Don’t start getting cute now. Even though I’d hate to do it and ruin this — very enjoyable moment, I still won’t hesitate to take you over my knee. You’re rather precious with my cock in your hand like that, but even precious girls are not immune from getting their butts spanked.” 

A thrill races down your spine to settle low in your gut, making you squirm slightly in the chair. “Maybe I want his grace to spank me …?”

“When do you not, is the better question.” With a great deal of effort, he reaches down to still your hand, but you couldn’t have missed the look of regret in his face even if you’d wanted to. “That should probably be enough for now. If you keep tempting me like this, I’m not sure how much more I can take. Come. Let’s get you in the bath.” 

Carefully prying your fingers off him, Wriothesley leans down to grab under your arms and haul you back up to your feet again. You sway unsteadily even as you peer down between the two of you to look at his bobbing length but you soon have to look elsewhere when he bends to shimmy your garter belt down, and then your panties. You’re finally standing before him completely naked and you don’t feel half as self conscious about it as you’d expected to be. It was a little hard to cling to your shy uncertainty when you wanted him so bad you could have just screamed! 

Kicking off his pants and boots, he ignores your halfhearted protests as he expeditiously guides you over to the tub and climbs in first, getting situated before pulling you in with him. You make sure to step carefully, clutching at his big fingers as you gradually lower yourself to sit between his spread legs, and somehow you’re not the least bit surprised when some of the water sloshes out to smack against the title floor while the two of you get settled in against one another. 

“The landlord is going to kill me …” You murmur, more to yourself than him, but he just wraps his arms around you to gather you more firmly to himself. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll gladly pay for any renovations needed for water damage.” He says, pressing a hard kiss into your temple. 

Sighing softly, you experimentally wriggle back against the stiff cock digging into your spine, and he growls a low sound of warning against your face. Saying you hadn't expected it to come to this tonight would’ve been a massive understatement, but were you really that upset about it? You didn’t think so. You’d planned to see to his pleasure tonight, perhaps even remove that final barrier standing between him and your breasts, and now you were sitting naked with him in the bath. It was … a bit overwhelming, but in an exciting way. 

“Well,” You abruptly announce. “This certainly didn’t go to plan!” 

“I don’t mind that it didn’t.” Nuzzling against the side of your head, Wriothesley places another kiss to your cheek. “I admit, you did surprise me but I’m not complaining. You really did look lovely in your dress, by the way. I’m not just saying that for brownie points.” 

“Thank you … and you were quite dashing in your suit as well, but I think I still like the one you usually wear better.” 

“As do I. It’s much more comfortable.” 

Lifting one of his hands, he starts to scoop water up over your exposed shoulders and back, and you breathe out a content sigh as the warmth quickly bleeds into you. He’d distracted you so much that you’d almost forgotten just how cold you actually were after the rain, but that was rapidly fading into a distant memory now. Relaxing against him, you reach out to tentatively place your hands on his broad thighs under the water, and he lets you do it with an approving hum. 

It might not have been exactly what you’d prepared for going into tonight, but you were enjoying it very much. Getting to freely touch him like this, skin to skin contact while his cock occasionally twitched and he gently worked the cold water out of your hair … this was dangerously comfortable, and the almost romantic flicker of the candles on your counter weren’t helping matters either. 

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About making yourself the only rascal I know?” 

“That depends,” He volleys back easily enough. “Were you serious about preferring big dogs, and thinking that they might be worth the trouble?” 

You wrench around to look at him with clear shock dancing across your face, not even caring that more water spills out at the sudden movement. “You heard that?” 

The smile that creeps across his mouth just might be the most roguish one you’ve seen yet. “Of course I did. Even now you continue to underestimate me … I’m not sure if I should be offended by that or flattered that I give off the impression of someone who doesn’t hear every little thing going on around them. I told you I wasn’t going to let you out of my sight for even a moment, didn’t I?” 

“Forgive me, your grace. I wasn’t aware that you hear with your eyeballs.” 

“Ooho, and there’s that feisty attitude I love so much. Is that how we’re about to go into this, little miss?” 

You hesitate. There was that dreaded ‘L’ word again! 

Evidently seeing the uncertainty on your face, Wriothesley quickly sobers. “You don’t need to feel nervous. I’ll be gentle.” 

“It’s not that …” 

He tips his head to one side. “Then what is it? 

Breathing out a clipped sigh, you slowly lean back against his chest again and reach up to cup along his strong jaw, pulling him closer. “You’re still just so confusing …” 

Rather than pushing you any further, Wriothesley obliges and bends down to kiss you, the steady motion of his mouth on yours making quick work of distracting you from the odd things he says. Moaning softly against his lips, you arch your back to better present your tits when he reaches around to fondle them. His hands feel indescribably good on your chest without anything in the way like this, and softened nipples quickly pucker again under his palms. 

He takes his time playing with them, just like he promised he would; unhurriedly kneading the flesh and squeezing at you for a long while before eventually pinching the stiff buds between his calloused fingers when they’re straining hard and tender. That has you squirming between his legs, and you dig your nails into his thighs to ground yourself. You wanted him now. Not later. You needed everything he was willing to give you right this instant, and not a moment more! 

Unable to take it any more, you tip your head back to rest across his shoulder. You tell him what you’re thinking in a hushed whisper, how you don’t think you can wait any longer to have him, and he carefully rolls his hips to nudge his cock up against your bottom in response. 

“Are you sure, pretty girl? We don’t need to rush and do everything tonight. I can take care of you just as well with my mouth.” 

Just the thought of him taking his mouth to you has your pussy clenching eagerly, and you arch against him with a needy little moan. “Then will you do it now, your grace? I’d like to cum …”

“Of course I will.” Wriothesley gives you one last, lingering kiss that makes you whine low in your throat. He’s carefully untangling the two of you then, and you sway unsteadily when he helps you find your feet in the tub, but his hands are like iron bracers on your hips keeping you from tipping over. “Sit on the edge of the tub for me? Don’t fret, I’ve got you. Just like that. Good. Now spread your legs … a little more, sweetheart, that’s it. Stay just like that, okay? I’m not going to let you fall. Gods, just look at this sweet pussy.” 

With a low, almost bestial snarl, he swoops down to run his tongue straight up the length of your slit and you jolt like he’d electrocuted you. Eyes wide, almost unseeing, you tip your face down to watch him nuzzle into you, mouthing at pudgy cunt lips to coax them open for him. You have but a split second to wonder if you’d made a mistake, and then his tongue is dipping out to trace over soft creases and folds, feeling around for a moment as if to familiarize himself. Your face suddenly feels hot enough to cook an egg. The thought that you were letting him do something so shameful, putting his mouth on this intimate part of your body, niggles at the back of your mind for an extended beat like a hovering storm cloud.  

But then he finds your clit. 

You go ramrod stiff with a startled squeak, hips juddering entirely against your will when Wriothesley tauntingly swirls around the sensitive little pleasure button in increasingly tighter circles before at last grinding directly over top of it. It feels vaguely like your life is flashing before your very eyes but you can’t bring yourself to look away any more than you can bring yourself to close your legs and shut him out. It was a drastically different sensation from the one you derived rubbing yourself on his thighs or his hands, his tongue so soft and wet, and warm, yet completely unrelenting in the way it nudges your clit back and forth. Up and down, side to side, lapping at you with a hunger that almost bowls you over. You promptly forget to be embarrassed about it, and shudderingly arch your back for him instead. 

Coming up off you with a low, rumbling groan some moments later, he presses a quick kiss to your throbbing cunt. “You taste so good, pretty girl. Better than any wine, that’s for sure.” He takes a moment to draw a deep breath that makes his big shoulders rise and fall, and then he slowly tilts his head up to look at you from where he’s knelt inside the tub. “How’s that feel, sweetness? You like my mouth on your pussy?” 

You jerk your head in a frantic nod, clutching the sides of the porcelain in a death grip. “Y - yes, sir! I want … I want more, please!” 

He groans when you tip your pelvis towards him, plaintively offering your cunt to him, and he responds with a toe curling squeeze around your hips. “You are going to be the ruin of me, and I don’t even care.” Lowering his face again, Wriothesley shoves his mouth against you and you choke at the sensation of his tongue slipping out to once more lash at your clit. 

Swaying dizzily, you nudge yourself further down to stiltedly rock on his face, and he lets you do it with an approving groan. You aren’t quite sure what’s come over you in that moment but between your cunt drooling an excessive amount of slick and your nipples straining up into the air, you feel truly wild. Trusting that he wouldn’t let you fall, you reach down with one hand to snag a fistful of his dark hair, which he seems to like given the way his cock jumps in his lap. You can barely see it from this angle but that bobbing motion was unmistakable, and you give your hand a little twist to tug at the roots. Hot breath puffing against your pussy, Wriothesley lets you turn his head slightly to the side where he sucks in a thick inhale. 

“Is that where you want me, sweet girl? Go on. Put my mouth right where you want it, baby, it’s all yours.” 

A wounded little noise punches out of your tight chest, and you shudder so hard you really think you might fall. His hold on you is absolute though, just as it always is, and you’re free to jerk and twist as much as you like while he voraciously eats you out. His tongue smacks into your clit from a new angle with the tilt of his head, the sharp nudge making you squeal. It was simply too much. You’d never felt anything like it in all your life, and you had no idea how to brace against it. 

“Ohh — ooooh! Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god … wah - Wriothesley! Please! I - I’m gonna’ - -“

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” He rumbles, muffled in the meat of your cunt. “Soak my face, pretty girl. Let me taste you.” 

Pussy clenching tight enough to hurt, you let out a thin, high pitched keen as your thighs begin to quake around his head. Slurping loudly, he repositions himself towards the center and gives his head a shake that seems to make every single nerve ending in your cunt light up like a firework. A warning tremor works through you as you heave, and he does it again. You just start to feel yourself tip over when he flattens his tongue to your clit and grinds mean little circles into it, and you surely would have jolted right up in the air if he hadn’t been holding you so tight. Instead, all you do is pitifully jerk against him, and the pressure suddenly gives way to a powerful orgasm that brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Wailing in overwhelmed distress, you shake through your release while he continues to eat you out until it quickly stretches well past the point of pleasure straight into discomfort. You were too sensitive post-release. Too overwrought and tender when your pussy was still fluttering wildly around nothing, and you desperately push at him. At first you don’t think he’s going to stop, that he’s just going to keep at it incessantly, but then he finally slows the ministrations of his mouth to a standstill. Wriothesley doesn’t immediately remove his face from between your legs though, and you just seethe as the last of the spasms slowly ebb and fade to leave you twitching in the aftermath. 

Only then does he ease back, and your body just seizes all over again when you see the heated glint in his blue eyes. He looks at you like a starving wolf might look at its prey, all mindless animal hunger and fast pumping endorphins. It almost leaves you speechless. 

“Y - your grace?” 

“Bath time is over.” He abruptly announces, his stern tone brokering no room for argument. 

Eyes widening slightly, you tip your head back when he carefully finds his feet without letting up his hold on your hips and you quickly realize why. Tugging you off the ledge, he picks you straight up into his arms before your feet even have a chance to get settled on the porcelain bottom, and you clutch at him fiercely when he steps out of the tub. He doesn’t even bother with a towel and instead just brushes straight out into the main room. 

You almost lose your nerve but somehow manage to find your voice when he’s almost made it to the loveseat along the far wall. “It’s okay, Wriothesley. You can take me into the bedroom.” 

He immediately stops at your breathless little squeak, and tips his face down to look at you. “You’re sure? I can have you sit on my face just as well out here, pretty girl.” 

“Wha — no, no, no! It’s your turn next! You said you would teach me how to tend to you …” 

A muscle in his jaw visibly ticks as he draws a painfully slow breath that makes his chest press up into you. “There are a great many things I’d like to teach you, little miss. I’m not even sure where to start … how would you like to tend to me? Perhaps we should begin there.” 

You ponder that for a moment, not really even sure what your options were other than the obvious. “I suppose I don’t exactly know … can I put my mouth on you too?” 

“Oh, bless the seven!” Cursing under his breath, Wriothesley does an abrupt about face and makes a beeline straight towards your bedroom. Bouncing in his arms, you’re more than just a bit surprised at how fast he can move, and it doesn’t take long at all for you to find yourself bouncing down onto the bed with a squeak. 

Quickly, you push up onto your elbows but he’s already crawling on top of you, muscle heavy arms coming around you to brace himself against the mattress, and you go ramrod stiff when you see the weighty strain of his cock looming nearer. You hate yourself for your last minute jitters, and you hate even more that he clearly doesn’t miss the uncertainty that flashes across your face. He stills half over top of you, just looking at you for a long moment. 

“It’s alright,” He tells you at length, back to some semblance of his usual calm again. “I’m just going to kiss you first, if that is to your liking. I won’t do anything you don’t explicitly ask me to, sweetheart. You have the control here.” 

“I’m so sorry,” You mewl, feeling absolutely miserable. “I don’t know why I’m like this!” 

Shushing you softly, Wriothesley reaches up to pull your hands away when you try to cover your face and hide from him. “Don’t apologize. Hey, just look at me for a second, okay? There … that’s my pretty girl.” He gives you a quick smile as he playfully pinches your hot cheek to make you squirm. “There’s nothing wrong with being nervous about your first time. I know we’ve talked this over a lot already, but I hope you know I’m nothing if not willing to wait for you. Whenever you’re ready, it doesn’t matter how long. I’ll spend the rest of my life waiting for you if that’s what it takes so no pressure, alright?” 

You can’t quite stop your surprise from showing. “The rest of your life? Surely you don’t actually mean that … you’ll get so terribly sick of me!” 

“I do mean it. And I won’t, don’t worry about that.” Taking it slow, like he was dealing with a very skittish cat, he crawls the rest of the way up to join you, settling on his side rather than on top. You’re incredibly embarrassed to realize that the difference in his approach did make you feel worlds better, and you gladly let him pull you around to snuggle up into his broad chest. “Trust me, if that attitude of yours hasn’t scared me off by now then nothing will.” 

“… you’re terrible.” You murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. 

“I think I’ve heard that once or twice before. How very curious.” 

Bending his head close, he stamps a hard kiss to your forehead, and you whimper softly even as you bring your hand up to tentatively caress over his side. “Curious indeed, your grace …” 

With a soft hum of encouragement, Wriothesley takes his time kissing over your face — your cheeks, your eyelashes, your nose — while you ever so carefully run fingers over him. His body is so thick and tightly packed with muscle that you think it probably isn’t any wonder that the thought of having him on top of you, pinning you down under all that weight, scares you as much as it does. Even now when you wanted him as badly as you do. You like the way he feels under your hand though, firm and unrelenting. Almost stiflingly warm to the touch. 

You cuddle further into that oppressive body heat, seeking out his warmth with your bare skin. His palm runs over your back and your sides while you spend a quiet moment just familiarizing yourself with his body. From his thick arm across to his broad barrel chest where you pause to play with his nipple. It’s a dusty-pink, just like the head of his cock, and just meaty enough for you to get a good hold on it. He only noises a brief sound though, evidently not half as sensitive here as yours were, and you can’t help but think that that’s a bit unfair. 

Lower, you trace over his abdominals and run your fingers over each individual divot and ridge you encounter, fascinated with the build of him. As you gradually work your way further down, he slowly nudges over onto his back to give you access to his cock whenever you're ready for it, and you greedily eye it as you inch your fingers close. The hair on his groin is coarse and thick, but it feels nice under your hand. You follow it straight to the object of your focus where it’s laying across his inner thigh, twitching every so often. 

It stirs fully at your first touch though, and your cunt clenches eagerly at the sensation of that silky skin under your palm again. Gently, you get your fingers around it and pull it upward. 

“It’s heavy.” You murmur into the stillness. 

Rumbling a low sound of agreement, Wriothesley shifts against you to look down at himself as well. “It looks rather large in your dainty little hand, doesn’t it?” 

“I think it would look large no matter what …” 

“Mmm. Flattery is just going to find you seated on my face that much quicker, pretty girl.” 

“Oh, stop.” Trying very hard not to giggle, you carefully inch your way up the length of him until you reach the glans. Swiping your finger over the slit in the middle comes back sticky, and you take a moment to just feel along the smooth skin. Enjoying it, savoring it. Committing it all to memory. “Does that feel good, your grace?” 

“It does. Just like when I rub that cute pussy for you, it feels even better when you do it a bit more firmly.” He accompanies that with another kiss to your forehead, but you don’t allow him to distract you. You were starting to have a creeping suspicion why it had gotten him so worked up when you’d asked if you could put your mouth on him. 

You enjoyed when he rubbed your pussy, just as he seemed to enjoy you rubbing his cock for him, but you also now knew how much more intense the sensation of a hot tongue could be when applied directly to your clit. So then logic should only dictate … 

Gathering your courage, you slowly untangle yourself from him and sit up. Wriothesley steadily looks up at you, clearly waiting to see what you would choose to do next, so you quickly get spun around before your nerves can falter. Kneeling next to his hip now, you take him in hand again as his rough palm slides across your lower back, just holding you, and then you lean down. 

The first kitten lick across the head coats your tongue in salt, but not unpleasantly so, and he outright seethes at the sensation. Feeling emboldened, you do it again and again, mimicking the way he’d so expertly licked you in the bathroom. Eventually, though, he gives your waist a tight squeeze, and hisses as if in frustration. 

“Put your whole mouth on it, pretty girl. Don’t question it, just listen. There you go, open wide … nnghh. That feels good. You look so lovely with my cock stuffed in your mouth …” He chuckles, thin and strained when you noise a flustered little sound around the girth spreading your lips. “Are you getting embarrassed? I’d say it’s a bit late for that … look at you, taking care of me so well. Take it a little deeper. Nnghn — yes, now move your head back and forth. Just like that. You’ve got it. Oohn ...” 

The way he quietly groans, clutching your waist with an almost unexpected fervor, further bolsters your courage. It helps to dispel some of your lingering doubts, and the pangs of deep shame you felt at doing something that seemed so inherently dirty quickly dissolves into a distant afterthought. He felt good in your mouth, all warm and fleshy, and mind numbingly stiff. Velvety smooth, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, and you take a great deal of pleasure in flicking your tongue over him to familiarize yourself with it. 

Your shy, timid ministrations soon pick up over the course of the next few minutes, and Wriothesley issues a heaving grunt into the still air when you pull him in a little deeper. You can almost feel him nudging at the back of your throat now but you’re not so sure you’re ready to tempt fate like that just yet, so you keep working your lips over what you’re comfortable with while your hands explore the rest of his groin. Coarse hair tickles your knuckles when you caress along his inner thigh, marveling at the thick musculature even here as the other holds him steady at the base. 

A rumbling groan spills out of him as he brings his head back up after letting it loll back for a moment, visibly struggling with his self control now. Rather stiffly, he reaches down to crowd his hand in close to your face. “Squeeze it, sweetheart. Like this.” Those blocky fingers wrap around yours where you’re holding onto him, and then press down to make your grip tighten. 

The cock in your mouth jumps and stiffens under the pressure, somehow swelling even more in your mouth to really stuff your lips full. Whimpering low at the sensation as much as the way your pussy flutters in response, you readjust your grip on his length while he grunts and then drags his hand down a little lower. 

“You can touch here too.” He murmurs, curling his fingers around the weight of his ballsack to give it a slow, savory squeeze as well. “Just be gentle. These are sensitive.”

You wonder at that, carefully pulling off him so you can catch your breath and swivel your attention down to regard the meaty swell of flesh hanging between his legs. Taking his hand off himself, Wriothesley reaches up to tenderly cup your cheek next and you whine very softly at the potent rush of male musk that suddenly floods your nostrils. It’s not a bad smell by any stretch of the imagination but it’s noticeable, and it’s obvious, and it sparks something in your brain that makes you start to slip under alarmingly fast. Like the natural scent of his body, his genitals, was an extremely potent and effective aphrodisiac, it just seems to ratchet your own arousal up even higher to leave you feeling dizzy with it.

Shudderingly, you tip your face down and press it into the terribly soft skin, and he gives a faint jolt at the contact. You breathe him in deep, taking a moment to just kiss him there, and he quickly reaches up to close around your fist again, firmly tugging it up and down his cock now. 

“Shit! You’re such a good girl, sweetheart … you like having my cock and balls in your face like that? Huh?” 

The thin, rattling quality of his voice just rushes straight to your pussy, and you nod your head with a muffled whimper. It felt like you were suffocating in him, his taste and his smell. The body heat rolling off him in waves is almost suffocating. You were beyond intoxicated and punchdrunk on it, all of it, so lost you barely even realize you’re doing it when you start to mouth at his balls and gently suck on them. 

“Oohhn, little miss … you don’t even have any idea what you’re doing to me right now. Come here. Lay out next to me.” 

He drags the hand resting across your back further down, over the curve of your ass to hook around the pudge of your inner thigh. Gentle yet insistent, he nudges you until you have no choice but to come up off his ballsack with a haggard gasp. Panting, you tremblingly let him tug your lower half towards him until you find yourself splayed out half on top of his body, your front resting along his strong hips while one leg comes up to curl over his chest. You aren’t quite brave enough to fully straddle him just yet but he doesn’t seem to mind, rough fingers finding the seam in your body and spreading your cunt open for him. 

“God, this is the prettiest pussy. You look tight enough to pinch my cock right off.” Squeaking at that, you start to turn to fix him with an incredulous look, but you don’t quite make it that far. His hand abruptly retreats only to swat across the meat of your ass, making you jolt. “You were asking me for a spanking earlier, weren’t you? Still want it?” 

You waver on top of him, clutching his pulsing cock in a death grip. “Yes, sir, I want it …” 

“Good. Then keep sucking my cock and I’ll spank you as much as you want.” Swat! “Just watch your teeth, okay pretty girl?” 

Noising a wordless sound of understanding, you dip your face down to take him into your mouth again. The next slap across your quickly tingling ass almost has your eyes rolling back in your head as you moan around the thick length stretching your lips wide. You can tell he’s not putting much intent behind the rhythmic smacks, one cheek and then the other, back and forth to leave your bottom turning red, but even that is enough to make you lose yourself even more in the statically charged daze. 

Even knowing he’s looking directly at your body completely unheeded doesn’t do much to curb your arousal, and you seem to forget all of your timid uncertainty as you start bobbing your head in earnest. Up and down, up and down — the motion is a bit stilted in this position, bordering on awkward, but Wriothesley groans appreciatively anyway, his toes visibly flexing down by the edge of the bed. It just further spurns you on, sending you on a soaring high you hadn’t expected to feel doing this sort of thing. Eagerly, you reach down to fondle his balls with your free hand, making him subtly twitch in response. 

Swat! 

“Oohn, pretty girl … your mouth feels so good on me like that. You’re doing such a good job.” 

Swat! 

“Do you like having your butt spanked while you suck my cock?”

Groaning, you jerk your head in a flustered nod, squeaking out a faint, “Mhm!” 

“I should have known,” He laughs, strained and very close to being breathless. “You’re such a sweet little masochist, and I can tell how much you’re getting off on this. Your cute pussy looks so soft and juicy right now … just begging to get stuffed full.” 

You shudder so violently you very nearly vibrate right off him, but another slap across your ass promptly grounds you. Dazedly swaying, you work your mouth over him a little quicker. A bit more urgently. 

“That’s it, little miss. Keep sucking me off. You’re well on your way to earning a nice reward for yourself after this … nnghn — you’re so good for me. Gonna’ make me cum soon … how do you want it, sweetheart? I can cum on those lovely tits if you want, or …” A deeply ruffled sound rises in him, catching you off guard. “Or I can cum straight into that warm little mouth of yours. How would you like that, hm? Wanna’ be a good girl and swallow my load for me?”  

The tremor that tears through you has you lurching on top of him, frantically noising around him. You’re not even quite sure what it is you’re experiencing at the moment, everything so intense and strong, and overwhelming that you don’t know what to make of any of it. You can’t even think straight, but he just shifts underneath you with another low chuckle. 

“Gods, you really are perfect. I’m going to hold your head for a moment but don’t worry, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.” 

You believed him, implicitly, and all you do is softly whimper when he reaches down to palm the back of your skull. The frantic energy shooting off inside you feels like it’s reaching fever pitch as he directs your face a pinch lower, centering you over top of him, and then — his hips suddenly nudge up, pressing his cock deep before stiltedly retracting. You can’t help the soft squeal that bursts out of you, muffled around his girth, and your eyes quickly flutter closed when he does it again, settling into a stiffly restrained pace that has him gliding back and forth across your tongue. 

Wriothesley moans, very quietly, while he holds your head in place so he can fuck up into your mouth at that tortuous speed. His other hand curls over your ass and delivers a distracted smack to the swell of it before latching on in a tight grip, squeezing hard enough to leave behind bruises as he pulls you open again. You know he’s looking directly at your cunt now, staring at it while he thrusts towards the back of your throat, and you don’t even care. You’re so hot, so needy for relief from this dizzying level of arousal, that you simply take as much of him as he’s willing to give you at any one time. 

Was this — was this what it would feel like to have him moving between your legs? 

“Oohhn, I’m getting close, my lovely girl … ready for your first real taste of me? Gonna’ swallow it down, nice and good … nghnn, it’s coming, sweetheart, get ready. Right there. Yeah. That’s — shit, I’m cumming! Here it comes …”

Groaning feverishly, Wriothesley’s hips falter and quake as he jerks himself up into your mouth with fast growing urgency. The rhythm he’d settled into falters and then breaks down completely, and he just judders for a desperate heartbeat before going still with his cock stuffed back against the root of your tongue. Your eyes widen slightly when you feel him give a powerful pulse of clenching muscle, and then a hot, cloying clump of something thick shoots out of him to coat the roof of your mouth. Trembling almost violently, you noise a faint sound of surprise, not having expected such a sudden burst of potent, bitter salt on your tastebuds, but it just keeps coming. Spurt after heavy spurt floods your mouth until you have no choice but to choke it down. You’re vaguely aware of some escaping the seal of your raw lips to dribble down the side of his length, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care about that right now. 

Throat clenching tightly, you give a weak cough around him as he gradually starts to relax under you, the tension in his frame bleeding away in the time it takes you to blink. Heaving a breathy, sensitive groan, he gingerly starts to ease his cock back, and you gratefully suck in a much needed lungful of fresh air. 

“Was that … to your liking, your grace?” You finally manage to croak out with no shortage of effort some moments later. 

“I loved it, little miss. You did very well, in fact.” His voice is warm with satiated pleasure, and he slides his hand down off your head to give the back of your neck an approving squeeze. “You’ve been so sweet for me all evening. I’m very proud of you for being such a brave girl tonight.” 

A pleased tremor works through you as you carefully sit up so you can turn around, unable to keep the smile off your face now when he opens up his arms for you. You don’t even hesitate to lay out across his chest with your face pressed into the hollow of his neck, snuggling deep to get comfortable. Humming a soft sound of approval, Wriothesley tightly wraps his burly arms around you so he can half lift, half drag you further on top of him until you’re stretched out across his body. 

It felt good, laying out on top of him like this in the afterglow … 

“Thank you, sir,” You murmur into his skin, still flushed and warm with the lingering traces of his arousal. “I’m very glad that I was able to spend such a wonderful evening with you, and — I'm also happy that I could make you feel good, too.”

“I feel fantastic. Better than good, actually.” He assures you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I know you’re still nervous about fully giving yourself over to me, and that’s okay. I’m perfectly satisfied just like this. We can take it as slow as you want.” 

Whimpering softly when a rush of emotion floods into your chest, you quickly bury your face a little further into his neck to hide it. Wriothesley was so sweet to you … did you really even deserve this? It was overwhelming and scary, and indescribably unexpected in the worst possible way, but … that was okay, wasn’t it? 

Evidently picking up on the tension making your slighter frame stiffen against him, he starts rubbing those big, callused hands over your back in comforting circles. “What is it, pretty girl? You don’t seem quite so happy anymore. Did I say something wrong again?” 

You give a thick laugh, struggling to keep the tears suddenly stinging your eyes at bay. “No, it’s not that …” 

“Then what’s the matter? You can tell me anything.” A soft kiss to your shoulder assures you of that, and you force yourself to draw a steadying breath. He’d taught you how to be honest, both with yourself and with him, so you don’t struggle with it nearly as much as you would have at one time. 

“You just make me feel like such a mess inside. I don’t really know what to do with myself right now but … I'm sure I am happy. I’m also a bit scared and confused though. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

He draws an even breath that makes his chest rise and fall underneath you, lifting you slightly. “I’d wager that’s pretty normal, considering how many boundaries we’ve crossed tonight. Fear of the new and unknown isn’t so strange, but … I think I might have something in mind that just might help you relax a bit.” 

You shift against him, undeniably curious. “What is it?” 

“We can discuss that later. Tomorrow.” Sighing, Wriothesley gathers you up tighter to his chest, just holding you like that. “Unfortunately even if I wanted to continue right now, I’m afraid it’s going to take me a while to recover from what we’ve already done. Unlike you, I can’t bounce back from everything quite as fast.” 

He accompanies this with a taunting little pinch to your waist, making you squirm and press your face tighter into his neck. 

“Besides, you’ve already had a long day, pretty girl … you should get some rest.”

“You’ll stay?” 

“I promise I’m not going anywhere.” A hard kiss pressed into the crown of your head. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wriothesley keeps his word, and you do indeed wake up the next morning in a tangle of limbs to the steady rise and fall of his broad barrel chest under your cheek. The morning light drifting in through the sheer curtains on the window casts a glow across him, and you spend what feels like a lifetime just watching the handsome duke sleep. 

He was still strange and confusing, and undeniably frustrating at times, but … he was also sweet, and infinitely patient with you. Even for as hard and blistering the sting of his hand could be, it was also capable of the softest touch. The fingers curled possessively around your hip, loosely clutching the meat of your leg in his slumber, feels like an anchoring lifeline and you think you really might love him. 

The thought of that isn’t half as scary as you would have at one time thought it to be. Just last night you probably would have thrown up your defensive walls and gone running from him in hysterics but waking up to him in your bed like this somehow reframes things. Makes it all look so much more soft and faint around the edges like a blissful dream. It’s not frightening here, in the still morning air, and you soon realize with a resoundingly warm thrum that you would have liked to stay with him, just like this, forever. 

Unfortunately the world stops for no one, regardless of how peaceful and happy they might be, and you eventually bring yourself to carefully untangle from him so you can crawl out of bed without disturbing him. You were going to surprise him with homemade crepes for breakfast.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

What're some Steph Brown moments you think should be talked about more?

Thank you sm for asking me this…

This one is actually really hard for me to answer because I think society should be talking about every stephanie brown moment all of the time. Additionally, I genuinely don’t think I can tell what moments w her are underrated anymore.

That being said I have made a list:

1. This Scene w Crystal in cataclysm

Robin #54

Really shows some extremely interesting parts of their relationship. This is like one of our first indications Crystal and Steph’s relationship might be on the mend. We get a look into how close they are despite their many issues. We have a minute where Steph jokes about Crystal blaming herself for the quake “too” implying Crystal often blames herself for things out of her control, which as I’m always discussing is a Stephanie Brown classic trait. The idea that this is something Crystal might do as well is so compelling to me. And throughout it all, we have Steph trying to protect Crystal, taking care of her, even tucking her in like a parent would their child. (Cough Stephanie brown parentification cough cough)

2. This panel from GK37. The way Batmans silhouette steps forward while Steph’s silhouette stands starkly still. The purple overcast sky with the flakes of snow (the whole weather/environment in gk37 kills me). The emphasis on ‘go to hell’ as after a comic of bargaining Steph finally comes to terms with the fact that she can’t rely on anyone else, that Batman going to her and telling her she could be something, that she could be good meant absolutely nothing to him. Amazing. Imprinted into my brain.

4. Steph’s conversation with Natalia about the stars in Robin 104. Gorgeous panel with an interesting look into Steph’s brain.

5. The Riddle scene in Robin 113, because I’m not smart enough to break down the Riddlers riddles and put together the implications which I assume are there and I want someone else to do it for me. Additionally, the lighting is absolutely gorgeous as we get to see Steph at this low point.

6. Robin #92, the scene where Bruce talks to Steph about the future, deeply unsettling her to the point that months and months later at the very start of war games she’s still thinking about it

7. The moment after Tim Drake’s birthday gaslighting bonanza where he commiserates with Steph abt getting tested by Batman. I’m imagining that he feels guilty for his role in her own test. For the record I’m hallucinating that guilt. I think it’s possible Lewis straight up didn’t know how Tim lied to Steph in Batman Family. But on the other hand the parallels to GK37 are insane and clearly there for a reason. Thinking about this lots. The repetition of “I know” vs “go to hell”. Their reversal of roles…I’ve already blabbed abt this on my blog but I’m still putting it here also bc I’m thinking abt it always.

Robin #120

8. All of GK22 as a reflection of how Batman’s loneliness post officer down is actually inextricably connected with his decision to sanction Steph as Spoiler. But specifically this scene because it makes me sick and ill and because it’s my header. Love the decapitated head side eyeing Batman.

9. Okay last one. One moment I’ve been thinking about a lot recently is Stephanie’s first interaction with Batman post War Games. Like the first thing she says to him after returning from her faked death is her essentially asking permission to patrol in Gotham.

Robin #174

Which is so fucking insane. She was unironically and genuinely spiritually broken by the events of war games. One of the very core tenets of her characterization, her willingness to be Spoiler no matter what regardless of the consequences, is fractured and entirely reversed. I have a lot of thoughts about this, and in general how post war games pre bg2009 Steph has healed physically but something big has clearly changed in her and not for the better. If you ask me, that period of time is stephanie brown at her lowest point. Will be posting abt this more eventually because writing this out has given me worse brain worms than normal.

Thank you so much for the ask again, sorry this took me a second I kept writing out way too much. I’m unfortunately a rambler at heart. Would love to hear anyone’s thoughts on any of these moments or other moments I missed.

[belethlegwen]

MASTERLIST POST

[HEADER CREDIT TO: @chamomile-g-tea <3]

My name is Belle, I'm a Giantess-leaning G/t fan who writes G/t fiction and enjoys art, writings and getting to chat with people about G/t and other nerdy things. Most of my writing gets posted to AO3, but there will be scattered shorts and writings posted here among the usual mess of my personal blogging and reblogging.

LINK TO MY KO-FI: HERE

If you like what I do and want to toss some support my way, it's extremely appreciated!

WRITING:

The Stranding:

My largest work to date, it is active and currently still being updated.

Almost two years after a man named Henry suffers a shipwreck and is rescued by a woman named Melanie, the two left on a journey to try and return him home, only to suffer a shipwreck of their own. The good news? They made it; Henry is home and is among his own people again. The bad news? To him, and everyone else in his homeland, Melanie is over fifty feet tall.

An out-of-time, out-of-place situation, Melanie has to navigate being integrated into a small military force for a nation that seems to be in a tense, fracturing peace with it's nearest neighbour, and also just navigate a world that has never had to deal with anyone or anything like her before.

[I personally recommend reading until at least Chapter 12 - Nightmares before starting on The Rescue]

The Rescue:

The prequel-piece to The Stranding, and also currently still active and being updated.

Melanie travels to the beach after a storm, as she often does to find driftwood and debris that can be used for crafts to keep herself busy in her lonely life, and sees a ship in distress just off of the shore. Unable to believe what's happening, she is able to rescue a sailor from the nearly-doomed vessel and take him under her care.

She helps him adjust to life in her land, which is vastly different-- almost like a different time entirely-- from his own. The biggest obstacle in doing so, however, is that the man isn't even eight inches tall.

[I personally recommend reading The Stranding up until Chapter 12 - Nightmares before beginning this work, but I am also not your real Dad and can not control you.]

The Faerie Spell:

[Can also be found here on Tumblr with the help of this Chapter Directory]

A first-person-perspective written work following Daphne as she attempts to navigate a strange and upsetting curse where a Faerie has stolen parts of her essence so that the Fae can, whenever the mood seemingly strikes them, steal Daphne's height and attain a more human-like appearance to hide that they are a Faerie. While the spell is active, however, Daphne because 5.5 inches tall (give or take a few millimeters).

Can she, or her friends, really navigate this new part of her life and all the difficulties it brings? Or is this spell about to change everything to do with her life?

The Scars We Leave Behind: [written by @adjacentperception and myself]

What's left of a hero when everything is taken from him? What's left of a villain with no identity?

What's left of a man who has no choice but to save the symbol of a system he's fighting against?

Within a city constantly besieged by a super-power fueled war between Good vs Evil, a hero is captured by a powerful villain and their secret organization and forced to play part in a twisting and enigmatic plan; to tear down the systems in place that keep the League of Heroes in an ultimate seat of power to rival the government itself. But… is the system as good as it projects itself to be? Are the villains and their henchmen really as evil as the media says? Is it truly as simple as tearing it down, or does that simply open up space for a new, worse system to enter?

Is the harm we do when we believe we're helping mitigated merely by our wishes to be better? To create something more? To fix what we believe is broken?

Do we hold blame for creating the evil we think we're fighting against, regardless of our intentions?

This work features descriptions of violence, abuse, neglect, and uses adult language, as well as mentions of nudity and sexual topics.

ADDITIONAL LINKS:

ABOUT RECURSIVE FICS: Here

SHORTS AND BONUS SCENE Masterlist

FANART AND COMMISSIONS MasterPost

THE STRANDING CHARACTER DESCRIPTION/REFERENCE POST

THE STRANDING CHARACTER OUTFIT REFERENCE POST

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics