#THE LITTLE HAMMER TURNED INTO A SCOOP

[pompadourrguy]

thinking about... ice cream vendor venture...

[rafesangelita]

sheep!reader going to a party w rafe? 🤍

warnings: icky!s1!rafe, heavy teasing, drug use, kelce and topper are kinda gross, public groping, smoking, peer pressure (?), sheep is slightly embarrassed but too shy to say anything, a little bit of rough handling, suggestive language, rafe saying he’ll ‘share’ sheep..

“well, look who we have here!” topper lifted his head from the white line he was about to snort off of the coffee table before scooting over, making room on the sofa for you and rafe to squeeze between him and kelce. rafe was all smiles when he pulled you onto his lap, your cheeks heating as you felt your dress ride up your thighs. “i didn’t think we’d ever see you at a party..” topper leaned in, the close proximity making a shiver run down your spine. truth be told, you didn’t think you’d ever be seen at a party either, but here you were, your boyfriend’s fingers slipping under your dress while two of his best friends watched you with lustful eyes.

it had taken a good portion of the evening for rafe to convince you to come out with him, your heart hammering in your chest the whole ride over here. not knowing what to say, you hid your face in rafe’s chest, all three of them laughing at your shy demeanor. “aww, come on, let us see that pretty face.” you stayed hidden, rafe’s large palm kneading your flesh as he reached for the bong on the table. “kelce, ‘you light me up?” you heard the flicker of a lighter, peeking up from rafe’s shirt as he inhaled from the glass structure, the sound of bubbles filling up your ears.

rafe took a long drag, holding the smoke in for a few moments before blowing all of it in your face, making you gasp softly before you started coughing. your eyes watered, the two boys on either side of you dabbing each other up as they found amusement in your obvious discomfort. “rafe..” you whispered, a pout adorning your lips while he pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot on your neck. you couldn’t help the small whimper from leaving your lips, the sound drawing both topper and kelce’s attention. “damn, rafe, when are you gonna let us get in on this?” kelce placed a hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

“forreal, this shy little thing is just so cute.” topper added, his hand finding the small of your back. rafe could tell by the nervous look on your face that you weren’t sure how to react, his facial expression turning into one of amusement. “tell you what..” he stroked the side of your face, “give me a bump and we can share.” seeing the way your eyes widened was almost comical, topper wasting no time in scooping some of the blow onto his finger tip. “give this to him, sweetheart.” instinctively, you accepted his digit, letting him lay the blow on the back of your hand.

holding your hand up to rafe’s nose, he covered one of his nostrils, snorting the powder until only a little bit of residue was left. “lick it.” rafe gripped the back of your neck, him and his friends staring at you intently. “yeah, do it, baby.” “you’ll feel so good..” you swallowed thickly, your eyebrows drawing together as they watched your tongue lick a small stripe up your skin. apart of you was scared of the after effects of this stuff, but still, you obeyed. rafe was smiling ear to ear, his corruption kink going off the charts right now. “what the fuck!” topper laughed, both him and kelce sitting in disbelief.

“she really fucking did it?!” kelce moved closer, your boyfriend roughly grabbing your cheeks as he shook your head around. “of course she did,” he cupped you through your panties, “she’ll do whatever i tell her to.. right, ‘pretty?” you nodded, gripping rafe’s forearm as topper moved your hair to one side of your frame. “come on, man, just a taste.” rafe pulled you into a kiss, his palm coming up to cup your tits over the lacey material of your dress. despite his earlier words, rafe was far too greedy to share you with anyone. “not a fucking chance, thornton.”

[noredemptionhere]

𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ฅᨐฅ

pair: sevika x cat!reader (saw a headcanon about it and i had to write it so yeah—y’all are cats now)

cw (may be spoiling for some readers): angst, implied threat of assault, mention of violent acts, Intense themes.

the rain hammered down on zaun’s rooftops, turning the city’s grime slick and glistening under the dim streetlights. the storm was fading now, its fury softening into a tired drizzle, but sevika barely noticed.

didn’t matter if it was raining or not. didn’t matter if the city was burning. she was too damn exhausted to care.

her feet dragged over the cracked pavement, her body moving on autopilot. the day had been long—boring, frustrating, a waste of time. but at least home was close. just a few more blocks and she could collapse into bed with a drink, maybe forget today ever happened—

kitty.

sevika’s lips curled into a smirk, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. her gaze dropped to the small, trembling shape loafed up on the curb, soaked to the bone.

you.

the little tuxedo cat she always saw loitering around her block, the one that somehow had her wrapped around its tiny, manipulative paw. right now, though, you were nothing but a wet, miserable fluffball, shivering violently under the weight of the storm.

sevika felt something in her chest twinge. just a little.

“still alive, huh?” she murmured as she approached, voice low and teasing.

your head shot up immediately.

sevika. your favorite human. your greatest admirer. your devoted follower—

mocking you. in this weather. in this unforgiving rain.

oh, the agony.

oh, the disgrace.

oh, the horror—

your pupils blew wide with fury. you would not stand for this. not after everything you’d suffered tonight. your tiny, frozen paws lifted, claws twitching, your fluffy little butt shimmied in place—

you were about to fuck this bitch up.

and then you were already being picked up.

just like that. effortless. humiliating. one second you were preparing for battle, the next, you were scooped up in one firm arm, held against her warmer figure. your tail twitched. your ears flattened. betrayal. complete betrayal.

meanwhile, sevika just smirked, rubbing your damp fur with her thumb as she muttered, “dramatic little shit.” with a sigh, she pulled you closer to her chest and started walking.

…fine. you’d allow it. for now.

sevika held you in her human hand, rough but surprisingly gentle. the little flunky had some manners, after all. you blinked, eyes darting around the towering buildings, the slick streets, the distant neon glow of signs flickering in and out of focus. damn.

humans were so tall and-

why the fuck were you even letting her pick you up?

before sevika could process what was happening, your tiny, soggy paws went straight for her hair. you attacked with the desperation of a street cat betrayed, ruffling, batting, yanking at the dark strands with reckless abandon.

sevika barely reacted. just blinked. then sighed.

“…seriously?”

the next thing you knew, her—still human—hand had latched onto the loose folds of fur at the back of your neck.

and just like that, you froze.

paralyzed. useless.

oh, you hated humans. they had so much privilege. too much.

all you wanted was to go full picasso on her stupid… beautiful… gorgeous face—WHY WAS THIS SO HARD.

and then—oh.

home.

sevika stepped into her apartment, her soaked, exhausted frame dripping rain onto the floor as she carried your limp, fluffy, utterly defeated body inside. still dangling.

she flicked her wrist slightly, turning you just enough so you were forced to stare at that same gorgeous face you’d been fuming over seconds ago.

“just for the night,” she muttered, eyes half-lidded as she kicked the door shut behind her. “don’t get used to it.”

sevika barely spared you a glance as she set you down on the worn-out couch, her movements slow, heavy, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to her.

you, on the other hand, were going through it.

your fur was soaked. you smelled like wet pavement and despair. and worst of all? you were still thinking about her face.

you hated it here.

a heavy sigh pulled you from your spiraling. you lifted your head just in time to see sevika strip off her drenched clothes and—oh.

she was… big…?

you knew she was big, obviously—you weren’t blind. but now? now, without layers of fabric in the way, without armor to obscure the long planes of muscle and the way her skin glistened in the dim apartment light—

your brain short-circuited.

your tail flicked wildly behind you, betraying every single thought you were desperately trying to suppress. your eyes followed her around as she changed into something softer.

sevika barely noticed. she grabbed a towel from the back of a chair, ran it through her damp hair once, then—without warning—tossed it onto you.

a muffled noise of indignation left your throat. the audacity.

“yeah, yeah,” Sevika grumbled, flopping onto the mattress without ceremony. “dry yourself off and don’t piss on anything.”

she didn’t even bother looking at you. just stretched out, rolled onto her back, and closed her eyes.

you, beneath the weight of the towel, were losing your entire mind. this was not okay. this was not fair. this was straight unjustness.

because now, suddenly, you weren’t thinking about tearing her face to shreds anymore.

now, suddenly, you were thinking about how warm she looked.

and you wanted in—now, you had a new mission.

with zero hesitation, you padded up to her and—oh.

𝒐𝒉.

her chest was soft, warm, and perfect.

perfect for sitting… so you did.

with a slow, deliberate motion, you stepped forward, settled yourself, and curled up right above her soft, bi-…

you forced the thought away. nope. not thinking about that. you were a respectable creature. a dignified being. sevika shifted just slightly, her forearm still draped over her face, and then—slowly, lazily—she moved it.

her forearm slid away, revealing tired eyes, hooded and half-lidded with sleep, gazing down at you.

she didn’t say anything. just blinked once, twice.

then—quietly, almost amused—she cooed.

a deep, throaty sound, so soft, so low, you almost didn’t catch it.

but you did—and it ruined you.

sevika was already half-asleep when she felt it.

a small, warm weight, right on her chest. right there.

she cracked one eye open, and—

…well. there you were.

fluffed up. wide-eyed. absolutely deranged.

sevika smirked. “comfy?”

you were not.

you were having a crisis.

because right beneath you—beneath your tiny, trembling paws—was the softest place you’d ever been in your entire life.

you didn’t even know humans could be this soft.

your tail flicked violently behind you, ears twitching at every small rise and fall of her breath. you were aware. hyperaware. of the warmth beneath you. of the gentle, steady rhythm of her breathing. of the way her scent wrapped around you like a drug.

her smirk deepened.

and then, just to be a little shit, she brought her flesh hand up—slow, deliberate—before running a single, lazy, heavy finger from the top of your head down your spine.

your entire body shuddered.

sevika chuckled, low and deep. “thought you hated humans,” she murmured.

you did. you really did.

…so why the hell were you purring?

you didn’t mean to do it. you really didn’t.

but sevika was warm. and the rise and fall of her chest was soothing. and her scent—tobacco, wood, something steady and safe—was starting to lull you into a comfortable, heavy daze.

your little body relaxed. your tail flicked once, then stilled. and before you could think too hard about it, you let your head drop—right onto the soft warmth of her chest.

her smirk didn’t fade—but her hand, still lazily resting against your fur, shifted just a little. a single, absentminded stroke down your back.

neither of you said anything.

you just melted.

she sighed, slow and deep. heavy limbs. heavy bones. finally, finally letting herself sink into the bed, into the warmth, into the quiet.

and then, with your tiny, purring body curled up right there against her chest—sevika slept.

the golden strands of morning light stretched across sevika’s face, warm and gentle. her brows furrowed, a faint twitch of irritation at the sudden brightness—

her eyes snapped open.

and there, draped over her body like she belonged there, was the most gorgeous woman sevika had ever seen.

soft skin, bare and warm. limbs tangled effortlessly with hers. and— sevika’s gaze trailed up—cat ears. a tail.

what the fuck?

one second, she was flat on her back, frozen beneath an unfamiliar weight. the next—

a startled gasp. a tangled mess of limbs.

and now—

now she was on top of her.

the girl—the not-cat, the stunning, soft-skinned, very-much-naked girl—was now pinned beneath her. warmth against warmth. a body sevika didn’t recognize but somehow knew.

her breath hitched.

fluffy, twitching cat ears. a tail.

skin. bare skin.

sevika’s mind blared warnings she couldn’t process, too caught up in the sheer heat of it—her hands, planted firmly on either side of the girl’s head, her thighs caging her in, her pulse thundering in her ears like a war drum.

and then—

“sevika?”

soft. dazed. a little confused.

sevika went still.

she swallowed hard, jaw tight, eyes flickering down—too far down—before snapping back up.

this wasn’t happening, she was dreaming—she had to be dreaming. because if she wasn’t…

if this was real—

then she was so unbelievably fucked.

“don’t. you. dare.” sevika’s voice was low, rough, each word sharp enough to cut. her fingers twitched against your waist, grip firm but not tight. “tell me you’re the cat i took in last night.”

you blinked. your gaze dropped—slowly, painfully,—to your very, very naked self.

“AHHHHHH!”

sevika flinched. actually flinched at the sheer, ungodly pitch of your scream. her grip loosened on instinct, and you—wild, panicked, freshly human you—sprung up, bolting upright on her bed, eyes darting desperately across the room for anything to cover your naked ass with.

sevika stared. long. hard. silent.

her jaw clenched. her fingers twitched. her eye actually fucking twitched.

and then, with zero expression on her face, she moved.

she reached blindly to the side, grabbed the first thing within reach—a blanket, thankfully, and not a knife—and threw it at you like she was tossing out the world’s most inconvenient trash.

a muffled, struggling noise from under the fabric.“mmmph—”

a few flailing limbs, some aggressive untangling, and then—finally—you managed to sit up, a disheveled mess of tousled hair and wide, panicked eyes. the blanket was now clutched around you like a lifeline.

sevika dragged a slow, heavy hand down her face.

“start talking.”

you swallowed. shifted. finally settled with the blanket wrapped tight around you.

“…i-i’m a human,” you said, hesitantly. then, with jazz hands: “ta-da?”

sevika didn’t react. didn’t blink. just stared you down with the cold, unyielding patience of someone debating whether to commit a crime.

“…i’m gonna throw you out the window.”

you tensed, gripping the blanket harder. “i don’t know, okay! i was probably too tired to hold my shape while i was sleeping—”

sevika’s eye twitched again.

and yeah. yeah, she was definitely going to throw you out the window.

sevika was gripping the bridge of her nose, her entire morning ruined before it even started.

“so let me get this straight,” she said, voice tight. “you—” she jabbed a finger at you “—are the same little furball i picked up last night.”

you, now comfortably wrapped in the blanket, sitting cross-legged on her bed, with your tail flicking lazily behind you, just nodded. smug.

“mhm.”

sevika inhaled. deeply. counted to five. “i’m losing my fucking mind,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

you tilted your head, ears twitching. “that explains why you looked so stupid when you woke up.”

her hand dropped. her eye twitched.

“…what.”

“i mean, i wasn’t that surprised.” you shrugged. “maybe you just don’t have enough brain cells—”

sevika lunged.

“SEV—”

you barely dodged, scrambling back with a yelp, tail puffing up as sevika chased you off the bed.

“i took you in,” she growled, stalking after you as you clumsily backed up, knocking into furniture. “i dried you. i let you sleep on me.”

you gulped. “you were warm?”

sevika cracked her knuckles.

“I’M SORRY—”

“no, you’re not.”

sevika’s voice was low, rasp, and so, so unamused. she stalked forward, each step slow and deliberate, forcing you to stumble back until your tail bumped against the dresser.

“i am… i swear—”

“you lied to me.”

you gulped. “technically, i never said i wasn’t a human—”

sevika’s eye twitched. “you slept on my chest and purred.”

your ears flattened. “it was an instinct—”

“you licked my neck.”

your face burned. “i was being AFFECTIONATE!”

“by sleepin’ on me?!”

“YOU WERE WARM—”

sevika exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was physically restraining herself from committing a crime. you took the opportunity to inch away, moving towards the bed, only for sevika’s gaze to snap up, sharp and threatening.

“where do you think you’re going?”

you froze. “nowhere..?”

she huffed. “damn right.”

for a second, silence. you stood there, awkwardly, tail swishing behind you. sevika kept glaring, arms crossed over her chest like she was trying to keep herself from strangling you.

“…you’re really mean.”

a scoff. “i took you in.”

“you threatened to throw me out, like, two minutes ago.”

“i should throw you out.”

you gasped. “i’d die!”

“not my problem.”

“you’re heartless.”

sevika rolled her eyes, already turning away, but you weren’t done.

“maybe you really don’t have enough brain cells to process all this.”

sevika went rigid. then, slow, deliberate, she turned her head, glaring at you with a look that could’ve killed a lesser person. “…say that again.”

you took an instinctive step back. “i said—uh—”

“say it again.”

your hands fisted around the blanket covering you. your ears twitched. your tail fluffed up.

“…i said you look really pretty when you’re mad?”

sevika cracked her knuckles.

“wait—”

you were already scrambling onto the bed when her hand shot out, gripping your ankle with terrifying ease.

“nooo!” you yelped, kicking uselessly, but sevika just hauled you back like you weighed nothing, flipping you over with one hand.

you landed with a thud, sprawled out on your stomach, before a solid weight settled onto the small of your back.

oh. oh no.

sevika was sitting on you, her thighs caging your hips.

“you think you’re funny?” she mused, pressing down just enough to keep you trapped beneath her weight.

you squirmed. “n-no?”

a hum. “could’ve fooled me.”

you let out a tiny, pitiful whine, ears flattening against your head. sevika just smirked, clearly enjoying this.

this was it. you were doomed. trapped forever.

…

your ears perked up and your tail flicked when your eyes flickered toward the bedside table, where the clock sat in plain view. the green numbers glowed in the her bedroom.

“you’re one hour late on silco.”

sevika froze.

“…what?”

you turned your head, smug, eyes twinkling. “you were supposed to meet him an hour ago.”

a curse. sevika was already moving, shoving herself off you and grabbing her tank top, yanking it over her head and wore the rest of her clothes with a muttered “fucking hell.” —you sat up, watching her get ready all quiet and soft, tail flicking.

she paused only once, glancing at you sharply. “how the hell did you know that?”

your ear twitched “you- you were mumbling about it in your sleep.” you smiled and continued. “something about getting up earlier than usual.”

sevika’s nostrils flared.

and then—she turned back to you.

slow, heavy steps.

sevika took her time walking back over, heavy steps measured and slow. deliberate.

you shrank a little, ears twitching, gripping the edges of the blanket tighter as she loomed over you.

“listen carefully.” her voice was low, edged with something unreadable. “stay put. don’t try to leave. don’t peek out the window. don’t let anyone see your fluffy ass.” she leaned in slightly, gaze dark. “and don’t even get me started on what i’m gonna do to you if you touch the furniture.”

you gulped.

then nodded.

big, wide, puppy-eyed.

sevika exhaled through her nose, a smirk tugging at her lips. she reached out, just for a second—fingertips grazing the underside of your jaw, a slow, teasing drag.

“atta girl,” she murmured, and then she was gone.

the door clicked shut behind her, and you—now completely, utterly alone—let out a shaky breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

the room felt colder.

you swallowed again, pulling the blanket tighter around you, tail flicking once against the mattress.

…you missed her already.

the apartment was quiet. too quiet.

you stood there for a moment, bare feet against cold floor, wrapped in the blanket sevika had thrown at you.

and now she was gone.

you sighed… it wasn’t like she’d been nice—she was grumpy and threatening and rude, but at least she was there. someone to talk to, to argue with. now, with her gone, the silence felt too thick, too heavy, pressing against your ears.

your tail flicked behind you, uneasy.

the apartment wasn’t big, but it felt empty without her. the space between the walls stretched too wide, the air too still.

you shuffled out of the bedroom, blanket still wrapped tight around you, and padded into the living room. the couch sat there, empty, cushions slightly indented from use. you eyed it longingly.

but sevika’s words still rang in your ears.

“don’t even get me started on what i’m gonna do to you if you touch the furniture.”

you shivered.

nope. not worth it.

so, instead, you turned to the carpet—plain, rough, but better than the cold floor.

carefully, you curled up in the corner, pulling the blanket close, tucking your arms beneath you.

it wasn’t much. not as nice as sevika’s bed. not as soft as her arms, and the warmth she showed when people weren’t looking—wasn’t there too, but it was something.

your tail curled around you, your ears twitching at every small noise, and eventually—slowly, hesitantly, still feeling a little lonely—you fell asleep.

12:36 AM

you woke up to the sound of the city—distant engines growling, the occasional laugh or shout from the street below. the apartment was quiet, warm. body still sprawled out on the carpet, sleep marks pressed into your soft cheek.

you’d slept well—well enough that you had no idea what time it was. all you knew was that it had to be past midnight. zaun was alive down there, fucking around with repulsive cheap weed and even nastier liquor.

you didn’t like them—just like sevika observed earlier—you despised their vile, disgusting nature. keeping your cat form was the only way to adapt. it wasn��t your favorite…

but it kept you alive.

you weakly got up, the soft blanket slipping over your bare skin as you stumbled forward.

sevika’s bedroom. that’s where you needed to go. you rubbed your puffy eyes, looking for the glowing green numbers on the clock beside her bed.

12:37 AM. past midnight, indeed.

you turned back toward the living room, your brain still pulling at half-formed thoughts—fragments of the night before. sevika had seen you. as a human.

for the first time, she saw you, felt you, understood you.

but did she understand the want? the neediness of being near her?

probably not. and that was fine. at least she was alive and in one piec—

nope. wrong consolation.

at least she was alive—zaun was shit for everyone.

your eyes flickered toward the window, its cheap curtains dulling the neon glare of the city outside. you still remembered sevika’s warning—her strict order not to let anyone see ‘your fluffy ass’.

but come on.

she was paranoid. insane, even. nothing was going to happen. she just had to go all dominant on you about it.

you made up your mind. you were going to spend the rest of the night waiting for her, tucked by the window, watching her walk home like some love-struck teenager. the neon lights, the dim moonlight—it was a vibe you loved too much to resist.

so you wrapped yourself tighter in the blanket, leaned forward, and peeked out.

…see?

nothing happened.

the streets were packed. people swayed in drunken clusters, cars honked like it was fresh 12:00 pm. sure, there were plenty of high, nasty-looking men, but how would they even notice you all the way up—

“fucking hell, man—how much did sev pay for all of that?”

your breath stopped.

fucking hell, indeed.

you yanked your head back inside, heart hammering. that was too fast. too fast. how had they even seen you?

your ears strained, every muscle in your body frozen as you listened. you could hear them speaking below, filthy words tumbling from their mouths—

then one of them asked, “sevika isn’t up there, right?”

and you knew.

you knew exactly what they were going to do with that information.

hide.

your brain screamed it at you. fucking hide.

your body moved before you could think, scrambling for the first place that came to mind. the couch. under the couch.

your trembling, soft body slipped under the tatty piece of furniture—hyperventilating, your heartbeat skyrocketing.

no. no, you weren’t hidden enough. you weren’t safe. but you still had hope—maybe they wouldn’t break in. maybe sevika was too terrifying for them to risk it—

then the door slammed open.

and closed softly, with a blood-chilling click.

“aww—look at that little thing.”

you felt your stomach drop.

they saw you. they fucking saw you.

but how? were you breathing too loud? shaking too much? was your blanket showing? why were they so fast?

footsteps. getting closer.

you could hear their voices, dripping with amusement, filth spilling from their mouths like it was second nature.

you just wanted to live for a moment. like every girl you’ve known.

a hand wrapped around your ankle.

your eyes squeezed shut, tears soaking your cheeks, breath choking out of you—

the door opened again, softly. not in a rush. not with panic. it opened softly, like an owner coming home after a long day.

the air shifted. and the grip around your ankle was gone.

every breath in the room—except for one—hitched at the same time.

and then they stepped forward. no urgency. no hesitation. just presence—terrorizing confidence that mocked them, dared them to move an inch.

a sound of metal clicked into place—gear shifting, a blade locking into position, followed by a wet, sickening squelch and a raspy gasp. alike to the sound a cow makes when it’s butchered.

the sticky sound of blood splattering across the carpet.

more gasps—disbelieving, stumbling.

then the dull thud of a body being thrown at the rest of the men.

and a whisper.

her whisper.

“take him and leave.”

𓍯𓂃⋆˙⟡

the door had barely clicked shut, sevika didn’t move. not right away. she just stood there, blade still locked in place, blood dripping onto the floor. the only sound in the apartment was your ragged, uneven breaths—sharp little gasps, barely keeping up with your racing heart.

then—

two hands. rough, warm. closing around your ankles.

you barely had time to process before you were being pulled forward, dragged gently from beneath the couch. your fingers weakly grasped at the fabric, legs trembling as you were guided out into the dim, neon-lit room.

your blanket was slipping. the only thing covering your bare skin. you could feel the cool air prick at your burning cheeks, at your neck, at your collarbone. you were shaking so hard, crying so much—choked little whimpers slipping out, body curling in on itself.

and then a touch. soft. fingertips trailing over your cheek, catching a stray tear.

a voice. low, quiet.

“poor baby.”

you hiccupped. something between a sob and a gasp, your vision blurring worse.

“shh, sweet girl… i’m here.”

her arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, lifting you with no effort. before you could even think, you were being settled onto her lap, legs straddling her waist, your face pressing against her shoulder.

sevika’s hand curled around the back of your head, tucking you closer, her other arm tightening around your back.

“breathe.”

your fingers weakly grasped at her top, body still trembling, but the warmth of her—the safety of her—was already seeping into your skin.

her lips brushed against your hair.

“i’ve got you.”

she didn’t ask if you were okay. didn’t tell you it was over. because you weren’t, and it wasn’t.

your body was still fighting itself—lungs burning, breath coming in uneven gasps, fingers curling tighter in her shirt like you’d fall right through if you let go.

sevika shifted, adjusting her grip, her metal fingers tracing slow, steady circles along your back. her touch was deliberate, careful—like she was letting you feel the warmth of her, the weight of her, the undeniable presence that meant safe, safe, safe.

“deep breath, sweet girl.”

you tried. you really did. but it only came out as another choked sob, your lips parting against her shoulder.

sevika exhaled through her nose, slow. deliberate. her palm slid up, finding the back of your neck, fingertips pressing into your scalp, grounding you.

“again.”

this time, you felt it—the steady, controlled rise and fall of her chest against yours. how she was breathing for the both of you, waiting for you to catch up.

so you did.

your shoulders jerked with the effort, but you breathed.

“that’s it,” sevika murmured, her voice sinking into your skin.

the praise unraveled something deep in your ribs. your eyes squeezed shut, fresh tears spilling over, your arms wrapping around her neck in a weak, desperate grip.

sevika didn’t speak after that. didn’t move. just let you fall apart in the safety of her hold, the apartment swallowed in thick, neon-lit silence.

you weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. long enough for the shakes to lessen. for your breath to finally steady.

long enough to forget the blood drying on the floor, the echoes of those voices, the cold, suffocating weight of fear.

sevika’s fingers brushed against the base of your skull. “you tired?”

you nodded, your face still buried against her.

“come on.” she shifted, lifting you again, so effortlessly that it made something in you ache.

her bed. that’s where she was taking you. where you should’ve gone in the first place.

she sat on the edge, keeping you in her lap, waiting.

you stayed there.

sevika’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, her thumb brushing the curve of your jaw.

“gonna tell me what happened, kitten?”

you flinched. something about the demand, the certainty in her voice—it shattered whatever was left of your restraint.

“i’m sorry,” you gasped. “i’m so sorry. please don’t—don’t throw me out. i won’t survive, i swear—i swear i’ll die, sevika, i—”

you choked, shaking your head, words tumbling too fast, too broken—

“i tried—i tried, but my body—it’s too tired. i can’t—I can’t shift again—” your breath hitched. the panic climbed so high, so sharp it was almost unbearable—

a hand slid along your back, broad and grounding.

you weren’t sure if she was speaking at first. then, you heard it—a low murmur against your hair.

“breathe, baby,” she muttered, slow, steady. “i’ve got you.”

you couldn’t. your chest felt too tight, your ribs locked up, and you swore you were shaking so hard you’d slip right through her fingers.

sevika shifted. pressed you closer until you had no choice but to melt into her, her warmth swallowing you whole. one arm stayed firm around your waist, pinning you against her, while her metal fingers traced slow, grounding circles into your lower back. deliberate. steady. keeping you right here.

she started to rock you. barely noticeable at first—just the gentlest sway, like she was trying to ease you out of it without even thinking.

your fingers curled tighter in her cloak. a sob wrenched itself from your throat, your body jerking with the force of it.

“shh,” she hushed. her breath was warm against your ear. “i’ve got you, you’re not going anywhere.”

you squeezed your eyes shut. your body was still fighting itself—lungs burning, breath coming in uneven gasps, but sevika didn’t let up.

her hand slid up, curling around the back of your head.

you barely registered the motion until she was guiding you in, her grip firm, holding you against her shoulder. keeping you from pulling away. keeping you from falling apart.

her thumb brushed the base of your skull, tracing light, soothing strokes. then, in a voice so quiet it barely registered— “again, breathe.”

your ribs ached from the effort, but you did.

a shaky inhale, a stuttering exhale.

sevika hummed, low and approving, forehead pressing to your temple.

“good job.”

your throat closed again. fresh tears spilled over, hot and helpless, streaking down your cheeks.

“i can’t—” your voice cracked, high and broken, and sevika hushed you before you could spiral.

“yes, you can,” she said, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

your breath stilled.

so close.

not a kiss, not really. just the warmth of her, the steady press of her lips barely touching the skin right beside yours.

her hold tightened around you, so solid, so unshakable, like nothing in the world could move her.

a few minutes passed. your breathing had evened out, the panic fading like a distant echo. In its place, there was only warmth—gentleness so steady, so all-consuming, it almost made you dizzy.

sevika hadn’t let go. hadn’t rushed you. hadn’t demanded anything at all.

she had just been here. and you were so fucking grateful.

not just for her presence, but for how lenient she was. how understanding. you had always known there was something softer beneath the sharp edges of her—hidden, buried, waiting.

it’s just that no one had ever been worthy enough to see it, to experience it.

…did that mean you were? but she barely knew you… maybe you just looked too much of a mess to ignore..?

you were still trembling in her arms. soft, fragile. barely breathing right.

sevika could feel it—every shaky inhale, every tiny, broken sound against her throat. and fuck, it did something to her.

she had seen people terrified before. begging, crying. she’d seen it in the pits, in the streets, in the eyes of men who knew they were about to die.

but this wasn’t the same.

this wasn’t some coward pleading for mercy. this was something else. it was the kind of fear that settled deep in the bones, clawing from the inside out. the kind that didn’t go away.

she exhaled through her nose, slow and steady, letting the heat of it brush against the crown of your head.

“breathe,” she muttered again. a command. a reassurance.

she felt you try—felt your chest rise, then hitch, then shudder all over again.

not fucking enough.

sevika’s hand slid lower, palm smoothing down the curve of your spine. not in a way that meant something. not now. just a steady weight. a reminder.

you’re here… and you’re safe.

you hiccupped, your hands twitching against Sevika’s shoulders. your fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak, clinging.

sevika’s jaw tightened.

“you’re okay,” she muttered, pressing her metal hand against the small of your lower back. holding you closer. holding you up.

you made a noise—soft, breathless. Almost like you wanted to believe her.

sevika leaned back slightly, just enough to see your— red-rimmed eyes. tear-streaked cheeks. your lips were parted, trembling with something that wasn’t quite words, and sevika took you in. every inch of you. every mark left behind from the night.

she lifted her metal fingers, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your cheek.

“look at you.” her voice was low, quiet. almost a whisper.

you swallowed thickly. your lips quivered.

sevika’s hand shifted, her knuckles skimming along your jaw, tilting your face just enough.

the corner of your mouth—soft, flushed, damp with tears.

sevika leaned in, pressing her lips there. barely. just the ghost of a touch. a quiet thing. an unspoken promise.

she felt you go still. the tiniest, sharpest inhale. like you didn’t know if you were supposed to pull away or fall into it.

sevika didn’t give you a choice.

she pulled back, watching you carefully, keeping her metal hand firm against your back.

you didn’t know how much time had passed. how long you had been sitting there, wrapped up in the warmth of her, the weight of her arms, the slow, steady drag of her fingers tracing along your back.

you were breathing now. not perfect, not steady—but breathing.

sevika shifted just slightly, her breath ghosting over the top of your head. then—low, quiet

“…how many do you have left?”

you blinked, slow, heavy. still lightheaded from all of it, still sinking, still—

“…what?”

“your lives,” she muttered. “how many?”

you let the words settle. you weren’t sure. you had never counted.

for a moment, you thought about telling her the truth. that it didn’t matter. that if she had thrown you out, if she had let you go—if she ever let you go—

but instead, your voice came out soft. steady.

“…enough.”

sevika let out a huff. low, almost amused, and her grip tightened.

“good,” she murmured. “don’t waste another one.”

your breath hitched. not from fear, not from panic—from something else you weren’t willing to name at the moment.

slowly, your fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak again, grounding yourself in the scent of her, the warmth of her, the way she was holding you like you were something to keep.

the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“…nine lives.” a quiet inhale. hen, softer, truer

“and none without you.”

you felt the way she stilled. the way something shifted in the air—heavier, deeper.

her metal fingers found the base of your skull, dragging slow, steady lines along your skin.

sevika exhaled, her voice a murmur against your temple.

“that’s right, kitten.”

you closed your eyes. let yourself sink.

let yourself stay.

[p0orbaby]

Spend the Night with You, Spend My Life with You

summary: sex, snow and three little words

warnings: SMUT 18+, strap use

a/n: these two are so hopeless it hurts

word count: 3.5k

part 1

-

The edge of the kitchen island bites into your stomach as Alexia pushes you forward, her hands gripping your hips with a steady, deliberate pressure. You splay your fingers across the cool marble, desperate for purchase, but the smooth surface offers nothing to hold on to. When her hips snap forward, the shock of it ripples through your entire body, a gasp catching in your throat.

Your hand shoots out instinctively, grasping for anything to ground you. It lands on the hammered copper bowl at the edge of the counter. The movement sends it spinning off balance, and a dozen oranges tumble onto the floor, rolling in lazy, chaotic arcs. The bowl clatters noisily, a sound that echoes off the tiled walls. Neither of you reacts. You’re too far gone.

Alexia leans into you from behind, her chest pressing against your back as her hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, her touch both reverent and possessive. The weight of her against you is grounding, her skin hot where it meets yours. Her lips find the nape of your neck, and she bites—hard enough to sting, hard enough to make you gasp again.

You feel her breath against your ear, hot and ragged. “You’re perfect,” she murmurs, the words almost swallowed by the sounds of your own shallow breathing.

Your head falls forward, your forehead brushing the cold marble. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the weight of her hands on your hips, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Alexia,” you breathe, her name tumbling out of you unbidden, as if it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

Her answer comes in the way her hips press harder against yours, the rhythm she’s set becoming a language all its own. There’s nothing else, nothing outside the space you’ve carved out together. The world could be ending, and it wouldn’t matter.

Her movements are sure, deliberate, her hands sliding from your hips to your stomach, then lower, fingers brushing over the heat of your skin. You shudder beneath her, your legs threatening to give out, but she holds you steady, her strength a reminder of the control she wields effortlessly.

“Look at me,” she commands, her voice low but firm, cutting through the haze that clouds your thoughts.

You lift your head, craning your neck to meet her gaze over your shoulder. Her eyes are dark, endless, and they pin you in place more effectively than any touch ever could. There’s something in her expression—a tenderness that feels at odds with the raw, almost brutal edge of what’s happening—and it makes your chest tighten.

“I love you,” she says, and the simplicity of it leaves you breathless.

It’s the first time she’s said it, the first time either of you has dared to name this thing between you. And even though you’d already come to terms with your feelings in the quiet of your own mind, hearing it out loud is like a punch to the gut.

You turn your head back, pressing your cheek against the cool surface of the counter, unable to face her for more than a moment. But her hands are insistent, guiding you upright, pulling you back against her chest. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close, while her free hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet her eyes again.

“Say it,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.

You hesitate, the words lodged in your throat, but the way her eyes soften—hopeful and unrelenting—undoes you completely.

“I love you,” you admit, the words breaking on a gasp as her hand slides lower, her touch erasing any lingering doubts.

The air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken but deeply understood. Her mouth finds yours, the kiss urgent and messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling as if she’s trying to devour the words you’ve just given her.

Your legs shake, and she senses it, so she pulls out and scoops you up with an ease that borders on arrogance. Your thighs lock around her waist instinctively, the movement both desperate and defiant, and your arms loop around her neck like you might otherwise drift away. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t pause. She carries you as if you weigh nothing, as if your feverish kisses and clumsy, grasping hands don’t threaten to frustrate her with every step.

You’re not sure where she’s taking you; there’s no plan, only the friction of her fingertips digging into the backs of your thighs and the insistent pressure of her mouth on yours. You lose yourself in the motion, in the heat of her skin beneath her shirt—a cotton button-down you vaguely recall unbuttoning in a fit of impatience. It’s pale blue, maybe linen, and creases easily, but somehow, on her, even its rumpled state looks deliberate. The kind of effortless chic that you hate to admit you envy.

The bedroom is the goal, you think, until it isn’t. Until the two of you crash onto the rug in front of the fireplace. A soft furnishing you remember buying on a whim—hand-woven by a fourth-generation family in the Atlas Mountains, the kind of purchase that implies you’re a person with taste, with distinction. It’s soft in some places, coarse in others, but all you can focus on is the way Alexia’s body moves against yours, her breath hot against your neck, her hands mapping out territory she already owns.

“God, you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice rough, a little breathless, and it’s absurd how much the words undo you. You feel her lips against your collarbone, then lower, her tongue tracing a line along the curve of your breast before she takes your nipple into her mouth. Your back arches, your breath catching, and you’re distantly aware of the way your legs tighten around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

The fire is building, frantic and all-consuming, and you’re helpless to stop it. Not that you want to. Not when her hands are on you, coaxing, demanding, grounding you in a way nothing else ever has. You lose yourself in her touch, her voice, her everything.

Time becomes a blur after that. The weight of her body, the press of her hands, the sound of her voice—low and rough and threading its way through the space between you—it’s all-consuming. You don’t remember when you stopped thinking, when you let go of the need to control the situation, or her, or yourself. But it’s somewhere between her mouth finding yours again and the sheer mess of your limbs tangling together, her strength pinning you exactly where she wants you.

When it’s over, when the storm of her finally settles into something quieter, her head resting against your shoulder and her breath warm against your neck, you remember.

“We’re late,” you announce, your voice cutting through the silence with all the grace of a car alarm.

Alexia doesn’t move at first, her body still draped lazily over you, hot breath tickling the damp skin of your neck. “What?” she hums, not lifting her head.

“Skiing” you say, as though it’s obvious. “The booking. The gear hire. The… everything.” You gesture vaguely toward the coffee table, where your itinerary sits, printed and highlighted and unnecessarily laminated.

She looks up then, and for a moment she just stares at you, blinking, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Then, to your utter dismay, she starts laughing. It’s not a small laugh, either. It’s full-bodied, rich, and entirely at your expense.

“You’re joking,” she says between breaths, though it’s clear she knows you’re not.

“I’m not,” you insist, pushing her off you, though the movement feels like betrayal—like cutting the power to a film just as the climax hits. “The lift tickets were pre-booked. There’s a window. A strict window that were going to miss”

“And whose fault is it that?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yours,” you reply, deadpan. “You’re the one who decided to… well, distract me”

Alexia laughs again, a soft sound that’s warm and infectious and entirely too easy to forgive. “Distract you? That’s rich, coming from the person who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves”

“Don’t deflect,” you say, sitting up to make a point this is in fact very serious. “Do you know how much coordination it took to set this up? The calls? The emails? The back-and-forth with their useless website that doesn’t recognise international postcodes? And the ski instructor alone was a nightmare to book. He’s apparently some kind of legend—teaches everyone from A-listers to politicians to royalty. His name’s Pierre, which is almost too on the nose, but I digress. The point is, he’s probably been standing there for twenty minutes now, wondering if we’ve been mauled by wolves”

She grins, shaking her head, and there’s something infuriatingly fond about the way she looks at you. “You’re very dramatic”

“No, I’m being organised,” you counter, scrambling to your feet and reaching for your discarded shirt. “This was your idea, remember? ‘Let’s try skiing,’ you said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ you said”

“It will be fun,” she says, still seated on the floor, her hair dishevelled, her shirt hanging off one shoulder. She looks maddeningly good like this, like she belongs in some high-end editorial spread titled Après Passion.

“Not if we miss the slot,” you mutter, pulling your shirt over your head and avoiding her gaze. “Do you know what happens if you’re late? They give your spot away. To people on a wait list”

She doesn’t move immediately, instead she sits there on your hand-woven rug watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and exasperated. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re like this,” she says, her voice teasing.

“Like what?”

“Frantic. Bossy. Pretending you don’t care when you obviously do”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Just get dressed. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can go back to not caring”

-

The beginner slope—charmingly nicknamed “Bunny Hill”—is far steeper than Alexia had anticipated. She stands rigidly at the edge, her boots clipped into rental skis that are alarmingly bright, the sort of neon green you associate with aggressive cycling brands or obnoxious trainers. You wonder if they’re intentionally loud, designed to help instructors spot the inevitable bodies sprawled across the snow.

Beside her, you’re dressed in a Moncler ski suit so pristine it practically sparkles in the sunlight. The stitching is quilted in perfect geometric diamonds, and the fur-lined hood is deliberately oversized, framing your face like the edges of a Vogue cover shoot. Your skis are top-tier: Fischer RC4 World Cups, chosen partly for their reputation and partly because the matte black matches your poles. You’ve already waxed them twice this season, though they probably didn’t need it. Your goggles, Oakleys with custom polarised lenses, sit snugly over your face, and you’re already warm, thanks to the base layer that cost more than the deposit on your first flat.

Alexia is, as always, frustratingly nonchalant. Her goggles, brand-new Oakleys you’d insisted on buying for her, sit slightly crooked on her face, the strap twisted in a way that makes your fingers itch to adjust them. The matching jacket, a sleek, insulated Patagonia shell in a shade of deep red that complements her complexion, fits perfectly—though she wears it like it’s just another hoodie tossed on before training. The trousers, Arcteryx, are so crisp they almost crackle, the tags having been snipped off mere hours ago. She looks every bit the part of a seasoned skier, though her posture suggests she’s waiting for the whole ordeal to be over so she can sit by the fire with a hot drink.

She shifts awkwardly, her poles dragging in the snow. “This is steeper than I thought”

You glance at the slope. It’s a nursery hill. Literal children are whizzing past with confidence, some barely old enough to tie their own shoelaces. A mother is halfway down, calling encouragement to a toddler in a lime-green snowsuit who is spinning in place, his skis forming an accidental snow angel.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, perhaps too casually, because she turns to look at you, her eyes narrowed.

“I’m not used to this,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the expanse of white in front of her. “You didn’t mention it would feel so… exposed”

You shrug. “You’ll pick it up quickly. You’re an athlete”

“Exactly, I don’t want to break my leg before the season starts”

Her caution surprises you. This is Alexia Putellas, who spends most of her life hurling herself into situations where bones break as casually as fingernails. But now, faced with the prospect of skiing, she’s hesitant, almost timid. It’s endearing, if not mildly irritating.

Pierre, your instructor for the day, is waiting at the bottom of the hill. His presence alone feels like an Arian tourism advertisement: flaxen hair, sharp cheekbones, and a jawline you could slice cheese on. His ski suit is a garish shade of blue, the logo of a the resort emblazoned across his chest. He waves at you both, teeth so white they practically refract the sun.

“Everyone is going to laugh at me,” Alexia mutters, her grip tightening on her poles.

“Maybe, but Pierre doesn’t count,” you say, ignoring the way she winces at the name. “He’s Swiss. They’re born on skis.”

She takes a deep breath and adjusts her goggles, the anti-fog coating catching the light. “Alright. I can do this”

She can’t do this, you quickly learn.

The moment she pushes off, it’s clear she’s underestimated the logistics. Her knees are too stiff, her weight too far back, and the skis seem to have a mind of their own. She picks up speed alarmingly quickly, her arms flailing in an almost cartoonish attempt at balance. You watch in horror as she veers toward the edge of the slope, narrowly missing a child who stares after her with wide-eyed bewilderment.

“Bend your knees!” you shout, though it’s futile.

Somehow, she manages to slow herself down enough to come to an abrupt, awkward halt halfway down the hill. She’s breathing heavily, her face flushed—not from exertion but from what you suspect is a mix of terror and mortification.

“What was that?” she calls up to you, her voice high-pitched.

“You were leaning back,” you reply, sliding toward her with an ease you know she finds infuriating. “Your centre of gravity was off”

“No shit,” she mutters, bending over to adjust her boots.

When you reach her, you make a show of stopping gracefully, your skis forming a perfect parallel line. You stand over her like an insufferable authority figure, which, let’s be honest, you are.

“Look,” you say, your tone breezy. “It’s all about weight distribution. Shift forward. Use your knees to absorb the movement. It’s physics”

She looks up at you, incredulous. “Are you seriously quoting physics to me right now?”

“Would you prefer I quote Pythagoras?”

“I’d prefer you stop being smug”

You grin. “I’m not being smug. I’m being helpful”

She scowls, but there’s no real venom in it.

Eventually, she makes it to the bottom, though not without incident. She topples twice, once taking out a marker pole and once nearly colliding with Sven, who watches the whole debacle with the stoicism of someone who’s seen far worse.

“I’m retiring,” Alexia declares when she finally comes to a stop, her skis splayed at an awkward angle.

“You’re fine,” you say, brushing snow off her jacket.

“I’m not fine. My pride is in pieces”

“Pride heals faster than a broken leg,” Pierre says, his tone unhelpfully chipper.

-

The lodge, when you finally retreat to it, is a welcome reprieve, a perfect cliché of alpine charm. The interior is all dark wood and exposed beams, the kind that might be reclaimed or might just be faux-rustic, it’s hard to tell. Roaring fireplaces anchor every corner, their stone mantels adorned with garlands of holly and pine cones sprayed with artificial snow. The air is thick with the scent of mulled wine, damp wool, and wood smoke, mingling in a way that makes the space feel both comforting and mildly suffocating.

Alexia slumps into a seat near the fireplace, tugging off her goggles with the dramatic sigh of someone who’s just endured a life-altering trauma. She drops them onto the table, where they skid across the varnished surface before coming to rest against a cast iron candleholder.

“I hate this,” she announces, slouching low in her chair like a moody teenager who’s just been told to tidy their room.

“You don’t hate this,” you say, sliding into the seat opposite her and unzipping your jacket with far less fanfare. “You hate not being good at it”

She glares at you, her jaw tightening in that way it always does when you’ve hit the mark. It’s the same glare she gives referees when a call doesn’t go her way, and it’s just as ineffective now as it is then.

“Admit it,” you press, unable to resist poking the bear. “You’re annoyed because skiing isn’t something you can dominate after five minutes of practice”

“I’m annoyed because skiing is stupid,” she retorts, though the defensive edge in her voice gives her away. “Who even decided sliding down a mountain with sticks strapped to your feet was a good idea?”

“Norwegians, probably,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Blame them”

She grumbles something in Spanish, too low for you to catch, but the sharpness of her tone tells you it’s probably an insult aimed at both the Norwegians and you.

Before you can tease her further, a server appears with hot chocolates. They’re obscene—decadent monstrosities served in oversized ceramic mugs. Each one is piled high with whipped cream, dusted with cocoa powder, and garnished with sugar-dusted gingerbread stars precariously balanced on the rim. A stray marshmallow floats in the froth, its edges beginning to dissolve.

Alexia stares at hers like it’s personally offended her.

“What?” she demands when you burst into laughter.

“Nothing,” you say, though your smirk gives you away entirely. “It’s just… not very you, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Nothing,” you repeat, though you can’t stop yourself from glancing pointedly at the gingerbread star perched on her mug like it’s auditioning for next year's John Lewis Christmas advert.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” she mutters, picking up a marshmallow and lobbing it at you without warning.

It hits your sleeve, leaving a faint, sticky smudge of melted sugar on your Moncler jacket. You look down at it, then back at her, your expression perfectly deadpan.

“Childish,” you say, flicking the marshmallow back at her.

She dodges it with the expected reflexes of someone who captains her national team, though the movement is so exaggerated it draws the attention of the couple at the next table. You give them an apologetic smile, but Alexia just grabs her spoon and scoops an alarming amount of whipped cream off her hot chocolate.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn, raising a hand in mock surrender.

Her smirk is pure mischief as she leans forward, balancing the spoon precariously. “You started it”

“And best believe me, I’ll finish it too,” you say, though your tone lacks conviction.

She takes this as permission and flings the whipped cream in your direction. It lands squarely on your shoulder, and the entire room seems to pause as you stare at the mess now streaking your ski suit.

“You're five,” you say flatly, reaching for a napkin.

“You deserved it,” she replies, utterly unrepentant, leaning back in her chair with a victorious grin that makes your stomach flip in a way you’re starting to find annoyingly familiar.

You shake your head, suppressing a smile as you wipe the sticky smudge off your sleeve. The lodge hums around you—soft chatter, the occasional clink of glasses, the crackle of the fire—and yet it feels like the world has narrowed to just this table, just her.

She’s still grinning when you glance back up, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. It’s infuriating. And addictive.

“You’re a pain,” you mutter, more to yourself than to her, but she hears it anyway.

“Yet, you still love me,” she quips, her tone light, teasing, but there’s something in her eyes—something unguarded and fleeting, like a glimpse of light through a crack in the curtains.

It makes your chest ache, but not in a way that hurts. It’s the kind of ache you feel when you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, when everything finally clicks into place.

You shrug, trying to play it cool even as your pulse stumbles over itself. “Maybe I do”

Her grin softens, just slightly, and for a second, it feels like the world pauses. The fire crackles, the snow falls softly outside, and all the noise of the lodge blurs into background static.

Then she picks up her mug, takes an exaggerated sip of her hot chocolate, and smirks. “Lucky me”

Lucky her indeed.

[keferon]

TexAid continues to rot my brain I hope you don't mind I had an idea for Shockwave. Warning for mentioned super unethical experimentation.

====

Vortex didn’t remember the first day his dad had brought him to work. He’d been too young, young enough to have stars in his eyes about giant robots and a desire to be tested by the cool machines his dad worked on, according to what he’d been told. The standard idiot child. 

Of course that had been where him being standard had ended. 

But that meant he had grown up at the facility, that he knew it better than almost anyone else and knew everyone in it. Which was why he was currently keeping his cockpit shut tight even as First Aid kept hammering the button to open it. 

Shockwave, the only pilot to ever make it to retirement was on the other side of his one way red glass visor staring like he could see through it. Maybe he could. Once upon a time he had been kind. Once upon a time he had actual eyes instead of the bionic yellow glow that shrunk and grew as he focused it. 

His mech had had a fatal accident, one that should have killed him too. But Shockwave hadn’t been lucky enough to die, instead he had been a test subject, to see if machine and human could get just a little closer to being one. 

Vortex had never liked any of his pilots enough to care but looking at Shockwave made him mentally promise First Aid that he would never let him live if he got heavily wounded in a fight. If Vortex was dying he’d take the other man with him as a mercy. Better that than this, having everything he was scooped out. 

One metal hand came up to tap on his glass, like he was knocking on the door of a house. “Vortex let me meet him, I want to see why this one is special.” 

First Aid stopped trying to open the visor and slunk back behind the pilot seat and if Vortex could relax he would have at having him less exposed. Vortex wondered if he should chew First Aid up a little? Make him less special? But it was too late. 

The only consolation was that his reputation as a pilot killer protected First Aid, made him too valuable to let him be dragged down into Shockwave’s lab for tests that weren’t a guaranteed success. 

Shockwave continued, “Wouldn’t you like to have a body again? The first mech to human full-translation. You're an ideal candidate for obvious reasons.” But of course that wasn’t what he really wanted. No Shockwave’s real project was human to mech translation, more than what had been done to him, on a grander scale than replacing most of a human with a machine. Shockwave was large, but he was still person sized. 

Vortex had been smart enough to keep his existence at rumors and Shockwave couldn’t prove he was in here. He was trying to use First Aid to lure him out. 

He felt First Aid’s hands tighten on the back of the seat, as if he was ready to fight being pulled away from it. But Vortex kept his cockpit closed and after a long time Shockwave sighed and turned away. “Well perhaps once you get bored of him, just leave him in usable pieces.” 

Vortex watched him jump off the gangway and heard the sound of metal hitting the ground below him before easy footsteps. For a moment he was jealous of what Shockwave had, but not at that price. Even after he was gone it took a long moment before Vortex let his cockpit open. It took longer for First Aid to leave it. 

OH DAMN…

YOU KNOW WHAT. As much as I love Senator Shockwave. The Idea of him being that creepy fucking scientist really fits here oh my god

Previous Next

[hayhenna]

"Falling Apart"

Life on the Oro Jackson was never dull, but today was especially ridiculous.

“ACHOO!”

With a violent sneeze, Buggy’s left arm detached and flopped onto the deck.

“Ah, crap—wait, no!”

Before Buggy could react, his right leg gave out, his torso slid sideways, and his head rolled clean off his shoulders, landing with a dull thud at Shanks’ feet. His limbs were now scattered around him like a poorly assembled action figure.

Shanks stared down, holding back a laugh. "Well, that’s new."

Buggy’s floating hand weakly flipped him off.

"I swear to Roger, if you laugh, I’ll—ACHOO!" His nose popped off this time.

Shanks finally lost it, doubling over with laughter. “Buggy, you’re literally falling apart.”

“No shit, genius,” Buggy groaned. His detached arms twitched, but no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t reconnect properly. His powers were too weak from the fever. “Ugh, I can’t even put myself back together! This sucks.”

Shanks bent down, scooping up Buggy’s head and holding it in his hands. Buggy’s cheeks were flushed—not from embarrassment (yet) but from the fever burning him up.

“Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed before we lose more pieces of you,” Shanks said.

Buggy let out a tired grumble. “No way. I don’t need your help.”

Shanks gave him a pointed look. "Buggy. You are literally disassembled on the floor."

"…Fine."

Getting Buggy to the infirmary was an adventure on its own.

Shanks had to carry Buggy’s head under his arm while gathering his limbs one by one, all while dodging the amused looks of the crew. At one point, he nearly tripped on Buggy’s knee rolling across the deck.

“Oi, Shanks,” one of the crew members called. “That’s some puzzle you got there.”

“Shut it!” Buggy’s head snapped, but it just made him cough.

By the time they reached the infirmary, Buggy was too exhausted to complain anymore. Shanks pieced him back together the best he could—some parts still refused to attach properly, leaving Buggy’s hand backward and his foot twitching randomly.

“Looks like you’re gonna be a little crooked for a while,” Shanks teased.

Buggy shot him a tired glare but didn’t have the energy to argue. He just sank into the bed, exhaling heavily.

Shanks sat beside him, watching as Buggy’s usual fiery attitude dimmed under his exhaustion. For the first time, Buggy looked… peaceful.

“You’re being quiet,” Shanks said, folding his arms. “That’s kinda weird.”

Buggy huffed weakly. “Too tired to yell at you, dumbass.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortable but unfamiliar. Then, Buggy muttered something so low that Shanks almost missed it.

“…I’m glad it’s you.”

Shanks blinked. “Huh?”

Buggy turned his feverish gaze toward him trying to reach his hand. "If someone had to take care of me… I’d rather it be you."

Shanks’ heart skipped a beat.

Buggy’s usual sharp, taunting expression was softer now, his long eyelashes casting shadows against his flushed cheeks. His pale skin was tinged pink, the fever making his chest rise and fall faster than usual, each breath shaky. A bead of sweat slipped down from beneath his headband, trailing along his temple before disappearing into his messy blue hair.

Shanks swallowed. He had seen Buggy angry, smug, cackling like a madman—but this? This was new. And it made his pulse hammer in his ears.

“W-Where is this coming from?” Shanks asked, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck.

Buggy sighed, half-laughing. “Remember that time I tried to storm off during a fight, but my legs went the other way, and you had to chase them down?”

Shanks grinned, forcing himself to focus. “Oh yeah. That was hilarious.”

Buggy rolled his eyes but smirked a little. “Yeah, well… you always pick up my pieces, huh?”

Shanks’ throat went dry. There was something about the way Buggy said it—so casual, but so genuine.

Before he could figure out what to say, Buggy leaned in slightly and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Shanks’ brain completely short-circuited.

“…!!!”

Buggy smirked at his reaction. "Ha. You’re blushing."

Shanks, still flustered, grumbled, “You definitely aren’t sick enough if you’re still teasing me.”

Buggy chuckled, but his eyelids were drooping now, exhaustion finally winning. As he drifted off, Shanks watched over him, his own hand brushing over where Buggy had kissed him.

…Yeah. This wasn’t so bad.

----

End ♥️🩵

[liliacamethyst]

Sneak Peak Part V - Web of Eternal Dawn

“Drop the child, Miguel.” the figure warns.

With an unimpressed raise of his brow, Miguel retorts, “Go home, Miles.”

Gabriel, now more settled, looks up at Miguel with adoring eyes, already halfway back to sleep. But Miles’ persistent voice booms through the little room. "Miguel, step the fuck back from the baby, and let's settle this outside. NOW."

"Kid, this isn't a fight you wanna fight," Miguel warns, gently lowering the now sleeping Gabriel back into his crib.

But just as the situation seems to have reached a tense standoff, the door bursts open, revealing you, fully clad in your spider-suit, ready to fight, fury painted on every feature. Flashbacks of the past, filled with anger, pain, and fear, cloud your vision upon seeing Miguel bending over your son.

"Sunny, I can explain—" Miguel starts, but your  reaction is swift. With a well-aimed web, you pin him to the nearby wall, rendering him immobile. Miles, clearly taken aback by your rapid response, stammers, “He... uh... was trying to... take Gabriel again. I saw it?”

Miguel's eyes, though pinned, glitter dangerously. “Cut the crap, kid.”

You had heard enough, and you fired webs at his mouth, silencing him. Standing tall, you demand, “What the hell is going on?”

Your heart hammers against your ribcage, an overpowering nausea threatening to bring you to your knees. Not again, you beg internally, this can't be happening again. The biting sensation of deja vu feels like a punch to the gut. 

As if reading your panic, Miles lifts his hands in a placating gesture, but your focus narrows solely on your sleeping baby, peacefully oblivious to the tension in the room. Swiftly, you cross the distance to his crib, gently scooping him up, trying your hardest not to stir him. Every instinct screams at you to get away, to protect your child from the unpredictable scene.

You barely register Miles' words of apology or his attempt to follow, reacting instinctively by sending a web in his direction, narrowly missing him and instead encasing Miguel against the wall. With him momentarily restrained, you leave the room.

Miguel, however, almost effortlessly shrugs off the sticky restraints, ripping the webbing from his face. He's pissed, furious even, seething at the situation. Anger boils at the goddamn circumstances, but above all, his ire is directed at this noisy kid. Damn, Miles, can't he just go bother someone else? This isn't his fucking business. It's his mess to fix, his responsibility, and he needs to make things right. Why does Miles have to complicate things even more?

With a tension thick enough to cut, Miguel turns to Miles, "What do you want, kid?"

Miles, glares defiantly, his voice dripping with loathing. "You, gone. Either in some forsaken universe or dead."

Miguel sighs, running a hand down his face, his weariness evident. "Fine, do whatever you wish. Kill me, banish me, torture me. Whatever your little heart desires. Let me first make sure that they are safe. I won't fight you, Miles.”

Miles pauses, disbelief flashing across his face. "You serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Miguel retorts, his gaze piercing.

Miles takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "You're a monster, Miguel. Maybe not a murderer, but still a monster."

"I know what I am." Miguel admits, his voice breaking ever so slightly and without looking back leaving Miles speechless.

Miguel hesitated at the window, on the precipice of leaving. But something - be it fate, spider-sense, or sheer reckless longing - pulled him back. He silently treaded through the apartment, drawn to a soft melodic voice.

There, in the dim room, you stood. Without your mask, vulnerability framed your features, eyes closed, a cascade of hair down your shoulder.

 You swayed gently, singing a lullaby, with little Gabriel secure in your embrace, his breathing even and deep. This sight, so full of love and tenderness, tore through Miguel. It was a clear representation of everything he yearned for, of the life that slipped through his fingers, so vivid he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

His heart ached, thinking of the life they could've shared, of waking up to this exact scene every day, of being a part of this little family. The regret was suffocating him in its weight.

You sensed him before you heard him, before you smelled his perfume, warm and woody with a hint of something spicy. He smelled like the shower gel he uses when you both took long showers, the walks you used to take in the woods on Earth 99, discussing plans for the HQ, but you just enjoyed holding his hand. He also smelled like your pillows after he disappeared in the morning, a scent tinged with abandonment. He smelled like a thousand things you couldn’t place, but foremost, he smelled like one thing, and you just hated that thought. Home. 

You finally broke the silence, your voice soft and wearied. "What are you doing here, Miguel?"

He swallowed, voice raw. "I needed to see if you were okay."

A sad smile played on your lips. "You're too late for that."

Ahhhh, you guys are amazing! Please share your thoughts, and don't hesitate to suggest how you'd like the story to end – I might just include it! Let's turn this into a group project. I was close to giving up on the story, feeling not good enough. I love writing and creating, but anxiety often gets the best of me. Your kind messages, (which yes, I read and cherish every single one) have helped immensely. I'm so grateful and want to return all the positivity back to you. Wish I could hug each of you! ☀️

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[caitified]

FOUND

NIKA MUHL X FAMILY READER

notes: starting to write for nika, feel free to request.

nika was always talking about how much ana loved basketball. every day, without fail, she’d go on and on about how your two-year-old daughter was so interested in the game already, how she dribbled her little ball around the house, how she sat on nika’s lap during games and watched every play like she understood what was happening.

so, of course, nika thought it would be a great idea to take ana with her to the seattle storm’s training facility for the afternoon. it was supposed to be simple—she’d bring ana along, let her see the court, maybe let her toddle around while nika got a light workout in before you picked her up later.

but it turns out, letting a two-year-old run around a massive basketball facility is a terrible idea.

nika loses ana

nika had looked away for two seconds. two seconds. one moment, ana was sitting at the edge of the court, happily bouncing a mini basketball against the floor, her chubby little hands clapping every time she caught it. the next moment, when nika glanced up from tying her shoe, ana was gone.

nika’s heart stopped.

“ana?” she called, scanning the gym.

nothing.

her stomach dropped.

she jumped up, jogging toward the empty bleachers, peering behind the chairs, then running toward the locker room. her accent thickened with panic. “ana?! baby, where are you?”

nothing.

her heart was hammering against her ribs now. she was seconds away from calling security, anyone, when she heard a tiny giggle.

nika froze, then turned toward the weight room.

and there she was—ana, her ana, standing right in front of a massive mirror, giggling at her own reflection, completely unbothered.

nika exhaled the breath she’d been holding, knees almost buckling in relief. she ran toward ana and scooped her up, pressing a million kisses to her soft little cheeks. “you scared me!” she murmured against her skin.

ana just blinked at her. “mommy, look! i see me!” she pointed to the mirror, grinning.

nika groaned, squeezing her tighter. “yes, baby. you see you.” she ran a hand through her curls, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. “don’t ever do that again, okay?”

ana, still grinning, nodded like she understood. nika didn’t believe her for a second.

you show up

fifteen minutes later, you walked into the facility to pick ana up, expecting to see her happily playing with nika like usual. instead, you were met with nika sitting on the bench, ana curled up in her lap, absolutely glued to her.

you frowned. “what’s going on?”

nika let out a long breath, looking like she had aged ten years in the past hour.

before she could answer, ana perked up at the sound of your voice and wiggled out of nika’s arms, sprinting toward you with all the energy in the world. “mommy!”

you bent down, scooping her up. “hi, baby.” you pressed a kiss to her forehead before looking at nika, who still looked so stressed. you raised an eyebrow. “what happened?”

nika groaned, running a hand down her face. “i lost her.”

your eyes widened. “you what?”

nika held up her hands. “for, like, five minutes! she disappeared, and i—” she exhaled, looking at ana. “this one decided to go admire herself in the mirror instead of staying on the court like a good girl.”

you couldn’t help it—you laughed.

nika narrowed her eyes at you. “it’s not funny! i almost died.”

you smirked, shifting ana in your arms. “well, guess who i found?”

nika glared, unimpressed. “you’re so funny.”

ana, completely oblivious to the stress she had just caused, giggled. “mama silly.”

you kissed her chubby cheek. “i am silly.” then you looked at nika, softening. “but seriously, she’s okay. you’re okay. she just loves an audience.”

nika sighed, finally standing and pulling both of you into a hug, her long arms wrapping tightly around you. she pressed a kiss to your forehead, then one to ana’s curls. “never again,” she muttered.

ana, nestled between the two of you, just giggled again. “again!”

nika groaned, burying her face in your neck. “she’s going to kill me.”

you just smiled, rubbing her back. “welcome to parenthood, babe.”

[avocado-writing]

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his gn crush confessing to him while obviously waiting for rejection?

absolutely my love, here you go!

Astarion

Is not surprised you’re confessing (he knew how you felt it wasnt subtle lol), but is surprised that you seem so defeated about it

sort of annoys him? Upsets him? Of course he’s going to feel the same way, how can you think so little of yourself? He’s of the opinion that you’re wonderful. it’s so easy to fall for you.

but then he hesitates: he knows how easy it is to think poorly of oneself. He can’t judge you too harshly.

takes your hand, tells you that you’re lovely, and invites you out for coffee the next day. just the two of you. his heart skips a beat when you light up.

Gale

admires how courageous you are. can see you’re shaking as you admit your feelings.

”why do you think I wouldn’t feel the same way? you are one of the most spectacular people I’ve ever met. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I’d be lucky to have you.”

smiles when he sees how you start to grin, puts his hands on your waist and brings you in for a kiss.

if you’re a magic user dancing lights erupt from you because you’re so overwhelmed ✨

Wyll

Oh, sweet Wyll. Gobsmacked that you think he’d turn you down.

takes your hand and guides you somewhere where the two of you can be alone.

when you have your privacy he asks if he can kiss you.

you feel heat rise in your cheeks but nod, and he gives you the most astounding first kiss you’ve ever had lol

then he takes you out for dinner and holds your hand across the table the whole meal

(when you’re together properly he makes jokes the whole camp was asking “wyll they won’t they” about the two of you and you groan lmfao)

Halsin

another one who takes you to a private place to talk.

brushes your hair out of face and then cups your cheek in the same gesture, begins to wax poetic about how perfect the oak father made you and how you are without fault.

has echoed your feelings for a long time now and is glad you made the first move which takes a lot of the weight off your chest

he scoops you up in his big arms and swings you around until all the worry is gone and you’re laughing 💕

Dammon

his heart hammers in his chest when you tell him. he’s only a blacksmith!!!! he doesn’t know how to handle this!!

I imagine you confess to him while he’s working at his forge so that not all of his attention is on you, it’s better to soften the blow when he says he doesn’t feel the same.

puts his tools down, takes off his gloves, and holds your hands. tells you he’s admired you for a long while and is glad you feel the same.

you squeak when he kisses you but his soft touch keeps your grounded ❤️

Rolan

is offended how nervous you are (you don’t find him THAT intimidating do you?! He’s been trying to be nice because he likes you!) - and also a bit annoyed because he’s been working up the courage to confess for ages but you got there first

”Good, I like you too >:(“ “you do?” “Yes >:(“ “then why do you seem so grumpy about it?” “I’m not grumpy! >:( >:( >:(“

you kiss him on the cheek and he’s so flustered he loses control of the spell he was transcribing and magic missiles his office window to pieces lol

Zevlor

this is a battle of the least self-confident lol. you’re like “I don’t think you like me” and he replies “my dear you have so many better options than me”

so it turns 180, with you convincing him that you do like him and listing all his merits!

eventually youre at a stalemate. and then you just kiss each other, trepidatious at first and then getting more passionate as you relax 💕

[callme-holly]

Hello!

So I came across your post about The Outsiders requests and if you are still taking them I have one! And if you don't really like the sound of this or don't feel comfortable writing this that's more than okay!

But, if you are comfortable with it..

I was thinking a Darry x Reader where the reader is drunk and Darry brings her to his place and takes care of her. Stuff like where she is in one of his shirts that is way to big on her, and like if the other boys are being to loud he will get very defensive and tell them to quiet down since the reader is hungover. Just little things like that in it.

Thank you!! <3

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚/𝐧 : i kind of really love this

The whole room spun as Darry set you carefully down onto the couch, your mind reeling, feeling sluggish and heavy with fatigue. It’s not like you’d meant to get drunk; it had just sort of happened; one drink turned into two, and then another, until you were a stumbling, giggling mess. 

It hadn't taken long, however, for the novelty to wear off, the initial pleasant buzz dissipating and leaving you feeling nauseated and tired, your eyelids growing heavy with each passing second. If it weren't for the fact that Darry was currently holding onto your shoulder in an attempt to support you, you probably would have passed out right there on the couch without so much as a second thought. He was trying his best not to look worried, but, even in your inebriated state, you could see the way he kept biting at the edge of his lip, the slight furrow of his brow giving him away entirely. 

It’s not like you were the only drunk person in the room; the other boys were far worse off than you. Two-Bit and Steve were practically tripping over themselves, and Dallas had dragged himself off home, refusing to accept the help offered. Soda hadn’t consumed a single drop of alcohol, yet he was still bouncing around, laughing loudly, and to anyone who didn’t know him personally, they would think he was just as wasted as everyone else. 

A sharp sting of pain tore through you, hammering at your skull as Steve let out a particularly shrill cackle that seemed to reverberate through the room, causing you to wince. You closed your eyes and let your head thud back against the cushions, trying desperately to focus on anything but the dull throbbing behind your eyes. 

“Hey, darlin',” Darry's voice sounded soft, barely above a whisper, as you felt his cool hand gently press against your forehead, smoothing down the hair that fell in loose waves over your face. “What’d you say we go run you a nice bath, hm? Might help with that hangover.” 

You don’t have the energy to fight him on the offer; in fact, a warm bath sounds almost heavenly right about now. The room spins again as you nod numbly, limp in Darry’s arms, as he scoops you up and carries you slowly towards the bathroom, the voices and shouts of the other boys becoming more and more distant until they’re nothing but a muffled hum behind the closed door. 

Your mind swims, and you struggle to stay awake, blinking your eyes rapidly to clear them before they start drooping shut. Darry is still speaking, though you can’t seem to make out what he’s saying, his voice sounding too quiet for you to be able to pick apart the words. He spends a few moments fussing over the water, making sure it's not too hot, before turning back to you, carefully removing your clothes, and setting them aside to be washed later. His movements are gentle and slow, and you lean against him, relying heavily on him to keep you upright, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you.

He wraps his arms around your waist, cradling you close to him, his chest pressed against yours as he holds you close, guiding you to the tub with the same care as someone who is handling a small child. He lowers you gingerly into the water, fingers carding through your hair as you sink into the warmth, letting the heat consume you entirely, your eyes finally fluttering shut and a contented hum leaving your lips. 

You feel weightless, completely relaxed, your body drained of everything except for the sweet, blissful sensation of Darry’s hands running through your hair and over your shoulders. 

“Better?” He murmurs, his thumb stroking softly across your skin, drawing a hum of affirmation from you. 

“Better,” you answer, your own voice slurred with exhaustion. “Much better.” 

Darry smiles faintly at you, kissing the top of your head in a way that could only be described as tender. He washes you slowly, massaging shampoo into your scalp with practiced hands and scrubbing down your body with careful deliberation. Every once in a while, one of his hands leaves your side to stroke lightly across your cheek or to brush away a stray lock of hair sticking to your face. 

You don’t remember when he started talking to you, mumbling under his breath about how he’d told you to go easy on the drink, nor do you know when he’d started to drain the soapy water surrounding you, leaving you cold and shivering. Your eyes are still half-lidded, your mind hazy, your body heavy with sleep. But Darry keeps murmuring to you, brushing kisses across your cheeks and jawline, your forehead, your temple. His voice is soothing, low, and rich with a hint of something you can’t place, that southern drawl coming out as thick as honey. 

A towel is draped loosely over your shoulders as Darry guides you out of the tub, making quick work of drying you off and sitting you down on the edge of the closed toilet seat. He kneels down in front of you then, his large, calloused hand resting on your knees, flashing you a small smile.

“Do me a favour and wait here. I’ll go get you something to change into, alright?” 

You can only nod in response; any other answer would be deemed unacceptable, and you’d be made to wait here regardless. 

 You watch as he disappears into the hall, thecacophonyy of shouts and laughter reaching your ears the second the door opens, only to be muffled just as fast as it swings shut with a barely audible click, leaving you alone. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to force away the heaviness clinging to your limbs, the fuzzy feeling beginning to creep into your head, and the headache pounding behind your eyes. 

You don’t know how long you’re sitting like that, trying your hardest not to give in to sleep, but after a while, Darry steps back into the bathroom, a glass of water in one hand and a pile of clean clothes in the other. You blink blearily at him, watching as he kneels before you once more, setting the clothes aside and bringing the glass to your lips.

“Take a few sips for me, sweetheart. It’ll help the headache.” You comply, accepting small sips until your stomach decides it's had enough and you're forced to pull back, a slightly disgruntled expression on your face. Darry doesn’t force the issue, simply removing the towel and dressing you in nothing but his shirt and boxers, both items hanging off your frame loosely, the fabric soothing against your skin.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re burying your face into his chest with a quiet whine, pressing yourself firmly against him, your arms clutching his waist like a lifeline, as if you're afraid he'll leave if you ever let go of him. 

Darry chuckles softly in amusement, rubbing your back reassuringly, his chin resting atop your head. 

“I think we should get you in bed,” he whispers, his voice rumbling deep within his chest, sending a shudder down your spine. “I'll get the boys to quiet down, and then I'll come join you, yeah?”

“Okay,” you murmur, nuzzling closer to him, closing your eyes. You feel his arms tighten around you, holding you close, enveloping you in warmth as he presses a gentle kiss into your hair. 

You want to ask him not to go, to keep hold of you and never let you go, but you also know it won't be long before he's beside you once more, pulling you tightly into his embrace and promising he will never, ever, let anything happen to you. And you trust him more than anything in the world.

[buckyalpine]

The wait way universe. The one where they get married.

Ohh god it is perfect.

Please say you will write more of this?

I am begging you.

Need more of the baby.

And all the group together having fun family nights.

Another baby maybe? ;)

Aunts and uncles fighting to hold the baby.

Bucky and the reader being told the baby moved the hammer and thor really presenting him with a mini hammer?

Also I love love love love love uncle Tony’s nickname for the baby. Mini terminator love it.

Happy squealing baby is so cute.

I just love it. So much.

I will beg for more. I will. I love it. I love your writing. I love how you write the characters.

Oh god I would kill to see protective avengers. Maybe someone takes the reader and the baby, oh and even more so the reader is pregnant. :0 dun dun dun…. Protective angry Bucky, Steve, Tony,Sam ,Nat, Wanda, Bruce etc

OKAY YES. I'm here for PROTECTIVE AVENGERS OVER ALL THE BABY BUCKIES AND HIS ANGEL. You can read this piece as a stand alone. I added the links for other parts if you want to read it but you don't have to. We're all here for what happens when you mess with Bucky's family.

Wait, what?

Wait, what? 2

I do (again) Wait, what? 3

Wait, what? More Babies?

Competitive God Fathers

-

You smiled to yourself, carefully adding the last piece of tape to Bucky's gift, tying a perfect bow around the wrapped box before hiding it in the closet. Bucky was due to come back soon and while you missed him like crazy, his absence made it easier for you to get his surprise together. Over the last few weeks, you'd felt more tired than usual along with feeling tender and crampy. One trip to the pharmacy, a pregnancy test and a positive result later, you'd bought a custom onesie with Baby Barnes Jr #4 printed on the front.

You hoped Bucky would enjoy the surprise you were growing in your belly, especially considering how often he kept insisting he wanted just one more, adding to your growing family with Steve Jr who had just turned 5 and your 3 year old twins Samantha and Nathaniel. You hid the present under the bed before going to the playroom to tuck your littles ones into bed, the three of them unusually quiet compared to their usual mischief.

"C'mon munchkins" You smiled at the sight before you with Stevie sprawled on a large bean bag, his brother and sister on tucked on either side, their big brother reading to them while they intently looked at the pictures. "Bed time for you babies"

"Will daddy be home soon?" Samantha asked with a pout, a complete daddy's girl just like you, tucking her face into your neck as you scooped her up along with Nathaniel while Steve followed promptly behind.

"Of course bub, he'll be here first thing in the morning" You assured her, kissing her forehead before tucking her into bed followed by the other little one. "Good night loves" You turned off the lights before going back to your room where you knew Stevie was waiting with his favorite book, ready for a bedtime story. It was a special bonding time you always made sure to have with him, not wanting you first baby boy to feel like he was no longer one of your favorites after the twins were born.

"What did you pick tonight baby" You got under the covers, fluffing the pillows and propping them up while Stevie snuggled up beside you, plopping a book about science onto your lap. You chuckled at the nerdy side he'd gotten from his dad, reading through scientific discoveries that were made in the last century and theories that were still being tested. He listened with wide eyes until they grew heavy, eventually falling asleep on your lap, not having the slightest clue you'd carried him to bed and tucked him in with a kiss to his cheek. "Sleep tight my sweet boy"

You slipped back under the covers, grabbing a book for yourself while occasionally running your hands over your belly, soaking in the quiet night before the team arrived after their latest mission.

It wasn't often that the compound was empty; few missions required all hands on deck but this was one of them. You'd received a message from FRIDAY informing you the jet would be landing in a few hours and that no medical assistance would be required because no one had sustained major injures. It was the sole reason you were able to relax so easily, happy waiting for your husbands arrival so you could tell him the good news.

You settled comfortably under the covers until a faint sound from the common room pulled you from your book again. FRIDAY would have alerted you if the jet was approaching and you would've definitely heard the sound of the engine approaching anyway.

But was still eerily quiet.

Then you heard something again.

You were sure it was nothing but you pressed the button under the bedside table that locked and secured the rooms of the little ones just to be safe. Tony had added additional security for their rooms in case of emergencies, with 4 different operating systems working at once. Absolutely nothing would happen to his godchildren under his roof.

It was probably nothing.

Still.

You grabbed the knife you kept hidden behind the headboard, tucking in under the waistband of you sleep shorts before making your way down, reprimanding yourself for being paranoid over what was probably just sounds of the plumbing and vents creaking in the middle of the night.

The halls were clear, easing some of your nerves as you continued to the common room where you heard the sound. The hairs on your neck stood up when you saw the glow of the kitchen light turned on, grabbing your knife, only to find one of the new agents sitting at the kitchen island, sipping on a coffee.

"Annabeth?" Your brows were knitted together, discreetly slipping the knife away, wondering how she'd gotten into the main floor of the compound when it was restricted to others after a certain time.

"Hey y/n" She gave you a sleepy smile while you watched her warily, "Couldn't sleep. Hope you don't mind, just wanted to grab a mug before heading back to trainee wing"

"Yeah, its fine" You spoke slowly, something still not sitting right with you though you didn't show it.

"How come you're still up, waiting for Sergeant Barnes?" There was something sinister in the sweetness of her voice, cocking her head while you hummed in response, stomach churning. "You're both so cute together you know. It's nice to see how his life has come together after all he's been through as the asset"

"Excuse me?" Your eyes grew wide, heart hammering against your chest, it was rare for anyone to refer to Bucky as the asset. Most referred to him as the winter soldier, even soldat, only those deep in Hdyra had called him-

"We want our asset back" She whispered, cracking a smirk and nodding to someone behind you. Before you could turn around, a large form grasped your body, slamming a hand over your mouth muffling your screams. You didn't have any time to react, feeling a pinch to your neck and slipping into darkness immediately after.

-

Bucky stretched with a sleepy yawn as the jet began its descent, already waiting at the doors and ready to hop out and see his wife and babies. He smiled at the thought of them all safely tucked into bed, sleeping soundly while you probably tried to stay up with a book. He always found you dozed off, book loosely falling from your hand, still propped up against the bed every time you waited for him. Didn't matter not how many times he told you to just go to bed. You always stayed up till you saw he was safe and sound.

Sam helped Bucky put away his equipment so he could get to you faster, everyone smiling watching the soldier dash off, running to his family.

"It's nice to see him like this" Nat nodded, trudging with the rest as they entered the compound, nothing amiss while they went to the conference room.

"He deserves it" Steve smiled, happy his best friend finally had what he'd always dreamt of. A wife. Kids. A safe home for them.

Bucky made his way over to see his little ones first, stopping in front of the heavily decorated door, covered with Captain America and Iron Man posters, courtesy of the two Godfathers competing for #1. Bucky smiled, turning the knob, only to find it locked shut, which was odd considering the only way to lock the door was if the security system had been activated.

He shook his head, frowning as he made his way to your shared bedroom instead, figuring it was a glitch or mistake. He got a sinking feeling in his stomach seeing the door open ajar, with the lamp turned on, your book set aside but you were nowhere to be seen.

"Baby?" Bucky called out, struggling to keep his panic at bay when the bathroom was empty, as was the closet. "Sweetheart?"

He called down the hall way a little louder before jogging to the kitchen but there had been no sign of you there when he'd entered. He started to move quicker, running back to disable to security system, breathing a sigh of relief to find all three little ones still sleeping soundly. He softly shut the door before immediately going to the conference room.

"Y/n, has anyone seen her?" He hoped to see you sitting with the others but he was filled with dread when the others shook their head in confusion. "She's-she's not in her room. I've checked everywhere, the security system was activated for the kids' room, she wouldn't leave the compound around this hour, somethings wrong"

No one asked questions, immediately jumping into action; Tony starts to comb through security from the time they left while Nat double checks every floor and room, just to be safe. Steve and Sam help Bucky look over your bedroom for any signs of a struggle. He ran his hand along the areas they'd hidden weapons, his stomach dropping when he felt the empty space behind the headboard.

"She took the knife" Bucky swallowed thickly while Sam and Steve shared concerned glances.

"Look, she's strong Buck, whatever it is, we'll find her" Steve insisted while Bucky continued to look, checking under the bed where he'd kept a pistol, nothing out of the ordinary except-

He frowned, seeing a little gift bag hidden underneath, newly packed with a gold bow placed on top. He picked it up, brows knitted together as he pulled away the tissue paper, feeling soft material tucked at the bottom of the bag. He took it out, heart splitting into two at the words written on the little onesie,

"Fuck!" A broken sob pulled Sam and Steve from their search, finding Bucky slumped by the edge of the bed.

"Buck?" they shared concerned glances seeing him holding something small in his hands, clutching it tightly to his chest.

"She's-she's pregnant" Bucky whispered, tears welling in his eyes holding the tiny jumpsuit in his hands, his heart couldn't take it-

"Barnes, we have something!" Tony's voice echoed through the coms, the three men running back to the conference room where Tony had pulled the footage from you in the kitchen. Bucky watched in silence, jaw clenched seeing the new agent use a stolen keycard to sneak into the compound with a Hydra agent, the two of them quietly waiting for you to come down.

He had to keep from smashing the TV, watching the man grab you from behind, injecting you with something before carelessly carrying you off like ragdoll, his heart aching, wishing he'd gotten home sooner. All voices around him drowned out to a faint buzz, the sounds of Tony and Steve giving out commands all muffled as if they were underwater.

"We have the coordinates locked, everyone down down to the jet, remember your positions.

It was like a switch was flipped.

"Cap and I clear the entry ways, Nat, Clint, follow behind, Sam, surveillance from the top. Barnes, you just have to get y/n"

The former young husband and father who sat with tears streaming down his cheeks was replaced with a man who knew no remorse. No guilt. No sense of right or wrong.

"Barnes"

Steve knew of this man well.

"Barnes?"

The one they called the Winter Soldier.

-

"Baby" Bucky whispered, scooping his sleepy eldest son in his arms before striding over to the twins bed, tucking them in together. "Daddy's gotta go another mission but we'll be back soon, alright?"

Steve could sense something was wrong, the strain in his fathers voice making him worry.

"Again?" He asked while Samantha and Nathaniel stirred slightly, trying to tuck themselves into their daddy's warmth. "Where's mama?" He asked with a tiny whisper having heard the commotion outside of the room, his hearing enhancing more and more each day. Bucky swallowed thickly while Steve stepped into the room to check on his best friend, his heart breaking over the three little ones clinging onto him.

"We're going to get her, promise bub" Buck kissed their heads, grabbing their favorite stuffies to cuddle with.

"Let me see my favorite little soldiers" Steve strode over, giving them a brave smile. "We'll be back before you know it"

"Will mama be okay?" Nathanial whispered, grabbing onto Steve's wrist before he could leave, tears streaming down his little chubby cheek.

"Of course" Steve reassured him, kissing his forehead and tucking him back into bed, "We'll never let anything happen to your mama"

That was a promise.

-

"Oh fuck" Clint snorted to himself watching the black mask that had been locked away for good slip over Bucky's face, his usual leather jacket replaced with a thick black tactical vest, straps running across his chest.

"They're fucked, aren't they" Sam whispered to Tony as he put his suit on, the glancing over to the stone cold brunette who sat in silence, finger resting on the trigger. Like he doesn't actually need us"

"We're really just going for moral support, also no one hurts our y/n" Tony whispered back. The teams full focus was getting you back along with keeping your babies safe; Pepper had come to look after the littles ones till you were found safe and sound. While the team was fully ready to take apart anyone that tried to hurt you. It was more that evident Bucky wouldn't have a problem taking hydra apart by himself but they wouldn't let him go alone.

Bucky didn't speak a word as soon as the jet hit the ground hitting his targets from 100's of feet away, each bullet landing right between their eyes.

"...Did you know he could do that?" Sam called from the coms, watching agents drop while he flew across the top of the base. Tony blasted the front of the doors while Steve cleared the hall way, throwing his shield, knocking down three men that guarded the wing.

"Looks like she's down in the cells" Sam called, looking at where the heat signals were coming from. Bucky made his way down the sterile hallway, red lights suddenly flashing above when a woman charged towards him.

"Welcome back soldat" Annabeth sauntered, blocking the doors to where you were being held with a satisfied smirk on her face. "We knew you'd come back. We missed you-

"Oh, I'm gonna have fun with this" Nat smirked, stepping in front of Bucky and grabbing Annabeth by her hair, dragging her off to a corner before throwing a punch to her jaw.

Bucky continued, slamming the lab doors open, his eyes landing onto your tied up form, strapped onto the very same chair he'd been tied to every time he'd been wiped. He didn't give anyone a second to think, killing those closest to him while the others tried to escape.

"You wanted me back, didn't you" Bucky's voice was a low growl as he stepped over the bodies he shot down before running to save you. "Well, I'm back"

The ones that ran off didn't get too far, making it out of the lab, only to be met with a very angry Steve and Tony.

"You don't hurt my fucking bestfriend" Steve gritted, slamming the agent to the floor before grabbing another and throwing him to Tony.

"You are not taking away my turn at being a God father" Sam grabbed another that tried to hide behind the rubble, swooped up to the ceiling, dangling to agent in the air for a while before letting him drop. Bucky was by your side in an instant, cutting off the straps that bound your arms together.

"Baby?" Bucky scooped you up in his arms, cradling your body to his chest, his hand gently brushing your cheek. "You okay sweetheart?"

"Bucky!" You cried out, clinging onto him, trembling while he kissed you before protectively covering your face from the bloody trail he left behind him. "You're here"

"M'taking you home baby, c'mon" Bucky whispered against your hair, carrying you tucked against him with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, breathing in his scent. "I got you babygirl, it's okay"

"I was so scared" Bucky held onto you tightly on the ride back, he had never felt relief like this, his heart finally calming down. "M'so sorry sweet girl"

"S'not your fault baby" you whispered back, smiling when you felt a kiss to the back of your head.

"Glad you're okay sweetheart" Steve gave you a squeeze before leaving you and Bucky to have your privacy again, staying near the front with the rest of the team, watching over Annabeth, who had been captured for questioning. Once you'd reached the compound, you were greeted with proper hugs and kisses from the others, hearing the pitter patter of little feel seconds later.

"MAMAA" Your babies ran to you, climbing up your leg until they were all properly snuggled against you, refusing to let go until they were sure you were perfectly safe.

"Daddy and your aunts and uncles rescued me, see? I'm all okay" You reassured them while they looked at you intently, checking over you the same way you did whenever they had a fall. Once they were satisfied that you were okay, they let their daddy take you away to get cleaned up while it was Tony's turn to read them a bedtime story even if it was nearing morning.

-

"Right where you belong" Bucky smiled, wrapping his arm around your waist after you'd both showered, foregoing clothes as you climbed into bed, snuggled over the covers. He spooned you from behind, the feel of his warm bare skin comforting you.

"I love you so much angel" He pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder, eyes brightening when he remembered the little present he'd found earlier. His hand slipped down to softly brush over your tummy. "Both of you" He playfully whispered, smiling at your soft gasp as you wiggled to turn around and face him, growing bashfully shy when he pulled the tiny jumpsuit he'd kept on his pillow.

"Was there something you wanted to tell me mama?"

"Think you're ready for a 4th?" You giggled, burying your face into his chest while he grinned, peppering your face with kisses till you squealed.

"M'ready for a 5th and 6th if you'd let me angel" Bucky smirked, playfully nipping your jaw before shuffling down to rest his head on your tummy, kissing your soft skin while you carded your fingers through his hair. "but I can't wait to meet this little one first"

-

[newtonsheffield]

I'm looking forward to seeing Kate and Anthony and all sorts of new parenting roles.. for example how do we deal with Neddy getting a little cold from school? Or maybe just a small boo boo while running at the park?

Or maybe the school asking for parents to volunteer as chaperones for their next trip to the zoo? I can see Neddy volunteering his Anthony for a zoo trip!

How adept is Anthony at preparing Neddy's lunch boxes? After school snacks?

SO MANY POSSIBILITIES!!

Oh imagine the guilt Anthony feels the first time Neddy gets hurt on his watch. Anthony picks Neddy up from Kate’s before dinner now and they let Sophie go home early. On these days Anthony likes to take Neddy to the park on the way there and they run around and fly kites and all sorts of things. Anthony just loves spending time with his son. He loves hearing Neddy giggle as he runs after the football and he loves the excitement on his face when he tells Kate what they did as they walk to the restaurant. He loves this time.

“Kick a big one Daddy!” Neddy called out as Anthony positioned the ball. “I can get it.”

“Alright, are you ready buddy?”

“Yeah!”

Anthony laughed as he kicked the ball and Neddy cheered sprinting after it but the laughter died in his throat as he watched Neddy’s ankle buckle under him and his son let out a sharp

“Ow!”

He sprinted forward, his heart hammering as Neddy wailed.

“Daddy! It hurts!”

His hearts in his throat as he looks down at his son, clutching his ankle. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m so sorry.”

He can hardly breathe as he scoops Neddy up, panic in his chest as they arrived at A&E, fumbling for his phone while he filled out the paperwork, Neddy sniffling against his chest.

“Hey, are you guys near by?”

Anthony’s heart sank in his chest even more at the sound of Kate’s voice. She trusted him. She trusted him to look after Neddy and he hadn’t done it. “Kate, I’m sorry.”

He could hear the concern in her voice, “What happened?!”

“We were just playing football and he twisted his ankle. We’re at A&E. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m on my way.”

They’re waiting for the X-rays back by the time Kate sweeps into A&E, pulling back the curtain around the bed where Neddy’s propped up with a carton of juice, holding Anthony’s hand whose fighting back tears.

“Amma!”

“Neddy, are you okay Baby?”

“My foot hurts.” He said as Kate kissed his face, breathing a sigh of relief. “But I have juice! And the lady said she was bringing me cake.”

Kate smiled turning to Anthony. “Broken ankle?”

His voice felt strained, “They don’t know yet. They think probably just a sprain. I’m so sorry, I should have been more careful. I’m sorry, I can do better-”

Kate’s hand was firm on his arm, “Anthony, it’s fine. He was running and he hurt his ankle. I’m not upset with you. This wasn’t your fault. It could have happened when I had him and would you blame me?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing.” She turned back to Neddy, “Did you have fun with Daddy?”

“Yeah!” Neddy squeaked, “He did such a big kick! It was cool!”

“See.” She squeezed his arm again, “He’s fine. You’re cool.”

[thyras]

→ of great blessings

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 8.5k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → visions, pregnancy, lots of angst, dad!sauron

SUMMARY → your visions and premonitions since wearing nenya have never been wrong, and what you see now frightens you to your core.

AUTHORS NOTE → alright this chapter has been the bane of my exsistance and i am washing my hands of it. writers block took over so much for this that i kinda will not be surprised if y'all don't like this chapter. i'm drained after this one. we are going to start steam rolling to the end now. the timeline is gonna shift a little as pregnancy for elves take for fucking ever, so yeah. 

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

The warmth of the sun kissed your cheeks as the soft bristles of pale purple blossoms trailed across your skin. A youthful giggle filled the air, mingling with the golden light. Your eyes turned toward the toddling infant as she struggled through her first steps among the blossoms. Her red hair gleamed in the sun’s glow, a striking inheritance from her father.

“There you go,” Mairon encouraged, pride lacing his voice. “Just a few more, sweetheart.”

Your gaze finally landed on your husband, his arms stretched wide, ready to catch her should she stumble. His eyes sparkled with a fatherly love that warmed your heart. You leaned back on your hands as the infant tumbled into her father’s arms, a fit of giggles bubbling from her lips as he scooped her up and pressed a gentle kiss to her small head.

Watching him with her sent a warm, steady thrum through your chest, a love so deep it left you breathless. This was all you had ever wanted to give him—the peace and harmony he had spent a lifetime searching for, the same solace he had once found in you in those elder days. Yet, there had always been something missing, a fragment of your fëar left unhealed, a wound time alone could not mend. It had always been your desire to share in this great joy, as was the way of all Elves—a love that endured beyond the confines of time, woven into the very fabric of Arda.

You had longed to be like Thingol and Melian, bound in a love so profound that it transcended the ages. To love as one, to bring forth a fëa as pure and radiant as Lúthien herself—a child who was a reflection of both your souls, a harmony of light and strength. And now, as you watched your husband cradle your daughter, her laughter ringing like the sweetest song, you knew that dream had finally come to life.

But something twisted deep within you, and suddenly, your eyes burned with unshed tears as the scene before you shifted. The sunlit meadow and the laughter of your child faded into darkness, replaced by the acrid scent of smoke and the searing heat of fire. The riverbank lay scorched and marred by the devastation of war, its once-tranquil waters reflecting only ruin.

Behind you, Eregion burned—just as Laureandor had, long ago. Panic seized your chest, your heart hammering as your frantic gaze swept through the chaos, desperate to find the fiery hair of your daughter.

And then you saw her.

Hand in hand with her father.

His golden hair gleamed like molten gold amidst the flames, his striking presence unchanged—except for the smile that curved his lips. A smile not of warmth, but of something darker. Something cruel. His icy eyes, once filled with love, now glowed with a devilish light as he looked down upon the fragile, childlike frame beside him.

Your breath hitched. The world around you trembled.

No.

Your body jolted upright, the sudden movement nearly sending Annatar tumbling from the bed. Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each sharp intake searing your lungs. The dream clung to you like smoke, vivid and raw, its horror so tangible that you struggled to separate illusion from reality. It had felt so real—too real—so consuming that for a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure if you had truly escaped it.

“Mori?” His voice was laced with concern.

You turned to him, your wide eyes locking onto his face. Fear curled in your chest, rising like a tide, for in his gaze—those piercing blue eyes, that familiar smile—you saw the echoes of your nightmare. A cruel reflection of what could be.

Everything you had dreaded.

The pain of a child born into his shadows.

The inevitable weight of his past, now intertwined with yours.

As the haze of the dream slowly receded, his eyes—no longer filled with the malice of that nightmare—softened with quiet concern. The piercing chill you had seen within the dreamscape had vanished, replaced by the worried tenderness you had come to know so well.

Gently, he reached out, brushing a few strands of damp hair from your sweat-slicked brow before his fingers trailed down to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, an anchor pulling you back from the lingering edges of fear. You exhaled shakily, leaning into his palm, finding solace in the familiar heat of his skin, the scent of him—real and unwavering.

A small, fragile smile ghosted your lips as you closed your eyes.

“It was only a dream,” you whispered against his palm, as much to reassure yourself as to ease the worry in his gaze.

Annatar's brow furrowed, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your cheek. "What did you see?" he asked softly, his voice laced with quiet concern, yet tinged with something else—something unreadable.

You hesitated, the weight of your dream still pressing upon your chest. How could you put into words the beauty you had witnessed, only to watch it twist into something dark and terrible? How could you explain the unbearable fear that had gripped you when you saw him, standing amidst the flames, leading your child away?

"I…" Your voice barely rose above a whisper. "I saw us. And… a child."

His hand stilled against your skin, his sharp blue eyes flickering with emotion—too fleeting, too complex for you to decipher.

"A child?" he echoed, his tone carefully measured.

You nodded, swallowing hard. "She was beautiful, Mairon," you murmured, your voice trembling. "She had your fiery hair and green eyes. We were on the riverbank, surrounded by sage blossoms. You were teaching her to walk, and she was laughing…"

For a brief moment, the warmth of the dream returned, the golden light, the sound of her laughter—but it was fleeting. The memory of what followed crashed over you like a wave, drowning it in fire and shadow.

Annatar’s fingers tightened slightly against your cheek, his gaze searching yours.

"But?" he pressed gently, sensing the fracture in your voice.

You inhaled shakily, trying to steady yourself, but the words still came out fractured. "But then… everything changed. The meadow was burning. Eregion was in ruins. And you—" You stopped, the image of him in the flames seared into your mind. "You were different. Your eyes were cold… cruel. You were leading her away into the fire."

A heavy silence settled between you, thick with unspoken fears.

Annatar’s hand dropped from your face, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, laden with unspoken fears and painful truths. Annatar’s hand slipped away from your face, his expression unreadable, carefully composed as he processed your words. Yet you saw it—the flicker of something beneath his guarded exterior.

You watched him, your heart aching at the distance that seemed to widen with each passing moment. The warmth of his touch had already begun to fade, replaced by a cold uncertainty that settled deep in your chest.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “It was just a dream, Mori. Nothing more.”

But you heard the strain beneath the calm, saw the tension in the rigid line of his shoulders. This wasn’t just about a nightmare—it was about something deeper. The unspoken fears that had lingered between you since the beginning. The shadows neither of you dared name.

"Was it?" you whispered, the words fragile, hesitant. "Or was it a glimpse of what could be?"

His eyes snapped to yours, something sharp and unguarded flashing through them—pain? Anger? Fear? For the briefest of moments, his mask slipped, revealing a piece of his carefully shrouded thoughts.

Annatar’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the smooth expanse of his skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, carefully controlled—but the tension within it was unmistakable.

"You doubt me still."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, weighted with something raw—hurt, resignation, the quiet ache of an old wound reopened.

Your heart clenched at the distance in his tone, the way he withdrew not in body, but in spirit. Desperate to bridge the widening space between you, you reached for him, your fingers brushing tentatively against his arm.

“No, Mairon," you murmured, your voice soft, pleading. "I don’t doubt you. I doubt…” You faltered, struggling to give shape to the gnawing fear in your heart. How could you explain the unease that lurked in the edges of your love? The whisper of doubt that no matter how fiercely he fought against it, no matter how much he tried to change, the darkness within him might one day rise again—might consume you both?

Annatar’s eyes—brilliant, piercing—locked onto yours, holding you there, unraveling you. His hand hovered for a moment before settling over yours, his grip firm but not unkind.

"You doubt what?" he pressed, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. His gaze burned, searching you for something—an answer, a reassurance, a truth he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Because you knew that whatever you said next would change everything.

You took a deep, steadying breath, knowing that your next words could shift something irrevocably between you. The weight of centuries—of love, pain, betrayal, and forgiveness—hung thick in the air, pressing down on your chest.

"I don’t doubt you, Mairon," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of your heart. "I doubt… the darkness that still lingers within you. The part of you that you’ve fought so hard to control, to change."

Annatar’s expression remained carefully composed, but you caught it—the flicker of something in his eyes, brief yet unmistakable. Pain.

His grip on your hand tightened, so slightly it might have gone unnoticed, but you felt it. A silent plea. A warning.

"I know you’ve changed," you continued, your voice steadier now, gaining strength. "I’ve seen it, felt it. The love you show me, the tenderness… it’s real. I don’t question that. But I also know the darkness hasn’t disappeared. It’s still there, buried deep, waiting."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to speak the fear that had haunted you since the dream.

"And I fear…"

The words trembled on your lips, but you could not stop now.

"I fear that one day, it will call to you again. And I fear that when it does… you will answer."

A heavy silence settled between you, deeper than before. Annatar did not move, did not speak, yet something in the air shifted, charged with an emotion you could not yet name.

And for the first time, you did not know what he would say.

Annatar’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence between you stretching wide, a chasm neither of you dared to cross. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.

“You’re right,” he admitted, the words falling heavy between you. “The darkness is still there. It will always be a part of me, just as the light is a part of you.”

He paused, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “But you’re wrong if you think I would ever willingly choose that darkness over you. Over us.”

His hand tightened around yours, almost painfully so. “Do you think I don’t fear the same things?” he asked, a rare, desperate edge creeping into his voice. “That I don’t lie awake at night, terrified that I might one day lose control and hurt you? That I might become the monster I once was?”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. The carefully constructed walls he had built, even with you, seemed to crack, revealing the turmoil that lay beneath.

“But I fight it,” he continued, his voice fierce now. “Every day, every moment, I fight against that darkness. For you. For us. For the life we’re building together.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, moved by the passion, the pain in his words. You reached up with your free hand, cupping his cheek, your fingers brushing against skin that had known both cruelty and tenderness.

“I know you do,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “And I see that struggle, Mairon. I do. But the dream…”

“Was just a dream,” he interrupted, though his tone was gentler now. “A manifestation of your fears.”

But you knew it was not.

You had seen too much, felt too much. In the time since you had been chosen to bear Nenya, visions had come to you—fragments of what was to come, glimpses of futures that others could not see. And every one of them, in its own way, had come true.

And now, here he was.

He had persuaded Celebrimbor to forge the Rings, using your gentle guidance to shape their purpose. He had earned the trust of the people of Eregion, weaving himself seamlessly into their world. And now, he stood before you, offering what he knew you most desired.

A future. A child. A life beyond war and shadow.

But at what cost?

Your fingers trembled against his skin, your heart caught between love and doubt, between the man you cherished and the darkness you feared.

And deep within, you knew—this was not just a dream. It was a warning.

You took a slow, steady breath, steeling yourself for what you needed to say.

“Mairon,” you murmured, voice gentle but unwavering. “I know you believe it was just a dream. But… it wasn’t. Not entirely.”

His brow furrowed, concern flickering through his features, shadowed by something deeper—an unease he did not yet understand.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitated, the weight of your words pressing heavily upon you. How could you explain? How could you make him see what you had seen? The visions that had plagued you since you accepted Nenya, the fleeting glimpses of futures unfurling at the edges of your consciousness—both breathtaking and terrible?

"Since I began wearing Nenya," you said slowly, carefully choosing each word, "I’ve had… visions. Fragments of what is to come. And in their own way, every single one of them has come to pass."

Annatar stilled.

For the first time in this conversation, you saw something shift in his eyes—not just surprise, but something colder. Sharper. A flicker of wariness, of understanding.

You knew what he was thinking.

If your visions had always been true, then what you had seen in your dream—the fire, the ruin, the cruelty in his gaze—was more than fear. It was prophecy.

And that, more than anything, was what unsettled him.

He held your gaze, his expression unreadable. But you could feel it—the quiet storm brewing behind his eyes, the unspoken thoughts racing through his mind.

“And what is it you saw?” he asked at last, his voice deceptively calm.

You swallowed hard, but you would not falter.

“I saw you,” you whispered. “I saw our child.”

You inhaled shakily, forcing yourself to continue.

"And I saw fire. I saw Eregion burning. And you..." Your voice wavered, but you pushed forward. "You were leading her away. And you weren’t the man sitting before me now. You weren’t the man I love."

The silence between you grew heavier, denser, as if the very air had thickened with the weight of what had been spoken.

Annatar did not move. Did not speak.

And you feared, deep down, that in this moment, your vision was already beginning to come true.

Annatar’s expression hardened, his eyes turning cold and distant. A wall rose between you, thick and impenetrable, the warmth in his gaze vanishing like embers smothered by ash.

For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between you, vast and unyielding. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, but the tension thrumming beneath it was impossible to miss.

“So this is what you truly think of me,” he said, his words sharp, each syllable cutting deep. “After everything we’ve been through, after all I’ve done to change, you still see me as a monster waiting to emerge.”

Your heart clenched at the pain woven into his anger.

“No, Mairon, that’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” he cut you off, his eyes flashing like cold steel. “You’ve just told me you’ve seen a future where I betray you, where I lead our child into darkness. How am I supposed to interpret that?”

Desperation surged through you as you reached for him, but he pulled away, rising swiftly from the bed. The loss of his warmth was instant, leaving you cold, bereft.

“Mairon, please,” you pleaded, your voice cracking beneath the weight of your emotions. “I’m not saying this is what will happen. I’m saying it’s a possibility we need to be aware of.”

He turned to face you, his jaw taut, his expression a careful mask of control—but you could see the fury and the hurt roiling beneath the surface.

“A possibility?” he scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. “One that you seem all too ready to believe in.”

You flinched, as if struck. His words, so sharp, so heavy with pain, tore into you.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, the ache in your chest unbearable. “I love you, Mairon. I believe in you. But I can’t ignore what I’ve seen.”

Annatar’s gaze darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “And what would you have me do?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Abandon our plans? Our future? Everything we’ve worked for?”

You shook your head, tears burning at the edges of your vision. “No, of course not. I just… I need you to understand. To be aware of the danger.”

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped him, devoid of anything but frustration. “Aware?” he repeated bitterly. “Mori, I am always aware. Every moment of every day, I fight against the darkness within me. For you. For us. And yet, it seems it will never be enough.”

His words shattered something inside you.

You rose from the bed, closing the distance between you once more. This time, when you reached for him, he did not pull away. But he remained rigid beneath your touch, his body taut with unspoken emotion.

“Mairon, please,” you whispered, your voice thick with sorrow. “I’m not asking you to abandon our future. I’m asking you to be cautious. To be vigilant. To remember what truly matters.”

His eyes bore into yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths.

“And what is truly important, Mori?” he asked, his voice low, intense. “Tell me.”

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself, reaching for the truth that lay at the heart of everything.

“Us,” you said, your voice firm despite the tremor in your chest. “Our love. The life we’re building together. The life that was torn from us. That’s what matters most.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, only searching your face as if trying to decipher something hidden within you.

Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tension in his body eased.

And for the first time since your dream, you felt a sliver of hope. 

As if your vision had been nothing more than the manifestation of your own fears—born from the weight of what he was trying to accomplish here, from the precarious balance he walked between light and shadow.

Annatar’s eyes softened, the sharp edges of his anger beginning to crumble. Slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours where it rested against his cheek.

“Us,” he repeated softly, as if tasting the word, testing its weight. “Our love.”

You nodded, feeling the first stirrings of hope pierce through the fear that had settled so deeply in your chest.

“Yes,” you whispered. “That’s what matters most. That’s what we need to protect, above all else.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze searching yours with a depth that sent a shiver down your spine. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, tinged with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Do you truly believe I would ever willingly choose darkness over you?” he asked. “Over the life we’re building?”

Your breath hitched.

He had before.

He had chosen to run from you rather than face the curse at your side, rather than fight for you, for himself. He had believed, then, that his only choice was to protect you by abandoning you. And if that choice had been easy for him once—what would stop him now?

You hesitated, the weight of history pressing heavily between you. His question hung in the air, demanding an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

“I want to believe you wouldn’t,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But, Mairon… you’ve chosen darkness before. You ran from me, from us, when the curse first took hold.”

Pain flickered across his features, old wounds laid bare in the space between you.

“That was different,” he argued, but the fire had faded from his voice. “I was trying to protect you then.”

You shook your head, your hand slipping from his cheek to press against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“And in doing so, you nearly destroyed us both,” you reminded him gently. “Your intentions may have been good, but the outcome…”

You trailed off, overwhelmed by the memories of those dark years. The weight of his absence. The devastation of believing he had chosen power over love. The aching, unrelenting certainty that he had abandoned you because he had feared himself more than he had loved you.

Annatar’s expression softened further, sorrow and regret etching deep lines around his eyes. He covered your hand with his own, his fingers twining between yours, grounding you.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, rough with something raw. “I made the wrong choice then. But I’ve learned from that mistake, Mori. I won’t repeat it.”

You wanted to believe him.

Oh, how desperately you wanted to believe that the love you shared, the bond you had fought so hard to rebuild, would be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But the vision lingered, a shadow curling at the edges of your mind, whispering that love alone had never been enough to save him before.

“I want to believe that,” you murmured, the tremor in your voice betraying the doubt you couldn’t silence. “But the future I saw…”

“Is not set in stone,” he interrupted firmly, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and grounding.

His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, as if he could soothe away your fears with touch alone.

“We shape our own fates, Mori,” he murmured. “No vision—no prophecy—can take that from us.”

It came as no surprise when the first stirrings of new life graced you just days after your vision. The power of the ring upon your finger had known—had always known—that you would be granted what you desired most.

But it did not quell the fear.

A fear born of that very ring.

There were days you longed to slip it from your finger, to cast it aside and free yourself from the weight of its premonitions. To unshackle yourself from the knowledge of what was to come. Other days, you wished to turn a blind eye, to live out your immortal life in blissful ignorance—unburdened by foresight, untouched by the shadows of possibility.

And yet, deep within, you understood the truth. Futures could change. Paths, ever winding, could shift toward another destination.

But Morgoth’s curse remained.

It kept the ring upon your hand, bound you to its whispers, to the knowledge you could not unlearn. And despite everything, despite the fear curling like smoke in your chest, the need to be in his arms—to be enveloped in his aura—surpassed it all.

You trusted him, of course you did.

But doubt had crept in, insidious and unrelenting.

He could reassure you a thousand times, but you knew him. Truly knew him. And just as surely, you knew what this darker version of him was capable of.

Your fingers ghosted across the fabric of your gown as you sat at the table in Celebrimbor’s study. Excitement stirred within you, a quiet thrill at the thought of the new life you would grow, shape, and mold in your image. Yet beneath that joy lurked the deeper, unspoken truth—you knew what they could inherit. And you knew what that would mean to him.

Turning slightly, your gaze drifted down into the forge below, where Celebrimbor and Annatar stood, engrossed in pleasant conversation with Durin as they handed over the newly fashioned rings. The soft glow of the dwindling fire illuminated their forms, flickering off Annatar’s golden hair as he gestured fluidly, speaking in that smooth, measured cadence that had once soothed you beyond words.

Your thoughts drifted, lingering upon your husband.

Would they inherit this form’s features—the golden radiance of Annatar? Or, by some chance, would they be marked by Mairon’s truer essence?

You hoped for the latter.

Fiery red hair as bright as the sun itself and soft sea foam green eyes that would shine like emeralds in certain lights. Would they have those delicate, reddish freckles across the bridge of their nose?

But in truth, you did not know. How could you?

You understood little of how Maiar conception worked, nor did you care to unravel its mysteries.

All that mattered was this—you were finally having what you had dreamed of for Ages.

Your nurturing nature finally felt satisfied—whole—as your fingers idly traced the silken fabric of your gown. You would raise them in the light, in the beauty of all living things, ensuring they would never feel the touch of shadow.

"Everything okay, my lady?"

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Immediately, your hands slipped away from your stomach as you looked up to meet his gaze. His brow was raised, curiosity flickering behind his eyes.

"Yes," you answered quickly, offering a small, reassuring smile. "How do they like the rings?"

Celebrimbor stepped closer, settling into the chair across from you.

"They are satisfied with them," he replied, his tone measured, thoughtful. "They will let us know if any problems arise."

You nodded, a small smile touching your lips as you glanced down at the papers spread before you.

A beat of silence passed.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Celebrimbor’s voice softened, his perceptive gaze studying you carefully. "You look pale."

"I am fine."

It was a lie, but a necessary one.

Celebrimbor seemed satisfied with the answer, though the weight of his questioning gaze lingered, unwilling to fully retreat.

You seized the opportunity to shift the conversation. "What was this I heard about a gift?" you asked, picking up your quill and turning your attention back to the designs before you.

Celebrimbor’s expression softened into a smile. "I wish to gift the Dwarves with something—to honor the great friendship we have built."

You glanced up at him again. "What do you have in mind?"

He exhaled, thoughtful, but before answering, his gaze flickered over you once more.

"I have ideas," he admitted, but then his tone shifted, firm yet kind. "But after all this hard work, Thilwen, I think you should rest. I'll handle this myself with the other smiths, and you—" he gestured toward you, his brows knitting slightly, "you take a break for a few days. You look like you need it."

"I can—"

Celebrimbor held up a hand, stopping you before you could argue further.

"Please," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Do it for me. You have worked night and day since we began forging the rings, and I will not have you running yourself into the ground on my account."

You exhaled softly, offering him a half-smile. Before you could say more, he reached across the table, his fingers curling around yours with quiet reassurance. His thumb brushed absently over the top of your hand—a small, familiar gesture of comfort.

"I will finish up here today," you conceded, squeezing his hand lightly, "and then I will do as you ask."

Celebrimbor smiled, warmth flickering in his eyes as he gave your hand a final, reassuring squeeze.

"Good," he said. "Besides, I know Erynwen has been upset that you haven’t had time for her."

You giggled, already picturing the little girl’s excitement. She was probably chomping at the bit to spend an afternoon at the riverbank, eager to hear more of your husband's stories. You had been so consumed with your work that, in the past few weeks, she had been the furthest thing from your mind.

And that thought—more than anything else—made you realize just how much you truly needed the rest.

Erynwen sat beside you amidst the soft grasses and blooming flowers, both of you gazing up at the vast expanse of blue sky. Wisps of white clouds drifted lazily across it, shifting and reshaping as they danced upon the wind.

Every so often, Erynwen would point out a pattern—a creature, a ship, a story waiting to be told. Her wondrous imagination had always captivated you, a gift as pure as the light itself. You had only ever wished to nurture it, to encourage her to see the world with the same boundless wonder she so effortlessly carried.

Erynwen’s small hand slipped into yours, her fingers warm and trusting as she turned to face you, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Thilwen," she began, her voice soft but eager, "will you tell me another story about him?"

A smile touched your lips, warmth blooming in your chest at her request. Erynwen had become enamored with the stories of your husband, her young mind filled with visions of the great smith who had captured your heart so long ago.

Since opening this part of your life—since allowing yourself to speak of him more openly—it had become second nature to share his story, to weave the tale of who he was now.

It felt only right.

To tell of his light.

"Of course," you replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "What would you like to hear about today?"

Erynwen's brow furrowed in thought, her lips pursing as she pondered the question. A long moment passed before her expression brightened, her grin spreading wide as excitement sparked in her gaze.

"Tell me about when you first met him," she said, bouncing slightly where she sat. "What was he like when you first saw him?"

A wistful smile tugged at your lips as your mind drifted back to that golden day so long ago. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the sweet scent of of the forest carried on the breeze, and that first glimpse of him, standing tall and radiant against that tree.

"He was unlike anyone I had ever seen," you began, your voice soft with reminiscence. "His hair was like molten copper, shimmering in the sunlight. And his eyes... they were the most vibrant shade of green, like the first tender leaves of spring."

Erynwen’s eyes widened, her imagination already painting the image in her mind. "Was he handsome?"

You laughed softly, giving her hand a playful squeeze. "Oh yes, very handsome. But it was more than that. There was something about him—a presence, a radiance that seemed to emanate from within. It was as if he carried the very essence of creation, a spark of the divine."

Erynwen sighed dreamily, resting her chin in her free hand. "That sounds so romantic."

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest at her innocent wonder. If only life could remain so simple, so untouched by the shadows that inevitably crept in.

"In many ways, it was," you agreed, your thumb absently brushing over the back of her small hand. "I had never felt the need to bind myself to another, but something deep in my fëa told me that his song matched mine in ways no other could."

You paused, the memory wrapping around you like the embrace of a long-lost friend. That time had been simpler, effortless. To love Mairon had been to love divinity itself, and back then, he had been just that.

A wider smile touched your lips as his words echoed in your mind—the image of him standing before you, a book clutched tightly to his chest, lingering just for a few more stolen moments in your presence.

Then, Erynwen’s voice pulled you back to the present.

"You love him still? Even though you are with Lord Annatar now?"

Your breath caught slightly as her icy-blue eyes searched yours, unblinking and filled with childlike curiosity. She did not know. She could not know.

Your fingers moved to gently cup her cheek, and you offered her a reassuring smile.

"I do. More than anything." You paused, your thumb brushing tenderly across her soft skin. "But in a way, Lord Annatar reminds me of him."

You would never tell Erynwen the truth—that he and Annatar were one and the same. It was a secret you could never risk sharing. For if the darkness that still clung to him ever returned, you would not let it taint her innocent image of him.

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the distant hum of nature filling the space. Then, her voice came again, softer this time—uncertain, vulnerable.

"Are we going to stop reading once you have your baby?"

Her fingers tightened slightly around yours, and when you looked at her, you saw something fragile in her expression—a fear she had not voiced before.

Surprise flickered across your face. Surely, no one had a clue yet. But then again, Erynwen’s curiosity surpassed all others. She had always known more than she let on.

Your heart softened at her innocent question, and you wrapped an arm around her small shoulders, pulling her close against your side. She nestled into you, her head resting against your chest as you stroked her silky hair.

"Of course not, dear one," you assured her, your voice gentle but firm. "Having a baby will change some things, but it will never change how much I care for you. Our reading time is special, and that won’t go away just because I become a mother."

Erynwen looked up at you, her icy blue eyes wide and hopeful. "Promise?"

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I promise. You are like a daughter to me, Erynwen. And that bond is unbreakable, no matter what changes life may bring."

Relief washed over her delicate features, and she hugged you tightly, her small arms wrapping around you. You held her close, your heart swelling with love for this precious child who had become such an integral part of your life.

As you sat there, embracing Erynwen amidst the swaying grasses and wildflowers, a gentle breeze caressed your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of the blossoms. The moment felt suspended in time, a brief respite from the worries that had plagued you since your vision. Here, with Erynwen's innocent trust and unwavering affection, the shadows felt distant, less threatening.

But even as you savored this peaceful interlude, you knew it could not last forever. The weight of your secret, of the life growing within you, pressed against your consciousness. You would have to tell Annatar soon—and you knew that conversation would not be easy. Though he had reassured you after your vision, promising that your love would be enough to keep the darkness at bay, the fear still lingered. How would he react to the news that your dream was already becoming reality?

As if sensing your unease, Erynwen hugged you tighter, her small hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. You focused on the warmth of her embrace, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, allowing her presence to ground you in the moment.

You knew you could not hide from the truth forever. But for now, in this peaceful glade with Erynwen in your arms, you let yourself believe that everything would be all right. That the love you shared with Annatar, the life you were building together, would be strong enough to weather any storm.

You closed your eyes, resting your cheek against the top of Erynwen's head as you held her close. The gentle breeze continued to whisper through the grass, carrying with it the distant chirping of birdsong. For a few precious moments, you allowed yourself to simply be present in the tranquility of the scene, your fears and uncertainties temporarily held at bay by the warmth of Erynwen's embrace and the serenity of the meadow around you.

After a time, Erynwen stirred, lifting her head to gaze up at you with those perceptive icy-blue eyes. "Thilwen," she began softly, her voice tinged with a wisdom beyond her years, "it's okay to be afraid sometimes. My aunt says that's how we know something really matters to us."

A lump formed in your throat at her words as you blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, moved by Erynwen's innocent yet profound wisdom. You gently cupped her cheek, offering a watery smile. "Your aunt is a wise woman," you murmured.

Erynwen beamed up at you, leaning into your touch. "I just want you to be happy, Thilwen. You and the baby. And Lord Annatar too."

Your heart clenched at the mention of your husband. If only it were that simple—to ensure happiness for all of you. But life was rarely so straightforward, especially when it came to Annatar and the complex tapestry of your shared history.

"I want that too, little one," you said softly. "More than anything."

Erynwen studied your face for a moment, her young features etched with a thoughtfulness beyond her years. "Sometimes the things we want most are the scariest to reach for," she said quietly. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

Her words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with a truth you had long known but struggled to embrace. How many times had you allowed fear to hold you back, to keep you from fully surrendering to the love you shared with Annatar? Even now, with the miracle of new life growing inside you, doubt still shadowed the edges of your joy.

You drew in a deep breath, letting Erynwen's wisdom settle over you like a balm. "You're right," you murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Fear is a heavy burden to carry.”

Erynwen's face lit up with a radiant smile. "Yes,”

You couldn't help but return her smile, marveling at the purity and wisdom of her young heart.

Erynwen nodded sagely, her expression so earnest it made your heart swell. She settled back against you, resting her head on your chest once more as you both gazed out over the sun-dappled riverbank. For a while, you simply sat in companionable silence, the only sounds the gentle whisper of the breeze and the distant trilling of birdsong.

As you held Erynwen close, her words of wisdom echoing in your mind, a sense of calm determination settled over you. Love had always been the most powerful force of all, and it was time you trusted in the strength of the bond you shared with Annatar. The fear of what the future may hold had haunted you for too long, casting shadows over the joy and wonder of the new life growing within you. But no more.

You would not let the ghosts of possible futures rob you of the happiness of the present. Annatar deserved to know the truth, to share in this miracle with you. And together, fortified by your love, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead. United as one, just as you had always been meant to be.

You stood on the balcony, gazing out over the starlit expanse beyond Eregion. The crisp night air was a welcome relief from the suffocating atmosphere inside. The gathering had grown overwhelming—too many eyes, too many whispers. They all thought they were discreet, but you could feel their curiosity, their speculation.

You had not yet found the strength to tell him the truth, and in your avoidance, you had begun evading his presence altogether. Even in the same halls, you had ensured that your paths did not cross, retreating into your work or your chambers whenever he entered a room. Not even allowing him to lie with you anymore.

But he noticed.

Of course, he did.

And yet, he did not push.

For all his persistence in other matters, he had given you space. He had honored your silence, though you knew it was not without effort. He remained close, always lingering just at the edge of your awareness, watching, waiting—never pressing, but never straying far.

So it was no surprise when you felt his presence behind you now.

"Needing some air?" he asked softly as he stepped beside you, his voice gentle, careful.

You turned to him, forcing a pleasant smile, though you did not answer his question.

His icy gaze studied you in the dim light, flickering with something unreadable. "Mori," he breathed, his concern slipping through the carefully controlled cadence of his voice. "Is it something I said that night—"

You shook your head immediately, cutting him off before he could finish.

"No," you said quickly, but the way his face twisted in suspicion told you he did not believe you.

He knew. He always knew.

He could sense when you were hiding something, could feel the weight of unspoken words pressing between you. And now, as he studied you, his icy eyes darkened with quiet resolve.

You knew he would not let this go. Not this time.

Not until you told him the truth.

Annatar stepped closer, his hand rising to gently cup your cheek. His touch was warm, familiar—a tether in the storm of your thoughts. For a moment, you leaned into it, craving the comfort only he could provide. But then, the fear came rushing back—cold and sharp, curling around your heart like an iron vice.

You pulled away.

"Mori, please," he murmured, his voice low, tinged with something rare—desperation. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can face it together."

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. The words were there, lodged in your throat, desperate to be spoken. But how could you tell him? How could you burden him with this knowledge, with this responsibility, when the shadows of your vision still lingered at the edges of your mind?

And yet—when you met his gaze, saw the love and concern shining in those icy depths, you knew.

He deserved to know.

He had the right to share in this moment, to experience the joy and wonder of this new life growing within you. This was not just yours to carry.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you reached for his hand, your fingers twining with his.

"Mairon," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "There's something I need to tell you."

His fingers tightened around yours, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

"Whatever it is, divine, I'm here. Always."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your heart swelling at the depth of his devotion. Drawing strength from his touch, from the unwavering love in his gaze, you found the courage to speak the words that would change everything.

"I'm with child," you whispered, the words hanging between you, heavy with meaning.

For a long moment, Annatar was silent. His expression was unreadable, though you felt the slight tightening of his fingers around yours, heard the almost imperceptible hitch in his breath.

Then, slowly—as if realization was unfurling within him in waves—his eyes widened. Shock. Wonder. And something deeper—fear, perhaps—flickered across his features.

His free hand drifted toward your stomach, hovering just above the fabric of your gown, not quite touching.

"You're certain?" he breathed, his voice barely audible above the distant hum of the gathering inside.

You nodded, a watery smile touching your lips despite the anxiety still curling in your chest. "Yes. I've felt the stirrings of new life for a few weeks now."

Annatar exhaled slowly, his eyes closing briefly as he absorbed the magnitude of your revelation. When he opened them again, they shone with something raw, something unguarded. Love. Awe. And the barest flicker of uncertainty.

"A child," he murmured, almost to himself, as if testing the weight of the words on his tongue. 

His hand finally settled over your stomach, his touch gentle, reverent. You placed your own hand over his, your heart fluttering at the intimate contact. For a moment, everything else faded away—the distant chatter of the gathering, the cool night breeze, even the fear that had plagued you for weeks.

There was only this.

The warmth of his touch. The love shining in his eyes. The miracle of new life blossoming within you.

Without another word, Annatar pulled you into his embrace, his arms encircling you, his face burying into the crook of your neck. You could feel it—the rapid, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, betraying the depth of his emotion.

He held you tightly, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

"Mori," he whispered, his voice thick with feeling. "This is… I never thought—"

He trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

You understood.

The idea of creating life, bringing a child into the world—one who was part of both of you—was overwhelming in its magnitude. It was a responsibility, a blessing, and a vulnerability all at once.

Gently, Annatar pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. His eyes searched yours, filled with a tenderness so deep it made your breath catch.

"Mori," he breathed again, his hands trembling slightly as they held you.

His gaze, filled with wonder and reverence, washed away the last remnants of your fear.

This was right. This was how it was meant to be.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was at once tender and consuming, fierce and full of devotion. He poured everything into it—his love, his devotion, the quiet awe that radiated from him in waves.

And you melted into him, your hands slipping into his golden hair, holding him close. For this moment, there was no past, no future. Only now. Only him.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, Annatar rested his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he whispered fervently. "Both of you. More than anything in this world or beyond."

Tears of joy trickled down your cheeks as you smiled up at him, your heart so full it felt fit to burst.

"And we love you, Mairon. Always and forever."

A quiet chuckle left him—almost disbelieving—before he slowly knelt before you.

His hands settled over your still-flat stomach, awe flickering in his gaze.

"Don’t worry," he murmured, sensing your hesitation. "We will appear as if we are merely speaking."

You glanced toward the gathering beyond the balcony, ensuring no one was watching, before looking back down at him.

Reverently, almost as if in silent worship, Annatar caressed your stomach, his hands warm against you. "My sweet child," he murmured, his voice soft, filled with tenderness. "You will be as radiant as your mother, and I will love you with all my being, just as I do with her."

Your heart swelled at the sight before you—this powerful being, the one whom others feared, kneeling in devotion before the life you had created together.

Your fingers combed through his golden hair, marveling at the strength of your bond, the depth of this love.

Slowly, Annatar pressed a gentle kiss just below your navel before rising to his feet.

He gathered you into his arms again, holding you as though you were the most precious treasure in all of Arda.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You nestled closer, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"No, my love," you murmured, "thank you—for giving us what I have always desired for us to share in."

Annatar tightened his hold around you, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his love chase away the last remnants of fear.

The future was uncertain. But in this moment, you knew—together, you would face whatever came.

For a long while, you simply stood there, entwined in each other’s embrace, the world beyond fading into insignificance.

Until—

A quiet throat cleared behind you.

You both turned just as Celebrimbor stepped into view.

Before the illusion fell away, you and Annatar slowly, reluctantly, separated.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Celebrimbor said quietly, his voice careful, measured.

You shook your head, gathering the folds of your gown as you took a step away from Annatar, placing distance between you before the illusion of normalcy could break.

"No, not at all," you replied smoothly, forcing a composed smile. "I was just about to rejoin the gathering."

You stepped past Celebrimbor, pausing only briefly before glancing back at your husband.

Annatar stood where you had left him, his golden gaze steady upon you. A small, knowing smile graced his lips—a silent promise, an unspoken bond only the two of you shared.

And in his eyes, that glint of something more.

The love you now bore together, for the tiny life growing within you.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, a quiet joy that only he could truly understand.

With the slightest inclination of his head, Annatar acknowledged you—not as the godly being he was, but as a man who loved you, who had just learned he would soon love another.

And with that, you turned back toward the gathering, slipping once more into the world that did not yet know the truth of the miracle that now lived within you.

[buckysgrace]

Yellow Daises

Steve Harrington x fem!reader lil blurb CW: Blowjobs, some spitting

Steve’s picnic date falls through.

He had tried so hard. His frustration was high, his nerves shot as each thing slowly but surely fell apart.

The chocolate strawberries he’d spent so long on had sweated away; the chocolate melting into soup and leaving the berries soggy. The top piece of bread to your sandwich had blown off with the wind, then a cricket had jumped onto the main part of it. You had laughed and squealed about it, but he could feel his confidence failing.

The breaking point had been the bag of chips that just wouldn’t open, until they did. Covering both of you and the blanket with chips and crumbs as the bag crumpled lazily on his tight grip.

“Fuck,” He spit out in frustration, trying to figure out why he was being punished for this dare going so wrong. His first one in a long time and he had fucked it up, “I’m sorry.”

“Steve, it’s okay,” You said with a laugh, “It’s not your fault. Is the blanket clean?” You asked as you drifted your fingers across the plaid design. He sighed.

“Yeah,” He mumbled in defeat as he shrugged his shoulders, “I got it yesterday.” He admitted, but left out the part where he had taken a long time to wash, dry and iron it. It was silly.

You shrugged your shoulders as you reached for a chip near your knee, plopping it into your mouth and chewing it with a loud crunch. He watched you in fascination.

“Do you have any spoons?” You questioned next as you turned to face him, “Or a straw?” You hummed as you looked at the bowl that held his soupy strawberries.

“You don’t have to eat that,” He replied as he gently took the container from your hands, “I’m sorry this royally sucks.”

“I didn’t agree to date you for the incredible food,” You grinned as you looked at him, “Although, you do have some talent scooping those cones.”

“It’s all in the wrist.” He smiled back, feeling a little bit better as he twisted his hands around for extra effect. You laughed at his motions, making his stomach flutter at the sound. It was the prettiest thing he'd ever heard.

You scooted a little closer to him, your legs sliding over his as a playful grin lingered on your lips. You drifted your fingers across the hem of his shirt, leaving his heart hammering roughly inside of his chest as you tugged on it. He could feel his blood rushing down his body, leaving him gulping hard at the awkward position he was in now.

"I really appreciate you doing all of this," You added softly, fingers moving to his belt as he continued to struggle to breathe. You were so close to his cock that he could feel himself beginning to ache, shivering underneath your touch, "S'nice." You added sweetly, biting down on your bottom lip as his belt fell loose.

"You don't have to," He replied quickly, tongue flicking out for a second as he watched you shift between his legs. You flattened yourself out, laying on your stomach before you stalled at the zipper of his jeans, "Unless you really want to." He added a second later, face flushed at the way your hand brushed over his growing bulge.

"I really do," You teased, smiling sweetly as you lightly kicked your feet in the air, "As a thank you for all your hard work." You nodded your head, laughing softly as you freed his hard cock from the restraints of his pants.

He exhaled harshly, watching the way your eyes gleamed with lust as you savored the look of him. You wiggled a little closer to him, fingers lightly brushing against the girth of his cock while you delivered a fat kiss against the tip of his dick.

He hissed at the contact, cock throbbing underneath your soft touch as you continued to press gentle kisses along his leaking tip. Your eyes latched to him, staring intensely as you began to roll your tongue out across his pink skin.

"Fuck," He exhaled harshly, stomach fluttering in pleasure as he fell back to his elbows. You wrapped a hand around his girth, giving his base a soft squeeze before you curved your motions along the length of his dick, "Feels really good." He spit out, a whimper falling free as you repeated the motions.

"You look so pretty, Stevie," You whispered softly, licking away his precum as he jerked his hips forward to meet the way your hand fell to his base again, "Wanna make you feel good." You added, making his eyes flutter again as your warm words settled over him.

His mind felt hazy as you rolled your tongue across his tip once again, your saliva drooling down the length of his cock as he throbbed in your hands. Your breath was a little cool as you slid the head of his cock past your lips, forcing your jaw to relax as you slowly slid him into your mouth.

His fingertips twitched against the blanket, his body trembling underneath you as one of your palms fell flat against his hip. You held him in place, squeezing his balls with your other hand as his cock slid deeper inside of your mouth.

You could only stuff about half of his dick inside of your mouth before you were gagging, eyebrows furrowing together and eye lashes fluttering as you blinked away tears. Drool pooled from the corner of your lips, coating his cock in your spit as you messily dragged your hand up and down in the same rhythm as your mouth.

He pressed his hips up, his heavy cock hitting the back of your throat as you began to gag all over again. You moaned along his dick, sounds muffled as he admired the way your lips stretched around his thick girth.

He hissed at the feeling of your tongue dragging along his throbbing skin, soothing the growing ache as you began to move your mouth faster along the curve of his cock.

"Oh God," He groaned from deep within his chest, moans rushing from his tongue as he felt the burning pleasure growing through his body. He huffed, his hips moving without his command as you tried to press down on his body once again, "Fuck, fuck!" He cursed, feeling the awe rush over him.

You squeezed at his balls, rubbing the drool across his skin as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat with each thrust. He felt his lips part further, his eyes shut as his head fell back as the feeling of you swallowing around his cock sent him over the edge.

His ass left the blanket as he pressed himself deep inside of your mouth, sending you gagging even harder as you tightly gripped a hold of his hips. You held onto him as the waves of pleasure crashed inside of him, snapping as his came down your throat.

The sun was hot against his skin as he fell back into the blanket in a huff, his arm resting over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel his heart racing, his pulse vibrating against his bones as you slowly pulled away.

He could feel the mess of saliva and cum on his cock before he saw just a quick glimpse of it, his mind still hazy as you slowly crawled over his body.

He moved his hands to your hips, brown eyes wide as he stared up at the way you blocked out the sun from his eyes. He licked his bottom lip, knitting his eyebrows together as you slowly pressed his lips apart.

And then you spit. A thick mixture of drool and cum landing on his teeth and tongue as he stared in disbelief. He felt like he should recoil, but all he felt was a sense of electricity thrumming through his body.

You watched, tilting your head expectantly before he pressed his lips together and swallowed roughly. It tasted odd, but the satisfied smirk on your lips was enough to make him want to do it again and again.

"Good boy." You cooed as you rubbed at his cheek, making his skin warm underneath your touch. He was hooked.

[archangeldyke-all]

ok hear me out. reader baked 🍃 infused brownies or whatever & forgot to tell sevika they’re infused, so one morning sev eats a few and is belligerently high for the rest of the day. like, she cant do any work because she’s so fucked up…reader comes home to sevika stoned as hell & realizes what she’s done💀 lolol

LMAOOOOOOO gonna make this ceo sev because i miss her i feel like we haven't heard from her in a while

men and minors dni

you've been out of the office all day.

about once a month, sevika and the leads of each department will assemble a list for you-- things that they need or need to get done that have no in-office solution. usually it's small things. new mouse pads, fertilizer for the plants around the office, coffee filters and snacks for the break room: stuff like that.

then, you just spend the day shopping and doing little errands.

which is what you're doing right now. you just got the wheels on jimena's office chair tightened-- she'd been rolling all over her cubicle these past few week-- and now you're on your way to grab a quick lunch before you head to the grocery store and stock up on the office's favorite snacks.

your phone rings as you pull out of the parking lot. you quickly answer, putting it on speaker.

"hello?"

"hey it's raphael." raphael says over the phone. they sound... worried. you've never heard raphael worried before.

"what's up?"

"uh..." they trail off. "how long 'til you get back to the office?" they ask.

"two or three hours, why?" you ask.

"sevika's..." they trail off. your stomach sinks, and you pull over and park your car.

"sevika's what? is she okay?" you ask, your heart hammering in your chest.

"she's fine! she's fine, don't worry." raphael assures. "she's just... i dunno."

"you don't know?" you ask. "is she sick? or...?"

"here, lemme just put her on the phone for you." raphael says.

there's some shuffling, and then sevika's voice. "baby?" she sounds fine. a little sleepy. your panic subsides, but your confusion picks back up. you check your mirrors then pull a u-turn, heading back to the office.

"hi honey, what's goin' on?" you ask.

sevika bursts into giggles, and despite your confusion and worry, a small smile breaks out on your lips at the sound. "i'm good!" she laughs. "i dunno why raph's all worried but 'm allllll good baby." she laughs.

you snort, shaking your head. "put 'em back on the phone for me, love."

"mmmm... no." she giggles. "i wanna talk to you."

you burst into laughter. "sev, i'm almost back at the office!" you giggle. "give raph their phone back baby, and then i'll call you on yours 'til i'm there."

sevika huffs, but then there's some shuffling, and raphael's voice comes back on.

"hey."

"did she go out for lunch?" you ask.

"no, she was here the whole day." they say.

"alright, just give her some water. i'll be back in five minutes."

you have a sneaking suspicion you know what's happening, but you can't be sure until you get there.

ten minutes later, you wheel jimena her fixed chair, then run toward sevika's office.

you slip in, and she snaps awake from where she's sprawled across the couch.

her eyes are pink and barely open, her smile is unfaltering, and she jumps out of the couch to scoop you up into a big hug, burying her face in your throat and inhaling deeply. you burst into laughter.

"hi, sev." you greet.

she hums. "babyyy."

"how're you feelin' love?" you ask. sevika bursts into another round of giggles.

"so fuckin' good. i dunno wha's happenin' to me, but i love it." she laughs.

you giggle, still a little concerned for your clearly out of it girlfriend, but your suspicion grows stronger by the second.

"what did you have to eat today?" you ask.

sevika's tries her very best to not look guilty, but in her current state you can read her like a book. "y'know. some chips. handful of trail mix. shared a burrito with seamus for lunch." she shrugs.

"and?" you ask.

sevika's eyes dart away from yours and she ducks her head. "one of those brownies you made last night."

"those were off limits, sev!" you cackle, all your suspicions confirmed. "how many did you have?"

"i dunno! just one!" she lies. you glare at her and she groans. "okay, like three." she mumbles.

you burst into laughter and pull your wife in for a hug. she hums happily, easily forgetting the trouble she's in now that she's wrapped in your warm arms.

"sev, baby, those were pot brownies silco's birthday party this weekend!" you inform her.

sevika bursts into laughter. "oh, shit!" she exclaims.

you laugh along with her. "they didn't taste off to you?" you ask. sevika shrugs.

"i was focused on the all chocolate, babe, i wasn't really worried about much else."

well, you did doubled the chocolate chips in the brownies to cover the funky taste, you suppose this is what you get.

sevika starts pressing kisses up your neck, and you giggle, pulling her back by her half pony. "let's get you home before brownie number three kicks in, huh?" you ask.

she giggles. "will you eat a brownie and get high with me?" she asks.

you shrug, knowing that sevika will likely fall asleep in the car ride home. "sure babe." you say, dragging her out of the office.

she falls asleep the second you guys get home. you fill up a big water bottle for her, leaving it and a big bag of chips on her bedside table if she wakes up with cottonmouth and munchies.

you kiss her forehead then sneak out of the bedroom to call raphael.

"is she okay?" they ask as a greeting.

you burst into laughter. "she accidentally ate some pot brownies for breakfast." you explain.

raphael bursts into laughter. "that explains so much." they giggle. "she basically stole half of seamus' burrito at lunch today, staring at it with these big eyes, drooling and licking her lips while he ate. when he offered half to her-- she didn't even let him finish he sentence before snatching half out of his hand and running back to her office! i've never seen her so giggly before!" raph continues to cackle.

you shake your head fondly, and make a mental note to buy seamus lunch on monday.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh

[animasolaoriginal]

INFATUATED ♦️ SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

When confronted with her unconscious form, he realizes just how much he cares about his perfect girl, but he isn't completely sure yet that's a good thing...

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Porn watching. Oral sex. Fingering. Butt plugs. Spanking. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 5.4k

SIXTEEN 🟥 SEVENTEEN 🟥 EIGHTEEN

He stares down at her limp form, her arms and legs splayed on the table, boneless, she's almost hanging off the edge if it wasn't for his body blocking her, for his cock still impaling her, holding her in place. He's breathing harder, still recovering from the intense orgasm, and he's only noticed that she's fainted when he has retrieved his hand from her throat. The bruises shine red and purple on her soft skin, a perfect imprint of his fingers, and a sudden cold shiver crashes through him.

His hands are on her, holding her face, carefully, rubbing at her wet cheeks, before he's shaking her gently. “Baby?” he whispers hoarsely. “Baby, wake up!”

She doesn't move, so he leans over her, presses his ear to her nose, waits for that little rattle, the soft warmth against his skin. But his heart is hammering too loud in his head, an unfamiliar panic settling in his guts. He pulls out of her, even ignores the usually savored sight of his cum leaking from her hole, and scoops her up in his arms to carry her to the bed.

Once there, he puts her down, kneels beside her, holds her face, rubs her throat, leans down to rest his head on her chest, listening hard for her heartbeat while cradling her small body. He's exhausted, strangely wary, unusually tense.

He never cared this much about anyone before. Never cared if his whores couldn't take him, surrendered to his brutal treatment, it didn't matter. They were bodies to use, and he used them, no matter what. He's brought many to the edge of death, but never pushed anyone over, they somehow always came back, sometimes with a little help. Always a burden, no reason to panic. He's not a murderer, he's a monster, yes, an abuser, a man who takes what he wants, a man who doesn't care.

But now he cares. About this motionless girl in his arms, his perfect little angel, her pliant body a perfect fit, who takes him so well, who's brought him so much joy. And the simple idea of her being... dead by his hands sends him spiraling into depths he's never been in before. This can't be happening.

He holds her tighter, presses his ear to her bare chest, holds his breath, listens. His own heartbeat is still too loud, so he slips his hand between his head and her limp body, feels for the little thump against his palm. He's too panicked, head spinning, body shuddering from one extreme into the next.

Why can't he hear her fucking heartbeat?

He breathes loudly through his nose, forcing himself to calm down, to focus. Sitting up, he grabs her hand, presses his index and middle finger to her pulse point, so fixated on sensing any sign of life that he doesn't even register the little movement at first. Her fingers twitch.

And he blinks slowly, stares, then turns his head to look at her face. Her eyelids flutter, her lips part, a hoarse little inhale vanishing into her throat. He breaks his stupor a second later, crouches down next to her head, cradles her face, watches her closely as she finally comes to. She blinks lazily, eyes hooded, reddened and bloodshot, but moving, alive.

As soon as she meets his gaze, he leans in and showers her pale cheeks with kisses, humming into her skin, relieved breaths fanning over her jaw. Her small hand finds his back, rubs, holds on, fingertips digging into his muscles.

“Shh, it's okay, you're here, it's alright,” he mumbles, a mantra to convince himself that everything is fine. She watches him in confusion, her nostrils fluttering slightly as she breathes deeply, but quicker the more he hovers over her, sharing his panic and relief with her.

“W-what... h-h-happened?” she stammers, her voice that little croak that pokes at his heart painfully.

He pulls her against him, arms around her slim form, her face pressed to his chest as he rolls her onto her side and into him. “Nothing, it's fine, everything's alright,” he keeps muttering. She stiffens slightly, but then pushes her hand against his stomach, tilting her chin up to look at him.

“Are you alright?” she asks quietly, frowning deeply.

He huffs a surprised laugh. This girl. “Yes, baby, I'm good,” he says and kisses her forehead. She settles against him, humming quietly.

He just holds her for a moment longer, until he's finally calmed down enough to reflect upon what happened. It's not necessarily the fact that he choked her into unconsciousness that deeply troubles him, it's how he's reacted to her near-death. How panicked he's been, worried out of his mind, completely headless. He has never been like this before, never, and he's dealt with so much worse. He's always kept his cool, even with a gun pressed to his forehead and a maniac with a twitchy finger on the trigger.

Then again, he only ever had to worry about his own life. There was no one else, nobody he cared enough about. Everyone was expendable, replaceable. It didn't matter. Sometimes he wasn't even really focused on himself either. He's always lived life to the fullest, balancing on the edge, taking risks, enjoying the moment. Taking what he wanted, used it, disposed of it, moved on.

This girl, however, is not only changing him as a person, making him soft (and at the same time incredibly hard, but that's a different topic), she's changing his ways. He overreacted before when that realization had come to him, when he'd fought it, and he's let his frustration about it out on the person who's responsible for it, but he's past that point, she's doing it, keeps doing it, one soft little breath at a time, changing him, molding him into something else, somebody who's genuinely upset if anything happens to her. Even if he happens to her.

The urge to protect her, keep her safe, isn't new, but it's amplified tenfold now. He wants to guide her, hold her close, make her smile and giggle (also moan and scream and cry, but again, different topic), show her a different life from the miserable one she's led before.

Exhaling loudly, making strands of her hair fly, he cuddles her close, then eventually leans back, looks at her, gathers his frantic thoughts, grounds himself. No matter how much she is changing him, he needs to go back to his roots, to the man he was before her, at least parts of it. He can't lose himself for her, she cannot have this power over him, he won't let her.

She also needs him to be tough and strong and dominating, she has to know her place so he can give her that head-empty-feeling she craves so much. She watches him when he inhales deeply, gives himself one more moment of her soft scent filling his nostrils, then he pushes away and stands up, rolling his shoulders, glaring down at her.

“Come on, let's eat,” he tells her and turns around, knowing she will follow him. Only a few seconds later, her bare feet tap over the wooden floor as she hurries after him. He picks up the sweatpants he's left next to the table and slips into them casually, then throws the shirt back to her which she catches clumsily before pulling it over her head.

He rummages through the kitchen cabinets, then stares into the empty fridge. Seems the crackers he's found earlier were the last edible thing around (apart from the very willing girl standing behind him, but he can't live off her tears and juices for too long). It's been a while since he's retreated into this cabin, usually only uses it for personal downtime. She's the first girl he's brought up here, but he hasn't particularly planned to come here in the first place.

He wanted to take her to a fancy restaurant, a hotel after that, spend the night there in luxury and comfort, really pamper her, but then his wrath has taken over and he just wanted to get away from it all, driving mindlessly, until he's remembered the cabin.

They could eat the peas he got her to cool her welts...

A grunt escapes him as he leans back against the kitchen counter and runs a hand through his hair. She's beside him, looking up at him with big eyes, rubbing at her face. Without thinking, he pulls her towards him and wraps his arms around her small body, her face pressed against his chest. Her hands sneak around his waist, warm and fragile on his skin, a grounding little touch.

“How hungry are you?” he asks hoarsely, tilting his head down to press his lips to the top of her head.

She just hums, but then he can feel and hear the rumble shuddering through her. He thinks back to the beginning of the day. They've had breakfast, he came twice down her throat, he brought her here and gave her crackers... Not your usual or even ideal diet. Sighing deeply, he scolds himself for not feeding her properly.

He's never had to take care of anyone like that before. Sometimes he even forgets to feed himself, how is he supposed to remember to give her actual food? Especially when his mind is always occupied with other thoughts of hunger when she's around. Once they're back home, it'll get better. He made a plan after all. It'll work out.

Today was an unusual day. It started okay, like he's planned, but the visit to Mistress' shop has gone completely different than he's expected. The girl wasn't supposed to be alone with that woman, he was supposed to plug her up, get her adjusted but not as overstimulated as she's been in the end. But he got distracted by that damn phone call, nothing out of the ordinary, luckily, just the usual dealings that require discretion and the right amount of money to solve, though it was still a dent in his perfectly planned day, causing him to leave her alone long enough for Mistress to get her claws into her (quite literally).

For her to tell him he's gone soft (and him fighting that truth), it derailed a lot of things inside his head. Now he has to deal with those consequences, though it feels, despite it all, that his beautiful girl's back on track, back in his arms, bruised and pained, but alive and breathing. Looking at him like she's looked at him at the beginning of their situation. Perfectly submissive. It all went well in the end, more or less, but the lack of food may still be a problem.

He can't believe he didn't keep this cabin stocked, he's usually more organized when it came to his hideouts. Heaving another sigh, he moves one hand to her stomach, giving it a gentle rub and press. She looks up at him, with those pretty eyes, then whispers: “It's okay, I'm not that hungry.”

A smile tugs at his lips as his eyes wander over her face. She's become quite perceptive, seems to be able to read him better. He's about to lean down and kiss her for how uncomplicated she is, when a chime startles him slightly. He leans back up and stares at his watch, then groans. “Well, there's one thing I gotta feed you,” he mutters and lets go of her.

He leaves her in the kitchen while he walks back to the bedroom and rummages through the clothes he's left in a pile in the corner, then finds the flat little box and returns to her, checking the fridge again for some water. When he can't find any, he takes a glass from the cupboard and runs tap water into it. Should be good enough. Definitely better than in the city.

She watches him curiously, frozen to the spot, her head tilted a little. Once he presents the pill to her, she blushes deeply, but grabs it with a shaking hand and puts it on her tongue, eyes on him, and when he hands her the glass of water, she swallows dryly, then takes a big gulp of water. Maybe he should consider a different kind of birth control for her, they might not always have time for a pill taking break.

“Good girl,” he praises and takes the empty glass from her, watching with an amused smirk how she blushes even more and averts her eyes, biting her lip. His hand finds her warm face, and he caresses her jaw gently, marvels at the contrasts of the very visible bruises on her soft skin and the utterly obedient expression in her eyes. She's adapted so well. He's had his share of bratty and disobedient girls and women, so having a girl like her for a change is definitely a nice advancement.

They end up on the couch, him lounging with his feet on the coffee table, her curled up at his side. His hand is on her rear, playing mindlessly with the plug in her ass, while her head rests on his stomach as she munches on the rest of the crackers, her small hand steadily rubbing his length through his sweatpants.

He's watching the news with disinterest, there's nothing he didn't know already, and when the weather comes on, he changes the channel, before he decides to put on something more interesting. After opening the browser and then the website, he scrolls through the various videos, then settles on one that starts with a series of loud moans that echo eerily through the quiet cabin.

The girl flinches against him, her hand closing tighter around his cock as she stares at the screen with her face warm and flushed. He watches her reaction more than the scene playing on the large TV, smiling darkly to himself. There's a woman strapped to a table with one of those automatic fucking machines penetrating her holes, long thick dildos plunging in and out of her in a sickening rhythm, the hissing of the machine mixing with her helpless moans and cries.

He lets the video play, shifting on the couch, his fingers tugging a little bit more firmly on the girl's plug. She tenses, breathes harder, and when he pulls and one of the ball-shaped bumps slips out of her, she winces slightly. He pulls more, driven by the lewd noises coming from the speakers, slowly lets bump after bump tug at her tense muscles until the ribbed vibrator is free.

He feels her deep breaths, that little sigh of relief at the loss of pressure within her, but then he puts the toy back to her sphincter and pushes it in again, bump after bump, and she mewls softly when her hole clenches around the base once more, holding it tightly in place. He keeps playing with it, until she relaxes into the motion and continues to rub her hand over his hardening erection.

The woman in the video convulses on the table, struggles against the cuffs holding her down, then the machine picks up speed, really hammers those dildos into her holes, her unfiltered groans almost drowning out the loud squelching noises. The girl shivers against him, the crackers forgotten, her free hand digging into the fabric of his sweatpants in an attempt to grab onto something. The hand on his cock just rests there now as she stares at the screen in a mixture of shock and interest.

The machine keeps whirring, unrelenting, fucking the woman on the table until she screams and spasms, coming hard around the toys assaulting her cunt and ass. She's squirting heavily around the objects inside her, and he watches the girl's reaction to it. She hasn't been too fond of her body's natural response to high stimulation before, so maybe this'll show her that others do it too, that it is indeed normal.

But she squirms against him, breaths labored, head turned away, her skin warm against his bare stomach. He clicks on another video, another woman tied by her wrists and ankles, this one on a bed, and there's a man kneeling at her hip, shoving a big pink dildo into her hungry cunt. The woman convulses, her moans loud and obnoxious, those porn star noises that make his skin crawl, he prefers his girls and women quiet, meek, soft, just like the girl now turning her head back to watch the new scene.

Mindless blabbering fills the room as the woman whines and writhes while the man pushes the toy into her at a breakneck speed. “May I come?” the woman howls. “Please, please, let me come!”

“Not yet,” the man grumbles and keeps assaulting her puffy pussy. She wails louder in response, body arching off the bed when the man slaps his hand to her clit, once, twice, harder than should be necessary, while the woman cries out every time, squirming in pain. The girl flinches against him at the motion, he rubs her rear soothingly to calm her. She doesn't have to worry about that, he's into a lot of things, but genital torture isn't one of them.

The video continues, the man always denying the woman while she struggles against her restraints, limbs shaking uncontrollably, until finally, he pulls the toy out of her dripping cunt and plunges two thick fingers into her, curling them, before really going at it as he rams them into her with a speed that's remarkable. “Come,” he tells the woman, and she does, oh, how she does.

Her body arches completely off the bed in an almost unnatural contortion, while she wails loudly, repeating “I'm coming, I'm coming” in a frantic way, and when the man pulls his fingers out of her, several jets of clear liquid shoot out of her, wetting the bed and even hitting the camera, and the girl lets out a strangled whine at the sight, pressing into him as if she's afraid it'll hit her too.

“That's squirting, baby,” he whispers, rubbing her soft butt. “Completely natural, see?”

She only mumbles against his stomach, her warm breath fanning over his skin as she looks away. A chuckle escapes him. The video ends abruptly after the man continues fingering the convulsing woman through her intense orgasm, as she keeps squirting around his digits, completely losing it. The sudden silence makes him inhale deeply.

“Another one?” he asks quietly, but the girl only exhales against him, her hand back to rubbing his cock through his pants to distract herself. He still clicks through the row of clips, then settles on one showing a woman with a cock down her throat. He turns the volume down a little as loud gagging noises fill the room, the distinctive gluck gluck gluck as a man forces his thick cock down the whimpering woman's throat, so deep her neck bulges with every thrust, so fast it's almost comical.

It's just a short clip, and the next one starts without him pressing any buttons. Almost the same scene, a woman on her back, neck tilted backwards, a man standing over her head, holding it up, shoving his cock deep down her throat. This one is leaning over her, gripping the woman's cunt as he rams his length into her, keeping her from going anywhere, the same noises as before come from the speakers, with the added bonus of his loud grunts and groans. He seems close to climaxing, really speeding up, barely giving the woman time to breathe in-between thrusts.

She's convulsing on the bed, hands slapping at the sheets, frantic for air, but he keeps holding her down, mumbling “I'm so close, baby, I'm so close” while desperately chasing his own orgasm. The woman's face is bright red, her neck bulging, he's so deep in there, balls slapping against her nose, he's cutting off her air flow completely, but he doesn't seem to care and keeps pumping, growling, groaning, until he comes down her throat with the loudest grunt yet, his body shuddering, before he finally leans back and pulls out, the woman immediately gagging and spluttering, cum and spit flying from her mouth as she turns over to –

The video cuts there, but he can imagine she's throwing up after that ordeal. Nothing he hasn't seen before. He turns the TV off after that, suddenly realizing the girl is shivering against him. She stares at the screen, lips parted, unusually pale. A single tear rolls down her cheek.

He catches it with his finger, turns her head up to him. “You okay?”

She blinks, focusing her eyes before staring at him, probably remembering her own experiences with a cock down her throat. Seeing that act from a different perspective may have shocked her a little. It doesn't look nice, not for the woman, but they are not usually the main demographic for these kinds of videos anyway. There's porn for women, and then there's these clips (and worse).

“It may look rough,” he then says, caressing her cheek. “But trust me, for the man, for me, the tight grip of your throat around my cock is one of the best feelings...”

His fingers trace along her slender neck, careful not to press too hard into her bruises. Her hand shoots up to grab his wrist, her eyes widening slightly. He clicks his tongue in warning, and she doesn't pull his hand away, just holds onto him.

“And it'll get better for you, I promise. The more we practice, the easier it'll be,” he whispers, and instead of being reassured by his words, she only looks away with a quiet sniffle. “I want you to feel good too, but remember, you are here to please me. You want to make me feel good, don't you?”

She inhales deeply, then nods. “Yes, sir,” she mumbles, leaning against his stomach, letting go of his wrist. He moves his hand into her hair and gently presses his fingertips against her scalp. A soft mewl escapes her.

“Good girl. How about we start practicing now, hm? We can take it slow, you don't have to deepthroat me right away,” he offers, caressing her hair, while slipping his free hand under the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing it down to free his semi-hard cock.

She shifts on the couch, leans more on her knees, ass raised, hands moving forward to grab him carefully. Watching him from under her lashes, she waits for him to say the word, but he only nods, and she lowers her head and presses her lips to his warm skin. As she starts her ministrations, his hand is back between her ass cheeks, teasing the plug before he tugs on it, pulling it out slowly, watching her flinch with every bump that makes it past her tight muscles.

“Keep going,” he tells her, and she does, focusing back on the task at hand, lapping her small tongue along his shaft while he plays with her ass.

A muffled whimper escapes her when he pushes the toy back in and repeats the motion, her hand tightening around his base as she moves her lips around his tip and starts sucking softly. She's become much more confident in handling him, and it fills him with pride. Not just a quick learner, but also eager to please, eager to take care of him like he wants her to, unlike many girls before her who he had to spider gag and restrain to make them pliant enough to take his cock down their throats.

She never needed to be tied down, always took what he gave her without much fight, but he knows he'll eventually introduce cuffs and gags to her, just to show her what she can gain from it too, to lose complete control, unable to move, to just take and take and take...

He exhales loudly when she closes her lips around his tip and pulls him deeper into her mouth, and his hand pushes down on the plug, causing her to jerk against him, forcing her head lower. She pulls back, frantic breaths on his wet skin, before she repeats the motion, envelops him again, tongue flicking around him, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers slip lower, teasing between her folds, testing the waters. She's aroused, and he's glad. He pokes at her entrance while she bobs her head up and down his cock, quiet mewls slipping past the slurping sounds. He feels himself relaxing into the couch, one hand lazily fingering her wet hole, the other resting on her head, not guiding her, just giving a bit of reassuring pressure.

She alternates between sucking him into her mouth and pulling back to lick and kiss his shaft and nibble on his tip, exploring him in a way he hasn't seen her do before. He lets her, watches her fondly, his fingers slowly pushing in and out of her slick cunt. She's shifting against him, grinding her rear into his hand, probably not even thinking about it, just following the urges of her body, and he encourages it, dips deeper, scissors his fingers, but keeps the lazy pace.

He's painfully hard when she leans over him more, angles her head just right to allow him to move deeper into her mouth, and he feels her bracing for the sensation, but when his tip teases against the back of her throat, she twitches, fights the gag reflex, pulls back instantly. He can't help himself and grips her hair, holds her down before she can shy away the next time, and she gurgles, holds him right at the edge of her throat, the tight grip teasing his tip, and when she doesn't gag, he lets go and allows her to move back.

“Well done,” he whispers, patting her head.

The praise makes her cunt clench around his fingers, and he smirks. She moves back down on him, tries again to take him deeper, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue pressing against his shaft, teasing the bulging veins. He lets out a soft groan when his tip breaches her tight throat, she's shuddering, her hands digging into the fabric of his sweatpants, and she's almost got it, holding him like that, but after a few seconds a jerk goes through her body and she gags violently, spit filling her mouth, bulging her cheeks, coating his cock, and she pulls back spluttering.

Wiping at her mouth, she inhales deeply after the coughing fit is over. He sees the strain in her face, cheeks red, eyes watering, lips swollen, but she seems determined to continue, to pleasure him properly. After all, she isn't done yet.

He watches her, resuming the gentle poking of his fingers, feeling every shiver that travels down her body in the clenching of her walls, her wetness building up within, warm and enticing, her scent filling his nostrils. She's back to bobbing her head, shallower movements now, with only the occasional deep dip that makes him shiver in return, and eventually the tension in his stomach is too much to ignore.

“Make me come, baby,” he says, moving his other hand along her nape, massaging it softly.

She doubles her efforts, moves quicker, sucks him harder, her hand returning to grip his base and squeeze it before she even moves it to fondle his balls, another thing she's never done before, and he highly appreciates it. Her noises are louder, hums and moans, spit and precum squelching past her lips as she takes him deeper, wet warm mouth tight around his throbbing cock. Her eyes are squeezed shut when she forces his tip into her throat. She shudders, but keeps the gagging down, then moves back and resumes the quicker head bobbing, mirroring the gluck gluck gluck noises she's heard in the porn clip.

He throws his head back against the couch, closing his eyes, fingers halting inside her cunt, the others closing around the back of her neck, when he feels his balls twitching in her hand. She gives her all, and then he explodes, right down her throat as she's trying to take him deeper once more. The sudden jerk makes her gag, but she holds still, face turning red, letting him empty himself inside her mouth.

She's deliberately choking herself on his cock now, but as much as he enjoys the view, he doesn't want her to lose consciousness again, so he pulls her back, causing him to slip from between her lips, more cum spurting from his slit, hitting her flushed face. He grabs his cock and holds it steady, aiming for her obediently opened mouth, her breaths rapid, nostrils flaring, eyelids fluttering. He shoots the rest onto her tongue, then watches her roll it around before she swallows deeply and allows herself to cough and catch her breath.

She calms down eventually, still leaning over him, ass raised with his fingers in her cunt, and when he resumes his pumping, she lowers her head and laps at his deflating cock, cleaning him obediently. He moves his other hand along her jaw, gathers his cum on his fingertips and feeds it to her when she leans back to take steadying breaths, and she takes it, licks around his finger, then goes back down on him, until she's lapped up every drop he's given her.

Her muffled little “Thank you” makes him push his fingers into her harder, faster, and she mewls, gripping his sweatpants, arching her back, face buried in his groin until she comes with a little squeal, her body convulsing against his hand, her wetness seeping past his digits. Once she relaxes, breathing harder, he pulls out of her and wipes his wet fingers between her ass cheeks, poking at the plug, then gives one ass cheek a reverberating slap.

She jumps, yelps, but quickly pushes her rear back against his hand, and he slaps her again, on the other cheek, and again she seems to lean into it, so he gives her one more, and one more, until her little butt is glowing red and she's a mewling mess with her face pressed against his thigh, fingers clawing at his pants, a beautiful arc to her spine.

He moves his hand along her burning skin, down to her cunt, finding it dripping with arousal. He indulges her, pushes his fingers back into her, and she moans deeply, pressing into him when he starts fingering her once more, curling his fingers just right until he pulls another orgasm out of her that leaves her spasming hard, limbs twitching, soft muffled gasps ringing in his ears.

She collapses onto his lap, heaving chest pressing into his thighs, legs trembling and stretched out behind her. Slipping his fingers free from between her clenching muscles, he grips her waist and pulls her up, draping her over his chest as he reclines a little more. Her arms wrap around his shoulders as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, exhausted and boneless, a pliant little body molding to his larger frame.

His hands rub up and down her back, slip under the shirt, rub some more, all around her dips and curves, until he places them large and heavy on her reddened ass cheeks, feeling the blood throbbing against his palms. She relaxes against him, breathing deeply.

“You've done so well, baby girl,” he tells her quietly. “Rest now. You deserve it.”

And she does after the ordeals of the day. He'll take her to the bed eventually, and he can't promise himself not to touch her during the night, but he'll see what his body wants and if he'll follow the urges. For now, he lets her rest, come down from it all. And quite frankly, he's content just lying with her like this, satisfied and proud, still wondering how this perfect girl found her way into his clutches, and how much she's already influenced his life and changed his views and ways.

For better or worse, because if given such an obedient plaything, how can he not think about testing her limits and trying even more vile things with her? Maybe she'll surprise him all over again.

SIXTEEN 🟥 SEVENTEEN 🟥 EIGHTEEN

End notes: Wasn't this fluffy? Well. As fluffy as I could write a porn-centered story... But whatever the case, Sir is slowly coming to terms with his feelings, somehow. Isn't that something?

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Sunday (in two weeks! Sorry, I got something big planned for Halloween)!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST