No Language Should Be Mocked Other Than French

words to use when writing

Appetite:

craving, demand, gluttony, greed, hunger, inclination, insatiable, longing, lust, passion, ravenousness, relish, taste, thirst, urge, voracity, weakness, willingness, yearning, ardor, dedication, desire, devotion, enthusiasm, excitement, fervor, horny, intensity, keenness, wholeheartedness, zeal

Arouse:

agitate, awaken, electrify, enliven, excite, entice, foment, goad, incite, inflame, instigate, kindle, provoke, rally, rouse, spark, stimulate, stir, thrill, waken, warm, whet, attract, charm, coax, fire up, fuel, heat up, lure, produce, stir up, tantalize, tease, tempt, thrum, torment, wind up, work up

Assault:

attack, advancing, aggressive, assailing, charging, incursion, inundated, invasion, offensive, onset, onslaught, overwhelmed, ruinous, tempestuous, strike, violation, ambush, assail, barrage, bombard, bombardment, crackdown, wound

Beautiful: 

admirable, alluring, angelic, appealing, bewitching, charming, dazzling, delicate, delightful, divine, elegant, enticing, exquisite, fascinating, gorgeous, graceful, grand, magnificent, marvelous, pleasing, radiant, ravishing, resplendent, splendid, stunning, sublime, attractive, beguiling, captivating, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, eye-catching, fetching, fine, fine-looking, good-looking, handsome, inviting, lovely, mesmeric, mesmerizing, pretty, rakish, refined, striking, tantalizing, tempting

Brutal:

atrocious, barbarous, bloodthirsty, callous, cruel, feral, ferocious, hard, harsh, heartless, inhuman, merciless, murderous, pitiless, remorseless, rough, rude, ruthless, savage, severe, terrible, unmerciful, vicious, bestial, brute, brutish, cold-blooded, fierce, gory, nasty, rancorous, sadistic, uncompromising, unfeeling, unforgiving, unpitying, violent, wild

Burly:

able-bodied, athletic, beefy, big, brawny, broad-shouldered, bulky, dense, enormous, great, hard, hardy, hearty, heavily built, heavy, hefty, huge, husky, immense, large, massive, muscular, mighty, outsized, oversized, powerful, powerfully built, prodigious, robust, solid, stalwart, stocky, stout, strapping, strong, strongly built, sturdy, thick, thickset, tough, well-built, well-developed

Carnal:

animalistic, bodily, impure, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libidinous, licentious, lustful, physical, prurient, salacious, sensuous, voluptuous, vulgar, wanton, , coarse, crude, dirty, raunchy, rough, unclean

Dangerous:

alarming, critical, fatal, formidable, impending, malignant, menacing, mortal, nasty, perilous, precarious, pressing, serious, terrible, threatening, treacherous, urgent, vulnerable, wicked, acute, damaging, deadly, death-defying, deathly, destructive, detrimental, explosive, grave, harmful, hazardous, injurious, lethal, life-threatening, noxious, poisonous, risky, severe, terrifying, toxic, unsafe, unstable, venomous

Dark:

atrocious, corrupt, forbidding, foul, infernal, midnight, morbid, ominous, sinful, sinister, somber, threatening, twilight, vile, wicked, abject, alarming, appalling, baleful, bizarre, bleak, bloodcurdling, boding evil, chilling, cold, condemned, creepy, damned, daunting, demented, desolate, dire, dismal, disturbing, doomed, dour, dread, dreary, dusk, eerie, fear, fearsome, frightening, ghastly, ghostly, ghoulish, gloom, gloomy, grave, grim, grisly, gruesome, hair-raising, haunted, hideous, hopeless, horrendous, horrible, horrid, horrific, horrifying, horror, ill-fated, ill-omened, ill-starred, inauspicious, inhospitable, looming, lost, macabre, malice, malignant, menacing, murky, mysterious, night, panic, pessimistic, petrifying, scary, shadows, shadowy, shade, shady, shocking, soul-destroying, sour, spine-chilling, spine-tingling, strange, terrifying, uncanny, unearthly, unlucky, unnatural, unnerving, weird, wretched

Delicious:

enticing, exquisite, luscious, lush, rich, savory, sweet, tasty, tempting, appetizing, delectable, flavorsome, full of flavor, juicy, lip-smacking, mouth-watering, piquant, relish, ripe, salty, spicy, scrummy, scrumptious, succulent, tangy, tart, tasty, yummy, zesty

Ecstasy:

delectation, delirium, elation, euphoria, fervor, frenzy, joy, rapture, transport, bliss, excitement, happiness, heaven, high, paradise, rhapsody, thrill, blissful, delighted, elated, extremely happy, in raptures (of delight), in seventh heaven, jubilant, on cloud nine, overexcited, overjoyed, rapturous, thrilled

Ecstatic:

delirious, enraptured, euphoric, fervent, frenzied, joyous, transported, wild

Erotic:

amatory, amorous, aphrodisiac, carnal, earthy, erogenous, fervid, filthy, hot, impassioned, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, raw, romantic, rousing, salacious, seductive, sensual, sexual, spicy, steamy, stimulating, suggestive, titillating, voluptuous, tantalizing

Gasp:

catch of breath, choke, gulp, heave, inhale, pant, puff, snort, wheeze, huff, rasp, sharp intake of air, short of breath, struggle for breath, swallow, winded 

Heated:

ardent, avid, excited, fervent, fervid, fierce, fiery, frenzied, furious, impassioned, intense, passionate, raging, scalding, scorched, stormy, tempestuous, vehement, violent, ablaze, aflame, all-consuming, blazing, blistering, burning, crazed, explosive, febrile, feverish, fired up, flaming, flushed, frantic, hot, hot-blooded, impatient, incensed, maddening, obsessed, possessed, randy, searing, sizzling, smoldering, sweltering, torrid, turbulent, volatile, worked up, zealous

Hunger:

appetite, ache, craving, gluttony, greed, longing, lust, mania, mouth-watering, ravenous, voracious, want, yearning, thirst

Hungry:

avid, carnivorous, covetous, craving, eager, greedy, hungered, rapacious, ravenous, starved, unsatisfied, voracious, avaricious, desirous, famished, grasping, insatiable, keen, longing, predatory, ravening, starving, thirsty, wanting

Intense:

forceful, severe, passionate, acute, agonizing, ardent, anxious, biting, bitter, burning, close, consuming, cutting, deep, eager, earnest, excessive, exquisite, extreme, fervent, fervid, fierce, forcible, great, harsh, impassioned, keen, marked, piercing, powerful, profound, severe, sharp, strong, vehement, violent, vivid, vigorous

Liquid:

damp, cream, creamy, dripping, ichorous, juicy, moist, luscious, melted, moist, pulpy, sappy, soaking, solvent, sopping, succulent, viscous, wet / aqueous, broth, elixir, extract, flux, juice, liquor, nectar, sap, sauce, secretion, solution, vitae, awash, moisture, boggy, dewy, drenched, drip, drop, droplet, drowning, flood, flooded, flowing, fountain, jewel, leaky, milky, overflowing, saturated, slick, slippery, soaked, sodden, soggy, stream, swamp, tear, teardrop, torrent, waterlogged, watery, weeping

Lithe:

agile, lean, pliant, slight, spare, sinewy, slender, supple, deft, fit, flexible, lanky, leggy, limber, lissom, lissome, nimble, sinuous, skinny, sleek, slender, slim, svelte, trim, thin, willowy, wiry

Moan:

beef, cry, gripe, grouse, grumble, lament, lamentation, plaint, sob, wail, whine, bemoan, bewail, carp, deplore, grieve, gripe, grouse, grumble, keen, lament, sigh, sob, wail, whine, mewl

Moving:

(exciting,) affecting, effective  arousing, awakening, breathless, dynamic, eloquent, emotional, emotive, expressive, fecund, far-out, felt in gut, grabbed by, gripping, heartbreaking, heartrending, impelling, impressive, inspirational, meaningful, mind-bending, mind-blowing, motivating, persuasive, poignant, propelling, provoking, quickening, rallying, rousing, significant, stimulating, simulative, stirring, stunning, touching, awe-inspiring, energizing, exhilarating, fascinating, heart pounding, heart stopping, inspiring, riveting, thrilling

Need:

compulsion, demand, desperate, devoir, extremity, impatient longing, must, urge, urgency / desire, appetite, avid, burn, craving, eagerness, fascination, greed, hunger, insatiable, longing, lust, taste, thirst, voracious, want, yearning, ache, addiction, aspiration, desire, fever, fixation, hankering, hope, impulse, inclination, infatuation, itch, obsession, passion, pining, wish, yen

Pain: 

ache, afflict, affliction, agony, agonize, anguish, bite, burn, chafe, distress, fever, grief, hurt, inflame, laceration, misery, pang, punish, sting, suffering, tenderness, throb, throe, torment, torture, smart

Painful:

aching, agonizing, arduous, awful, biting, burning, caustic, dire, distressing, dreadful, excruciating, extreme, grievous, inflamed, piercing, raw, sensitive, severe, sharp, tender, terrible, throbbing, tormenting, angry, bleeding, bloody, bruised, cutting, hurting, injured, irritated, prickly, skinned, smarting, sore, stinging, unbearable, uncomfortable, upsetting, wounded

Perverted: 

aberrant, abnormal, corrupt, debased, debauched, defiling, depraved, deviant, monstrous, tainted, twisted, vicious, warped, wicked, abhorrent, base, decadent, degenerate, degrading, dirty, disgusting, dissipated, dissolute, distasteful, hedonistic, immodest, immoral, indecent, indulgent, licentious, nasty, profligate, repellent, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, shameful, shameless, sickening, sinful, smutty, sordid, unscrupulous, vile 

Pleasurable:

charming, gratifying, luscious, satisfying, savory, agreeable, delicious, delightful, enjoyable, nice, pleasant, pleasing, soothing, succulent

Pleasure:

bliss, delight, gluttony, gratification, relish, satisfaction, thrill, adventure, amusement, buzz, contentment, delight, desire, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement, fun, happiness, harmony, heaven, joy, kick, liking, paradise, seventh heaven 

Rapacious:

avaricious, ferocious, furious, greedy, predatory, ravening, ravenous, savage, voracious, aggressive, gluttonous, grasping, insatiable, marauding, plundering

Rapture:

bliss, ecstasy, elation, exaltation, glory, gratification, passion, pleasure, floating, unbridled joy

Rigid:

adamant, austere, definite, determined, exact, firm, hard, rigorous, solid, stern, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding, concrete, fixed, harsh, immovable, inflexible, obstinate, resolute, resolved, severe, steadfast, steady, stiff, strong, strict, stubborn, taut, tense, tight, tough, unbending, unchangeable, unwavering

Sudden:

abrupt, accelerated, acute, fast, flashing, fleeting, hasty, headlong, hurried, immediate, impetuous, impulsive, quick, quickening, rapid, rash, rushing, swift, brash, brisk, brusque, instant, instantaneous, out of the blue, reckless, rushed, sharp, spontaneous, urgent, without warning

Thrust:

(forward) advance, drive, forge, impetus, impulsion, lunge, momentum, onslaught, poke, pressure, prod, propulsion, punch, push, shove, power, proceed, progress, propel

(push hard) assail, assault, attack, bear down, buck, drive, force, heave, impale, impel, jab, lunge, plunge, press, pound, prod, ram, shove, stab, transfix, urge, bang, burrow, cram, gouge, jam, pierce, punch, slam, spear, spike, stick

Thunder-struck:

amazed, astonished, aghast, astounded, awestruck, confounded, dazed, dazed, dismayed, overwhelmed, shocked, staggered, startled, stunned, gob-smacked, bewildered, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, horrified, incredulous, surprised, taken aback 

Torment:

agony, anguish, hurt, misery, pain, punishment, suffering, afflict, angst, conflict, distress, grief, heartache, misfortune, nightmare, persecute, plague, sorrow, strife, tease, test, trial, tribulation, torture, turmoil, vex, woe

Touch:

(physical) - blow, brush, caress, collide, come together, contact, converge, crash, cuddle, embrace, feel, feel up, finger, fondle, frisk, glance, glide, graze, grope, handle, hit, hug, impact, join, junction, kiss, lick, line, manipulate, march, massage, meet, nudge, palm, partake, pat, paw, peck, pet, pinch, probe, push, reach, rub, scratch, skim, slide, smooth, strike, stroke, suck, sweep, tag, tap, taste, thumb, tickle, tip, touching, toy, bite, bump, burrow, buss, bury, circle, claw, clean, clutch, cover, creep, crush, cup, curl, delve, dig, drag, draw, ease, edge, fiddle with, flick, flit, fumble, grind, grip, grub, hold, huddle, knead, lap, lave, lay a hand on, maneuver, manhandle, mash, mold, muzzle, neck, nestle, nibble, nip, nuzzle, outline, play, polish, press, pull, rasp, ravish, ream, rim, run, scoop, scrabble, scrape, scrub, shave, shift, shunt, skate, slip, slither, smack, snake, snuggle, soothe, spank, splay, spread, squeeze, stretch, swipe, tangle, tease, thump, tongue, trace, trail, tunnel twiddle, twirl, twist, tug, work, wrap 

(mental) - communicate, examine, inspect, perception, scrutinize

Wet:

bathe, bleed, burst, cascade, course, cover, cream, damp, dampen, deluge, dip, douse, drench, dribble, drip, drizzle, drool, drop, drown, dunk, erupt, flood, flow, gush, immerse, issue, jet, leach, leak, moisten, ooze, overflow, permeate, plunge, pour, rain, rinse, run, salivate, saturate, secrete, seep, shower, shoot, slaver, slobber, slop, slosh, sluice, spill, soak, souse, spew, spit, splash, splatter, spout, spray, sprinkle, spurt, squirt, steep, stream, submerge, surge, swab, swamp, swill, swim, trickle, wash, water

Wicked:

abominable, amoral, atrocious, awful, base, barbarous, dangerous, debased, depraved, distressing, dreadful, evil, fearful, fiendish, fierce, foul, heartless, hazardous, heinous, immoral, indecent, intense, mean, nasty, naughty, nefarious, offensive, profane, scandalous, severe, shameful, shameless, sinful, terrible, unholy, vicious, vile, villainous, wayward, bad, criminal, cruel, deplorable, despicable, devious, ill-intentioned, impious, impish, iniquitous, irreverent, loathsome, Machiavellian, mad, malevolent, malicious, merciless, mischievous, monstrous, perverse, ruthless, spiteful, uncaring, unkind, unscrupulous, vindictive, virulent, wretched

Writhe: 

agonize, bend, jerk, recoil, lurch, plunge, slither, squirm, struggle, suffer, thrash, thresh, twist, wiggle, wriggle, angle, arc, bow, buck, coil, contort, convulse, curl, curve, fidget, fight, flex, go into spasm, grind, heave, jiggle, jolt, kick, rear, reel, ripple, resist, roll, lash, lash out, screw up, shake, shift, slide, spasm, stir, strain, stretch, surge, swell, swivel, thrust, turn violently, tussle, twitch, undulate, warp, worm, wrench, wrestle, yank 

puki I failed my drivers test because I saw a cute dog and missed a turn wtf do I do :(((((

First you see a cute dog and miss a turn, next thing you know you see a cute dog and you're T-boning a family of four across the intersection. Cute dogs are for a time and a place.

Noona's Dukedom Gave Me Brain Worms

@beloveds-embrace legit gave me brain worms. We aren't going to talk about how long this damn thing got. Can be read without context of the Dukedom AU but it makes more sense if you've read all the possible endings. Shout out to @strangergraphics for the cute divider. ***It got a little bit away from me... Word count: Shy of 6K

Sneaking into the stable of the noble house of Price was a bad idea. He knew it. The hunger gnawing at his spine pushed him forward despite his mind’s warnings. Due to the starvation, his body was smaller than it should have been. He used that advantage to sneak between the slats in the fencing and to hide below the edge of the empty stalls.

Voices and clopping of hooves lifted over the walls. The grooms were rotating the horses in the paddock, he would have a few moments to scrounge for something to eat. He would even take the horse’s oats at this point.

Darting from the stall he scanned the walls for a full door; the horse food would most likely be up to keep away the rodents. His hand nearly touched the handle when a swish of skirts had him unlatching a stall with a large black horse and hiding. The horse did not care for his presence and began to flick its ears and swish their tail.

The swishing of skirts continued, nearer and nearer to the stall with the upset horse. It stopped and he ducked further down, holding the door shut but not letting it latch for fear that the sound would travel. Three loud breaths in his ears and the horse pawing at the straw were all the sounds that he could hear.

“Child, I need you to come out of there. Now.”

The voice held the commands with familiarity. Shutting his eyes tight the boy wished that God listened to orphans. He did not complete another breath before he was hauled out by the collar of his shirt. The damn thing ripped as the woman slammed the door closed to the angry sounds of a horse.

“Ma’am!” A groom, dressed in nicer clothes than should ever be used to care for horses, came running in. He skidded to a halt at the sight of the boy. “Do you need me to take care of him, my Lady?”

Hells beyond, of course, he had been found by the lady of the house. The devil must want his soul something fierce.

“No. Thank you, Benjamin.” You must dismiss him with a nod for the groom eyes him warily before heading back outside.

Chancing a glance upward he saw a lovely dress, must be the height of fashion because none of it made sense to him, and a sad face.

“What is your name child?” You ask him kindly, despite the hand still gripping the ripped portion of his shirt.

He thought about running, leaving his shirt behind in your hand.

You let out a small hiss of reprimand and the thought is abandoned.

“David, ma’am.”

Even in those two words, he knew his low-brow accent could be heard.

“And what are you doing in the stables and with my husband’s horse, David?”

He thinks about lying. You must see it in his face for the small bit of tension in your shoulders falls away, as does your hand.

“Come with me, David. And before you tell me the lie on your tongue, make up a story. Tell me the most unrealistic reason of how you came here, and then we can discuss the truth.” You gesture to the bright light beyond the stable and begin to walk.

You make it several steps before you turn around and lift a brow at him. Trained by society to listen to his betters David scurries after you.

He tells you a tale, of how fae had stolen him away from his family and left him for dead in the woods because he never seemed to grow. He spun the story so neatly that he nearly missed that they entered the side door of the grand manor on the property. A maid passed in front of you, long strides taking her down the hall.

“Mary,” you state her name, waiting for her to pause with a quiet, ‘yes ma’am’ before you continue. “Please send a tray of bread and cheese to my room. Also, have someone open the old trunks in the nursery to see if there are any clothes that would fit this child.”

Mary’s eyes flick to him and back to the lady, the confusion only thinly masked.

“And if his Lordship asks?”

David knew this wasn’t usual; his last posting would have called that cheek and seen him dismissed. You handle it with almost an ease of familiarity.

“Then send his Lordship to my room.” You settle a hand on his shoulder, directing him to the stairs, “Come, David.”

He moves where you direct, curious and cautious in equal measure. He had no training for how to act when the lady of the house pulls him into her sitting room and directed him to sit on a wooden chair near a writing desk. You disappear into what David assumes to be your bedroom for a moment.

Taking a moment to observe the room he notices a stack of books next to a comfortable chair with a blanket draped over the back of it. There is dust in the corners of the room and along the windowsill. Your maids were terrible at their jobs.

His mother had been a maid before she had been forced to put him in the orphanage due to illness and probably dying from consumption. She would be ashamed to claim this room as clean. For a duchess no less? Disgraceful. David could feel his brows pull down in a glare as he looked more. No stack of wood near the hearth, and a large collection of ash in the grate spoke of negligence.

When you return you are carrying a pitcher of water, a bowl, and a rag. Setting all of them on the floor you settle yourself down next to them. David had never seen a lady deign to sit on the floor before.

Pouring some water into the bowl, you wet the rag and wring it out before gently lifting it to his face.

“Where are your parents, child?” You ask in kindness, he flinches anyway.

He was a bastard of an earl and a maid who could not refuse. A knowing enters your eyes at the set of his chin.

“They do not care for you here.” His tone is serious.

It is your turn to flinch. It does not stop you from wiping the dirt from his face.

“What makes you say that?” You ask in a quiet voice, eyes not straying from your task.

“The maid was cheeky, and the state of your sitting room. Any maid worth her salt would not let dust collect like this.” He is still scowling as you rinse your rag and begin on one eye.

“Mmm, the staff were chosen by my husband before marriage. He is…resistant to change,” you hedge.

David does not reply other than to watch you in silence. Something here did not feel right. He would know, he had served in a great house once before. The lady of that house had been a mean and hateful woman, nothing like what you had presented yourself as. No one in the gentry would have saved him from a horse or brought him into their space to dress and feed him. He decided he would stay, ask for a position, and see if you were as good as this first impression.

A light knock at the door did not prevent you from finishing your task.

“Enter,” you called as you started on his hands.

“Found these in the nursery ma’am, a few moth holes but they will serve for now.” Mary, the cheeky maid from earlier glared at you as she settled the clothes across the settee. The tray of bread and cheese rested on the cushion next to the clothes.

David glared at her over your head. Mary jerked back when she saw his black look. She returned a sneer and breezed from the room as easy as you please. Acted like she owned the damn place.

“You need new maids,” David near as growled as his child’s voice would allow. Confusion washed over him like sacrament water at your soft smile, both hands holding his.

“Let’s get you in some clean clothes and get some food in your belly. I can hear it from here,” rising from your position on the floor you settle the water on a side table and join him near the settee.

David fingers the fabric. It is finer than anything he has ever worn, even with the moth holes. Glancing up you are looking at him with expectation. He had not grown much since the orphanage at eight but he knew that changing in front of you would not be wise. In response to the single brow you lifted, he held up the clothes in answer.

“Use the antechamber,” you point to the same door you had used to bring back the water.

Soon enough David is changed into new clothes and is seated on the settee stuffing his face with bread and cheese in alternating bites. Sleep overtook him with the strength of an executioner. When he stirred next he could feel your fingers parting his hair. The deep voice came again, that is what had woken him.

“Are you sure this is what you are willing to bargain for, wife?”

“John, as I am your wife in name only, I am asking for a compromise. Let me take the child as a ward and I will delay choosing a lover until he is grown and managing his own affairs.”

You present the option as if it makes sense and is the only logical choice. David slits his eyes open, taking in the pattern of your dress up close.

“I am not allowed,” David heard the fury in your words, he wondered if the duke did. “To take a lover for fear that he will feed the roses. But none of you would stoop so low as to murder a child. Heaven forbid I get to feel a modicum of love in my own home.”

“You tread a dangerous line, wife.”

Shifting fabric from behind his head has David tensing to leap up and defend you from a blow. Your fingers dig into his hair enough to give a warning, ‘Stay still.’

“No more dangerous than your lovers do, husband.”

The silence is laced with danger, it wrings his neck as if he were the queen. Your fingers tighten almost painfully on his skull. David breathes, slow and steady, matching the lie of your calming breaths.

“Are you threate—”

“I am again repeating my offer. I care for the boy as my ward; in return, I delay taking a lover so you may continue to enjoy your three without worrying about my behavior.”

David thinks not even the queen could keep her composure in this situation. You maneuvered your husband magnificently.

“You would have been a good general wife,” the Duke replies coolly.

“How fortunate for me then women are property and not people,” you reply with equal chill.

He grew, and grew, and grew. Regular meals and exercise saw David immediately falling into several growth spurts. He only wore short pants for three months before you had a tailor taking in some of your husband’s older and discarded clothes. He still wonders how much you paid the valet to sneak them out of John’s room.

David had taken to calling everyone by their first names. John and Simon were not ‘my lord’ or any other superfluous title they did not deserve, for they did not treat you as a gentleman should. Dinners were stilted in silence. You sat at one end of the great table, David seated next to you; eight chairs separated the pair of men at the end from your bright smile. They never attempted to usurp convention and sit closer, or invite either of you to move up and forgo the distance.

Your days were split between bringing David’s reading and math skills up to speed as you secured a teacher for him. Or rather David flourished under your tutelage until several teachers arrived to teach him math, French, history, Latin, and even science.

The house never suffered under the reduction in your attention. That did not stop the head butler from calling attention to the delay in requests being fulfilled.

Mr. Kyle Garrick could be no older than you. While twenty-four appeared ancient to his twelve the head butler being no more than thirty. He had never heard of such a thing below stairs, and the servants would have gossiped about it.

Kyle stood now in your office, eyes trained above your head as he spoke to you. David watched from his place at a side table; chalk pinched between his fingers and letters abandoned.

“The staff have reported that the expected deliveries have been delayed,” he clasped his hands behind his back, still not looking at you.

“Are the staff in need of an item urgently?” You look up from your correspondence. While John might manage the land, you managed the people and the tenants and the local clergy and did so without ruffling any feathers. David had to say you worked harder than your husband.

Kyle’s nose scrunched as if the question were one he would rather not answer.

“No. Not as of yet ma’am”

“And have you confirmed that the deliveries will arrive before the matter becomes urgent?” You arch a brow at your head butler.

The angry shift of his jaw tells David you are a master at stepping through this house without any of the blood you let fall onto your skirts.

“Yes,” comes the terse reply.

“Then is there anything else you need from me, Mr. Garrick?” Your face is innocent and open as Kyle’s eyes flick to you.

“No, ma’am. Thank you,” Kyle turns sharply on a heel, every line of his suit pressed to perfection.

Both you and David watch Kyle as he pauses at the door. Without turning he broaches the subject.

“Ma’am the staff have all been wondering…about the boy.”

David glances to Kyle’s hand on the doorknob. His arm shakes with the force with which he is holding it.

“David is my ward. He is confirmed as such in my will and by John’s own solicitor. If any of the staff take issue with the decision they can be dismissed immediately with a letter of recommendation and their wages due,” you reply, the chill in your tone removing all heat from your office.

The words land like arrows in Kyle’s back from the way his spine straightens.

“Yes ma’am, thank you,” he flings open the door and is gone with only a soft click of the shutting door to mark his departure.

Kyle was added to his list of people in this place who were not safe, right next to John and Simon. The head chef joined that list on the selfsame day.

Nipping down into the kitchens for a bite to eat, for feeding his hungry body only seemed to fuel more hunger, David listened to Johnny rant and rave about the lady of the house and her ‘particular tastes’ and her unwillingness to eat any meat presented to her. Something in his tone hinted that his anger grew from something deeper than a delicate palette. David did not raid the kitchen when any staff might be present from now on.

Observation was a tool that kept David safe on the streets after he had escaped the orphanage. Between his teachers and his daily meals with you, David witnessed a deepening sadness he could only attribute to your husband and his lovers.

Each night you tucked him into bed in the room next to yours. Reciting the Lord’s Prayer, reading a chapter of whatever book he had been reading, and laying a kiss on his brow were the standard. One night you laid an especially long kiss on his brow.

“I think I would have taken to my bed and never left if you had not arrived when you did David. Thank you for allowing me to save myself for you,” were the whispered words against his forehead.

Having no words for the overwhelming feelings in his chest David sat upright and hugged you tight.

“You’re the best mother I could have asked for,” came his own whispered reply.

Neither of you commented on the tears in the others eyes.

Nearly a year passed in that building others called home and he thought of it as a shared prison. At thirteen he had put on nearly a stone in weight and could hold his own academically with any boy his age who had been nurtured from the womb to stand among the peerage.

A letter from your desk, and a preemptive payment, secured him a spot at Eton in London. The household held its breath as you directed both your items and David’s to be packed for the move. John preferred the country estate but kept a home in the city for when Parliament was in session. David had missed the frigid argument that must have ensued before you were allowed to leave.

The years at Eton were grueling. Being a no-name ward to the Lady Price did not buy him the safety he would have received at being an acknowledged earl’s son. He often returned to the home he shared with you each weekend littered with bruises and with a sour mood.

It only took three weekends for you to call on your friends with children at Eton to run interference and to hire a pugilist to teach David how to handle the rest. Things didn’t get easier for nearly a year.

Returning as a fourteen-year-old with a bit more weight on his bones David channeled the attitudes he had seen both John and Simon wield to great effect and used his fists to even greater effect. His attitude and willingness to scrabble with even the boys who could be called men made the rounds. He walked away from every fight. Limping and spitting blood still counted as walking away.

Only once did David pull the attitude of the duke out with you.

“I will not be attending the picnic this weekend.”

David looked down his nose at you where you sat reading a Jane Austin novel. He stood, to give himself the illusion of height. He didn’t really mind either way about the picnic but he wanted to test his powers against you. When he looked back on the moment as a fully grown man he could see that he wanted to be sure that you could, would, still love him and keep him in hand as he grew. He wanted to know if you would protect him, even from himself.

A single finger slipped between the pages, turning it.

“David, if I do not let my husband speak to me so, why would I let you?”

The lack of emotion in your question sent sparks of fear up his spine, akin to the fireworks he had seen last year.

He remained silent and unsure how to reign in the wild horse of his mistake.

Closing your book softly you lift your eyes up to him. A wall of neutrality sat in your eyes that he hadn’t seen since leaving the country estate. Patting the seat next to you twice you waited until David sat to prune his behavior.

“Command is something given, not taken. If you wish to be a leader among men they first will need to want to follow you.” Only the sounds of carriages on the cobblestone outside the window break the silence. “My husband commands because of his birthright. I command because I have been trusted to do so. All of the charitable works I accomplish while you are in school, the lives I change, the directives I lead? These have all been trusted to me because I have proven I will not abuse them.”

David swallowed hard, lip starting to quiver.

“I’m sorry, mum,” his voice is small, a dandelion of admitting he had been wrong.

You reach up behind him, and despite the years between then and now being filled with nothing but love and gentle guidance, he still flinched. The hand on his head pulled him to your breast, soothing him as he cried.

“Trust I will care for you. Trust that I love you, David. If you have concerns we can discuss them, but no one deserves high-handedness unless they have proved themselves worthy of its censure.”

College had been his goal, the plan he would dare say. That plan flew out the window when John called David to his London office and handed him a letter.

“I have need of my wife, and our bargain has come to a conclusion. This is your commission. You will be serving under Admiral Wishart. He is expecting you on the third. The Royal William sets sail on the fifth,” John said all this with a wild gleam in his eye.

David snatched the letter from John’s hand, scanning over every word. His stomach sank further with each line he reread.

John Price had purchased a commission for him. As no law stood in the way of paying for a commission for any man, David had been promised to the crown as a soldier against his will.

Straightening to his full height David took three deep breaths to prepare his thoughts.

“She will not forgive you for this.”

“Maybe,” John shrugged, “But a woman of her age yearns for a child and with you gone, I can provide her with one.”

Civility fled with the thought of this man, so long abandoning his wife, touching her in any way filled David with nothing but rage.

“You would have better luck stealing the king’s trousers from his still awake body than bedding your wife. Good day, sir,” he infused the word sir with every ounce of hate he held for the man.

David had searched you out after leaving John’s office. Eighteen had once felt so grown, but now he knew he could be nothing more than a child masquerading as an adult. He had found you having tea with the neighbor. Pacing the front hall his hands worrying at his cuffs David swallowed hard to force the acid back into his stomach. The butler, this one old like every other butler was, announced him.

Rodgers opened the door wide for David to pass through. Instead, he caught your eye, the tears in his own clear even from the distance. Rising without removing your eyes from him you took your leave. Sliding your hand into the crook of his arm you nod for Rodgers to open the front door.

The door is not fully shut when David whips out the commission letter for you and tears streak down his face. Reading the letter three times all color leeches from your face.

“He didn’t,” you whisper, aghast.

“Mum, I’m scared,” David hugs himself, trying to keep the pieces of himself from flying in every direction. “He said you yearned for a child, and he could give you one with me gone.”

The pallor of your panic disappears until all that is left is a Duchess. You take his hand, squeezing it tight.

“You have all the skills to get through this. Wishart is a solid man to serve under and despite all his faults, John did purchase you a commission which will keep you safer than if you had volunteered. Now come and lay down in my bed and let me read to you.”

David laughed out a sob. You had not read to him like this since he went to Eton. The offer is all the sweeter because soon he won’t have a chance. Holding your hand up all the stairs he settles into your bed, arms wrapped around your middle. The soothing effect of your voice lulls him into sleep.

When he wakes he is alone in your bed and a soft sobbing drifts from the closet. He never doubted your love for him, but to hear you weep for him nailed it to the center of his soul.

He would survive the war.

Better yet he would come back decorated and rich beyond measure.

Six years passed before David could settle his feet on soil and not track his eyes around the port waiting for the bell to drag him back. He had clawed his way through the ranks; he saved so many men that when he had received his own ship as a captain he had nearly a full crew from volunteers alone. He had been made one of the youngest captains in the Navy.

Your last letter had reached him four years ago. He doubted any of his had reached you, spread out along the coasts as they were.

He and his men had eight weeks of leave while their ship was dry-docked and fixed. The first thought that crossed his might was to find you, Duchess Price, his mum.

The lamp lighters were working their way down the street as he approached the last non-floating home he had. Music drifted to the street from the open windows. Laughter and a cacophony of voices told him that a party was in full swing. Bounding up the stairs David knocked twice, loudly.

Hawthorne, the man who had served as butler when he left for the sea opened the door with an imperious look.

“Yes?” He lifted a brow.

“Hawthorne is that any way to greet the prodigal son?” David grinned and lifted both brows.

All servant’s decorum fled when Hawthorne realized who stood on the stoop.

“Master David? We all thought you dead.”

Stepping into the door David pushes it open forcing Hawthorne to let him in.

“Is the duchess in my good man?” He pats the butler on the shoulder.

“She is entertaining, bu—”

David does not wait to hear what other words might have followed. His long strides ate up the distance to the sitting room. And there you were, dressed in starlight. A healthy look on your face and a gentle smile at your current conversation companion ease the tightness in his chest that had lingered since you waved him off at the docks all those years ago.

The woman you are speaking with glances at him as he moves closer. Turning you follow her gaze. Your brows pull together as you look him over.

He had been so familiar with your thoughts when he left he can see them now. ‘This is not a guest I invited. Could he be my husband’s invite? Why does he look familiar?’ And there it is, the recognition.

“David?!”

No sign of a woman trained in moderation here, only a mum welcoming her son back from the dead. He catches you as you fling yourself into his arms. David spins you twice before settling you back on your feet.

“‘‘ello mum,” he whispered down to you.

Blinking away the tears you remember all of your guests. Turning you address the room.

“My friends, let me reintroduce you to my ward, David. He has been serving in the Royal Navy and has just returned to us,” your hand settles on his arm, fingers digging into the muscle below his sleeve.

Nodding to the room David settled his other hand on yours. That is when he shifts his head enough to find Simon and John standing together, staring daggers at him. He gifts them with a saccharine grin. They scowl all the harder.

The instant you let go of his arm they bully David into the hall and further into the study.

“When I sent you to war I did not expect you to return a captain,” John flicked at the brass on David’s chest.

“I didn’t expect you to still be holding tighter to your lover than your wife,” David eyed Simon before dropping his eyes back to John. “She never did forgive you, did she?”

David had gotten taller than he realized. Simon had towered over him as a child, now he looked down to make eye contact with the man.

“We’ll make this fast. Are you the duchess’ paramore?”

Recoiling as if he had been shot, David stared at the two men agog.

“This is the longest I have been on land since I left to fulfill my commission and you are asking if I am bedding the woman who I view as a mother?” Disgust dripped off every word. “What in the nine hells led you to that conclusion?”

John and Simon share a look.

“There is a report that the duchess took a lover. A man of large stature who has not been seen in polite society before,” John explains, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Smirking, David can’t help the rush of pride that fills his chest. You were still holding your own.

“Must burn you up inside, both of you, that she continues to hold you at bay,” David gloated.

“And how would you know that so recently returned to land?” Simon snapped at him.

“It’s clear from this conversation.” David gestures between them, “You waited too long to offer her love and she found the idea of your bitter fruit repugnant, didn’t she?”

The sour look on their faces had David folding in half laughing.

“And now she has taken a lover and you mistook me for her paramore,” David clutched at his stomach as the laughter continued. “Ah, this is such a better reunion than I had hoped for.”

“This is not a laughing matter, boy,” John chastised him.

Standing tall David wiped the tears that had leaked from his eyes.

“On the contrary I find this to be the funniest thing I have heard in nearly a year. When the duchess brought me into your home as a child she did so to fill the void you left her with. Had you loved her, any of you or your lovers, she would not have taken me in to fill that hole. But more’s the loss for you. Now when you can finally see the gem you threw away, I hope it burns.”

David threw open the door of the study. He left behind him two men who would forever regret not seeing the gem in their midst. Rejoining you in the party he answered your questioning look with a smile and a shake of his head.

When at last all the guests are tucked into their carriages and heading for home you pull David into your sitting room and lock the door. It is here you are able to take his face between your hands and study him like a vicar does the bible. Seated on the settee, he lets you examine him and ensure for yourself that he is well.

“You scared me, David. I thought you were dead. No one could confirm if you were alive or dead for so long I went into mourning for you.”

The thought of you wearing black for him tugged at his heart.

“We were pulled into a series of secret missions, our still being alive was not reported anywhere. I doubt even your husband would have been able to find the information on us if he had asked,” David bumped your forehead with his own.

Letting his face go with a laugh he can finally appreciate the fact you are more beautiful than when he took to the sea. It’s no wonder there are rumors of you taking a lover.

“Is it true you have taken a paramore?” David leans back into the seat.

His eyes go wide as you squirm slightly. He sits straight again and stares at you as you grab a shawl left within reach.

“Mum?”

“It is not that simple, David,” you hedge.

“I am a smart man, you made sure of that. Now tell me, please,” he took one of your hands between his.

Heaving a great sigh you look at the man your son had become.

“After John signed you away to death I nearly perished. My heart had been broken and I knew deep in my soul you would not return to me.” Curling your fingers around his you look at them as you continue, “The crown asked that I help host a collection of the Austrian aristocracy. The task gave me something to focus on. It was no more than something to fill my time until the fourth set of visitors. I meet one Lukas König, a lord.”

Your words peter out as your shifting and squirming increase.

“Go on,” David encourages.

“It did not begin as it has progressed. He makes me laugh and listens and values my opinion,” you speak as if pleading your case before a judge.

You look up at him, searching for something. He must not provide the answer you are looking for because you tuck your chin to your chest again.

“Mum,” David frees one hand to lift your chin to see your tear-stained eyes, “What do you need from me to be free of this prison? A divorce? I know men close to the Archbishop and am willing to call in all my favors to see you happy.”

Tears begin to stream down your cheeks, so different from the ones earlier squeezed from his eyes by laughter.

“You would do that for me?” The breaks in your voice hurt him deeply.

“For the woman that saved me time and again? For you who became my mother when you did not need to? I would do anything for you, including delivering you to Austria myself.”

“David, my son, I think I will take you up on that offer.”

Before he heads back to the sea, David will see you to the arms of a man who loves you. He will know you are safe and when he returns to you he expects to have at least one sibling. He keeps that thought tucked behind his smile.

Masterlist

Don't Let Go ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. rough sex, emotional sex, public sex, mental health themes (trauma, guilt, PTSD), depictions of breakdowns, emotional, angst, praise kink, possessiveness, aftermath of violence, unprotected p in v, guilt, self-loathing, established trauma bond.

Summary: The mission was supposed to be clean. Routine. But nothing is simple when the Sentry is involved, when Bob loses control, and the Void takes over. And when he does, you're the only one who can pull him back.

Word Count: 4658

Author's Note: don't even ask me if I'm okay cause the answer is no. I'm destroyed. completely destroyed and emotionally wrecked. i am ruined. bob reynolds ruins me. if you finished this and also felt like your heart's been pulled out and kissed back to life, welcome to the club. my inbox is open if you want to send me your therapy bill—just know I’m probably gonna have to come with you cause what the fuck. i love you bobby you're everything to me!!! if you want to be added to my taglist just comment below!! <333 feel free to cry with me in the comments and scream in the reblogs. i need to go outside and touch some grass, reconnect with nature and breathe cause my heart is destroyed after this one. i literally can't stop writing for bob what the hell!! bucky is jealous cause bob's taking up space in my mind that used to belong to bucky. lewis pullman you babygirlllllllllllll

masterlist.

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The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Detain the targets, secure the entire facility, and minimize civilian casualties. Standard Thunderbolts cleanup. You'd done this dance before—storm in, assert dominance, extract data and bodies. Easy.

But you knew the moment Bucky said, "Bob's on this one," everything in your chest went cold.

The tower was quiet, too quiet, until it wasn't. Until the entire place was filled with hurried footsteps, shouts bouncing off the walls, and orders being thrown like grenades, gear bags being slammed open, weapons loaded with sharp clicks, and comms lighting up with rapid-fire intel. The whole floor shifted into emergency mode.

You'd barely finished gearing up when Yelena grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the elevator, her expression tight, mouth set in that grim, no-bullshit line that only ever meant bad news.

"Valentina wants all of us on-site," she muttered, pressing the call button with enough force to crack the panel. "Right now. Facility breach. Something about biotech. Hostages."

"Since when do we scramble before briefing?" you asked, yanking the zipper of your new tactical suit closed, holster strap still half-loose dangling on your hip. "Do we even have a plan?"

Yelena didn't answer. She didn't have to.

When the elevator doors opened, Bucky was already inside, pacing back and forth. His jaw clenched, comms piece buzzing with chatter. He looked up when he saw you—but he didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

Jeez, so much for a good morning.

"Let me guess," you said, stepping into the elevator next to him. "Valentina's stunt?"

"She pulled Bob in last minute," Bucky said, his voice laced with frustration. "Didn't even care to fucking tell me. I found out when I saw his name on the team feed. Walker's there with him, Ava too."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you froze. "She put him first? With Walker?"

“She wants to see if he's still 'field-capable.'" Bucky's voice dripped sarcasm. "Her exact words. She thinks this is some kind of game. Like we're testing out a new drone, not a man who nearly blacked out half of a city six months ago."

“Is she out of her fucking mind?” you hissed. “Bob’s not—he’s not ready. He shouldn't be anywhere near this.”

“No shit,” Yelena muttered from the other side, crossing her arms. “And we’re the ones who’ll have to clean up if he loses it again.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to damp down the rolling anger in your chest. Not at Bob—of course not, this wasn't his fault. You were mad at Valentina and her fucking need to push him to the edge. "Great," you muttered, rubbing your face with a hand. "Let's all just hold hands and pray he doesn't crack."

The VTOL sliced through the clouds like a blade, engines humming low and tense. Rain battered the sides in sharp bursts.

You sat strapped between Yelena and Alexei, your harness tight across your chest, heart beating even tighter beneath it. Across from you, Bucky was locked in, jaw clenched, staring out the side window with a look that could shatter the glass any moment. When he finally looked away from the window, he fixed his gaze directly on you.

"I need you to be ready," he said, voice low and rasped. "In case Void—" He paused, breathing raggedly. "In case Bob snaps."

You blinked. "Bucky—"

"If it happens," he cut you off, "if he breaks... don't wait for an order. Do not hesitate. You hit him with everything you've got."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Because you hesitated.

Not because you didn't understand the danger. Not because you didn't know what Bob was capable of when the Void took hold. You'd seen it. Firsthand. The devastation. The aftermath. The look in his eyes—those dark, endless eyes—when he realized what he’d done.

But you'd also seen something else. You'd also seen the other side of him. The guilt

You'd been there the last time. When the Void clawed its way up his throat like poison, he dropped to his knees, shaking, burning with power, guilt, and fear. You were the only one who could get through to him. The only one who could touch him without him recoiling like he might shatter.

You'd whispered his name and watched his fist unclench slowly. You'd put your hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat slow. You'd seen how the black storm slowly evaporated, leaving a broken man sobbing against your chest.

That night was the worst for Bob.

You remember it vividly—his body trembling against yours, eyes wide and hollow after the Void had finally disappeared. He hadn't said a word. Just sank to the ground, hands fisting in his hair, like he was trying to hold his skull together.

You’d dropped down beside him, pulled him close, felt the heat radiating off his skin like a fever breaking. And when he finally clung to you—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder—it wasn’t just desperation. It was terror. Like if he let go, he’d fall into some pit that never ended.

He cried.

God, he cried so hard.

And you didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to soothe it away. You just held him. Let him shake. Let him break.

That night, you stayed with him.

He pulled you into bed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it—just moved toward your body like it was instinct, like your presence was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. His fingers curled in your shirt, his face buried in your chest, breath hiccuping between exhausted sobs.

You thought he’d fall asleep eventually.

He didn’t. Not right away.

He kept whispering, voice barely audible: “Don’t leave. Please. Just… don’t leave.”

And how could you?

You didn’t.

So you stayed.

And when he finally passed out—curled around you like a second skin, little soft snores slipping past parted lips—you just watched him. His face was peaceful for once. Almost boyish. His lashes fluttered when he dreamed, but he didn’t cry out. Not with you there.

You tried to slip out once.

Just to stretch. To breathe. But the second your body shifted away, his arms tightened like a vice, dragging you back in, even in his sleep. Like his subconscious couldn’t bear the thought of you disappearing.

From that night on, it became… a thing.

Every time he had a nightmare. Every time the Void started to whisper again. Every time he needed quiet but didn’t know how to ask for it—he came to you.

He never knocked loud. Just a soft tap on your door, barely audible. You’d open it to find him standing there, shoulders hunched, hair messy, eyes big and guilty and so shy. Like he hated himself for needing you but couldn’t help it.

“Can I…?” he’d start to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And you’d always let him in.

Always.

God, you loved it. Loved being the one person he came to. The one place he felt safe. The way he melted into you the second the door shut. The way he’d sleep tangled in your arms, legs hooked with yours like he needed as many points of contact as possible to stay grounded.

You never told anyone.

You never wanted to ruin it.

It was quiet. Sacred. Yours.

And now, strapped into this VTOL, Bucky’s words still echoing in your ears—“Don’t hesitate. Hit him with everything you’ve got”—all you could think about was how peaceful he looked in your bed. How tightly he held you. How terrified he was of being alone.

Because what if you could reach him again?

What if hitting him wasn’t the answer? What if all he needed was someone to see him before he disappeared completely?

Bucky must’ve seen the flicker in your expression, because his voice dropped lower.

“I know you’re close to him. I know he listens to you more than anyone else. But if that stops—if he doesn’t hear you this time... don’t let him take you down with him.”

He’ll hear me, you thought, jaw clenched.

He has to.

Yelena’s hand reached over, slow and steady, her fingers brushing against yours before curling around them. Her grip was warm, firm—anchoring. You turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

She gave you a small, quiet smile. The kind that didn’t promise everything would be okay, just that you wouldn’t be alone when it wasn’t.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispered. "We'll be right behind you."

You squeezed her hand back, once.

"Visuals confirm contact inside the facility," the pilot’s voice crackled through the comms. "We’ve got movement near the lab sector. Hostiles engaged. Sentry’s already on-site."

You looked up sharply. "Already?"

He wasn’t supposed to engage alone.

Bucky swore under his breath, ripping the earpiece out and jamming it back in. "Why the fuck didn’t you wait for us—"

Ava spoke through the comms, her voice shivering. “He didn’t wait. I told him to stand down, and he just… went in.”

Then the ground came into view through the viewport—flames licking up from the roof of the biotech facility, smoke pluming into the sky, the perimeter in total disarray.

"Doors open in twenty seconds," the pilot called.

You shivered. You could feel it. That humming tension in your bones, the kind that only came right before everything went to hell.

He's already slipping.

"Get ready," Bucky barked, snapping his rifle into place as he stood. "Move fast, eyes sharp. We don't know how bad it is yet."

Yelena stood up, nodding once, checking her gear. You followed closely behind.

“Hostiles are still active inside,” came another voice—Walker’s, sharp and panicked over comms. “But it’s—fuck, it’s a massacre down here. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. I can't see him. He’s not fucking responding.”

Your heart clenched.

“Bob,” you whispered, barely audible.

Then: a boom.

A section of the lower level erupted in a plume of golden-white light, fire tearing up through the concrete as the building shook from the force of it. A pulse of energy rippled outward, flattening a chunk of the south wall like paper.

The VTOL lurched slightly from the shockwave.

“Doors opening!” the pilot shouted. “Deploy, deploy—go, go!”

The ramp dropped—and the storm hit you in the face.

Rain. Smoke. Sirens. And somewhere beneath it all, a familiar hum.

You ran.

Boots pounding against the rooftop, leaping the last few feet to the access hatch. Bucky and Yelena flanked you, weapons drawn, slicing through the chaos with practiced precision.

You barely had time to adjust before Bucky grabbed your arm, spinning you toward him. His face was grim, soaked, eyes blazing.

“Go!” he shouted over the roar. “You need to find him!”

“What about—?”

“We’ll handle the rest!” he cut in, already moving, already aiming down the chaos below. “If anyone can reach him before he turns this whole goddamn place to ash—it’s you. Yelena will be right behind you. Walker and Ava are already inside. Go!”

Your breath hitched.

Then you nodded, once, sharp and sure.

And you ran—straight into the smoke, straight into the fire.

Straight toward him.

The inside of the facility was a warzone. Emergency lights flickered through thick smoke. Sparks rained from broken ceiling panels. The walls were scorched, the tile beneath your boots cracked and slick with blood and water. You passed fallen bodies—some hostiles, some just gone, disintegrated into scorched outlines and ash.

He’d been here.

You ran faster. Your breath became shorter. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

And then you saw him.

Floating.

Just inches off the ground, his body trembling with power barely held in check. His suit was torn, soaked, blood-slick. His hair clung to his forehead in damp curls. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled in like claws.

He hand't noticed you yet. He was talking to himself, low and frantic, like he didn't even realize sound was coming out of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to—I tried, I tried, they didn’t listen—I told them not to run—why did they run—”

Your heart clenched. You took a breath, steady and slow. Lifted your hands, palms open, non-threatening. Stepped forward, one careful step at a time.

"Bob," you whispered.

His head jerked up like a struck animal. His eyes were pitch black. Not just his pupils. Everything. You could see the Void slowly taking over control of his entire body. Crawling across his skin in veins of shadow, threading through him like poison, claiming more and more by the second. There was nothing human in his face.

Then he saw you.

You took another step forward, heart hammering against your ribs.

"Bob," you said again, softer now.

His lips parted. The black in his eyes shimmered, like something beneath it was trying to break through, trying to remember.

You took another step.

"I'm here," you said, voice steady despite the tremble in your hands. "It's me."

"GET DOWN!" a voice screamed behind you.

You barely turned in time to see the soldier—young, shaken, finger already tightening on the trigger of his rifle, aimed straight at Bob.

“No!” you shouted, throwing a hand out. “Don’t—don’t shoot him!”

But it was too late.

You whipped back toward Bob—and his hand was already rising. Not fast. Slow. Deliberate.

Eyes locked on the soldier, face blank and unreadable, voice low and distant.

“Mine.”

“Bob!” you screamed, adrenaline tearing through your veins like lightning. You rushed toward him, arm outstretched. “STOP! STOP!”

A pulse of black energy burst from his palm. It didn’t make a sound. It didn’t explode. It just erased. The soldier was there—and then he wasn’t.

No scream. No blood. Just a curling wisp of smoke, and a blackened shadow scorched into the tile where he’d stood. Like reality itself had been scrubbed clean.

Your breath caught. Your body froze.

The soldier was gone. Just like that. And Bob? He didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just stood there, hand still raised, void energy curling around his fingers like it wanted more.

You moved before you even realized it.

You ran.

“BOB!” you screamed, voice hoarse with panic.

You slammed into him, hands flying up to grab his face—rough, desperate, grounding. Your fingers dug into his jaw, into his cheeks, trying to feel him, shake him loose from the darkness overtaking his body.

“Bob! Look at me!” you yelled, tears already slipping down your face. “Fuck—look at me, please!"

His head twitched in your grip, eyes still black, but they widened. Like he didn’t know how you got so close. Like he didn’t even recognize his own name.

“You promised,” you choked out, forehead pressed against his. “You promised you wouldn’t let this happen again. You said I could help you. You let me in. Bob, please, I know you can hear me. Let me in. Let me help you."

And then—

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The black void in his eyes gone, replaced by fear. Replaced by gut-wrenching guilt.

And suddenly his hands were on you—gripping your arms, trembling hard. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped, voice splintering in his throat. “I just… he—he pointed that gun at you. I—”

His knees buckled.

You caught him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped again, clinging like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, fingers stroking through his hair, down his back. “I know, it’s okay. You’re okay—I got you. I'm right here."

You could feel it under your hands—the tension building again. The static crawling across his skin. He was shaking harder now, like he was trying to hold himself together with bare hands and sheer will, and it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“I told them,” he growled, voice rising, wild and hoarse. “I told them not to send me. I told them—I told them!”

“Bob,” you tried again, your hands cradling his face, trying to ground him. “Stop—just breathe, okay? Look at me. Just look at me. It’s over. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Bob—”

“Holy shit,” someone gasped.

You turned. Too fast. The team stood there. Yelena’s eyes were wide. Ava’s mouth hung open. Alexei looked stunned. Bucky was frozen mid-step.

And Walker? Walker’s gaze went straight to the scorched mark on the floor, and his lip curled.

“What the fuck did he do?”

That was it.

You snapped.

“You were supposed to look out for him!” you roared, your voice echoing down the hall like a whipcrack. “You knew he wasn’t ready! You knew, and you left him in there anyway—what the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Don’t yell at me because your little pet project finally snapped—”

You stepped toward him so fast Yelena actually reached out to stop you.

“Say that again, Walker.” you dared, low and deadly. “Say it. Fucking say it again.”

“Guys—” Ava started.

“Oh my god,” Yelena whispered behind you.

And that’s when you realized—Bob wasn’t in your arms anymore.

You turned, panic already in your throat. He was standing a few feet away, eyes locked on the floor, fists clenched. His shoulders were shaking, his jaw tight, like he was about to split open.

The way they were all looking at him. Like he was a monster.

And he saw it. He saw everything.

“No, no, wait—” you started.

But he was already moving. He shoved past you, not roughly—never roughly—but like he couldn’t stand to be touched anymore. Like he didn’t deserve it. And then he ran.

You didn’t hesitate.

You ran after him.

You found him down a back alley, drenched in rain, his back pressed to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath. He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you could see it—how close he was to falling apart, how the power still surged beneath his skin, barely contained. His body shook with it, with guilt, with the kind of rage that didn’t know where to go.

You took a step closer and he shifted like he was going to bolt again, eyes flicking to the shadows like he could vanish into them.

You grabbed his wrist. Tight. “Don’t run.”

That stopped him. His breath hitched, but he didn’t turn.

“Bob,” you said, softer now, over the pounding rain. “Please. Look at me.”

He turned slowly—and god, the look on his face broke you wide open. Soaked, shattered, eyes full of guilt and too many unsaid things. He looked like he didn’t believe he deserved to stand in front of you. Like just being seen by you hurt.

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

Like he needed your mouth to remind him he was still real.

The kiss came out of nowhere. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. You collided like two storms, all sharp edges and soaked skin. His mouth crushed yours, messy, uncoordinated, bruising. You dragged your hands through his rain-slick hair, pulled him closer until your bodies slammed together. He groaned your name like it hurt to say it, like it ripped something open inside him just to speak it.

You kissed him back with everything you had, dragging your fingers through his soaked curls, pulling him closer, crushing your lips to his until your teeth clacked and your breath fogged the air between you. He whimpered into it, raw and broken, hands clutching your waist through your suit like he didn’t know where to touch, like he needed to touch everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against your lips, voice already hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—” His words cut off with a sob. You shushed him with another kiss, slower this time, lips brushing his like a promise.

“I need you,” he breathed, voice broken. “God—I need you, I need you so bad—I can’t—fuck—don’t let go—please, don’t let go—”

Your gear hit the wall behind you, water slapping between you like applause. His mouth was on your throat, biting, sucking, moaning, as your hands worked beneath his already ripped suit, shoving it aside, frantic to get to skin. His hips rocked into yours like he couldn’t stand being apart from you even for a second.

“Please,” he groaned again, breath hot against your ear. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just—fuck—just let me have you.”

You gasped, arching against him, letting him press you tighter to the bricks. You were already soaked—skin flushed, thighs shaking—and the way he clung to you like you were the only real thing left in his world snapped something open inside you.

You grabbed his face, kissed him hard, desperate. “Take it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Take anything. Everything. I’m all yours, Bob.”

He whimpered—actually whimpered—and that was it.

Your suit came undone in ragged pieces, his hands tearing at fastenings with trembling fingers, your legs wrapping around his waist as he shoved your soaked underwear aside. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, grinding his cock against your slick center until you cried out, nails raking down his back.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped. “You want it, don’t you? You want me to lose it for you—inside you—?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, tilting your head back as he pushed in. “Yes, yes—please—”

He thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke and you screamed, fingers clawing at his soaked suit, legs tightening around his hips. He was so deep, so hot, so real, and the way he fucked you—fast, rough, relentless—was like he didn’t know if he’d survive without this. Without you.

Every thrust hit something raw, something needy, his voice ragged against your ear. “You’re mine—you’re mine, say it—fuck, say it—”

“I’m yours,” you cried, body shaking. “I’m yours, Bob—fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

He sobbed against your throat, thrusting harder, faster, panting between curses and broken prayers. “You’re perfect—so perfect—god, you feel so good—you make everything quiet. You make it all fucking stop—”

And when you came, it hit like a shockwave—your whole body convulsing around him, mouth open in a wordless scream as he slammed into you, burying himself deep and coming hard, spilling inside you with a desperate cry of your name like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He held you afterward like he might never let go, still shaking, still breathing like he’d run through hell. His forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, and this time, it was a vow.

His breathing was ragged.

Shallow gasps against your neck, chest rising and falling like he was still trying to outrun something only he could see. The rain hadn’t let up. It fell in heavy sheets around you, but neither of you moved. You stayed wrapped around him, trembling, your back against the soaked alley wall, his body still buried in yours, shaking with the aftershocks.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even lift his head.

His arms stayed locked around your waist like a vise, like if he let go even a little, you’d disappear. You felt him swallow, once, twice—and then his shoulders began to shake in a different way.

“Bob?” you whispered, hand sliding up to the back of his head, fingers weaving through his soaked hair. “Hey. Hey, I’m here.”

He sobbed.

Quiet at first. Just a ragged breath that stuttered out of him like it had been waiting for too long. Then another. And another. His whole body trembled, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he finally—finally—let himself fall apart.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he choked out. “I tried—I tried so fucking hard—I just wanted to be useful, I wanted to help—and I killed him—”

You shushed him softly, rocking him gently where you stood, your hands stroking down his back.

“You came back to me,” you said, voice low. “That’s all that matters. You came back.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he rasped, holding you tighter. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “You do. You do. You’re still here. You’re still you. That’s all I care about.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever—him wrapped around you like a lifeline, your bodies still locked together, breathing in sync. The heat between you slowly cooled, but the weight of it all stayed heavy, real.

Eventually, his head lifted, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks wet.

He looked at you like he didn’t believe you were real. Like maybe you were the only thing left in the world that hadn’t abandoned him.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, thumb brushing over the scar just below his eye.

“I know,” you said. “But I’ve got you.”

And he leaned into your hand like a man starved for touch.

Back at the tower, everything was chaos—shouting, agents scrambling to do damage control, the team fighting with each other, trying to put the blame on someone—but none of it touched you. Not when you had him. Not when he never once let go of your hand.

You didn't go to the infirmary. Didn't sit through the debrief. Bucky tried to say something, but you just shook your head. Bob didn't even look at him. At no one.

You led him straight to your room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, his body sagged like the air had left him entirely. You helped him out of the rest of his suit, piece by piece, your fingers gentle even when your heart still ached from the weight of it all. He did the same for you, so soft, so gentle, like he was afraid to hurt you.

You pulled him into your bed without a word.

He followed like he always did. Like he couldn’t not.

He wrapped around you the way he always did—legs tangled, arms tight around your waist, face buried against your neck. But this time it wasn’t just comfort.

It was clinging.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just held on.

You stroked his hair, tracing slow patterns into his scalp, letting your breath match his until he calmed, until that tremble in his shoulders finally stilled.

But he still didn’t sleep.

You felt him shift closer, nose brushing your collarbone. His voice, when it came, was wrecked and so, so quiet.

“Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.

You didn’t answer right away. You could feel how tightly he was holding his breath, like he was bracing for the worst. You pulled him closer, your fingers threading through the back of his hair, your lips brushing against his forehead.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “They know it. Even if they won’t say it out loud. This—what happened—you didn’t want this. And they know that.”

He didn’t reply, not at first. But you felt it—the way his chest stuttered, how he finally let himself breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, broken.

“I know.”

“I was so close,” he said, voice cracking like glass. “I could feel it. Like I was right there. One more second and I wouldn’t have come back.”

“But you did,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. “You came back to me.”

He shuddered, breath hitching again as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Leaving a soft kiss that made your heart clench. “You’re the only one that brings me back,” he whispered. “The only one.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You just held him tighter.

And finally—finally—he started to drift.

It wasn’t peaceful. He twitched. Mumbled things you couldn’t make out. Flinched like his dreams were still trying to drag him under.

But he didn’t wake.

Because you were still there.

And he knew it.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

DATING ALLAN HC’S BECAUSE HES ALLAN

you’re new to barbie land. but you aren’t a barbie, you’re a y/n. just y/n. you were made to be barbies best-friend.

you’re the only variable, just like him. which instantly catches his attention.

he likes that you don’t have a ken. he often got lonely in barbie land. even midge had someone.

he never really got the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. but he didn’t need to! you did asked him instead.

he liked you didn’t care about his ‘weirdness’ and even went along with his weird dancing, encouraging his weird stories with a soft, “and then what allan?”

when he saved barbie land, he couldn’t be more pleased.

he was a little sad you were unfortunately one of many who got brain-washed, but he was happy you were one of the first to be fixed. hugging you and thanking gloria.

after barbie land was restored, you asked if he wanted to move into your dream-house.

ofcourse he said yes. and your days were spent like every other day.

him being allan. and you loving him for it.

HOME TO US | rhysand

summary; rhys and nyx are a family of two, but they're both pretty hell-bent on making it into a trio, with you.

word count; 12,151

notes; I have no idea how this got so long? I planned for it to be like 4-5k, and @azsazz can vouch for that. also big shout out to @acourtofwhatthefuck for proofreading this for me when I just had no motivation, but I needed this one to be perfect.

Fate had always seemed to have the worst timing for you.

Whether it be relationships, the sunny skies turned to rain, or simply this; balancing precariously on a stool and getting startled by your own phone, which you could have sworn was on silent mode. 

Blaring out across the shop in a sudden burst of cheery notes and tones, you almost dropped the stacks of books in your hands, cursing a little as it vibrated in rhythm in the back pocket of your jeans. When the call persisted after the usual three rings signalling a cold caller or market salesperson, you sighed. 

Shifting the books to one arm, you fished the phone out before it could go to voicemail, wondering just who would be calling you so urgently at this time of the day. The question didn’t linger for long, though, as your eyes widened at the caller across the front of the screen. 

‘Velaris Young-Education Prepatory School’.

A ridiculously fancy name for an elementary school, you thought it every time you saw the name, and yet right now, your heart skipped a beat as you pressed answer. Bringing it to your ear as you shuffled the books in your arms more, you lowered yourself down from the ladder carefully. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello! Is this Nyx’s mother, (Y/N)? It’s V-Y-E Prep.”

The woman on the phone sounded somewhere between relieved and panicked, and your heart leapt into your throat a little at her tone. “Well, yes, that’s me, but-”

“Oh, good, we weren’t able to get in touch with dad, I was worried I wouldn't be able to get a hold of either of you.” She cut you off before you had a chance to finish, your lips clamping shut as she let out a sigh of a laugh. “I’m Nyx’s class teacher, but he’s had a little bit of an accident today, do you think you’d be able to come and pick him up from the reception?”

Your heart felt like it stopped in your chest entirely. “An accident, what kind of accident, is he okay?” 

“Oh, he’s fine! He had a fall during playtime, and he bumped his head. There’s a mark, and a scratch we’ve cleaned up, but he’s understandably a little shocked and upset. We know dad can get… concerned,” 

Understatement of the century, you wanted to butt in, because Rhys was more than just concerned. He was overprotective, in an endearing way, but he tended to freak out over the smallest things. Then again, it didn’t help when teachers said things like ‘accident’ when it’s not so serious. Perhaps it was a good thing that they got you, not him. 

“So, we thought we’d give you a ring, and see if you could pick him up?”

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. You still had four hours left of your shift, and you felt terrible just ducking out, even if the store was dead, excluding the few people idling over lukewarm coffees in the connected café. “Sure, yeah, of course. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wonderful, we’ll see you then.”

The line clicked dead, your eyes sliding shut as you let out a slow breath. You could have just said no, that voice in your head taunted, he’s not your child to fret over. And yet, the thought of his sad face lingered in your mind, triggering all those maternal instincts inside of you and sending them into overdrive.

“Sounds urgent.” Somehow, despite walking with a cane and always wearing heeled boots that clicked on the floorboards, Margaret had managed to sneak up on you. When you turned, the seventy-something-year-old was standing with a smile on her face behind you, eyeing the phone in your hand. 

“I’m sorry, Margie. It’s Nyx’s school.” You grimaced, lips pressing together into a thin line. She only laughed lightly, waving a frail hand idly in the air as if to bat the moment away.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I know what it’s like to have your child’s school call you up in the middle of the day.” Her smile only widened, her eyes glazing over a little. “Our Tommy was a terrible little troublemaker, I had constant calls about his behaviour. And our Jenny, well, she was the clumsiest kid you ever saw. Tripped over thin air.”

A wistful sigh escaped her, and your lips flicked up at the edges. You’d met both Thomas and Jennifer, lovely people, but just as she’d described. Jennifer seemed even more prone to bad timing than you, and Thomas had turned all that troublesome energy into bad flirting and a heated temper. 

“You do what you have to for your kids.” She’d finished her recollections, her voice snapping you from your own, and you could only nod.

“I know, but he’s not my kid. Not biologically, or in any way that matters. It’s not the same, and-”

“Hon, if I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.” Her words made a lump in your throat that was impossible to speak around, a quick flash of emotion swelling up that you were quick to fight against, but the sparkle in her eyes told you she’d seen in. “He may not have your genes, but he’s yours. So, go get your son. The store will still be here when you come back on Monday.”

“Are you sure-”

“Don’t make me force you out of this door.” She tapped her cane at your feet, just close enough that you could feel the floorboards vibrate under the harsh taps, a wordless threat, and a grin broke out on your lips to hide the blush on your cheeks. 

“Alright, I’ll see you Monday, then.”

She gave a curt nod, and you were flying through the store. Grabbing your bag and coat from the backroom on the way, you were out of the back door and at your car in less than a full minute. Only when you’d put your bags onto the seat and checked the car seat permanently attached to the back of the car did you get into your own seat.

How you’d gotten to this point, you had no idea. It hadn't been your intention four years ago when you’d first met baby Nyx, to end up with a box of his things in your trunk for emergencies, a child seat of your own in the back of the car and your name registered as a parental contact. Yet, as you stared, twisting to look at it and brushing your fingers over the fabric, you didn’t have a single regret about it. 

In fact, only a smile pulled at your lips as you thought about him. Him, and his father. Rhysand had been your best friend for many years, and his baby only seemed to bring you closer. You’d never have wished Nyx’s mother to have abandoned him, you loathed the woman every day for what she did to them both, but it had created a space in their lives that you’d somehow patched a part of up. 

When Rhys had needed support and guidance, you’d been there.

Now, you’d be there for Nyx, too.

As you started the car, flicking a glance back to check the mirrors on the seat were still aligned, Margie’s words flickered through your mind. 

If I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.

They lingered on your mind for the entire drive, hanging over you like a cloud on an April day, unsure if it was going to rain, or simply pass by. Until you were parked outside of the school, hands still clenched tightly on the steering wheel as you stared up at the tall glass entryway only a few paces away. You couldn't see Nyx yet, not with the doors on the other side that truly sealed off the building, but you could make out figures and shapes on the other side.

Your eyes moved to the clock, the digit clicking over another number, and your fingers felt numb when you finally released them from the wheel. With another sigh, you released all thoughts about mothers and genes and Rhys. 

One day, perhaps, you’d confront them. Today wasn’t going to be it.

Stepping out of the car and swinging the door shut behind you, you didn’t even bother to lock it, as you took a slow jog up the main pathway before the school. The doors hissed open automatically before you, the smell of fresh cotton coming from the air freshener in the corner of the office, and the receptionist behind the desk looked borderline bored as she glanced up. 

“Hi, um- Hi. I’m here for Nyx.”

Her eyes widened a little, looking significantly more interested now as she took your name, and called through to the classroom. The thought almost amused you, had you not been so concerned. Rhys had quite the representation around here, the big checks and hefty donations gained him and Nyx quite the special treatment, one that clearly seemed to pass onto you, too. 

The doors to the school buzzed open a second later as the magnetic locks released, and you stepped through. Sitting in one of the large plush chairs lined up along the wall of the office was Nyx, looking utterly swamped as his feet swung in the air, head bowed and hands clutching tightly to his backpack in his lap. 

At the scuffing of your shoes, his head snapped up, eyes wide and hopeful, turning to relieved as he saw you. He dropped his bag to the floor, moving to slide out of the chair but you were faster, dropping down to kneel before him. Up close, you could see more, enough to break your heart. 

His eyes were red, cheeks pink, tear-marks tracked into the smears of playground dirt and classroom muck on his face. When you brushed the edge of his inky hair back from his forehead, it was to reveal a cut across his forehead to his temple, bumped and bruised, growing into a lump on his head. His bottom lip wobbled, eyes growing shiny again. 

“Oh, Nyxie, did you get hurt?”

“Yeah…” His voice trembled as he spoke, sniffling lightly and wiping at his cheeks with his sleeve. Patting his hair down once again, you tried to choke back the emotions clogging in your throat as a tall shadow fell across the both of you. With a glance, you confirmed that it was his teacher, looking more than a little nervous as she watched you take in Nyx for yourself. 

“We just have some forms for you to sign, and I can tell you a little more about his injury, and then you’re good to go.” At your nod, she let out a heavy breath, wiping her hands down subtly on her skirt.

“Nyxie, I’m just going to go sign some forms for you, okay? Do you want to wait here?” He shook his head, eyes widening a bit as his little hand clamped down onto your arm, gripping tightly and shuffling across the seat closer to you. “You want to come with us?”

“Can I have cuddles?” His voice was low and shy, your heart swelling a little more. 

“C’mere.” Opening your arms up for him, his damp cheek fell to your shoulder, nose tucking sweetly into your neck, and you scooped him up, his legs dangling on either side of your body as he slumped against your chest happily. Standing up with a little more effort than usual, Nyx’s hands patted idly over your knitted jumper, body bouncing with each step you took to follow her inside of the office. 

The forms were already laid out, four to be signed, and she pushed the first one over to you. “This one is just to state you acknowledge the injury, the second is a copy for you, because dad requested always having a copy of forms.” Her cheeks flushed with a little colour, the edges of your lips flicking up at Rhys’ quirks. “The third is just an injury form, that you know we’ve given you all the information, and you’re satisfied. The fourth, another copy.”

You quickly signed your name on the first two, pushing one over to her and keeping the other on your side. The pen hovered over the paper of the third, your fingers clenching a little on it, eyes flicking over the page. “What did happen, exactly?”

“Well, uhm…” You rubbed a hand over Nyx’s back, a soft affirmation that you appreciated how patiently he was waiting. Putting on a smile, you tried to put the woman at ease, not having meant to sound quite so… pissed. 

“I know kids have accidents, I didn’t mean to sound so… well, let’s just say, be glad I’m the one that picked up the call. Dad can be overprotective.” The boy in your arms giggled a little, and you placed down the pen, using your hand to now cup his head and rub at his hair lightly. 

“He was playing on the climbing equipment. I think he went a little too high, because he couldn't climb down. Another child was trying to help him, but before anyone could get over to him once we realised he was stuck, he fell off.” Her voice was a lot more confident now, and you were glad you’d been able to ease just a little of that tension. “I can take you out to the equipment and show you what happened, if you’d like?”

“That won’t be necessary.” You grabbed for the pen again, signing both pages, and she pulled one over towards her files as you gathered the other two. 

“Nyx was so brave, weren’t you, huh?” She swiped a finger over his cheek as she passed by to get the door for you again, and he nodded slowly against your body. “And he was so excited when he found out his mommy was coming to get him.”

There was that word again, all of those thoughts coming swarming back in a dizzying rush as you followed her. A hot blush settled on your cheeks, your mouth opening to correct her, before Nyx’s hands were bunching in your jumper as he let out another little giggle, making your lips snap closed again. He hid his face deeper in your shoulder. 

Stooping down to pick up his bags, his teacher placed it over your arm, swinging as you gripped paperwork in one hand and Nyx in the other. “I put all of his schoolwork in his bag. We’ll see you again tomorrow, Nyx!”

She held the door open for you, waving her goodbye as she watched you go, the receptionist looking far more alert now than she had earlier, smiling widely as the two of you left, and you could feel their gazes on you all the way to the parking lot. 

Putting down the paperwork and his bag on the top of the car, you opened it up, leaning in to settle him was like muscle memory now. No longer an awkward act but a practised one, as he slid from your arms and into the chair. Fastening the belt across his middle, you did the ones over his shoulders.

Eyes that were the same incredible shade of near-violet as his father’s were watching you, a ridiculously adorable smile on his face as you leaned in to press a kiss to the uninjured side of his forehead. Tucking his bags on the other side of him, you checked all his straps, not realising you were frowning yourself until his little fingers pinched at your nose. 

“Got a nose!” He whispered excitedly, waving his fingers in a way that was supposed to mock his uncle’s, the way Cassian would always tease that he’d ‘stolen Nyx’s nose’ to cheer him up. When you smiled at him, he pushed his hand back against your face, giggling to himself as he continued to imitate his uncle. “You can have it back!”

“Well, thank goodness for that!” You teased, rubbing over the bridge of your nose and taking him in. Once you were happy with his safety, you closed the door, taking only the paperwork with you and folding them in half, tucking them into the glovebox of the car for safekeeping. When the car turned on, your fingers went to the radio, and a single button pressed had some of Nyx’s favourite songs pouring from the speakers as the kiddie-CD in the player came to life. “We’ll go and see your daddy now, hopefully, he won’t be too upset about your head.”

The boy only hummed to his song, leaning to stare out of the window, breath fogging it up and one hand resting on the windows he watched his school be left behind. “Daddy will be angry with us?”

For all the fresh set of worries now swirling inside of your head at Rhys’ reaction, you’d never considered how Nyx would interpret your words. “Oh, no, of course not, baby. Never us. We make daddy smile, not frown!”

Reaching behind yourself as you came to a stop at the red lights, you squeezed at his knee lightly, retracting it only when the light went yellow. Another few minutes of quiet went past, the roads clear for the middle of the day as you drove, and Nyx was happily taking in all of the Velaris scenery as you passed by. 

From the small town outskirts and into the city centre, it was when you were almost there that Nyx stopped singing and decided to speak again. 

“I heard daddy tell Uncle Azzy on the phone that you make him smile like nobody else ever has.”

Your eyes widened, your foot nearly slamming onto the brake a little too hard as you turned a corner, and Nyx went back to singing his song. Your heart was picking up speed in your chest, the traitorous organ fuelled on hope reacting in a way you tried to resist. Your head was empty, it took a full minute to form your response, and you gave out a croaky laugh. “Were you being cheeky and listening to your dad’s private phone calls again?”

“No!” His voice sounded indignant, but with a look cast in the mirror onto him, you could see the cheeky smirk on his face. “He answered it at dinnertime! I got to say hi to Uncle Azzy. He’s in a whole different country right now, did you know that?”

You could only smile at the excitement in his voice as he spoke all about Azriel’s current escapades in Spain, or at least, the version that was completely safe and child-friendly. Soon, though, his distraction was over, and he was circling back to a topic you had hoped he’d forgotten.

“Daddy loves you. He told Uncle Azzy. And Uncle Cass, and Auntie Mor.”

“Well, now I know you’re telling me fibs.” Releasing your hand from the gearstick at the next red light, you reached it behind you, tickling at his tummy until he laughed loudly and kicked his legs, slapping at your hands weakly as he wriggled in his chair. “He would never tell Uncle Cass about his feelings, because Uncle Cass would tease him!”

“I’m not telling fibs, I’m not!” He gasped the words between breaths, face growing red, and you almost forgot you were sitting at the lights until a car honked behind you, forcing you to pull away. His laughter died down as the car started again, but he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He did tell him. He said that he loves you, and he thinks that you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”

Your lips pursed, your heart betraying you once again, stomach joining as butterflies erupted until you felt lightheaded, and the weight of his stare on the back of your head was obvious without you even needing to turn. 

In a far less sure voice now, “Do you love daddy?”

You had no idea how to answer that question. You’d known he’d get curious about your friendship with his father soon, you’d just been foolish and selfish enough to hope it was his father that he asked, and so you wouldn't have to handle it. 

Of course you loved Rhysand, but that didn’t make it easy to explain. 

Rhys could never know, the wound of Feyre running away with Tamlin and abandoning Nyx was sure to still be raw, Rhys hadn't been on a date in four years, and if this conversation had confirmed anything, it was that Nyx wasn’t the best secret-keeper. 

Your words had to be chosen carefully.

“Your daddy is my best friend, so, yes. I do love him.” You thought you’d done well, until Nyx made a non-committal sound, another question all ready to go. 

“Does he make you smile?”

“Yes.” Your teeth gritted, the looming office building of the company HQ filling the sky as you pulled up to the security box, not even needing to roll the window down before the gates were buzzing open for you.

“And, do you think he’s the prettiest man in the whole wide world?” His arms flew as wide as they could, and you ignored how endearing it was, choosing a parking spot instead and focusing on your alignment. 

“He’s very pretty, Nyx. Just like you.”

“Then why can’t you be my mommy?” That question felt like a punch to the gut, the car shutting off, silence filling the cabin around you as the engine stopped and the singing CD paused. He was waiting, playing with his fingers and staring at you when you turned to face him. His eyes were wide, confused, and you hated that he felt that way.

“Let’s clean up your face, huh? You’re all dirty.” The words were pathetic, you hated yourself, because avoiding his question meant avoiding your own. You were taking the coward's way out, pulling two wipes from the packet in the dash to wipe at his face. He stayed silent, lips pursed in an unhappy pout, but he didn’t push it. The next time he spoke, it was as you were unclipping him from his car seat and lifting him towards the ground. 

“No, no, no.” He clung to you more, jutting out his lip and putting on puppy eyes he knew worked every time. “More cuddles?”

If it kept him effectively distracted, that was more than enough. Settling him in your arms and locking the car this time, the two of you set off towards the building, Nyx babbling in your ear about everything he could see around him so far.

Upon entering the lobby, his chatter cut off, head lifting from your shoulder to wave excitedly at the assistant behind the main desk. Long ago, you’d felt insecure stepping into this building in nothing but your jeans and a hoodie as everyone else wore dresses and suits and polished heels. Now, even as the elegant woman stood in her pencil skirt to lean over the counter to greet him, you felt at home. “Hi, Ana!”

“What are you doing here in the middle of the day, little mister?” 

He only laughed, leaning out proudly to wave at her, and a new receptionist you didn’t recognise. “We’re here to see Daddy!”

She offered a knowing smile when you pushed his hair back just enough to show off the growing bruise, and turning to the intern beside her. “Take them up to the boss, and let him know.”

With a shaky smile and a polite introduction, she led your group over to one of the elevators, Nyx pulling faces and giggling over your shoulder at Ana the whole time. The ride up to the top floor consisted of Nyx counting the numbers off loudly, tickling them off on his fingers until he couldn't count anymore, and the doors chimed open at level twenty-six.

Guiding the both of you toward the boardrooms, you stopped outside of Rhys’ preferred meeting room, the one with ‘the good coffeepot’ he claimed, a smile flickering on your lips as you spotted his silhouette through the frosted glass while she knocked at the door.

As she entered, you could hear his voice pouring out, the back end of a speech on this year's profit margins that he’d practised on you a hundred times before today, only going quiet as all attention fell to her. “Sir, your wife and son are here.”

Your brows rose at her wording, still sitting high on your forehead as Rhys appeared, closing the door behind him and dismissing her thankfully. Left alone, his gaze flickered over you both, an emotion you still didn’t understand settling on his face when Nyx sat up in your arms, still cuddled against you. 

“Hi, daddy! I got a bump on my head, look!” Pushing his hand over his hair, he moved his fringe out of the way, Rhysand’s eyes going comically wide as he stepped closer to get a look at it. “I fell off the climbing frame!”

His frantic gaze swept to you as he ran a thumb over his son’s forehead, the other hand settling on your hip subconsciously, but all your attention seemed to fix on the way his thumb swept over your waist in a matching way. 

“I took care of it all, don’t worry.” You mustered the best smile you could, getting a whiff of his expensive work cologne when he dipped down to press a kiss to the same spot you had when tucking Nyx into the car. He examined the cut a little more, frowning at the mark on his son’s face, and you wanted to say something, to reassure him, to quash the thoughts about being a bad father that you knew were flying through his head. Before you could speak, though, he was acting once again.

He nodded, seeming to have already fought the war inside his own mind, and if the way his shoulder’s slumped from their tightened position, he’d won this one. Leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead too, your breath caught in your throat at the intimate brush of his lips over your skin. Rhysand had always been affectionate, this part of your friendship was nothing new, but somehow, it had become so much more than a flirty comment or wink. Your eyes fluttered shut, pressing selfishly into that hint of affection as it dragged on just a second too long, warmth coating your cheeks when he pulled back. 

“Give me five minutes to finish this meeting up, wait in my office.” His attention moved to his son. “You can get one toy out, just one.”

At the mention of the toy-box tucked away in the back corner of the office, Nyx’s face lit up, hands clapping together excitedly, and Rhys chuckled at him. “Do you need anything?”

“We’ll be fine.” You’d been to his office more times than you could count, knowing the building like the back of your hand. “Go finish up, gods know you didn’t make me suffer through your rehearsals a thousand times just to mess it all up now.”

He only smirked, adjusting his blazer and ruffling his son’s hair, cautious of his injury. “I’ll be with you soon, darling.” Before you could respond, he was placing a quick kiss on your cheek, and backing away and returning to work, the door closing behind him. 

When you stared at his empty space a little too long, Nyx let out an impatient sigh. “I want to play with the racing cars, darling.”

“Hey, now, cheeky! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were feeling absolutely fine, and perhaps I should take you back to school!” 

Nyx burst out into more laughter, shaking his head and clinging to you. Even if his movements did make it harder to carry him, you didn’t care, grinning at the enthusiasm and excitement on his face. As soon as you had the office door open, he was squirming in your arms to get down, racing over to the box in the corner the second his feet were touching the floor. 

Tearing off the lid, you flicked the light on, shutting the door and frowning as he began to pile toys up all along the floor. “Nyx, your dad just told you only one toy. Pick one, put the rest back.”

“But the cars all count as one, I have to get the whole set out!”

“Nope. You know that’s not how it works.” He scowled, but remained silent, making a point of pulling out the black truck with flames on the wheels, the one you hated, because it made terrible sound effects of grating engines and monster trucks. Piling the rest of the toys back inside haphazardly, the lid remained off the box, and he switched the volume up, glancing at you as he did. You only granted him a sigh, collapsing down into the plush leather chair of Rhysand’s desk.

Five minutes of watching Nyx push the truck around the floor and over every surface as he made car sounds himself soon slipped into ten. He changed toys to a small fluffy dog, and at fifteen minutes, an action figure. Just as he was setting up for his meeting with the plastic army man, Rhys appeared at the door, tugging his tie loose and smiling when you straightened in his chair. 

Tucking the tie down into his suit pocket, he circled the desk, eyeing Nyx on the floor, who didn’t even bother to look up from his life-or-death mission. Taking a seat in one of the cushioned meeting chairs on the other side of the desk, he turned a questioning gaze to you, raising an eyebrow.

“He climbed too high on the climbing frame at school, and slipped when another kid tried to help him down. He got all checked out by the school first aid, he’s totally fine. No dizziness or headaches or nausea, nothing wrong. Just a bruise and a bump.” It didn’t stop Rhys from worrying, rolling his lower lip between his teeth as his gaze moved back to his joyfully-distracted son. “Rhys.”

He didn’t look up, biting down on that lip harder. With one hand, he popped free the button on his collar, and the one below, taking a deep breath. 

“Rhysand.” With a firmer tone, you managed to gain his attention, a reluctant stare shifting to you, and you held your hands out across the desk, palms up. Wiggling your fingers, he placed one hand in both of yours, sighing sadly at the look on your face as you squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Nyx is fine, I made sure of it. I checked him out myself, signed the forms after reading them, and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Look at him. He’s perfectly okay.”

“I’m sorry you had to leave work.” He whispered, ashamed gaze trailing to your joined hands, the edges of his lips barely flickering as you smoothed your thumbs over his knuckles. He squeezed a little harder, tugging a little closer, ensuring you weren’t letting go just yet. You’d had no intention to, anyway.

Tugging on your hands a little more, he guided you around the desk, back to your feet until you were standing before him, between his knees, and he could tip forwards to brace his head against your ribs. He still held tight to one of your hands, running his fingers over your skin now, but you managed to fight one hand free. With it, you patted his hair softly, smoothing over it until he let out a shaky but light breath. 

“Thank you.”

“You know I’d do anything for you two. Absolutely anything, you have nothing to thank me for, or say sorry for.” He only nodded, tipping his head up enough that the tip of his nose dragged over your skin, until his chin was propped there instead, glancing up at you.

“Not true, I’m thankful for you every single day.”

You willed your body not to react, not to give you away, other than the small smile you offered him, settling with your hand on the nape of his neck for a second. It was intimate, romantic, far too much for friendship, and the sudden flash of thought made your spine stiffen, and your hand retract down to sit safely on his shoulder instead. “Rhys?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Why does Nyx’s school have me listed as his mother?”

He blinked, once. “What?”

“When they called, they asked me if I was his mom, and I never got a chance to correct her before she was telling me everything. Then when I got there, she said it again.”

He was silent for a moment, before sitting up once again, disentangling himself from you and putting on an easy-going smile to match his shrug as he slumped back into the seat. “I have no idea. Maybe she just got confused, or forgot.”

“Okay…” You gave only a moment's pause, leaning yourself on the edge of the desk beside you, and crossing your arms. “Well, why does your receptionist think I’m your wife?”

“She’s new.” The words rolled off of his tongue so fast it was like he’d planned them, your brows shooting up a little. “I mean, you come in here carrying Nyx, and what else would she know?”

Despite his casual demeanour, a soft layer of pink tinged those tan cheeks, so faint you’d hardly notice it if you weren’t so good at reading him. His eyes studied you for a second, a deep look as he stared, gaze taking you in just as much as you seemed to take him in. There was a lull, a pause, like so many moments lately where the air seemed positively charged between you both, lingering on an adrenaline-filled precipice and just waiting for something to happen.

Rhys broke it, just a second before it would have become too much for you, too. Clearing his throat, he caught Nyx’s attention. “Why don’t we go and get some ice-cream, buddy? Put the toy away and we can go right now.”

“Before dinner?” The child’s eyes widened, throwing the army man into the box without a care for the way he slammed off of the wall, all love gone now at the mention of ice-cream. Clicking the lid back into place, you watched them interact in a daze, the joking and chatter becoming background noise. 

You’d never given yourself a chance to think before, too scared to get your heart broken and to lose them both, but a small flame of hope in the back of your heart had been steadily growing bigger and brighter, and it was starting to become hard to ignore. 

Only when a small hand slipped into yours did you snap out of it, Nyx swinging happily with one hand in yours and the other in his father’s, telling him all about the school work he’d done as Rhysand grabbed for his briefcase and coat. Once he’d acquired them, you were on the move, trailing through the building in much the same way, swinging Nyx between your bodies and letting him bounce excitedly at the prospect of frozen sugar before a healthy meal. 

As you wandered through the lobby, you took stock of yourselves, noting just how much the three of you really did resemble a family. The receptionist would be right to assume, simply from what it looked like. And, even if the teacher did know you hadn't been, from the number of mornings you’d dropped Nyx at school or picked him up at the end of the day, it could easily be misread as merely a development in a complicated relationship. 

Perhaps, it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, and Rhys was right. 

The butterflies in your stomach died down to a heavy weight. One of both relief, and disappointment you refused to acknowledge, the hot flush of anxiety cooling into a steady calm, and you were finally able to take a deep breath once again as you reached the car.

“We just need to grab his bag and forms from my car, and-”

“You’re not coming for ice-cream?” Rhys’ head snapped up from where he’d been looking down at his son, brows furrowing at you, and Nyx fell silent, turning to stare up with an identical look of confusion. 

“You don’t like ice-cream?” He echoed in his father’s tone, the two were far too alike for your good, and Nyx was nothing if not a clone of his father. One silver lining had always been that Nyx seemed to be 99% Rhys, only getting 1% from his mother. It was the smattering of freckles over his nose that only came out in the summer.

“Of course, I like ice-cream.” You tapped at the tip of Nyx’s nose and he beamed.

“So, you’re gonna’ come with us, then?” Your gaze moved from him, to Rhys, whose brows only furrowed further. 

“What’re you lookin’ at me for? You know you’ve always got a place with us. Frankly, if you decided to move in tomorrow, I wouldn't bat an eye.”

Your eyes rolled, and when you were looking back at him, he was grinning. “What about my car?”

“I’ll drive you back here to get it.”

“What about work?” You motioned to the building behind you, and he opened his car door, motioning for Nyx to hop up into the back. 

“I own the company, I can take off an afternoon to be with the people I care about.”

“What about-” He leaned in close enough that your noses almost brushed, a smirk forming on his lips at the hitch in your breath, cutting off your words.

“Shut up, get in the car, and let me take my family for ice-cream.”

You couldn’t breathe, never mind form a response, that word ricocheting through the inside of your skull like a bullet. Nudging you to the side, Rhys opened the passenger door, motioning you too, until you were sinking into the spacious car and letting him close the door behind you. 

By the time he’d strapped in his son and gotten into the car himself, you’d regained your calm and your ability to speak. “You’re bossy.”

“I’m the boss.”

“Not in this car, you’re not.” You muttered under your breath, his chuckle only dulled by the purr of the engine as the SUV roared to life. Setting the car into gear, he cast a cheeky look in your direction. 

“Oh, I know. You’ve been calling the shots here since the day I met you, and I’m just fine with that.”

He settled a hand on your knee, innocently enough, after turning on kid’s songs to match your car to keep Nyx happy. He never flinched, never even glanced at his hand on you, like it was the most normal and natural thing in the world. The scariest part, was that it felt exactly that way to you, too.

Nothing about it seemed wrong, or off, and the longer you stared at his hand, the more you wanted to take it. To lace your fingers together, set your hands in your lap after kissing his knuckles. Despite your attempts to push it down, it was seeming more and more like your ignorance of your situationship with Rhysand was making itself known.

It didn’t make sense. You were perfect together, in every other way, so why had he never made a move in this way? The spike of confused pain through your chest stung like a needle through the heart.

The drive to the ice-cream parlour didn’t give you much time to think, everything today was too fast, not enough time to think or clear your head. Before you knew it, you were pulled to a stop, Rhys climbing from the car to release his son who was practically tearing out of his car-seat to get to his favourite dessert store. He could have done with the run, the walk, anything to burn off some of that energy, but Rhys scooped him up into his arms, pressing several kisses to his son’s head, who only moaned and pushed at his father’s head.

He didn’t want kisses, he wanted sprinkles.

Too bad Rhys was beating himself up again about it all. Freeing yourself from the car to alleviate his worries, you squeezed his arm as you stepped out, shooting him a look to tell him that Nyx was more than okay. “One bumped head does not make you the world’s worst dad. Kids have accidents all the time, but look how happy he is right now.”

He didn’t need to look, shuffling his son to his hip and reaching out for your hand instead as he nodded. Lifting it up, he placed a kiss on the back of your hand before lacing your fingers together.

There was a bell tinkling over your head as Rhysand guided you into the cold store, looking for all the world, once again, like a real family, and you allowed yourself a few selfish seconds to eat it up. Finally, Nyx gained his freedom, darting over to the large glass display cabinet and plastering himself to the front of it as he took in all the flavours available today.

By the time the two of you had reached the front of the queue, he’d seemingly made up his mind, turning to stare at you both with a look on his face that could only mean trouble. 

“You pick what you want, bud?”

Rhys’ cautious tone meant he’d picked it up too, his hand squeezing a little tighter around your own when you chuckled, cutting you a glare as Nyx rolled on the balls of his feet and nodded. “I want the chocolate fudge, two scoops,” He held up two small fingers, for emphasis. “With chocolate sauce and the little fudge-chunk sprinkles.”

The woman behind the counter only laughed, staring down at him adoringly as he placed his hands on his hips, expectantly. Rhys’ eyes widened, his head shaking a little. “How about vanilla, with strawberry sauce, and rainbow sprinkles?”

“Ew, yucky, no.” Nyx’s face crumpled, and Rhysand’s jaw dropped, glancing from his son to you, and back. 

“It was your favourite last time.”

“But, this time my favourite is chocolate fudge with chocolate sauce and fudge chunks, Daddy!” Nyx stated it like it was obvious, and you tugged on your connected hands to bring an indignant Rhys’ attention to you. 

“Oh, let him have his chocolate-fudge extravaganza, he bumped his head.” Rhys’ only scowled, muttering under his breath about being ‘ganged up on’, before nodding to the woman behind the till but indicating for only one scoop. 

“You’re putting him to bed when he gets a sugar rush.” Was all Rhys could snipe back with, a smile forming on your lips against your control once again, letting him lead you over to the display stand as Nyx watched his ice-cream being constructed with rapt attention. Turning from the cabinet to you, he nudged his nose lightly against your temple, a feeling that had blood rushing to your cheeks and your head spinning at the intimacy. “The usual?”

“Yeah.” Your voice broke a little as you spoke the single syllable, and had you been capable of speaking properly at the time, you were sure you’d have been a little more embarrassed about it. 

“One raspberry victoria-sponge chunk ice-cream with, two scoops, and one triple-scoop rocky road.” He added to the order, the woman only nodding, piling them up on top of the counter as Nyx tried to reach for his, sparkles in his eyes as he stared at his sickly-sweet monstrosity in awe. 

Lifting it down for him, you stuck a wooden spoon into the cardboard cup holding it, a soft ‘thank you’ tumbling from his lips as he accepted it, cradling the pot patiently in his hands like it was a rare treasure. You remembered the same look being on Rhys’ face when he’d first held his son, the same tender and gentle astonishment, the shock in his eyes at something so special. You could only smile. 

“Darling,” Rhys tugged on your arm, your head snapping up from Nyx to look at him, only to find both his eyes and the servers on you. You hummed, brows raising, and watching Rhys balancing two ice-cream cones in his hand. “I said, can you get my wallet? It’s in my jacket pocket, your side.”

“Oh! Right, sure.” Twisting to him, he smoothed his thumb over your hand in silent appreciation as you rooted around the inside of his pocket, fingers brushing across worn black leather, and pulling it free. 

You were more than familiar with Rhys’ money and his cards, he often handed you a small fold of notes or one of his shiny cards whenever you took Nyx out or needed to buy something, refusing to ever let you pay, but you rarely held the whole wallet.

Flipping it open, your eyes scanned over the folds inside to search for the right card, but your gaze snagged on the fold of an image inside. Pinned lightly behind clear plastic, the image preserved perfectly, was a picture of you and Nyx. You remembered the moment clearly, you’d been out with the whole family, one of the rare moments that Azriel had been home at the same time Mor was back from travels and Cassian had a day off. Amren even freed the day up to sit in the park with you all, celebrating Nyx’s third birthday. Mor had been on her Polaroid camera hype, and you didn’t even know she’d snapped this picture. 

Nyx’s hands were on your face, pushing your sunglasses on upside down after he’d finished playing with them. He was stood between your legs, the sundress you’d worn that day still had small stains from the muddy bottoms of his shoes, but the smile on his face that was caught in the picture was worth it. You rubbed a hand over the plastic protecting it, treasuring that day with all of your heart, and uncovering Rhys’ writing at the bottom as you did.

‘My loves’.

“Darling, the purple card. C’mon, the ice-cream is getting warm.” He nudged you again, Nyx staring pleadingly from the ground below as he clutched his treat, still waiting, and you slipped the purple card out with your thumb. Tapping it against the car reader and being sure to add a tip to compensate for your daydreaming, you slid the card back, sliding the wallet back into his pocket as the three of you found a table.

Just because you could no longer see the picture, didn’t mean it, and, more importantly, the caption, wasn’t seared into your mind. My loves. If he truly felt that way, why hadn't Rhysand ever made a move? It didn’t make sense, you’d been here since before Nyx had even been born, almost a decade of best-friendship and flirty comments that never became anything more, while secretly harbouring a picture of you in his wallet and holding your hand, kissing your forehead and smiling in a way that read as far more than just friends.

You’d barely even settled into the booth before Nyx was digging into his ice-cream, and your hand finally being freed and you were given your cone. Twisting it around and towards yourself, your eyes narrowed a little on the chunk missing from the side, somewhere where an obviously large piece of cake had been pulled out, and your glare turned to Rhys.

“You ate some of my ice-cream?”

“We always share, stop acting so surprised about it.” He grinned, taking a large scoop from his own, and you scowled at him. 

“I hadn't even tried it yet, and you ate the best piece of cake!” He only smirked. 

“Do you want to try my ice-cream?” Nyx offered, and you turned to look at him across the table. His hand was gripping the spoon like he was stirring in a cauldron, the contents inside had been churned up into a gloopy mess, and he held a spoonful of it out to you, chocolate and fudge-covered cheeks stretched in a smile. 

“That’s okay, Nyxie, it’s all for you.” You passed your cone back to Rhys after unwrapping the napkin from around it. “Hold this, and don’t eat any more.”

He nodded dutifully, but eyed another piece of cake hidden within the ice-cream nonetheless, as he ate his own. There was a particularly large piece of dark chocolate with a marshmallow on the side of his own that he’d yet to notice, and you stored that away for revenge. Reaching across the table, you wiped at Nyx’s cheeks, unsure why you’d bothered since he was only going to end up in the same state again soon, but you did your best with the sticky mess anyway.

You gave up when he got ice-cream on your hand too, refusing to pause eating even when you tried to clean him up. Leaving the scrunched-up napkin on the table, his father only chuckled in your ear and handed you your cone back. Turning to him, you held out your other hand. Wiggling your fingers, his face pinched for a second, before he sighed, giving in. He pulled that same face every time, despite being right that you always shared, a victorious smile on your face. 

You made a point of turning the cone, flashing the delicious chunk of chocolate and marshmallow to him, watching his jaw drop to stop you, but not fast enough. Clamping your mouth down around it, you pulled the chunk free, chocolate melting across your tongue as you let out a moan of appreciation.

His eyes flared, leaning in and snatching his cone back, but leaving his face close enough to your own that when you licked over your lips, you almost licked him too. “You’re so cruel to me.”

“Payback is a… well, you know the saying.” You smirked, ensuring not to swear in front of the child across the table from you both, and he only growled a little. His eyes flickered over your face, every spot his gaze touched made your skin burst out with heat, lingering for a moment on your mouth. He smirked, raising a hand, and brushing his thumb along the edge of your mouth as he pulled back a fraction.

“You missed a spot.” He breathed, thumb slipping to settle on your chin instead, and his eyes found yours once again. The air between you both crackled like it never had before, electricity sparking between you both again, but so much more intense. “I, uhm, I’ve been meaning to talk to you lately...”

“Yeah? Well, we never see each other, I can see how it’d be hard to find the time.” You teased, his softly sighed laugh brushing over your face as his gaze held yours. Smoothing his thumb along your jaw until he was cupping your face, it was only when a drop of ice-cream dripped from your cone and onto your finger, the cold sending a jolt through you that made you gasp and snap back. 

Glancing down at it, you winced, licking away any more drops that looked like they may fall, and using Nyx’s napkin to wipe your fingers. When you turned back to Rhys he was facing the table again, eating his ice-cream and acting as though nothing had happened. The bubble was broken, whatever he was going to say he clearly wasn’t planning on anymore, and so you let it pass.

You ate your ice-creams together, conversation steadily flowing onto other topics, far safer ones, no doubt, and you did your best to clean up Nyx’s face once again. Smears of chocolate covered his cheeks, and you knew Rhys would have to scrub it off later before bed. 

The ride back to the office was where you grew to regret convincing Rhysand to allow Nyx’s choice, his sugar rush beginning to kick in at full force. He screamed his songs at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make you both wince as you drove, bouncing chaotically in his seat and threatening to break right out like a miniature beast. 

The hand, now sitting on your lower thigh rather than your knee, squeezed at a particularly loud shriek as he played with the window settings, up and down, up and down. “This is your fault.”

“I know!” You wailed, glancing back at Nyx, who was all but vibrating as he rocked side to side, giggling hysterically to himself. “I figured the sauce would be sugar-free, and fudge isn’t that much sugar, it’s like-”

“It’s half sugar!”

“What?” Your eyes widened a little, turning to look at Rhys with wide eyes, and he contained his laughter as he watched the road, trying to tune out the din from the backseat. “Regardless, I apologise for this.” There would be no calming him now.

Rhys rubbed his hand up and down your thigh softly. “I already told you, that's your problem. You think I’m going to let you go home and leave me with this?”

“I have some very important work to do-”

“Liar.” He called your bluff, and you scowled, turning your glare on his hand as it set warmth firing along all of your nerves. 

When he finally pulled back into the parking lot, it was considerably emptier than it had been when you’d left, and he spun to park across two full spaces into place beside your car. He left the car with a happy sigh, closing the noise that his son was making inside the vehicle, and rolling his neck from side to side. Finally, he opened his son’s side, lifting the boy from his chair and setting him on the concrete, where he immediately began to jump up and down, holding onto his dad’s hand.

The pair accompanied you to your car, retrieving the school bags and taking them back to their own while you gathered the correct forms from the glovebox, meeting him by the back of the SUV that made your car look tiny in comparison. You pressed them into his hands, and he tucked them into the front pocket of Nyx’s bag, setting his son off to put the bags away, who remarkably, did as told.

“I know you said no thanks, but, thank you for today. I mean it, you were so wonderful. You’re always so wonderful, I couldn't do any of this without you.”

“Any time, Rhys. You know that.” He shrugged, hands tucking into the pockets of his smart pants, leaning against the side of the car only a foot away from you.

“I know, but that doesn’t make me any less lucky to have found you, and to get to keep you in my life.” 

Small padding of feet came rushing back, bags no longer in sight but a picture clutched in his hands to be held up in the air as he came to a stop. It was decorated with pieces of glued-on dried pasta, glitter and sequins, and some splatters of paint. The most important part, though, was the drawing at the bottom. 

You’d grown used to his style of drawing now, easily able to pick out what each scribble was supposed to be, or rather, who each scribble was supposed to be, and the attempt at writing underneath. It didn’t matter, though, because he was quick to enthusiastically point it all out. 

“Look, look! It’s us! This is daddy, in purple. And this is you in blue, because it’s your favourite colour. And this is me! I’m wearing a crown.” His chest puffed up proudly, the broken piece of pasta on his head acting like a crown, and you traced the words written in matching colours under each figure. 

Daddy. Nyx. Mommy.

Casting a look up, Rhys was staring at the paper, a horribly crushing mix of longing and pain in his eyes as he stared at it, throat bobbing in a swallow, before he was blinking it away. He’d always been good at playing another role, hiding his feelings when he needed to, but you’d caught him too many times. 

All the pining and want, you’d always assumed it had been for Feyre, for the missing woman who had birthed his son, but when his eyes met yours, the façade cracking just a touch, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe it was for you. Whatever it was today, this last few months, it was something new. It was like those walls you’d built up were finally crumbling, he was fighting through his own, and he let out a shaky sigh. 

He let Nyx lower the photo, occupied with admiring his artwork. He leaned down, lips finding your cheek and lingering there in a soft kiss. You hooked a finger under his chin, twisting his head up until your noses were brushing, his eyes snapping open wide before you, as your lips brushed lightly. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I was thinking about kissing you.” You whispered, your voice shaking as you second-guessed yourself, second-guessed it all. His hand found your hip, smoothing around to sit on your lower back and tugging you close enough that your chests pressed together, his forehead resting on yours. 

He didn’t pull away, he didn’t stop you, he just gave you your chance to decide. 

So, you did. 

You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a delicate kiss that set your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, and drew a soft noise from Rhys as he tightened his hold on you. After only a second of hesitation, he kissed you back, a push and pull with his lips that was as intoxicating as it was grounding. You felt like you were floating, tethered only to him as you gave into a desire you never thought you could have, his lips melding to yours in slow drags. 

It felt like it went on forever, and you were certain that you could easily have stayed there, just like that, for the rest of your life. 

When he let you breathe, when your mouths fell only an inch apart, you wanted to nudge closer to him once again, to seal yourself back to him, to sink into him wholly and entirely and never come apart again. If the tight grip he had on your hip was any indication, Rhysand felt the same way.

The fog cleared after a few moments, and he shifted back some more, eyes fluttering open once again, and this time, they were filled with questions. Swirling in the violet like a storm brewing at dusk, and you lifted a hand, running a finger over his cheek lightly, and smiling when his head tipped into your touch. 

“I’m so telling Uncle Azzy that you kissed Daddy.”

You practically jumped out of your skin, having forgotten about the babbling little boy at your feet, who was now staring up at you both in nothing but shock and smugness, one hand planted on his hip as the picture that had sealed the deal hung limply from the other.

“Daddy and-” You scooped him up before he could even get started into that little riddle, the taunting making your cheeks warm, even if he was only four, and making your way back toward the car. Rhys shuffled along behind you in a silent daze, holding the door open for you and standing by as you tucked Nyx back into his car seat. He never gave up on his childlike-smirk. 

“How about some dinner, huh? A little someone can have his favourite mac n’ cheese.”

“It's me! It’s me!” He cheered happily, and you took the opportunity while his arms were raised to strap the belt around his waist, sealing him back into the chair as his arms strapped through the other two. “I’m calling Uncle Azzy tonight. And Uncle Cassie.”

“You do that, Nyxie.” You bopped the end of his nose, switching on the small TV set that was attached to the headrest to face his way, and watching it load up. You could feel Rhys’ stare burning into you, like a fire crawling along your skin, impatient and needy and desperate for answers, making you grateful for this small distraction as you scrolled the shows on the tablet.

Like a warning, a warning not to make him wait much longer, Rhys settled one large hand over your hip, squeezing tightly and tugging you a fraction out of the car towards him, a shiver travelling down your spine. You hit play on the first show up. 

Backing out of the car to close the door, you didn’t get far, Rhys didn’t move, only pulling your body back into his with the grip on your waist, slamming the door shut for you and leaving you pressed to him. In a quick spin, he had your back pressed to the cold metal of the car, out of sight of his son and closed in by your own, the cold metal making for a relieving contrast to the heat. 

“Do it again.” There was a pleading note to his voice, his sights fixed entirely on your mouth now as he bit down on his lower lip, his forehead coming to rest on yours. “Kiss me again.”

You took your time, teasing him just a little, by running your hands up his arms, over his shoulders as he tensed, until you were holding his face. He sagged closer to you, like he couldn't even hold himself up anymore, pinning you between his body and the car. With a sweep of your thumbs over his cheeks, his eyes closed, noses brushing in sweet motions until he gave an aggravated breath at the waiting.

At long last, you gave in, closing the gap between you both once again. This time, he let out a soft moan when your mouths connected. He kissed like a man starved, like a man who had waited every moment of his life for this. It was like your first taste of air after being underwater, his mouth insistent and unrelenting, like he was memorising the way it felt to kiss you.

You gave him all you had, committing every part of him to memory too. Every sound he made, the way he panted against your lips before diving back in, teeth scraping your lower lip and sucking softly, before following it with a sharp nip. He ruined everyone else, no kiss you’d ever had compared to this and nothing else ever would. 

When his tongue smoothed over your lower lip, you were forced to pull back, to try and think somewhat clearly, one of you had to, because if you let this go on anymore, you weren’t sure you could stop. His hand was already shifting, exploring, dragging his fingertips up your spine to tangle in your hair, and you lowered yours to his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to take a breath that didn’t taste like him. 

He groaned, licking over his swollen lips to take away the taste of you, his eyes darker than before when they found you again, and you pressed your lips together to fight temptation. “You should… you should get our boy home.”

At that, he blinked, his gaze softening endlessly at the endearing claim, and his hand let your hair go to slip back to your back. Pulling you closer, he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek, nodding against your temple as he left a kiss there too. When he pulled back, it was to simply stare. There was nothing hidden now, the kind of dumb-in-love look shining in his eyes that you couldn't miss. Had it always been there, and you’d just never seen it before, or had he just stopped hiding it?

“You okay, Rhysie?”

He melted into you at the nickname you rarely brought out, eyes shining as he continued to stare. “So, so very okay, darling.”

Silence lingered between you both, the same comfortable quiet it had been since day one. No matter what, no matter how anxious or nervous or rattling, Rhys always had a way of making you feel at ease. You felt so vulnerable, and yet so safe with him, voice coming out in a whisper to speak into the gap between you both, “Can I ask you a question, Rhys?”

“Are you going to ask me if we can have carbonara with chicken for dinner again?” He teased, putting your nerves even more at ease, or maybe it was for his own, by making a joke. 

You indulged him, “It’s a classic for a reason, because it’s so good. Besides, who said I’m coming for dinner, anyway?”

“You think there’s any way I’m going to be able to let go of you now?” He mumbled, head dropping down to rest on your shoulder instead, and you chuckled, feeling his lips press a soft kiss to your shoulder through your jumper. “What did you really want to ask?”

That brought the nerves back in full force. “Why did nothing ever, y’know, happen between us?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening to look at you, but no words came from his parted lips. 

“Don’t you ever think about it, Rhys? I mean, look at us. There’s so much that would work, and I guess-”

“Of course I think about it.” He breathed the words in a rush, and your jaw snapped shut as words finally began to pour out of him, unrestrained and uncontrolled. “I think about it all the time. Every minute of every day you’re on my mind.”

“Rhys…” He let out a slow breath, but there was no stopping him now. You’d uncorked the bottle, the contents unable to be stopped from spilling. 

“Since the day I met you all those years ago, I knew that I would hold onto you for the rest of my life. I couldn't let you go. But, I was a stupid kid who just inherited a company, and I was terrified of that. I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. You just dropped into my life and filled holes and cracks I didn’t know I had, you made me feel complete. I fell for you, so hard and so fast, and I was so godsdamned scared of that.” He looked away, unable to look at you any longer, and swallowing thickly. 

“So, we became friends…”

“So, we became friends.” He repeated, sighing like he couldn't hold the weight of the world anymore. “I thought, selfishly, that I could hold onto you as my best friend, until I was ready for more. That it would be fine. I was too slow, though, and you started dating Lucien.”

Your mind flickered back, hardly remembering the man you’d been with for only a couple of months almost six years ago, flashes of red hair and tanned skin in your mind recalling it.

“He was good to you, and I hated that. I hated him, but I wanted you to be happy. But, I was so miserable. I was so sickeningly, maddeningly, obviously in love with you, and I had to do something before you noticed. So, I dated Feyre. It wasn’t… we moved too quickly, too fast. I threw myself into it and then she got pregnant. Nyx came along, and she abandoned him. I thought I’d lose you too. I was scared again, but you stayed. You helped with everything, you made it better.” 

His voice started to crack, and so your arms raised, looping around his neck, pulling him in until his forehead was pressed to your own. 

“I wasn’t scared when you were there. You taught me everything, you stayed for every step. I knew within days that you should have been Nyx’s mother, that being with you like this was all I’d ever want, I started to want everything cliché, a white picket fence and a little house of our own and a street where Nyx could learn to ride a bike with us. I mean, I picked out the house you liked best from the viewings even though it was gonna cost so fuckin’ much to renovate and repair and clean, but it was so worth it.” He laughed emptily, and you sniffed back tears.

“I had no idea.”

“I know, I never told you. I wanted you to see your dream house without the guilt.” He rubbed at his nose, and you kissed his cheeks, feeling him smile under your lips as you did, stopping the tears clinging to his lashes from falling. “But, you were still with Lucien, so I settled to take what I could get. If having you as my friend, helping me raise him like this, was all I could ever have, I’d take it. Then, you weren’t, and I thought maybe you’d be heartbroken about your break-up, or sad, and I wanted to give you time. I gave you too much time, I was a coward, I was nothing but a lonely man who already had a son. I couldn't offer you all the things you wanted anymore. I couldn't travel or go out and party or do anything. I’m always working or with my boy, and I didn’t want you to be forced to take that on.”

You were shocked, his candour had left you breathless, and he sniffled lightly, blinking away the tears he was unwilling to let drop. “We broke up because of you.”

“What?” He let himself look up, to you, of all the expectations he’d seemingly braced himself for, this obviously wasn’t it.

“Lucien and I. He- he said, understandably, that it felt strange to have a relationship with a woman who was practically a part of another family. It made him feel like some sort of home-wrecker. He didn’t say it, and he never would’ve, he was a good man, but it was a choice. You and Nyx, or him.” Giving the best smile you could despite the emotions overwhelming you, he matched it with a watery laugh. “I didn’t even have to think about it. That’s why I was never sad.”

“You chose us.”

“I’ll always choose you.” Your smiles were real this time, shared and intimate and frighteningly tender. “So, the real question, is whether you’re still sickeningly, maddeningly in love with me?”

“You forgot ‘obviously’. I can’t believe you don’t know it, I haven’t been subtle. I tell everyone you’re my wife, and let them believe you’re Nyx’s mom.” Your scoff only made him smirk, smacking at his shoulder lightly, pushing him away only to have him grip you tighter, tugging you closer to him. 

“I knew those weren’t ‘little mistakes’, or miscommunications!” He only shrugged, dipping back in, every intention clear as he moved slowly. 

“I intended to tell you today, and so many other times, but I was always so scared of losing you.” The confession hung between you both, the unspoken promises and words as he tried to give you a chance to leave, to back away, to call it too much, but you didn’t. 

You let him kiss you, let him kiss you until your lungs burned for oxygen and your head was spinning, and it felt like hours had passed by as you learned one another’s mouths. You let him kiss you until you were sure he understood that you felt the same, that you always had.

“I still love you. I will always love you. You don’t just get over this kind of love.”

You could only grin at him, cheeks aching but you didn’t care, because you couldn't have contained your happiness even if you’d wanted to. “Good, because it would have been horrible if my feelings were unrequited.”

“Never.” A few more stolen kisses, mumbled promises between them. “So, you’ll follow us home for dinner?”

The leap in your chest at the word home was enough to make you breathless, the knowledge you now had that he’d chosen it just for you, in hopes you’d one day live with them. It was almost too much to bear. “Only if you’re making carbonara. And garlic bread.”

“I’ll make you anything you want if it means you’ll keep kissing me.” You hummed, pressing another peck to his lips before managing to disentangle yourself, despite his complaints and tight hold.

“I’ll see you soon, where we can continue this.”

“Don’t take too long, I’ll miss you too much.” He winked, looking messy and kiss-ruined as you stepped back to fully take him in. His shirt was rumpled, his blazer was a little askew, and his cheeks were flushed red, swollen lips to match. 

He was perfect. 

“Hurry home to us, darling.”

You know what? Fine. It’s been 5 years. Here’s the version you always wanted.