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neptuneiris · 9 months

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detachment (03/03)

with detachment, we see our mistakes honestly, make amends and start afresh.

pairing: prince!aemond × niece!reader

summary: aemond not only breaks your heart after so many love promises, he also breaks his betrothal to you without any justification and announces his betrothal to a baratheon girl. now you will be married soon too.

word count: 8.5k

previous part • series masterlist

thank you so much for joining me and giving your support to this short story. there will be no epilogue, this is the end, so i hope you enjoy it very much, love you all. see you in the next stories🥺❤

"You look too happy, my Lady."

"I say the same of you, my Lord."

Lord Cregan smiles softly in your direction, without both stopping dancing and without ceasing to be the center of attention of some of the nobles still remaining in their seats and your family as well.

Even though there are more people around you both also dancing, the center of the huge Room gradually adding of more people to dance, still you feel many attentive looks on you and your betrothed.

"Well, we would draw a lot of attention if we weren't dancing and smiling, my princess. This is all in our honor."

You smile, lowering your gaze for a moment.

"Well… then I must say you are an excellent dancing partner."

"You too, my princess," he smiles at you, "Although, to be honest with each other, this is actually costing me a bit… feeling a lot of eyes on me," he confesses to you honestly, without wiping the small smile from his lips, "Especially when I feel like they're burning my skin at the moment."

At that moment you don't need explanations. You know Lord Stark means him.

"I apologize for that," you say apologetically.

"No, it's all right," he assures you, "It's a bit intimidating, too much actually, considering the prince's reputation in combat. But in a way… I understand what he must be going through."

This catches your attention, at once watching him intently and curious.

"You shouldn't," you make it clear to him, serious, "This is our wedding, you don't have to feel sorry for him. From what I told you when you went to Dragonstone, remember he has no right, he was the one who cancelled our betrothal."

"Honestly, my princess… I wouldn't be surprised if at some point in the night you disappeared and left me."

You lower your gaze, deep inside you a few moons ago you probably would have wished for that, for Aemond to arrive at any moment, take you away and wed you. But now… this is a duty.

It's not like that's really going to happen either, not now when everything is already happening. He is present, yes, but it's all in the past and he's getting wed soon too.

"I can say the same for you, my Lord," you say a little amused, "I too feel a certain… intimidating stare."

He smiles softly and denies with his head.

"No. I would never do anything like that to you, princess."

"But do you love her or not?"

"I shouldn't answer you something like that, princess. It would be disrespectful when you are my betrothed, not her."

"No," you gently shake your head, "It is all right, my Lord. It is my wish for you to be honest with me, believe me I do not mind," you assure him, "Besides, I think I know the answer from what you also told me on your visit to my home."

"Well," he looks a little apologetic, "Yes, of course I love her. But I realized it too late. Had I known sooner, I would have married her in an instant."

You can't smile, especially knowing that both you and Lord Stark have someone else in your hearts and yet the two of you are here about to be wed.

Unconsciously your gaze wanders to Lady Alysanne Blackwood who is seated at one of the tables with a glass of wine in her hand, staring into oblivion and quickly identifying her sad face which she is trying to hide.

And you know this because you were also doing the same thing and feeling the same way.

"Have you spoken to her, my Lord?"

You turn your gaze to Lord Stark, asking him softly.

"She said she is happy for me and wishes me a loving and pleasing marriage," he tells you also trying to hide his pain on his face and in his tone, avoiding looking to where Lady Blackwood is now sitting.

"I'm very sorry."

"No princess, you had nothing to do with it," he assures you instantly, "You don't have to apologize and feel responsible, just as I have nothing to do with what happened between you and your uncle."

"Then why do I feel that if my uncle or I finally do something about our union, you'd be all right with it?" you ask him curiously, "You wouldn't be upset and turn on my family if I leave and make a fool of you after so much?"

"Well…" he thinks about it for a moment, " I would feel a little humiliated? Yes. But to be honest, if I were him and I was seeing the woman I love marrying someone else… I would wish things in my favor and no matter what, I would take her away from here and marry her in a heartbeat."

"That is what you would do even for when we are already in these circumstances and everyone expects us to marry soon?"

Lord Cregan looks at you with a small amused smile and a somewhat questioning look.

"Are you trying to say that's what you would do, my princess?"

"I spoke in supposition, my Lord," you explain, "What if we were in other circumstances. As for instance that this wedding is happening against my will, with a person I do not wish to marry and where…. the person I love also loves me."

"Princess, it is improper what I will say and it is not gentlemanly of me, especially since I truly mean no disrespect—

"It's all right," you assure him again softly, "Speak freely, my Lord."

"Well… since you put it that way and apparently we're both on the same page… yes," he confesses with a soft look, "I would too."

You frown slightly.

"But I never said I—

"It doesn't need to be said and I know I don't know you too well, my princess. But I know you would too."

He smiles softly at you, as you watch him silently, saying absolutely nothing, thinking about his words.

"I have heard the stories of your mother and father. All of them have come to the North, very interesting stories and captivating to more than one, I must say. And knowing that same blood runs through your veins…I am already prepared for whatever you decide to do."

"I am already prepared for whatever you decide to do."

That repeats constantly in your mind, saying nothing for a few seconds as you continue to dance to the music and the specific choreography while Lord Stark follows your same step at all times, as do the other nobles around you.

But truly… what would you do?

Nothing. Just do your duty. And your duty is this.

Between you and Aemond there is nothing anymore. It's not as if at any moment you're going to run away with him, running away from your responsibilities, because you know he won't do anything and certainly you won't do anything either.

It's all said and done, he's getting married, you're getting married and what you once had, that love that existed is gone. And even though the stories of your mother and father still live on… you and Aemond are not like them.

Right?

"No need to worry about that, my Lord," you tell him as you both continue to dance, "You and I, that is what is happening now. He's betrothed too and there's nothing left of what we once was."

"I would not be so sure about that, princess."

You look at him confused.

"Why not?"

"I know the nature of the man. And knowing his father, Prince Daemon, a man who has my full admiration and respect, his nephew, Prince Aemond must be just like him. Besides, he would be a fool not to be acting now that the woman he loves is marrying someone else."

You deny with your head, understanding the point about your father, who also acted at one time with your mother at her wedding to your father Sr. Laenor, but he in the end did nothing about it.

And Aemond… is completely different.

Your father didn't break your mother's heart in the worst possible way, leaving her without explanation, much less just when both of them were already about to get married and have everything.

And about finally acting when the woman he loves is marrying someone else… it's something you don't fully understand.

"It's selfish, dont you think?"

"All men are selfish, I include myself. But the decision is always up to you, the woman I love and all women," he assures you with a soft smile, "Now…." he makes you both stop dancing, holding your hand delicately, " I will know your decision soon, princess. I'll be here waiting."

Confusion begins to overtake you, not understanding anything.

"What do you mean, my Lord?"

He does not answer you, on the contrary, he places his gaze over your shoulder, looking at something or someone specific, barely giving you time to react, because at that moment Aemond appears between the two of you, placing one of his hands on Lord Stark's shoulder.

"May I, Sr. Cregan?"

This immediately catches your attention, as Aemond keeps his attention on lord Stark, who watches you for a few seconds and then nods in his direction.

"Of course, my prince."

All the other people around you continue to dance, as lord Stark begins to walk away to disappear among all the people… and you watch Aemond without expression really, even more without understanding anything.

And when he looks at you, it's like reliving all those moments, all those moments where you both shared kisses, caresses and those promises of love, also all those moments when you were children.

However… he says nothing and simply places now his hand on your lower back to start guiding you towards the center of the Room, you walking too instantly, both of you making your way through all the people dancing.

Nerves invade you, especially because this is the first time you are in front of him after everything that happened, taking into account that you ignored his request about meeting on the island, although he has it more in mind than you.

But everything happens too fast.

You are completely oblivious to the looks that Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent are giving you both, while your mother and father don't seem annoyed like the previous ones mentioned, but rather curious and expectant.

While Aegon… he couldn't be having more fun with the moment, especially delighting in his little brother's audacity and his mother's and grandsire furious stares, especially his grandsire.

Aemond glances sideways towards the table, or towards his grandsire specifically, being very aware that he is being watched. But honestly he couldn't care less.

He's had enough. And he doesn't care that this isn't what they expected of him or that it will lead to serious consequences later, he doesn't care anymore… because he will finally make things right.

"This is what you want?"

Is the first thing he says to you once he has your attention in High Valyrian, both of you being surrounded by all the people dancing to the music, while he and you remain in the middle of it all, standing in front of each other, your attentions on each other.

And his question bothers you, because it is certainly not what you expected to hear from him after so many moons apart and in which he never once explained anything to you when you needed it most.

He simply questions you about your marriage, his serious look on you, while you answer him with the same attitude and manner.

"It's none of your concern what I want, uncle. It's not like you'll care either, just like I don't care what you have to say about my wedding either."

Uncle, not Aemond, just…uncle.

All your words anger him, instantly watching you with such intensity and with his jaw clenched, leaning more towards you with that defiant look.

Then you answer him in the same way, watching him with your chin up and your serious, determined look.

"The man from the North is a good and noble man who will drive you to boredom even before you both say your vows before the Seven, so tell me niece….. do you really think he deserves you?"

"Don't tell me, uncle. Now you're going to say you're the one who deserves me?"

Aemond clenches his jaw tighter.

"You didn't let me explain."

"It was too late for your explanations, don't you think?"

"I waited for you and you never came."

"Well, now you know what it feels like to be left without explanation," you tell him in a bitter, serious tone, "Not to mention that I had to hear the news of your new betrothal afterwards."

Aemond does not take his gaze away from you for a second, not even caring that you are in public and in the open view of other people, especially his family, because at that moment for him… it is only you.

And honestly… you don't care either.

You had been waiting for this moment, nothing feeling more than satisfying than paying back the man who supposedly loved you in the same way, making him feel what you felt.

"Perhaps you would understand why I did it if you would let me explain," he tells you serious.

"No," you tell him serious and annoyed, "Your explanations I needed to hear when you broke me and left me. Not now that you're finally acting when my wedding to another man who isn't you is happening."

He watches you completely serious and attentive, while you are being more than firm with your attitude and your words, even defiant.

"So if you will excuse me… I have to find my betrothed."

Putting the matter to an end, you turn around and start walking away from him, trying to make your way through all the people around dancing.

But it's barely three steps that you advance when Aemond stops you by the arm and makes you turn on your own axis to be face to face with him again.

And Gods… he is furious.

Again you watch him defiantly, more by the fact that he holds you by the waist and pulls you completely to him, bringing another of his hands to your cheek, preventing you from running away from him again, while you watch him seriously and in expectation of his next move.

But he's not mad at the fact that you won't let him explain himself, but at your words, your betrothed.

"First I'm going to burn everything to the ground before you have a chance to marry that fucking northern man," he warns you mumbling under his breath, their faces mere inches apart.

You try to pull away from him, but he only makes his grip on your waist tighter and his grip on your cheek tighter, watching your whole face, your precious face with possession and desire, watching your lips between parted as your gaze also watches his, reprimanding yourself.

"Let me go. People are watching us."

"Then let them see," he says without a care in the world, his gaze possessive and dominant, "Let them see who you truly belong to."

You press your lips together, upset.

"You are so selfish."

"When it comes to you…you don't have a fucking idea. And I'm not going to let you go."

At that moment, both of them are indeed getting attention, but not from the noble people, but from their families.

Otto Hightower clenches his hands into fists and squeezes them tightly with a deathly stare, while Queen Alicent watches the scene in disbelief, not having the slightest idea how to fix her son's behavior.

But Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon... are only anticipating what will come next.

"If you don't let go of me I'm going to scream," you warn him between your teeth.

But at this, Aemond can only smile with a certain self-centeredness and satisfaction, as well as looking amused.

"Oh I would like to see you try, my love."

And then the next thing he does is to take you firmly by the arm and start dragging you towards the exit of the Throne Room, unnoticed among all the people dancing, while you try to put up resistance in an instant but with Aemond's strength it's impossible.

You think about screaming, as you told him you would, but causing a scandal would only be worse, so you let him lead you, who with quick steps makes sure no one follows and takes you away from all that absurd and boring feast.

But once you both leave the Room, that's when you can finally stop him and confront him.

"What are you doing!?"

"I want to explain," he insists serious.

"No!" you exclaim in annoyance, "I don't want you to explain anything! Can't you see that I can't leave my own feast? What is my betrothed going to think? And your betrothed too!?"

"I don't give a shit about your feast, your betrothed and my betrothed, now come," he says as he again puts pressure on your arm to continue to lead you away.

But you put up a resistance again.

"No! Let go of me, Aemond!"

"Don't make me repeat myself again, Y/N."

"This isn't fair!"

"Nothing is. Now stop resisting and walk," he tells you disinterested.

"You're so fucking selfish! You don't even have any idea what you really put me through and now you want to ruin my wedding because since you don't care, you think I must not care too!"

Aemond, starting to lose his patience, sighs and has no choice but to, without waiting for you, grab you and place you on his shoulder like a sack to start walking quickly away from there without further inconvenience.

"Aemond!" you exclaim in surprise and in horror.

"Are you going to behave now?"

"Put me down! Put me down this instant!"

"I don't want to."

"I have to go back! We're going to get in trouble because of you!"

"Too bad."

So the only smart thing you can think of at that moment is to keep complaining and trying to hurt him with your not so convincing closed fist punches, neither is squirming and making his job of carrying you difficult and unbearable, because simply nothing worked.

With your protests being further and further away from the Throne Room, with no one coming to your rescue, though if so they wouldn't stand a chance against Prince Aemond, he finally puts you on the ground as you enter one of the many balconies of the Keep.

"Seven fucking Hells, will you stop yelling already?"

"And what did you expect? You're taking me away from my own wedding!" you exclaim in anger.

"It's not your wedding Y/N!" he exclaims to you again serious and annoyed, "Do you really think I'm going to let you marry that fucking Stark?"

"And what about your betrothed?" you inquire instantly, incredulous, "You don't know that you can get us in trouble for this? Spare us the embarrassment, Aemond. My father must be looking for me by now and he'll put your head on a spike if he finds us."

"I don't care if your father finds us, neither does my grandsire, my mother or your betrothed," he tells you with a certain mocking, serious tone. "I don't care about any of this, Y/N. And I certainly don't care about my fucking betrothed because I'm not marrying her."

A smile and a disbelieving, absurd laugh escapes your lips, shaking your head.

"Yes, of course."

But the look Aemond gives you at that moment is a terribly honest and serious one in which he shows he's not in jest.

"I'm serious."

"Well, tell that to your grandsire," you tell him in a bitter tone, "I'm sure he'll kill you first before my father if you don't do what he or your mother tells you."

He lets out a long sigh, tearing his gaze away from yours for a moment, running one of his hands across his chin.

"Y/N—

"Why are you doing this?" you interrupt him seriously, annoyed, your skin burning and all the discomfort coursing through your body, "Why now that I am about to marry Lord Cregan? Why not before when you left me with no explanation and crying for you with the thought of your soon to be wedding to Lady Baratheon?"

"Nothing I did to you was my intention, Y/N," he implores you, earnest and honest, "Nothing was my choice, I never meant to end our betrothal."

"Then why?" you spit at him, "Is it that you don't want to see me marry someone else but I'm not going to marry you either?"

"Because the war will soon be upon us," he tells you in an instant, serious and seriously needing at that moment to explain himself, not wanting you to hate him more by listening to his reasons, "We all know that my father may die at any moment. And when that happens… the war between our families will begin."

You frown, shaking your head slightly.

"Now what are you talking about?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about," he says taking a few more steps towards you, "Your mother is the Heir, we know that, but still… she is a woman and she will have a lot of people against her by the time comes."

"Many people or your mother and grandsire specifically?" you ask him expectantly.

Aemond lets out a long breath.

"Aegon is the first born son, everyone will expect him to be the next King."

"Aegon is a fucking drunk who doesn't even care about the Throne, Aemond!"

You exclaim absurdly to him, sick of this.

"He has said countless times that he is not interested in the crown and does not want to rule, but it is your grandsire who keeps insisting and wanting to take total control of everything on his own whim and for his own ambition, denigrating my mother knowing very well that my grandsire has named her Heir and has never, not even consciously, said that he wishes Aegon to succeed him! " you tell him incredulously, "And not only him, your mother is also against mine, letting herself be led by everything your grandsire tells her."

"And what is going to happen when your mother sits on the Throne, hmm?" he inquires you as well, "She can order to kill me and all my family because of the pressure of the people by having not only one, but three sons of the King, where none succeeded the crown."

All the confusion invades your face instantly, staring at him in disbelief and as if you can't believe it for even him, Aemond Targaryen, being the intelligent man he is, to think such a thing, about to retort but he continues to speak.

"Do you really think that even so if we had married, your family and I would begin to get along?"

He inquires you, incredulously and your breath catches.

"It's not that I don't want to Y/N, it's that I can't. What kind of sister cares more about some supposed lies to a maimed eye? If she had no sympathy for me at the time, less will she have for when the people reveal themselves against her and she wants to secure her Throne."

"Seven Hells," you mutter incredulously.

"I know Aegon isn't cut out to rule, but at least with him on the Throne he secures my life, Helaena's, Daeron's and my niece and nephew's."

"So is the idea of me and my entire family being killed better?" you ask him bitterly, "All this nonsense is what your grandsire and mother have been telling you all this time? Turning you, my uncles and my aunt against your own sister? Don't you realize how sick with ambition and power that is? Is this why you canceled our betrothal?"

You don't need to hear the answer to that, you already know it. But he only confirms it when he doesn't say anything to you and with a sorrowful look, looks away from you for a moment, to which you don't know whether to laugh or cry.

You honestly can't believe it.

You knew that Otto Hightower hates your entire family but not with such fervor to the point of interfering in his own grandson's life, not giving him the chance to truly marry for love.

And destroying his thoughts about you and your mother for his own ideologies and for his own lust for power to put Aegon on the Throne.

Otto is even capable of turning all the common people against your mother out of envy, not only being enough to marry his only daughter to the king, taking advantage of the pain of others and securing his position even more.

You truly hate that man and also Alicent Hightower for letting himself get led and turn his children against his own sister with lies, being that she once loved your mother and yet was led by her father to hate her simply because of her freedom to be princess and being named by the king the Heir to the Throne.

"My mother has never, not even when she was named Heir and Aegon was born, thought in such a way about you."

You make it clear to her in a serious and more than offended voice.

"All she has wanted has been, even since you and I were children, to keep the peace between our families, even proposing to marry Jace to Hel and give you a dragon egg to you, but your mother turned her down at every opportunity because of your grandsire disgusting ideas."

You tell him annoyed, serious.

"She couldn't even recently stand the thought of marrying you to me, blinded by hatred and feeding you too that same hatred to hate her. And I understand what happened years ago, I understand that my mother is not to your liking, but she truly regrets having acted as she did in understanding your mother's position, she being the first to support us with our betrothal," you remind him in a bitter tone.

Aemond watches you completely attentively, without saying anything, with his lips pressed together.

"So tell me Aemond…. if she really plans to kill you and your entire family, then why would she go to the effort of uniting our families and supporting our betrothal?" you inquire, "Do you think it's all a strategy? Because I assure you that my mother with all she has to deal with in Court, being judged at every turn for being a woman, especially by your grandsire, would not waste herself with all those attempts to ultimately become a kinslayer."

And then… Aemond feels as if a huge weight has fallen on his stomach, leaving him for a moment without air.

He continues to watch you with a expressionless gaze, when inside he is thinking completely about your words, while you watch him firmly for your words, knowing perfectly well that you are right.

And that's the truth, Aemond also thinks you are right.

Kinslayer.

A sin.

A word and an action that makes you a disgrace to the entire Targaryen dynasty. A curse to your name and in which you will be remembered forever, as Visenya Targaryen was once called, though this is only a supposition.

But this word Aemond knows really well, as do you from the stories. And considering your mother's position and the one who will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, you know that your mother could never be called that if she is truly committed to her reign.

And she is, you know your mother really is and Aemond knows it too, despite how much that makes him furious, but for his grandsire and his mother's ideas, reminding him that then Lucerys inherits all of Driftmark and he... inherits nothing.

Or at least, now he inherits nothing.

For had he married you, you being the second born daughter of the Heir, Dragonstone is your castle and that would have been home to both of you.

Aemond considers that Rhaenyra can probably have them killed… accidentally as well.

But you… seeing you now in front of him after so many moons apart and after all that happened, he still trusts you and really believes in what you have told him.

What purpose would Rhaenyra really have had in marrying her daughter to her half-brother and then killing him? It doesn't make any sense.

And just as every mother cares for the happiness of her children, Aemond knows he was your happiness and your mother would never do that to you. And you… seeing that he says absolutely nothing to you, you can only watch him with a somewhat satisfied look, nodding slightly in his direction.

"That's what I thought," you mutter to him without much emotion.

And the next thing you do, you turn away from him and start heading towards the balcony exit to return to your feast, leaving him behind, assuming you've already said everything you wanted to say to each other. But again Aemond doesn't let you go so easily and stops you.

"I want to wed you."

And to your bad luck, you really can't put up any resistance and turn to him again, with a bitter look on your face and feeling again what it might have been when you heard his words.

"You were already going to wed me, remember?"

"All right, you're right,' he tells you serious, letting out a long sigh, "I should not have done what I did to you, I should not have listened to my grandsire words, nor should I have accepted my betrothal to the daughter of Lord Borros."

"It is too late now, Aemond."

"I'm not marrying her, Y/N."

"Oh and you're seriously going to go against your grandsire?" you inquire not really believing it.

"I don't fucking care about my grandsire, Y/N!" he insists annoyed, quickly heading towards you, "He can fuck himself as well as his alliance with Lord Borros, I really don't care about him and neither do I care about my mother. All I want, all I've ever wanted… is you."

You snort, turning your gaze away from him for a moment, to again stare at him incredulously.

"And what is going to happen when the King dies?"

You ask, expectantly.

"Now you know that my mother has never thought nor will she ever harm you, your brothers, let alone Hel or her children, besides she is the true Heir… who assures me that the first thing you will do is support the right side and not support the idea of usurping my mother?" you question him, "Do you think I want you and I to live at war too? That we will eventually start hating each other by supporting two different sides?

"And what do you want me to do, Y/N?" he asks you in the same way, "I understand about my brothers and Helaena, but who assures me that your mother won't go for mine's head? She is my mother after all, I can't leave her alone."

"She won't do anything to your mother, Aemond!" you exclaim in exasperation, "The two of them loved each other as children, my mother hasn't forgotten how much she held her in high esteem in spite of everything and you think she would dare to hurt her? Think Aemond and forget everything your grandsire has told you!" you exclaim, "It is your grandsire who is doing all this, separating us, creating rivalry and hatred, it is for him that my mother will go if he does something against her, not for anyone else."

You make it more than clear to him while Aemond says nothing for a few seconds, watching and listening to you attentively, to which you continue to watch him without understanding, to then let out a long sigh and deny with your head.

"Still none of this matters, I have to go back," you tell him without much emotion to resume your way.

But again Aemond reacts and stops you by taking you firmly by the arm as he turns you towards him and holds you by the waist.

He pulls you completely towards him, while he places another of his hands on your cheek and brings his face dangerously close to yours, surprising you by such closeness and stealing your breath.

"Aemond," you say in a whisper.

You show him that this is wrong, but he doesn't mind at all, on the contrary, he brings his face closer to yours.

His breath hits your face, watching you again with that possession and that desire, completely attentive to your face, your beautiful face, while you don't understand anything but you know that if you try to pull away, he won't let you.

Although again you feel all that you used to feel before when he was courting you, realizing that you have never really stopped feeling this way for him, scaring you and making you feel disappointed because again… you must do your duty and so must he.

However, you can't help but feel really desired by him, just like before, all these thoughts invading you as you want to be his, just as you also want him to be yours, watching his face and lips intently unconsciously, unable to resist.

But this is wrong, completely wrong.

"What do I have to do, Issa jorrāelagon, to put all this behind so that you will agree to marry me?"

He murmurs more than willing on your lips, not letting go of you for a second, not willing to let go of you for a second, being terribly honest with you, this immediately catching your attention and again stealing your breath.

But it's not just his words, it's him, everything about him.

His face, his figure, his grip on you, so fucking alluring and attractive, which is what you hate but at the same time is also your weakness of him.

And despite that, despite the fact that even though you don't want to, you're slowly giving in to him, yet you still have some willpower and you don't just think about yourself, you can still think about the other people there at the feast.

"I-I can't," you look at him sadly, "Cregan Sta—

"Y/N."

He stops you making your grip on your waist tighter and his gaze more determined, really not wanting you to talk about him and wanting you to focus right now, on you,

"Just tell me what I have to do and so I will do it. Just tell me."

He insists and you… hesitate.

You haven't the slightest idea what to do.

"If I were him and I was watching the woman I love marrying someone else… I would wish things in my favor and no matter what, I would take her away from here and marry her in a heartbeat."

You remember Lord Cregan's words, as you continue to watch Aemond in front of you intently.

"I am already prepared for whatever you choose to do."

"All men are selfish, I include myself. But the decision is always up to you, the woman I love and all women."

"I will know your decision soon, princess. I will be here waiting."

Basically Lord Cregan Stark… was understanding with you and will already be prepared… if you choose this.

If you choose Aemond too, in the same way he has already chosen you over his family and his betrothed.

Then you think of your family, your mother and father, who will probably be very disappointed in you if you do not return and marry Lord Cregan, losing a great and important alliance with the man who owns the whole North.

But you remember what your mother was willing to do many years ago, when she was in the same position as you are now with Aemond, who completely forgot about the alliance and thought of her, her happiness, by asking the man she really loves to steal her away and take her to Dragonstone to marry her.

Now, knowing the history of your ancestors, how some of them chose love over duty, why shouldn't you do the same?

"Let my mother know what your grandsire is planning, avoid war," you tell him finally, "Kneel to her and swear your sword to her if you truly love me and if you wish me to marry you now."

In other circumstances, Aemond would have thought you are asking too much of him, but now that you both already know the truth, you his and he your mother's through you, he understands your point and thinks it is fair.

And if this is what he has to do so that you are finally his and he can finally call you his wife, which is all he has ever wanted, then so he will.

"Anything else?"

He gently caresses your cheek with his thumb and you, knowing with that his response, knowing that this is what he will do, finally stop feeling tense and let yourself be completely led by him, leaning into his body and his touch, feeling how slowly that weight on your shoulders disappears.

Just as you also Aemond feels that guilt stop invading him and finally now that he has you, he feels safe, loved and at peace.

"Promise me you won't break my heart again," you murmur against his lips.

Aemond gently shakes his head, leaning down to leave soft kisses on your cheek, starting a little trail, making you let out a sigh and place your arms around his torso, finally feeling you too at peace, having really missed this.

"Never again," he finally murmurs in your ear, sending shivers throughout your body and sounding like a promise.

Everyone in the Throne Room begins to look uneasy when one of your guards that your mother sent to look for you returns and whispers in his and your father's ears that you have disappeared.

Immediately Princess Rhaenyra glances at Queen Alicent, who is already watching her and instantly understands what is happening, turning quickly to her father with an alarmed and worried face as they and in fact everyone at the table also notice the absence of Prince Aemond.

The fact of this news does not really go unnoticed as your father immediately orders his entire guard to search for you throughout the Keep, at the same time Otto Hightower also orders them to find his grandson.

Your brothers and sisters, as well as your mother have an idea of who you are with, considering he too is nowhere to be found.

While Princess Helaena in the center of the Room begins to hear the murmurs of all the nobles, especially the ladys as they watch the entire royal family curiously, wondering if the bride has disappeared, also watching Cregan Stark out of the corner of their eyes.

Cregan Stark also watches everyone around him curiously, as the news begins to spread quickly throughout the Room, earning the sorrowful glances of all the lords.

And when Cregan finally understands what is going on, just as he had told Princess Y/N, he was already prepared and immediately turns to look at Lady Alysanne, who looks at him in surprise and disbelief.

Prince Aegon continues to drink wine completely amused by the whole situation, really feeling proud of his brother, delighting in his grandsire's behavior and reaction.

Princess Rhaenyra rises from her seat and looks with her bewildered gaze at her husband, who watches her seriously but at the same time with a certain resignation.

"I told you this would happen," he tells her as everything continues to be chaos in the Room.

"Shall we go to them?"

Prince Daemon lets out a long breath, clutching Dark Sister's pommel that hangs at his hip.

"She and especially he better have a good excuse."

Your mother and father get the idea and are sure that's what you and Aemond are doing now and Alicent and Otto Hightower as well, feeling horrified at the idea compared to your parents.

But before Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra set off, it is first the duty of both of them to bring order to the Throne Room and talk to Lord Stark, who doesn't really look bothered by anything, before going to find you and Aemond.

When the news that Otto didn't want to hear, reaches his ears, and that is that your dragon Silverwing has left DragonPit and they also saw Vhagar flying away in the skies some time ago.

Meanwhile in Dragonstone… considering Kings Landing is not far away and it's quick dragonback travel, you and Aemond are finally joining blood.

All the emotion comes over you, really everything being in favor of both of you calling a Septon who has been at your family's disposal all the time you have lived in Dragonstone, who agreed to perform the ceremony, while the maidservants brought you both the clothes your mother and father wore when they also had their Valyrian wedding.

And now being here with Aemond, it's really happening.

He holds Dragonglass in his hand as the Septon begins to recite the correct words in Valyrian, about to join his blood with yours, being just as excited as you are, but dissimulating a little more.

"Hen lantoti ānogar"

Blood of two

"Va sȳndroti vāedroma"

Joined as one

Aemond directs the blade to your lips to slightly cut your bottom lip, then you also do the same with him and so then both of you bring your thumb to the bleeding part and place blood on each other's foreheads.

"Mēro perzot gīhoti."

Ghostly flame

"Elēdroma iārza sīr."

And song of shadows

"Izulī ampā perzī."

Two hearts as embers

Then you both cut the palm of one of your hands with the blade, and then join the two cut hands so that the blood begins to drip and fall into the chalice in the middle of both of you.

All the while you watch with a small smile on your lips, really not believing that this is finally happening, while Aemond watches you with adoration in his eyes, with a barely visible small smile on his lips.

"Prūmī lanti sēteksi."

Forged in fourteen fires

"Hen jenȳ māzīlarion."

A future promised in glass

Once the chalice is considerably full, both drink from each other's blood, as is the tradition of Old Valyria.

"Qēnlossa ozūndessi."

The stars stand as witness

"Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo."

The vow spoken through time

"Rȳ kīva mazvestraksi."

Of darkness and light

And finally you both permanently seal your wedding and your love with a kiss, finally being husband and wife.

After that, you lead your now husband to your chamber, where as soon as Aemond closes the door behind him, you perfectly understand that look on his face, one of complete desire and in which you barely have time to react as he pulls you to him with force and kisses you with need.

If you didn't feel the same way he does, you would have asked him to slow down… but you are just as desperate and completely crave his touch, to feel him, to become one.

"I'm not going to let you rest, ābrazȳrys. Not now that I finally have you," he promises you in the midst of kissing, beginning to remove your clothes.

"Nyke jaelagon ao, valzȳrys," you murmur against his lips.

I want you, husband.

And Aemond completely delights in your word, husband… being everything he wanted to hear you say to him.

He again devours your lips like a man possessed, not having enough, needing more, not believing he will stop anytime soon, not caring that the whole castle hears your moans, wanting to hear you say his name, just his name, all the time.

Soon both of you are already in your bed, you completely naked, while Aemond just needs to take off his pants, the sight of his naked torso turning you completely delighted, his worked body being another of your weaknesses.

You begin to moan and sigh as Aemond begins to bite and suck on your nipples, completely kneading your breasts with both hands, his two large hands in firm, possessive motions.

You breathe fast, feeling the pleasure invade you, needing more, as well as your juices beginning to drip between your legs.

"Aemond," you gasp, pulling his face closer to your chest.

"Does it feel good?" he asks you in a whisper, licking your flesh, making you moan louder.

"Yes, yes, it feels so good."

Aemond smiles against your skin, then descends one of his hands, spreading your legs wider and touching your most sensitive part, your entire nerve core with his fingers. You arch and moan in complete arousal, as he strokes you up and down being easier for him because of your wet folds.

"Fuck," he murmurs, biting your breasts.

"Aemond!" you moan.

He pulls his face away from your breasts and focuses on your face never ceasing to skillfully move his fingers, delighting even more in your expressions and your lovely face, as he feels his entire manhood hard and in need of attention.

"What? You need me to prepare you properly, my wife?"

"Yes," you gasp, "Yes, please," you look at him pleadingly.

"What exactly do you need, princess?"

"Aemond," you sigh, your whole face contorted in pleasure.

"Do you need this?"

His middle finger enters you, making you sigh and gasp harder, pulling Aemond closer to you.

"Yes, yes, I need it so much," you say as best you can.

Aemond smirks again, kissing your lips, silencing your sounds for a moment, continuing to move his finger in the ideal way inside you, making you sigh, gasp and moan just as he needs.

"You look so pretty like this," he murmurs against your lips.

Without warning, he adds a second finger, which makes you squirm and begin to wiggle your hips against his hand, needing more, as Aemond kisses and marks the skin of your neck, bringing his other hand to one of your breasts, squeezing it and making you gasp more.

"You're going to feel so good around my cock, my beautiful wife," he murmurs in your ear.

Aemond in his fantasies has always wanted to taste you, just as he has always wanted to know how it would feel to have your lips around him, how pretty you would look, completely at his disposal, wanting to make him happy in just the same way he wants to make you happy.

But now… he really doesn't want to wait any longer. He needs to be inside you, now.

Considering you'll have more nights like this, everything he wants to do to you can wait, so without further ado he pulls away and stops touching you, instantly getting your attention, but you watch as he quickly gets rid of his shoes and pants, needing to free himself.

And when you see it, excitement and terror run through you at the same time.

You don't know if he will fully enter you, his size really scaring you, as Aemond watches your reaction completely proud of himself, leaning back into you as he makes his way between your legs.

"I need this, so much," he murmurs against your lips, kissing you, as with one of his hands he strokes himself.

"Take me, husband," you ask gasping, "Take me now."

Then Aemond's gaze turns dark and utterly possessive.

"You are mine, aren't you?"

"I am yours. Completely yours."

"You want me to fill you with my seed? Do you need it as much as I do?"

"Yes, yes, I need it, please," you ask, "Do it, Issa jorrāelagon."

Aemond doesn't need to listen anymore, he places his manhood at your entrance and slowly begins to thrust, while you press your lips together to avoid screaming too loudly and close your eyes tightly, feeling him open you completely as a pain and burning that is not at all pleasant washes over you.

"Shh, shh, my sweet wife," Aemond quickly comforts you, hugging and kissing you gently, stopping himself, "It's all right, all right. Tell me when I can move."

"It hurts," you murmur back, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

"I know, I know, it just happens at first, then it will feel good, I promise," he assures you softly to then kiss you again, taking all the time he needs with you, really not wanting to hurt you.

He distracts you by again caressing you, either touching your breasts, licking your nipples and also bringing one of his hands back to your nerve core, making you feel again the pleasure of before, without him moving inside you even an inch, waiting for you to get used to it.

When without realizing it, you again begin to moan and pleasure begins to run through your body, not even when Aemond cautiously begins to move inside you again, until all of him is inside.

That same pain and discomfort returns, but to a lesser extent. And when Aemond begins to gently move back and forth, you sigh and let your head fall back, finally feeling good.

At that, Aemond begins to take more confidence and moves his hips faster, each thrust being a wave of pleasure, causing you to cling completely to him and sigh between his face and neck.

"You like it just like that, my love?"

"Yes, Aemond, just like that," you murmur in his ear, delighted.

"Can I go faster?" he asks you in a growl.

"Yes, yes, it's all right."

Then Aemond adopts a new motion, faster and deeper this time, making you moan loudly again as he grunts and delights in each thrust, feeling you clench around him and your juices filling him completely making the penetration faster.

He holds you by the waist and penetrates you faster, bringing his mouth to your breasts again, marking all over your skin, never stopping moving, as you feel something start to grow inside you and need to be released.

Just like what he is feeling too.

That one night he doesn't just spill his seed inside you once, he does it more times, in different positions, as you both touch and caress each other, seeming like you can't get enough, Aemond telling you in your ear over and over again how much he loves you.

Until eventually you both finish and the next morning, you feel a satisfied tingle between your legs, as Aemond for the first time after a long time, feels good about himself, needing no more as he holds you in his arms, both of you still naked and resting from the intense and long night you shared.

You both wake up fully and prepare for the day, both knowing very well that you both have to go back to Kings Landing to face the consequences of your actions. But now that you're both married, neither you nor he really cares much, as long as you're together.

You finish breakfast, everything still feeling like a dream, a dream you really don't want to wake up from, when you hear the roar of dragons in the sky.

You immediately exchange a glance with Aemond, as the two of you watch through your windows and your mother's golden dragon along with your father's red dragon make themselves seen on the island.

You both knew this would happen, so you were already prepared, and truly not wanting to argue because everything is already done, they both leave the chamber and head out to greet your mother and father, the two of them mentioned ready to demand an explanation.

But before Prince Daemon explodes in anger at his nephew, the words and his action are completely forgotten when your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, watches as her half-brother takes his sword and kneels before her.

taglist:

@strangersunghoon @anehkael @toodlesxcuddles @yourdaydreamerfan @prettykinkysoul @kyo-kxuiote @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @mrs-sullys-blog @pineapplechuncks @bellstwd @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @solacestyles @animequeen454

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

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bluerosefox · 4 months

Text

The Drakes

It's been years since the Bats had seen Red Robin much less Tim Drake-Wayne. It started with a rather dumb argument that after years of holding back his tongue and the stress of being a TEENAGE CEO that Tim finally ripped into them.

They were too stunned by the end of his speech, him also admitting that yes he has his own problems and mistakes but at least he's trying to make amends or get over himself unlike others. It was their prolonged silence that was the final straw for him it seemed though, because Tim finally announced he was done, he was done bleeding for those that kept him on the edge of the family and that he wanted to rest, and with that Tim turned and left the Batcave for the final time.

They of course didn't take Tim's retirement announcement seriously, after all Tim was the last person other than Bruce they all believed would ever leave the life of a vigilante and a hero behind, and they all knew Bruce would keep working on the 'mission' even as a frail old man. It took them a few weeks before one of them finally decided to go see Tim and try to... talk about everything he said.

Only when they reached Tim's Nest, they discovered it was empty and he was no where to be found did they realize he was serious. It was a quick call to Wayne Enterprises to see if he was in and Tam no doubt holding back her sharp response to them that she told them that Tim had stepped down from CEO weeks ago and hasn't been heard from since. The one who went to see Tim immediately called the others, which sent many of them onto goose chase of false leads, arguments, and pointing blame.

Despite looking for their long lost Red Robin, he was good at hiding his tracks and any who might have an idea where he could be weren't talking.

So yeah it's been a while since the Bats had heard any news relating to their lost bird.

So imagine their surprise when Ra's latest attempt to upset the balance in their family again (did he want Damian to return as his heir? Take control over Gotham in the shadow? Upset Bruce? None of them honestly knew what his plan was anymore. Same old song and dance) and having captured them all that he brought up Tim to them. Or rather "shame the Detective is going to be late, but I'm sure his little family shall inform of things once he gets here."

None of them were expecting for Ra's to look away from them and with a snap of his fingers, three assassins brought forth into the room two others. One was being dragged by two assassins, black hair, pale skin, and lean swimmers build of a body. He looked roughly around the age Tim would be. He was placed on the floor right by Ra's boots, arms and legs tied up, clearly but alarmingly breathing low and slow from the raise and fall of their chest. He wore a simple T-shirt but had dark jacket that was covered in stars, NASA logos, and other galaxy themed patches all over it, his dark jeans also held some star patches but also held everyday stains from being outside in the grass and other normal day to day thing. All in all this person seems like a normal civilian individual and none of the Bats knew why Ra's had taken him.

The other assassin that had walked into the room was holding a toddler, a girl from the little pigtails on her messy head indicated. Her hair was just as dark as the passed out male by Ra's and her skin was shade healthier than him. She wore grass stained and messy paints caked overalls with a plan shirt under it and two different kinds of kids shoes (one was a green with dinosaurs and the other blue with little stars). She, unlike the young man on the floor, was awake and was looking around the room while sucking her thumb in clear distress, she also used her free hand that wasn't in her mouth to push the assassin holding onto her away from her as far as she could and was squirming her tiny legs enough to kick their sides. Thankfully the assassin didn't look too hostile or upset meaning she wasn't doing to much damage or being too annoying.

"What a lovely family the Timothy has gained for himself don't you think? I will admit Daniel put up a rather interesting fight, it was only due to us having the element of surprise that we managed to take him down and his little Eleanor has his fighting spirit it seems." Ra's said as he slowly reached over to the toddler to lightly fiddle (just to unnerve them as well) with her hair. However the moment he touched her hair, the little girl's eyes flashed from frosty blue to neon bright green and she had spat her thumb out of her mouth in order to hiss like a cat at him, her little feet kicking hard enough to cause a small 'oomph' from the one holding her.

Ra's gave an amused chuckle as he stared at the toddler in fascination before also casting his gaze down at the passed out young man, remembering the way his eyes also had flashed from blue to green and the amount of power he had saw bubble to the surface when they had ambushed the two in their home. As Ra's said before, if they hadn't had the element of surprise on their side when they went after Timothy's little family it wouldn't had worked. No doubt little Eleanor Drake was a hint of power Daniel Drake held.

Ra's turned to look at the Bats, and could clearly see the emotions on their faces which amused Ra's deeply, and couldn't help but say "Although I wasn't expecting him to marry a being with pure Lazarus blood flowing in their veins. Quite a interesting discovery that was. And that his offspring seemed to carry it also from birth. What lovely and priceless boons he has granted the League to have once he joins us."

Ra's could clearly see the questioning, fear (for the family in his clutches), confusion, and disbelief on the Bats faces and knew it would be so entertaining to watch the little.. family reunion he had set into motion.

He was so amused watching Batman the others he never noticed the light twitch on Daniel's face or the shifting breathing pattern. When he would later check to see of the large amount of tranquilizers they had given Daniel was still in-effect he was none the wiser that it had already wore off and that Danny was merely bidding his time for a opening.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #crossover #blue rambles #writing ideas #random idea #danny phantom dc #dpxdc #Tim and Danny had meet when they were 13 and 14 #they meet during Tim's training in Paris when becoming Robin and Danny had wanted some time alone to think after beating his future evilsel #Danny had flown far to clear his head and didnt notice he was in Paris until he ran into Tim and Tim tried talking French to him #they did become friends #because this is during then time Bruce wasnt... ok. Tim wasnt willing to tell him he made a ghosty friend #thus kept Danny his little secret #Danny was the person Tim talked to about everything #well almost. He didnt wanna burden his friend during the time Kon and Bart died or when Batman was thought to be dead too #Danny had felt hurt during that tbh and bit did strain their friendship for a bit but they talked about it.#Danny likes talking to Tim because he gets it #he gets and understands the stress of being a teen hero with so much responsibility #understands the worry and stress that his friends or Jazz dont get #Tim was the one that helped Danny understand that despite his parents loving him. that their work should never ever come first #Eleanor is Danielle btw #she had destabilized a few years ago #and only thanks to CW Frostbite and Tim's help they managed to save what they could of her #meaning she had to be deaged with Tim's human DNA to stabilizes her halfa genes #Tim is not going to be a happy when he storms Ra's little base btw #not at all #and neither is Danny tbh #brain dead

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randombush3 · 28 days

Text

too sweet

alexia putellas x reader

it's based on the hozier song and i just got bored during my break

icl this might not make sense x

[...]

You aren’t sure how you ended up here.

There was a path, there was a brick lane painted yellow and filled with singing and dancing, and, what? Did you spiral off it? Were you the hurricane, were you the destroyer?

Maybe you are The Destroyed.

It’s too late to think about it.

Not because you are past repair, but because it really is late – later than usual.

The door has been locked twice, meaning Alexia has given in and gone to bed. “Fuck,” you swear as your keys clatter to the floor, typical for you to be the one to break the peaceful silence. A rustle comes from the bedroom; a sigh, a muffled sob. “Ale?”

And it’s instinctive, the way you run to her. Once upon a time, that was all you ever did, back when you played, back when the path was good and smooth and clear.

Alexia doesn’t want to see you. She hates the smell of whiskey, she hates the gruffness of your voice. There comes a point where a person can no longer bear it. No matter how much love she wraps around you, weaving the thinning strings together to form a rope and begging you to let her pull you up from this, there comes a point where Alexia, perhaps blinded too much by her love, is destroying herself just so that you don’t go down alone.

She’s tired.

When you arrive at the bedroom door, she has turned over, the duvet slightly too cold and the bed slightly too empty. “Ale, are you awake?” you ask, drunken foolishness clouding your sense as the lump under the covers does not respond, does not feel she can. “Baby?”

The bed doesn’t look inviting, and you feel unwelcome.

You roll your shoulders back.

“Alexia, don’t pretend.”

The silence is haunting and you try to escape it as soon as possible, letting out a viscous laugh, directing it towards her back. The noise slashes welts in her skin, your tongue a whip, you her mistress and she, your slave. Alexia closes her eyes.

An alarm rings through the apartment. The sun is not quite up, so it would be dark if you hadn’t been staring at the soft glow of the lamp beside the TV for the past hour.

The screen isn’t on.

You don’t quite feel escaping this life just yet.

“Bon dia.” Soft feet pad into the kitchen, face washed, training kit pulled on. Her nose wrinkles as the bitterness of coffee hurtles towards her, and she doesn’t make an effort to conceal her frown at the empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside you. “Are you planning to get some rest?”

“Are you making coffee?”

“I read a study that says it negatively affects performance.”

“Are you making me a coffee?” you amend with a smirk, sitting up and staring her down. Through the redness of your eyes shines what first attracted her to you, the devilish spark, the clearly set out intention of doing something stupid.

She watches you haul yourself up, staggering towards her. Your hands are cold and clammy, but their grip on her waist feels just as good as it always does. She leans back into you.

“The sun’s not up yet but Alexia Putellas is ready to train,” you murmur into her ear, kissing the skin of her neck as though to soothe where the dig must have sliced her. “No journalist tracks your morning routine, baby. You could’ve stayed in bed a bit longer, let yourself wake up later. Don’t you ever wanna?”

Her body relaxes, choosing to hear your voice but not what you are saying. She lets herself fall into the pit you rot in; your most frequent visitor. “I am drunk on life,” she replies with a forgiving smile.

You step back, Alexia stumbling with you, having been leaning on your body.

“I’m not drunk.” It is far from a new lie. “Have fun at training,” you grit out. She sees the back of you as you lurch towards the bedroom door. Her tears try to fall, but she wipes her face with her knuckles and collects herself before she heads out into the real world. Her home feels like a dungeon, but one that is not meant for her.

The girls undergo the usual ritual of asking after you. Your retirement was forced, but they all saw it coming.

You were not sculpted from the same heroic marble, withstanding heat and terror. Nothing about you fit into training regimes and early mornings, sweetened energy drinks on promotion, discipline and determination. You got by on talent, rough and raw, and listening to your beloved prison warden on occasion.

If Alexia is the Greek hero, you were, perhaps, the weapon she used. Deadly, yes. Sought-after. But, if dropped, clattering towards the ground lifelessly.

She crouches down to pick you up, but your metal burns so hot that she is not sure she can touch you.

When Alexia comes home, you are asleep. She opens the windows, self-consciously airing out the stench of alcohol before a few of her teammates come over for dinner, and she cleans the stickiness from the worktops. She lights a candle. She wishes it were an altar, a conduit to her saviour, and she prays, for a moment, that this will end soon.

When she opens her eyes, she realises the only saviour she has been thinking of has been you.

She crawls into the bed beside you.

You stir at the feeling of fingers combing through your hair.

Alexia is as bright as the morning sun, blazing above Barcelona. She is untouchable.

The distance that has grown between you has grown because she is the zenith and you are the nadir. It is just too far to overcome.

You are real. You suffer, you cry, you poison yourself and enjoy it. You like how you live, you like how free you are.

Alexia’s gentle rousing – but rousing, nonetheless – sends you tumbling past your limit.

This is not how she wants you to be, but you cannot be something you are not.

“You’re too sweet for me.”

She hears the rejection, but she shakes her head.

“No, no,” she whispers desperately, pleading for it to not mean what it does, begging you to swallow it back inside. “No, I’m not. Remember?”

She means her ACL, she means the venomous arguments and the early days where you’d watch her carefully as she inhaled your second-hand smoke. She means now, where she lets you live the way you do because she understands how life works and she gets it, she does, and she really only just wants you to be happy.

You blink slowly. “Ale.”

“No, I’m… I’m just still playing! I have to take my career seriously, but, but, the off-season! You know how I am in the off-season?”

“Baby, you don’t give yourself an off-season.”

“I can!” she vows. “I can, and we’ll go on holiday with the girls, and we’ll wake up dark as lakes and you can make me smell like a fucking bonfire, if you’d like.”

“Ale…”

“Please,” she asks.

You wish you could go along with the farce. In all honesty, you’re a bit surprised that is has lasted up to now.

You cannot do this anymore. Maybe one day, when she is done playing and training and conforming to the intense regimes the club upholds them to, you will come back to her. Maybe one day, she will have sat in the barrel long enough to have soured, bitter, now, and much more palatable.

But you are certain about the present, about the woman lying beside you with tears running down her cheeks. You decide that if you were to taste the liquid, what is supposed to be salty would be sweet, and, with that, you have convinced yourself.

“Alexia, baby, you’re too sweet for me.”

#woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas

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lunargrapejuice · 11 months

Note

Aaaa I would love maybe a fic? With satoru gojo and non-sorcerer s/o who are forced into an arranged marriage. And s/o wants to make it work but satoru is a brat and refuses to be nice to her but he can't deny his growing feelings for her because she is a lovely girl and then maybe something happens like a curse attack and he almost loses her and feels very guilty for how he's been acting and confesses? Happy ending please

I love angst to fluff stories so much

Thankyou in advance! I love your writing

will you spend the night and maybe your life with me?

satoru gojo x fem!reader | 9.1k+ words

warnings: arranged marraige au, brat!gojo, sweet+patient!reader, hurt/comfort, mentioned of neglectful/hurtful marriage, blood and injury mentions, feral gojo, the fushiguro kids are basically yours so a little found familyish i couldn't help myself, uhh i think that's all but please let me know if i missed anything!

authors note: so um. i think i got a little carried away with this one and i love it and am so exctied about it hehe i hope you enjoy it! <3 thank you so much for your kind words and for requesting something babes!🥺💕

satoru always wondered if before your wedding you were aware that your to-be husband was not happy about being wed. not when this decision was forced upon him by his family and the higher ups of the jujutsu world. he wondered if you blame him for his actions, for his shitty attitude that showed every bit of his distaste, if you wished to marry someone you loved, someone who could treasure your heart and give you their own in return. but surely you had known, just as he had, that you would be married off for politics whether you liked it or not, that marrying for love was not in the cards.

for these many months he can’t say he’s made it easy for you, he knows he hasn’t, and yet you’ve kept smiling, kept being your caring and loving self and putting effort into a man that thus far hadn’t given you much in return. you put up with his lack of kindness, kept welcoming him home and bidding him sweet dreams before sleeping in separate rooms even though for far longer than he’d like to admit now he never said anything in return. you kept leaving sweets on his desk when you knew he’d be up late doing the paperwork he’s always been putting off when he’s never once thanked you for it. he watched you love the fushiguro children just as he had and made him question if perhaps you could love him too.

the first time the question came to mind, when you had scolded both him and megumi for doing something reckless with no anger but rather genuine worry in your eyes, it was the quickest of thoughts. one he pushed out and forgot just as easily as it had come before brushing off everything you said about being more careful to him and megumi. but as more time passed, as you continued to be your lovely self, the thought kept coming, staying for longer, evolving into more questions like.. could he love you- was he already falling in love with you when he was supposed to loathe you? pretend to play the loving and doting husband in public when at home you used to be nothing but strangers but he hates the thought of that now.

being a stranger to your kindness, ignorant of your smile, never being blessed with the melody of your laugh.. he could hardly imagine his life without you but after spending so long rejecting you, pushing you away, was it too late to make amends, to maybe have you love him in return?

right now, while he was trying to sleep, was not the time to be deciding on such things. not when he felt it easier to give in under the light of the moon on your skin and your cute sleepy voice. yet he was restless, his thoughts wandering back to you; if your room felt as soon as his did, if you had eaten dinner alone or with the kids since he hadn’t made it back from his mission until late, if he had even spoken to you at all today except for the text he sent telling you not to wait up for him when you asked if he’d be home for dinner.

brought from his thought, his cerulean eyes are drawn to his closed door, his attention peaked at quiet footsteps and the lights in the kitchen being turned on and dimmed. he taps the screen of his phone to see the time; 2:27 am and doesn’t think twice before getting up from bed and going to the kitchen himself, not caring about putting a shirt on.

you don’t seem to notice him leaning against the wall with his hands in his sweats pockets as you sip a glass of water, your lower back resting against the kitchen island. you're in an oversized shirt and tiny shorts that makes his gaze linger on your body, in your pretty frame, but when he comes back to your face he notices the tears streaming down your cheeks, the tremble of your hands.

lifting from his spot he calls your name, more gentle than he remembers doing before and finds himself frowning at your reaction.

“oh!” you stand a little straighter, put your cup down, try to pretend tears aren’t clinging to your lashes and smile even though it doesn’t meet your eyes. “i’m sorry satoru, i didn’t mean to wake you.”

“you didn’t,” he says, deciding to close the distance between you. he’s always been quite soft to the tears of others but with you.. the sight sinks into his heart like claws of a nasty curse and makes him nearly irrational in the way he would do anything to make your tears stop. your eyes widen a bit in surprise at how close he is to you but you don’t back away from him, don’t resist him when he towers over your shorter frame and reaches for your cheek to wipe a tear you couldn’t hold back. “what's wrong?”

“it’s nothing,” you try to brush it off still with that fake smile and he hates it.

“you’re a terrible liar,” he voice is soft, playful, hopefully hiding the feelings of his heart tightening in his chest and the way his fingers twitch against your skin as he tries to swallow it down. what were you doing to him..

“am not!”

cute, he thinks at your pout and glaring eyes with no bite behind them, though he must admit he much prefers when you smile at him.

is all of you this soft? he ponders as his touch ghosts along the skin of your cheek to under your jaw, curled fingers resting there, keeping your gaze lifted and on him but you could easily pull away if you really wanted to.

“tell me, please,” again he’s speaking so tenderly, with a smile that was meant to fluster, maybe even comfort you and by your reactions anyone could tell how foreign this is to you both. your cheeks flush with warmth and you try to hide your eyes from him, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt while deciding what to do, what to say, but you still don’t pull away from his grasp and he’s resisting the urge to pull you closer, to kiss your forehead and tell you it’s okay, the strongest was your husband after all, all the while unable to stop his deepening breaths.

if this was at the beginning of your marriage satoru isn’t sure he would have checked on you. even just a few weeks ago he would have been asking himself how much he should hold back his affections, his comfort, if something like this were to happen but he isn’t sure he could do that anymore, hold back, and those questions hadn’t passed his mind since you saw your sad state tonight.

“it was just a silly nightmare,” you eventually say, quiet and weak. you still don’t look at him but there's no hiding the way you bite at your bottom lip. “i’ll be fine, i just need a few minutes to calm down more.”

“i’ll stay with you then.”

your eyes shoot back to him, confusion and surprise painted on your face and he’s surprised too. what reason would you have for feeling comfort within him or wanting it in the first place? he knows you have every right and reason to tell him no but he just.. doesn’t want to see you cry anymore and he would do anything to take your sorrow away even though all he had to offer you right now was himself.

“a- are you sure?” you stutter, nervousness laced in every word and fuck you look like you’re going to start crying all over again but he knows he deserves this, the guilt building within him. “you don’t have to-”

he pulls you into him before you can talk either of you out of this, effectively cutting off your words and pressing you against his chiseled chest. “come one y/n. can’t a husband want to comfort his wife? indulge me, yeah?”

he still feels shitty but the heat of your cheeks against his chest, the speechlessness he rendered in you is quite the stroke to his ego and he knows he’s won you over, at least for tonight, as you wrap your arms around him and rest your palms against his bare back.

it’s quiet, the muted sounds of your breaths and beating hearts in both your ears and as minutes pass, satoru feels you relax against him and decides he’s going to try pushing his indulgence more, actually try to be a nice and loving husband. the husband he should have been from the start..

“let’s go lay down,” he suggests and you tiredly nod in agreement, letting him go too quickly, before he unwraps his own arms, but he doesn’t stray far from your side.

turning off the kitchen lights behind him, he follows you into your bedroom like a lost puppy. if he’s being honest, he hasn’t spent much time in here despite it being right next to his own room and as he slips into bed beside you, the sheets of his own wife so unfamiliar to him, he hopes you’ll tell him if this isn’t what you want but more than that, he hopes you won't reject him. not like he had to you for these months when you didn’t deserve it..

“satoru, you - you really don’t have-” you stammer as he collects you in his arms, pressing your back against his chest, not a bit of infinity between you as he spoons your smaller frame, collecting your heat. normally he’d have a smirk tugging his lips at your shyness, how easily flustered you become while still clinging to him, but more than anything he cuts you off because he didn’t want to hear your finish telling him he doesn’t have to.

he knows he doesn’t. who knows how many nights you’ve cried alone in this bed but he won’t let that happen anymore, not as long as you were his.

“i said i’d stay with you, didn’t i?”

satoru has always had a specific vision on what love is and he knows he has loved. like in the way he loves his students, his friends, two strong, amazing, children and sweet mochi. he knows that love isn’t painted in roses and blanketed in crystalline sugar, especially when you were a sorcerer. love is complicated, messy. love is a curse. but it's more medeled now, tempting to give into, with his inability to deny what’s in front of him, with the way his heart reacts to you.

or in this case, the way it reacts to the absence of you.

it’s been a few weeks since you had that nightmare and he held you till morning, his hands caressing and soothing you for long after you fell asleep. the following nights he found himself back in your bed even though neither of you spoke about it, but you hadn’t protested either. the last night before this work trip you had whispered his name in your sleep, reached out and clung to him, when you stirred as he joined you after a late night dealing with curses. the past three nights he's been far from home, as work often took him, and more restless than he’s been in a long time.

he can’t ignore or distract himself from how often you pop up in his mind throughout the day, enough so he’s going through his phone pictures as he’s being driven from place to place and frowning at how little pictures of you there are in his album. he had started taking more of you recently, most of which when you weren’t looking or weren’t aware you had captured your husband's eyes but it didn’t feel like enough. throughout the day he's missing you and your smile and the texts you scarcely send to each other aren’t long or personal enough to make him feel even a little better. he’s coming to realize how much more he preferred to have you sleeping next to him rather than sleeping alone and the way it could make him hustle to finish this assignment just to get home a little quicker. tomorrow he'll return to tokyo, a day before he was supposed to, but even that thought can’t stop the bubbling pot of his heart and the lid that rocks anxiously at the thought of you and your marriage thus far.

in the quietness of his dim hotel room, the food he didn’t have the appetite to eat cold on the table in front of the chair he sits in, satoru fiddles with his phone between long fingers and wonders what you’re doing right now, if you miss him too, if it’s too late for you-

love was messy and complicated indeed but as his phone rings twice and a moment later his reflection is replaced with your visage, that anxious rocking simmers.

“hey satoru,” you smile as you say his name, not noticing how he returns it in full with your eyes focused elsewhere.

your phone wiggles from side to side while tsukimi adjusts it to rest on the ledge of the kitchen window in front of the sink. you must have just finished with dinner, washing the dishes while the kids cleaned up behind you.

“hi sugar.” oh that gets your attention just as he hoped. he can hear the clattering of dishes as you drop them, see the flush of your cheeks through the camera and how adorably shy you are when you look up at him finally and see he’s without his blind fold, eyes soft and locks of snowy white hair resting over his eyebrows. his attention is fully on you and it seems to be the giggles of the teenage girl whipping off the counter near you that snaps you back to reality and causes you to return your attention back to the dishes, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“is everything okay?” you ask, that cute shyness to your voice.

of course it was just like you to worry for him, even if he didn’t deserve it.

“other than the fact i’m missin’ home, yeah.” home, he chooses because even though he was missing you, and meant his answer just the same, his stubbornness had him holding back.

while you finish the dishes you chit chat, the kids interrupting every now and again to talk to him or you about one thing or another until you were all giggling and he was aching to teleport back home, to be there drying plates that you hand him until you’re swaying in the kitchen to music that isn’t playing anywhere but your hearts and the kids are calling you gross before going to their own rooms.

he had never done that before but as he watched you all through his phone screen, he hoped it wasn’t too late for that with you.

“how was your day?” he asks when you grab your phone from the window seal, probably ready to say goodnight to him but he wasn’t nearly satisfied with this short interaction.

“well.. megumi got in trouble at school again today,” you sigh and shake your head, the background behind you changing from the kitchen to your bedroom, the lights in the far hallway from the kids room flickering on before they close their doors. he’s sure you handled megumi in your elegant way that both the boys have learned they aren’t immune to.

satoru chuckles. “did he give you any trouble?”

“you know he’s not really like that with me,” you smile, genuine and sweet and god he wishes he could kiss your lips. “he only gives you trouble because you’re just as bad as he is.. maybe worse.” you giggle at that last part and there is no way denying or ignoring the way it makes him burst with warmth.

“oh yeah?” he teases right back. “bet you’re missing your annoying husband though, huh?”

maybe he shouldn’t have said that because your prolonged silence made his throat feel tight, his palms sweaty but before he can say anything to make up for it, to change the subject, you reply, not looking at the camera.

“.. the house is lonelier when you’re not here,” you admit, quiet and low. “i guess i’ve gotten a little used to sharing a bed with you.”

so you were having a hard time sleeping without him too..

“me too,” he admits, letting out a sigh like your confession had lifted a weight off his chest, pumped hope into his veins. would you care to know just how much he misses you? “but i’ll be home soon so just wait a little longer for me, yeah?”

“o-okay.”

to the surprise of many satoru was at jujutsu tech reporting on his mission right on time, though he was leaving just as swiftly as he came. he purposely didn’t tell you he’d be coming home one day early because he knew you’d be coming to the school tomorrow to bring megumi to train with some of the other students. it would still be another two year before megumi was a first year himself but he had gotten plenty acquainted with the current first years through satoru. he wanted to surprise you, whisk you away while the kids were busy and before more work could come his way, try to ease the longing in his chest that had weighed on him like a boulder since he spent that first night without you beside him.

but what weighed on him when he saw you, unaware of your husband's arrival and under the attention of one of the new teachers, was much much worse and far nastier than his yearning. it was ugly and all consuming and made his mind run so quickly he was going to get whiplash.

the man couldn’t be any more obvious that he was flirting with you and it made satoru seeth, his chest filling with deep, hot breaths. couldn’t he see the wedding band on your finger? as a non sorcerer you weren’t entirely a part of the jujutsu world yourself so maybe he could justify that this man simply didn’t know who you were but even when you likely had not wanted to, you were always diligent in wearing the proof of your commitment.

the proof that you were his, the one and only mrs. gojo.

and what were you doing? laughing and talking with this man like you were so familiar, more familiar than you were to your own husband.

were you so fed up with satoru but so unwilling to end your arranged marriage that you’d go behind his back like this and entertain another person? if he was in a more calm state of mind he could be more rational, remind himself that this was not in your nature, not even with the way he had treated you had you ever been a person he thought would cheat. but with so much uncertainty between you two, the way he refused to admit those three words despite the fact he found them occupying his heart and mind anytime he thought of you, how he had no idea how you felt in return because he had forced you to shut yourself away..

the man reaches for you, helping you brush a stay piece of hair from your face to behind your ear and lingers with a smile that satoru swore he would wipe right off his smug face. your fingers touch, the man lacing his between yours for a moment before you pull away with burning cheeks.

satoru feels like he’s losing it, losing you, letting his emotions guide him to your side to snake a hand around your waist and step so very close, not letting the breeze between you, using his other hand to lift your chin and bring you in for a soft and fleeting kiss.

“i’m home baby,” he coos before kissing your cheek, a little for show but mostly because the only thing he had the will to hold back right now was his physical strength.

“s-satoru!” you’re beyond flustered, he can feel the beating of your heart through your clothes and the shake of your hands that hold onto his dark jacket.

he doesn’t give you much more time to say or do anything else before he looks down at the man you were speaking with and even through his blind fold you could tell how serious, how intimidating, his expression was. he held onto you so protectively, powerful hands sinking into your skin like you would slip through his grasp if he let you go but soft enough you wouldn’t break under the pressure. the way you don’t push away, don’t fight him and keep holding onto his jacket, your eyes only on your husband, are the only things grounding him from losing it completely..

“keep your hands off of my wife,” he spits like venom, accentuating the last part especially so before whisking you away without saying another word and he doesn’t say anything to you either the farther and farther you get from the man. you nearly trip over your feet trying to follow his long strides as he's huffing and practically dragging you along with him with a large hand around your wrist.

“satoru, please slow down. what’s wrong?” your words fall on deaf ears. he isn’t hearing anything but his own echoing thoughts and his unsteady, drumming, heartbeat until you’re in a quiet and secluded place on campus and he finally looks at you, so many emotions written on your face; confusion, fear, worry.

“what in the world has gotten into you?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.

“you’re mine,” his profession is muffled and near inaudible under his steaming breaths, not a bit of his sanity returning with how it looks like he’s scared you, how he’s coming to realize he might have lost you long ago and didn’t know it. “what were you doing letting him hit on you like that?” he hardly knows what he’s saying, the words coming out without thinking.

“are you serious?” you ask, devastation laced in your tone. “he was just being nice and if he wasn’t.. it’s not like i was.. why.. why do you care?”

“you’re my wife!”

“when has that ever mattered? that's never stopped you from flirting with anyone before and i.. i’ve never said anything..” tears start to pool in your eyes and the last bit of the grip he’s had on this situation slips completely. please don’t cry.. i know i’ve fucked up but.. “even when it hurt i didn’t..”

“it’s not like i asked to marry you - but-”

before he can tell you, but that was back then because he hadn’t looked into another's way since these feelings started; before he can realize what he’s said and the way it would hurt you further, you interrupt, unable to hold back your tears.

“i didn’t ask for this either satoru,” your voice is broken and he knows every waver behind it and your tears are full of months worth of bottled up emotions from when you smiled despite his bullshit. “..but i'm trying.” in a matter of painfully slow seconds you're sobbing as you rip your wrist from his grasp and he feels his heart cracking, the cold nail of your withdrawal striking against the pumping muscle. “i.. just..” it's as though you want to say more and even if there wasn’t a lump in his throat making him utterly speechless, he wouldn’t have interrupted, he would have let you scream and yell and spew hurtful words. “i have to go..”

that nail digs deeper and he fights it, reaches for you and calls your name, feeling it stop when he’s met with the softness of your skin but the strongest strike, the blow that embeds it deep, was the way you cry out his name, begged him to let you go with crystalline tears flowing uncontrollably from your eyes and down your cheeks.

“satoru, let me go! please!”

you know you should be used to his hurtful words by now. they’ve been thrown at you for months, if he chose to speak to you at all. though you can admit that things have gotten better, if not a bit confusing. you would never deny your marriage was turning around, not when weeks ago you weren’t sure if you were going to survive not divorcing and avoid facing the consequences of that with both your families but now you felt yourself genuinely and completely falling for your husband.

yes he was so unbelievably handsome, charming to match, well, when he wanted to be. anyone could see that but the longer you were married to satoru the more you saw his heart, despite the fact he thought he was hiding it from you. he couldn’t hide the way he loved the fushiguro children and had since he started to look after them or the way he turned younger, more reckless around shoko, a reminder of more carefree years. in short and infrequent moments sometimes his heart was opened to you too and during those times, when you weren’t his enemy but rather a part of his family, made you wonder what it might be like had you had a normal marriage and married satoru for love or fell in love somewhere in the mess of how it started.

it was a ridiculous thought. you knew it would never be like that, you didn’t ask that of him and you didn’t entirely blame him for his behavior. he had chosen not to be nice but it was just like you to be patient, understanding and kind. by being the one he was forced to marry, you did understand why that dislike would be directed at you even though you know it didn’t make it fair, didn’t make it okay.

after all of that, months of feeling like a burden to the strongest sorcerer in the world, you didn’t expect to find yourself wanting, maybe even needing, your husband or that he might want you too. he had been around so much more recently, whether it had been him coming home in time to have dinner with you nearly every night or to be sleeping next to you or spending all night facetiming with you while he was on a trip until you fell asleep, like he had last night. but those feelings he had made bloom within you brought with them greater pain when hurtful reminders of the truth of your commitment came back to the surface.

‘i didn’t ask for this.’

how many times had you heard that by now? you had stopped keeping count, for your own sanity, but this time had by far been the worst. you fought so damn hard not to cry, to stay strong but still you burst into more tears than you wanted to shed in front of him.

maybe it was time to give up, consequences be damned.. how much more did you really have in you? how were you supposed to get through these mixed signals and still leave with your heart intact? and why did it break it further to see the pain written on his face when you ran from him?

you weren’t sure you could bear to be home, not when there were reminders of satoru everywhere, including your bedroom now as some of his nightstand items had made it to your room and had kept you company in his absence the past few days.. an absence that would apparently be longer even though you still missed him. he would show up there eventually anyways, was maybe there now but at this moment you didn’t have it in you to fight more, to be reminded of how little you meant to your husband when all this time you would have done anything to be sure he was happy too. when you found yourself holding him closer and closer to your heart.

you can admit that you didn’t handle your last interaction with your husband the best either though. asking why he cared when you knew the reason didn’t really matter. what reason had you had to hurt over the others he flirted with other than the fact he was your husband on paper? you had just never acted on the emotions swirling within you during those times aside from crying alone and by yourself but satoru was never really one to hold back. and the way it made you feel when he proclaimed you as his in such a way, when he held you so close to him, kissed you like he hadn’t before, like you really were his and he didn’t intend to let you go. it made you happy, confused and upset all at once.

was it all just for show? but then why comfort you after a nightmare or do any of the more thoughtful gestures he had shown recently? you had hardly seen his eyes ever that soft for you before, maybe in moments of pity then, but that wasn’t what this was and like the waters filled with the bluest stars and galaxies, you waded into their azure depths. found comfort in its warmth and the way he wrapped you in the protective blanket of his arms. you woke up with him still sleeping soundly, peacefully, while holding you and hadn’t had the bed to yourself since.

he seemed sweeter after that; hardly ever missing dinner, especially when he knew you’d be eating alone when the kids couldn’t join you. his texts throughout the day became more frequent, less transactional and though it still happened from time to time, his stinging words became less harsh. and when he called you last night, you hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, how you both lost track of the time until you woke up with your phone in your hand and a goodnight text sent after he had hung up. things almost felt normal, like maybe you really could be friends but there was no denying that your heart was feeling much more than that. still, you were cautious, kept your feelings closed off and hidden but you now realize somewhere along the way it wasn’t enough, not when it could let those painful reminders dig their way deep into your flesh in a way it hadn’t before.

satoru once told you, within the first few days of your marriage, that he had no intention of ever loving you and that you shouldn’t try loving him either. that love was a curse that wasn’t worth his trouble when it came to you.

perhaps you were finally understanding what he meant and were ready to give up, but after all this effort.. would it be easier for the both of you to not be tied together, burdened by your growing feelings when he would never feel the same? or would you become the curse of his life because you had done the one thing he had told you not to do, fall for him, and continued to try to make it work despite it?

instead of going home you let your aimless feet carry you, just as your mind carried away your many thoughts until your tears stopped, until your heart numbed and you were left feeling empty and tired. there were so many quiet whispers in the back of your mind, worries and reminders of your failing arrangement, so many questions without answers but you tried to shake them off, tried to quiet them so you could have a moment to just breathe. maybe then you could try to make sense of it all, though you weren’t sure you would ever understand all of the different emotions satoru was putting you through.

you aren’t really sure where you’ve ended up, somewhere on a cold bench as the afternoon turned to evening. you ignored the way your phone rang and the pings of the messages that came through. right now you didn’t have the energy or strength to do anything, are on the verge of giving up when your heart is screaming that you couldn’t possibly and all you can do is sit in your loneliness, back to more familiar times in your marriage, as you watch people pass you by.

in the end, when the evening sky began to cover the city in colder air and little light, you knew it was time to go home, to face this even if you weren’t ready to. maybe it would be easier if this was older times, when you knew you could walk through the front door with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks but it wouldn’t make satoru look your way. so you could hide away, pretend you weren’t breaking on the inside until you could face him with a smile again. but it couldn’t be like that anymore, not when the cause of your pain had also become your comfort, your most restful nights on hard days, the giggles you erupt in when he’s being silly and teasing, the person you wanted to hold you when dark fog surrounded you and threatened to swallow you whole.

you’re surprised to see the time on your phone, how late it actually is and just how many messages have come through. the latest one being from satoru; y/n please come home

it makes your heart feel like it’s beating again and you don’t know if it's good or bad, if you feel better or worse. all you knew is your chest aches and you do want to be home even if it scares you to not know what’s waiting for you; the satoru that seems to have grown soft for you, that couldn’t stand to see you cry, or the husband that said ‘i do’ not minutes before reminding you how much he detested your union.

your finger hovers over the call button, the small icon picture of him and megumi looking back at you but before you can call him back, not even sure if you were prepared to, a crowd of terrified screams pulls you from your phone and frantically you look around for its source, unsure if someone needed help or if you were in danger too.

before you can react after realizing which it was, that you were mostly certainly in danger and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it, your world begins to fade into black. the last thing you remember is hearing your husband's voice and a pitiful call of his name escaping your lips as your body falls to the ground, the scent of copper filling your senses before all consciousness is taken from you.

satoru stares at his phone with wide glowing eyes, tearing off his blind fold like it was possibly skewing his vision, messing with his other scenes despite that being impossible. for a moment he felt the first drops of relief seeing you finally return his call. you had ran from him so quickly and with it took his heart, left him standing there with a gapping, bleeding, hole in his chest that made it impossible to move. it’s been long agonizing hours since then, unable to reach you, not knowing what you were doing or where you were or if you were okay. he knew you weren’t and that it was all his fault.

finally, you were calling him but the first thing he heard was not the sweetness of your voice. instead his ears rang with the screams of others, the crumbling of concrete and a pleading call of his name from his wife that brought him past the point of manic in a matter of seconds.

he doesn’t dare hang up the phone but it’s not helping hearing noises of destruction that he can’t quite make out and the silence of your voice with each gut wrenching call of your name that’s begging you to say anything but continues to be met with silence.

the wildness in his eyes lingers but his attention is brought from his phone screen to the sniffles coming from the doorway to the living room where megumi and tsukimi stand with fear in their own eyes, tears streaming down her sullen face. had they ever seen gojo like this? tsukimi reaches for her brother's hands, to bring some comfort to them both even though she’s far worse off than megumi right now. or at least she’s the only one outwardly showing it. satoru can see the rise in megumis energy despite him wanting to remain strong for his sister.

she’s the first to speak too, reminding satoru that he wouldn’t be the only one suffering without you. “w-whats wrong? where- wheres y/n? is she going to be okay?” she doesn’t give him a moment to answer before she's crying out, “gojo!”

in a few long strides he’s standing in front of him, their seafoam and brown eyes staring back at him, his phone still connected on your call slipped into his pocket so his hands are free to pat both of their heads, ruffling their soft hair in tandem, keeping the last thin strand of his sanity from breaking until he could promise them none of them would ever be without you.

“don’t worry,” he says, that confident smile on his face. “i’ll bring her home safe. i’m the strongest after all.”

in a moment he’s teleported away, swearing to turn over all of japan in search of you. his presence was so overwhelming, the air nearly crackling with the electricity emanating from his barely contained furry. he’d let that barrier shatter soon, when it would be to his best advantage in bringing you home, until then the auxiliary managers helping him find your location through the never ending curse reports were under the pressure of the strongest sorcerer might.

the moment ijichi gave him the most likely places you could be, an eerie thankful smile came on gojos lips before he disappears, the light air finally returns the moment he was gone, before he can even mention there are already sorcerers on the scene. ijichi just hopes they’ve had the time to put the veil up before gojo goes all out without a second thought and that they’ve gotten you out of there. for everyone’s sake.

from the point in the sky where satoru hovers, just above the curtain trying to keep this shit show of a grade one contained, messy white locks blowing in the wind high above, it doesn’t take a moment for his six eyes to sense you. not when they had spent countless minutes taking in every bit of you when you thought he was looking at others..

he swears he’ll make it up to you. even if you could never love him back or forgive him, from this day on he wouldn’t hold back, he wouldn’t deny it. he loves you and the thought of losing you, in any way, without ever admitting it to you and asking for a chance to show you he meant it, is tearing him apart.

he’d get the chance to tell you, to shower you in his unbridled affection like you had always deserved, try to be the husband you could maybe love one day too. even if you couldn’t love him.. if he could make sure you kept smiling, that you could continue to be your amazing loving self, he would do anything.

the atmosphere back on solid ground is thick, the sky covered in a dark blanket that matches how dreariness seeps into every crack in the sidewalk, into the roots of the trees and across crumbles of buildings and cars that laid around. buried beneath it, alive but still somehow so lifeless, holding onto the phone still calling his, was you. blood dripping down your pretty face, debris and dust coating your skin, the disgusting curses attention on you as well.

satorus presence electrified the air enough so to make the grass stand up straight, his deep breaths huffing white clouds in the cold air, his blue orbs standing out like the eyes of an ethereal creature in the fog. a devil more so than an angel, one that would burn the world down to protect those he loves, even if he had failed at it before. the look of him would have stopped any sorcerer in its track, sent smaller curses scurrying away and it had kept this grade one from moving another inch, just like he intended

he was so gentle in the way he lifted off every piece of destruction that kept you pinned to the ground and pulled you into his arms with ease, infinity compassing you so nothing else could touch you except for him. nothing would ever hurt you again. it all happened so quickly to the world around him but in his eyes everything moved in slow motion. the way your eyes flutter open behind your lashes as he picks you up, unsure of what was going on around you, not fully conscious but enough so to whisper his name from chapped lips and hold onto him with the remaining strength that you had.

“‘toru..” a few tears roll down your cheeks, mixing with the blood still dripping from your hairline, draining the color from your face, making you so very weak.

“i’m here angel,” his voice sounds so unfamiliar to you both, shaking with pain and rage, relief and regret. “hold on a little longer for me, yeah?”

it takes everything in him to take his eyes off of you. you were now passed out in his arms and couldn’t say anything, couldn’t see the swirls of red and blue as they merged into deep purple and shook the earth beneath satorus feet. he only spares the curse a long enough glance to aime, holding you with one arm so tightly, feeling your shallow beating heart through his shirt soaking in your blood as he uses the other hand to use his jujutsu. the world around him is engulfed in purple, pulverizing the curse, shredding the trees, blowing out the windows of nearby buildings and burning the grass but the destruction he’s caused is the last of his concern.

all that’s left in the wake of his furry is your silhouettes in the smoke and aftershock, the strongest sorcerer reduced to nothing more than a man shedding tears over his wife's limp body in his arms, kissing her cheeks as he pulls her so impossibly close before disappearing into thin air.

ieiri was the only person who could coax satoru to release you, sympathetic to the agony behind his eyes, not unfamiliar to it from when another left his life, but she was still seriously insistent that if he didn’t let you go, didn’t let her heal you, then he really might lose you. the fight to keep him out of the surgical room so he wasn’t suffocating her while she worked, so he didn’t have to see how truly worse off you might be with your lack of jujutsu to have helped you through this, was far more difficult, left satoru begging his friend to not let him leave your side but in the end he gave in and anxiously he waited outside the room.

he was still covered in dirt and blood. it wasn’t the first time but it was the first time it had ever been yours and he hoped it would be the only time, wished it had never happened at all. he blames himself and as he sat in silence, dying on the inside not knowing what was going on in the other room, he recalled his sacred oath to protect you till death due you part. it hadn’t meant anything to him when he said it and back then he never would have thought he’d be here, willing to give anything to get on his knees before you at that alter, bury his face into your middle while his hands hold you close and he swears to you that he will cherish you, protect you, love you, until death takes him from you.

with his head buried in his hands, head hanging low, tears pooling on the ground near his feet, he can’t help but think how right he was about love being a curse. nothing had brought him more pain and agony than love. there was nothing that had torn his heart apart like love had but for fucks sake he wasn’t ready to lose you too, to lose the most amazing parts of your love before he even got a true taste of it, before he could do you right by you and attempt to make up for his mistake.

long fingers grip onto strands of snowy hair and tug. he’s sure some would find it laughable to see the strongest in such a pitiful state, with no ability to fight back with annoying words and cocky smiles when the thought of being without you and your light made him think he’d never smile again. he didn’t want you to leave without knowing his love either, not when he had so much of it to give to you now that the cage he held it behind was shattered and forgotten.

his chest aches in a way it never has before. it made him sick to his stomach, angry enough to release all of his power at once, consequences be damned, it turned his tears from sorrowful to full of self pity to hysterics at what a world without you might be like. all because he broke his promise, because he had been a blind idiot and a stubborn fucking ass hole. would he never get the chance to show you with confidence how much you meant to him? he knows he didn’t deserve it but if.. no, when you make it out of this, he swears he’ll give you all of him. reject him, tell him you hate him, ask for a divorce and tear his heart out- none of it would stop him from trying to win your heart, from letting you go.

the more time that passes the more he feels like he’s losing it for the third time that day. he’s restless, sitting and bouncing his leg, getting up to walk just to pace the hallway endlessly until he ended up right back where he started and started the cycle all over again. he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this.

shoko could yell at him all she wanted. he had to see you and know you were okay, to tell you he loves you and-

“gojo, take a breath okay?” ieriris voice breaks him from his thoughts, stops him from not even bothering to use the door and just teleport past the walls. “i told you i’d take care of her and i meant it.”

in a few steps he’s in front of her, leaning down to envelope her in a hug. he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath and let out the pent up air when she hugged him back. it wasn’t usual they shared moments like this but when it was.. it was when they were at their most vulnerable. even when they were younger, even when geto left them. his arms shook around her, silently begging for what he could not find the words to say.

“she’ll be fine,” her voice is soft, understanding to how he feels about you and thankful he’s done being a shithead about it. “she’s asleep for now but you can go in as long as you’ll let her rest.”

he didn’t wait a moment, didn’t even break their hug, before he teleported to your side and left shoko to smoke outside while she gave him some time alone with you. he was quiet and hesitant to touch you even though his fingers screamed to feel your skin, feel your pulse and prove to him without a doubt that you were okay. he saw it with his powerful eyes, your now clean skin, a few bandages here and there but your major injuries were healed. you looked so similar to how you did when sleeping at home and there was no doubting the truth in front of him but it wasn’t enough to ease the tightness of his chest.

let you rest. it was hard to do when he would have melted his body with your own given the chance but for now he’d have to settle for your smaller hand resting in his and the caress of his thumb against your soft skin swiping back and forth in comforting and gentle motions. you were warm, much warmer than the last time he held you and he swore he could cry at the feeling.

thank god for shoko and your resilience that filled him with such pride to call you his.

sitting on the chair next to your hospital bed, he lowers his head to rest against the hand he held, soft white hair tickling your skin as he kisses you knuckles and whispers an apology he would repeat to you in his words and actions for the rest of his life if he had to, until he could prove to you his utter devotion.

he isn’t sure how much time has passed and didn't notice that he had fallen asleep resting his head on you while waiting for you to wake up. his body ached, for more reasons than just the awkward sleeping position, he had gone through a whirlwind of emotions in one day and only next to you, knowing you would be okay, could he finally relax from it all but at the smallest twitch of your fingers he's alert, his head shooting up and he waits eagerly, moving from the chair to your bed, body hovering about yours, never letting go of your hand but instead pressing it against over his beating heart with gentleness, as you slowly wake up.

you blink slowly, your eyes in obvious protest and still heavy with exhaustion as you try to become more aware of your surroundings and what had happened with the aching of your head and a familiar scent in your nostrils.

“satoru?” you croak and in response he cradles your face in his hands, strokes your cheeks, kisses your lips soft and sweet and honest. your arms are weak and shaky but that doesn’t stop you from reaching for him and when you feel him shaking too, you ask, “are you okay?” oh that’s right.. you were fighting.. the remembrance was written on your face. “i'm.. i’m sorry i left so suddenly..”

leaning his forehead against your own, the laugh he lets out is full of relief and disbelief and is warm against your face. how could you possibly ask about his well being now or be the one apologizing? “my silly girl.” but it was the most wonderful thing to hear your voice and it takes all of his strength. he catches your wobbly smile and blushing cheeks before he collapses against you, enveloping you in his arms and letting his face rest in the crook of your neck, warm tears dropping along your collarbone.

his words, his confession, is all he can manage to say in his state and he whispers it against your skin, kissing you skin after each repeat of the words he would never hold back again. “i love you.”

bonus!

neither of you had expected to walk into the house and smell something delicious being made, ginger and onions and other delicious things that made your stomach growl with one whiff. you could hear the pair arguing and tsumiki pulling the big sister card before they become silent upon hearing your husband coo at you to be good and stay still followed by a defeated huff and a triumphant chuckle.

satoru had hardly let you go since leaving the hospital, even before that- from the moment you woke up he was touching some part of you, and insisted on carrying you up the steps even though you could walk just fine. at most you were tired and sore but not enough to render you unable to use your limbs.

in the end, it was impossible to say no to him. he wasn’t going to let you either so with burning cheeks you agreed to let your husband carry you bridal style into your home and held onto his strong shoulders as he so effortless carried you. he didn’t put you down once you were inside either, despite your protests, smirking at you when you wiggled in his arms but he only tightened his grip.

his overzealous affection and care didn’t stop there either and it only spurred him on when you became flustered because of it. oh loving you was going to be so very fun, he thought as you pouted when he wouldn’t let you feed yourself the meatballs megumi and tsumiki made together. you all ate on the couch, to be sure you were comfortable and resting like shoko had said you should, also because the table didn’t allow any of them to be close enough to you. tsumikis eyes welled up with tears when gojo told them what happened over dinner but when he patted her head with a wide smile and promised her nothing like this would ever happen again, looking at megumi and telling him he should look after both you and his sister too, you all smiled and laughed. he didn’t speak the words outloud but satoru swore he would remarry you right here and now when you returned your own promise to watch after them too, in your own loving way.

it was obvious that gojo was jealous of the kids hanging all over you, even megumi hardly left your side and was as doting as he was whenever his sister was ill. satoru couldn’t help but make you all of you blushy cheeked for different reasons when he pulls you into his lap and kisses your cheek before trying to whisk you away to your bedroom with a promise for naughty things that he didn’t intend to follow through with just yet, not until you told him you were ready and not until you were all healed up so he could love you properly.

the kids were too quick on their feet, laughing and arguing about who would sleep where while trying to push past the tall man even with his long and fast strides. he couldn’t keep them away no matter how hard he tried and admitted defeat when they jumped into bed after you.

main masterlist

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojou #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo #gojou x reader #jjk x reader

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jakegasm · 1 year

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mistakes | lo'ak sully

genre: angst ♧

pairing: lo’ak sully x omatikaya!reader (mentions of neteyam and tsireya)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: heartbreak, cheating (? idk why i put a question mark, there’s most definitely cheating involved 😂)

brief info: upon moving to Awa’atlu the sully family agrees to have you tag along, you and lo’ak have been best friends for as long as you two can remember. Though to his parents it has been nothing but a friendly demeanor between the two of you, unknown to them that you and lo’ak have been in a secret relationship for quite some time now. While in Awa’atlu, lo’ak seems to be avoiding you more and more lately spending more time with tsireya than you, leaving you and your relationship entirely in the dust.

playlist~

flowers: lauren spencer smith

two places at once: haley joelle

Punchline: aidan martin

notes: ‼️lo’ak and reader are 18‼️ 4 years later after the sully family moved to Awa’atlu

Neteyam is NOT dead, bby is still alive bc I said so

//again this was barely proofread and its not my best bc i kinda rushed it T-T i still hope you all enjoy though! and please I do not hate tsireya she's a cinnamon roll I just needed to use someone and she fit perfectly T-T//

Syeha si mì ulte lonu: breathe in and release

Mawey: calm

Rä'ä: do not

Skxawng: moron, idiot

The waves break around the rocks in the shallows, their foam crests becoming chaotic lace over the blue. You watch it swirl, mesmerized as if the movement of the water choreographs your thoughts. The crunching of the sand tearing you away from your thoughts, the space next to you now becoming occupied. You shifted your body away from them avoiding the inevitable conversation you two were to have. You felt him looking at you, his eyes burning into the side of your face. You were ignoring him and he knew it. He gently rocked his shoulder into yours in hopes of getting your attention, lucky for him it works.

“Why are you here Neteyam?”

“What? I cannot accompany a friend now?”

Rolling your eyes, you set them back on the crashing waves in front of you. The waves swimming up to shore tickling your toes with the slightly cold water.

“If you are looking for Lo’ak, he is with Tsireya.” Irritation hung in your voice, the male did not let this go unnoticed. Though he wanted to question it, he decided to ignore it.

“So that is where he has been all these days…” His voice trailed out in thought. He noticed your body tensed up slightly at the comment, digging your head more into your knees that were pushed up against your chest. Your eyes prickled with tears but you blinked them away before he could notice them. But it was too late. He felt his chest tighten seeing your eyes glaze over in sadness as the setting sun reflected ever so perfectly on the tears that threaten to spill. Reaching out a hand he brushed away a tear that had managed to escape, his lips in a thin line.

“My brother is a skxawng, he will realize what he will lose but until then…it will already be too late.”

His words hit you like a brick. You didn’t want to wait for him to realize it because the more you waited the more you watched him fall for someone else. Scooting closer you nuzzled yourself into his side finding comfort in the warm embrace as his arms immediately wrap around you giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. You two stayed like that for some time as you wept in his arms, trying to make amends for your lover. That you were unfortunately losing.

________________

“Neteyam I’m sorry!” You laughed running out of his marui pod, trying to make an escape from the consequences of your actions.

“Oh no, you think I’d let you off the hook for that? No way!” The male chased you even quicker. Laughter erupted from your throat as your feet moved as quickly as possible to get away from him. You peeked over your shoulder to see he was gaining on you rather quickly, and the smile on your face widened even more. Your destination was his parents' Marui pod since you knew that’s where your safety resided, his mother would for sure protect you from him. You hastily jogged up to the pod trying to keep your balance and speed as the walkway wobbled a bit under your feet. You managed to make it to the pod’s opening before you felt hands clasp your waist holding you tightly against their chest, swinging you away from the pods' entrance. You wiggled in his grip while your joined laughter filled the pod while you gasped for air begging him to release you.

“Neteyam put her down.” His mother spoke a smile resting on her face, his father appearing not too shortly behind his wife.

“You heard what your mother said. Put her down boy.”

Nodding he gently placed you back on the ground, but not before poking his tongue out at you, something he had learned from Kiri. You just giggled at the reaction turning towards his parents who held a look wanting either one of you to explain what was happening.

“That’s one hell of a way to say Good Morning. Mind telling me what’s that about?” His father spoke, his tone demanding but not harsh.

“y/n threw water on me while I was sleeping, sir.” Neteyam’s eyes sent you a quick threatening look only to receive a small laugh from you.

“Yeah, that’s because you wouldn’t wake up after you PROMISED me that you’d take me fishing today.” You added in, earning yourself an eye roll from him.

“So you throw water on me? May Ewya help you for what I will do when–”

“Good Morning.” Neteyams' threat was cut off by someone entering the pod.

The wide smile on your face disappeared; just as quickly as your playful demeanor. He greeted his parents before sharing eye contact with you, your stomach now doing somersaults. He nodded at you as a greeting, not daring to give you a proper greeting. You felt small. So small. You were on the verge of nausea as you watched him avoid all sorts of contact with you.

“Lo’ak don’t be rude, speak to y/n.” His mother softly smacked him on the back of his shoulder earning her a low hiss from the male.

“Good morning…y/n.” His eyes stayed fixated on something that wasn’t you, annoyance radiating off of him.

“Good morning lo’ak…Um, Neteyam?” Neteyam was quick to make contact with you, your eyes pleading with him to leave. Quickly he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and swiftly turned you away from the others to avoid them seeing the tears that were now falling so freely while you bit your lip so hard trying your best to stop them.

“We will be back before eclipse. I promise.” He swore to his parents nodding at them and smiling, but not before he shot his brother a deadly glare, only to see his brother already held one against him. Wiping his head back around he guided you out of the pod making sure to keep your head down as he whispered sweet reassuring words to you along the way.

__________________

“Syeha si ulte….lonu.” The arrow flew from your bow grazing your fingertips lightly during the release, only for you to miss your target…again. Whining you turned your head to Neteyam who was trying very hard not to laugh at your failure.

“Laugh it up while you can, mighty warrior.” Your tongue poked out at him tauntingly after “warrior”, though he cleared his throat his smile never left his face when he approached you. He stood behind you turning your body so your back lay against his chest, his hands guiding your arms back into your shooting stance.

“Your arms should be straight, or you’ll miss your target again.” His hands held underneath your arms gently smoothing over the skin underneath them before pushing them upwards. “Take a deep breath and hold it. It must come from your stomach or it will not work.” Bringing his other hand down he gently pushed on your stomach causing your body to tense up immediately, you found yourself holding your breath for another reason.

“Mawey, your heartbeat is fast. No wonder you cannot catch any fish.” He joked, his breath hitting the shell of your ear due to the close proximity you two were in. Shaking your head you tried to distract yourself from how close you two were. Straightening your posture, you sucked in a deep breath making sure to hold it in just as instructed locking eyes on your wiggling target and–

“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat halting your motion. You both turn your head towards the person responsible for the noise, only to be met by the one person you didn’t want to speak to but also a person you yearned deeply for.

“Sorry for uh… disrupting you two but can I talk to y/n?” Lo’ak watched as Neteyam refused to take a step away from you making him bite the inside of his cheek in annoyance.

“Alone.”

The older brother never moved from your side, his body now shielding you in a way. The tension in the air felt thick, so thick not even a knife would be able to pierce it. You placed your hand on his arm giving it a squeeze to grab his attention, “Neteyam.” Your voice soft, his head turning down towards you his eyes immediately softening almost as if they were pleading with you.

“I’ll be fine.” You tried your best to give him a smile, just enough for him to let you go. It was obvious your smile didn’t convince him, huffing his mouth turned into a thin line before nodding at you moving further to the opposite side to let you go. You nodded at him once more before following behind a rather fuming lo’ak.

_______________________

“Lo’ak!”

The boy ignored you as he walked fast in front of you slapping things out of his as he passed them. You tried your hardest to keep up but there was no way your speed equaled anything to his big long strides. Jogging a little you gained a bit of closeness to him his hand just in reach for you to grab.

“Lo’ak wait–”

“What?!” He snapped at you angrily turning towards you. You felt like a turtle going back into its shell with his tone. A tone he has never used with you.

“I just wanted you to slow down, you’re walking too fast.” Your voice sounded so little making his ears flick downwards.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Our usual spot…We need to talk–about us.” A familiar ache started to churn in your stomach at these words. Your thoughts become jumbled up in your mind of all the possible outcomes of this conversation.

Was he finally going to tell others of your relationship?

Or…

Did he finally want to call it quits?

Mindlessly you followed him deeper into the closed-in cave area, the familiar scenery coming into your view not too long after you both decided to keep walking. You looked into the glowing water smiling faintly at the glimmering goldfish that rushed to the surface upon your arrival, seeming excited to see you again. You almost bumped into the back of lo’ak not realizing he had stopped moments ago, you stared confusingly at his back before his voice caught your attention.

“What were you and brother doing before I arrived?” You blinked at him confusingly. Turning his body fully towards you now, his face completely ruined by the anger that he was trying so desperately to keep inside. The confusion on your face seemed to anger him more than he already was causing him to roll his eyes at you.

“You and my brother. You’re way too close to be “just friends”, every time I see you two your both so close to each other!”

You and Neteyam were friends. That was it. There were no romantic feelings involved once so ever whenever you two conversed. At least that’s how you saw it on your end.

“If you are asking if I and neteyam ever did anything with each other the answer is no.” You were starting to take offense to the accusations he kept spuing out at you, rendering you into irritation at the boy.

“Really? Because that’s so hard to believe when I see his hands all over you a few moments ago. And from the looks of it, you weren’t moving them any time soon!”

“He was teaching me how to fish!”

“Why him? You could’ve asked me. Me! Your boyfriend!”

“Well, I can’t ask my boyfriend if he’s never around when I need him!”

You didn’t notice that your breathing had started to pick up or even notice how the image of him standing in front of you became blurry from the water that swelled up in your eyes.

“Or when he’s not with tsireya showing her all the things that you showed me! Or–or ditching our plans for tsireya because she wants to go look at the stars with you!” The gentle wind from a small opening in the cave blew past your face making you feel the coldness from the tears that now overflowed from your eyes.

“It’s always tsireya, tsireya, tsireya! Never me! I’m never your first choice anymore.” Your chest heaved up and down rapidly as your feelings felt like they were oozing out of you, your mouth just could not stop projecting all the feelings you had bottled up for so long.

“Neteyam has been there for me when you weren’t. Night after night, day after day, HE has always been there. Not you lo’ak. And guess what? He’s cleaning up the mess you made…AGAIN.” Your last words held so much power, you knew those words were going to sting but, you needed him to hear them. Hear how much pain he has caused because of his absence. Hear what a mess he’s made of you. The scenarios of them interacting start to flood your mind, the acts of kindness and love the two radiated gave off a familiar feeling that you two once shared. You swallowed your fear down as a fearful question bubbled up in your throat.

“Have–have you two done anything?”

Silence. All you were met with was silence. But this was all you needed to finally make sense of his recurring disappearances. Your face scrunched up in disgust, your tears now producing more than they have ever before.

“I knew it…” Swiftly you turned away from him almost jogging your way out of the small hideaway area, ignoring his calls out to you. You didn’t want to hear a thing he had to say anymore, his silence spoke loudly for him already.

“y/n, listen to m-” His hand caught your wrist trying his best to make you look at him, instead you jerked your arm away from his grip harshly.

“Rä'ä!” The anger in your voice shook him, you never raised your voice at him, though he knew he deserved this. He made a mistake and he needed you to understand that.

“You do not get to touch me anymore. You do not even need to think about me anymore.”

His ears dropped dramatically, his tail hiding in between his legs. It was now his turn to breathe heavily, his brain not wanting to believe the words you were throwing at him.

“Please, just let me explain what happ-”

“You have explained enough lo’ak. Now go, go before tsireya starts wondering about your whereabouts.” You turned away from him only to be stopped by him once more.

“I don’t care about tsireya right now! Dammit just listen to me!” His voice shook massively, his eyes pleading desperately at you almost making you push your hurt and anger to the side and wrap him back in your arms that you wanted him back desperately in. Almost.

“Goodbye lo’ak.” You took your arm away from his hold once again ignoring his pleas for you to come back. Your heart ached hearing how desperate he sounded for you, though you needed him to learn. You needed him to learn that someone’s heart is not something to gamble with.

He needed to learn from all the mistakes he made.

#loak angst #loak sully #loak x reader #loak #avatar angst #avatar twow #avatar fanfiction #neteyam #neteyam x reader #jake sully x y/n #jake sully #neytiri #tsireya

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strictlyfavorites · 6 months

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A LITTLE GUN HISTORY FIRST POSTED in 2015

In 1929, the Soviet Union established gun control. From 1929 to 1953, about 20 million dissidents, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.

In 1911, Turkey established gun control. From 1915 to 1917, 1.5 million Armenians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.

Germany established gun control in 1938 and from 1939 to 1945, a total of 13 million Jews and others who were unable to defend themselves were rounded up and exterminated.

China established gun control in 1935. From 1948 to 1952, 20 million political dissidents, unable to defend themselves were rounded up and exterminated.

Guatemala established gun control in 1964. From 1964 to 1981, 100,000 Mayan Indians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.

Uganda established gun control in 1970. From 1971 to 1979, 300,000 Christians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.

Cambodia established gun control in 1956. From 1975 to 1977, one million educated people, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.

56 million defenseless people rounded up and exterminated in the 20th Century because of gun control:

You won't see this data on the US evening news, or hear politicians disseminating this information.

Guns in the hands of honest citizens save lives and property and, yes, gun-control laws adversely affect only the law-abiding citizens.

Take note my fellow Americans, before it's too late!

The next time someone talks in favor of gun control, please remind them of this history lesson.

With guns, we are "citizens". Without them, we are "subjects".

During WWII the Japanese decided not to invade America because they knew most Americans were ARMED!

If you value your freedom, please spread this antigun-control message to all of your friends.

SWITZERLAND ISSUES EVERY HOUSEHOLD A GUN!

SWITZERLAND'S GOVERNMENT TRAINS EVERY ADULT THEY ISSUE A RIFLE.

SWITZERLAND HAS THE LOWEST GUN RELATED CRIME RATE OF ANY CIVILIZED COUNTRY IN THE WORLD!!!

IT'S A NO BRAINER!

DON'T LET OUR GOVERNMENT WASTE MILLIONS OF OUR TAX DOLLARS IN AN EFFORT TO MAKE ALL LAW ABIDING CITIZENS AN EASY TARGET.

Spread the word everywhere you can that you are a firm believer in the 2nd Amendment!

It's time to speak loud before they try to silence and disarm us.

You're not imagining it, history shows that governments always manipulate tragedies to attempt to disarm the people.

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seabirdtxt · 7 months

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.Irminsul --amend -m 'Scaramouche'

Nahida has called in the book club to try and start discussions about the Creator's situation. Cyno actually kinda knows what he's talking about and Alhaitham is... mostly there for moral support... [< prev] [Blog Tag] [next >]

Notes: SAGAU, reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. Separate warning for my writing being all over the place on this one. all relationships are currently platonic!

WC. 2.6k

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There’s not much to do except wait for Alhaitham and Cyno to show up, unfortunately, so you have taken to chatting with Nahida and Aranyani about some of the games and toys that exist back on Earth. Aranyani seems to be interested in the mechanics of each, comparing them to existing games in Teyvat, while Nahida is more interested in trying them out for herself, someday.

Scaramouche doesn’t seem interested in the conversation, but he sits with the three of you anyway and watches the shadows of birds moving beyond the stained glass windows.

You’d just been explaining the concept of the rubix cube and algorithms to the two gods when a sure knock is heard on the sanctuary doors. Scaramouche takes the opportunity to make his escape from the conversation, shuffling to the door and opening it for the newcomers.

Cyno steps in, followed by Alhaitham, and the two of them hold each other at a polite distance as they walk down toward the dais, where the rest of you stand to greet them.

“Hello, my friends!” Nahida exclaims, smiling brightly and clasping her hands together even as she and Aranyani take a gracious step back to allow you and the newcomers space. “Thank you so much for being here! We have a lot to discuss!”

“We came as soon as we heard,” Cyno replies, nodding. He then turns to you with a little salute. “Your Grace, it is an honor to be in your presence.”

You put your hands up placatingly. “Please, there’s no need for formality…” you say, shuffling awkwardly on the spot as everyone looks at you. You clear your throat and gesture for the newcomers to continue.

“We heard about the circumstances after your arrival in Teyvat,” Alhaitham states, stepping around Cyno, stopping at his side and crossing his arms. Straight to the point. “Do you remember the circumstances that led up to your descent? It might help point toward the root cause, and shed light on the ‘how’s and ‘why’s.”

“Uh, good question,” you mutter, scratching your head about it for a second. “I was probably hanging out in my room or something, really. Playing, uh, games on my phone.”

You wonder if it’s too early to mention that said game was Genshin, AKA. controlling their world. You know they’re marginally self-aware, but the extent of which still escapes you.

“Alright, and did you do anything different while you were playing on this ‘phone’? See anything strange?” Cyno picks up, pulling out a small notepad and quill. “Anything out of the ordinary, things that you don’t normally do or notice.”

“Well, my phone has been glitching a lot when I play games, lately,” you muse. “And I kept getting these buggy screens while I was in-game, but I figured that was just because my device was overheating or something. You know, they build them faulty on purpose so they can sell you a new one every few years? Apparently in France or something they made companies give people the right to repair their own phones, but we don’t have that where I live…”

Cyno writes down most of the first half of what you say, but you seem to lose the crowd as you ramble. He looks up from his notepad to fix you with a level stare, though you can tell there's just a hint of confusion behind his expression.

“Can you say something that makes sense to people who live in this world?” Scaramouche interjects somewhere in the middle of your rambling, the first time he spoke since you guys first teleported to the Sanctuary of Surasthana. “Or at least stay on topic, or something.”

“Oh,” you reply, blinking. “Right.”

Cyno nods to you again, though he keeps glancing at Scaramouche out of the corner of his eye. Alhaitham doesn’t bother with subtlety, fixing the Balladeer with a level, analytical stare. Cyno clears his throat after a few seconds of awkward silence, preparing his notepad once more. “So, you were saying you played on this ‘phone’ device, aside from the problem you noticed, was there anything else you did differently?”

“Not really,” you shrug. “I was playing the game like I normally would, doing commissions and stuff. No, wait, actually I did do something a bit weird.”

This causes Cyno to perk up, and he leans forward onto the balls of his feet as he listens attentively.

“Because the game was overheating my phone, my ping was super slow,” you explain. “So I was lagging pretty badly. I was doing one of the leylines in the jungle and I was spamming the interact button on the flower because I was getting impatient…”

“And then?”

“... And then I think another dialogue box popped up, but I didn’t notice what it said.” You finish, sighing. “After that, I just remember waking up beside a leyline thingy right here in Teyvat.”

“Do you remember the exact location of the leyline?” Alhaitham asks, to which you shake your head.

“The Traveler and Wanderer found me not too long after that, and took me straight to the city. They probably have a better idea than I do, honestly. I didn’t really have a chance to figure out where I was, at the time…”

“Do you recall any distinctive landmarks? Anything that stood out in an otherwise unremarkable location?”

You shake your head again, trying to remember what you saw. “No, uh, I was a little bit distracted by discovering I was suddenly in- uh, in Teyvat, and-”

“So you were not already aware of your location when you descended?” Cyno clarifies. You nod quickly.

“I only figured out it was Sumeru when the Traveler started bringing me closer to the city,” you agree, wringing your hands nervously under the general’s gaze. “The few little houses and tents that started popping up, the architecture kinda gave it away…”

“Were there any inconsistencies you noticed between your knowledge of Teyvat and the actual Teyvat when you arrived?” Cyno asks, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “Just to make sure you’re in the correct version.”

“Well, funny you should mention that,” you figure it wouldn’t hurt to share this, given the result of it sitting right next to you. Out of the corner of your eye, Nahida is giving you a thumbs up. “I got hurt touching a leyline, not the same one as when I first got here, though! I got a little cut on my hand, because the leaves are a bit sharper than I was expecting…”

Alhaitham’s attention shifts from the Balladeer back to you. “What happened when you were injured?”

“I, uh, I accidentally made Irminsul recover some deleted information.” You simplify as best as you can. “And now there’s several things that were added back to the world that aren’t technically supposed to be here...”

“I’ve never heard of leylines doing that, before,” Cyno remarks. “Then again, it’s not every day the Creator descends to Teyvat.”

“Have you tried going back to the same location to see if it yields reverse results?” Alhaitham wonders aloud, seeming amused by the strange predicament.

“And what is that supposed to achieve?” Scaramouche interrupts again, snorting as he crosses his arms. “Besides going for a leisurely stroll through the jungle, I mean. Irminsul already recovered the missing data, and the location itself doesn’t matter, if you haven’t noticed already, since you can find a leyline just about anywhere.”

“It’s certainly an unprecedented behavior for leylines,” Cyno agrees. “But again, the Creator has never descended before-”

“We heard you the first time,” Scaramouche deadpans, earning him a smack upside the head courtesy of you. “Ow! Do you want to figure this stuff out or not?”

“Be nice,” you grumble, though you do feel slightly annoyed at the repetitive line of questioning. “He’s just ruling things out, right?” You turn to Cyno, nodding encouragingly for him to continue.

“Ley lines are a complicated but fascinating subject to study,” Cyno states, crossing his arms and tucking his notebook under one elbow. “However, I’m afraid interdimensional travel is a little bit outside Spantamad’s realm of expertise.”

“Honestly, that’s fair,” you give a resigned sigh, but Scaramouche cuts you off.

“But how’s that supposed to help you?” He sneers and rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s like you want to be stuck here forever with no explanation for how you got here in the first place.”

“Can we just chalk it up to magic or something?” You ask sheepishly, a little embarrassed at having taken the time out of two of Sumeru’s most important figures’ days.

“I was looking forward to hearing about how you got into this predicament with your own two idiot hands, honestly.”

“What I want to know,” Alhaitham suddenly interjects, surprising everyone else with his initiative. “Is how the Creator and the Dendro archon are here, cozying up to a Fatui harbinger?”

Four pairs of eyes blink at him in surprise, while Cyno nods in agreement.

“I think that’s the more pressing matter, here,” he agrees, and you can sense the tingle of static in the air as his previously-relaxed grip on his notebook starts to tighten.

“Okay, see, that’s one of the things I was talking about!” You say quickly, the words leaving you in a rush in hopes of stemming the building tension in the sanctuary. “He was a harbinger before, but he’s all better now!”

“You say that like it was an illness,” Scaramouche snorts, to which you can only laugh.

“Yeah? As if you didn’t act a little bit sick in the hea-”

Nahida, who up until now has been doing an excellent job of pretending to mind her own business, decides to chime in before the general can come to his own conclusion.

“I apologize for not warning you two earlier, but I do have it on good authority—that authority being myself,” she hides her giggle with the palm of her hand, “that the Balladeer poses no harm to either of you, or the Creator!”

“It’s also kinda my fault that he’s here, so I mean…” You trail off and give an apologetic shrug.

“How did you know I was a harbinger?” Scaramouche’s eyes narrow at Alhaitham and he crosses his arms as well, mirroring both the scribe and Cyno. “As far as I've been told, the memory of ‘me’ was erased from Irminsul.”

Cyno shakes his head. “No, there is recorded evidence of the Balladeer’s involvement with the sages’ god-creation plan,” he corrects, relaxing very slightly after Nahida’s reassurance but not dropping his guard completely.

“I was present at the time of the Traveler’s investigation of the Joruri workshop, where they confronted the mechanical false god,” Alhaitham adds. “The person who fell from the machine indeed bears striking resemblance to you, but was confirmed to not be the Balladeer himself. However, Lord Kusanali’s own interjection confirms that you are indeed the Balladeer.”

“He’s been reformed,” you say cheerfully, but your mind is running a mile a minute. Evidently Nahida and Aranyani are on the same page, because the two goddesses drift closer with curious looks on their faces.

“So Irminsul has already started patching the holes in Teyvat’s history,” Nahida muses, hands on her hips. “It’s much faster than I anticipated, given the circumstances.”

“Not as surprising as you would think, little sprout,” Aranyani pats her head. “Irminsul is capable of very rapid computation, but the problem lies in resolving as many conflicting histories as possible. Two is faster, but three will cause some things to be shuffled around for a few days, still. The justification of the existence of multiple incarnations of the Balladeer may yet be subject to change.”

“So you’re saying that what we currently perceive as fact, is instead false?” Cyno asks, having retrieved his notebook once more. As the goddesses continue to muse on the subject, he writes down their theories and makes some notes of his own.

“I’d say sorry for that workshop fight,” Scaramouche says, addressing Alhaitham with a smug grin. “But I honestly didn’t even remember you being there. I guess you just weren’t that noteworthy to me at the time. No hard feelings, right?”

Alhaitham doesn’t even bother to grace him with a look, much to Scaramouche’s annoyance. Instead, the scribe quietly listens in on the Irminsul discussion.

Meanwhile, you try to remember what team you had when you took on the Archon quest fight. It’s been a while since then, and you’re not sure if you’re thinking of the right fight. Maybe you used Alhaitham in one of your weeklies? Speaking of which, do those boss fights exist in the world of Teyvat, or is that just for you as a player of the game? If they exist, how do the characters feel having to go beat up the same people on a weekly basis? What about the characters who are weekly bosses, like Wanderer, Childe, and Ei?

Thinking about it is starting to give you a headache.

You decide to tune back in as Nahida and Aranyani finish bouncing ideas between themselves, with Cyno furiously scribbling annotations in the margins of his notepad. What was it they were talking about again? You get the sense that maybe you should've paid a bit more attention.

“- that’s the case, then we should contact Inazuma and see if there is a new history that came up.” Cyno offers, to which Nahida shakes her head.

“If we ask directly, the answer we will get is the same.” She explains, wringing her tiny hands. “To them, this knowledge will have always existed. They will perceive it as an unchanged fact, in the same way you and the Scribe believe the circumstances of the Balladeer to be a fact. The better people to ask would be the ones involved in the anomaly.”

“Alright, and how do we find them?”

“See, that’s the funny part…” You begin, only to be interrupted by a sudden swirling pressure in the chamber.

It’s strange to see the teleportation from an outside perspective. You watch as Wanderer shimmers into existence, adjusting his hat. The metal charms on the ends of it chime as they settle. He looks up, catching sight of you first and raises a hand to wave, only to stop short when he sees the other guests.

“... Looks like I’m late to the party,” he remarks, drifting over to Nahida’s side. “Wanna catch me up to speed? Not that I care, but I might as well get the full picture so I can correct you where you're wrong.”

“I asked for the General and the Scribe to come visit so that we could get a better grasp on the Creator’s situation!” Nahida explains, smiling brightly at him.

“Great, and how did that go?”

Everybody chooses to look in different directions, unable to look Wanderer in the eye. You hear him heave an annoyed, but resigned, sigh.

“We might’ve gotten somewhere if Buer hadn’t sidetracked,” Scaramouche adds helpfully.

“And you might’ve gotten the groceries like you guys said you would, too, but here we are,” Wanderer crosses his arms, pinning you and Scaramouche with a pointed look.

You wince and turn around, subtly leaning over to Scara, whispering: “I actually forgot about that…”

“Me too…” he replies, not quite as quietly as you. You both startle as hands come down on both of your shoulders, Wanderer’s grinning face appearing between the two of you.

“Isn’t this just a splendid opportunity for you two to go find the traveler and restock our pantry, while Buer and I go over the details of what you clowns didn’t explain right?”

Scaramouche wastes no time wresting his shoulder out of Wanderer’s grasp with a noise of disgust. “Who do you think you are to order me around, teacher’s pet? I’ll go when I feel like it.” He sneers, stalking off toward the doors of the sanctuary.

You offer a light chuckle and a wry grin of apology to the others, who watch unimpressed at Scaramouche’s display, while Wanderer dismisses you with a shooing motion.

Right. Time to get those supplies.

#genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware au #genshin isekai #genshin wanderer #sagau wanderer #genshin scaramouche #sagau scaramouche #sagau x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #seabird.txt #glitch in irminsul au

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chasingfictions · 4 months

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late s3 coffy is so crazy bc at first glance theyre like wow we are simply not going to let these girls interact after helpless because buffy is really busy with her other brunette shadow self right now but in fact cordy's whole pursuit of wesley is like.

okay you've been obsessed with a girl since she moved here three years ago and you wanted to be her best friend but she chose the freaks and weirdos over you. so you mock her for being a freak and a weirdo but in this way where you're always going out of your way to do it, and you always have this baseline awareness and jealousy of her, you are always trying to date the boys she dates, but it's just regular popular girl-weird girl antics right? it's just regular popular girl-weird girl she hates antics to go to her when you're afraid for your life, put your safety in her hands, and tell her i know you share this feeling we have for each other, deep down. and the week after that you become unwittingly aware of her secret identity and it makes sense to you so quickly, you enfold yourself into her world with such ease. but you're still not allowed to be friends with her. you start dating one of her weirdo freak friends though, and admit to yourself later on that you only dated him because of his link to buffy. you detach yourself from your popular girl friends and become totally ensconced in this girl's friend group, you're one of them now, you've thrown in your lot with her. but she still doesn't like you, and you don't like her, but not because you actually even necessarily dislike each other. i know you share this feeling we have for each other, deep down. but your personas are people who don't get along, because you're the popular girl and she's the weird girl. even though you're not popular anymore. even though you're just as weird as her now. even though she was popular too, at her old school. even though you hang out all the time. even though you're dating her best friend. you're still not friends, you're just people who can't stop insulting each other. and then her best friend cheats on you with the other best friend. and the girl tries to make amends with you, tries to tell you she can be there for you, that you're allowed to be friends, for real, you don't need the guise of dating her best friend for you guys to hang out. i know you share this feeling we have for each other, deep down. but you're so angry at her, because she's the reason you became weird in the first place, if she had never moved to town, you would never be like this, you would have everything you used to have, and she did all of this to you, and did it all without even liking you that much, and you didn't like her that much either, except you do, of course, and she likes you. but you guys can't say that to each other at the same time. there always has to be one of you pulling away. even though i know you share this feeling we have for each other, deep down.

and now you don't have a link to her anymore. you're not dating her friend. you've rejected her offer to be friends despite that. but you can't just ... not see each other. right? so you still hang around, to insult her, to trade barbs, to call her a freak, and even though you'll never gain back what you had before she made you lose it, it's okay, because she's still the weird one. not you. even though you still only talk to the weirdos. that's okay though. that's okay, because you still see her sometimes. i know you share this feeling we have for each other, deep down. and then when she's at her weakest, you're there for her, and you protect her, and she's always protected you, and now for one second, for the very first time, you are on equal footing.

and that doesn't mean you have a place in her life. you still don't see one for yourself. trying to be friends is too scary. and she has a whole new girl she's being antagonistic with now. but luckily, her new watcher moves to town just after this happens. so you attach yourself to him, so you can have a reason to stay in the girl's orbit. you're always around, but it's not about her. maybe it could be, but it's not, you just like her watcher, that's all. see, you're not even talking to her. you're just trying to form an emotional bond with the person who, as far as you know from the only other watcher she's ever had, is going to be a huge figure in her life from here on out. and you don't talk about it, but that's okay. because i know you share this feeling we have for each other, deep down.

and then you can't bear to stay in the town where she lives anymore but you also can't bear to not have anything to do with her so even though you don't talk anymore, you move to her hometown, and end up working side by side with her ex boyfriend and that same ex watcher and fighting demons just like she does, forever, for the rest of your life

#btvs meta #skfjksflds i dont even ??? capital P post anymore but jesus .coffy. u know??

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mangoisms · 6 months

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circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter twelve: back to you | read chapter eleven

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: the final part <3 my end notes if you'd like <3

ten months later

“Hey, you two. Where’s your aunt?”

“Having an existential crisis on the trampoline,” you hear Irey respond matter-of-factly.

“She’s no fun anymore,” Jai adds.

“Well, Bart just got here so—woah!”

Even you can feel the sharp gust of wind the twins create as they zoom off to see their cousin. Bart Allen runs at a million miles per hour—metaphorically and literally, so he and the twins get on like a house on fire.

Good thing everyone turned out for you and Steph’s pre-graduation party, otherwise Wally, Jay, and Max would have their hands full trying to make sure the three of them didn’t bring the house down.

And when you say everyone came, you really mean everyone.

That’s sort of the problem.

Barry Allen and Iris West-Allen were pleasant as always when they arrived—fifteen minutes late, the tardiness Barry is prone to considerably mitigated by his wife’s urging—and gave you big hugs in congratulations when they saw you.

“Well, early congratulations,” Barry amends, smiling.

“I just wish we could be there, too,” Iris says, letting you go.

You wave her off. Barry had a mission with the JL on the day of and Iris’s book tour was just starting, so there was no extra time to spare.

“No, it’s okay. Wally and Linda are already going, so that’s enough.”

“We’ll be there in spirit,” Barry says, grinning as Iris rolls her eyes. “Literally.”

Referring to the speed force and the way it tethers both speedsters and lightning rods. So, yeah, technically.

You chuckle. “Exactly. So, don’t worry.”

“We still wanted to give you our gift in person, though,” Iris says, passing you an envelope.

“You guys really didn’t have to but thank you.”

“‘Course we did,” Barry says. “You’re Wally’s… what is it? Close friend slash little sister slash niece? Us, well, we don’t mind seeing you as a niece.”

“Complicated labels aside,” Iris puts in, “you’re part of this family, too.”

And boy if that wasn’t going to choke you up.

You believe it now, almost a year since Wally revealed his identity; since then, you consider Keystone City and Central City as much of a home as Gotham. It was only inevitable that you met the others and you were lucky enough that they welcomed you with welcome arms.

But the ones part of this family are one and many. Not just the Garricks, not just the Wests, not just the Allens, not just Max Mercury, but—

“Ms. Chambers?”

Jesse Chambers grins at you. “Hey now, none of that. Here, Jesse works just fine. Pleasure to meet you. Everyone has had nothing but excellent things to say about you.”

Okay. Sure.

That bit is just a little obscured by your horrible confusion on how on earth she even knew everyone.

You have an inkling as to the answer but frankly, it feels impossible to believe. Not because you don’t think she is not capable of it but the fact that the whole billionaire-as-a-superhero/vigilante thing isn’t so uncommon as initially thought.

The confusion must be written all over your face. She laughs. Jay is at your side in the next instant, smiling at her in greeting.

“Sorry not to have told you sooner,” he tells you apologetically, though the smile pulling at his lips tells you he isn’t that sorry. “But we wanted to leave the decision up to her. And—”

“If you can keep these guys’ secret,” Jesse says, jerking a thumb to the kitchen, where Wally, Linda, Barry, and Iris are, “you can keep mine, too. Besides, you did great work during your internship. QE has had our eyes on you for a while.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to—”

“We want to,” she says. “We wouldn’t lose anything at all offering you a place with PR. But if you want to go somewhere else, that’s okay. I’d be happy to be a reference if so.”

Somehow, you managed to stammer out a thank you and get out of that situation without making a complete fool of yourself. Wally later told you Jesse taps into the speed force using an equation, which… sure, why not.

Jesse used to not like him, apparently, but recent events have allowed her to warm up to him; plus, the birth of her own son, Johnny Tyler, helped, too, that way Wade could have a friend to grow up with.

While all the others prepare dinner and attempt to keep Bart, Jai, and Irey’s shenanigans contained, you manage to snag a bit of time to yourself, not quite believing you’d just been offered a job by Jesse Chambers herself.

It’s all just… a little bit insane.

Then the twins came out and you indulged them on the trampoline in the backyard of the West house for a bit. Then you thought too hard about everything and sunk right back into your disbelief again.

Which leads to now.

“Speedsters, I swear,” Tim mutters.

You hear the soft sound of footsteps on the grass but make no move to leave from your place — star-fished on the trampoline, eyes closed. Early May in Keystone City is considerably warmer and tepid than Gotham City. You should shed your hoodie but you don’t want to. Mostly because it isn’t yours, exactly.

It’s Tim’s. The one you wore the night you got stabbed last year. Not the same one; that one was ruined beyond repair and anyway, you weren’t too happy to wear that exact one, either, since you nearly bled out in it. But it’s close enough. The same shade of brilliant azure. Big on Tim and baggy on you.

Of course, why should you want a hoodie when your boyfriend is right here?

The faint noise of the flaps of the netting be brushed aside. Then the trampoline itself moves, dipping with his weight as he comes over to you. You slide a bit, elbow bumping into his knee.

“So,” he starts, closer than before, one hand brushing your cheek as he tucks a few pieces of your hair behind your ear. “What’s this about an existential crisis? In the middle of the day?”

“It’s four in the afternoon.”

“Schematics.”

You grunt but don’t respond.

A soft chuckle. “Is this about Jesse Chambers’ offer? It’s too bad, you know.”

“What’s too bad.”

“Well, Wayne Enterprises was looking forward to offering you a position, too. And so were the Titans. And I can’t speak for this one personally but I’m fairly certain the Justice League was planning on sending an offer, too. You’re in high demand.”

You groan. “Isn’t that too much? I’m—I haven’t even graduated. There are so many other people with so much more experience—”

“Well, how are you supposed to get experience, too?” he asks, laughing softly. “Besides, you’re graduating with honors.”

“Oh, yeah, well, I’m sure it helps to have a boyfriend with an in at WE, who also just so happens to be a member of the Titans, on top of multiple people who are close to me that are also part of the Justice League.”

“And Jesse Chambers? Hers is the most reliable in that sense, then, isn’t it? Because she doesn’t personally know you—”

“But she knows Wally.”

“But their relationship isn’t that great. Sure, she’s good with Jay and Max but… You also have the advantage of having worked there briefly. They wouldn’t call you back if they didn’t like what they saw.”

Which is true. Jesse Chambers is a businesswoman. She wouldn’t do this as some pity play.

Then again, neither would the others.

You finally open your eyes, squinting immediately as the sun beams down at you.

Tim shifts, moving until his head can shield you from it, bringing him into your focus.

He’s smiling warmly at you, affection clear in his gaze; the sunlight does wonders for him, for his dark hair and blue eyes.

“This can’t be happening.”

“It is,” he says. “You’re graduating next week Friday. You and Steph. And no matter where you go and what you do, you’re gonna kick ass, you know that, right?”

You groan. “You’re supposed to say things like that.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But when I tell you I had nothing to do with the offer from WE, you have to believe me. You know I haven’t worked with them in a long while. That was all them.”

“Bruce?”

“Maybe Bruce.”

But then that’s ‘cause he feels… guilty about cornering you last year. Which serves him right. Your relationship with Tim’s adoptive father is a bit rocky, truth be told. Just because of the things Tim has told you. The things Steph has told you. And last year is certainly a factor. But all the others, you get along with them.

You don’t see Dick too often because he lives in New York but he’s kind. Jason’s cool when you see him. Cass and Duke are great. You hang out with them regularly on your own. Damian is a bit frigid but that’s just because of your choice in company and not anything personal, exactly, but you do get the advantage of also having Steph on your side, since they have a better relationship than he and Tim do. Alfred is pleasant as always, too; sometimes he sends grocery deliveries to you to make sure you’re sustaining on actual food and not just ramen.

Barbara Gordon is also very nice and volunteered to help you put together your resume and cover letters and applications; Jean-Paul Valley is kind, too. They’re both old family friends, you would learn. You have lunch with Helena Bertinelli once a month; you two bond over a mutual dislike for Batman and a mutual fondness for Tim—begrudging on her part sometimes but she undeniably sees him as a little brother and he sees her a big sister. And truthfully, your relationship with her is a bit similar.

You’ve made quite a few relationships with these vigilantes. Connections. So, you shouldn’t be surprised that all of this is happening. But one part of you, the prideful part, doesn’t like it. The other part, the rational one, says it was unavoidable. You were going to apply to QE and WE, anyway. Maybe toss out a few applications to the League and the Titans, too, just for the heck of it. Not expecting anything to come of it. Out of any of it.

But of course something would. You know too many of these people for nothing to happen.

“But then again,” Tim says a moment later. “Bruce is just attached to the company by name.”

“That is not a ‘just’ thing, Tim, that is a very big thing. They’d do whatever he wanted.”

“Not anything. Not if you didn’t have the grades, background, or potential to back it up.”

Also, technically, true.

“But like I said. Jesse’s is the most earnest in that regard.”

“Do you want me to leave Gotham, is that it.”

He laughs. The sound warms you.

“I don’t,” he chuckles. “I really don’t. I’d love for you to go with WE. But I also know that the news of us dating throws a wrench in that.”

Right. Ever since the gossip columns caught you two kissing on a date a couple months ago, they wouldn’t shut up about it. Only after digging their grubby little fingers into every inch of your past, of course, and using that to fuel the flames. Talking about your relationship with him as if you planned it, just trying to get a leg-up in the application process at WE.

But the thing is, objectively speaking, there isn’t anything wrong with that. You aren’t with Tim strictly for that purpose but you knew it would factor in. It’s undeniable, the way all these other offers are undeniable in who and why they came. You can’t help who you’re connected to.

But yeah. It would suck to prove all the tabloids right by accepting a job with WE right after graduation—like all of them said you would.

Of course, they would talk regardless. Even if you went with QE or the Titans or the Justice League. Wayne Enterprises is a known partner with Quickstart Enterprises, as well as a heavy funder for the League and the Titans. So…

You groan, wiggling closer to him by planting your head on his thigh and staring forlornly up at him. “What should I do?”

He smiles. “Whatever you want to, honey.”

“Yeah, that’s not really helpful, Timmy.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, bending down to scoop you into his arms. You let out a squeak as he pulls you into his lap, then you settle comfortably in the circle of his arms, dropping your head on his shoulder.

From here, you can spy the old bullet graze on the side of his neck, silvery and a little textured. Without a second thought, you lean forward to kiss it.

He shivers slightly, arms tightening around you.

You bite down a smile. “Cold?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, fingers digging into your side, making you giggle and try to squirm away from him.

He doesn’t keep up the torment, exhaling a soft laugh, too, as you lay your head back on his shoulder.

A cool breeze sweeps through the backyard. In the suburbs of Keystone City, it is quiet out here. Peaceful. Though you can still hear the others inside. Wally saying something. Steph laughing at it.

You’ve carved out a nice place for yourself here. The West’s and Garrick’s here in Keystone and the Allen’s over in Central.

You close your eyes, basking in Tim’s embrace and his proximity. You haven’t seen him much this month, with you and Steph in the throes of finals. But he promised to come, that he’d ask Bart to take him and his friend happily agreed.

You were surprised to learn of their relationship. That they had known each other. But they had met when they were younger, along with the rest of the original members of Young Justice. Put together because they were superhero kids. The relationship stuck. What a coincidence, that Bart Allen was part of the family you had quickly grown close to. But not unwelcome.

It is a small world, you would think.

Or maybe, when you feel indulgent, meant to be. You and Wally. You and Steph, you and Tim. All of this. Interconnected in ways you could only dream of. You don’t have to sacrifice much to have them together.

Tim squeezes your hip, one hand slipped underneath the hoodie. “What are you thinking about?”

That maybe this decision isn’t as hard as you thought it would be. That it’s not a matter of deliberation, is it?

You know you don’t want to prove all the tabloids right by going with WE immediately. Not to mention, for the longest time, it was a dream to work with them. You want more time, more experience, before you move there.

And you don’t think you are ready to jump head-first into working for the Justice League or the Titans. You need experience for that, too.

So…

“I’m pretty sure I could convince Wally to take me to Gotham to visit. When I start at Quickstart.”

“Not necessary,” he says and you raise an eyebrow, watching him pull back, his gaze warm, not at all surprised by your words. “I could just come and visit you. Unlimited access to the jet and all.”

“Racking up carbon emissions just for me?”

“You know the jet is clean energy,” he says, pouting a bit.

Yes, you do. He talked your ear off about it when they made the switch. But you just like seeing him get pouty about it.

You cup his cheeks, smiling, particularly taken with the way his whole face softens as he looks at you. The knowledge that he’s this soft for you is always so insane to you. Not at all good for your heart.

“I know. It’s still a bit of an expense, though, isn’t it?”

“It’s worth it.”

“Cornball.”

“I’m being serious,” he presses, hands tightening around your waist. “Whatever I have to do, it’s worth it for you.”

You know that. Tim is a devoted boyfriend. He doesn’t do things in halves. When he’s loyal to someone, when he dedicates himself, he does it wholly. You could ask him of anything and he would do whatever it took to get it for you, to do it for you. If you asked him to move with you, you know he would do it.

You also know the thought must’ve crossed his own mind. But he still won’t say anything, not unless he knows you want it, too, and… you do. You think that can wait, though, for a little while longer. Let you get settled in and then you two can discuss that possibility—if he wants to, of course, because while Wally and Linda do like him now, the former would not like having a Bat running underfoot in the city, in either of the cities.

You just aren’t used to that kind of devotion. Even after this long.

You slide your arms around his neck, threading your fingers in his hair. He leans into the touch. “I know.”

“I’ll take Steph when I can, too,” he adds and you smile again.

“I love you.”

He leans forward, forehead brushing yours. Your eyes flutter shut.

He nudges your nose with his, then finally closes the distance between you two.

Cotton-candy sweet warmth unspools in your chest he kisses you, soft and gentle. But it quickly edges into dangerous territory when you nip at his bottom lip and he yanks you closer and closer until there is no space between your bodies. It would be better if you weren’t wearing this hoodie but you make do with what you have, still able to feel most of his chest pressed to yours, hard and sturdy, heat licking up your spine.

Your fingers twine in his hair and he lets out a shuddery breath, the kiss turning open-mouthed in the next second and you can taste the gum he was chewing on earlier.

It’s a shade too hungry for your current location but you can’t help it, he’s just so… beguiling. You’re overwhelmingly attracted to your boyfriend and you think you always will be.

But of course, you still should know better, even with all that.

A sharp gust of wind hits you two in the next second and you both separate immediately, knowing exactly what—or who—it is. But instead of Wally or any other speedster here, a high-pitched giggle makes it to your ears and you both turn, eyebrows raising as you find one and a half year old Wade West now inside the trampoline, net fluttering behind him.

You and Tim turn to look at the back door, which is now open, Wally and Linda standing there; the former looks pleased, while the latter just raises her eyebrows.

“I thought,” he starts, mischief written on his face, “that instead of leaving space for Jesus, you could leave some space for Wade. So. Do that. And please stop desecrating the place my children play.”

“And come inside,” Linda adds. “Food’s almost ready.”

You slide off Tim’s lap, reaching for Wade before he tries to stand and walk over to you, not trusting his balance on the trampoline. Tiny hands grapple with the hoodie strings, tugging.

“Got it. Thanks.”

They both smile pleasantly and turn back inside.

You bite your lip, which already feels swollen from your kissing, and look at Tim. His face is flushed with red, lips swollen, too. A tempting sight.

He catches the look on your face. “Don’t.”

“It’s my graduation party.”

“It’s yours and Steph’s. Later.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Well, you love me, so what does that say about you?”

“That you’ve seduced me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’ve seduced you, okay, sure—” he looks at Wade, shaking his head “—can you believe this?”

All Wade can do is giggle in response. All you can do is smile at him, so painfully in love.

He smiles back, rising up on his knees and leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“I love you, too, you know.”

Yeah, you do know.

four years later

“Goddamit, where is it?”

Fish, a miniature Italian Greyhound you rescued from the shelter, offers no answer or help for your plight. Instead, she just sits near you, happy to follow you around as you search, watching you with big eyes. Big, empty eyes. Absolutely nothing goes on in her little head and you and Tim love her very much for it but damn if you wouldn’t appreciate a little help in finding the security badge that seems to have mysteriously disappeared.

It’s perfect timing, too. That badge is your lifeline. That’s what your supervisor, Meena, said anyway, a couple days ago when you went in for it and had a chance to speak with her before starting work. You can’t get into the tower without it. You can’t do anything without it and guest badges do not have the same amount of clearance that you have.

You stop in the living room, taking a breath, frustration starting to make you hot, which would be the icing on the cake, if you managed to sweat through your clothes before you even started work.

Sighing, you look at her. “Do you know where it is?”

A sound behind you.

“You should know better than that, honey,” comes the sleepy voice of your boyfriend, and you turn. “Fish is lucky to have a single coherent thought once a week and she wasted that one yesterday when she managed to give Damian the high five he asked for.”

You chuckle despite yourself, remembering the pleased gleam that had come into Damian’s hazel green eyes when Fish successfully completed the trick. Only after six months of painstaking work, of course, but it hardly deters him. Titus passed away not too long ago and he’s fixated on Fish because of it. Even if he says her name is ‘completely idiotic.’

Brushing away those thoughts, you focus on Tim, still sleepy-eyed and rumpled. Then you see it—in his hand is your security badge, your picture smiling up at you, with your name beneath it.

“Oh my god, where—”

“You gave it to me, remember?” he asks, laughing softly as you pad over to him. “And said to keep it with my gear, that way it wouldn’t get lost between then and now.”

True. All true. After all, that gear—that is, his suit and tech—doesn’t get brought out other than for the occasional mission with the Titans, so, say, every six months or so. Other than that, it remains hidden in a panel behind your side in the walk-in closet, accessible only by him and you through fingerprint and retinal scans.

Easiest way not to get lost, especially since you’ve been particularly harried in the lead-up to the official start of your job at Wayne Enterprises as their spokesperson.

“Sorry,” you sigh. “Is that why you’re up? Because I told you, you don’t need to wake up for this, you can stay in bed…”

He raises an eyebrow. “And let you freak out for the next hour and a half before you have to leave?”

“Um. Yes?”

A soft smile. He reaches for you, hands settling on your arms, rubbing small circles there.

“Well, you’re wrong. It’s your first day at WE.”

“I know, but you didn’t have to get up now at least…”

The original idea when you decided to wake up at five-fifteen is that one, it would give you ample time to get ready—both yourself and your belongings—and two, it would let you try to relax.

Key word being try.

It’s now six, you’re supposed to leave in an hour and fifteen minutes to beat the morning rush traffic, and your nerves are none the better for it.

Your sleep was fitful, too, in anticipation of today, so you’re starting to feel sleepiness creep in at the edges; the fact that the sun has not yet risen and won’t rise for a while—cursed winter months and their late sunrises—does not help.

He eyes you. “I think I do.”

You groan, dropping your forehead on his shoulder. “I can’t do this.”

He squeezes your arms. “Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. They’re going to eat me alive.”

If not for being the new girl, then certainly because your boyfriend was, actually, once major shareholder of the company when he was seventeen and no, it doesn’t matter that he was just a figurehead and Lucius was actually pulling the strings—it still happened and Tim worked closely with the company for several years after. And then, of course, it will also be because your boyfriend is the adoptive son of the man who owns the actual company.

Even if you waited before joining, even if you actually applied for the position! Yes, applied! Contrary to what a few tabloids are saying right now, you did not go up to Tim (or Bruce, depending on which gossip column you’re reading) and demand the job. You went through the same channels as absolutely anyone else would.

Tim ducks his head to press a kiss to your neck. You can’t help your shiver and you know he feels it by the way he smiles against your skin. “No, they won’t. That’s my job. They can’t take that away from me.”

“Now is so not the time—”

He laughs, pulling away; you do the same to look at him.

“You’re going to be fine, gorgeous. You had Linda and Iris regularly pressing you these last few weeks and you did very well with them. Not to mention your last two jobs…”

You purse your lips.

“Two years with Quickstart Enterprises,” he lists. “Two more with the Justice League. Still bitter you picked them over the Titans, by the way.”

“They were more hardcore. Sorry.”

“Well, see? You and the rest of the team had to salvage the League’s image after each alien invasion or otherwise massive destruction committed during a mission and you guys did it. I mean, the publicity campaign you came up with was brilliant, you know that, right? Support was the highest it’s ever been while you were there.”

Right… In an effort to better the League’s image with the public after a particularly nasty fight that left multiple city blocks destroyed and more questions about the relevancy of the team, you decided the more prominent League members needed to create more solid images for themselves, that way each time the public or news saw them, it wasn’t always about the latest incident that brought their presence in. To do this, they needed to pick something to sponsor or support and start showing for it. Superman took an interest in accessibility to education, Wonder Woman focused on preserving wildlife and ecosystems, along with world landmarks, and Batman—with immense detail and planning to abide by his stiff rule not to be seen before the masses—focused on rehabilitation programs.

It brought in a lot of good coverage as more Leaguers agreed to do it and it did help. Helped a lot. Not to say those in the League were not helping, of course, either suited up in their own cities or with their public personas, but that was the issue. The League was capable of much more destruction collectively than individually and the public didn’t know that Batman was funding hundreds of programs to help impoverished communities in Gotham, mostly because he did that as Bruce Wayne and that connection would never be made known.

But that was the job. And you did it. Excellently. You would’ve stayed on for a little while longer but then you got kidnapped towards the end and that just wasn’t fun.

(Fortunately, however, there was a clause in your signing contract that states that in the event of a kidnapping, the League is obligated to rescue you.

Fair is fair, you think, for helping maintain their image and ensure that the UN doesn’t pull the plug and that the public doesn’t completely despise them.)

And of course, if you managed to survive working with the League and being kidnapped because of that work, then you should be entirely prepared to take on Wayne Enterprises. It should be chump change, if anything, but again, you go in with preconceived notions about yourself and your reputation. Not so great.

But would you back out?

No way.

“I believe in you,” he murmurs, his gaze warm and reassuring. “All of us do. You know Steph does.”

A pause, everything falling silent, save for the snores coming from the guest bedroom, where Steph is asleep.

“I’m not missing your first day at WE,” she had said the night before. “So, you better wake me up before you leave.”

He grins a bit teasingly at a particularly loud snore. “Like a train, right?”

“Like you’re any better.”

“I am not that loud.”

“What is it with me and attracting people who snore?”

Honestly.

“Speaking of, you know Wally and Linda believe in you. You can do this. It’s just ‘cause it’s the first day. Get through it and everything will be better.”

Which is true. You know that. Have been repeating that in your head as today approached and your nerves grew in intensity.

But everything is easier in theory than in practice.

“I know,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “I know.”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks next. “That’s why I’m here. Why we’re all here.”

“To knock some sense into me?”

“To do that gently,” he chuckles.

“I don’t know. I might need the force.”

“Well, I can call Damian if you want.”

“I don’t need that much force… on a scale, maybe something like Linda.”

“It’s good thing she and Wally are going to be here soon for breakfast, then.”

For the same reason Steph spent the night and Tim dragged himself out of bed—for your first day of work.

For you.

You pull him into a hug, overwhelmed at the thought and not at all caring about wrinkling your clothes. You can fix that. But this… this needs to be made known.

“I love you.”

He squeezes you—gently, trying to mitigate any wrinkles, and the thought makes your heart swell with unbridled love—and kisses your temple.

“I love you. We all do.”

And isn’t that something?

reblogs are appreciated!

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#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #red robin x you #dc comics x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x y/n #batfam x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n

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uselessheretic · 7 months

Text

trauma's going to be a huge theme this season and i'm really excited for it. more than anything, the thing i like the most about the show is how compassionate it is to its characters especially ed teach. the show doesn't feel afraid to dig in deep to the ways he's fucked up and presents a stark, unsettling image that in anyone else's story would make him an irredeemable villain. ofmd sidesteps that though and offers the idea that just because you've done bad things, doesn't mean you can't do better. it's never too late to try and do better.

as a fandom, we keep going back to accountability and consequences. x deserved this because they did bad thing. y should have to face severe consequences for this bad thing. wanting z to be a part of the cast isn't holding them accountable to their mistakes.

as a mindset, it's strikingly punishment based where the only two modes of being in fandom seem to be that someone is either innocent and did nothing wrong or they're guilty and have to be punished.

but it's like... a character can do bad things. they can acknowledge it, make amends, and work on healing from it. so far, interviews and articles of the new season have highlighted the delicate way it handles healing from trauma, and i'm really excited about that. to actually address harm and prevent it in the future, you have to get to the root cause of it as well. doing so requires a community, compassion, and empathy for oneself.

#ofmd

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spacesquidlings · 26 days

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Amends

For maybe the first time ever, Rafayel was late. And not just late, but very late. And when the minutes turn to hours and still he doesn't arrive for their date, she begins to panic, beginning a frantic search for her lost artist. Once he's found, she doesn't know what will happen next, but he'll have to do a lot to make up for it.

Pairing: Rafayel x MC Tags: Fluff, established/implied relationship, forgiveness/making it up to her, emotional hurt/comfort Taglist: @aluneposting

For the first time, she was early.

Not to say she was ever late. She would arrive right on time for days she planned to spend with Rafayel, only for him to whine at length about how long he had been waiting for her, time slipping away like water through fingertips as he aged and the world crumbled in his impatience.

Sometimes she would try to arrive early. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen. Yet no matter how early she arrived, Rafayel would always be there, tapping his foot dramatically, lamenting how he was withering away into nothing while he waited for her.

And on the days he was feeling most impatient, she would find him at her door, pouting as he demanded to know why she hadn’t let him in earlier, why she was still getting ready when he wanted to see her now.

A memory of his petulant whine as she wrote down the code for her apartment so he could just let himself in next time he was feeling restless rose to the forefront of her mind. He had been standing outside her building, tapping his foot furiously, arms crossed, his lips pulled into such a magnificent pout that birds could have perched on his bottom lip. She wouldn’t have even noticed he’d been there if her windows hadn’t been opened, if he hadn’t been whining so loudly she’d been able to hear it from inside her apartment.

He’d been early. Hours early. He’d decided that they’d needed to meet earlier in the day, that his artist’s heart had called on him to do something different than what they’d been planning that day.

She hadn’t really understood what he’d been saying, too focused on handing him a slip of paper with the code to her apartment on it so that the next time his heart or his intuition or his whatever decided their plans needed to change and he didn’t want to text her, he could just let himself in.

He had been so delighted he’d quieted instantly, tucking the paper into his pocket and throwing himself onto her couch, waxing on about how lucky she was to have someone like him in her life, and that she must adore him to trust him with her apartment code.

Whether she adored him or not had been something she’d been planning to keep to herself, although the truth that she’d been keeping buried in the soil of her heart was sprouting, emerald green shoots emerging, pale pink buds beginning to unfurl.

It was because of that feeling, the one blooming as languidly as flowers in spring, that she felt a fist squeezing around her heart, that she felt the air rush from her lungs even as they spasmed helplessly. Because if she was early, that meant that Rafayel was late.

She drummed her fingers on the top of the café table she had snagged when she’d arrived. She’d felt so terribly smug when she’d slid into her seat, arriving early enough that Rafayel would have nothing to chastise her for. He would undoubtedly tease her for arriving before him, but his pleased laughter was sunlight to the garden of her heart, coaxing seedlings from the ground. She would happily listen to his teasing, rolling her eyes and feigning annoyance, as he chattered on when he arrived.

But then the minutes had slipped by, water spilling through the cracks between her fingers, and Rafayel had not appeared. There had been no echo of his voice, no tap of his foot.

His presence filled every room he stepped into, and yet the café had remained empty, hollow as marrowless bones, sucked clean. All around her people were talking, laughing, indulging in the company of their friends, their family, their lovers. But it was dull, like she was hearing their voices from beneath the surging waves of the sea.

Her heart slowed, her stomach lurched. Her blood slowed to a sluggish flow, congealing in her veins. Winter spread through her body, latticed frost coating her bones, the spring she had felt flourishing in her marrow barren, decayed.

Panic should have been a wildfire, the furious flight of her heart, jackrabbit beats pounding in her throat, so quick, so wild in its panic that her veins pulsed from her skin. She should have heard nothing but the rush of her burning blood, fiery rapids drowning her beneath their foaming churn.

But Rafayel was fire, warmth. Without the glowing embers of heat that he coaxed to life, she felt herself wilting, withering in the cold left in his wake.

She wanted to shake herself for such dramatics, knowing that Rafayel would never let her live this down if he ever got wind of the frenzy she had worked herself into. But with even the threat of eternal teasing hanging over her head, she couldn’t seem to push away the oily nerves slithering in her belly.

She drummed her fingers on the top of the table, staring at the little clock hung on the wall of the café.

He couldn’t always be early, surely. Rafayel’s moods were as changing as the tides, ebbing and flowing at his whim. He could be a summer storm, waves so powerful they could erode stone in one moment, calm and steady as a beating heart in the next.

The thought did little to calm her as the seconds slipped by. Each breath was a grain of sand slipping through an hourglass, piling at her feet as her anxiety grew. She checked her phone, opening up her texts with Rafayel and scanning them, trying to figure out if something was wrong, if she’d upset him.

It didn’t seem like anything had been out of the ordinary. She’d sent him a picture of a goldfish she’d seen at a pet shop the day before and he’d sent a stream of emojis followed by demands to set it free. He’d texted her just after midnight demanding attention, followed by a number of photos of a shade of green he was trying to perfect. And then she’d woken up to more messages, asking her to help him come up with an excuse to turn down a party invitation.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as her eyes trailed over the string of texts she’d sent him since she’d arrived at the café. Gloating first, at arriving before he did. Five minutes later asking him if he wanted her to order for him, if he was hungry. Ten more minutes later asking if everything was okay.

Then another ten minutes later asking again if he was okay, where was he?

There were more messages after that, her growing unease palpable in her words, the use of the crying emojis that he liked to tease so much, and then no emojis at all as time had ticked on.

He would tease her for the string of texts, but it was too late for her pride now. She’d lost that when she’d given him the code to her apartment and started stocking his favourite foods for when he showed up starving and delirious after painting nonstop for days, anyways. A needy stream of texts was the least of her concerns, weak ammunition for his sharp words when they both knew she had a drawer dedicated to his clothes whenever he came over.

So she didn’t hesitate to send another message, another ‘where are you? I miss you,’ that made her stomach lurch as she tapped send. She shoved her phone into her pocket before she could think on it, heat flaring in her cheeks, her fingers trembling.

It was from worry, from concern. At least she told herself it was, anyways. She couldn’t bear to think about the alternative, about how she was admitting to something still growing, a planted seed that hadn’t yet begun to sprout. Green shoots vibrant in the soil of her heart, yet too small for her to willingly acknowledge.

Yet, anyways.

They would bloom soon, but there was fear lurking in the shadows between her ribs, in the hidden places between the knots of her muscles. A predator surveying its prey. The sharp prick of teeth as that worry bit into her, refused to let go.

That he did not have the same garden buried within him, that he was not tending to seeds and emerald shoots that promised a technicolour explosion when they unfurled.

She shook herself, trying to dislodge the thought, trying to ignore the stutter of her heart as the fear buried its canines into her flesh. What mattered right now was that Rafayel was nowhere to be found, and the minutes were forever ticking by, and there was not a single response to her embarrassingly long thread of unanswered messages.

Grinding her teeth to try and stop the shake in her hands, she pulled up his contact again. She couldn’t let herself think, absolutely not. Because this would be the icing on the cake, the nail in her coffin. Rafayel could be lying half-dead on the side of the road and finding out she had not only texted him more than twice, but that she had called him, would revive him instantly. If only so he could tease her about it until she could hardly speak from how flushed she became, from how the gears in her mind had ground to a halt.

Although the image of him lying near-death in some ditch made her heart clench, an iron fist clutching it, refusing to allow it to beat.

She tapped the call button, lifted her phone to her ear. There was no way he was lying dead somewhere, absolutely no way.

She listened as the phone rang and rang and rang, the high-pitched ring like a siren sounding in her mind. When finally she heard Rafayel’s voice her heart began to soar, and then just as quickly it plummeted as she realized it was the automatic message for his voicemail, a facsimile of his smile in his recorded voice.

Breath shuddering, she did her best to keep her message brief, hoping her panic didn’t stain her words before she hung up.

Her coffee had long since cooled, turned to ice in her mug, but she drank it without thought as she tried to quell her growing alarm.

It was again without thought that her body moved once more, her mind still swimming, trying to figure out where he could be and why he was late. She packed up her things, shrugged on her jacket, clutching her gloves and the handle of her purse in her hands as she hurried to the door.

Only once she had stepped into the embrace of the winter, stray snowflakes dancing on her cheeks as they were ushered through the air by the wind, sunlight refracting through dripping icicles, casting rainbows against the sides of shops and businesses as she passed by, did she realize she was on her way to his studio.

The cold air sharpened her mind, brought her back to herself. It banished the fog of her anxiety, the path clouded by her fear. She would check his studio first, and if he wasn’t there she would check the beach. And if she still could not find him then she would try to contact Thomas, because surely he would know where Rafayel was, and why he never showed up for their date. Without so much as a text.

She was nodding to herself, her little plan easing the tension holding her taut. She could feel the way her muscles began to loosen, unknot themselves.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Just enough to settle her mind, enough to stop the shaking in her hands.

Although the tremors returned when she arrived at his home, her footsteps echoing through the near cavernous rooms as she searched behind couches and under tables. She threw open doors, pulled back the messy sheets of his bed, tossed pillows to the side, unable to quell the trembling in her bones, the aftershocks of a quake that promised more devastation in their wake.

She was being dramatic and she knew it, but chest heaving, the entire house turned upside down, she began to wonder if her dramatics weren’t that dramatic. Not anymore.

It was so bizarre she pinched herself, wondering if this was a dream brought on by stress, or maybe she was in an alcohol-induced haze from drinking too much on an empty stomach.

But no, the upturned house didn’t melt into a darkened void, she did not feel the beginnings of a migraine as she slowly roused. It was entirely real, which meant Rafayel was entirely missing.

Your plan, she reminded herself, tucking her hands into her pockets as she hurried from the house. Don’t forget your plan.

She was going to check the beach next, in all of the spots he liked best for sketching or daydreaming until the sun melted into the horizon. It was his favourite place to be, where she did often find him when he wasn’t at home.

He would be there. He had to be there.

Yet for all her bluster when she arrived on the sandy shore, the grey of the ocean reaching icy tendrils across the sand, there was nothing. No one. The beach was as barren as her withered hope, nothing but the cry of a lone gull and the heavy thrum of her heart echoing in her ears.

The wind was colder here, and it stung her cheeks, flinging sand and salt into her ears even as she blinked furiously, trying to keep them clear. Her hair whipped through the air, the cold, callous hands of winter raking through it, tugging at it like it might tear it free from her scalp.

Hands red from the cold, shaking from nerves, they fumbled as she tried to retrieve her phone from her pocket. It slipped from her fingers, tumbled into the sand, sinking into the soft ground as the wind keened.

She stared at it, a shiver creeping along her spine. The shine of the screen lighting up washed over the ground, warming the colour of the sand until it seemed to glow gold. It was a notification from one of her mobile games no doubt, a reminder to collect her daily stamina or coins.

She didn’t care to pry it from the sand, instead watching as grains slipped over the sides of the case, collected over the screen. Fatigue washed over like the gentle lap of the ocean waves, her mind little more than seafoam as she stared and stared at her phone.

What was going on today? Why was she in such a panic? Why could she not quell the overdramatic whir of her thoughts, like a carnival ride that was out of control.

She needed to pull herself together. She needed to settle her mind.

The rational part of her mind told her, over and over, screamed it at her from the corner it had been tucked into. But she barely heard it over the cry of that lonely gull, over the thud thud thud of her heart.

But she didn’t do anything that could be described as rational, most of her thoughts a senseless cacophony that was all too easy to drown in.

She sank to the ground, blinking back the sting of sand, the bite of the wind, the unrelenting burn of her tears. All of it gathered in her lashes, painted the world in strange colours and shades, dewdrop silver over ashy grey, blurring to form something new with each blink.

Gathering her legs to her chest, she pressed her face into her knees, intent on staying there until she could calm her racing heart, until she could quell the ache of tears behind her eyes. She was being absurd, ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to stop. All she could feel was panic, seeping through her like poison in her veins. With each beat of her heart it spread further, until all she could feel was the cold, oily fear running through her, dripping from her like blood from a wound.

She couldn’t bring herself to pick at the wound, to untangle the knotted feelings hidden beneath the sinew and bone. But thankfully it was then, as she was considering it, as understanding rose like a shadow stretching long at dusk, a muffled buzz sounded from her side.

It was soft, near silent with the cry of the wind and the hush of the waves against the shore. But it was incessant, insistent, refusing to be ignored. She could feel the vibrations of the buzzing through the sand, rattling their way through her bones.

It demanded her attention, a familiar feeling that plucked at the strings of her heart. Some of the pressure behind her eyes faded, the tightness on her chest loosening its hold as she looked to her side, to where her phone had fallen into the sand.

The screen was bright as starlight, notifications from an unknown number flashing on the screen, one after the other, piling over each other so she could not read their messages before the next one appeared.

Her phone flashed again, persistent in its demand for her attention, her phone buzzing harder as the unknown number attempted to call.

She stared at it, let it go to voicemail before slowly plucking her phone from the ground, brushing away the grains of sand as her heart waited, seemed to stop entirely.

Barely a breath went by before the number tried to call again, her phone shaking so fervently in her hand she nearly dropped it again. The reverberations kickstarted her heart, sending its beats into a wild sprint, an erratic rhythm that no melody could follow.

She clicked ‘answer’ without thinking, bringing the phone up to her ear, her bottom lip wobbling as she asked, voice thick with unshed tears, “hello?”

“Where are you?!”

She blinked at the familiar voice, at the image of cerulean touched by carmine eyes, the petulant pout tugging down lips, the creases between brows. “Rafayel?”

“Who else? I thought you’d be at the café but you’re not here! Did you forget again?!”

She sniffled, almost laughing at the absurdity of such an accusation. “What are you talking about? I waited for over an hour and you never showed up!”

A huff sounded, and she could see the way he was wrinkling his nose, the way he was tensing his shoulders. “Well where are you now?”

“I went looking for you! You weren’t at home, so I went to check the beach!”

He groaned. “Alright, just stay there, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

Now she couldn’t help but scoff, the first flicker of anger alighting on her bones like fire taking to kindling. “I’ve been waiting for you for ages. You didn’t answer my texts or my calls. Why are you calling from a different number?”

“I’ll explain everything soon, just stay there.”

The line clicked off before she could argue any further, the phone screen going dark.

For a moment she heard nothing, thought nothing. Just stared at the blank screen, at the ocean waves, at the flecks of white of the gulls circling overhead.

Then slowly, like the rush of the high tide, her mind began to buzz, emotions swelling like seafoam, washing away her anxiety, her fear.

What was left was a tangle of things, a knot that would take her a long while to pick apart. Relief and joy and an unnamed ache, all threatening to overwhelm her, to crash over her like a summer storm, like angry waves against stone.

Beneath them all, annoyance, anger. A pyre catching flame, growing brighter, demanding her attention, prickling her frozen fingers with its heat.

There was no way she was staying put.

She stood quickly, shoving her phone in her pocket, not bothering to brush away the sand that clung to her body as she left the beach. She was resolved not to wait any longer, certain that if she did she would catch fire and turn to ash before Rafayel could appear.

She turned a corner, clutching the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles turned white, chest heavy with that knot of happiness and irritation that had taken root when she’d heard his voice.

It was like a bulb, planted deep in the soft soil of her heart, already beginning to grow, viridescent shoots reaching towards the sky. Eventually it would bloom, petals unfurling towards the sun. But for now it was still growing, not yet ready to unveil itself to her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling that heavy weight, so focused on the strangeness of it, and on finding Rafayel, that she didn’t even see him. Not until she was running straight into his side.

“Shi-” She was reeling, stumbling to the side, looking up as she careened backwards to meet his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his breath clouding from his lips as his chest heaved. His hair, normally so perfectly styled, was in a disarray, like he’d raked his hands through it once after rolling from bed and deemed that good enough.

Distantly, she thought it looked like he’d been running.

The ground rushed up to meet her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, cutting off the image of a disheveled Rafayel as she prepared for impact.

An impact that never came.

Arms had wrapped around her, steadying her, firm and warm and gentle. They drew her forward, setting her back on her feet, pulling her against a familiar chest.

Only then did she open her eyes, when she knew she wouldn’t be pinned in place by Rafayel’s smug smirk. When she knew he wouldn’t see the relief and joy in her eyes at seeing him, at hearing the frantic beat of his heart, of being wrapped in his warmth.

Not that hiding stopped her from hearing his soft laughter, the click of his tongue as his fingers splayed over the swell of her hips. She was so desperate for his touch, but she absolutely could not let him know it, especially not right now.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

His words, lilting with the promise of laughter. She could see his smile without needing to look up, could feel the twinkle in his eyes like she was standing in fizzing starlight.

Something in her snapped, and she took a step back, crossing her arms as though to shield her aching heart. She tilted her head back, glared up at him, the wind brushing against her cheeks reminding her that her tears hadn’t even fully dried yet.

A part of her wondered if she shouldn’t have kept her head lowered, so he wouldn’t see the evidence of her tears, so he wouldn’t see the red, puffy skin around her eyes. But just as quickly as it came, the thought flitted away.

“Last time I ‘stayed put’ you never showed up!”

A muscle flicked in his jaw and he rolled his eyes, groaning in clear exasperation. Which was fine, since she was exasperated too.

She pretended not to notice how he was still breathing hard, how his ears were turning pink, then vermillion the longer she stared. How his manufactured scowl was faltering as his eyes searched her face.

“Where were you?!” She jabbed a finger against his chest and his brows shot up. “I waited for ages. I was worried sick, I’d thought you’d died, or you’d been kidnapped!”

Her hand trembled and she dropped it, shoved it back against her chest. He made a halfhearted attempt to reach for her, his eyes narrowing, his brows drawing low.

“You made me wait for so long!” Her throat was closing up now, all of her twisted feelings rushing out of her, clogging her throat, bubbling into a sob. Her eyes were burning again, and she blinked furiously, cursing herself silently.

“I texted you! I called! Over and over and you never answered!” She threw her hands up, hoping it would distract him from the wobble in her words. God only knew she couldn’t seem to keep it in check. “You left me waiting for so long and you terrified me! What, and then you call me from an unknown number and tell me to ‘stay put?’ Are you serious?”

He scoffed, his cheeks a messy cerise that reminded her of overripe cherries. “Well, this is your fault too!”

“Oh? How exactly?” She was annoyed, hurt. Her heart tangled into itself, twisting into knots of frustration and anger and pain. He was always chastising her for not being early enough, for always being too late. And now he was pushing the blame onto her? When he’d been the one late? When he’d all but abandoned her?

“You should have come looking for me earlier!” He all but cried, throwing his hands up too. His bottom lip was trembling, on the verge of pulling into a pout.

“No, no.” She pointed to his lips, to his pout, to the wrinkle of his nose. “I’m not falling for that! You are the only one to blame. I texted you, I called you, I went looking for you!”

“Why didn’t you check any museums or galleries? Did you even take a look at the news?”

She blinked, her words stolen from her lips, her mind grinding to a halt. His face was flushed, his hair and clothes a disarray, his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, something she didn’t recognize flickering in their depths.

Whatever he was thinking, whatever he was feeling, as unknowable as the darkest depths of the ocean.

“Are you serious?” Her words came out small, melting in the puff of breath that gathered in the air before her. A contrast so stark from her earlier raised voice it could have been a slap. Tears gathered in her eyes, staining the world in silver, blurring the edges, but she no longer cared if he saw her cry. “Are you actually serious?”

She had spent how long today being utterly terrified for his well being and here he was telling her she hadn’t done enough. Telling her she should have looked for him sooner, should have worked harder to find him.

“I thought we were meeting at the café.” She couldn’t seem to find her strength anymore, wilting beneath his stare. “You’re always early, you’re always telling me I’m late. When you didn’t show I texted you, I called you. I checked your house, I checked the beach. What else was I supposed to do?”

The last of her words came out as little more than a hiss, belied by the crackle of her voice as the sob fought to escape. His expression began to crack beneath their razor sharpness, fractures cutting through his indignation like the shattering of stained glass.

“I went because you wanted to go out.” She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes, taking a step back, refusing to think about the widening of his eyes, the creases in his brow. “You were the one who never showed up, never told me anything.”

There was more she wanted to say, words made of acid that would have surely burned her tongue as she’d given them form. But instead of setting them free, she pressed her lips together, turning away so she did not have to see the hurt on his face, the kicked-puppy pout that usually would have had her falling to her knees as she tried to comfort him.

“I’m suddenly really tired,” she said, staring at the ground, at the stones and remnants of long-dead leaves scattered on the sidewalk. “So I’m going to head home. I’ll talk to you later.”

She took one step, then another, muscles tensing as she forced herself to move, to not look back. If she looked back she would fall apart beneath whatever heartbroken expression he had schooled his face into.

Cold winter air swept into the growing chasm between them, freezing claws scrabbling down her spine, making her shudder. She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to quell the shivers, but just as quickly as the whole of winter had descended on her in his absence, warmth enveloped her again.

Rafayel’s hand snapped out, grabbing her wrist and dragging her back. Like a wound stitched close, the space between them vanished, winter making way for spring.

“Rafayel.” She was knocked breathless by the sudden movement, even as a part of her mind told her she should struggle, should shake off his grip.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was firm, kind, the edges melting into regret. “I’m sorry, I took it too far. I didn’t-”

She blinked, watching quietly as he ducked his head, feeling the unsteady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest with every deep breath. Her eyes still burned, and the tears gathered in her lashes caught the light, turning the edges of the world into a silver blur.

When he looked up again his eyes were wide, earnest. She had gotten used to his moods, to the shifts in his eyes, his mouth, a change in how his voice lilted and his eyes danced. But this wasn’t like all those times before, when he would feign distress and hurt, when he would exaggerate his emotions until she caved.

This was different, more like the quiet moments between breaths, when he bared a hidden part of himself to her. When the air grew heavy and quiet, when his voice turned lullaby soft. She always felt tucked close to him, even if there was space between them, like she had nestled herself in his heart, like he had given it to her to make it her home.

His words would be genuine then, no teasing, no jokes. There would be no razor sharp comments, no snarky retorts. Just him, trusting her as he laid down his armour, his mask, vulnerable only to her.

Sometimes he would be sweet, kind, murmuring gentle words that made her heart sing. And others he would look lost, his voice faraway, as though he’d been caught up in an undertow and dragged out to sea.

It felt like that now, his voice steady, ardent. There was a solemnity in his eyes, no flicker of laughter, no glimmer of playfulness to be found. The blue of his eyes darkened, the red fading like flames being doused, drowned.

He wasn’t messing around with her any longer, no hint of that petulant pout or his puppy-dog eyes to be found. His mouth was set, a line forming between his brows as they drew low.

It anchored her to the spot, the tenor of his voice from the beginning of his apology alone, the shift in his countenance as he grew somber.

Rafayel squeezed the hand he’d pressed to his heart, as though he hoped it would prove his sincerity as she felt its rhythm pulse through her bones.

“I didn’t think about how you felt. I was only thinking about myself.” He didn’t look away now, instead holding her gaze fast, leaning closer. “I wanted you to find me and rescue me, but you were the one who needed rescuing.”

When she did not move from him he grew bolder, fingers lacing with hers, head bowing until his bangs tickled her brow. “I’m always asking you to stay, but I was the one who abandoned you. I made you worry, didn’t I?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak right now, not when anger still churned hot as a firestorm, when the last of sourness of worry finally eased and her belly no longer roiled with it, when he was so close her knees felt like jelly and her skin prickled from his breath.

The desire to forgive him spilled through her like champagne bubbling through cracks in crystal. He was so close, so warm, and he smelled so nice, and she hated being angry with him. She wanted to lean her head on his shoulder and close her eyes and breathe in the smell of his cologne. She wanted to tell him he was forgiven and melt into his embrace.

As much as she whined and railed against his unending demands, his last minute day-plans, his surprise visits to her home, she missed him when he wasn’t there. He had become the sun lighting the world each morning, the susurrus of the wind through the trees, the hush of the ocean as it foamed against the beach. She felt like a flower reaching through frozen ground, small and weak, petals still clinging together, but growing stronger beneath golden sunlight, each moment closer and closer to blooming, to filling the world with her colour.

But whatever scraps of rationality remained held her still, reminded her that she could not just forgive him so easily, especially not when he had not yet finished his apology. Her tears were not yet dry on her cheeks, not yet fully spilled. They were still gathered in her lashes, still burning behind her eyes. A headache was beginning to spread from the pressure of it, pulsing against her skull, in her temples.

No, she could not give in to the ache in her heart, yearning so terribly to throw herself into his arms that it felt like it was pushing against the cage of her ribs, fighting against the prison it was trapped in.

She nodded in response to his question, keeping her mouth firmly closed. If she opened it then her resolve would crumble and forgiveness would fall from her tongue, so she said nothing instead.

The lines in his face deepened, and now his eyes did slide down, focused on his shoes, or the pavement, or perhaps on nothing at all. His shoulders slumped, curving inwards. If he were a painting she would have titled him ‘remorse’ for how heavy it hung on him, pressing down on his body like it could break him against the sidewalk. He seemed to fade, amethyst hair fading to lilac, tinging with grey. His eyes dimmed, waning like the moon before it vanished from the night’s sky.

He looked back up slowly, the movements of his eyes shadowed by his other hand, gently coming to rest on her cheek. “I made you cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Well you did.” She snapped, then quickly bit her tongue, before anything more could escape her lips.

His brows rose, drew together. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair, or kind to you at all. This is all my fault, I should have reached out to you sooner.”

Now she was the one looking away, withering beneath his earnest gaze. “You should have. I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped, or hurt somewhere all alone.”

His touch was gentle, the pad of his thumb wiping away the tears on her cheek, gathered in the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you worry, for today, for everything.”

She said nothing, although she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, just a little.

“If you still want to go home, at least let me walk you back.” He spoke softer now, hesitant, something hidden behind his words.

Please still spend time with me, please don’t leave me yet. Please say you want to stay with me.

She mulled it over for a moment, picking apart his words like a necklace chain knotted together. Her heart pressed against her ribs, uncaring that it would be shred by the breaking of her bones. It only wanted him, to be near him, and the aching that built in the cavity of her chest was far too strong for anything else.

She did want to forgive him, and she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to spend the day with him, something she’d been looking forward to when they’d made plans the day before.

Although he wasn’t off the hook quite yet.

She lifted her eyes, finding hope in his gaze as she met it, held it as steady as she could.

“I think I’m feeling a little better,” she said. His eyes widened, hope sparking warmth in them once more. “So I don’t think I want to go home just yet.”

The corners of his mouth curved upwards, the first hint of sunlight cresting over the horizon. “In that case, we could find another café, or a restaurant if you’d like an early dinner.”

She narrowed her eyes, even as the first strains of a melody began in her heart, elation blooming at seeing his smile, at knowing she would be spending the rest of the day with him. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Rafayel.”

His brow arched. “Rafayel? Not ‘love?’ Not ‘darling?’ Not ‘baby?’”

She arched her brow, tipping her head back, away from the hand that had been cupping her cheek. “I think you have a lot more apologizing to do before you get those privileges back. Rafayel.”

He sighed, shaking his head. Despite the rejection, his lips were still curving up, his smile turning playful. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Mhmmm.” She tried to pull her other hand back, the one still firmly held to his chest, but he held that hand tightly, smirking. “Rafayel, you can let go now.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” He cocked his head to the side, all mischief now. His fingers tightened around hers as he brought her palm up, as he pressed his lips to her palm. “What if I want to keep holding it?”

She huffed, ignoring the heat in her cheeks as his teeth scraped against her hand, as his tongue flicked over the spots where he’d nipped.

Rafayel, however, did not ignore it, and she knew it as she felt his smile grow wider.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She’d meant to grind out the words, to sound annoyed, but it came out softer, quivering as the warmth from his lips made its way through her veins, coiled low in her belly.

He chuckled, lowering her hand from her lips, although he did not let go. His fingers remained twined with hers, keeping her close. “What do you think? I’m making it up to you.”

“You can’t just-” Her voice cracked, squeaked, and she bit her tongue as his brows rose high, delight dancing like firelight in his eyes. “You can’t just kiss my hand and expect things to be alright!”

She sped through her words, stumbling in her haste to speak as her voice wobbled and cracked, uneven and weak from his lips, from the heat blooming in her core and the feeling of her body slowly turning to jelly.

For his part, Rafayel did not tease, although his expression told her that he had taken everything into account; her rushed words, her crackling voice, her flushed face, all of it noted by his keen eyes.

“That’s only the first part,” he said, sounding on the verge of laughter. “I promise I’ll make things better.” Then his voice softened, a delicate caress to her traitorous heart. “Just let me keep holding your hand.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. She had to look away so he wouldn’t see the colour deepen in her cheeks, not as the heat flared, bonfire bright, beneath her skin. She was certain that if she looked up she would combust, leaving nothing but ash on the sidewalk.

Rafayel seemed to find her answer satisfactory, as he murmured a delighted “let’s go” before tugging her forward.

Her curiosity got the better of her as he continued to beam, and she tapped his side as they walked. “Where are we going?”

“Well we had made plans to go to a café, and there’s a new one not far from here I’ve been meaning to visit.”

She let him drag her along, tucking her hand into his jacket pocket when the wind whistled past them and shivers arced across her like lightning. She was still annoyed, but she wouldn’t deny the joy that spread rosy fingers like the blushing of dawn through her heart, or the warmth that blanketed her as he kept her close. He was here, he was safe, he was smiling.

She would have to blame the wind for her ruddy cheeks, for how difficult it was to catch her breath.

And thankfully, Rafayel did not comment on it, although his eyes did brighten, round shimmering pools of light assessing the colour in her face, the breathless gasps from her lips.

“Not much further,” he said, his lips caught in a pleased smirk.

She rolled her eyes, deciding it best not to comment. Surely whatever she said he would find a way to twist, to use as a weapon to tease her with.

But this too, was enough for him. “What’s wrong? Too cold to speak?” His smirk only widened, a sharp slice across his lips as one brow quirked high. “We’re almost there, but do you need me to warm you? Would it count as part of my penance?”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before tugging her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. He ducked his head, lips grazing the shell of her ear, and shivers cascaded down her spine, having nothing to do with the cold wind.

“Although,” he breathed, sending goosebumps across her skin. “I don’t particularly mind. If you need me to do things like this then I think I’ll enjoy this very much.”

“Things like this?” He was being awfully brazen considering the circumstances.

He drew back, beaming, looking far too smug. “Like snuggling.”

She yanked her hand from his pocket, pinching his side. “Watch it!”

He yelped, but only tried to draw her closer, like her presence was a comfort, a balm to the sharp pain she’d inflicted on him.

She struggled against his hold, if only slightly. She was far too besotted to truly fight to escape his arms.

“Don’t be like that,” he whined, lips pulling into a pout. “I’m cold too, you know. Just because you’re mad doesn’t mean we both have to be punished.”

Huffing, she crossed her arms, refusing to tuck herself so closely against him. But she also didn’t untangle herself from him entirely, either. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not that cold.”

“You don’t have to lie.” He laughed, pulling her closer. “You’re shivering, I can feel it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.

He clicked his tongue. Something strange flitted in his eyes, but it was gone in a breath, no more than a shadow flickering over him as they walked. “You can be such a princess about things.”

“Oh? And what about it?”

“Whatever pleases you, your highness.” He bowed his head, smirking. His bangs fell over his eyes so she could not see them, but she could feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of it. “I am but your humble servant.”

She couldn’t help giggling then, covering her mouth as she snorted. “Come on Rafayel, stand up, you’re going to run into someone.”

“Only at your highness’ command.” He tipped his head to the side, and she caught sight of the glitter in his eyes, twin pools shining as brightly as sunlight caught in diamonds.

“Rafayel!” There was no stopping the snorts now as she grabbed his arm with both hands, tugging him to the side before he ran straight into a streetlamp. “You’re going to get hurt!”

His lips lifted higher, creases forming around his eyes. “If that’s what you wish, your highness.”

She had to look away, pressing her lips together in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter. “What I want is for you to stand up so you don’t get hurt!”

“Your highness is most benevolent.” He straightened, mischief alight like flames in his eyes, his smile. He looked so boyish, so delighted, that she wanted to squish the apples of his cheeks beneath her palms.

“Well, we’ll see,” she said, barely able to contain the urge to squeeze his face. She was pretty sure if she gave in then he would win.

Win what she wasn’t sure, but she had a feeling. It was one of her favourite things to do, squeezing his cheeks when she was overwhelmed with joy at seeing his face. If she did it now he would undoubtedly take it as being forgiven entirely, and so she could not.

As she was musing to herself, his arm remained securely around her, slowly bringing her closer and closer until their sides pressed together. She made no comment, allowing them both this, and as he guided her through the doorway of the café, regret twinged in her heart.

She would have been content to walk next to him for hours, and she wished the café had been further away, so she could have remained close to him for a while longer.

Rafayel brought her to a spot in the corner of the cozy space, a small window just above it, honey-warm sunlight pouring over the tabletop. He pulled out one of the wooden chairs for her, gesturing for her to sit.

“For you, my lady.” He was clearly enjoying himself.

She made to pinch him again, but he was quick, anticipating the attack. He snatched her wrist, lifting it up as he grinned wider. “I’m trying to be so good, so why can’t you behave yourself?”

Now she was the one pouting, trying to wiggle her hand from his grasp. “You’re teasing me.”

“Oh? How?” He schooled his expression into one of innocence, his eyes widening until they were saucer-round. All of it was belied by the twitch of his lips, his devious smile too strong to be smothered behind a mask. “I’m just trying to be helpful, your highness. I’m pretty sure princesses don’t pull out their own chairs.”

She tried to pinch him with her free hand, but he caught that one too, his faux innocence falling away. He smiled, all devilish delight, his eyes bright even as they narrowed. He tugged her closer, his breath ghosting over her lips as he lowered his head.

“Nice try,” he sang, bringing her hands to his lips, brushing a kiss against the back of each. “Now why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you a treat, okay?”

He spoke in a sing-song cadence, like he was barely holding back laughter. But there was something underneath his words, and she found herself sitting when he released her, glowering at his grin.

“I won’t keep you waiting long,” he said, squeezing her shoulder before turning to go.

He paused then, turning back around, his expression a fragment more serious.

“One more thing.” He slid his jacket from his arms, draping it over her before she could ask what he was doing.

With a satisfied nod, he gave her one last smile before heading to the counter to make their orders.

She felt impatient, restless, as she watched him from across the café. Part of her worried that she would blink and he would vanish, gone once more. But he remained where she could see him, an anchor keeping her steady in a storm.

“Did something catch your eye?” He asked as he returned to the table, setting a plate in front of her, a slice of cake with a deep red strawberry balanced on top and a chocolate cookie bigger than her hand.

“What’s this?” She asked, ignoring his knowing smirk. “Two whole sweets for me?”

He nodded, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face. “As part of my apology.”

“You’re going to have to do more than that to make up for today,” she said, even as she took the fork he handed her. “But it’s a start.”

He chuckled, nodding his head. “As you wish, your highness.”

“You’ve got to stop with the ‘your highness’ thing,” she said, heat beginning to spread across her face anew. It felt a little silly, something strange and intimate to be called it so loudly in public.

He cocked his head to the side, contemplative as he watched her. “You don’t like it?”

He almost sounded a little sad, and her heart twinged again.

Her heart was a traitorous thing, summoning words that tumbled free from her lips before she could give them thought, trying to wipe away the sadness she had heard.

“No that’s not it,” she said, stumbling over her words. “It just-”

Her breath caught as he gripped the back of her chair with one hand, leaning closer with that infuriating smirk still plastered across his face. “Oh? Then what is it?”

“It… It’s…” She swallowed, trying to look away. But he was everywhere, so close that he became her whole world. Everywhere she looked was Rafayel and his smile and his bright eyes. “It just feels like you’re teasing me with it, you know? Like you’re making fun of me.”

“Would it be so bad if I was?” His voice lowered, a warm tenor that had her toes curling, sending butterfly wings flitting through her stomach. “You’ve been so unforgiving, can’t I tease my princess a little?”

“Rafayel-” She didn’t get a chance to finish her thought before he was pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and hurrying away, calling to her about fetching their drinks while her brain shut down like an aging computer.

She couldn’t seem to get herself to think, her brain still buffering when he returned with the drinks. The click of a mug settled before her drew her from the fog he had cast over her, if only slightly.

“There were a lot of drinks I thought you’d like, but I think you’ll like this one best,” he said, seeming entirely unfazed by his surprise attack.

Wasn’t he supposed to be making things up to her? What did teasing her have anything to do with making up for abandoning her earlier?

She continued to stare, scrabbling to find even a single thought. Her skin where his lips had touched burned, still warm from his touch, and all she could smell was his cologne and the faint touch of his soap. She could feel the tickle of his hair against her face, the curl of his breath against her lips.

It was all far too much for her. She would surely melt into a puddle, her body giving way to the heat he had kindled in her.

For his part, Rafayel seemed entirely unperturbed, although she was much too flustered to notice the crimson that had flared on the tips of his ears and dusted along his cheeks. He gave her an encouraging smile, nodding with his head towards her mug. “Well? Try it, tell me what you think.”

She blinked, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ as her hands wrapped around the mug. She brought it to her lips, warm sweetness blooming on her tongue. Sweet, delicious, with a touch of floral notes beneath it.

She took another sip before she set the mug back down, a comforting warmth spreading through her chest, reaching along her arms and into her fingertips.

“It’s very good,” she said, smiling up at him, lost for a moment in the bliss of a warm drink and sweet treats and him across from her.

His own drink remained untouched, although his hands wrapped around it, lithe fingers drumming against the porcelain. “I’m glad you like it. Perhaps this means I’m one step closer to forgiveness.”

She rolled her eyes, taking another sip. It really was good, and although she was not planning to admit it yet, he really was a step closer to being forgiven.

Already was, if she was honest, but she was going to milk this for a while yet.

“Alright, you’ve bought me food, and a warm drink. Now I want to know what happened.”

He opened his mouth, breathing in as if preparing to launch into his tale, but she held her hand up to quiet him before he could.

“And I want the truth, Rafayel.” No melodrama, no embellishing.

“Alright, alright.” He lifted his hands, palms towards her, in surrender. “I won’t paint myself as a hero who boldly rescued a child from a wanderer attack.”

Her heart stopped. “Was there a wanderer?”

Panic must have shown on her face, because he shook his head quickly, his smile only slightly teasing. “No, nothing like that.”

“You’re awful,” she huffed, staring out the window, focusing on the remains of what was surely a very pretty garden in the spring and summer. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Is it my fault you believed me?” He reached out to poke her, earning a scowl that had him laughing. “I did say I won’t paint myself as a hero.”

She didn’t respond, staunchly staring out the window, refusing to meet his gaze.

The sound of his chair squeaking as he sighed, drew her attention, and she peeked from the corner of her eye to see him slouching, the pad of one finger running along the rim of his mug. “I got a call from Thomas earlier today, there was a gallery featuring some of my work, and a number of ‘fans’ were insistent on speaking with me themselves.”

It was the way he rolled his eyes when he said “fans” that told her exactly what kind of event this was, exactly the sort of people in attendance.

It was the type of thing he loathed the most, and no doubt these “fans” were wealthy art collectors who waxed on about his paintings without knowing a thing about them.

She turned back towards him, dropping her veneer of irritation. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come with you.”

He shrugged, looping two fingers around the handle of the mug, twisting it back and forth on the surface of the table. “I thought I would just go and answer a few questions then pretend I got a phone call and leave. I didn’t want to drag you into it today.” He flicked his eyes up, mischievous. “You’re always running late, so I didn’t want to distract you and make you ever more late.”

“I’m not late,” she snapped. “It’s just that you’re always early, and you’re so impatient.”

“Me? Impatient.” He snorted, lifting his mug to his lips, his eyes watching her over the rim. “I’m the epitome of patient. It’s a virtue, you know.”

“Exactly,” she deadpanned. “You’re not exactly a paragon of virtue, Rafayel.”

He groaned, although it was undercut by the twitching of his lips as he set his mug to the side. “I know you’re mad, but don’t you think you can hold off on disparaging my character?”

She pressed her lips together to stifle her smile, nodding at him to continue. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

“Thank you.” He huffed, taking a quick sip of his drink. “Anyways, as I was saying. I didn’t want to distract you, and I thought I could handle it myself.”

As it happened, it was not something he had been able to handle on his own.

She listened as he explained what had happened, about how he had walked straight into a lion’s den of overzealous critics and collectors alike. How he had been inundated with their questions and demands like they were a flood, a storm that had torn him from his feet, left him dizzy and disoriented.

She broke off pieces of her cookie as he talked, passing him pieces as he told her how there had been no clocks in the gallery, and each time he had reached for his phone someone had very nearly grabbed him to try and redirect his attention.

“The third time it happened it fell right out of my hand.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

Or rather, what was left of it.

The screen was cracked, near shattered, showing bars of colour, like the rainbow glow of oil over water. She could see the back of the phone was in just as poor a condition, pieces of the hardware hanging on for dear life.

“And then someone stepped on it,” he continued as she gaped at the remains of his phone. He rolled his eyes, plucking it from the table and tucking it back into his pocket. “Not that the person who stepped on it offered to buy me a new one, either.”

She handed him the last piece of her cookie, thinking that was the end of things.

“And then there was a robbery.”

She coughed, having only just taken the first bite of her cake. It tasted like ash, clogging in her throat as she gaped, eyes bulging from their sockets.

“Hey, don’t choke to death.” He passed her mug to her, and she drank quickly, dislodging the cake.

“Thank you,” she managed, covering her mouth, embarrassment making her face hot and scratchy.

Rafayel nodded, quiet as he scanned her face. His tone had been light when he’d passed her drink to her, his expression casual. But now that she could breathe she could see the flicker of worry in his eyes, the lines etching around his mouth and into his brow as he confirmed she was alright.

She cleared her throat, pointing at him with her fork. “So there was a robbery?”

He blinked, caught off guard as he stumbled through his words. “Yeah-yeah, right. Alarms started going off, and at first we thought it was a fire.”

Evidently it had not been a fire, as he regaled her with all the details. Of the critics and collectors panicking, a stampede of the exceptionally wealthy clawing at each other to escape. Of Rafayel noticing one of the visitors acting strangely, slipping further into the gallery while everyone else desperately tried to escape.

Contrary to his earlier promise, Rafayel did paint himself as a hero, catching the robbers and incapacitating them until the police arrived. But when she pulled out her own phone to validate his story, she saw several articles already detailing how the renowned artist Rafayel had saved an entire gallery and its patrons from the thieves.

For that she offered him a bite of her cake, and he accepted it with a grin, the tips of his ears darkening to crimson.

By the time he was done his story, her coffee had long-since been finished, nothing but dregs at the bottom of the mug, and there was only one piece of cake remaining on her plate.

“So what you’re saying is…” She trailed off, slicing that final piece of cake in two, spearing a piece and lifting it into the air. “That from now on you’re always going to call me before you go to any event like this, right?”

“Obviously.” He eyed the piece of cake on her fork. “I don’t know what I was thinking, not bringing you with me. I need my bodyguard to keep me safe.”

She extended her arm, offering him the cake. “I think I would much rather you call me to accompany you somewhere like that then be worried you’ve been hurt, or worse.”

Icing smudged at the corner of his lip as he accepted the final bite, a brow quirking while he chewed. He said nothing, but it was enough to make her face flame, and she quickly took the last bite, staring out the window so she didn’t have to meet his gaze.

“Hey.”

Reluctantly, she turned. When she met his eyes her heart stumbled, fell, like she had been pushed from a cliff’s edge. His eyes were earnest, sad, and when he reached out to cover her hand, she twisted her fingers through his, holding tight like they were both caught in a storm.

“I really am sorry.” He squeezed her hand, leaning forward. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. The last thing I want to do is make you cry.” His brow arched then, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. “At least, not for that reason.”

“Rafayel.” A firestorm raged beneath her skin and she yanked her hand away like she’d been scalded. She tucked it against her side as she crossed her arms, slumping in her seat. “You are unbelievable.”

He chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the table. “I’m glad you think so.”

When she frowned he only laughed harder, head bowed over as his shoulders shook.

She would be lying if she said the urge to laugh along with him didn’t rise in her, bubbling like fizzing wine gone straight to her head. All of her anxieties and fears gone, Rafayel safe in front of her, the taste of sugar on her tongue, the icing smeared on the corner of his lip.

All of it was so mundane, so simple, and yet it felt like something from a dream, like a scene in a fairytale when the hero realized they were falling in love.

The thought made her stomach twist, her heart beating hummingbird quick. She was thankful that he was looking down, that he wouldn’t see the thought flashing across her face before she could school her expression into one of annoyance again.

After a few moments his laughter began to ebb, like the tide being drawn back out to sea. He straightened, revealing flushed cheeks the colour of dawn, eyes bright as stars wrought of sapphire and ruby. His smile still lingered, although it was softer now.

“Sorry,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “Probably not the best time for a joke like that.”

Normally she would have responded with a sharp rejoinder, making her next strike in the unending clash of their words. She teased him and he responded in kind, he made a sharp comment and her response was sharp as steel.

But she was still half-lost to the fairytale feeling from before, his laughter echoing through her. She could feel it in the hollows of her bones, the sound guiding her through the fog in her mind.

She held his gaze, although her mind strayed as it took note of his ruffled hair, too far gone to think of something sharp and clever to say to him. It was still a mess from earlier, when she’d run into him. It stood up at awkward angles, and his bangs had fallen strangely over his brow, and his cowlick seemed more prominent as hair flicked upwards around it.

“Rafayel,” she said, putting her weight on her forearm as she rested it against the table, leaning closer. “Stay still for a second.”

His eyes widened, his face the colour of cerise, of spilled cherry juice staining fingertips. She could feel his breath, soft and warm, curling against her wrist as she carefully shifted his hair, smoothing his bangs over his brow, brushing back the errant strands sticking up strangely.

He didn’t move, tracking her movements with his eyes. His breath seemed to catch, stutter, fanning over her skin as he tried to steady himself.

It all took less than five minutes, his hair returned to its usual state of looking roguishly tousled while being perfectly styled.

She gave one final nod of approval, appraising her work, tucking one final strand of hair behind his ear.

“There we go,” she said, nodding to herself. “All better now.”

Lightning quick, just as she began to pull away, to sit back in her chair, Rafayel reached for her wrist, catching it and drawing it back to the side of his face.

She gasped, lurching forward at the suddenness of it all. “Rafayel? What’s wrong?”

Only then did she meet his eyes, his expression making her breath catch. His eyes, wide and glassy, his breath, coming out in short gasps, his face, a mess of crimson and scarlet and vermillion like he’d been splattered by his own paints.

He brought her hand to his cheek, her skin tingling as his breath ghosted against her palm, the inside of her wrist. Her gaze fell to his lips, so close they could kiss her if he wanted to.

He didn’t answer, sighing instead, sending goosebumps racing along her arm. He leaned his face into her palm, settling against her cupped hand so perfectly it felt like fate, like he had been made to be held in her hands.

Lungs constricting, unable to draw in air, she felt dizzy, the world softening until it was nothing more than static. She watched as his eyes fluttered shut, felt his lashes tickle her palm. Again, he sighed, and it sounded strange, so much yearning and contentment in the quiet hush of his voice that pain radiated through her, like her heart had finally broken free from the cage of her ribs and had let itself be torn to pieces in the process.

When his eyes opened once again they flicked up, searching for her, watching her. There was so much need and desperation in his gaze, like he had longed for her touch, needed it. Like he needed her to breathe.

She wanted to say his name again, wanted to cup his face with both hands and let him rest. She wanted to hold him to her chest and run her fingers through his hair, ruining her hard work, all so the melancholy in his eyes would melt away. She wanted nothing but happiness in his eyes, his heart, wanted to hold him close until whatever ache in him was gone.

He had upset her so terribly, and yet she wanted nothing more than to keep him close, to hold him, to cradle him against her heart so he was safe and content.

Yet no words rose to her tongue, remaining buried deep as she watched him, as he watched her in kind. She wanted to tell him all these things, the seeds that were planted in her heart.

But how could she? What words could she use to explain it all?

Her lips parted, yet nothing but air passed between them, quiet as the murmuration of wind through branches still waiting for their leaves.

His brows hiked higher, creases forming around his eyes as they crinkled. He was smiling, she was sure of it, but it was soft as the light at dawn, as feather down. Soft as blankets wrapped around her shoulders in the cool air of the morning, as the feel of his lips on her cheek when she was only half-awake.

It was blurry and hazed, softened like memories half-remembered and cradled in her heart. She would have liked to see that smile again, to summon it on quiet days and shadowed nights, to make his eyes dance as his lips curved like the first touch of the sun over the horizon.

“Baby?” His voice was sweet as honey, as spun sugar melting on her tongue. It was a sigh like a spring breeze, like the wind dancing across the ocean.

“Hmm?” She smoothed back his bangs again with her free hand as they flopped forward, obscuring his eyes. She wanted to see them, wanted to lose herself in their depths.

He nuzzled her palm again, letting out another sigh before brushing his lips against her skin. His eyes closed halfway, seemed to darken as he kept them fixed on hers.

It wasn’t until his eyes opened wide again, his cheek settling in the curve of her palm, that he spoke, his breath curling against her skin.

“Am I forgiven?”

And with that the spell he had cast was broken, although the buzz of warmth in her heart remained, like sunshine itself had begun to bloom in her.

She dropped the hand that had been fixing his hair, the other still captive in his grip. He was still smiling, though it was sharper now, the beginnings of a smirk peeking through.

It made her want to tell him no, to give him a cool glare that could freeze the ocean over. He looked smug, so satisfied with himself for enchanting her so easily with his lips and his breath and his pretty eyes.

Her heart was a traitor, making it impossible to hold out against him. And the worst was that he knew it, too.

And yet even knowing how her own heart was betraying her, crumbling her resolve, even knowing that Rafayel was trying to toy with her, she could not find it in herself to be cold, to be sharp.

Maybe it was from the dredges of warmth that remained, or perhaps it was because she really had forgiven him, because she couldn’t find it in herself to continue being annoyed. The desire to be petulant, to playact indignation, shrivelled like leaves cut loose from their tree, flung far from the roots.

Although she wanted to tease him a while longer, if only as vengeance for all the times he’d teased her.

She hummed, lifting her free hand once more, stroking his cheek as he watched her. His eyes were bright, confident that he had been well and truly forgiven after a few desserts and playful kisses.

So when she pinched his cheek she watched as shock took over, like a tidal wave washing against the shore. Pink stained his cheeks, then crimson, his face a mess of colour. His lips fell open, in surprise at first, then quickly recovering so he was pouting once more.

“You’re almost forgiven,” she said, giving his cheek one last tug before letting go, smoothing the tips of her fingers over the spot that was the darkest red.

“Almost?” He sounded almost amused, undercutting his sweet pout.

“Almost,” she repeated. His grip loosened on her hand and she was finally able to pull away, settling in her seat once more. “In fact, I might just forgive you by the end of the day.”

He huffed, lowering his head until she could hardly see his eyes from beneath the curtain of his bangs. “After everything I’ve gone through today, you’re still being mean to me?”

“I’m not being mean!” She crossed her arms, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “I just think you’ll have to work a little bit harder for my forgiveness.”

He flopped back, throwing an arm over his face as he sighed, all melodrama and histrionics. “You’re as bad as those art collectors, trying to work me to the bone.”

Now she really had to focus to stop herself from laughing, especially as he peaked from beneath his arm, trying to gauge her reaction. “Nothing will be enough for you, will it?”

“That depends!” She reached for her empty cup, hoping to hide her smile behind the rim as she feigned taking a sip.

“Human greed is boundless,” he whined, managing to fall back even more. His head was practically hanging from the back of the chair, giving the impression of a ragdoll tossed aside. “What will you have me do? Will you make me cry and steal the pearls? Will you make me tear my scales off as penance?”

“Rafayel.” She really couldn’t help laughing at his theatrics, leaning across the table to reach for his hand. “Rafayel, please look at me.”

He straightened, if only slightly, fixing a sulky glare on her from beneath the shadow of his arm.

“Haven’t you had enough of me?” His bottom lip began quivering, the perfect picture of abject misery.

In another life he would have made an amazing actor. She could see him on a stage, wailing in agony as orchestral music swelled.

The image brought a smile to her face and she had to stifle it quickly, lest he use it against her.

His cheeks puffed out as he continued to glower at her, as surely as a toddler’s on the cusp of a tantrum, crocodile tears shining at the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t pull away as she leaned further forward, her stomach practically flush with the tabletop as she finally took one of his hands. “Nothing so severe, baby.”

He perked up, arm sliding away from his face, fingers twining with hers as he sat up straight.

She hadn’t just called him Rafayel, but baby; her love, her darling, her heart.

A step closer to forgiveness.

Still, he kept up his gloomy expression, very little needed to bring the tears back into his eyes. She imagined needing only a small gust of wind ruining his hair, or perhaps a splatter of coffee staining his sleeve, to bring his tears back to the forefront, to make him dissolve into a near tantrum again.

His nose scrunched, eyes narrowed, but his hand remained firmly wrapped in hers. “What were you thinking, then?”

“I want to go to the arcade,” she said, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand in small circles. “I want you to win me some new plushies.”

The corners of his lips twitched, the lines in his face smoothing away. “So you want me to earn your forgiveness by going on a date with you?”

“No.” She answered too quickly, too sharp, and she watched with her heart thudding like a stampede and her stomach tumbling over and over itself, as Rafayel’s lips curved upwards, smug and adorable, infuriating and precious all at the same time.

She cleared her throat, pulling back so at least she was sitting, so at least she looked a little less desperate. “No, I want you to prove yourself! Through battle!”

“Against the claw machines?” He was the one leaning forward now, drawn towards her by their connected hands.

“Yes.” His eyes were bright as starlight across water, his voice lilting like a melody. “And I want you to pay for everything. To make up for the emotional damages from earlier.”

He laughed, warm and bright, sunshine washing over her face, birdsong and flower petals in the wind. He was spring, thawing the last of winter from her heart. “I didn’t realize my absence would cause such distress.”

Now she was glowering, relaxing her grip and trying to free her hand from his.

But Rafayel was fast, and strong, and he held onto her tightly, leaning even further over the table, her hand captive in his. “Don’t be like that. Your face is going to get stuck like that if you keep frowning, you know.”

She did not stop frowning.

He pouted, bringing her hand to his face, rubbing his cheek against her fingertips. “Aw, come on, sweetheart, don’t I get to see your smile?”

She furrowed her brows as deeply as she could, wrinkled her own nose. “Win me some plushies first.”

He brought her fingers to his lips, lips brushing against them as he spoke. “As you wish, your highness.”

Like fire to kindling, she erupted in heat, any strength she’d had in her limbs vanishing. She could not even hold onto her glare, and she felt as her face relaxed, as a nervous giggle escaped her lips.

Brows rising, Rafayel’s eyes tracked the shift in her face. She would have pulled away from him to avoid any teasing, had she the strength to do so anymore, but she was caught as surely as a fish in a net.

He refused to let go as he stood, dragging her to her feet with him. “Shall we? I know some pretty good arcades around here.”

She couldn’t argue with him, letting him tug her like a ragdoll from the café, a pleased smirk plastered to his face.

“You know you probably shouldn’t look so smug,” she said once the cold winter air against her face, snapping her back to her senses. “Considering you’re supposed to be doing this as an apology.”

All he did was shrug, his smile widening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Rafayel, you’re literally smiling right now.”

At that he frowned. “Am I not your baby anymore?”

“You sure are acting like a baby,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes.

“What was that?” He leaned closer, a roguish light entering his eyes.

It was so sudden that she took a step away, her face burning despite the cold air caressing her cheeks. “Oh nothing.”

He hummed, not believing her in the least, but he continued on his way, that self-satisfied smile returning to his lips quickly.

She rolled her eyes again, pinching his side. “But really, you shouldn’t look so happy about having to make up for abandoning me this morning.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” he retorted, his voice rising an octave. “And anyways, can’t I be happy that you still want to spend time with me?”

“It’s not a date.” He hadn’t said it was, but she felt the need to make it clear. If not to him then to her own heart, which hadn’t stopped fluttering as furiously as hummingbird wings. “You’re making it up to me.”

He gave her hand a squeeze as he tilted his head back, regarding her from the corners of his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

At the spread of his smile she cursed, looking away. She really had to stop answering so quickly, so sharply. She was giving herself away.

Thankfully, perhaps because he knew he did have much to make up for, Rafayel let it drop, although he hummed an upbeat melody as they walked, his pleased smile never leaving his face.

A blast of warmth greeted them as they stopped in front of one of her favourite arcades, the door thrown wide from a gaggle of teenagers leaving with their spoils.

Rafayel snagged the door with his free hand, releasing her only to press his hand to the small of her back, ushering her inside ahead of him. “After you, your highness.”

“I’m going to make you buy me a tiara at this rate,” she grumbled, hurrying inside so Rafayel could follow.

He clicked his tongue, taking her hand again and heading down the aisles of games, searching for the claw machines. “If you want a tiara, I’d rather make you one myself. None of the others would be good enough.”

She quirked a brow. “Since when do you know how to make tiaras? Did you learn metalworking in another life?”

His grin was wide, toothy, the points of his incisors looking sharp in the light. “I’m a man of many talents.”

She squeezed his hand, swinging it gently. “Really? What else can you do?”

“Why? Planning to make some demands?” There was laughter in his voice, a musical tone that made it lilt, but there was nothing but soft warmth beneath it. There was no sharpness, no sarcasm. As though if she really did make a request, he would put everything on hold just to make it for her.

She wouldn’t call what she felt in her belly butterflies, not exactly. The wingbeats too quick, soft and ticklish instead of the gauziness of the butterflies. But she felt it all the same, both nerves and excitement stitching themselves into the framework of her body, her DNA. It summoned pinpricks of light, of heat. Seedlings that would bloom into stars in her heart, a garden of light unfurling behind her ribs, in her veins.

Without realizing it, she clung to him all the tighter, her other hand coming around to hold his hand, so it was sandwiched between both of hers.

“Well I want to know what your other skills are before I put in any requests,” she said, as lightheaded as when she stepped off carnival rides.

“There’s very little I can’t do,” he preened. His eyes closed, his smile smug as a lazy cat’s. “Just ask, and I’ll make it for you.”

“Hmm…” Just ask, and he’d make anything for her?

He arched his brow as she mulled over her options, over what she could ask him to make. He only shot her a curious glance as he bought tokens for the claw machines, shaking the basket of the little gold coins to draw her attention.

“Well?” He asked, swinging their joined hands again.

“Well what?”

Rafayel rolled his eyes, shaking the basket over her head so the rattling of the coins cascaded over her like ocean waves. “Well, do you know what you want me to make? A painting of your favourite landscape? A sculpture in your likeness? Or maybe in mine, so you can see me even when I’m not around?”

That earned him a pinch, and he laughed, knocking the basket against the top of her head. “On second thought, I think a tiara would be the best fit for a princess such as yourself.”

She scoffed, trying to pull away only to be reeled close again as he stopped in front of one of the machines. “If you’re going to make me a tiara then you’d better make yourself a matching one.”

One brow arched high on his forehead, half hidden by his bangs as he lowered his head. He chuckled, soft and breathy, his eyes slowly finding hers as he turned.

She saw the laughter in them, dancing like firelight across a lake. She saw the sharp curve of his smile, the promise of mischief in the creases around his lips, in the corners of his eyes. She heard the barely contained laughter in his voice, the heat of his breath as he lifted her hand to his lips, as he kissed it slowly, smirking all the while.

What she did not notice, too lost in his eyes and his smile and the unfurling of gossamer wings in her belly, was the red creeping across his face. The delicate flush of coral that deepened to messy crimson, cerise like spilled cherries, burning scarlet like a wildfire catching.

Nor did she notice the quiver in his voice, not from suppressed laughter but from his own nerves, from how his own knees felt weak, from how he would have liked nothing more than to fall into her arms and stay there after the day he’d had.

But instead he remained standing tall, and she did not notice the mess of reds and pinks mottling his complexion, her own face flushing the colour of dusk from the leisurely way he kissed her hand.

“What are you doing?” Her own voice squeaked, cracking from the jump in pitch as he kissed her knuckles next.

“Thinking,” he muttered, not looking at all like he was thinking in the least.

“About?” Nervous laughter escaped her lips, her mind a frenzy of flitting wings and flowers blooming with fuzzy warmth, all of it cacophony clouding her thoughts.

“About how you asked me to make matching crowns,” he said, his words curling against the skin of her hand.

“I was only teasing, you know-”

“And it made me wonder,” he cut her off, his grin as bright as the sunrise. “Does that make me your prince?”

“I- No, I-” Too flustered by his smirk and his teasing, all she could do was sputter as a pyre caught flame on her bones. She was hot, burning, her skin deep reds and blushing pinks all while Rafayel continued to smirk, so smug and pleased with himself.

She didn’t even have the forethought to try and wrench her hand free from his grasp, instead scowling at him as her thoughts ground to a halt.

“Oh?” He leaned closer, still holding her captive. “Was I right? Does your highness see me as her prince?”

“I’ll bite you,” she grumbled, sorely tempted as she eyed his arm.

His grin widened, all teeth and devilry. “Well I’m not much of an exhibitionist, but I could be convinced.”

Lungs constricting, breath catching in her throat, she felt dizzy, the world spinning round and round as the flames beneath her skin threatened to consume her whole. She was so dumbfounded by his comment that she didn’t think to notice the burning colour in his own cheeks and ears, the colour reaching beneath the collar of his shirt.

Rafayel himself wondered if he was losing control of his evol, but surely he would be feeling pain were that the case, the flames burning him until nothing remained.

This was a pleasant warmth, that loosened the tension he often carried, that softened his worries until he could not remember what they were. It flooded his mind like the tide washing the shore clean, nothing but her left in its wake.

There was nothing but her. Only her.

He would say anything to make her blush, to make her smile. He would do anything at all if she asked it of him.

All of it was so clearly painted across his face, in the burning maroon and the sweet cherry and the soft rose splattered over his cheeks and ears and neck. Had her mind not been lost, dragged by the undertow of her own feelings, she surely would have noticed, would have understood what he could not say.

But she was flustered, overwhelmingly so, and she feared she would collapse if she held his gaze a moment longer. Her muscles unravelling, her bones turning to jelly, no support left to keep her on her feet.

Despite it all, she found the strength to wriggle from his grasp, using her newfound freedom to wave at the claw machine. “You have to win me something.”

Beside her, Rafayel hummed, shifting to face the claw machine. “Which one do you want?”

She peered into the glass case at the piles of plushies, the small reprieve allowing her heart to slow, her body to cool. There were so many she wanted that she could hardly pick, little plush ducks and fish, foxes and cacti.

“I want all of them,” she announced. “I think receiving all of them would be a good penance.”

“Alright then, all these cuties for my cutie.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile. Rafayel grinned at her, his most charming, confident grin. “And you can just stand here and cheer me on.”

About ten minutes later it was clear Rafayel would need more than a personal cheerleader to manage to win anything today.

She winced, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her smile as another plushie slipped from the prongs of the claw, tumbling over a mountain of plush and rolling until it hit the side of the case.

Rafayel groaned, shaking his head. “This thing must be rigged. Someone needs to tell these plushies that they have to come home with us.”

“Can I try?” She leaned against him, perching her head against his shoulder. He looked on the verge of telling her no, and so she fluttered her lashes, popped out her bottom lip. “Please, Rafayel?”

He relinquished his control with a sigh, shaking his head. “My hands were getting tired, anyways.”

“Hopefully not too tired.” She popped a token into the machine, lights flashing and sound whirring as the claw came to life again. “I’m going to need you to carry all the plushies I’m about to win.”

He rolled his eyes. “This one seems rigged, I don’t know if anyone would be able to get anything from it.”

Twenty minutes later, and she had to hide her smirk behind the plushie she retrieved from the machine, a sunshine-yellow duck with a little beret.

She lifted it to her face, pressing its head over her mouth, hoping her eyes did not betray her laughter as Rafayel glowered at her from around the growing pile of plushies in his arms.

“I thought you wanted me to win you all the plushies,” he said, his voice edging close to a whine. “But all I’m doing is holding them.”

“Well you weren’t having any luck, so I wanted to try.” She managed to get ahold of her smile, if only barely. Enough to lower the plushie, to add it to the pile in his arms.

“I still think the machine is rigged,” he pouted. “I’m usually great at these.”

That might have been a bit of an exaggeration, but Rafayel really was usually pretty good. Of course there was no account for luck, and it seemed he had used up the last of it before today.

“Maybe it is rigged,” she mused, turning her attention to some of the other machines in the arcade. Many of them looked similar, although the plushies trapped within them were different. There was a machine of entirely frog plushies, another with different food themed plushies, one where it seemed like everything was pink, although in all different shapes and sizes.

“Maybe we should try another one,” she continued, heading towards the machine with the pink plushies inside.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” he announced, coming up beside her. “I’ll win every single one in there, just you watch.”

She did let him see her smirk now, shaking her head as she kept the basket of tokens far from his reach. “Actually, I want to keep trying.”

Rafayel huffed, his brows drawing together as his pout deepened, but he didn’t argue.

At least not until she started winning even more plushies, until the stack in his arm threatened to fall.

“Are you going to make me your servant forever?” He groaned, readjusting the plushies.

She hummed as she added another to the teetering pile in his arms, a little pink bunny with floppy ears. “That’s not a bad idea.”

His shoulders slumped, and he balanced his chin on top of her newest plushie. “But-”

“Didn’t you say you’d do anything I asked?” She gave him her brightest smile, clasping her hands together over her heart. “Right? You said you’d do anything for your princess.”

His eyes narrowed, his nose wrinkling as he snorted. “Fine, I guess I can’t argue with royalty.”

She laughed, finding herself growing comfortable with the nickname he has bestowed upon her today. “Exactly. And what I want right now is to try to win a few plushies myself.”

It was another while yet before she felt satisfied, and they wandered around the arcade, trying different claw machines and simple games.

At the end of it all they had to purchase a few bags to store her winnings in, and to make them easier for Rafayel to carry.

As they received the bags to stow everything away, Rafayel very confidently announced to her that he would have no problem at all carrying them. That she should let him carry her purse, too, since he was showing her how loving and sweet he could be.

He even kissed her hands again, and her cheek as he helped to zip her jacket up again against the biting cold just a few steps away. As if she would be able to feel anything beyond the warmth thrumming in her veins after his lips had touched her so generously.

And true to his word he did not complain about the bags, although she could see it in his face as he tried to arrange them so he could still hold her hand, lines forming across his brow, looking as though he greatly wanted to complain.

But he held fast nonetheless, and something about it further eased the tension she had been carrying all day. Rafayel loved nothing so much as the sound of his own voice, and yet he kept things light, if still dramatic, uncomplaining even as he readjusted the bags again and again.

She was mulling over what to do next, whether she should release Rafayel from his penance, when her eyes landed on the sign above one of the downtown bookstores, the door thrown open to let warm air and welcoming golden light spill into the grey of the winter.

“Oh, can we go in?” She asked, forgetting for a moment that he was in her debt. “I want to take a look.”

“Your highness is awfully demanding,” he said, his smile giving away his answer. “But I don’t see why not.”

She beamed, squeezing his hand as she dragged him through the door, into the warmth of the store.

She would have happily let Rafayel wander at his own leisure, or lounge in some of the soft, worn chairs that dotted the front of the store near the windows, but he seemed content to follow along at her heels. He made idle comments on the titles and covers of books, nodding his head towards ones he thought she might be interested in, perching his chin on her shoulder whenever she pulled a book down to read its synopsis.

Rafayel clinging to her shadow also had the added benefit that they were often left alone in the aisles, the bulky bags he carried making it difficult for anyone else to squeeze behind them. It was a welcome reprieve as she wandered through the store, and she was able to take her time, not worrying about someone trying to rush her through browsing the shelves.

When she found a few she wanted to read, he was holding out his hand, bags swinging from his wrists, to hold them for her.

“But your hands are already full,” she said, eying the bags, and his other hand still tangled with hers. “It’s okay, love. I can carry them.”

His lips quirked up, and he reached out to take them from her hands before she could protest. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgiven me already, have you? And just for carrying a few plushies around.”

Laughter bubbled in her chest, although she managed to stop its escape. Instead of laughing, she merely tilted her head back and turned away, hoping she appeared haughty. “Fine. You carrying the books is the least you can do, anyways.”

“Ah, come on princess, you don’t have to be so cold.” She was sure if she looked he would give her his widest puppy dog eyes, but he didn’t sound like he was. He sounded like he was close to laughing, too, like he was barely able to hold back his smile.

She tried tugging her hand from his grasp, but she remained ensnared, caught in his pull. He squeezed her hand once, as if to say he was happy to play the penitent, but he was not about to let her go.

So she dragged him all over the store, handing him books as she did her best to playact an imperious noble. Each time she turned to hand him another book she would sniff, and she would catch Rafayel’s lips stretching wide like the sunshine spilling across the ocean at dawn.

She didn’t know if it meant she was doing a poor job and he thought it funny, or if she was doing an amazing job and he was finding it funny. Either way he was smiling, so she supposed it was a win.

After they had looped all her favourite sections multiple times, and had wandered through the section that curiously had racks of robes and simple outfits and cocktail mixes, she turned to him fully. “I think that’s everything.” She gestured to the stack of books in his arms, undoubtedly heavier than the plushies and yet he had brooked no complaint. “Let me take them now and I’ll go and pay.”

His brows furrowed, his mouth quirking to the side. “Do you think I’m not strong enough to carry a few books? I’ve lifted canvases heavier than these.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “No, Rafayel, that’s not it. But you’ve more than earned my forgiveness, and a little bit of rest. Let me take those and you can sit down while I pay for them.”

But he did not relinquish her books, and instead began dragging her towards the registers. Even as she protested, he ignored her, grinning wide like she wasn’t yanking on his hand, trying to convince him not to waste his money on her.

It was a fruitless endeavour, and five minutes later he was accepting a bag from the cashier, who was giving her a knowing grin, whispering under her breath that Rafayel was a keeper.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she whined once they were back out on the street. Rafayel was beaming, smug, the paper bag carrying the books crinkling as he swung it at his side. “You didn’t have to waste your money.”

“Waste?” One brow arched as he shook his head. “I promise, your royal highness, that nothing is ever a waste when it’s for you.”

Despite the chill, warmth crept into her face, and she was thankful that she could blame the flush of her cheeks on the bite of the wind.

Rafayel leaned closer, looking like he wanted to cup her cheek. But with his hands full, all he could do was close the distance between them, squeezing her hand, thumb stroking the inside of her wrist, his nose bumping against hers so all she could see was the ocean of his eyes. The melting of blue into red, the lick of ruby flames overtaking the sapphire sky.

“Nothing is too much, or too expensive when it comes to you. I’ll do anything that you want if it makes you smile.”

She wanted to say something clever, something witty, but all that passed between her lips was air. Like she was emptying her lungs as she swam deeper and deeper into the ocean-blue of his eyes, his hand her only tether to land.

“I’ll buy you all the books you want,” he continued, eyes glinting like sunlight dancing over water. Like the flicker of silver fins and rainbow scales beneath the waves. “And plushies, and food, and anything else you could ever want.”

He drew away, straightening just enough that the cold of the wind could whistle between them, just enough so she could see his smile in full. It could have been teasing, jovial, but instead it was soft, tender as a morning kiss. There was something fathomless in his eyes, both lost and found, a longing that echoed in her own heart.

“I’ll make you any painting, cry a million pearls.” His words were feather-light, nearly torn away in the air. “And I’ll make sure it’s all perfect. Only the most perfect things for you.”

She would have liked to tell him that none of that mattered, that the only thing she wanted was him. That she didn’t care for perfection so long as he stayed with her, so long as he held her hand and continued to smile and laugh and continue his shenanigans.

But she didn’t know how to say it, the words lodging in her throat, unable to form on her tongue.

“Rafayel, I-” Her lungs spasmed, her fingers tightening around his hand. He cocked his head to the side, like a bird listening to the symphony of the world around it.

She closed her mouth, swallowed, tried again. “I don’t… I mean I want…”

An unpleasant heat was beginning to flush in her cheeks, different from when he had flustered her before, this one sharp prickles that made her itch. But he didn’t speak, watching her quietly, patiently.

She breathed slowly, licked her lips, tried one final time. “Rafayel. I-”

But what she said wasn’t anything that she had been thinking, or perhaps it was, all of it stitched and embroidered into the fabric of the words she did say.

“I forgive you.”

At first he did nothing, although the slow climb of his brows told her that he had heard her, but that understanding hadn’t quite sunk in.

The moment realization hit him was like light flaring suddenly, like the explosion of fireworks in the sky. His eyes brightened, his mouth opened, a grin so wide she could see the sharp point of one of his incisors.

He laughed, bright as bells, warm as spring, pretty as birdsong. “You mean I have earned my freedom, your highness?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you’re free. You’re forgiven for earlier today.”

He continued to chuckle, swinging their joined hands. “Thank goodness. I was beginning to worry it would take a hundred years for you to forgive me.”

“Well don’t test your luck,” she grumbled. Her face still burned, although the discomfort had eased, and her voice was thick from the words still caught in her throat. She would have liked to cling to an ounce of feigned annoyance, to turn away in a huff so he could not see everything unsaid in her eyes, the colour in her cheeks. But Rafayel’s laughter was infectious, and the delight in it bubbled like champagne in her veins, fizzed in her mind and blurred her senses.

Rafayel seemed utterly unperturbed by her own personal turmoil, swinging their hands higher, his smile fixed to his face.

“What would you like to do now?” He asked, winking. “Should we go to the beach? Or would you like to go somewhere for dinner?”

She eyed the bags in his hands, the slope of his shoulders as he was weighed down by them. She could feel fatigue beginning to creep over her, like the slow stretch of ivy over aging brick. She could only imagine how tired Rafayel was too, his day just as long as hers, along with the addition of carrying everything around for her.

Having dinner sounded nice, but she wanted to relax, she wanted to lean her head on his shoulder and breathe in the smell of his cologne, barely masking the smell of salt and the sting of paint.

“What if we went home and ordered something instead?” She suggested. “It’s been a long day and I’d like to rest. Maybe we could watch a movie too?”

Rafayel hummed, his eyes ever-so-slightly narrowing. “Can’t get enough of me, huh? You were acting so mad, but now you want to stick around.”

As if he hadn’t just suggested spending more time together either.

She rolled her eyes. “I just thought it would be nice. It was a stressful day for the both of us, and I thought doing something lowkey could be fun.”

“I suppose we could do that,” he mused, his smirk a sharp curve of his lips. “It would probably be best to indulge your highness’ whims. I would hate to upset you again.”

“If you don’t want to, you can just say so,” she huffed. “It was just an idea.”

“I never said I didn’t want to.” His smile hiked higher, the corners of his eyes creasing. “But I want to pick out the movie. And where we eat.”

“I think I should be the one to pick out where we eat,” she argued, reaching over with her free hand to pinch him. “Since you scared me.”

“What, so now I’m unforgiven?” He whined, staring at her as though she’d just kicked a puppy. “I had to put up with dumb art collectors and my phone broke!”

“You’re not unforgiven,” she said, heat spreading in her chest, reaching down her arms, making her fingers tingle. “I just think I should get to pick where we eat!”

“Yes, but if I’ve been forgiven then shouldn’t you owe me now?” His brow arched. “Since you’ve made me do such hard labour?”

The heat continued to spread, her fingers itching. “That was part of your apology. And I think that after the day I’ve had I should get to pick out dinner.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You really are a princess. I did so much to make up for-”

It was on impulse that she moved, yanking her hand free from his and grabbing hold of his jacket. Rafayel paused, brows high, eyes wide as he turned. It gave her the opening she needed to snag his front with her other hand, yanking him close.

“Rafayel.”

He blinked, colour flaring in his cheeks like fireworks exploding in the indigo of night. It made his eyes seem darker, their colour deeper, so deep and fathomless she could have drowned in them.

His lips fell open, a silent question on them as his breath slipped away.

“You scared me today. Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she said, hands firmly twisting into the fabric of his jacket.

A brow arched, the corner of his lip twitching like he might grin. “Or what?”

“Or else.”

She had no real threat for him, and yet it seemed to do the job just fine. He smirked, lowering his head until he was peeking up at her from beneath the fringe of his thick lashes.

“Yes ma’am.” His words were hushed, warm and heavy, settling deep in her belly. “I promise I won’t ever make you wait again. I’ll always be with you.”

Whatever had possessed her to grab him was beginning to loose its hold on her, and she loosened her own grip on him, although still she clung close. “And?”

He huffed a laugh. “And you can pick the movie. But I’m still picking dinner.”

She dropped her hands as she gaped. “You can’t!”

“Oh but I can, love.” He flashed her a teasing smile, tapping her brow before straightening. “I know a place that just opened, and they don’t normally do delivery, but they will for me. You’ll absolutely love it.”

She made to pinch him, but he caught her wrist, smirking. “Doesn’t that get old?”

So instead she pinched him with her free hand, biting back a smile as he yelped. “No.”

“You’re lucky my other hand is full,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Or else you’d be in trouble.”

She giggled, a snorting, bubbling sound that made his smile soften. “I think that’s an empty threat. You wouldn’t retaliate.”

“Oh wouldn’t I?”

“Of course not.”

He shrugged, sighing. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“Well-”

“Anyways,” he cut her off before she could tease him, dragging her down the street. “Come on, I’m starving. Are we going to my place?”

“If you don’t mind,” she said, stumbling after him.

He tossed her a grin over his shoulder. “Of course not. Although if you’re planning on staying over you have to cook breakfast tomorrow.”

His eyes met hers for half a second, less than a breath, before he rolled them, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“What?” She hadn’t even said anything, hadn’t so much as frowned. “What did I do?”

“Nothing yet, but I know what you will say.” He groaned dramatically, tilting his head back.

She actually wouldn’t have minded, although she did not say as much as Rafayel quickly went through the five stages of grief.

“I’ll make something tomorrow morning instead. It might give me some inspiration since all of it was drained after going to that gallery.”

She reached out to cover his hand with hers, fingers interlacing. “Well maybe there’s something I can do to help with that.”

“Suddenly feeling benevolent?” He arched a brow, drawing her closer.

She shrugged. “I know you had a difficult day too, and I’d like to help if I can.”

Surprise melted into warmth like the night beneath the dawn across his face. His cheeks flushed, and she could have sworn she felt the quick pulse of his heart. But his smile was tender, his gaze soft.

“You know, I think I can feel it returning already,” he mused. “You might have to stay over for more than a day.”

She smiled, let herself sink against him as they walked. The frantic fear of the early afternoon was little more than a distant memory, a half-forgotten nightmare nearly swept away. Rafayel was safe, he was smiling, and his hand was twined with hers. That was all she’d wanted, to be close, to stay beside him today.

And tomorrow too, and the day after, and all the tomorrows after.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he said, squeezing her hand, drawing her attention back to him. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m trying to figure out what kind of food you’ve picked,” she said. “Since you won’t tell me anything about it.”

“Are you worried it won’t be up to your royal standards?” He chuckled, swinging her hand again. It was silly, a little childish, and yet it made her incandescently happy when he did. “Well you don’t have to fear, your highness, it’s something you’ll love.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Just trust me,” he insisted.

“Alright.” Now she swung their joined hands too, tossing them high. He laughed, eyes tracking the movement, his smile making her heart stumble, trip, no better than a toddler learning to walk. “I guess I’ll trust you.”

More laughter, warm as sunshine, sweet as sugar. She could have listened to it forever, an enchanting siren song that she would have happily let lead her to her doom.

“Don’t sound so excited,” he said, although his smile belied the annoyed roll of his eyes.

She giggled. “Sorry, sorry. I do trust you, I’m looking forward to whatever you have planned.”

His answer was simple, and yet it warmed her as surely as a star unfurling behind her ribs. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Where once there had been grey and white, pallid despair and shadowy fear, now everything seemed to be bright as technicolour. Streaks of cerise stained the sky, buttery yellow poured from windows, starlit silver washed across the sidewalk as the streetlights flicked to life. There were emerald greens and cerulean blues and plum purples, all filling her sight. They were embers catching and blooming to life, flowers unfurling at the first whisper of spring.

She leaned closer, pressing her cheek against his arm, listening as he hummed. It was because of him that her world was filled with such colour, each new brushstroke, each new shade, brilliant as the glitter of gemstones, bright as the shine of the sun.

Hope bloomed like spring, like blushing pink across his cheeks. Hope that he would stay with her, their hands always intertwined. Hope that he would find her, even if she was late. That she would find him, even if he was too. Hope that her world would always be bright, and filled with colour.

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