#The title is a stayed gone reference

[n0tdisturb3d]

turn the tv ON

I drew @hatred-n-hav0c’s Blotwald, cuz I love him sm. Don’t worry, it’s just ketchup in the second one

[magratpudifoot]

I haven't seen every season of Drag Race, but I have watched most of the US episodes, and most of those I have watched in the past 4 months. So I feel comfortable saying this week's episode was the worst the show has ever had.

[gfmima]

category : 米哈游 原神 work title : another woman claims to be his girlfriend?

with a subtle bow of your head, you raise the teacup to your awaiting lips, a veil of porcelain disguising the laughter that threatened to escape. how absurd… you muse, as you savor a sip of your tea.

far across — two tables away, there sits one of the new acts of lyney and lynette’s show. she was interesting, to say the least. she sings tall tales with intricate detail, weaving major falsehoods about the nature of her relationship with him.

her words describe his love confession, demanding they be together because he couldn’t bear a day without her. she didn’t fail to mention how his sister adores her and refers to her as ‘my future sister-in-law.’

the outlandish narrative lasts with an overt nudge about his frequent visits to her dressing room after every show, which you tune out due to its unsavory implications.

most women would have risen from their seats, confronting her for spewing fantasies about their lover; not you, though. instead, you stay rooted in your place, your curiosity piqued for what else she might spin.

you were engrossed, and if you were to be fully honest, you would’ve readily admit to the guilty pleasure of eavesdropping on the mundane conversations of strangers. your penchant for gossip was shared with your lover, turning it into an unusual pastime. it was a fun exchange of information over cups of coffee or tea, normally ending with one of you left scandalized by what was said. archons, were you excited to tell him about what you overhead…

“do you swear not to say a word about this to another living soul?” her voice hushed to a near whisper, but it still carries to those within earshot.

“of course! right, ladies?” one of the women quips, with the other two chiming in agreement, creating a chorus of “yes!” and “we’ll keep quiet!”

“if you say so…” she takes a deep breath, as if the weight of her revelation was a heavy burden about to be lifted. “lyney and i are dating…” her shoulders then turn slack, exhibiting the instant wave of relief that washes over her.

you couldn’t help it; a snort of amusement passes your lips. it earned you a few disapproving glances from the nearby patrons, chastising your lack of propriety in a public setting.

she embarks on an exhausting tangent, yakking on the long months she had to weather before she could have confided in her dear friends about her supposed private affair.

she emphasized how lyney insisted on maintaining it under wraps for over a year — eh, wrong! the twins met her for the first time five months ago — out of his desire to protect her from the clutches of obsessed fans and admirers.

the longer she spoke, the closer her stories cross into more ridiculous territory. at one point, she spun a yarn about his grandiose profession of love for their anniversary, including dedicating an entire routine inspired by her.

however, what left you scratching your head was the lack of skepticism from her friends. a quick read of her body language would’ve shone a light at her deception. it had you questioning whether you had somehow gone mad or if they were genuinely as dim-witted as they seemed.

“i knew it! no wonder you’ve been smiling a lot  lately!”

“ah, i’m so jealous~! sigh, he’s such a handsome man.”

“so romantic… i wish that was me!”

assessing the present circumstances, one might figure you would now reveal all of her lies. you didn’t. rather, you found yourself more inclined to watch and observe how this fiasco will play out.

you trust lyney, enough to know he loves you and wouldn’t pursue another woman behind your back, especially a woman he and his sister worked with. it allowed you to cast aside your initial worries about her and her interest in him. regardless of your opinion, she did her job well, even though you secretly wished she wasn’t so uncomfortably obsessed with him — a notion she made no effort to hide.

clearly, given what you were witnessing.

“oh, look, ladies! here he comes!” one of their voices pierces the air, overtly eager to see the ‘happy couple’ they were led to believe. conversely, lyney’s self-proclaimed lover appears to be positively distraught.

the man in question enters cafe lucerne, his gaze firmly laid on you. he shows little to no mind towards the group of women who shadow his every move. he walks by and greets you with a kiss on the cheek, taking the vacant chair in front of you.

“and how was your day, ma belle?” he removes his hat then runs his fingers through his hair — a simple gesture that left you swooning.

his charming demeanor momentarily distracts you from the comedic disaster unfolding in the background.

it was a tumultuous stir of “huh… who’s that?” and “gasp, is he cheating on you?” while the two of you converse in mindless chatter. one second, he was recounting his chores for the day; and the next, three indignant women loom over him whereas the source of this mayhem cowers in the back.

“ugh, the audacity to have a mistress and meet her in broad daylight! you have no shame!”

he glances from you to them, genuine bewilderment etched upon his face. “i beg your pardon?”

“oh, don’t play dumb! you know exactly what you’re doing!” another of the women upturns her nose at him.

witnessing the heated back-and-forth, it was remarkable to find that even arouet was invested in the drama.

it transforms into a three-versus-one impasse, but you were impressed by how gracefully he navigated through their baseless accusations. the culmination of the situation came when recognized his ‘lover’ and didn’t hesitate to call her by name, pressing answers for the lies she’d been spreading to her friends.

“i think you’ve all been misled, the only woman i’m seeing is this lovely one right here.” he turns then directs the gentlest of smiles at you.

unable to resist the itch, you finally laugh at the sudden turn of events. karma was indeed on the prowl, and to be a bystander for the incoming argument after she made a fool out of her friends, just to feed her delusion, was gratifying… for one of you, at least.

“care to tell me what just happened?” lyney tuts, his fingers extending across the table to grasp your hand in his, urging to draw your focus on him.

“later,” you mutter, absorbed by the evolving spectacle. it’s obvious you both will spend the whole evening discussing this…

from the very start, you weren’t one to rejoice in having any eyes on you. it was natural your bond with the one and only wanderer flourished discreetly.

this change in your life required no announcement. it wasn’t information that demanded broadcasting to the world; it could exist on its own if someone were to ask, you’d directly confirm the status of your relationship. otherwise, you find it irrelevant to insert this in areas where it held no relevance.

in the comfort of your solitude, you thrive, cocooned from nosy onlookers. your happiness, his happiness — these two were what truly mattered to you.

as time flowed by, your connection deepened, evolving into a union that grew stronger with each passing moment you shared. it was a sensation both of you held dear, a genuine and keen emotion that, if you dare to admit, could be called ‘love.’

of course, you weren’t ignorant to assume that your journey would be obstacle-free. beyond his undeniable intellect and esteemed role as the assistant and confidant of the dendro archon, he also began to draw attention for his otherworldly beauty.

you were aware that you might coming across his admirers one day. after all, you weren’t oblivious to the wistful glances sent his way by other women, nor the coy attempts at flirtation. still, you hadn’t taken into account the unusual lengths some individuals would go to win even a sliver of his time and attention.

it was painful to watch their efforts be met with a scoff or a withering frown. on a good day, they might receive nothing more than a mocking, “what do you want now?” from him.

on a sun-drenched afternoon, you find yourself perched on the steps leading to the sanctuary of surasthana whilst you await his return from his meeting with lesser lord kusanali.

yet, the tranquility of the sacred place was soon interrupted by an unexpected revelation — you weren’t alone. a trio of researchers positioned themselves near the entrance, their presence blends into the revered location, evoking no more notice than the everyday sights that surround you.

the sunlight dances upon your skin as you, absentmindedly, fiddle with your bracelet, a habit that had taken root over the years. the food container you had brought stays on your lap, and you can feel its warmth gradually dissipate. a frown on your face as you whisper a plea that he arrives before the snacks you prepared grew cold.

your gaze strays and locks onto one of the women standing nearby. suspicion dripped from her eyes, it lingers far longer than you liked. at first, you considered it a peculiar coincidence — perhaps she mistook you for someone else she knew?

unable to contain her curiosity, she approaches you with an air of authority, disregarding her friends’ endeavors to stop her from creating a scene.

“state your business,” she dictates, her tone icy.

you stand unwavering, refusing to yield an inch in the face of her bid to intimidate you. “if you must know, i’m here for wanderer.”

your words invoke a profound reaction within her, it coursed through her like an attack. “well, save your breath and don’t waste your time bothering him.”

“why not? who even are you to tell me what i should do and shouldn’t do?” your cadence steady and colder than hers, a testament to the time you spent with your dear wanderer — it seems to be paying off.

you expected her to either insult you or begin a monologue about her superiority as a researcher, but her reply took you by surprise.

“i’m his lover, duh! i don’t appreciate you flirting with him.” then, in a single motion, she confiscates the container from your grasp.

glances were exchanged amongst her peers, who advance to mediate the interaction. one of them pulls her away and positions himself between you. “i’m sorry for her behavior, miss. her sleep deprivation has her spouting nonsense.”

“i am not! there are clear signs he feels the same way. we’re dating; he’s just very reserved about his emotions.”

before it can escalate further, a familiar voice slices through the tension like a blade. “where have you been?” he chides, as he descends the steps.

beneath his hat, you spy the glaring discontent he directs at these strangers for taking your time away from him.

when your eyes locks, his gaze softens. the sour expression dissolves and was replaced by a flicker of warmth. you offer a reassuring smile in his direction, a gesture that noticeably eases his mind.

he was a stride away from you when she, flaunting a smirk, stops in front of him. you lay a hand over your lips to quash your laughter after spotting the look of disgust he tosses at her.

“wanderer, honey!” she tries to touch his arm but fails when he sidesteps her. “don’t worry, i already handled this pest to lessen the burden for y—”

“who are you?” he sneers, and the haughty look on her face instantly disappears. she attempts to stutter a response, an effort to remind her title as his lover, but his menacing gaze he wore silences her.

“moreso, who are you to advise my wife what to do?”

eh? his wife?

“your wife?!” her friends turn pale, realization dawning upon them. they shiver at the thought of unintentionally crossing him, all thanks to her behavior.

“i-i just thought…”

“well, you thought wrong; know your place.” in a last display of irritation, he shoots them a cutting glare. then, he seizes the food container from her grip, his fingers then intertwine with yours as he guides you away from them.

as you walk away hand-in-hand, you cast a quick glance at her and stick your tongue out to mock her.

“i saw that,” he snickers and tugs you along, nearly causing you to stumble, “and you say i’m mean.”

“don’t get all smart, you called me your wife earlier.”

“shut up! it was meant to end the conversation early.”

[logaenhowlett]

MY BEATIN’ HEART BELONGS TO YOU - L.H.

Summary: Logan believed he was sentenced to a life of solitude until he found you - an unexpected dawn promising the sunrise of a love he always deemed impossible. But then again, destiny never was merciful to fools like him.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, All aboard the Fluff Train with scheduled stops at Angst Station, Established relationship, Hurt/Comfort, How I Met Your Mother reference (iykyk), Reader can manipulate electricity

A/N: 5.9k - strap in, gang. Would you believe me if I said all this was inspired by a debate I had with a friend about the implications of 'I want you' vs 'I need you'. The mind works in silly, little ways sometimes. Title creds to Green Day. Enjoy, you lovely people!

MASTERLIST

Gone were the days when nightmares would rouse him from the sanctuary of sleep. Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd awoken in a cold sweat, sheets shredded from fighting invisible monsters, alarm clock glaring an angry red amongst the darkness. No, all that disappeared once you'd made a home within his arms.

It had been about three months, verging on four if anyone was keeping count - and he, most definitely, was - since you'd swept him away in a tide of fondness and pure affection. The shadow of a man who once roamed the mansion now nurtured a newfound lightness in his heart. Logan wasn't perfect, far from it, chosen paths that only led to a labyrinth of despair, but he was right about one thing: you.

And that verdict especially rings true every morning. The tangle of limbs, the soft ebb and flow of sleepy murmurs, the stray kisses grazing warm skin, he wonders how he'd survived so long deprived of such tender pleasures. He's never going back, that much he knows.

His lips trace a lazy line along your neck, lingering a second longer beneath your jaw. There's a chuckle aching to break through at the thought of your sleep-induced irritation - it’s too early, you'd whine each time. And each time, his half-hearted apologies would be long-forgotten as you meet his gaze, a tempest of desire swirling within hazel.

It's amidst the following moments of peace when he's most thankful for the thick walls surrounding the room. The aftermath of your intimate exchanges always leaves him mesmerised, heart racing at the reminder of your touch. His mutation didn't allow for the full effects of alcohol to poison his inhibitions, yet as your smile gleams at him, Logan's sure he's never been more drunk.

"Where're you goin'?"

He's shaken from his musings as you roll away from his embrace, huffing in disbelief when you don't seem to stop. But, the string of complaints dies on his tongue as he watches you slip on the shirt he'd discarded the night before, turning around amused, "What? You wanna stay here all day?"

"Got nowhere to be."

"Correction - you have nowhere to be. I, on the other hand, need to grade those assignments or Jean'll actually explode my brain this time."

Logan hmphs. He'd been looking forward to lounging around this weekend, positively thrilled at the idea of letting the hours simply trickle away in the quiet comfort of your company. However, he's also one too familiar with Jean's intolerance for slacking off and lessons were definitely learned.

"Let her try," he counters meekly.

As you circle the bed to part ways with a chaste kiss, Logan seizes the opportunity to pull you down, pinning you beneath him in one effortless move. His lips capture yours with a deliberate, sensual slowness - the urgency from earlier now completely absent. The feeble protests vanish from your mind as he breaks away, a twinkle of mischief playing on his smile.

His fingers trace the curve of your wrist, hovering over the faint crescent moon inked in black. It was the mark of your soulmate. Of him, he hopes. You'd shown him quite early into the relationship, spending many a night whispering theories and speculations about its meaning. At first, he expressed only timid fascination, a question here and there spurred by gentle curiosity while you rambled on and on. But as his heart began to tether itself to yours, the mark took on a new significance. Every time his gaze fell upon it, his thoughts would spiral from longing and self-doubt, wondering if he was the one destined to share a lifetime with you.

Over the decades he'd been alive, Logan had searched every crevice of his body for his own. In his youth, it was a fleeting thought, brushed aside by the assumption that his healing factor wouldn't allow for these scars. Yet as time passed, he was terrified of waking up to a branded promise - a cruel trick that condemned his soulmate to a life with him. After he met you, those fears were soon eclipsed by a yearning, a desperate hope for a sign of his worthiness. Every day, he lingered by the mirror, gaze sweeping across his reflection, praying for an identical crescent moon to mark his skin.

"Logan." Your laugh draws his attention, "I'm never leaving the bed at this rate."

"Darlin', that's the general idea."

He relents anyway, falling onto his back with a soft grunt as you stand up. The dopey grin you're biting has him narrowing his eyes in suspicion, wondering what goddamn joke popped into your mind. Before he can question it, you straighten your posture and salute, "General Idea."

A look of confusion contorts his features, though he doesn't get anything besides a mumbled response as you leave the room, "Never mind, it's from a show."

A mountain of papers sits perched on your desk illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp, the scratching of your pen punctuating the silence of the classroom as you continue grading your students' assignments. It had been a couple of hours since you left Logan amongst the nest of blankets. And that image only seemed more enticing with each word you read.

"Missed ya."

Speak of the devil.

Except this devil was an angel - you could almost see a halo shimmering around his figure, backlit by the sunlight flooding the hallway. Every time you think you've captured the essence of his allure, he defies your expectations, often with just a simple gesture. And despite the countless compliments and declarations of adoration, Logan still seemed surprised by flattery, his lips always seeking yours to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"I just saw you like - "

"In the shower," he interrupts, smirk widening as he approaches. He leans against the chair, nose brushing against your exposed shoulder.

Something in your brain short-circuits at his words and the casual display of affection. You stammer a little, "You… didn't tell me."

"Oh, that would've worked hm?" Logan spins the chair around, chuckling as he catches your flustered expression, "'M sorry, sweetheart... guess I gotta make it up to ya."

You never thought Logan was a romantic. Yet, time and time again you discover the depths of his boundless capacity for love and companionship. It wasn't just the whispered promises and passionate revelations, but the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the tender touches that speak volumes. Neither of you had uttered those three words yet, though they hang heavy in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.

His hand winds up beneath your shirt, bunching the fabric near your waist as he pulls you closer. Heat, courtesy of the shower, wafts off his skin, a tantalizing sensation that makes your breath hitch. His tongue toys with your lower lip, teasing just enough that you find yourself chasing after him, desperate for more. The laugh he produces, though smug, is also contagious, a sound that never fails to swallow your heart.

Again and again, he'd professed his desire to unravel you by his sheer touch, how your craving for him sets his insides ablaze. And judging by the way your eyes darken, mouth parting almost reflexively, he's got you dancing to his tune like a puppet on a string - and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But he backs off all of a sudden.

A crescendo of footsteps echoes down the hallway and the moment is shattered. Three of your students barge in, out of breath and frazzled as they clutch their assignments. A frown creases Logan's brow, annoyance he's certainly putting no effort to hide has them second-guessing their intrusion until you beckon them in with a warm smile. With a hasty apology, they fumble with their papers, eyes darting between the two of you before rushing out, the door swinging shut.

"We gotta find a place," he grumbles, dipping forward into your neck.

"We already live together."

A sharp click of his tongue, a playful nip to your shoulder, seals his disapproval, "Not enough. Lil' brats interrupt every damn time."

He wasn't wrong in the slightest. The kids did seem to have an uncanny ability to sense the most inopportune times to interfere. Sometimes you joked that it was one of their mutant powers and Logan, with an amused roll of his eyes, would just scoff and agree. You can't help but chuckle, "'Least it wasn't Scott... I think we traumatised him last week."

It was indeed last week when the two of you retreated to the Danger Room. Of course, with the sole and noble intention of honing your defensive tactics. However, the moment you strategically knocked him off his feet, the situation had taken a decidedly different turn. Pinned beneath you, Logan held a look of astonishment that soon morphed into something much more eager. He'd uttered all of two words before your lips slammed against his and whatever hopes you had for training immediately became the least of your worries. That was until somebody walked in.

He huffs a laugh, the memory filling him with satisfaction, "Should've used his fuckin' brain with those sounds you were makin'."

"Oh god, poor Scott," you mumble, embarrassed by the thought.

"Quit sayin' his name." The growl that curls his words leaves goosebumps in its wake. Logan grips your chin, tilting your head back slightly, a slow grin unfurling as his gaze bores into yours.

"I said it twice!" you protest, but it's all in vain. His thumb drags across your lip, silencing your words.

"That's two more than I care for."

It's dark outside by the time he's done with you.

Sugar melts on his tongue, the velvety texture of chocolate dancing across his palate. Logan takes a rather indulgent sip, the steaming liquid warming his throat. Nestled on opposite sides of the window seat, the two of you share a quiet moment accompanied by nothing but pale moonlight. A comforting weight settles on your feet, his hand kneading the stress away with care. Outside, a delicate snowfall paints the mansion's grounds, grass slowly fading away, droplets racing down the windowpane.

Dinner had wound down hours ago. The kids gathered around the living room after, wide-eyed with wonder as the first snow of the season began. Charles eventually ushered them off to bed, Logan had planned to follow suit until your gentle tug derailed his desire to sleep altogether. And as always, there's no world where he'd deny you anything.

He sees you stifle a giggle every now and then, your eyes twinkling with amusement each time he lifts his mug. It was nothing fancy - mostly white, adorned with a line of stockings and, cheekily, the words "Well hung".

It was a present from you a few Christmases ago. He remembers you watching him warily unwrap the box, laughing out of giddiness as he blushed when the implication dawned on him. It's just a silly gift, you'd reassured, not pressuring him to even keep it. Yet, since then, it remained a permanent fixture on his bedside table. During restless nights, he'd reach for the familiar mug, seeking solace in the kitchen to drink away the looming shadows of insomnia.

It wasn't until your first night together that you saw it again after all those years, carefully placed and by far, the cleanest thing on his table. Logan ducked his head sheepishly before confessing just how much he treasured the sentiment. In a lifetime of solitude, someone had spared a second to think about him, even for a simple gag gift. And that thought warmed his heart a little on especially hard days.

"You're a child," he chides as you smile, rolling his eyes.

You scoff under your breath, "Oh, just cause you're a hundred years old."

"Hundred and sixty," he corrects, grabbing your foot mid-air before you can nudge his thigh. There's a brief pause as he places the mug aside, a wicked grin splitting his lips. Laughter fills the air as you squirm and wriggle away, quickly understanding the look behind his eyes. But Logan moves faster. His hands trail their way to your sides, drawing squeals of protest as he tickles you.

Seconds later, he backs off, satisfied by your reaction. Shifting his weight, he settles on top of you with a gentle press. As he lays against your chest, humming softly in contentment, the soothing caress of your fingers through his hair lulls him into a state of relaxation. The world simply fades away, replaced by the warmth of your embrace and the quiet flush of domestic bliss. A profound swell of gratitude spreads within his heart. It's during intimate moments like these that he feels especially lucky. A far cry from the man brought into this mansion years ago, times you also reflect on amidst late-night conversations.

The memories remain as vivid as yesterday.

It was late in the afternoon, the setting sun casting long silhouettes across the classroom. You stood by the blackboard, explaining the laws of electromagnetism while scribbling equations in chalk. For months, you'd taken over Charles' role as the physics professor, and what began as a favour soon grew into a passion. However, some days were particularly slow. A palpable sense of boredom washed over your students as their eyes drifted towards the clock in anticipation. Just as you were about to begrudgingly dismiss them, the door flew open - a dishevelled figure clad in gray burst in, wildly panting in fear and confusion.

This must be Logan, you concluded, recalling the latest mission debrief from Scott and Storm. They'd rescued two mutants in Canada, one of whom was particularly banged up and recovering in the med bay. Well, until now. Since their arrival, Charles had emphasised the erratic nature of Logan's mind, even unconscious, a part of him stayed unyielding against the telepath's powers. But as you locked eyes with him, you saw none of that. Instead, he seemed lost and terrified, glancing around the room from one corner to the next as if someone was speaking. Before you could offer a word of reassurance, he was gone, disappearing into the hallway like a fleeting shadow.

Over the following months, he slowly began to emerge from his shell. At first, it was just plain nods of acknowledgement as you passed each other in the mansion. Then, a word here and there, clipped phrases of advice and caution during particularly dangerous missions. Gradually, his presence became more pronounced. Sometimes, after intense training sessions, he'd slip into the back of your classroom, intently listening to your lectures on concepts you presumed were entirely foreign to him.

Except they weren't. It was only later that you discovered his secret: the countless hours spent poring over textbooks he'd discreetly stolen from Charles' bookshelf. The realisation filled your heart with a warm sense of affection. His unspoken interest, the hidden depths, it was all so endearing. Thereafter, Logan consumed your thoughts. And it was during one of those sleepless nights that you found the courage to join him in the kitchen, wordlessly focusing on your own books at either end of the table. Since then, a shared understanding passed between you, a bond forged from mutual appreciation and a hint of something more.

The first time he cracked a smile left you breathless. Jean was furious at Scott, her anger clear as day as she stormed away. And Scott, ever so helpless, turned to anyone for guidance, retracing every misstep, every misplaced word. Logan, watching the scene unfold, sneered to himself, enjoying the man cluelessly suffering. You exchanged a knowing look, a silent agreement on the absurdity of the situation. As you excused yourself, a fit of giggles threatening to overtake you, Logan followed close behind, unable to suppress his own laughter.

From that moment on, things changed. You found yourselves seeking each other, conversations flowed effortlessly, at times even seasoned with playful banter. And as Logan became a steady figure in your life, a strange ache settled in your heart. You were falling for him. Yet, his emotions remained a mystery, a puzzle you were desperate to solve.

One year became another, and another and another. And as your feelings for him increased, hesitation crept in rather unwillingly. You pushed everything away, burying them six feet under, afraid of rejection or something worse. But Logan, with his uncanny perceptiveness, sensed the shift in your behaviour. And one day, in a moment of raw honesty, he confronted you. A heated argument ensued, emotions spilling over, words cutting deep. Then, just as suddenly, the tension dissipated. His lips were on yours, conveying every bit of the love he carried in ways words could never bring justice to.

That was a couple of months ago. Everything was perfect and you'd never felt more complete until you noticed the brief flashes of insecurity whenever he saw the mark on your wrist. You knew he didn't have one. In the beginning, it became a sensitive topic, you started wearing a watch or longer sleeves to stop reminding him. But eventually, his unease was too much to ignore.

And so, you bit the bullet.

The conversation was fraught with discomfort, but as you spoke, his expression softened, a slight weight lifting off his shoulders. He shamefully expressed his worries, the fear of not being enough - not being the one for you. It was a small step, but one that brought you closer than ever before.

Logan couldn't have been more grateful.

"Perhaps the two of you should, what do the kids call it, get a room?"

Charles' voice suddenly cuts across the silence. All eyes, including Logan's and yours, snap up from the blueprints scattered on the table. Scott blinks in confusion, meanwhile Jean, holding back a knowing smirk, can barely contain herself.

"I've had my fair share of lewd daydreams in my youth, but that was quite disturbing," he continues, tone laced with disapproval.

Colour drains from your face. Had your thoughts really been that obvious? Sure, you couldn't stop admiring how the tight leather suit molded to Logan's physique - incredibly distracting, to say the least. But you didn't realise you were projecting your attraction so loudly, especially in a room with two telepaths.

"Sorry, Professor." It seems useless to apologise at this point, but he responds with a curt nod directed at Logan. Turning your attention to the blueprints, you feel a familiar weight against your back. Logan, the sly bastard, leans over your shoulder with feigned nonchalance. And it takes every ounce of your willpower to focus on the serious discussion instead.

A recon mission.

Some old abandoned Hydra facility used for mutant experimentation in the 90s, the remnants of failed trials left to rot and forgotten. Charles had caught wind of it through Cerebro, suspecting that there may be valuable information hidden within its walls, secrets that should very well stay away from the wrong hands.

"What's in there?" Scott asks, tensing a little.

Charles pauses, a scowl twisting his expression, "That is a private matter."

"Private Matter," you mumble without thinking, instinctively reaching for a salute before Logan catches your wrist, halting the motion. He shoots a look, a silent reprimand that very clearly implies "Not now". Fortunately, no one else witnesses your mistimed quip, too engaged in drafting a safe plan for extraction.

The mission seems fairly straightforward, a simple infiltration like many you've done before. Nevertheless, Charles concludes with a stern warning to heed caution, "Now, good luck to all of you." As you filter out the room, he casts a pointed glare, "And Logan, please refrain from defiling my desk at any point in the future."

Shock etches across your face, mouth slightly agape. Once you're out of earshot, you shove Logan’s arm in embarrassment, "It wasn't me then." You breathe in relief only to be reminded of the thoughts he seemed to be entertaining earlier. What surprises you is the fact that you're more intrigued than deterred by the idea.

"My bad, sweetheart. Couldn't help myself," he laughs, dipping in close to whisper, "Suit's makin' it real hard to think straight." And with that, he's off, jogging ahead to Scott and Jean already waiting in the hangar.

Once you're airborne, the atmosphere shifts. Jean pilots the jet, her hands steady on the controls, eyes scanning the horizon. The Hydra facility looms in the distance, a dark and ominous presence in the middle of nowhere. As you approach your destination, a sense of apprehension lingers among the four of you. Scott recounts the plan, outlining the most efficient entry and exit points, his voice low and deliberate, "Logan and I will start from top-down and you two from the opposite."

As you leave the jet, a hand slips into your own, stilling you in place. Logan tugs you into his arms, there's a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes, however, convey something along the lines of "Be careful, please". You squeeze his hand reassuringly, pressing a quick kiss before breaking away. With a reluctant sigh, he catches up with Scott, splitting off from you and Jean.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of decay and neglect. Everything is left exactly as it was, except there are signs of a violent struggle - machines overturned, wires strewn across the floor, glass shards crunching under your boots. It's a scene of chaos and destruction. In the center lies an operating table, its restraints snapped in half, broken syringes and discarded medical equipment scattered around.

Electricity crackles beneath your fingertips. Though your powers aren't advanced, Charles has been a patient mentor, overseeing your progress since the day he found you. However, as you keep surveying the area, you notice an odd sensation, a subtle resistance to your abilities. A similar unease grips Jean too, her gaze meeting yours, a shared look of concern exchanged as you continue your search.

A distorted voice breaks through the comms, "Upper level's clear. No sign of anything." It's Scott, barely recognisable over the static.

"Copy. Still sweeping the lower level," you respond, but it's garbled by the interference.

"Stay on alert," Jean warns, straining her telekinetic energy against the strange force permeating the facility. "Defence systems could still be active."

You venture deeper into the hallway, greeted by an eerie silence broken only by the echo of your own footsteps. A series of cells line the corridor, thick metal barricades, scarred and rusted, stand as a testament to the suffering endured by those held captive years before. Peering through the tiny barred windows, you see sterile, empty rooms, not a single bed or mattress to be found - the cold, hard concrete floor offering no comfort.

"Fuckin' hell," you murmur, chills running down your spine. Jean hums quietly in agreement, looking around in horror. The electricity you can usually detect in the background dwindles to a weak buzz. You descend a narrow staircase, the air growing heavier by the second. At the end of the hallway is another metal hatch, this time with a faded Hydra symbol etched onto its surface. With a concentrated effort, Jean manipulates the lock, the door groaning open with a distinct beep.

It's beyond dimly lit - a dark, cavernous space. You focus your powers, fighting against the invisible pressure dampening your strength, current coursing through your veins. With a snap of your wrist, the room erupts in light, fluorescent bulbs flickering awake. A row of computers surrounded by a bundle of wires and archaic machinery stretch towards the ceiling.

"Must be the control room," Jean reaches out to flip a switch, but as her fingers brush the old metal, energy jolts through your body - a warning that something is amiss.

"No - wait!" you shout, but it's too late. The metal door slams shut with a deafening clang. An agonising vibration rattles through the room, a shockwave that reverberates through your body. The two of you sink to the floor, clutching your ears as a rush of debilitating pain burns every nerve ending in your body. And you're left paralysed for what feels like an eternity.

Logan clicks his tongue as static continues pouring through the comms, he catches the tail-end of your broken reply - something something lower level - a pit of dread forming in his stomach, "Place feels off."

"You're right, I can't get a read on anything," Scott mutters, the red hue of his glasses flashing in the darkness.

Logan's eyes dart around the space, landing on a series of grotesque instruments undoubtedly used for torture. A wave of nausea washes over him, flashbacks of his own past spring forward at the sight, reminders of the days when he too was a mere subject in someone else's twisted experiments. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. An imperceptible vibration ripples beneath his feet, "The fuck was that?"

Scott immediately tries the comms again, "Jean? Wha - ", but it goes completely dead.

Logan's already barrelling through the corridors, his instincts taking over without a conscious thought. He calls for you again and again, reckless abandon fueling his every move. Screw the mission, all he wants is for you to be safe. His heart leaps into his throat as static hisses through the comms, Jean's voice muffled through the noise, "We've got... a major problem."

One second passes.

Two.

Three.

"C'mon, darlin'." The silence drags on, panic begins to seize his mind, sweat beading on his forehead. He needs to find you, now. The faint vibrations gradually become intense as he races down the staircase, "Major problem? C'mon, say your stupid joke, sweetheart. Please. Anything." His pleas, wracked with desperation, fall on deaf ears. Fear gnaws at him. He’s itching to hear your voice, even for that little running gag he doesn’t fully understand. Just any goddamn sign that you're still alive.

His senses direct him towards the metal hatch. Lunging forward, his fist connects with the barrier, claws extending at any attempt to tear through the door. Yet it holds firm, its surface barely dented or scratched by his force. Frantic, Logan rams his claws into the small security panel on the side, trying to short-circuit the lock. But the moment it's breached, a chain reaction is triggered, explosives hidden within the walls detonate with a tremendous roar. A torrent of debris and radiation thrusts him backwards, knocking him hard against the concrete.

The world around him seemingly implodes into a bedlam of sound and light, white flashes obscuring his vision. Pain, a searing, all-consuming pain diffuses through every inch of his body. His consciousness wanes, slipping away from his grasp. In the fading moments of awareness, he hears a distant crackle of electricity.

Then, nothing.

The memory of the chaos, the blinding light, the aftermath of the explosion, replay over and over. And then, there was Logan, his body limp and unresponsive, a sight that haunts your every waking moment. You remember the desperate scramble to escape the facility, the weight of his unconscious form in all your arms, the tense journey back to the mansion, Charles and Jean ushering you out of the med bay - their focus solely on stabilising him.

The night stretches on, a relentless march of time that seems to punctuate your helplessness as you pace back and forth. The lack of response from anyone doesn't quell the whirlwind of anxieties in the slightest. Every minute sound, every faint whisper, sends your heart racing. But when they finally emerge hours later, faces etched with exhaustion and relief, you can finally breathe.

For days, you sit by Logan's bedside, hands intertwined with his. The monotonous rhythm signalling his vitals is the only thing grounding you to reality. Though he remains unconscious, Jean had offered words of comfort, pointing to subtle improvements in his healing with her scans. Eventually, warmth returns to his body. His breathing, once laboured, is now full and steady. Leaning forward, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead and hope ignites within you again, just enough to draw a small, weary smile.

But then, you see it.

Glaring at you, painfully so, is a little mark on the back of his shoulder. Except, it isn't the same crescent moon that adorns your wrist. No.

Your heart sinks, breath catching in your throat, paralysis sets in once again. A single, shattering revelation echoes in your mind: Logan is not your soulmate.

He stirs awake, eyelids fluttering open. Everything slowly returns to his senses as the haze of confusion begins to clear. The first thing he notices is the familiar scent of you lingering on his skin, in the air, on the chair pulled by his side. As his vision unblurs, the blue walls of the med bay coming into view, a flood of concern smacks him in the face. Where are you? What happened? He tries to sit up, his body protesting with every movement.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The mechanical hum of a wheelchair grows louder as it approaches. Charles, brimming with sympathy, rolls closer.

Logan groans, his muscles throbbing like never before, "What the hell happened? Is she - "

"She's alright, as are Scott and Jean," he interjects, though a shadow of pity clouds his expression. The unspoken weight behind his words triggers alarms in Logan's head, but before he can question him, a sharp burn shoots up his back. He winces, reaching for the source of the stinging. Beneath his fingertips, a strange, rough texture grates against his skin. He angles back to inspect it, blood running cold.

"It surfaced a week ago," Charles says grimly, "We suspect the radiation from the explosion temporarily impacted your healing, hence, the mark."

Logan can't think straight, a maelstrom of emotions engulfs every single fiber of his being - disbelief, agony and rage. How could this be real? He'd spent night after night, praying for some sort of sign, a reason for his existence. And when he found that in you, it felt like everything finally aligned. But now, destiny had struck him down with a ruthless blow, a cosmic twist of fate far worse than death.

Seven days.

That's how long it's been since you last saw him. The weight of the world bore down on you, every breath a struggle. Hours bled into one another as you stayed locked in your room, sobbing uncontrollably, your heart fracturing with each passing moment. Jean's persistent knocking eventually broke through your despair, her calm voice soothing your frayed mental state.

It took all of her gentle persuasion for you to finally eat something, to force you out of the anguish that consumed you. The news that Logan was awake and begging to see you almost crumbled the impenetrable walls you'd built up. But the thought of facing him, of confronting the fragile pieces of your harsh reality, filled you with dread.

And so, you avoided him. Retreating into yourself, a ghost of your own life, you clung to the illusion of distance. Maybe it'll somehow ease the pain, the heartbreak. You couldn't even bear to look at your own wrist, the mark - a cruel reminder of a love that was and a future that can never be. Every second of every day, mocking whispers floated around your mind, "You don't deserve him. You never did."

The moment Logan fully recovers, he immediately rushes through the mansion. Anticipation swells in his chest, there's nothing he wants more than your touch, your laughter - just you. He reaches your room, sensing the warmth from within. Hand hovering in the air, he takes a deep breath before knocking.

"Sweetheart?"

There's no response. He drops his head against the door, breathing ragged. Tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over, the oxygen in his lungs thinning as he tries to speak, "Please. I know you're in there. Talk to me." The silence, the emptiness, it all becomes too much. He's losing you, and he can't do anything to stop it. "I know you're upset. But, please, just let me in."

Your voice comes muffled, charged with grief and sorrow, "That mark means there's someone out there for you - your real soulmate. Someone who isn't me." The words are piercing, he longs to pull you into his arms, to comfort you, to reassure you. "I am not meant for you, Logan," you choke out.

"Fuck that," he spits back. He can't accept this, that you're conceding to some inexplicable truth, "'M not givin' you up cause of some shit on my body. I choose you. And I will choose you. Every single time." It's all strangled, raw with emotion, cheeks stained with a wetness. He's wound up, a caged animal clawing at the bars. He'll fight for you, even if all the cards are against him, "Darlin', I don't care if there's someone else - they're not you. You're perfect to me. For me. The universe can go fuck itself cause I love you."

Logan goes still. He's never expressed that to you, not in this way, not with such soul-baring honesty. But, nothing has ever been more true, "I love you."

Heavy hangs the air. Then, a soft padding of footsteps, the door clicks open. Before he can react, your hands cup his face, drawing him down to your level, lips meeting in a passionate caress. Logan cradles the back of your head, deepening the kiss. The space between you, both physically and emotionally, fades away. This is all that matters, for now and forever.

His arms tighten as you pull back and tuck into the crook of his neck. The weight of your exhaustion is obvious with the shuddering sigh you let out, his heart aching for you. As you whisper apologies, he trails kisses down your face. "No, no, don't be sorry, darlin'," he says, all soft and gentle. Neither of you move, surrendering to each other, the moment suspended in time. Slowly, your trembling subsides and he smiles, the lines of misery now dimming. With delicate fingers, he brushes your tears away.

"I have a major headache," you murmur, eyes falling shut.

He huffs a laugh, saluting you with a playful grin, "Major Headache." The look of astonishment across your face brings him so much joy. "I asked Kitty, told me to watch the damn show." And Logan did watch the show - all for you - to understand the little references you kept making here and there.

"You know how to use the Internet?" you ask, incredulously.

"Don't push it, sweetheart." There's no malice behind his tone whatsoever. With a smirk, he leans forward, scooping you up in his arms and carries you to the bed. It's a familiar motion, a routine he's done hundreds of times before. But now, it's different, one that’s even more precious.

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

"I love you too."

He knows. He knows because it's written all over you. Every word, every breath, every touch - a testament to your love for him. A love so quiet and profound, a love that has weathered storms, a love that will last until the end of time. And he's eternally grateful for it. For you.

[dekuphilia]

ALWAYS HERE

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x reader

Warnings: nsft content, friends to lovers, step sibling relationship (not heavily referred, no titles like 'brother' or 'sister'), afab reader, light dom/sub(?), praise, begging, mention of izuku touching himself while thinking of you, mention of stealing readers underwear, breeding, cervix fucking, creampie, fingering (f. receiving), feelings of doubt involving sex, aftercare

Things between the two of you changed over the course of your life. You just miss your best friend, where have the times gone?

note: all characters are aged up to 21+

nsft under the cut

You and Izuku had always been close, almost every memory regarding your childhood involved him in some way. you remember how he stood up for you in primary school, being a few years older than you, he thought it was his duty to protect a sweet girl like you. He never left your side, always there when you needed him. 

He was always there to help you up when you had fallen over, or offer you a hand when you tripped and scrapped your knees. you really looked up to him and admired his kindness. 

it was no surprise you were still close now as adults, sharing a house as you grew older. He was just always there.

you recall whenever him and his mother moved into the small apartment you and your father occupied.

“Remember your friend izuku from school?” your father asked in a soft voice, crouching down to meet your eyes.

you nodded excitedly, your messy braids bouncing around as you held your excited little fists to your chest, “Mhm! he’s my bestest friend!” you giggled.

“Well, him and his mom are going to stay with us for a while,” your father smiled at you, “Just for a little while.”

it turns out ‘a little while’ meant more than you had thought, seeing as they never left and became one with your family, not that you minded.

More time passed, and as you grew older, you realized what was happening between your father and your best friend’s mother.  what started as a simple friendship between coworkers had clearly developed into something more.

While you were still in your adolescence, you attended their wedding, watching your father smile and shed a few tearas he said his vows to your best friend’s mother. you were so excited back then, becoming bonded to izuku in a way you hadn’t even thought of at the time. 

you continued to grow together, your feeling for him unchanged as time went by, He was still your best friend, your sweet izuku. even though he was your step brother now. 

you recall moving into a bigger house, one with enough room for you and izuku to not share a room anymore, as you were getting to an age where it didn’t seem appropriate to your parents anymore, not that anything strange ever happened. Most nights consisted of you and Izuku staying up all night, giggling as you chatted from separate beds, staring at the glow in the dark stars scattering your shared ceiling. Part of you didn’t understand why you had to have your own room, but as you grew into a teenager, you understood why it was important for you both to have your own space, at least from your father’s and izuku’s mother’s perspective.

Soon enough, coloring pages turned to spelling tests, and spelling tests became essays, and the next thing you knew, you were studying for final exams for UA something you had watched Izuku do just a few years prior. 

Your relationship with your best friend seemed to fade a bit, as you were both so busy with, you with your studies, him with his hero training, that you hardly saw each other.

Sure, maybe you’d pass each other in the hallway on nights that he was home, watching as you drug his aching body to his bedroom. Maybe even early in the morning, when you sat at the kitchen table, awaiting your coffee maker to alert you that it was finished. you’d even steal glances when he’d walk past your room late at night, entering the bathroom before the shower clicked on. 

the point was, you didn’t really get to see him anymore, not unless you went out of your way to insert yourself into his busy schedule.

you’d often stay up late, wondering if he still even considered you his best friend.

had he made other friends while he was training?

Were they more like him than you? strong like him? kind like him? 

Able to offer him more than you were? 

You had pushed these thoughts aside for a long time, hoping they would go away. Of course they didn’t, lingering in the back of your mind, leaving a sour taste in your mouth as a bit of shame and jealousy overtook you from time to time. 

There was another thing that caused distance in your friendship, your lack of a quirk. 

you remember, even from a young age, Izuku was fascinated by quirks. always studying them, always writing in his notebook about anything new he learned. you remember when he told you he didn’t have a quirk, and really, you were so thankful to hear that when you were just a little girl. you had finally met someone like you.

As the two of you grew older, things changed, he developed a quirk, and that’s when things started to fall apart.

you were left alone most of the time then, missing your best friend as he stayed out training until the sun came out.

you longed for the friendship you once had with izuku, the inseparable, unselfish love you had for each other.

things were just different now.

You sat at your desk, sighing as you continued to scribble away in your notebook, attempting to finish your studying session. 

your eyes darted away from the page in front of you, taking note of the time. it was already past midnight now, the sun had long faded away, leaving your room dimly lit by a small lap sat nearby.

Izuku had been gone all day, out training or doing some type of competition for school, you couldn’t really keep track anymore.

your father and his mother were gone as well, off for the week on a work trip. leaving you completely alone in the house all day. 

you had tried to keep yourself busy, but you were on day three of being mostly alone, only seeing izuku in the morning as he left for UA. 

you grew bored in that moment, yawning as you pushed aside your notebook, resting your elbows on the wood of the desk before resting your face in your hands.

you stared down at the note page in front of you for a few seconds, relaxing your mind, “Jus’ a little break,” you mutter to yourself, pushing your hair back, knotting your fingers into it as you hummed, soothing yourself.

“Hey, do you know where the towels are?”

you nearly shrieked as a deep voice interrupted your thoughts, your head flying up to meet forest eyes as Izuku stood in your doorway, leaning against the frame. He held his shirt in his hand, his chest exposed to you.

though it was nothing you hadn’t seen before, you found yourself shifting in your desk chair, trying resist the urge to glance down for more than a second at a time.

This was the first time you had spoken to him all day, aside from a quick ‘good morning’ as he left earlier. 

“Uhm—,” you thought for a moment, glancing down at his toned chest, your eyes shifting a bit lower as you realized he was only clad in a pair of black underwear that seemed to hug his muscular thighs, “Maybe— Maybe in the dryer?”

you had hardly managed to get the words out, your mind clouded with unfamiliar thoughts. 

Sure, you knew he was attractive, you had always found him cute, even in your younger days, But something about your feelings now felt a little less than innocent, as they had back then.

“Mm?” he hummed, “Everything okay?” His voice held genuine concern as you met his gaze, his head tilting slightly to the side, “You seem stressed, bunny.”

your cheeks flushed as the nickname left his mouth, the one he used to call you when you were younger, he often referred to you as a timid rabbit who needed to be protected.

you knew it was just an innocent name, one that had stuck so long ago, but he rarely referred to you that way anymore, often using your name, or not even referring to you at all, seeing as you hardly spoke some days.

“Mhm?” You took your lip between your teeth, sucking in a breath as your mind hazes with thoughts of your hands pressing against his chest, feeling the ripples of his skin beneath your fingers.

he notices right away something is different in the way your eyes seem almost glazed over as you speak to him, “Mhm what?” he questions, stepping further into your room, until he’s comfortable sat on your bed, muscular thighs parting slightly as interlocks his knuckles, dropping them into the empty, “Something on your mind, bun?”

You feel his gaze on you now, tension thick in the air as his graze drops down to your chest. He nearly smirks as he notices your nipples pebbling beneath your thin shirt, but he holds himself together, playing coy with you as a soft, innocent smile covering his lips as his eyes flicker back up to meet yours.

“Just stressed, Mhm,” you’re attempting to keep your composure now, eyes drifting to his clasped hands, not daring to look beyond them.

tension is thick in the air and your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. you’re acutely aware of the feeling between your thighs now. 

You shift in your seat again, turning until you're almost facing him, holding back a whine as you feel a wet spot forming against the cotton of your undergarments. 

Of course, Izuku takes note of the look on your face as you adjust yourself, resisting the urge to adjust himself as well as he watches your cute lips turn into a soft, almost uncatchable pout for only a moment.

“Just stressed, huh?” he repeats your words, his voice ringing in your ears in an unfamiliar tone, something sultry replacing his normal, cheery one, “Anything I could help you with?”

He’s standing now, hovering over you slightly as he leans over your shoulder to look at the notes you had previously written. Of course, he wasn’t actually reading them, this was all a ploy to get closer to you.

You’re engulfed in his scent as he leans over you, reminisces of his day lingering on his skin, soft tones of mint and citrus permeating through the space.

words seem to escape you as his soft curls brush against your cheek as he leans a bit further over you, his chest pressed against the back of your chair as his eyes scan your notebook.

“S’getting late, ya’know?” he mumbles, his chest vibrating a bit as he speaks lowly, “Maybe time to lay down and relax, Mm?” He stands back now, still lingering behind your chair.

You feel a calloused hand on your bare clothed shoulder, rubbing soft circles with fingertips. your mind fogs, your head threatening to lull to the side as he continues his gentle movements, fingers drifting towards the nape of your neck, applying a slight pressure.

you give a small nod, unsure how to respond, not that you could even if you wanted to. a soft whine passing your lips instead, feeling a bit of your inner tension release at his soft touch.

“You’re so sweet, bunny,” he mutters, “Miss hanging out with you everyday,” fingers drift a bit further down, ghosting over your collarbone, threatening to slip past the collar of your shirt, but he’s still testing the waters, not wanting to push too far, “Miss protecting you, keeping you to myself.”

within a moment, he grows a bit bolder, touring with your shirt collar, “Jus’ been so busy,” your head lulls back, resting against the back of the chair, “M’sorry, bunny.” 

you’re not sure why he’s apologizing, maybe it’s because he’s touching you? or maybe because he hasn’t had time for you lately. maybe even both. 

“No one compares to you,” a soft smile plays on his lips, though you can’t see, “My sweet, soft girl.”

his girl.

His hand dips past the collar of your shirt, fingers brushing against your nipple, causing you to jolt slightly, the sensation only exciting your further, though a feeling of something along the lines of guilt hang in the back of your mind.

“Izu?” you manage to speak, your voice coming out rushes, “s’this okay?”

you sound so innocent in that moment, your sweet voice only egging him further, his stuff cock flexing beneath the thin material of his boxers, as it’s pressed to the back of your chair. a soft groan passes his lips, “baby, s’okay —yeah, s’okay.” he assures you, and also himself a bit. 

you're not really his sister, are you? just tied together by the marriage of one of each of your parents. your bond remained the same over all those years, nothing more than a friendship, right?

Izuku wouldn’t deny he had thought about you in some distasteful ways in the past, even in his teenage years, he found himself fisting his cock to cute selfies of you. maybe he’d even gone as far as stealing some of your underwear from your shared laundry bin, though he’d never admit that part. He was far too prideful to admit he was so perverse. 

“Let's move, Mm?” he cups your chest, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, “Jus’ wanna give you some attention.”

Before you know it, you’re standing and he’s leading you to your twin sized bed with a quick tug of your hand, “S’okay, bunny,” he soothes your mind, “S’just me,” his face holds a soft smile, but the look in his eyes is what really gets you, his pupils are blown wide, a small rim of green all that’s left of his irises.

“Mhm, s’just you,” you repeat, “jus you and me, ‘Zuku,” your breath comes out in soft pants as he hovers over you, pinning you to the mattress with his hips, his stiff cock pressing against your thigh.

“Mhmm,” he lets out a low hum, “jus’ me,” he shifts until he’s pressed against your clothed cunt, “jus’ your ‘zuku, huh?” a teasing smile covers his face, his cheeks dimpling.

“Mine,” you say shyly, pressing your waist forward in an attempt to get any kind of friction, a whine bubbling in your throat as he withdraws, teasing smile turning to a smirk.

“Mm, yours.” he confirms, “Don’t get cocky though,” his calloused hand grips your hip, your shorts pushing down a bit, “M’older than you,” his hand move further, dipping into your underwear, “n’ stronger,” a satisfied grunt leaves his lips as he ghosts your clit, feeling how soaked you are, “n’ bigger.” 

you attempted to hide from him, tilting your head to the side whilst burying your face into his arm that rested just above your head, “Don’t tease,” you plea, trying to keep still.

“Shh, Shh,” he toys with your clit, watching as you squirm beneath him, “Jus’ wanna take my time,” he leans down, nuzzling his face into your neck, his curls tickling your cheek again as he places soft kisses on your skin.

Truthfully, he was trying so hard not to go too far, not to scare you, or go too fast, but his sense of control was running thin, threatening to snap any second. this was something he had only dreamed about.

“Please, Please, ‘Zuku,” you continued to whine, raising your hips to meet his hand, “jus’ touch me.”

He really lost himself then, his fingers dropping to slip inside of you, pushing two digits into your drooling hole.

“S’so wet already,” he can’t help but groan, sinking his fingers a bit deeper, “Can’t believe you’re already soaking my fingers.”

he can’t help but imagine how you’d feel clamping down on his leaking cock, just the thought causing it to twitch against your thigh.

“don’ want your fingers,” you whine, squirming against him, “wan’ more, please ‘Zuku.” 

He shakes his head slightly, “Need to— god,” a low growl erupts in his chest, “Need to prep you, baby, I have to.” 

he almost whines, thinking about shoving his cock inside, thinking of how you’d squeeze around him.

“jus’ want it,” you desperately press against his fingers, tears threatening you spill onto your cheeks, “Can’t wait, can’t wait, please ‘zu.” 

that’s the final crack in his foundation, causing his walls to tumble down.

“yeah, baby— baby, don’t cry,” he pulls his fingers from your dripping cunt, “M’gonna give it to you— Fuck,” he jerks back, pushing his underwear down until his cock’s finally free, velvety tip pressing against his abdomen as he he reaches up to fist it for a moment, glancing down at you, “s’all yours—“, his gaze flickers up to meet yours, your teary eyes pulling at his heart strings, “‘Zuku’s gonna give it to you, s’okay.”

With a shaky hand, he presses his swollen cock against your slit, dragging it up until it catches on your clit, causing you to let out a string of swears. He does this a few times, watching as his tip gets coated in your sweet juices.

One final time, he drags his leaking cock up toward your clit, before bringing it back down, pushing the head inside with a huff. you’re already engulfing him, your greedy cunt sucking him in.

“Baby—, bunny, my god.” he can’t think straight, so intoxicated on the way you’re drawing him in. 

you whine, squirming under him as you attempt to get him to go further, but truthfully he’s trying not to release his seed into you at that moment, attempting to clear his head enough to give you more.

his eyes are fixated on your sweet cunt, taking him in as he pressed further, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

you gasp, feeling his cock bullying its way inside of you, filling you until you feel dizzy, “Please ‘zu,” you whine, reaching out to press your hands against his chest.

you don’t even have to say anything, he can read you so well, knows exactly what you want, what you need.

“S’so fuckin’—“ Izuku grits his teeth slightly, rocking his hips as he gives you what you’ve been craving, “So tight,” he slurs out, planting both of his hands on either side of your head, caging you in, forcing you to look at him as he gives you what you want.

He’s overtaking you, overwhelming your senses in ways you didn’t even know was possible, every thought in your mind is of him, nothing else seems to matter. just you and your Izuku.

Your eyes lock with his, a fawned look covering your face as your eyes widen, feeling yourself gripping his meaty cock, “Please, ‘Zu,” you manage to pant out, “Please, don’t stop.” you babble.

As if he would even imagine stopping, he’s so intoxicated by just the lock on your face, watching the way your mouth hangs open as your eyes flutter closed. He’s watching your cunt take him in now, watching the way he disappears inside of you over and over again, cock head pressing against your cervix with each thrust of his hips.

“Feel’s so good—,” his moves one of his hands down from near your face, thumbing your clit, “feel’s so good inside,” his breath is coming out in short huffs, he’s trying so hard not to cum inside of your pussy, but it’s so hard when you’re practically milking him, “Bunny, bunny, jus’ need you to cum on my cock.”

you’re squirming under him now, so close to the edge, so close that all it takes is a few praises from him to make you cream all over his cock.

“tha’s a good girl, such a good girl, bunny,” he groans, focusing on working you through your orgasm, “my good bunny, all mine.” 

he can’t take it anymore, the feeling of your sweet cunt convulsing around him breaks him, “jus’ need to cum inside,” he slurs as he spills inside of you without warning, continuing to lazily thrust into you, “S’okay bunny, jus’ let your ‘zuku fill your pussy with his cum,” he grunts, chest heaving as he finishes releasing inside of you, the mixture of your arousal and his coating his cock.

you’re completely fucked now, sweating coating your forehead as you look up at him, pupils blown wide to match his. 

He slowly unsheathes his cock from you, glancing down to see his seed dripping down onto your sheets before he meets your eyes again, clearing his throat.

“Look at you, bunny,” his tone drops to a sweeter one now, one that holds comfort and years of love for you, “m’pretty girl,” he still hovers over you, his hot breath fanning across your face as he nudges your cheek with his nose.

“Mm,” you hum sleepily, “I needed that,” you press closer to his face, feeling his lips ghost against your cheek.

“Me too,” he replies softly, placing soft kissing against your skin, “M’always here for you.”

He tends to your unspoken needs, backing away from your face, brushing the pad of his thumb under your eye to brush away tears you hadn’t even realized were sliding down onto your cheeks.

“Still here,” he mutters, nodding softly as he keeps his eyes locked with yours, “Always here,” he continues rubbing against your cheek, “I’d never leave you, never let you go.” 

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。TANGLED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. just suguru needing his hair brushed for him bc he’s def so me and gets mad over the knots lol—alternative title: princess suguru and his frog <3

suguru huffs in front of your mirror—and it’s quite the frustrated huff, too—before he slams the hair brush down.

you raise a brow, “you okay over there?”

“no. ‘s knotted,” he mutters, referring to his hair. there’s a quiet grumbling of something unintelligible under his breath before he glares at himself in the mirror.

suguru loves his hair—anyone would know that just by looking at him. most guys use two-in-one shampoo (like satoru) but suguru? he practically hogs your shower space with all of the products he owns. his hair is well maintained and perfectly neat every time you see him. but sometimes, like now, it’s also a pain to brush once it’s knotted. and, well, he doesn’t handle it very well.

“you’ve been brushing for—” you pretend to check your bare wrist for the time, “—like ten minutes,” you giggle.

“very funny,” he grunts bitterly. and then, more petulantly this time, “i’m cutting it off for real this time.”

“you said that last time,” you remind him, eyes glinting with amusement.

“this time i mean it.”

“no you don’t, sugu.”

“i do,” he insists, glaring at you through the mirror, “it’s getting too long, and i don’t have the time to brush all these damn knots every two hours. so, it’s getting cut.”

“okay,” you nod casually—anyone can tell you don’t believe him.

his expression sours. suguru gets in very bad moods when his hair doesn’t cooperate, it’s evident in the way he flares his nostrils and scowls.

“you still don’t believe me? i’m being serious.”

“okay, baby,” you snort, finally deciding to take matters into your own hands as you rise from your bed and walk over. you stand behind him, reaching around him for the hair brush before gently pulling him back to stand closer. “i’ll get it for you, don’t worry. wouldn’t want your princess hair gone.”

“stop calling it that,” he groans, but the tension leaves his shoulders as soon as you gently brush through his strands, starting at the bottom and working your way up. it’s quiet for a bit—nothing but the soft sound of your humming as you work through the tangles in his long (perfect) hair.

“you could’ve just asked if you wanted me to brush it,” you tease after a few moments, “no need to throw a tantrum.”

“glad to see you’re enjoying this,” he rolls his eyes. and then, when you’ve finished and set the brush down, he turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his face finds the crook of your neck.

you hum, pecking the side of his head before threading your fingers into his dark locks, stroking through the soft strands and silently marveling at the length.

“you’re so pretty, suguru,” you murmur, “did’ya know that?”

“oh yeah?” he chuckles into your skin, lips curling into a loose smile. his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“yeah,” you nod, “like a princess. my prettiest princess.”

“i thought i told you to quit with that,” he says exasperatedly—you can feel the heat from his cheeks, and you grin to yourself knowing he’s blushing as he hides his face deeper into your shoulder.

“it’s true,” you insist, “i’m no liar. i’m a truther.”

“debatable,” he mumbles. you smack his shoulder playfully, and he squeezes your hips in response. “aren’t you going to tie it for me too?” he finally asks, and you’re sure there’s a pout curled on those lips of his. you ache to kiss them—and you will, just not right now.

right now, you’ll stay like this a bit longer.

“this is real princess treatment,” you sigh dramatically, “yes your highness. i’ll tie it too.”

“thank you,” he says, thoroughly satisfied. and then, quieter, like it’s a secret only you’re supposed to know, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you happily murmur, “but that might change if you cut your hair.”

“are you only dating me for my hair?”

“yes,” you snicker playfully, “it’s the main appeal. the princess appeal.”

“you know what,” suguru says thoughtfully, “i’ll be your princess.”

“really?” you gasp in excitement, making him nod into your neck as he presses a delicate kiss to your skin.

“sure,” he grins slyly, “and you can be the frog.”

the moment is officially ruined—and for a second, you think you might just have to cut his hair off in his sleep after that one.

come join me in the most self indulgent drabble once again. also the title being tangled even tho the reference is the princess and the frog is a tad bit funny to me jdjsjd i did giggle i can’t lie

[ripcupid]

FOCUS

“I can’t wait ‘till we chill, what you wanna do?”

- you left Price with the kids as you went on date, the date couldn’t be bad right?

୨୧ ex husband! price x reader

୨୧ word count: 2.6k 😨

୨୧ yes the title is a nct 127 reference! (If you even know who they are) also sorry for being gone for 4 months 🤭

“John, can you come pick me up?” You shiver in the cool night air, pressing your phone to your ear as you hold yourself.

“Was he that bad?” Price snickers on the other side of the phone, “I told ya, love,” he chuckles making you roll your eyes at the pet name.

“Shut up,” you huff, annoyance lacing your tone mixed with a hint of amusement. “Just hurry… please.”

“Alright, alright I’m comin’.” Price hangs up the phone, leaving you to wait in the cold a little longer before his car pulls up in front of you.

You find yourself smiling as you stare at Price's hands gripping the steering wheel, dropping your smile as he glances over at you, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I see ya looking, love,” he teases, looking from the corner of his eyes over at you. 

You roll your eyes playfully, feeling a warmth in your chest at his teasing. "Just drive, John," you say, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. You turn in your seat to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks, grateful for the darkness of the car. 

Price chuckles softly, the sound making your heart flutter as he drives the familiar route to your home. As you get out of the car, Price leans over the console, his eyes trailing over your body before locking with yours. "You gonna let me come in?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, "you know, say goodnight to my kids?"

"Fine, but just for a minute," you reply, trying to sound stern but failing. You feel his gaze lingering on you as Price follows you through to the front door and up to your twin's room.

You lean against the door frame, watching as he bends down to kiss your sleeping son goodnight, a warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of him being a dad all over again, remembering all the times like this before the divorce. He moves over to your daughter's bed and tucks her in tighter, whispering a soft goodnight.

"Are you staying for breakfast?" your daughter mumbles, looking up at Price with sleepy eyes. He looks down at her with a soft smile, "I don’t know, Ya gotta ask your mom first, sweetheart." Your daughter looks over at you with hopeful eyes, silently asking for permission.

"Of course, daddy can stay for breakfast, " you say with a smile as your daughter's face lights up with joy, "but you gotta go to sleep now." Price nods in agreement, giving the twins a final goodnight kiss before quietly leaving the room with you.

You walk him back downstairs, heading to the kitchen to grab two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. As you pour the drinks, Price leans against the counter, staring at you with a loving gaze. "What, John?" you ask, noticing the look in his eyes.

"Nothing, love, just looking," he replies, making your face heat up with a blush that you try to hide by turning back to the drinks.

"Don't call me that," you say under your breath, handing him a glass. "I'm not your wife anymore." Price takes the glass from you, a grin spreading across his face.

"Oh come on, what, you don't like it anymore? I thought you loved it when I called you that," he teases, taking a sip of his whiskey. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the memories that flood back at his words.

"Yeah, when we were married" you mutter, taking a sip of your drink and avoiding his gaze as you stand across from him. Price chuckles, setting his glass down on the counter. He steps closer to you, holding your cheek gently in his hand. You wanna push him away but you can't help the familiar warmth that spreads through you as he cradles your face. He lifts your chin, locking eyes with you.

His thumb traces your lips softly, a gesture that still makes your heart race despite the months you've been apart. He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against yours causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. The familiar smell of his cologne clouds around you as you grab onto his shirt, bunching the fabric in your fists. "John, we can't keep doing this," you whisper in the small space between you.

"Tell me no then, and I'll stop," he responds his voice barely above a whisper. The tension between you two is palpable, but you never tell him to stop knowing that deep down, you don't want him to.

"One kiss won't hurt," you rationalize, leaning in to meet his lips with yours. The kiss is slow and passionate as he holds your face in his hand gently, letting his tongue slide against yours. As the kiss deepens, his hands roam over your back, holding you against him. You can feel yourself losing control as his hand slips under your dress, resting on the curve of your ass.

Price kneads the soft flesh with a hunger that matches his own, sending a rush of desire between your legs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you run your fingers through his hair, tugging gently. "John, upstairs, please," you pant breathlessly between kisses.

"Ya sure?" You nod eagerly, letting him lift you effortlessly in his arms and carry you up the stairs to your bedroom. As he lays you down on your bed, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. He slides down the straps of your dress, exposing your bare chest to the cool air of the room.

The anticipation builds as he kisses down the center of your chest, your back arching in response to his touch. You hold the back of his head in your hands as he moves to your tits, kissing and teasing your sensitive nipples until they harden under his touch. Your breathing quickens as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before gently sucking.

You look down at him with desire, feeling the growing ache between your legs. As he continues to suck your tits, you push your hips up against him, silently begging for more. Price moves to the other nipple, giving it the same attention as the first. His hands move slowly down your sides, tracing every curve of your body as he buries his face in your chest.

You moan softly as Price releases your nipple with a pop, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he sits up to look down at you. "Look at you, love," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "So fucking beautiful." He pulls the rest of your dress off, revealing your naked body underneath before moving to your heels and slowly removing them, placing gentle kisses on each of your ankles as he does so.

You watch in anticipation as he spreads your legs apart, a smirk playing on his lips as he sees the growing damp spot on your panties. "No one's been taking care of my girl, huh?" He teases, sliding his hands up your thighs until they reach the edge of your panties. You shake your head, unable to form words as his fingers brush against the damp fabric, making you gasp softly.

"I gotcha now, don't worry," he whispers, his voice low and husky as he slowly slides your panties off, leaving you completely exposed to him. You sit up to stare down at him as he positions himself between your legs, his warm breath teasing your inner thighs. Price places a kiss on your aching clit, pushing your thighs to your chest to give him better access.

"Missed this pretty pussy of yours," he murmurs, looking up at you, making you shy away from his intense gaze. Your breath hitches as he leans in, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your slit before he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently. Your hands instinctively reach for his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as you moan softly, grinding your hips against his face.

Price pulls back, replacing his mouth with his fingers, slowly sliding them inside you as he watches your reactions closely, a smug smile playing on his lips. "You taste so good," he grunts, his voice low and rough. His tongue presses against your clit, flicking and teasing the sensitive bud until you're squirming and arching your back in pleasure, unable to contain your moans. "Shh, the kids are asleep," he whispers, his fingers moving faster inside you, his other hand gripping your hip tightly. "Can't -fuck, you feel so good," you moan, trying to reach for his hand.

"You wanna hold my hand, love?" he chuckles when you nod, intertwining his fingers with yours as his fingers curl inside you in just the right way to make you gasp. You cover your mouth with your free hand, trying to muffle your moans as Price returns to your clit, sucking and licking the bud with the same fervor as his fingers. Your hips sputter and buck against his face as you feel the heat building in your core, his touch driving you closer to the edge with each movement.

"I'm gonna cum, John, please, baby, don't stop," you whimper, your voice shaky with need. Price lets go of your hand, reaching up to knead your tits, teasing your nipples as he continues his ministrations. As you feel the tension in your body reaching its peak, you clamp your hand over your mouth to stifle the loud moans threatening to escape.

"That's it, love, come for me," he murmurs against your cunt. Your hips arch off the bed as you finally reach your climax, reaching for his hand for support as you desperately ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Price holds your hips tightly as you shudder and gasp, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

You lay limp under him, panting softly as he presses gentle kisses along your inner thighs before kissing his way back up your body. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your lips, kissing him slowly and deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.

Price's hands roam over your body, cupping your tits, eliciting soft moans from your lips as he brushes over your sensitive nipples. You continue to kiss him passionately, trying to get his shirt off, eager to feel his bare skin against yours.

Price breaks away from the kiss, his eyes never leaving yours as he quickly removes his shirt, revealing his toned chest. You chew on your bottom lip as he moves to his pants, pulling them down just enough to reveal his cock straining against his boxers.

Your breath hitches at the sight, anticipation building as he pulls himself free from his boxers, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. He wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly as he watches your reaction, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Don't look so surprised," he groans, tightening his hand around his cock, "I know you can take it, love." You spread your legs wider, eager for him to fill you as you feel the heat pooling between your legs again.

You reach down to touch yourself, moaning softly as you match his rhythm, the anticipation of him inside you driving you wild. "I want you inside me, please," you whimper, your voice barely audible over the sound of his heavy breathing.

Price pulls you closer, pushing your legs further apart as he positions himself at your entrance, whispering, "Keep 'em open for me, okay?” You nod, eagerly waiting as his cock teases your wetness before finally sliding inside you. His eyes stay fixed on your cunt as he slowly slides deeper into you.

You sit up to watch as he slowly starts to thrust in and out, a whiny moan escaping your lips as you watch him disappear into you. The feeling of him stretching you out makes your jaw go slack, your hands gripping the sheets as you look up at him, feeling every inch of him filling you up completely. "Is this good?" Price asks, leaning over you, his eyes focused on your face as he starts to move inside you with a slow and steady rhythm.

"Oh my -fuck, yes," you manage to gasp out. You cling to Price desperately, your nails digging into his biceps as you meet his thrusts with your movements. Price holds your face gently in his hands, his eyes locked with yours as he whispers, "You feel so good, baby -god your body was fucking made for me."

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he lazily plants soft kisses along your collarbone. You hold onto him tighter, savoring the feeling of his lips on your skin and the weight of his body against yours.

The room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing and your soft quiet moans as his cock slowly brings you to the edge once again. Price pants heavily against your ear, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate as he drives you both toward release. The soft sound of his name escaping your lips in a breathless plea only spurs him on even further, his hand gripping your hips possessively as he speeds up his thrusts, determined to have you come around his cock.

His eyes are locked on yours, filled with love and desire as he watches you unravel beneath him. You lean up to capture his lips in a hungry, passionate kiss, moaning against his mouth as your clit bumps against his pelvis with each thrust. Your body curls into his, your nails digging into his back as you feel the pressure building in your core. "I'm gonna come," you gasp, feeling the tension in your body reaching its peak.

"I know, love, me too," he grunts with a chuckle. Price's movements become more urgent as he feels your gummy walls spasm around him, pushing him closer to his own release as he helps you ride out your orgasm, his own release not far behind. He holds you close, grunting in your ear as he begs to come inside you.

"Please, let me come inside you," he pleads, his voice strained with desire. You nod slowly, still dazed from the intensity of your climax, feeling his thrusts becoming more desperate and sloppy as he reaches his peak. As he finally releases inside you, you whimper softly in response to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you up.

Price collapses on top of you, both of you breathing heavily before he rolls off to the side, pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead gently. "This is the last time, John," you mutter, tracing lazy patterns on his stomach with your fingertips. Price chuckles softly, making you look up at him. "You said that last time, love," he teases, causing you to pull away to face him.

"I mean it this time," you insist, getting up from the bed and grabbing your clothes. "We can't keep doing this," you say, walking to your bathroom. Price watches you through the open doorway as you turn on the shower. "Can I at least shower with you?" he asks with a sly grin as he gets up from your bed, tucking himself back into his boxers.

You look at him where he stands in your doorway, a mixture of frustration and desire evident in your eyes. "Fine, but this is the last time," you say with a sigh, unable to resist him as he follows you into the bathroom. Price's grin widens as he follows you into the shower, knowing he has once again won you over once again.

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LISTEN NOW

[whiskeyskin]

Just this..

Premise: Making out with Astarion by candlelight in his tent while it's raining outside.

• Astarion x gn!reader • Mild rating (some sexual reference) •

Astarion POV, kissing, lots of kissing, feelings, wrapped in each other, reader referenced as "you", gn!you, intimacy, dry humping if you squint, doubt, assurance, Act2 into Act3

740 words

(If you can listen to music, to set the mood 😏)

Thank you to @aristenfromwarsaw for this beautiful picture of our boy.. look at how beautiful has hands are 😍✨

•°•°•

Legs entwined, hands roaming, lips soft.

The staccato patter of rain hitting the canvas of the tent. The distant crackle of the campfire still magically spitting and snapping.

Within the dim candlelight of his tent, Astarion smooths a flat palm up your calf, pulling you closer at the knee.

One arm cradling your shoulders, the other caressing every inch it could. Your legs, your back, stomach, chest, your hair.. anywhere. Everywhere.

You moan gently against his open mouth as the kiss breaks, only to dive straight back in.

Your arm trapped beneath the embrace was hooked around his thigh, gently squeezing and thumbing his cool skin. The other running electricity through his scalp as you play with his hair.

You'd both lain like this for almost an hour; just kissing. Slow and deliberate. Deeply and meaningful. Like the world outside didn't exist. Like the only two people on this plane were you and him. Like time had stopped, stretched into infinity and still wasn't long enough.

A light sheen of sweat lingers on you both, comfortably sticking you together. Warmth that fills his soul and what's left of his beaten and bruised heart. The sensual rhythm of writhing against each other. His lips swollen from so much kissing, as were yours but neither of you cared; this felt spectacular.

His admission of truth, that he had been manipulating you but had now developed an attachment for you, had gone surprisingly well, and although he still didn't know what the official title was, he was rather enjoying himself.

After what he'd confessed to you, you had taken sex taken off the table but Astarion had wanted have something tangible to be able call it a relationship, to stay connected to you. So, you'd suggested these kissing sessions instead - which were an abundant success.

Your tongue softly connects with his, as you glide your palm down the column of his neck, to dance across his clavicle and descend to rest on his chest.

He bunches your shoulders, pulling you in closer, gasping against your lips. Wrapping an arm around your lower back, suckering you on himself, he kisses you longingly - like he'd not been pressed against you for the evening.

It was though he couldn't have you close enough. That laying next to him wasn't sufficient. He wanted to be inside you.

Not like that. But, something.

He hoists you up higher on the floor, and winds his legs further into you, grinding his thigh against your sex.

You give a muffled gasp against his mouth and let out a contented sigh, grasping the same thigh with fervor.

Astarion stills slightly, feeling guilty.

That potentially could have been a faux pas on his end.

Perhaps this should stop, he didn't want to lead you along when he didn't want this to lead to anything more. You had been at this for over an hour by now.

But he wanted this.

Gods, he wanted this.

Maybe he should just force himself to have sex, just to keep feeling this way.. with you. Gods damn the racking guilt and gut-wrenching self-loathing that inevitably came down upon him with a crushing weight that threatened to suffocate him.

Sex with you wasn't so bad, it was truly wonderful.. but the act itself was tainted. It didn't matter that it was you. It was all.. wrong.

And you weren't wrong. You were incredible.

You'd made a resigned, bitter, self-destructive Spawn see that there's more to this existence than living in fear and regret.

He couldn't do that to you. Not any more. He couldn't bare to associate that feeling with you any longer.

Being with you was different but it was all.. tainted. Just thinking of using Vampiric charm for seduction and sex regurgitated twisting bile in his gut that told him he was a monster, a villain.. a vile, pathetic boy who never did anything but play a good whore.

But if he had to endure that inner turmoil to be with you, then torment was worth it, as long as it felt like this right now.

You cup his face and dance your fingertips along the hard ridge of his ear, Astarion shudders a breath shakily against an open mouthed kiss.

"I don't want anything more than this. This is perfect. Just this.." Your voice purred through the connection, interrupting this thoughts. Astarion sighs in relief.

"Oh, thankthegods.. because I really don't want this to end." Smiling against your lips, he pulls you in for more.

•°•°•

[atlabeth]

mine forever

request from @nghtwngs

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!tidemaker reader

a/n: SO sorry for posting this early and having to delete 💀 i was formatting and didnt realize i was not saving it as a draft lmao. but thank you for sending this in love!!! and PLEASEE send in as much nikolai as you want i miss writing for him so much

wc: 1.4k

warning(s): hurt/comfort. reader is insecure, nikolai is the sweetest as usual

join in on my 3k celebration!!

“You’re avoiding me.” 

Your eyes didn’t move away from the horizon when you heard Nikolai’s voice, though you felt your muscles tense. 

“Clearly not well enough,” you remarked. “Seeing as you found me.” 

“You know I’ll always find you,” Nikolai murmured. “But that means little if you will not talk to me.” 

Of course you were not talking to him. You did not know how to talk to him—not when you so clearly didn’t understand the issue plaguing you. 

All you’d ever known was the life of a Grisha. You were tested when you were young, revealed to be a Tidemaker, and whisked away to the Little Palace, where you’d been honing your abilities ever since. You rebelled against the one thing you knew, joined the side of the Sun Summoner, and now you were in the midst of a war for the very survival of your people. 

There were so few Tidemakers left after the Darkling’s massacre, which meant Alina and Nikolai were counting on you more than ever in their fight to reclaim Ravka. 

But when you needed your powers most, they disappeared. 

You— you just didn’t understand, because it didn’t make sense. You’d spent years studying the Small Science and how to wield it, how to manipulate the water around you no matter how miniscule. 

This was not merzost. You had never tampered with the way of the world, never attempted to bastardize the abilities you’d been granted.

Like called to like. There was a part of you that connected to the water, that allowed you the affinity for all of this.  

You had just… lost it. For no apparent reason. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” you stated simply. The cold of the railing shocked your fingers as you set your hand down, but you welcomed any sort of feeling. 

“Do not be ridiculous,” Nikolai said wryly. He came out onto the balcony and stopped beside you. You could see him looking at you through your peripherals, could feel his intent gaze. “Nobody avoids me unless they have a reason.”

You huffed a bitter laugh. “I certainly have a reason, moi tsarevich.”

“So we’ve gone back to titles?” Nikolai’s lips quirked up. “Shall I start referring to you as Grisha? Tidemaker, even?”

You scoffed. “That would be inaccurate.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “We’ve reached the root of the problem.”

“We hardly did anything,” you said. “Do you talk just to hear the sound of your own voice?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Nikolai said. “But you should know your scornful words have no effect when I’m aware of your true feelings.”

“If you are aware of my true feelings, you should know I would like to be left alone.” 

“You want to be left alone because you feel useless without your power,” he said. “Any man worth their salt would not fall to that, and fortunately, I’m worth quite a lot.” 

You finally turned to look at Nikolai, though you could not muster the full force of your anger when you did. He had that slight smile still, the glint in his eyes, and all you could think was that you didn't even deserve this kindness. 

“Because I am,” you said. 

He shook his head. “You are not. Far from useless, actually.” 

“You served in the First Army, didn’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s relevant—” 

“Just answer my question.” 

“...Yes,” he said. “I was infantry. The 22nd Regiment.” 

“And if you had lost the ability to shoot a gun, would you be allowed to stay on the front lines?” 

Nikolai shook his head. “I will not participate in hypotheticals to help you feel worse.” 

“Because you know it’s true.” You looked back out at the horizon—the sun was steadily setting. “I have no place here anymore.” 

He said your name with a slight huff. “That is not true.” 

“I’m not Grisha anymore!” you exclaimed as you whirled back to face him. “The only reason I have ever gotten anywhere— the only reason I am here, the only reason I ever met you in the first place— it is all because of my power.” You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself in the wake of a cold wind. The material was noticeably thinner than your kefta, but you could not bring yourself to wear it anymore. “I’m useless now. To— to Ravka, to the Second Army— to you.” 

His brows furrowed. “You are not useless to Ravka— and you could never be useless to me.” You averted your eyes, unable to meet the full weight of his softened gaze, and his frown deepened. “That’s what this is about then? 

“Don’t act like it’s so ridiculous,” you muttered. 

Nikolai had the nerve to laugh, and you glared at him. He held up his hands in defense, but he could not fully bite back his smile. 

“I apologize, lapushka, but I did not even consider that as an option for why you were so upset.” 

Nikolai took your hands in his, hands that had been the key to your power the entire life, that were failing you, and he held them like nothing else in the world mattered. “Do you know how absurd the thought of me not loving you is?” 

You glanced away, but Nikolai gently cupped your chin with a few fingers and tilted you back to meet his eyes. 

“Because it is,” he continued, letting his hand fall back down to grasp yours. “I love you with everything in me. I love you because you are you—not because of your powers. Not because you are Grisha.” 

“Who am I if I am not Grisha?” Your voice came out as little more than a whisper, near a desperate plea. You’d never felt weaker, never felt smaller. The only thing you’d known all your life had been ripped away from you, and you felt as if you’d been shoved into an endless void. 

Nikolai said your name softly as he squeezed your hands. “You are a soldier of great renown. A revolutionary on the right side of history. The most loyal friend someone can have. And lest you somehow manage to forget it, you are the woman I love.”

“You deserve better than—” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “—than some broken, failed Grisha.”

“You are not broken,” Nikolai murmured, and he never looked away from your eyes as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “We are merely on… a different path.” 

“A different path,” you repeated, and you could not help your wry laugh. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we will go down every step of it together. Do you understand that?” 

Nikolai fought for everything he had, despite his standing as a Lantsov. He was a soldier on the front lines, he rose through the ranks on the sea under a pseudonym, and now he was clawing his way through useless formalities in order to take back the throne that he deserved. 

And here you were—someone who was given everything because of some power inside you. And now you didn’t even have that. 

It just did not seem right. It did not make sense. For a man as powerful as Nikolai to stick by your side despite such a misgiving. 

“If you don’t, that is alright.” Nikolai shrugged. “I will just have to spend extra time showing you how much I revere your very being.” 

“Nikolai,” you murmured, and his grip on your hands tightened. 

“I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through,” he said. “I cannot lose what you have lost because I’ve never had it in the first place. But I can promise you wholeheartedly that we will figure out what is wrong. Together.” 

“And what if we don’t?” you asked. You couldn’t help it. 

“Then nothing will change,” Nikolai vowed. “Milaya, nothing can tear me away from you, whether you are Grisha or not. Do you understand that?” 

A part of you still could not. Who were you if you were not of use? 

But when you met Nikolai’s eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to glow with the sunset, full of softness and admiration and love, you found that you could start to.

You may not have believed in yourself, but Nikolai did. And that had to mean something.  

“I’m beginning to,” you murmured. 

“Good,” he said, and his lips quirked into a smile. “But fear not, milaya. I hold enough love for you inside of me for the both of us in the meantime.” 

[gotham-daydreams]

How would it have gone differently if Reader didn't try to be an "overachiever" and instead just stayed quiet and didn't interact with anyone besides Alfred until they left? Their room they left being mostly blank, with only the music journals? Giving up on trying to get their attention.

I think what's so funny about this ask, to me, is that I already have a concept like this written down (along with 3 others since the current reader I'm writing for the "Not [ ]" series is one of them but with a few missing details), so this'll be fun!

I guess it generally goes how you'd expect? Which is different for the most part, but the reader's perspective on what's happening is also different.

Granted, I would like to point out that, at least for this particular concept and the idea I have for it of how this would go, does have more stuff going on pre-Batfam that do affect how they perceive what's happening, and that's what makes things interesting in my opinion. Because someone can be naturally shy or just overall more reserved either out of nature or because they feel a certain way, but still feel bad about being neglected and, despite their lack of effort, feel that pain just as much as someone who's tried. Which is valid! Besides, someone's definition of 'trying' can vary as well.

Everyone should have a chance to have a family, and form some kind of connection with people. Just because you aren't going above and beyond for one person, doesn't mean you're undeserving of certain things. Especially not a chance to have a family, or feel like you have one. That's what I think anyway.

Nevertheless, back to the reader!

From the original concept, I will be tweaking a few things to fit the ask, but the same general outcome remains! Though again, the reader's perspective on things is a tad different. But how about this- I'll show two versions of the reader.

One that's quiet and more reserved because they gave up much earlier, or just generally hopeless really early on because maybe they felt as if anything they'd do just wouldn't be enough, who'll be accurately named Quiet!Reader. With the other being more closely related to the concept I wrote for such an idea, that we'll refer to as Waiting!Reader.

Quiet!Reader would change up things quite a bit! I won't lie!

They might already have bad self-esteem that's quick to develop at the start of things, which is something to note as that doesn't get better with time. They grow more cold and distant from the family at a quicker pace both from personal and external reasons.

Put simply, they don't feel good enough, and even if they did- anything they could do to get the Batfam's attention would never be enough in their eyes. To which, they see very early on when they try to engage and do some things with the family, only to be turned down. What doesn't help is when Quiet!Reader sees Damian get adopted and almost immediately showered with love, (compared to them) and that really cements some ideas that were already developing in their head about the family.

When Damian comes into the picture, they feel replaced. Seeing him as someone to fill in the 'youngest Wayne' role instead of them, so that Bruce and the others actually have someone to acknowledge for such a title. Just someone else to further take away the little they had.

So, they further step out of the way, glaring at the Batfam with tired eyes before that eventually stops too. Envy clawing at their heart, hatred being sent through waves of pain all throughout their body. Hurt unmatched. Yet they still remain invisible. Quiet as ever. Unnoticed. Everything they ever felt dies down, and forms a cold numbness that they begin to associate with the family.

Maybe through that, they feel closer to the family in some twisted way. Now just as cold as them. Just as talkative, and just as engaging. Almost mirroring them, but they're honest about how they feel. Honest about what they think, and therefore better. At least when compared to the Batfam- and to them, even if it wasn't a high bar to reach anyway, at least it counts for something.

It was never Damian's fault, or really about Damian at all. It could've been anyone else and Quiet!Reader would've still reacted the same way, they know that. Though just seeing the Batfam show love and care to him and not them just makes them feel... worse.

Clearly they're capable of love, and can notice new additions to the family (to which they may have mostly believed that the Batfam's neglect was just something the family did for whatever reason, and thought that them being the youngest had something to do with it for a while) and that breaks the reader. It doesn't hurt, not as much as it would've, maybe, but whatever hurt is there dies down quickly as Quiet!Reader, well, quietly accepts their fate.

The Batfam clearly wants nothing to do with them, so why should they try to do all of these things for them? It's simple, they shouldn't. So they don't. Quiet!Reader gives up, and continues to live their life without them.

The Manor just becomes a place they sleep in, and nothing else. It isn't anything close to a home, and not even Alfred can help with that.

It's because of that little fact, however, that Quiet!Reader leaves much sooner than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series. Maybe once they get a friend they can trust, they essentially end up living with said friend, hence why their room remains so empty. The notebooks they even keep in the room they have in the Manor is from when they were way younger, instead of just being from a few months ago or so. We're talking years since Quiet!Reader has touched those things now.

Maybe they do 'officially' leave a month or so before they usually would as an overachiever in the "Not [ ]" series, having only bothered to return so often before because of Alfred. Though even then, they'd forget to return most nights- only being reminded to even try and go back once Alfred would personally call them, and ask them where they were.

However now, after a while of just the time between them basically living with their friend and sleeping at the manor, they stop returning altogether. Though this time around they instead personally go to Alfred to say they're goodbyes. Not explaining much, but just saying that while they might still try to come and visit him sometimes, they don't live in the Manor anymore. Alfred already knows this, and the embrace they share fully hammers in that fact.

Yet when Quiet!Reader turns away, and leaves the Manor for good- even through the front door at that. Alfred can't help but just... miss them already.

You see, while Quiet!Reader is indeed quieter and more reserved, especially towards the Batfam, with Alfred really being the only exception, they still made music.

Maybe they didn't have as many concerts or physical, grand, live performances compared to the reader in the "Not [ ]" series, they not only started earlier, but may have actually started out on a social platform such a youtube. They really started out small, but were able to find and start their passion much earlier!

Most of what they played was when they were in the Manor, but slowly they started to get involved with things music related outside of the Manor and in Gotham- and from there were able to build themselves up even more. Hell, I'd even say that Quiet!Reader is a little more well-known and popular than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series because of the amount of extra time they dedicated to their passion.

So basically, Alfred this time around has more recordings and such of Quiet!Reader actually doing something they love than with the one in the series. However! Funnily enough, they're gone for a shorter amount of time despite having left earlier than normal.

Alfred is just, extra fed up with this nonsense, and so pulls his tricks more early on, but also make them hit harder.

He doesn't clean Quiet!Reader's room to show how long they've been gone, adding onto the emptiness and almost abandoned feeling the room itself gives off because of how bare and empty it is. They're music haunts the halls, subtle, sure, but still noticeable- especially to those who are hyper aware all the time. Pictures of Quiet!Reader and Alfred begin to be hung up, and if he can manage- some with Quiet!Reader and their friends during important parts of their life.

No one is safe from the guilt and anguish Alfred seeks to cause to not only have the Batfam look for you, but most importantly, to finally notice you.

Let's just say, things work out a little too well.

---

As for Waiting!Reader? Oh man, I've been wanting to rant about them for a while!

Unlike the reader in the "Not [ ]" series and Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader had some semblance of a life before getting adopted into the Batfam. Though the idea and character themself isn't musically inclined/involved in music, or even all that interested in music for that matter- for the sake of this ask, lets say they are!

I won't dabble too much into the life Waiting!Reader had before the Batfam, as if I do end up writing them I'd also like to keep some details vague (for the sake of leaving it up to interpretation and everything), but just know that during the time they were still with their original family, they were essentially taught that they should 'wait their turn', and eventually their parents would spend time with them and care for them. Hence the little name I've given them.

So! When they get to the Manor and are officially adopted, only to be neglected and ignored during their first few attempts- because of their young age, they immediately think "oh! they're just like mom and dad!" So they 'wait' for 'their turn', believing that eventually, should they wait long enough, they'll be rewarded with bonding and such from the Batfam just as they were with their previous parents.

This mindset changes what they do as well, as Waiting!Reader even goes out of their way to not bother anyone, or "get in the way" of whatever they could be doing. Waiting!Reader treats the situation so much like their previous home life, that sometimes they might even forget that the Batfam are completely different people from their parents. The only real difference that they can think of is that they're not acknowledged at all and it seems like their 'turn' never comes. Though for a while that doesn't get them down. The Batfam is busy like they're parents were! Waiting!Reader is sure that when things die down then they'll have their time.

... Hopefully.

I can imagine that part of the reason why Waiting!Reader holds on to hope for so long is because, again, their own parents constantly reassured them that they would have their time eventually. That if they behaved, and stayed out of the way, then they would go somewhere fun with their parents and essentially be rewarded for their efforts. They were conditioned to wait, to be patient, and just comply until those around them decided to actually take care of them, and spend time with them.

Of course, as they grow up the reality of the situation does hit them eventually, but during that time they do try.

Waiting!Reader helps Alfred around the house, and so they mostly bond over doing chores, among other things. They are also more mindful, and try to keep the amount of noise they back down— so they actually don't play at the Manor all that often, and instead play literally anywhere else. If and when they do play outside, around the area of the Manor like in the gardens or something, they make sure no one is around before even thinking of playing.

Alfred does help them break a few of their habits that they got while living with their parents, but the one thing he can't seem to 'fix' is how absolutely quiet Waiting!Reader is when they walk around. Which, as on can imagine, doesn't exactly help in a situation where the whole family, except for the butler, is neglecting you.

The amount of times Waiting!Reader has caught Alfred off guard is more then you'd think for someone that works with the Dark Knight, and his various sidekicks and such, over the years. Which does say something, sure, but it's also funny!

Regardless, similar to Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader is able to start their musical career earlier than normal, and thuse becomes a little more popular than they would originally. However, they're more known for their live performances and giving back to the community. Seemingly just like Bruce as they attend charity event after charity event, and try to do good by the people.

Waiting!Reader also does genuinely try to become a vigilante as well, but they do so in a way where they only take care of the smaller/medium guys, and leave the bigger ones to the rest of the Batfam. This is because they want to remove possible distractions for their family, and while they would try to take on "bigger guys", they don't think they're skilled enough or experienced enough to even think about it. So they don't even try. (They also don't have the same theme as the Batfam- since they don't want to 'ruin' their reputation with what they're doing or something. Which does hell them further detach themself from the family later on.)

I'd say that with Waiting!Reader, the difference between them and the Batfam is more clear to them? Like, to them, the Batfam are just so good at what they do that they have no hope of reaching them. So instead of trying to reach for them, they just do their own thing and try to help in their own way.

Because Waiting!Reader takes care of smaller guys, they are kind of closer to Waiting!Reader as a vigilante.

The best way I can put it is that while the community trusts Batman and the members of the Batfam to save their city, they trust Waiting!Reader to save their homes.

So basically- Batfam is the bigger picture while Waiting!Reader focuses on the smaller picture.

Nevertheless! Also like Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader actually leaves earlier. Except when they leave, they leave.

Waiting!Reader straight up leaves Gotham City to attend the college that they want to go to, in an area that has more opportunity for them, that isn't close to where the Batfam lives or patrols.

So they not only leave earlier, but it also takes the Batfam longer to find them. Especially because Waiting!Reader does still do some things in Gotham, they just don't live there anymore.

I feel like out of all three readers, Waiting!Reader definitely feels like the kind of person that someone would assume is some kind of "Phantom of the Wayne Manor," y'know?

So Alfred definitely tries to make the Batfam feel bad like he does with Quiet!Reader. Except how anyone in the Batfam is reminded that Waiting!Reader even exists, and that they've been gone for a while now is through a letter that is accidentally sent to the Wayne Manor from one of Waiting!Reader's fans. From there, some research does start and the more the Batfam learns, the more they want to go and find the reader- you know the deal.

I hope this answered your question even if I really did ramble on this time- if you'd like me to clarify anything or go into more detail on a specific part, feel free to send in an ask!

[killergee]

A Small Fascination

Note: Canon divergence. Haven't read the manga, so I'm making up facts. Only spoiler is that kaiju no. 10 gets turned into a suit.

Hoshina x weapons designer reader where she is obsessed with kaiju. Kind of like a hange from aot figure. Or crazy reader x hesitant but supportive Hoshina.

Synopsis: Perceived as untouchable and unapproachable, you didn't care for anything but kaijus. However, Hoshina finally gets you to notice him with the arrival of the body of kaiju no. 10.

Tagslist: @alwaysalilconfused

-----------------------------------------------

You're a weapons designer who's infamous for your cold nature. Your responses were always curt, you never went to social gatherings, and you never stayed long enough in a room for someone to strike up a conversation with you. Because of this, you were known as the defense's icy beauty. Someone everyone could admire from afar but can never touch lest they wanted to feel the chill of your aloof demeanour.

No one knew this better than Hoshina.

He has approached you before, but he felt like you never really saw him. When he talked to you, it felt like you were looking past him. Like you were counting down the seconds until it was socially acceptable to end the conversation and leave. To you, he was probably just another random lackey trying to talk to you.

What made it sting even worse was that he could tell you didn't remember his name at all. No matter how many times he reintroduced himself to you, the next time he saw you, you either avoided referring to him at all or only by his title when you seemed to remember.

So he kept his small fascination with you as it was. A small fascination. Nothing more, nothing less.

The reality of the situation, however, was that you were simply too absorbed in your work. You weren't an ice princess or a tsundere, but simply someone crazy about kaijus.

You would rather spend your time locked up in your lab than anywhere else. Moreover, due to your line of work, you constantly spoke to various people—whether it be other scientists, engineers, or officers—so you gave up on remembering names. The only thing worth remembering were the different kaiju species and information relevant to your experiments and inventions.

Outside of your research, no one had ever caught your eye enough to leave an impression on you.

The day the body of kaiju no. 10 arrived on base, everything changed. Never had Hoshina seen you as happy as you were now. Hell, he's never even seen any emotion on your face other than boredom. You were practically buzzing in your place as they were wheeling the kaiju body into your lab.

Before turning to enter your lab, your eyes met Hoshina's. "You did an excellent job bringing this one in, Hoshina!" You exclaimed, quickly grasping both of his hands and giving them a shake. With a beaming smile, you left Hoshina standing there stunned.

Huh?

Hoshina thought he must've died and gone to heaven because you did not just smile at him and you definetly did not just say his name. It wasn't until he realized he was the only one left standing outside your lab did he snap out of his daze. That blinding smile played in the back of his mind for weeks after.

From then on he started visiting your lab under the guise of checking on your progress.

The first few times, you were so wrapped up in your experimentations that he was only able to stand to the side and watch. But the fourth time he stepped into your lab, your head immediately snapped to his. "Oh, the kaiju talked about you! Said something about how he wanted you to be the one who wears him."

Unprepared for your attention, "ah, really?" Was the only response he could muster.

"I wonder why? What about you makes you so special that the kaiju likes you," you said pensively, stepping into his space. Your hand was under your chin contemplatively while your face peered up at his.

You were finally looking at him like he wanted. Even if that look resembled someone looking at a funky-looking bacteria under a microscope—you were still truly looking at him.

It was better than nothing.

"Hmmm, slightly above average build, average height, above average looks..." You continued your analysis while he choked on his own spit at your last comment. "And yet you were able to defeat the kaiju with just swords... intriguing."

"Well the Captain was the one-"

"Yes, yes, I've seen the report, but you're the one the kaiju credits for this." You finally pulled away, and although Hoshina could finally breathe, the space in front of him felt a little emptier.

"Impressive." He heard you say as you turned around to go back to your desk. He even saw a small smile grace your features for a second.

Huh, maybe this won't stay as a small fascination.

Chasing after that high, he visited your lab again and again and again. You, however, misinterpreted his actions and thought you found someone just as fascinated by kaijus as you were.

"Isn't he beautiful?"

Hoshina threw a confused glance at you as he faced the tank. "...the kaiju?"

"Yes, who else? His exoskeleton that serves as his armour is such a beautiful shade of red. Combined with its insane durability, thi-"

Despite his best attempts to keep up with what you were saying, he couldn't see things the way you did. It was difficult to even try to see things the way you did when you were speaking so quickly and used so much unfamiliar terminology. Still, he thought you looked extra adorable talking so passionately.

He watched you approached the tank, your hand lightly touching the glass. "Oh, when I'm done with you," you said, your voice lowering an octave, "you're going to be the best."

Hoshina shamefully felt a wave of heat flash through his body at your statement. His mind couldn't help but go to a different place with the way you spoke—menacingy and commanding, but with an undertone of something he couldn't exactly place.

He heard the kaiju respond, but he could only focus on you.

"Yeah, yeah, quit yapping. Be nice and quiet for me, will you? Good... Now how do I remove the vocal chords..."

That day, Hoshina thinks he might have discovered something about himself.

-------------

With every visit, Hoshina brought stories of the kaijus he's slain or seen. He enjoyed speaking with you and especially enjoyed how the stories got you to focus on him so earnestly.

You were at your desk, head resting on your hand as you looked at him. "I'm so jealous of you, I wish I could've seen that kaiju in real life."

Hoshina spun the pen in his hand as he listened to you. The report infront of him was only half finished, but he didn't mind the distraction. In fact, he welcomed it.

Spending only his free time with you wasn't enough for him, but he couldn't just drop his duties and laze around in your lab every day. So he moved most of his paperwork to your lab. He actually moved so much of his things that his desk in his office was practically empty. Sometimes, he even finds that he has to go to your lab to grab his things.

For him, it didn't matter if you two chatted or if you simply worked on your separate things in silence. He just liked being close to your presence.

At first, he was scared he was overstepping your boundaries. He knew your lab was your everything, and he didn't want to intrude. It was the place where you would lock yourself for days on end. The space in which you would make a beeline to from the parking lot. The space that was wholly yours, and only yours—a physical extension of you.

But then he noticed how, despite the mess of blueprints and papers scattered on the desk and floor, there was always a clear space on the corner of the desk where he usually sat at. A space that seemed to expand more and more every day to accommodate the things he would bring.

It made his heart warm at the thought that you not only accepted him into your space but also welcomed him in it.

"Can't really say that was a great experience." He responded, flipping to the next page of his report.

"Take a picture for me next time, will you? The drones are not the best when it comes to pictures."

Hoshina smiled, chancing a glance at you. "Heh, all ya have to do is ask, and I'll even bring ya back a piece of it."

"Really?!" You exclaimed excitedly, pushing yourself to his side and clutching his arm.

Hoshina was only joking when he said that. He didn't think you'd actually take him seriously. He didn't even know if he was allowed to do that. He probably wasn't.

"Uh, I don't think-"

"If you could please bring back its eyes! No, actually, it's reproductive organs. That way, I could test it in the lab and record the different stages of their growth. NO WAIT, I want its heart! The heart of a kaiju is so unique from other mamals-" you rambled on, getting lost in your own excitement. The glimmer in your eyes, along with the elation in your voice, made him want to clench his heart at your cuteness.

I guess I'll find a way, hoshina decided with a soft sigh as he dropped his report to focus on your lecture.

-----------

Although he typically reached out to you first, sometimes you surprised him.

"Vice Captain, let me measure you," you announced one day, already taking out the measuring tape as if to say he had no choice but to comply.

He was sitting on your desk chair, foot propped on your desk. Despite feeling a bit nervous, he stood up anyway. "Why do ya need to measure me?"

"Well, since the kaiju wants you to wear it, I thought I'd make sure it fits you perfectly." You said as you approached him.

Motioning for him to raise his arms, you stood only a couple inches away from him. You snaked your hands behind his back, wrapping the measuring tape around to the front of his chest. Your actions were slow and almost intimate as you handled him delicately. It left his skin tingling in excitement and anticipation. Not knowing where to look, he tried to look down at your hands holding the measuring tape together. He quickly snapped his head back up with a blush when he saw a glimpse down your shirt. At the quick movement, the tape shifted in your hands. He thought you'd scold him to stay still or keep his eyes forward. Instead, you surprised him by letting out a low chuckle.

His ears flushed hot at the sound. His blush grew brighter when you dropped to his waist and your hand grazed his lower abdomen. When you walked around him to measure his back, he felt both the slither of the measuring tape and the ghost of your fingertips on his waist.

"Your proportions are phenomenal. A good physique with an ideal body ratio," he listened as your fingers traced along his shoulders. "If the kaiju didn't choose you to wear the suit, then I would've." You said one last time as you put your hands down.

You reached for the notebook on your desk as he hovered beside you, facing the other way. While he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment and also in an attempt to calm himself down, a thought occurred to him.

"Wait, doesn't the suit readjust itself to the person wearing it?"

You keep your head down, but your gaze shifts to his. "Oh yeah, it does."

The tone of your voice suggested you forgot, but he knew better as he saw the mischief dancing in your eyes.

That was when he knew he was in too deep. You were so much more than a small fascination, and he was so much more than a little intrigued.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 9: Some Days He Feels Like Dying]

A/N: Below are your guesses...let's see how you did!!! 🥰😘

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Extraordinary Girl” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Let’s go back to the beginning of the end of the world.

On the big-screen tv in the Liberty Center at Saratoga Springs, Wolf Blitzer is saying: “We are receiving confirmation of additional outbreaks of the so-called Florida Fever, the first cases of which here in the U.S. were reported in Miami a little over one week ago. Concern is now growing nationally, especially as the modes of transmission, symptoms, and treatment options remain unclear. Let’s go across the country to Natasha Chen for the latest information. Natasha?”

“Hi, Wolf. I’m here outside the UC San Diego Medical Center where early this morning, two individuals suspected to be suffering from the illness were admitted. I’ve been informed by hospital staff that both patients are currently in stable condition, but there is still so much confusion and conflicting information regarding this ‘Florida Fever,’ and of course that uncertainty is leading to fear, rumors, and honestly a bit of hysteria. Even how to refer to the sickness is controversial, with no official name having been decided upon by scientists. Cases in Australia are known as Ragepox, the U.K. has dubbed it the 21st Century Sweat after a mysterious disease from the 1500s, and Russia is calling it the Ukrainian Flu while Ukraine has opted for the Russian Red Rot, inspired by the skin lesions that some patients experience.”

“Can you tell us what we do know, Natasha? Are doctors classifying this illness as a virus, or as a bacterial infection more akin to tuberculosis or meningitis?”

“At this time, what I’m hearing is that doctors are fairly certain it’s a virus, as patients do not seem to respond to antibiotics when they’ve been explored as a potential treatment. But there’s truly very little information at this early stage, and I think we’re all being reminded of those first days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when no one really knew how to best to avoid contracting the virus or what the long-term effects would be both nationally and globally.”

“There are absolutely some similarities, Natasha, which I’m sure is contributing to the unease surrounding the situation. What precautions are doctors currently recommending?”

“Wolf, doctors are urging the public not to panic, and to exercise common sense measures like avoiding crowded spaces, sanitizing surfaces, and staying home if they’re feeling unwell. Suspected cases of the illness should be reported to primary physicians or local hospitals. Typical symptoms appear to include headaches, fever, gastrointestinal upset, skin discoloration and blistering, and unusual bleeding, as well as behavioral changes, particularly disorientation, aggression, and even violence in some patients…”

“That ain’t what it is,” Rio says. He jabs his index finger at the tv from where he sits on the couch beside you. “Snowflake wasn’t sick, he was dead. He was motherfucking dead, flatline, code blue, crossed the rainbow bridge, he was gone. He was dead and then he woke back up, and he wasn’t a person anymore. He was…something else.”

“Dumbass, people don’t come back from the dead,” Mike says from the ping pong table. People are milling around pretending to play pool, darts, chess, poker, Monopoly, Uno, Parcheesi, but really you’re all here for the same reason. You want to know what’s happening.

Rio turns to you. “Wasn’t Snowflake dead?”

“He definitely seemed dead,” you reply, knees tucked to your chest and still watching the tv. Wolf Blitzer’s voice is calm, but his pale blue eyes have a manic sort of light to them, too large and too rattled.

“Man, fuck Florida,” says Desmond, a utilitiesman born and raised Trenton, New Jersey. “Nothing but psychos and alligators. Saw them off of Georgia and just let them float away.”

“What was that?” Tyler replies combatively. He’s from a trailer park in Tallahassee.

“Ty, why do you care? You’d be fine. You’re already up here. You can stay.”

“They’re lying,” Rio mutters, meaning Wolf and Natasha on CNN. “When the corpsmen called the hospital, they said to be prepared to restrain Snowflake and that he might try to bite us. Why aren’t they warning people about that?!”

Kayleigh, a steelworker from Oklahoma City, looses a frenetic sort of laugh. “Because there’s no non-panic-inducing way to say: Hey, go buy some duct tape and bungee cords to tie up your loved ones, because they might try to fucking eat you.”

Rio doesn’t frown often, but he is now; he slips his phone out of the pocket of his camo pants and types out a WhatsApp message to Sophie. You only know her from photos and quick hellos via video chat, a sweet diminutive woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to fill up half her face, as fragile as Rio is overwhelming. She likes baking and romance novels and elephants; whenever Rio finds elephant-themed souveners, he ships them home to Oregon for her, refrigerator magnets and wallets and scarves and snow globes. Sophie wears a lot of long flowing skirts and hand-knit sweaters, and offers strange suggestions when she and Rio discuss baby names: Sage, Fox, Laurel, Coral, Juniper, Karma, Rune, Otter. Otter?! Rio had exclaimed. Babe, if you name our kid Otter, even I’M gonna have to bully them.

“I’m telling Sophie to stay with my parents,” Rio says to you. “They’ve gotten super weird with all the off-the-grid stuff, but they have years’ worth of supplies and grow most of their own food now, and they’re thirty miles from the nearest town. And no one knows how to defend themselves like doomsday preppers.”

“Good idea,” you reply, watching the tv. Now Wolf Blitzer is talking about tornadoes in the Midwest, and you could almost believe the world is normal again.

A few days later all major social media platforms begin censoring content related to the so-called Florida Fever, and then the internet goes down completely, and then the power turns off and on and off again, and finally quits like a car driven to its last mile. The combat units are moved out of Saratoga Springs—never to be heard from again—and the construction projects paused indefinitely, and one of the master-at-arms that Rio is friends with (Rio has a lot of friends, surely you aren’t so remarkable) relays information that he shouldn’t: tales of planned missions, impossible plagues, overrun cities, innumerable deserters in every branch of the U.S. military.

“Hey,” Rio whispers, shaking you awake one night, moonlight streaming through the windows and the pops of distant gunfire you aren’t supposed to ask about. “If I leave, will you come with me?”

It’s a big commitment; it could be a lifetime. You fear he might just be trying not to hurt your feelings. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Rio says. “I’m not leaving without you. Are you going to Oregon by choice, or should I tie you up and throw you in the back of the Humvee?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a young one, maybe a teenager, little buds for horns and only weighing a few hundred pounds. This is good; if it was any heavier, Cregan and Rio wouldn’t be able to drag it back to the ranch. You’re still in Red Desert, Wyoming, and the bison are grazing just off I-80, an asphalt artery that cuts through an endless steppe of sand-colored rocks and tall grass. They gaze lazily in your direction with bulbous dark eyes, perpetually chewing, not terribly intelligent. The Colt pistols of the men who found you at the RV had been loaded with 9mm bullets, the same caliber your Berettas take; there weren’t many, but enough to fill both of your clips, something that feels like winning the lottery. You are lying on the rocky, dusty soil and lining up the shot. If you miss, the herd will scatter, and you’ll watch dinner vanish beneath a blue sky—pale like Aemond’s eye, a weak shallow blue—and rough white scars of cirrostratus clouds.

“Feels kind of wrong to kill a baby,” you murmur. Daeron, Luke, Baela, Helaena, and Ice are back at the house. Aemond, Rio, Cregan, Rhaena, and Aegon are here on the ground with you; Aegon insisted upon being brought along, and Rio agreed to carry him. Aegon had never seen American bison outside of the Oregon Trail computer game, those pixelated brown blobs migrating across the screen no more material than unicorns or faeries or basilisks.

“If the baby didn’t want to get killed, it shouldn’t be made of steak,” Aegon points out. He’s on a lot of Vicodin, the only narcotic Aemond could find back in Ogallala, Nebraska.

“No pressure, Chips,” Rio says, chewing on a long blade of little bluestem grass. “If you miss we’re just going to have to eat each other like the Donner Party.”

Aegon wrinkles his nose in confusion. “The what?”

“She won’t miss,” Aemond says, and Rio snickers to himself and gives you a quick wink that no one else notices.

“I don’t think one 9mm bullet will do it,” Cregan mutters. “Cows got thick skulls, I figure bison are the same way. You’ll have to hit it a few times, and before it can take off and disappear on us.”

Aemond casts him a patronizing glance. “And you’ve killed a lot of cows?”

“Oh yeah. Worked in a slaughterhouse for a while before I got hired by the power company. Hated it, went home and could still smell the blood and brains on myself no matter how many times I showered. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Aemond looks like he regrets asking. Rhaena frowns worriedly at the bison. “Will they charge if someone shoots at them?”

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

You squeeze the trigger five times in quick succession, hit the calf thrice, tiny puffs of scarlet mist that spring from its woolly head. It flops over as the rest of the herd jolts into a gallop, kicking up dust and fleeing across the steppe.

“Yes!” Rio booms as everyone applauds. “We’re in business! We’re having ribeyes tonight! Cregan, my good sir, I take mine medium rare.”

“You’re getting well done,” Aemond tells him. “Everyone is. Just in case the bison has parasites.”

Rio groans. “You’re ruining my life, man.” Then he and Cregan trot over to grab the baby bison, each of them taking one of its back hooves.

“So,” Aegon says dreamily. “Now that Rio is preoccupied, who would like to assist me in returning my disgusting, debilitated body to the ranch? Anyone? Anyone?”

Rhaena turns to you. “When we have more bullets, could you give me shooting lessons?”

“Sure,” you reply, a bit startled. “Really? You’re interested?”

“Well…” Rhaena hesitates. “Baela’s always been the brave one. At home, at school, when we were shopping, even when restaurants would mess up my order, Baela would do the talking and make sure I was alright…and I would literally hide behind her waiting for her to solve all my problems. And now…with the baby, with Jace…it’s been really different being the one to help her for a change, and I don’t think I’m very good at it yet. But Baela deserves to have people to lean on, just like I’ve always had her. And…when I stabbed that guy in the RV…I kind of liked it.” She titters nervously when she sees the shock on your face. “No, not like that! Not the killing part, or the gushing blood, that was all super gross. But the fact that I helped protect Baela and Luke? The fact that I wasn’t useless in that situation? That was a good feeling. Baela is clever, and she’s courageous and caring and funny, and she’s always been better than me at everything, and I never minded because she…she was like my own personal superhero, you know? But now I feel like I need to start learning how to do things myself so I can help her. Even if Baela is still better at everything, and probably always will be.”

Aegon grins toothily and pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know how you feel. It’s pretty impossible to look heroic next to Aemond.”

“Stop,” Aemond says, but he’s smiling, and a bloom of bashful pink blood appears in his cheeks.

“You already took over the driving,” you tell Rhaena encouragingly. “That was a big help.”

“Yeah,” Rhaena replies, a bit pensive. “Let’s hope I can keep that going.” Between the gas Aemond found in Ogallala and what was siphoned from the would-be attackers’ GMC Yukon, you got enough fuel in the Tahoe to take it halfway across Wyoming; but now the gauge is not just at but venturing below the E, and it can’t have more than five or ten miles left. That might not even get you to the next ranch, let alone a proper town. You need a working vehicle. There are nearly a thousand miles between here and Odessa, Oregon.

Aegon is pawing at Aemond like a cat. “Come on, hero. Help me up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is why we’re friends,” Rio tells you as he shovels forkfuls of bison steak into his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. Cregan gutted the bison and butchered it, then you helped him cook the steaks—not very uniform in size and shape, yet no one is complaining—on a pan heated in the woodstove. You fed the fire with books you found in the house, mostly religious in nature. “You convince me not to commit suicide when we’re stranded on a transmission tower, you share your Cheddar Whales, you’re good at shooting things…”

“How did you two become friends?” Baela asks. You are all arranged around the dining room table; there are just enough chairs for everyone. Ice lies beneath it mauling on bison bones that Cregan set aside for her. The room is illuminated by flashlights. Baela looks great: in good spirits, glowing, alert, wearing a loose cotton dress that Helaena found in an upstairs closet for her. Baela napped most of the day, something she rarely allows herself to indulge in, and the benefits are evident.

Rio says nonchalantly: “I talked to everybody and she barely talked at all. So of course I had to investigate and figure out what that was about. Turns out she’s kind of cool. You know the Wheel of Fortune game at arcades where there’s like a hundred little lights in a circle you have to press the button when the one that says Spin Zone lights up? She’s a freak, she can hit it almost every time. Can’t sink a basketball or sing karaoke to save her life, but you know, we all have flaws.”

Aegon looks up from his map, which he is scrutinizing as he eats his bison steak. “Do you realize that if we could just stop at gas stations like back when everything was normal, we’d be in Odessa or the Bay Area in fifteen hours? Literally less than one day. Fucking unreal. And yet here we are trapped in yee-haw country, freaky giant animals, no civilization but Jesus billboards everywhere, hell on earth.” He holds up a palm. “No offense, Cregan. You’re okay.”

Cregan smiles mildly. “None taken, Fried Foot. You know you’re a little well done yourself these days.”

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

“We’ll find gas tomorrow,” Aemond says. He sounds confident because he has to; he’s not allowed to panic, to give up. He’s seated at the head of the table like a patriarch. His steak is the smallest and the most ragged. He wouldn’t accept any of the others.

You ask Baela: “Have you decided what to name the baby?”

“Kind of.” She rests both hands on her belly, a globe like a full moon. Helaena glances over at Baela, frowning and preoccupied. “If it’s a boy, I’m going to name it after Jace. We had already picked out Theodore…and Teddy for short, isn’t that cute? But now…I’d want him to have that connection to his father. The baby won’t have any pictures of him, or videos, or memories, or papers he wrote in school, or ties or rings or cufflinks, or…anything. But he could have Jace’s name.”

The rest of you nod, eyes downcast and feeling terribly sorry for her. “I really like that idea,” Luke says quietly.

Now Baela is thinking, her gaze traveling around the room as she chews on a cube of streak. “I’m not sure what I’d call a girl. Maybe something naturey like Violet, Rosemary, Ivy, Indigo, Fern…”

“You should name it Otter,” you say, and you and Rio erupt into raucous laughter. Aemond smiles as he watches you.

Baela is grinning uncertainly, trying not to be insensitive. Perhaps people named their kids stuff like Otter where you came from. “Um, sorry, what?!”

“That was one of the baby names on Sophie’s list,” Rio clarifies. “I vetoed it. Or at least…I think she agreed to cross it off…? Oh my God, imagine I finally get to Odessa only to find out my firstborn child has been named Otter.”

“You’d have to turn right back around,” you say. “Total abandonment would be the only honorable choice. We’d have to start over someplace else. I’ve heard Texas is nice.”

Aegon snorts. “You can’t live in Texas. They don’t even have legal weed there.”

Rhaena squints at him. “I don’t really think that’s a concern anymore, Aegon.”

Aegon smacks his forehead theatrically. “Oh no, I forgot about the apocalypse again!”

“So Cregan,” Baela says. “You were planning to vote for Trump.”

Everyone at the table groans. “No politics,” Aemond says.

“They’re all dead now, so it doesn’t matter,” Rhaena adds. “Biden, Kamala, that insane Kennedy brain worm dude, Trump…”

Aegon says: “If I was a zombie, I wouldn’t eat Trump.”

“I just found that interesting,” Baela continues, looking at Cregan like she’s expecting him to explain himself. Rhaena and Luke exchange a nervous glance. Daeron reaches under the table to pet Ice; you can hear her tail thumping cheerfully against the hardwood floor.

“I was a Trump voter, yeah,” Cregan replies between bites of steak. Aemond is studying him uneasily, but Cregan’s baritone voice is calm. “That doesn’t mean I approved of a lot of the things he did and said. I’m not a monster, I don’t believe in mocking people or all that January 6th stuff. But he was good for the economy. Back when Trump was president, groceries were more affordable, and houses were cheaper, and more companies were hiring. If I had tried to move out of my parents’ place in 2023 instead of 2019, there’s no way I could have done it. And I really needed to get out of there. A lot of people feel that they don’t have the luxury of voting for the nicest candidate, or the candidate they agree with on social issues. Something abstract like climate change isn’t even on the radar. They have to vote for their basic necessities.”

You and Rio understand what he means, you’ve both met plenty of people with the same perspective; everybody else seems shellshocked.

“But I don’t want y’all to think that I’m…” Cregan looks around the table, his eyes catching—interestingly—on Helaena, who observes him with a fully present attentiveness that you’ve learned is rare for her. “You know, like a sexist or a racist or that I hate foreigners or anything. Because I’ve never felt that way, and now I’m very happy to have found you guys, and I respect the hell out of you. And I want to be allowed to stay.”

“You can stay, Cregan,” Helaena reassures him.

“Yeah,” Rio says. “Especially since we’d probably starve without you.”

Cregan beams, clearly grateful, and there are chuckles and the tension breaks; and Baela is placidly skating her palm over the arc of her belly, and now that you’ve eaten all you can, Rio is spearing the remaining chunks of your steak with his fork and gobbling them down. He doesn’t ask before he does this; he knows you don’t mind. You’ve never understood why he’s given you so much over the past nearly five years. You are eternally offering him atonement.

Suddenly, Baela asks you: “What would you name a baby girl?”

You have to think about this before you answer. “Well, if you’re looking for something related to plants…I had a friend when I was growing up named Briar, and I always thought that was pretty.”

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

“It means bramble, like a thorny shrub where blackberries grow. I remember her telling me that her mama wanted it to be a reminder that people go through rough patches and that life gets hard sometimes, but you have to keep going, and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“Briar,” Baela repeats. “Yeah, that’s kind of neat. I’ll add it to the list!”

“And you’d have the same first initial,” Rhaena says. “Baela and Briar. Isn’t that adorable?”

Baela smiles. “And a few Rs thrown in there too. For Rhaena.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Hey Honey Bun, if you had to name your kid after a plant, what would you name it?”

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

Now it’s an hour later, and Aemond is examining Aegon’s burned leg on the living room floor, Helaena holding a flashlight and you and Rio standing by for moral support. Underneath the bandages is a wasteland of red, weeping flesh…and yet there are spots where the skin seems to be hardening into white islands of scar tissue. Rhaena and Luke are keeping watch by the windows, Baela is passed out in one of the bedrooms, Cregan is showing Daeron how to put his wavy blonde hair up in a man bun.

Aemond points to a blackish patch on the top of Aegon’s foot, only a few inches from his ankle. “I have to debride this part here,” he says like an apology.

Aegon is afraid to ask. “What does debride mean?”

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

“It’s getting infected. I have to remove it or it will spread to the rest of the foot and you could get sepsis. I might even have to amputate the whole leg.”

“Okay, cut the dead stuff off,” Aegon swiftly agrees.

Aemond doesn’t have any more injectable morphine. He gives Aegon as much Vicodin as he dares and then begins working, carving away layers of dark disease with his scalpel and scrubbing the area with disinfectant. Aegon clutches your hand, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones might crunch, shrapnel-like splinters of marrow-stained organic glass beneath your skin. Rio has Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman—once owned by Ava—and takes one earbud while giving Aegon the other. They sing along to Sean Paul songs together, laughing as tears stream down Aegon’s sunburned cheeks:

“Well, woman, the way the time cold, I wanna be keepin’ you warm

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

Oh Lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on

And girl, I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom…”

Now you’re curled up in bed, your arms crossed over your belly as you struggle to fall asleep. Aemond comes to bed late now; each night he waits until Baela is sleeping and then teaches Rhaena about childbirth and recovery: what to expect, what could go wrong. She is a good student, borrowing Helaena’s spider notebook to take notes and asking detailed questions. She wants to know everything she can so she can help when Baela goes into labor.

At last, the bedroom door opens. Out in the living room you can hear Rio asking: “Do you have Wagon Wheel? I love that song.”

Aegon scoffs. “No, of course I don’t have Wagon Wheel. Shut up and listen to your Enrique Iglesias.”

“You are so racist, man…”

Aemond sees that you’re in agony, rummages around in his medical kit, and gives you an oval-shaped white pill to wash down with the can of orange Sunkist on the nightstand; Helaena found a case of it in the pantry. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t want to take any Vicodin from Aegon or Baela. They’ll need it more than me.”

“Your pain is as real as anyone else’s.” Aemond’s weight shifts the mattress as he crawls into bed beside you, his arm settling protectively around your waist, his hand covering yours where it rests on your lower belly. “If the Tahoe runs out of gas, will you be okay to walk tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about me. I had three periods during basic training, I honestly thought I might die. After that I can power through just about anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” You feel the soft smile on Aemond’s lips as he kisses your temple. “Do you want quiet, or do you want to talk?”

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

Aemond wastes no time. “Do you like kids?”

“Well, since birth control doesn’t exist anymore, I’d hope everybody does.”

Again, he is smiling; you can hear it in his voice. “Okay, but do you intend to have your own?”

“Yeah, I always envisioned myself having kids. I wanted a normal family and figured I’d have to make one myself, DIY it, you know? I don’t think the plan has changed. Gotta repopulate the earth somehow.”

“I wouldn’t try to sway your decision one way or the other. It’s a burden you should only have to endure if you actively choose it. But if you want to have children one day, I’d help you.”

You giggle in the dim orange glow of a single flashlight. “How self-sacrificial.”

“No,” Aemond says, laughing. “Not like, the making them. I mean, I’d help with that too, that aspect would be fun. But I was talking about the delivery, and recovery, and taking care of a newborn. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. I could help you get through it. So that’s an option I want you to be aware of, if…you know.” Now he pauses. “If you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you should,” Aemond murmurs; or at least that’s what you think he says as you lose consciousness, plummeting into sleep as if falling from a great height.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe runs out of gas just east of Tipton—not a city, not a town, just a collection of service roads linking sprawling ranches to I-80, the only continuous route across southern Wyoming—and Rhaena guides the SUV as it coasts to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. You hike about a mile to the nearest ranch house: Luke carrying the siphoning hose and empty gas can in case you can find fuel, Rio carrying Aegon on his back, Baela walking slowly and with great effort, Ice panting as she lopes across the dusty earth. You can’t spot any cattle or horses behind the endless strings of barbed wire fencing. Perhaps they are in a different pasture, or escaped or were stolen, or died of thirst without being tended to, or were consumed by a wandering hoard of zombies, never sleeping and always hungry. The house at the end of the dirt driveway is modest, old, and painted white. The front door is open; the screen door bangs in the wind.

“Rock Springs is the next real town,” Aegon says when Rio drops him to the ground, reading his map.

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

“Great,” Rhaena says. “What’s the plan, to fly there?”

“Yeah, start flapping your wings, little bird. You’re light enough, you can make it.”

“No car in the driveway,” you tell Aemond. “Nobody home, maybe?”

He’s scrutinizing the house, his blue eye narrow. “Maybe.”

A thought occurs to Aegon. “Do you think ranchers have golf clubs?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Aemond snaps. Rio is now on the front porch and pounding the butt of his unloaded Remington shotgun against the doorframe to see if anyone appears. Daeron is nocking one of his makeshift arrows as he trots around the perimeter with his compound bow.

Luke, peering through his binoculars, points to a large cylindrical aluminum structure about a hundred yards from the house, by a small red barn. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a grain bin,” Cregan says. “Full of feed for cattle.” Ice whimpers at his feet, and he twirls his axe in his large, calloused hands. “Are we clearing the house or not? Something’s in there.”

“We are,” Aemond answers tonelessly. “Luke, Rhaena, stay out here with Aegon and watch for trouble. Daeron, you too.”

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

“Can I go inside?” she asks. “Please, Aemond. I’m so sick of sitting around feeling useless and exhausted. I want to help. I want to do something, I’m going insane.”

“Fine,” Aemond agrees. “It should be an easy one.”

It is easy, but it’s not pleasant. The house smells like dark, sickening decay. In the living room are the skeletal remains of two bodies, both children judging by the size; the maroon-stained bones are notched with indents from gnashing teeth. Cregan shadows Helaena as she searches through closets and drawers. She takes no clothing—it would have absorbed the stench of death—but fills her burlap messenger bag with matches, lighters, batteries, pills. She gives you a bottle of Advil before you can ask her for it.

“Thanks,” you say, a bit startled, as you tuck it away in your backpack.

It is not until Ice leads you to the final room, the bedroom at the rear of the house, that you hear the familiar, blood-chilling hissing and moaning of a zombie. It is in the closet, and emerges one limb at a time: one arm and then another, one leg long like a spider’s, streaked with a thick soup of rotting organs that spills from a gaping hole in her belly like the mouth of a mineshaft. Something has happened to its other leg; it is missing, and the corpse that was once a thirties-something woman—a soccer mom, perhaps, with a minivan and propensity to make meatloaf and fish sticks—drags itself across the fawn-colored carpet towards you, slow and pathetic. Ice growls and barks. Rio raises his Remington.

“Wait,” Baela says. Her hammer is in her right hand. “Can I do it?”

“Of course, be my guest,” Rio says; though you can tell he’s slightly disappointed. He loves clubbing things.

Baela approaches the yowling zombie—jaws snapping, claws swiping—and grimaces down at it, this one of millions of monsters that ended the world, that killed Jace and stole all the rest of her life from her too, all those normal things she was supposed to have, all those strings of fate that the plague cut through like a razor and sent floating aimlessly out into the void of the universe. Then with a scream, Baela swings her hammer and a catastrophic impact crater appears in the side of the zombie’s skull, and it crumples to the floor, its mindless brains spilling out onto the carpet.

“Nothing good?” Aegon asks when you reappear in the driveway, popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

“No,” Aemond replies grimly. “No gas, no bullets, no food, nothing to drink.”

“I knew it would be lean pickings once we got out here,” Cregan says, and Aemond looks like he could kill him.

“Well, fortunately, Luke might have some good news for us,” Aegon says with a grin.

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

“I saw a truck out there,” Luke says, using his binoculars to gesture to the grain bin. “It’s parked between the barn and the grain thing, I can just see the very front of it sticking out. And if there’s a truck, there might be gas.”

Aemond ruffles Luke’s fluffy dark hair. “Good job, kid.” And Luke lights up like how cities used to look at night, back when the power was on: Washington D.C., Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae. Rio stoops down so Aegon can hop on his back, and all of you trek together across the field.

“Nothing,” Cregan announces as he squeezes the little pump on the siphoning hose after opening the gas cap of the ancient Chevy Silverado and threading the hose inside. “Not a drop.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon sighs from where he’s slumped on the ground. His eyes are glazed; he’s pretty stoned. He gazes pitifully up at you; you pat his shoulder sympathetically. You and Rio have already checked the barn, dilapidated but perfectly devoid of zombies. The roof has caved in; one of the two front doors are missing. “What now?!”

“We can go back to the interstate and walk until we find the next ranch,” you say, looking absentmindedly at the grain bin. It’s much larger up close, and rusty in spots. A ladder runs up one side to allow access to the roof. Ice isn’t whining or nudging anyone’s hands, but she’s sniffing the air as if she’s detected something interesting, unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” Luke replies miserably. “We can walk another five or ten miles and then maybe find a safe place to spend the night.”

Rhaena shades her eyes as she peers up at the sky. “It’s past noon already. Maybe we should just stay here.”

Rio barks out a sardonic laugh. “In a house with no supplies and that reeks of dead people?”

“Cregan, go kill us something to eat,” Aegon commands.

He chuckles in his deep, gruff voice. “It’s Miss Chips who is good at the killing, I’m just the authority on butchering at the moment.”

Aemond is watching Ice, his forehead furrowed. “What’s she doing?”

Cregan whistles. “Hey, princess, you okay?” Ice ignores him, still sniffing, her grey ears straight up in the air. Then it appears from behind the barn: a tiny brown creature, a baby bear.

“Aww, it’s so fuzzy!” Aegon squeals, stretching his arm out to pet it. Rio yanks him away; everyone else is backing up towards the grain bin. A second bear cub has now arrived, padding clumsily along, large cartoonish eyes and a little pink tongue poking out from its muzzle.

“Don’t touch them!” Aemond shouts to everyone. “Get away from them! If there are cubs, there’s probably—”

And around the barn comes the mother, a grizzly bear of 400 pounds. She bares her teeth and snarls, saliva dripping in long gluey strings. Ice is barking viciously; Aegon is shrieking and scrambling onto Rio’s back.

“Baela!” Aemond says because she’s closest to him, urging her towards the ladder of the grain bin. She gets the idea and begins climbing. Then Aemond reaches for you. “Come on, you next!”

“Rhaena, go,” you say instead, and she clambers up the ladder after Baela. Cregan is brandishing his axe; Rio has his Remington in his hands, Aegon still clinging to his back like a baby opossum to its mother. Now Helaena is climbing up the ladder, and Daeron nocks an arrow. You whip one of your M9s out of its holster, aim for the bear’s head, and pull the trigger.

Your bullet hits its skull, Daeron’s arrow pierces its chest; and the mother bear does not die but roars and rises up onto her back feet—taller than Rio, taller than Cregan—and then drops back down and charges towards you and the grain bin. Cregan blocks the way, swinging his axe. The bear reluctantly pauses, testing him with swipes of her claws that he evades. Rio is just a few steps behind Cregan, waving his Remington around hostilely. Aegon is screaming and holding on for dear life.

“Don’t shoot!” Cregan yells. “9mm isn’t big enough, you’ll just make her more angry!”

Aemond finally gets a grip on your wrist and drags you to the ladder. You obey and climb until your feet are several rungs off the ground, then you turn to see what’s going on below. Aemond, Luke, and Daeron are at the bottom of the ladder, their backs to you. Cregan is still wielding his axe.

“Fuck off, Mama Bear!” he bellows, standing as tall as possible and swinging his axe above his head. Rio follows Cregan’s lead and holds his Remington aloft. Ice is barking; the baby bears are fleeing in terror. Aegon is sobbing hysterically and saying he’s going to die. “You don’t want us and we don’t want you! Go on! Go get your babies! I’ll put this blade right between your eyes if you don’t change your stupid mind right quick!”

The bear pounds the earth with her front feet and growls, a beastly subterranean rumble, but she seems to be losing her nerve. The rungs of the ladder creak and groan; you see rust like blood-hued moss around the bolts.

“Get out of here!” Cregan shouts. “Go, you hairy old bitch! Go back to your babies!”

The bear glances back to see her cubs vanish behind the barn. Her mouth is open and panting, spittle gleaming on her pointed teeth; her black eyes are uncertain. As you hold onto the ladder with one hand, you have your M9 aimed at the bear’s left eye, just in case. Aemond is watching Cregan; on his scarred face a sharp severity, fascination and resentment and fear.

“Go on,” Cregan says firmly. “Leave us alone. You belong in the mountains, not down here. Go eat something that’s already dead, a nice easy dinner. You don’t want us. We’ll fight you.”

The grizzly bear shakes her head—flopping ears, shaggy fur filthy with dust and pieces of grass—and whirls, lumbering off to find her cubs. When she rounds the barn, Cregan waits a few long, tense, silent minutes and then turns to the grain bin.

“Alright y’all, we oughta hurry up and leave. I don’t think she’ll come back, but she might.”

From the top of the ladder, approximately forty feet off the ground, Baela begins to laugh. “Did that really just happen?! That was insane! Cregan, buddy, you can vote for whoever you want to. You and I are cool forever.”

He smiles up at her, wincing in the bright afternoon light. “I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Rio sets Aegon down on the ground and stretches his back; it must be hurting him. Aemond is taking your hand and helping you off the ladder, and you are reminded of the transmission tower where he found you in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, one of those middle-of-nowhere places like Tipton, Wyoming. As Helaena climbs down, you go to Rio and—with as much force as you can manage—knead the small of his back with the heel of your hand like you know helps him.

“You okay?”

He sighs loudly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Oh, wow, that’s good. Harder…oh yeah…”

There is a snapping sound, metal squealing as it breaks, and by the time you turn to look she’s already falling: her cotton dress billowing around her, her arms wheeling helplessly. It happens too quickly for her to scream—for her to understand what is going on and what it means—but there is a stunned gasp and then she hits the ground, and you hear a muffled crunch of bone—skull?? spine??—and she is completely, unnaturally still as she lies on her back, no pain, no words, nothing.

“Baela!” Rhaena shrieks, and she rushes down the ladder and runs to her sister. You are all gathering around Baela, petrified to move her—to make it worse—but pleading for her to wake up, examining her with terrified eyes. Baela’s own eyes, dark and glassy and serene, are open only a sliver like obsidian crescent moons. Aemond is asking Helaena for a flashlight and then prying them wide, checking Baela’s pupils.

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

“What does that mean?!” Rhaena cries. “Aemond? Aemond?!”

“She’s…she’s…” He’s in denial; he’s in shock. He’s feeling for a pulse on her carotid, he’s digging his fingernails into her forearm to try to get her to respond to pain.

“Aemond?” you say softly.

“She’s gone,” he tells you, like he doesn’t believe it, like he’s waiting to wake up.

“The baby,” Rhaena says. “Try to save the baby.” And then, when Aemond doesn’t immediately understand, she grabs his backpack and begins ripping it off so he can get the medical kit inside. “The baby, Aemond!”

Now he knows what he has to do. He pulls the scalpel out of his kit as Rhaena moves Baela’s sundress to expose her belly. She was wearing biker shorts beneath, lavender, cute, something you might have picked out in a store. In less than a minute they will be soaked with blood. Cregan leads Daeron away, and he’s telling him that they need to keep watch in case the grizzly bear returns, but you think it is an act of mercy more than anything else. Ice goes with them. Helaena, her face pale and grave, is shining the flashlight on Baela’s belly, just beneath her navel.

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need people to help hold open the incision once I make it. I have to be able to see the amniotic sac so I can cut the membrane without harming the baby.”

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

Aemond presses the blade of the scalpel to Baela’s skin and draws a semicircle from the top of one hip to the other. There is blood, but it is slow-moving and thick and dark; it is the blood of a dead woman, not a living one. Immediately, Aegon hooks his fingers under layers of fat, skin, and muscle, and opens the wound as much as he can. You and Rio reach in too, and you do this without thinking, without allowing yourself to feel the horror of it until the work is done.

“I can’t see,” Aemond is murmuring. Rhaena gets another flashlight and helps Helaena illuminate the area. Luke is on his knees with both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes glistening with dread and disbelief. Aemond is slicing, pausing to probe around with his fingers, cutting again. Then his arm plunges into Baela’s abdomen up to his elbow and, with some difficulty, pulls out the gore-covered baby by its feet, a girl, large and limp and silent.

Rhaena sobs, equal parts grief and joy, a smile appearing on her face. “Is she okay? Aemond? Is she…why isn’t she crying? Aemond?!”

Rio yanks off his shirt and uses it to wipe blood and gelatinous clumps away from the baby’s eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Then Aemond takes the shirt and wraps the baby in it, warming her, rubbing her lifeless little limbs. When she does not stir, Aemond lays her on the earth and begins CPR: compressions with two fingers on her tiny heart, two breaths down the airway she’s never used. There are no sounds except his efforts. There is no crying when the baby wakes, because she never does.

Enough, you are thinking, as if from very far away: an island in the Indian Ocean, the Appalachian mountains in eastern Kentucky. Enough, enough, enough.

Aemond stops trying to revive the baby. He picks her up and holds her against him, and no one says anything. There is only the barrenness of the Wyoming steppe, an anemic blue sky, tall dry grass that bows in the breeze, black vultures that are landing atop the barn and the grain bin.

Aegon jolts out of his paralysis and reaches for his brother with bloodied hands. “Aemond, hey, Aemond, listen to me, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? Are you listening? Aemond, man, you did everything you could. You gave them a chance. You didn’t give up.”

But Aemond doesn’t respond; he only kneels there beside Baela’s butchered body, her dead baby girl in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alys?” he calls, seeing that she never came back to bed. He is lying on his stomach, tangled in red sheets damp with sweat. It’s hot, too hot, and there is no humming of the air conditioning. When Aemond picks up his iPhone from the nightstand, it’s still plugged in but only at 87% battery. The power must have gone out.

He gets up, rubs the damp skin by his temple—headache, dehydration—and lifts open the nearest window. It’s odd: there is shouting, distant and indistinct, like the sound of a carnival or a concert. There are car alarms too, and sirens, and horns blaring, all too far away for him to see. It must be because of the power outage, traffic signals thrown into chaos, neighbors relaying the latest information back and forth. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Alys?” Aemond says again, groggy but with increasing curiosity, concern, guilt.

She started to feel sick last night, a pulsing in her skull and chills and powerful nausea. The possibility of it being the so-called Florida Fever barely registered in his mind. Alys gets migraines, and tofu is a migraine trigger, and he took her to a Thai restaurant (maybe he should have known better) and the curry Alys ordered ended up having tofu in it, and by the time she paid the check (as Alys always did) she was swallowing an Imitrex from the box in her snakeskin purse. She said she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom for a while so she wouldn’t wake him if she spent the next few hours dashing to and from the bathroom, a likely outcome, and if he was honest with himself about it, Aemond would admit he was relieved.

He shuffles to the bedroom door—black boxers, bare feet, century-old hardwood floors—and opens it. Now he can hear thudding, like someone tenderizing meat with a mallet. “Alys? Baby, you feeling okay?” There is no answer, only that rhythmic hammering. He realizes that it is coming from the guest bedroom, a door at the end of a long hallway still fuzzy through his half-awake eyes.

It had never felt right, but it had felt good: good in the body when she touched him, good in the soul when she told him he did something right. But lately—especially here, in the vast creaking historic house she shares with her husband and her children, who are presently sailing in Cape Cod—Aemond cannot shake the feeling that this entanglement is a surrender rather than an aspiration, something he fell into and now rests at the bottom of like a swimming pool or the sea, the cold weight of it threatening to pour into his lungs and drown him.

“Alys?” Aemond says, now with profound and inexplicable dread. Outside an ambulance or police car zooms by, sirens blaring. The pounding on the door of the guest bedroom grows faster.

I want to go home, Aemond thinks suddenly. At home, in the Federal-style townhouse his parents rented for him (Criston picked it out, a safe and quiet neighborhood in Beacon Hill, and Viserys paid), Daeron is visiting from California and watching golf tournaments with Aegon on the living room couch, pretending to be interested when Aegon describes the different types of clubs. Helaena, pursuing an Entomology PhD, is researching the Mediterranean mantis, clicking around on her MacBook Pro from the garden in the backyard. Jace and Luke live there too, and so Baela and Rhaena have all but officially moved in, keeping their apartment in Seaport only to have somewhere to retreat to when the Targaryen chaos becomes too much…and so the baby can have its own room. Baela bought a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, a dresser, and about a million unisex onesies, mostly space-themed. Baela is studying Aeronautics and Astronautics, after all. Maybe one day she’ll work for NASA and fly rockets to the moon.

The door is rattling on its hinges. Aemond’s hand closes around the knob. On the other side is something terrible, and he knows this. But he cannot just leave her. Aemond is not someone who abandons people; he is not someone who turns away from responsibilities.

He opens the door of the guest bedroom, and immediately she is staggering towards him, limp dripping hair and naked like she was interrupted mid-shower: blood bubbling from her gaping mouth and the whites of teeth peeking through the crimson, necrotic skin hanging in strips from her fingers, eyes misty like steam on a mirror.

“Alys, stop! Alys! What’s wrong with you?!”

She’s alive but she’s dead. She’s yowling and clawing at him, but her flesh is the rotting swampland of a corpse. He’s pushing her away; his palms sink into her, places he once noticed and then fantasized about and then at last—euphorically, ashamedly—touched, held, borrowed but never kept. She’s trying to bite him. She’s trying to kill him. None of this is possible, and yet it’s true.

Aemond flings her away, and the woman who was once Alys stumbles backwards and down the staircase, sick wet thumps all the way to the ground floor, bones splitting through dissolving grey skin, organs sloshing around until they spill out. He can hear her still hissing, flailing, trying to get up again.

Without thinking—slipping seamlessly into what he learned during his psych rotation is called automatic action—Aemond races down the steps and grabs her by the skull, cracks it against the antique hardwood floor she once extoled the value of as he fucked her on it: shipped east from Oregon and laid in 1912, the year the Titanic sank. When she lurches up to try to bite him, he slams her head against the floor again and again until she is still.

Then Aemond kneels there alone for a long time, sirens shrieking outside, far-off strangers screaming for help, putrid black blood clotting on his hands.

[obsidianimagines]

Stay

After he and his brothers track down and kill the men who murdered their mother, Jack returns home to find you waiting in his room, and he doesn't want you to leave.

Jack Mercer x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of death/murder/trauma, a little homophobia (Bobby refers to reader as Jack's beard), smidge of angst, comfort/fluff 🥺, cursing, a little mention of sex so MINORS DNI

Notes: This is my first try at a Jack imagine. Hope you like it ☺️ and please ignore how bad I am at titles

Jack's childhood bedroom looked about as you'd expected.

An electric guitar and amp. A stereo with a collection of rock cd's. Band and car posters plastered on the wall. And, of course, a stack of VHS tapes that you probably didn't want to inspect too closely—he'd been a teenage boy the last time he lived there, after all.

You eventually grew tired of looking around and propped his pillow up so you could sit back against his headboard. His bed was a lot more comfortable than the one in the crappy hotel you'd been sleeping in, mostly because it was Jack's, and that meant safety. It meant home.

It was already pretty late when you first arrived at the Mercer home, so you were having a hard time staying awake to greet your boyfriend. Maybe you should've just waited until the morning, but something told you that you might be needed. That was why you'd driven to Detroit with him in the first place instead of making him go on his own. To be there for him during such a devastating time.

You yawned and decided to rest your eyes for just a few minutes, not hearing the sound of the front door, or Bobby speaking a little too loudly as three of the Mercers entered.

"Seriously, Jackie. How much are you paying her?"

"I'm not paying her anything, Bobby." Like always, his brother was just trying to get under his skin. Sometimes, it really fucking bothered him, but after seeing your car parked out front, he just wanted to find you.

He didn't see you in the living room, and just as he realized where you likely were, Sofi came down the stairs and confirmed it. "She's waiting in your room."

"Thanks." Jack took the steps two at a time, passing Sofi as she eagerly went to meet Angel at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, she better not think she's staying here! We don't need another La Vida Loca!" Bobby called after Jack, which he ignored, chuckling as Sofi started cursing at the oldest Mercer in Spanish.

Jack opened his bedroom door, cracking a small smile the instant he noticed you dozing off on his bed. He'd had half a mind to have Jerry drop him off at your hotel, but it was late enough that he assumed you were already sound asleep. Now that he knew you weren't even there, he was glad he hadn't gone anyway because he wouldn't have heard the end of it from Bobby.

Your eyes fluttered open as Jack slipped off his leather jacket, tossing it on the chair while kicking off his boots. "Hi," you greeted with a relieved smile.

"Hey, gorgeous," he replied as he climbed into the bed with you.

Even though you'd only been together for about two and a half years, you could read Jack very well. It was clear when he was upset or thinking of painful things, showing right there in his eyes. At that moment, you saw not just the sadness and grief of the last several days, but something else that disturbed him.

You shimmied down the bed a bit and opened your arms, allowing him to practically lay on top of you and rest his head on your chest. "What happened, baby?" You gently embraced him, resting a hand at the nape of his neck.

Jack took a moment to relax in your arms, letting out a sigh as you began to run your fingers through his hair. It had taken some time and a lot of built trust for him to be fully comfortable with that kind of intimacy, and once that happened, he could never get enough. After everything that happened that day, he really fucking needed it.

"I–" He sniffled, blinking back the tears that stung at his eyes. "I saw the security footage. I saw my mom..."

"Oh..." Your heart clenched as you realized what he meant. "I'm so sorry you had to see that, Jack."

"We found the guys that killed her," he said quietly, his fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt. "Angel and Bobby took care of it, but I...I couldn't handle it. I'd never watched anyone die like that." Jack had done some dumbass shit as a kid, but he'd never gotten into some of the more extreme things his brothers—particularly Bobby—did. Not until his mom was taken from him.

The fact that he and his brothers had found and killed their mom's murderers was not a surprise to you. Jack already told you that was the plan, and he'd shared enough about his brothers in the past for you to know he wasn't just talking. While killing was wrong, you had nothing against them getting revenge for Evelyn as long as Jack still came home to you in the end.

"But it's done now, right? You don't have to see that again."

"Nah, it's not over yet. Someone hired them to kill her."

Your hand stopped moving. "What?" Random robbery to contract killing? A pit formed in your stomach at the thought of him getting mixed up with something like that. "Who would want to kill your mom? She was amazing." You'd only ever talked to Evelyn on the phone, but between the lovely conversations and everything Jack ever told you about her, you knew she was a special woman.

"We don't know yet. I'll have to stay a couple more days..." Though it was important to find the truth and get justice, part of him really just wanted to be back home in your little shared apartment. He wanted things to be back to normal—as normal as they could be without Evelyn Mercer in the world.

"I'll add a few days to my hotel," you said as your fingers resumed playing with his hair. The idea of an extended stay didn't bother you at all. You knew he wasn't leaving Detroit until his mom was avenged.

"You should check out and stay here with me." He looked up at you with those soft blue eyes, and you already knew you'd be doing just that with very little convincing. Jack was hard to resist. "I miss you."

"It's not like I'm back in New York." Even though you laughed, you understood exactly what he meant. The cold Michigan nights really made you appreciate sleeping with him. "I miss you, too, but I don't want to intrude on you and your family."

"You're not intruding. You're my family, too," he assured you with a smile, which you returned as you stroked his cheek. "Besides, Angel's busy with Sofi, and Bobby's gonna be annoyed by someone or something no matter what."

You'd only met his oldest brother very briefly, but based on Jack's warnings and Sofi's rant about him when she let you in the house, you didn't doubt that he was a prickly as they come.

Jack watched expectantly, hoping he wouldn't have to spend another night alone. He had a hard time getting rest without you already, but it got worse after finding out his mom died. And he couldn't help the worry that whoever he and his brothers were after could end up targeting those close to them. That you could be hurt or killed just for being in town and being his girl. You'd probably be safer at the Mercer home.

"Okay, I'll check out in the morning."

He let out the breath he'd been holding and moved up your body to place a kiss on your lips. As he pulled back, you gazed up at him with the sweetest eyes he'd ever seen, and he thought for the millionth time how lucky he was to meet you. That you'd happened to end up at one of his shows three years ago was nothing short of a fucking miracle. "I love you."

"Love you, too," you said back without hesitation.

Underneath the rock and roll look, Jack was soft and sweet. You had seen tiny hints of it when you first talked outside of the bar his band had just played in, and he slowly let you in to see the rest. He respected and cared for you in a way that no other guy ever had, he made you feel safe and loved. Knowing you did the same for him after everything he'd been through meant the world.

When he laid back down beside you and pulled the blanket up over your bodies, you quickly turned on your side and snuggled right up to him.

Jack kissed the top of your head and slowly rubbed his hand up and down your back, and that was the last thing you remembered before finally drifting off.

Waking up was not quite as peaceful as falling asleep had been. A loud banging on the door shocked you both awake just in time to hear, "Rise and shine, Princess! We got shit to do today!"

Jack groaned and buried his face in your chest again. Even with Bobby's interruption, he really didn't want to move. After all, that was his second favorite spot to put his face. You were just about as eager to get up as he was, realizing just how much you'd needed this the last few days.

"What a charming wake up call," you said with a laugh, your voice rough from sleep. Considering how he'd referred to you as Jack's beard the first time you met, and at their own mother's funeral no less, a lack of tact seemed to be Bobby's thing.

"You get used to it," he mumbled into your t-shirt. "Unless you changed your mind about staying..."

"Nope." You reluctantly threw the blanket off and untangled yourself from him, taking a glance at your watch. "We've got plenty of time for breakfast, but I do need to be at the hotel by 9:30 to get my things."

Once you stretched and finally got out of bed, Jack sat up and scrubbed his hand over his face, his hair sticking up even more than usual. You went over to his jacket to fish his zippo and the pack of cigarettes out of the pocket and toss them over to him.

"Thanks," Jack said before placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up. He took a drag and watched amused as you slipped your shoes on and fixed yourself up a bit because, unlike him, you had a problem with looking like you'd just rolled out of bed.

Satisfied, you leaned down and tenderly cupped his jaw so you could press a kiss to his forehead. "See you downstairs, baby."

Jack's cheeks heated up at the sweet affection, and he blew out a cloud of smoke as you walked away with a sway of your hips.

Yeah, he was lucky as hell.

[shixcherie]

Bathbombs & Little Deaths | Kim Hongjoong ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

☆ Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 02 : Praise, Body Worship

↬ [ Synopsis ] : What do bath bombs and little deaths (orgasms) have in common? When they burst, the aftermath is heavenly and ultra soothing. And HongJoong is here to give you both. Will you survive what Joongie has planned for you in the warmth of the bathtub, or experience a little death in the process?

Word Count : 2.4k Genre : Idol Au, Smut, Angst. Pairing : Boyfriend! HongJoong x F.Reader

WARNINGS : Pure smut (18+), a bit of plot, oral (fem recieving), bathub intimacy, use of jewelery (rings), dom/ sub undertones, multiple orgasms, bodyworship, praise, pet names (honey, baby, babygirl, angel ), mentions of alchol consumption, aftercare, nipple play.

Tag list OPEN! - let me know if you want to be tagged for this Kinktober list

☆☆☆ NOTE : Day 2 is here, ma chéries, and it’s a HongJoongie fic day! I’ve always wanted to write something involving a bathtub, so here I deliver. I may have gone a bit overboard with the word count, staying up late at night, so I hope you enjoy this pieceand shower it with alot of love.

Also, "Little Deaths" in French means "Orgasms." They’re called that because they’re so intense, it feels like you die and are reborn as a new person (a reference from Emily in Paris, S1).

Sorry for the long note, but here’s a glimpse of the bathroom (imagine it with more space for your hands) where our Y/N experiences her little deaths!

After the best album release and a power packed comeback..all Hongjoong wants is to relax in bath tub...with you of course.

Saying Hongjoong was on cloud nine would be an understatement. After pouring their blood, sweat, and tears into Ateez’s latest album, the concluding part of their The World series, the leader was incredibly happy and proud to see the album breaking records, winning numerous awards, and charting on global rankings. Most importantly, the Atiny were going loco for their title track "Crazy Form." The group had already celebrated officially with all the team members, but Hongjoong decided to throw a mini party just for the members, inviting their close friends to join in the celebration.

It was 2 in the morning, and finally, everyone had left after having a crazy yet cozy night. You and HongJoong had somehow managed to send San home since our little kitten had gone overboard and gotten a bit too drunk. It took Wooyoung and his girlfriend dragging him out while he babbled about protein, gym and working hard for atiny — our kitten was such a gym freak and fucking adobarble but extremely sincere idol that even in his drunken state, he couldn't stop declaring his love for atiny.

As you cleared the living room, making sure no one had left anything behind, you noticed Hongjoong was nowhere to be seen.You paused for a moment, listening to the quiet house, the faint sound of water running upstairs catching your attention. A small smile appeared on your face, already knowing where Hongjoong is, you made your way upstairs, to your shared bedroom. When you reached the bathroom door, you could see yellow glow of candles peaking through the door, you both loved scented candles and night baths, so having them in you bathroom was a must.

Hongjoong looked up as you entered, his sleeves rolled up while he dissolved your favorite vanilla lavender bath bomb. A soft smile spread across his lips. "I thought you might like a relaxing bath," he said, standing up and walking over to you. His hands slid around your waist, gently pulling you closer.

You felt the tension of the evening start to melt away just from his touch. “You read my mind,” you murmured, your hands resting on his chest.

“After tonight, I think we both deserve it.” he replied.

You could feel his heart beating steadily beneath your fingertips, a calming rhythm that matched your own.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Come on,” he whispered , “let’s get you out of those clothes.”

You smiled, letting him help you undress. His fingers were gentle as he worked your clothes, guiding them down your legs. Once you were both undressed, Hongjoong stepped into the tub first, holding out a hand to help you in. The water was perfectly warm, enveloping you like a soft blanket.You settled between his legs, your back pressed against his chest as his arms wrapped snugly around you, pulling you even closer. The water rippled gently around your bodies, infused with the sweet scent of your favorite vanilla and lavender bath bomb, now fully dissolved, creating a soothing, fragrant haze in the tub.

You could feel his breath against your neck, his lips brushing your shoulder with a soft kiss. You sighed and leaned back into him. While his lips decorated your neck with butterfly kisses, his hands were busy massaging your breasts, occasionally pinching your nipples. His cold silver rings added another layer of stimulation, sending sparks throughout your body. Eventually, his tender lips made their way to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “Thanks for tonight, love. Without your help, this party wouldn’t have been possible,” he whispered, his mouth now kissing the most sensitive spot behind your ear, which instantly turned you on.

“I’d do anything to see you happy, Joong. But if you really want to thank me, I can think of a few ways we could make tonight even better…” Your head leaned back on his shoulder. You were extremely turned on at this point, and the ache between your legs was proof of it.

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, slightly biting the skin below your ear. You winced with equal parts pain and pleasure, eventually succumbing entirely to pleasure as Joong’s hand traveled down south while his other hand was busy playing with your left nipple. His rings left a trail of goosebumps whenever they came into contact with your skin.

“Have a few things planned for you, babygirl,” he whispered, his thumb now busy rubbing up and down your entrance, his platinum ring on his middle finger coming into contact with your pulsating core, collecting your slick to gently make circles on your clit. A tremble passed through your entire body. You never knew a few silver rings could stimulate this much. Each touch on the sensitive nub and the cold metal contact had you jolting a little, and you could feel your eyes begin to well up with tears because of the stimulation.

“Joong, please…” your bottom lip was between your teeth, fully flustered by the way his hands and lips were miraculously working on your body.

“Does that feel good baby ?” he asks.

You sigh “feels so good” that last part comes more like a whine.

“You wanna cum, honey?” he asks again, his digits moving faster now, rubbing your entrance, slick juices leaking onto his digits and coating his silver rings. You were extremely wet and desperate for a release, responding to him with a breathy moan. Suddenly, his movements stopped, all at once earning a whiny whimper from you. He quickly took a lick of his fingers, where your juices coated and glistened on his shiny rings.

You twist your body to face him. “Joong, I need yo—” he smashed his lips to yours, hands cupping your face as you melted into the kiss, tasting yourself mixed with his saliva. Your hand traveled to his neck, pulling him impossibly close as you deepened the kiss. Your body twisted fully toward him, never breaking the intense, firework-like kiss you two were sharing.

Breaking the kiss after who knows how long, he took a moment to admire your face. A red blush decorated your flushed cheeks, your puffy cherry-red lips looking more inviting with every passing microsecond, and an angelic glow coated your whole face, causing a volcanic eruption of emotion in Hongjoong’s chest.

The moment not only made Hongjoong’s cock twitch from desire, given how turned on he was at that very fucking moment, but his heart ached with so much love for you. The only way to put this feeling into words was to either write a whole freaking album about you or fuck you till eternity. Only one of these could satisfy the fire blazing through his entire body.

For now, Joong decided to go with the latter, letting his desire take the lead.

“Can you sit on the surface, baby?” he asked, helping you stand and eventually guiding you to lay on the island, your elbows propping up your body. Your legs remained in the water as Hongjoong settled comfortably between them. Gently opening your legs, his lips found their way to your smooth thighs. He had always admired your thighs for how soft they were, but right now, he was needed somewhere else—somewhere very urgent and aching for his tongue.

But Joong planned on savoring you little by little, and sleep was not on tonight’s schedule, so he was in no hurry. His mouth coated the inside of your thighs with gentle kisses, occasionally surprising you with playful bites, reminding you how much of a switch he could be. Sweet kisses trailed their way to your aching core, where you needed him the most. Your world was spinning, and all you could do was encourage him with your needy moans.

He took a micro moment to admire your glistening core, shining and waiting eagerly for him to devour. Wasting no time, he gave a gentle yet thorough lick of your core, just to taste and satisfy his anticipation. The taste short-circuited his brain, your sweet juices inviting him to feast.

He dove in deeper, his tongue exploring your glistening core, savoring the sweet juices that turned him on while his unattended cock hardened with desire. Each teasing flick sent shivers through your body, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Joong…ahh...oh my god, keep going, please,” you whimpered, urging him to go on. He responded by intensifying the swirling of his tongue over your most sensitive spots and switching to suck on your bud, driving you wild. The world around you faded; all that existed was him and the intoxicating pleasure he was giving you at that very moment.

“Almost there, baby; I can feel you coming,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your skin. “Give it to me, baby. I want to taste every bit of you.” With one final swirl and a harsh suck on your clit, the knot in your stomach snapped, and you cried out his name as waves of ecstasy washed over you. Your body arched, trembling under the force of your release.

He didn’t stop, eager to drink the last drops of you, his mouth still working its magic. “You taste divine, honey,” he grinned, pulling back to admire your blissful expression. “You’re absolutely perfect, and I can’t get enough of you.” The satisfaction was clear in his eyes as he enjoyed your pleasure drunk face.

Was he done with you tho, heck no…not so early.

While you recovered from the high, he swiftly got out of the tub, grabbing the towels from the shelves and laying them on the bath island for you to get comfortable. As you moved onto the fluffy towel, he made himself comfortable on top of you, not fully crushing you but putting just the right amount of weight to maintain that sensual feeling. Somewhat recovered from your high and realizing the position you both were in, you gently wrapped your legs around his waist. A swift pull brought his lower body entirely onto you, his cock settling perfectly on your core. Your toes curled at the sudden contact with his hardened dick.

He settled his face between your boobs, kissing the center, eventually taking your right boob in his mouth. His hands balanced his upper body while his dangerously skilled tongue swirled around your nipple, sucking and biting, erupting pleasure throughout your entire body.

With each suck on your nipple, soft gasps escaped your lips, your body arching into him as pleasure radiated from your chest. “Oh, Joong, that feels so good,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at his roots and earning a groan from him. His mouth worked its magic, his warm tongue swirling around your sensitive yet now hard nipples, sending electric shivers through you.

He took his time, alternating between gentle nibbles and deep, hungry sucks, each sensation earning soft whimpers from you. “Mmm, just like that,” you encouraged, feeling the heat rise in your core with every tug of his lips. The way he lavished attention on your breasts ignited a fire deep within, leaving you breathless.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his tongue dancing playfully, devouring your soft breasts before pulling away just enough to tease. You felt a rush of heat as his eyes flicked up to meet yours, a mischievous gaze adorning his face.

The weight of his body pressed down on you, the heat radiating against yours driving you wild. “More, please,” you whisper begged, in a sultry tone.

“Want more, baby? Are you ready for me?” he teased while positioning himself at your entrance. “Hold on tight,” he murmured, giving you one last teasing kiss before shifting his weight, his hardened length pressing against your soft skin, ready to push inside you. The anticipation was mind-numbing, and you could hardly contain your excitement.

“Please, Joong,” you whimpered, feeling every inch of him as he hovered at your entrance, desire clouding your mind. “I need you.”

Wasting no time, he slowly began to push inside, stretching you deliciously. A gasp escaped your lips as he filled you, every inch sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel so good, baby” he breathed, sinking deeper and deeper; it was painfully pleasurable.

With a steady rhythm, he began to thrust, each movement earning soft moans from you. “Oh, Joong, yes!” you gasped, your fingers digging into his back, encouraging him to go faster. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, a sultry melody that resembled ATEEZ’s alluring and catchy beats.

He quickened his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, guiding you to the edge. “You like that, baby?” he rasped, his voice low and filled with desire. You nodded, lost in the pleasure, the heat pooling in your core.

“I'm close, Joong” you breathed, your vision almost blurry, on the brink of seeing stars, both literally and figuratively. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, swallowing your cries as the tension peaked.

“Cum for me, baby” he urged, his thrusts becoming merciless, pushing you over the edge. Pleasure washed over you as you cried out his name, your body trembling beneath him.

With a few more deep thrusts, his release came, a low “fuck” escaping his lips as he spilled inside you, pushing both of you over the edge. Those bath bombs and little deaths truly marked the end of you both, leaving you breathless and satisfied. Hearts racing, you lay together as the world around you faded, leaving only the sweet memory of the moment shared.

You checked the time on the wall clock; it was about 5:30 AM in the morning, the sun almost about to rise. After laying down together for a few more minutes, Hongjoong helped you clean up. The morning rays made their way into the bathroom from the large windows of your bedroom.

As you both stepped out of the bathroom, the morning sunrise greeted you both. Basking in the rays for a few seconds, Hongjoong said, “I love you, baby. I love you so much” as he looked at the sun outside, a warm feeling spreading throughout your body. “I love you too, Joong” you replied, a smile dancing across your lips as you reached to kiss his cheek. He smiled earnestly at you.

“And now we sleep, baby. I need my eight hours to handle Wooyoung’s tantrums in the office” he chuckled as he mentioned his teammate. A menance Wooyoung’s face crossed your mind. Closing the curtains, he dragged you onto the bed, and you both fell into a blissful sleep.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

Disclaimer : This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[bbieangel]

Love the Joel fic!!! plsssss do an Arthur cramps one!!!

Moon Cycle — Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

A/N: I loved writing this! It's my first time writing anything that's not set in the present world so please bare with me <3 And yes, the title is a reference to Melanie Martinez's song :) As always, thank you for your requests and I hope you love it!

Summary: Even when you try to act tough, Arthur Morgan always sees right through you. And, the day you finally allow yourself to feel weak, he's there to help you with your cramps.

Tags: Fluff! A LOT OF FLUFF. High honor Arthur. Self-deprecating Arthur, we all know how he talks to himself. Mentions of his past (Eliza and Mary Linn), reader has a uterus and is menstruating, she doesn't wear the typical clothes that women used in the 1800's (think of it more like Sadie, she dresses like her). This is set before Arthur even knows he's sick.

Word count: 7.8k

Divider by @/peony chance on Pinterest!

Since day one, you had never failed to amaze the whole Van Der Linde gang with your dirty mouth and ways of pissing off Miss Grimshaw. To say the least, they had grown fond of you. And even if you could look after yourself just fine, you laid awake in your cot endless nights just wishing someone was there for you in times where you felt the most vulnerable, needing attention like the dog the gang had adopted. He always ran around, sniffing everyone and looking for any hand that would give him back scratches.

One particular day you had gone out to rob a stagecoach that a guy in Rhodes had told you about. Dutch assigned you to go along with Arthur, the gruff looking, almost giant man. But you knew he hid something else behind his blue-green eyes that often held a hint of tenderness whenever he looked your way.

"Now, stay right behind me, princess."

He muttered as he covered his face behind the rock you were prompted at, making sure the drivers didn't see you.

You groaned. Of course that, out of all of the women in camp, he would call you princess. But he didn't do it for the reasons you thought.

"Call me by my name, Morgan."

You muttered and he let out a deep chuckle, rumbling through his chest and sending butterflies to your stomach. But you wouldn't let your face show that, after all, you kinda liked being called princess by him.

The stagecoach robbery was a success, feeling like a breath of fresh air after what seemed like the gang had been cursed or just ran out of good luck.

Arthur counted the money effortlessly, the flicking of his fingers looking elegant. It was ridiculous, you thought as he you waited for your part.

"Don't forget to give some to camp, princess."

He said, pointing a finger at you. But he knew not to worry about you contributing to the little box Dutch had beside his tent, he had seen you do it more times than anyone else in the gang.

"You don't need to worry about me contributing, Arthur."

You said with a soft smile as you both rode back to camp, side by side, enjoying the nice weather and the views.

—

Later that day, you were sitting up against a log in front of the campfire. A bead of sweat fell down the side of your face and into your shirt. Arthur was going to tease you about it, but he held himself back when he saw the slight frown on your face and your knees being held against your chest.

He sighed, knowing that caring about you wasn't the best decision. He couldn't bring himself to like anyone else, not after Eliza and Mary. But that soft, empathetic part of him was stronger than any of his insecurities, and it needed to know if you were okay. Which you clearly weren't.

He slowly sat down beside you with a look of concern on his face, and placed his calloused hand on your shoulder.

"You alright, princess? Did you get hurt? You should've told me—"

"I didn't get hurt."

You interrupted him. You were about to snap at him for teasing you, but when you looked into his eyes, glowing by the fire crackling in front of you, you noticed he was being genuine. So your expression softened, and he saw it, making his heart flutter and long to open up to you more.

"I'm.. I have cramps. It's that time of the month.."

You spoke quietly. You had grown to know it wasn't okay to talk about it, let alone tell a man about it. They found it disgusting, a woman bleeding monthly was seen almost as a sin, something you couldn't talk about.

But Arthur couldn't care less. He had killed people and had seen countless bodies, massacred by some fool. Hell, he'd seen his son be born. He could handle speaking about a monthly small amount of blood coming out of a woman's body naturally.

"I understand. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He asked, and your eyebrows shot up in surprise. Why wasn't he acting disgusted by what you just said? Why didn't he tell you to just suck it up?

It took you a few seconds to answer.

"I—Uhm.. I don't know, actually. Can you help me get to my tent? I think I might've stained my clothes and I don't wanna get teased about it."

You spoke, your eyes darted towards the fire once again. It was fine if he declined, you would understand. But, once again, he surprised you.

"Yeah, let's go."

He said and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, helping you up. He looked behind his shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to see the small stain in your pants, and led you to your tent.

"I've heard.."

He cleared his throat before speaking, the slight pink tint on his cheeks gave away the soft embarrassment he felt.

"I've heard that peppermint or chamomile tea helps, the ladies were talking about it the other day."

He said and you couldn't help but smile softly.

"Yeah, it does. I just ran out of both herbes."

At that, he raised an eyebrow. Why didn't you tell him? He would've gone looking for some if it brought you comfort. And, against his better judgement, he chose to speak.

"You should've told me. I'll make sure to bring you some."

He spoke gruffly, but unable to hide his growing softness and tenderness for you.

When he helped you into your cot, he made sure to cover you with a blanket before turning on his heels to go away. He figured you might want to be left alone.

"Wait."

You called out to him. You knew better than to call over a man who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet between anyone's eyes, but a part of you knew he only did it when absolutely necessary. And that he would never, ever touch a hair on your body.

"Can you.. stay a little while?"

You asked, your cheeks turning a cute rosey shade. At that, he gave you a light chuckle.

"Yeah, 'course."

He sat down on the edge of your cot. You could see the sympathetic look in his eyes when your face would scrunch up every time a cramp hit harder.

"I'm not usually like this, I can take the pain—"

"No need to explain to me. I know it hurts and I don't need you to act tough all the time."

He cut you off, easing some of the embarrassment you felt. Maybe it was stress, maybe your hormones were fighting against you, but this cycle felt different. It hurt a lot more, making you sweat as you tried to deal with the pain.

The tension between the both of you only continued to grow, hidden desires behind your eyelids that none of you could speak about. Heartbreaks and loss were two things you were too familiar with, and couldn't bring yourself to experience once again.

So he didn't speak as he laid beside you, carefully, treating you as if you were made out of porcelain and he didn't want to hurt you. His hand went to your lower stomach and began moving it gently, massaging the zone.

You let out a sigh of relief—how did he know exactly what to do? As if reading your thoughts, he spoke:

"Mary told me this works. I didn't figure it out on my own."

He spoke quietly, and you felt kinda bad. How could she be such a fool to break up with such a kind man?

"Even if you didn't figure it out on your own, I'm grateful you know about it."

You spoke softly.

"Can I tell you something, Arthur?"

You asked, you heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted out just to be gifted to Arthur.

"'Course, princess."

He responded, his hand never stopped moving as he saw the look of relief in your face. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he noticed it was working.

"You're a good man. And anyone who doesn't see that, is a fool. A damn, blind fool."

You spoke and his eyes widened at that, letting you take in more of the particular color they had. You were so close to him yet none of you could move.

"I ain't much of a good person, princess. I've done things I'm not proud of, killed folks just because.. There's a price on my head."

He said, looking at you with that self-deprecating look he gave anyone who even dared to call him good. He wasn't good, he was a fool who didn't know how to be kind, how to be good. Or at least, that was what he thought of himself.

But on the contrary, you didn't see him that way, and he knew. So you doubled down, going along with your stubborn nature.

"Well, to me you are good. And nothing will change my mind about that."

You spoke in a firmer tone, placing a hand on top of his shoulder and rubbing it softly. He swore you could feel the way his heart jumped at your small gesture.

After a few minutes of just contemplating each other's faces, trying to read each other's minds, he spoke.

"You deserve someone better than me."

At that, you frowned. He couldn't tell you what you deserved and what you didn't, who you could or couldn't like.

"No one has ever cared about my cramps before. No one... No man has taken the time to try and make me feel better."

His expression softened. How could anyone treat you badly about something that wasn't your fault? But again, he reminded himself, it was 1899. You didn't live in a fair world.

"I couldn't just let you be in pain."

"Exactly."

You said. Everything he did or said was just another reason as to why you considered him a good man. After fighting against your fears, your mind, your insecurities, you leaned slightly closer. What were you doing? You didn't know. But the sight of his lips covered by his always perfectly trimmed moustache was something almost magnetic that pulled at your heartstrings right when you were the most vulnerable and needy.

"Princess..."

He tried to protest. His breathing hitched as he felt you slightly closer, his eyes kept darting towards your plush lips without even thinking. His heart thumped against his chest in a way that almost hurt.

"Do you trust me?"

His eyes shot up at yours. Of course he trusted you, even if a part of his brain begged him not to, he wasn't doing what his brain wanted. He was following his heart at this point, and his heart wanted you. Only you.

"I do."

He responded, his deep voice was now soft.

"Then.. Let me."

You whispered and pressed your lips against his, without giving your brain the possibility to make you think about it twice. You stayed still as you waited for him to pull away, to shut you down and never talk to you again.

But he kissed you back. He kissed you back, and his hand tangled on your hair as he did. Every move, every action was so gentle, so careful. And you couldn't be more grateful for that.

His other hand never left your lower stomach. He was determined to end with your cramps, even if his own hand ended up cramping after massaging your skin for so long.

He didn't leave your side that night. If anything, the whole situation only brought the two of you closer, to the point where he would look for excuses to sleep with you all curled up against him. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding your frame up against his chest. All while keeping a soft smile on his face even when he slept.

Because what started with the two of you being scared of letting anyone else in, ended up with Arthur going out of his way to look for anything that would relieve your pain. He would even ride his horse for hours until he found peppermint.

But in the end: all you wanted was the warmth his body provided you with and his hand pressed against your skin.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

i've been waiting for you

part three of daddy all along: part 1 here, part 2 here

pairing: older (dad's best friend)! leon x younger! reader

cw: brief mention of past suicidal ideations, oral sex, semi-public sexual activities, love

summary: the aftermath of daddy all along pt 2 (you had me at 'hello'). mild angst, mild smut, mild fluff. their trials and tribulations still have a happy ending

a/n: this is a commission for the lovely @porcelainseashore <3 !!

wc: 8k

title is a reference to the song of the same title by ABBA. (this story is best experienced alongside the song).

The kiss you shared was laced with the kind of love that was powerful enough to stop time. Until your father interrupted the sacred moment with a far-from-subtle “ahem”.

You turned to see him in the hallway, standing behind you. He’d just witnessed the spectacle. You weren’t sure whether to be angry that he interrupted you or that he wasn’t applauding your love, which had gone through trials and tribulations and come out stronger on the other side.

“I suppose I missed a lot while I was in rehab,” he said.

You looked at Leon, hoping he’d have an answer, but his mind was still hazy from the kiss.

“I think I deserve a briefing on this,” your dad said, nodding towards the living room, an order to follow him.

You silently did as he asked, but Leon lingered in the doorway, uncertain despite the simple directions.

“Leon?” your father called him back to reality.

“Yes, sir,” Leon said, still drunk on the kiss.

“We’ve been friends for decades, don’t call me ‘sir’.

Leon had to resist the urge to say “yes, sir” again. He nodded and stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. He followed you both into the living room and sat on the couch with you, placing a noticeable distance between his body and yours, in an effort to keep things appropriate in front of your father. Though it only served to make things more awkward.

“So?” your dad said, looking back and forth between the two of you, probing you both for answers.

“You saw what happened a minute ago. What more is there to say?” you said because you didn’t know how to tell the story. At least, not in a way that would be acceptable to him.

“I think there’s a lot more to say,” he said. “What happened while I was away? Did you two get together?”

You tried to be as diplomatic as possible, which meant being vague. “We got to spend a lot of time together while you were gone, and we realized that we have feelings for each other. Well, I already knew I liked Leon, but I didn’t know he liked me back.” You conveniently left out the part about having sex on your birthday.

Your father turned to Leon, looking for his explanation. It was about as revealing as yours. “I know it might seem a little weird, but I love your daughter, and I care a lot about her. I always have.”

Leon looked at you affectionately. He even dared to reach across the couch and grab your hand as proof of his love.

“Are you mad?” you asked your dad.

“No, I’m not mad. Like Leon said, it’s just weird for me… to see you two like this.” He turned to Leon, and said, “I know you’re a good man, Leon. I’ve always known that, but I know your history with women, and I need to know that you’re not going to use my daughter… as a hook up. I don’t want her heart to get broken.”

It pained you to hear your dad mention Leon’s past relationships, or lack thereof. Was it worse to think of him as a man with a history of one-night stands, or a man who’s truly loved other women before you?

Your dad played it as cool as possible, holding in all the things he wanted to say, until you decided to head to bed. You hoped Leon would come with you, but your dad asked him to stay downstairs under the guise of hanging out together for the first time since he’d been home.

Still, you sat at the base of the stairs to listen in on their conversation. You always did. Any information you had about Leon or your father – their lives outside of being your caretakers – was gathered through this method.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. You’re gonna break her heart, and I can’t let you do that.”

“You know I’d never let her get hurt.”

“She’s gone through so much lately… with the accident, me going to rehab, and now, coming home. It’s not fair to shake up her life even more.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? You’re asking me not to shake up her life because she’s dealing with the problems you’ve caused?”

There was a pause, and you swore you could see the looks on their faces. Your father’s horror, Leon’s regret.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it like that,” Leon backtracked.

“Go,” your father said, stern, but not aggressive. “I’ll tell her you had to leave and you didn’t wanna wake her.”

You heard Leon’s heavy footsteps walking towards the door and you bolted up the stairs, slipping in your socks and falling face-first on your way.

Leon saw it happen, but didn’t move. He used to pick you up when you fell. His arms were strong, but the awkwardness weighed them down, and he couldn’t reach out to catch you. Your father heard the thunk-thunk-thunk sound and ran over.

You turned to them, realizing the option for flight was gone. You had to fight — for Leon, for you and Leon.

“You were just gonna lie to me? Both of you were gonna lie to me?” You were used to your father lying. As angry as you were, you weren’t surprised by his behavior. Leon’s near-instant agreement to go along with his lies was what made your heart sink. How many times had he done this? Was your whole life a series of your father’s lies and Leon’s willingness to cover them up?

“Listen, sweetheart,” your dad said, “I was just trying to keep you safe.”

“You only care about me now that you’re home, and all you wanna do is control me again,” you said. Holding back tears, you turned to Leon. “And you, you wouldn’t even fight for us? After you came here to confess your love for me? Is it all just bullshit to you?”

“No, I care about you,” he said, “just like your dad does.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Neither of you care about me,” you said, stomping up the stairs and shutting yourself in your bedroom. Nothing good would come out of arguing further. It was 2 vs 1, an unfair fight, you’d better quit before you embarrass yourself.

It was ironic, you realized, how — mere hours ago — you would’ve given anything to have your two favorite people here with you. Now, you got what you wanted — what you thought you wanted — and you would give it all away in an instant. Maybe you were right, back at the dinner table, when the realization came to you that you couldn’t have it all. You’d have to choose between leaving Leon and disappointing your dad.

It was wholly frustrating that you did have them both for most of your life – there didn’t have to be a choice, there was always dad and Leon. Leon was right, sleeping together was a big deal, and maybe you should’ve heeded his warnings.

Questions flooded your mind, all unanswerable. Is this what regret feels like? If you could turn back time would you change it?

Who can you cry to when the people you love most are the ones who hurt you?

When you snuck downstairs later that night to grab a glass of water, Leon was gone. He’d left hours ago. You weren’t sure who to be more angry with – dad or Leon. Their previous togetherness multiplied the amount of love you received as a child, and now it multiplied the loss.

You refused to speak to your dad for days. You didn’t have to refuse to speak to Leon, as he didn’t try to reach out. You learned how to draw and ripped up the pages, you started journaling and ripped out the pages. You called a friend and tried to avoid explaining what was going on. But it was hard to think about anything else. Your life was filled with Leon, Leon, Leon. Like always. Sure, you’d lived with him for months during your father’s rehab, but you had a life before him – no, not before him, but before his constant presence. But where was it?

Leon left. Clearly you weren’t in the mood to see him, and your dad had explicitly told him to leave. What’s that saying? “If you love something, let it go”? Leon tried that with Ada many years ago. He let her go, and she came back, and then she left again, sticking them in a perpetual cycle of what he perceived to be intimacy and completely ignoring the others’ existence. They’d been seeing each other periodically for decades. Leon’s love for her faded a little bit every time she left the morning after. He let her go and she let him go. If she wasn’t willing to fight for him, then he wouldn’t fight for her. But, you were different. The way Leon loved you made him consider the possibility that whatever he felt for Ada wasn’t love. More likely it was a deadly combination of admiration, attraction, and misplaced trust. Plus, the inextricable link that forms between people who’ve saved each other’s lives.

Usually, Leon didn’t give himself time to make mistakes in his relationships – he tended to leave the morning after, never wanting to be a nuisance. If a woman ever came home with him, he’d make her coffee in the morning and lend her a clean towel so she could shower. He didn’t think he had much else to offer.

He knew how you took your coffee and how you liked your eggs. He knew how to set the thermostat to your preferred temperature. There was always more in his heart for you.

A woman thought he was being considerate when she noticed that he had tampons under the sink, but really they were for you, not her. Another thought he was seeing someone else when you left your toothbrush at his apartment. How could he explain to her that you were the most important woman he knew, but no, he wasn’t seeing you. That was well over a year ago. It should’ve been easier after “I’m in love with you.” Who is she? She’s my girlfriend. A one-word explanation.

He tried to devise a plan to win you back, like the male love interest in a cheesy rom-com. He seriously considered the prospect of showing up at your house with a boombox playing Peter Gabriel like Lloyd from Say Anything. It would probably give you second-hand embarrassment, he decided. If only he knew, you’d still take him back.

Leon knew you well enough to know your idiosyncrasies. You stayed up to watch American Idol on Monday nights. You’d be in the living room if he came over around 9. He could park around the corner and sneak up to your window. Your dad wouldn’t be watching unless he had a complete change of heart. (He’d refused to watch American Idol since the contestant he liked didn’t win in Season 2 – he was convinced from then on the competition was rigged.)

Leon got home from work, quickly changed, and headed over to your house on his motorcycle, hoping he could convince you to go for a ride with him. Something you’d never done before. Because he hadn’t allowed you to. Maybe he should have worried about the possibility that he was letting his protectiveness over you slip to accommodate his need to please you. As much as you used to beg him to do things he considered too dangerous, he’d never budge. Watching you throw a fit always pained him, but being a father figure meant protecting always superseded placating. 

Had you broken down his ability to refuse you? Or was he a selfish man looking for love in a girl he should be hesitant to pursue?

Monday night came and he knocked on your window in the special pattern the two of you had established many years ago when you were afraid of letting a “bad guy” into your room by accident as a child. Knock – pause – knock, knock – pause – knock.

You immediately knew it was him. He could see in your face that you were ready to run out the door to him, so he held his finger to his lips to remind you to be quiet. Thanks to the summer weather, you could step outside without having to make a ruckus by putting on your coat.

Your teenage years weren’t far behind you, and with a former cop for a father, you knew how to sneak out. Under the porch-light, you were barely visible, but Leon could hear your smile when you spoke.

“You came back,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I told you I’d never leave you.”

“Are you gonna come in?”

“I don’t think your father would like that very much.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I love you. And I want you to come out with me, just for a little bit.”

You learned your persuasion from Leon. You’d watched him talk his way in and out of endless situations, from speeding tickets to free food. And those people were strangers. He already had you wrapped around his finger.

“Okay,” you said, “but I should leave a note, so my dad doesn’t think I went missing.”

“Good girl,” Leon said, and when you looked in his eyes you could tell he was trying to get you worked up. And he was succeeding.

“Wait- where are we going?” you asked.

“I was going to let you choose.”

“Can we go to the hill? I’ll get a blanket for us to sit on.”

Leon was ready to blow his salary on you, and all you wanted was to lie down in the grass. His worries about your safety riding on the back of his bike were no longer a problem, since the hill was within walking distance.

“That sounds great to me.”

You returned to him moments later with your hair tied up, cherry-flavored chapstick on, and a picnic blanket under your arm. Leon carried the blanket with one arm, and held out his other, offering you his hand.

Somehow – after sex, after a love confession, after knowing Leon for your entire life up to that very moment – holding his hand made your heart flutter. You hoped your hands weren’t too sweaty. His were warm and calloused with a scar on one palm. You discovered this long ago. His hands were the ones to bandage you when you fell off your bike, the ones that wiped your tears after a nightmare, the ones that rubbed your back when he hugged you. You knew them well.

You walked to the hill where you used to go sledding as a child. It was tucked into a corner behind a thin curtain of trees, a little neighborhood secret. Leon put down the picnic blanket in a secluded spot where the street lamps couldn’t outshine the stars. You laid on your back, unsure of where to put your hands. They remained awkwardly on your stomach. You could feel Leon’s eyes on you. You turned to him and he snaked his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

“Nothing. Why?”

“No, not nothing. You’re nervous.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes. Are you worried about your dad finding out? I’ll make sure you don’t get into any trouble with him. You can blame it all on me.”

“No, I’m not worried about him.”

“Then what’s got you all anxious?”

“This is gonna sound so stupid.”

“It might, but that almost makes me wanna hear it more.”

“You’re so smooth, like, you’re giving me butterflies and I don’t know how you do it. I feel so awkward and I wish I was better at this.”

He laughed, really laughed.

“See? I told you it was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, baby.” He put his hand on your arm before you could turn from him. “I was laughing because I am the exact opposite of ‘smooth’. Ask anyone I know and they’ll tell you that I’m awful at flirting.”

“But you’re so good at it right now.”

“This isn’t flirting. I’m just having a good time with you. I’m not trying to get you in bed or whatever. I love you and I wanna spend time with you.”

Leon didn’t know that he felt that way until the words left his mouth. It didn’t miss him that you didn’t say “I love you” in return. He was old enough to accept the fact that sometimes people don’t say it back, or at least, to cover up whatever anxiety he felt when it happened.

“I love you” wasn't sufficient to describe how you felt in that moment. You grasped for words for as long as you could bear the silence. You ended up concluding that in this case, actions could substitute for words. So, you kissed him, letting your lips guide you unrestrained so that soon you were engrossed in a full-blown make-out session, hands in each other’s hair, grasping at each other’s shirts. Every time you pulled away to catch your breath, you thought you’d stop to talk – but you found yourself giving into the desire to kiss him endlessly. At least, until your breath was heaving. All you’d done was kiss.

“I want you,” you said, reaching down past Leon’s hips to find him hard.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, though you could see the intrigue in his upturned lips.

“No one’s around.”

“I’ve taken enough risks for one night. Your dad is going to murder me if he finds out I helped sneak you out of the house, and I think it’d be a lot worse if he found out from the one free phone call you’re allowed when the cops take you in.”

“What if we didn’t have sex? What if we just did a little bit more than kissing?”

“What does ‘more’ look like to you?”

“I wanna touch you. We won’t even have to take our clothes off.”

He sighed, and a bashful grin appeared on his face. He didn’t agree with words, believing he could do much better with his fingertips on your skin. Leon kissed you from your lips to your neck to your collarbone, even daring to place one on one of your breasts. It was risky to pull your top down to do it, but Leon wanted to mark you someplace only he could see it.

As soon as his hand reached the threshold between panties and skin, you unzipped his pants and started touching him. You locked eyes and stayed forehead-to-forehead until he kissed you forcefully, capturing your moans before they left your mouth.

You were left in a daze after your orgasm while Leon was hit with a moment of clarity that was much different this time than the last. He understood the risks clearly, and yet, had no second thoughts. There was nowhere he’d rather be than holding you under the stars.

When you arrived home from your date with Leon, you found your father in the kitchen.

He knew.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Where were you tonight?”

“With a friend.”

“Is your friend’s name “Leon”?”

“Don’t get mad. Please, dad.”

“Why didn’t you ask me before you went out?”

“Because I thought you’d say no.”

“At least you’re honest.” He picked up a can from the table and took a sip of it, and for a second, you thought it was beer, you thought you could turn the tables. You noticed it was a can of soda about a second before you opened your mouth to yell at him.

“I can’t stop you from sleeping with him, but you’re not doing it while you live under my roof.”

“Why are you so obsessed with the idea of us having sex?! It’s not the only thing we do.”

“Sure. You hang out. That doesn’t mean it’s love, nor does it mean that it’ll last.”

“You don’t know anything about love.”

“Maybe so. But Leon is a man in his forties who’s never had a serious relationship. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Maybe he hadn’t found the right person.”

“All I’m saying is that I can’t remember the last time I saw him go on a second date with a woman, let alone have a long-term relationship.”

“And? You ended up being a single father because you fucked up so bad that mom left you!” And if Freud was right, then that’s why I have daddy issues.

“I will not have you talk to me that way.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’ll ask you to go upstairs and think about your words or you can pack your bags and go.”

The second option was hyperbole. He would never kick you out. But you took it as truth and grabbed your purse. You called Leon from the driveway.

Your father’s disapproval became the least of your worries once you began staying with Leon. What was eating at you was the comment your father made about Leon’s love life. Over dinner one night, you confronted him.

“You said you’ve been in love before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you still love her?”

“No.” He was sure of it. He liked Ada, liked having sex with her, but he’d fallen out of love with her a long time ago. That ship had sailed.

“How did it end?”

“What?”

“The relationship with whoever you were in love with.”

“There wasn’t really a relationship. There was nothing to end.”

You hummed in contemplation.

“Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want you to fall out of love with me.”

“I don’t plan to, and that situation was entirely different than what we have. This, what’s between us, is much stronger.”

He looked you in the eyes, and said much softer, “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I can’t fall out of love with you. I tried to, multiple times. It didn’t work and that’s why I’m here.”

“What do you mean you ‘tried to fall out of love’ with me?”

“I slept with other people… as you know,” he said, nearly wincing at the awful memory of you catching him with another woman in your living room. “And, the night I came to your house, I had just left a date.”

“So, you slept with someone before you came over and-”

“No, I went out to dinner, and she offered me… the opportunity to go back to her place, but I said no.”

“Was she ugly? Unfuckable by your standards?”

“No, wait- what?” He shook his head and tried to explain it the best he could. “I was thinking about that night in the hotel room when you said that thing about Celine and Jesse and I actually brought it up to the girl.”

“You told her about that night?”

“No, I just mentioned how I liked the movie.”

“And?”

“And she said she didn’t like it.”

“And that’s the reason you decided I was a better choice? Because she didn’t like your favorite 90s romance movie?”

“No, well, sort of, but no… I just started thinking about how you love that movie and how she’s nothing like you, and how I love you. And then I saw your picture in my wallet and… I just knew what I had to do.”

For a moment, you wondered if he was just trying to get in your pants. If he was, it was working. You gave in, telling yourself that his intentions shouldn’t matter because he wasn’t manipulating you, you were hoping he’d ask you to sleep with him anyway. You weren’t going to let your dad’s assumptions get to your head.

Leon scavenged the house but couldn’t find any condoms. “I think I’m all out,” he said, sounding very apologetic. “The drug store’s still open, though, so just gimme like 15 minutes, and I’ll be back.”

You beckoned him closer. “What if we just didn’t use one?” you asked, putting on your cutest face.

“Uh-uh,” he said, “and before you try to talk me into it, I’m serious.”

“But Leon…”

“No, that’s my final answer. I can go to the store or we can do this another time.”

“Or you could just pull out.”

“You went to health class, right?”

You nodded.

“Then, you know that the pull-out method isn’t 100% effective. Or did you convince me to pick you up the day they taught that?”

You actually had convinced him to pick you up that day, but you were still aware of the pregnancy risk if you didn’t use protection.

“What if I wanted to get pregnant?”

“You’re joking, right? This is a hypothetical.”

“Sort of, but you’re getting older – no offense – and if we wanna have kids, then maybe we should start before your sperm count decreases.”

“My sperm count is fine, and no, we are not ready for a baby.”

“You might not be.”

“Sorry, I meant you are not ready for a baby. I could take care of a child, but you’re 21.” Suddenly, your age-gap seemed to widen in Leon’s mind. He felt like he’d already raised a kid and you weren’t close to being ready to have one.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “But you wanna have kids someday, right…?” It was wishful thinking, and though you had no reason to believe Leon had the same idea in mind, you believed he did. In all your daydreams you were parents.

He was completely taken aback. “Uh…” The last time he’d been asked if he wanted to have kids it was a theoretical question, from Claire, decades ago. Back when they thought it might still be a possibility in this lifetime. “I don’t know…” He decided not to say any more, fearing he’d disappoint you.

“But, I do, and I think I’d be a good mom.” After the words left your mouth, it hit you, the horrible realization. No, you might not be a good mother, and in fact, if you had to put money on it, you wouldn’t bet on your success. If you were anything like your parents, you’d be terrible at it. It must’ve shown on your face because Leon’s expression shifted from stern to sympathetic.

“Hey,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I think you could be a great mom one day, but let’s not talk about it tonight.”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and wiped them away with the back of your hand before they could fall. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. You tried to awkwardly laugh your way out of the discussion and Leon must’ve felt bad enough for you not to call you out.

Sex was no longer on the table – that conversation had gone stale. The idea was wholly unpalatable that night, for both of you.

“Sorry,” you said, stopping yourself before you could start your own pity party.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. If you were apologizing for being obstinate and trying to manipulate your way into unprotected sex, he’d take the apology, but he knew what you meant: I’m sorry for killing your boner and crushing my own dreams. It wasn’t your fault for hoping Leon could be more than the man he was.

You fell asleep quickly, as one does after crying. Leon’s arms around you eased your pain. Some things never changed.

When you were younger, like many little girls, you liked to play with baby dolls – you bottle-fed them, pushed them in a stroller, rocked them to sleep, but it was all pretend. You believed motherhood would be easy back then, and it wasn’t like Leon was going to crush a little girl’s dreams by telling her the harsh realities of being a parent.

When you were very little – little enough that this memory is one only Leon bore the burden of keeping – Leon mentioned something about you pretending to be a mommy, to which you remarked, “I don’t know how to play mommy.”

Sure, kids talk nonsense, but regardless of your intent, you didn’t have a mother figure, and you never would. Leon didn’t have the same delusional optimism that your father had in the beginning. He was convinced your mom would come back to him. Leon knew better than to get his hopes up, not that he had much at stake.

Ironically, the father you grew up with, the morbid, ever-pessimistic father, was a direct result of his prior optimism. He decided being a cynic would protect him from being disappointed. He never perfected the art of acting happy in front of the kid quite like Leon did. Then again, Leon knew depression, even suicidality, but he’d never been heartbroken to the extent that your dad had because he’d never given himself over to someone entirely. After watching your dad fall headfirst into alcoholism, Leon was being reasonable by keeping himself guarded. Or so he thought at the time. Now, he began to consider the fact that he may not have been as brave as he’d always thought he was. He was a hero, risking his life to eradicate the threats of bioterrorism worldwide. But, he didn’t choose that life, he fell into his position as an agent due to his own cowardice – at least, that’s how he felt when he couldn’t pull the trigger when he held his own gun to his temple.

In retrospect, he was glad he hadn’t gone through with his plan to off himself. Classify it how you want – cowardice for backing down or bravery for deciding to stay alive – Leon was still alive decades later. And before him stood another one of life’s toughest decisions, though the answer was much clearer this time. Would he let himself fall in love with you, knowing you could break his heart? Yes, though, he didn’t have much say in the matter by the time he realized what was happening. He didn’t choose to set his soul on the table in front of a starving woman. You pulled it out of him with every kiss, every laugh, every steady breath you took while you lay next to him in bed.

When Leon walked in the door, you were there to greet him like a pet who’d been left alone for hours, desperate for affection. Unlike a puppy, you didn’t pounce on him immediately. With his arms behind his back, he said, “I got you a present — pick a hand.”

As skeptical as you were, your intrigue was stronger. You tapped his right arm and he held out a box of condoms. “Surprise,” he said.

“I think this ‘present’ might be for you,” you said.

“You caught me,” he said, already leaning in for the kiss that would lead to the night’s escapades.

Leon planned to take you to the bedroom like a gentleman would, but you dragged him over to the couch, shoved him into a seated position, and stripped in front of him. He had to resist the urge to speak, knowing he’d say something stupid since the image of you in your current state had taken over his mind entirely, turning everything else to mush. The only organ still at work was the one in his pants, and that one was working overtime.

You straddled his lap once you were down to your underwear – a matching lace set. Since you and Leon had become official, you made sure you were always prepared. Not that he expected you to dress up for him. Maybe it was the nagging voice in the back of your mind that constantly reminded you that he’d been with other women. You had others to compete with for the top spot in his mind. He didn’t. He was your best and your only.

You had no idea how many women Leon had been with – romantically or sexually, and you were afraid to ask, worried that the amount would be high enough that he wouldn’t recall the exact number. He told you that you were the best he’d ever had, but people lie. All the time.

You tore off Leon’s dress shirt, haphazardly popping one of the buttons off. “I liked this shirt,” Leon mumbled, momentarily disappointed.

When you sank to your knees, all was forgiven. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head that told him this was wrong. He should be taking care of you, right? You’re his baby girl, you can’t do this – not that he’s naive enough to believe that you’re the innocent little girl you used to be, he knew for a fact that you’d left that girl in the past for a woman who was looking at him bright-eyed, kneeling at his feet – but you could get hurt doing this, you could choke if you overexerted yourself.

You were teary-eyed and gagging before he could think of a way to protect your poor throat. An overachiever. Part of Leon’s mind was enraptured by the sight and begging him to let you continue. If you were any other girl, maybe he would give over all control to you. But the reasonable man he became the day he met you, a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, remained stronger than the sex-crazed idiot he was before.

He pulled you off of him gently. Maybe it was just an illusion from your watery eyes, but you looked hurt.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, soft and sweet, “but you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You are.”

“But I wanna do more, I wanna please you.”

“You wanna please me, huh?” You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, but you hadn’t figured out its source yet.

“Yes, please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” He pretended to be astonished by your offer. You were being hyperbolic, he assumed – he hoped. “Okay,” he said, standing up, “c’mon.” He held out his hand for you to take.

You grabbed his hand without hesitation, and he led you to the bedroom. The tables turned the moment you entered the room when he pushed you down on the bed. He climbed atop you and kissed you forcefully, undoing your bra with his deft fingers.

With open-mouthed kisses he made his way down your stomach stopping only to remove your panties, only a thin layer of lace between his mouth and your core. He was more careful when he undressed you than you were when you did the same for him. He wanted to see you in this again.

His lips teased your inner thighs first. He placed soft kisses everywhere except the place you wanted to feel his mouth most. He only gave in when you started to squirm. The sound you made when his tongue touched your clit told him how much you longed for this.

“You taste so good, baby,” he said, words muffled as his mouth was occupied.

“Leon, wait-”

He looked up at you, with kiss-dark lips and a dazed expression, clearly having been somewhere else mentally.

“I said I wanted to please you, so-”

“Trust me, I am more than pleased with what I’m doing right now.”

You were conflicted. Maybe he was a rare breed of man who truly got off on going down on women, or maybe he was lying. But if he were, he would be doing it because he wanted to make you happy. Because he wanted you.

And who were you to deny him?

You were multiple orgasms in when you finally got Leon to come up for air. His hair was a mess all thanks to your hands tugging at the strands. You were surprised he came up looking relatively unscathed when you’d worried you’d suffocated him with your thighs, maybe twisted his neck too. But, no, he met you face-to-face with a grin, only superseded in prominence by his hard-on.

You ran your thumb over his tip, through the fabric of his underwear which now had a small wet spot, and he groaned.

“My offer still stands,” you said.

His eyes flickered to your smile, which was wider than his and even his ever-bleeding heart couldn’t protest. His dick wasn’t the only part of him that wanted you.

Leon always had an acute awareness of his own mortality. From the moment his parents were ripped away from him as a child, he realized the harsh reality that death can never be fully anticipated and all too often it happens far too early in one’s life. He was aware of that fact, but hadn’t watched anyone die in front of him until the Raccoon City incident. It takes seeing to believe. And even after believing the truth, it took him years to accept it.

It took him until he was 40 to get to that point. Even then, every ill-fated day that Hunnigan called him while he was with you, he was confronted with the same unsettling feeling, the fear of death that he thought he’d gotten over.

If he had to leave unexpectedly, he’d wake you up before he did, give you a hug goodbye. Sometimes, you were in such a deep sleep that you didn’t remember him saying goodbye at all. You’d later accuse him of leaving without telling you, and from then on, he’d leave a note by your bedside to confirm that he’d been there.

You kept them in a box in your closet. They were the sad reminders of the fact that he was gone, but they smelled like him. You always wondered how it was possible for paper to absorb the scent of someone’s cologne so easily. As it turned out, it wasn’t magic or an obscure fact of science, but rather, Leon spraying cologne directly onto the paper because he knew you liked the smell of it.

In the beginning, you watched Leon get dressed in the morning just as you’d imagined back in the hotel room months ago.

Leon got up early while you stayed in bed, but he never left without kissing you goodbye. It was a bit of tradition and a bit of superstition. When he cupped your cheek, you felt the cold metal from the watch on his wrist against your skin.

Eventually, you became accustomed to the sound of Leon’s 6:30 AM alarm and the feeling of his weight being lifted from the bed. You could sleep through his morning routine until the goodbye kiss he always gave you on the forehead. Loving, but so sadly superstitious on his end.

You realized that part later.

You were awoken bright and early by Leon, which was generally a beautiful thing – though, that morning you could hear the apprehension in his voice. You were acutely aware that something was wrong. Sometimes it seemed his hyper-vigilance was wearing off on you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He held himself back from asking you how you knew. “Nothing major,” he sighed, picking his words carefully. “I have to leave this afternoon.”

“Where are you going?” Based on his tone, you could guess that it wasn’t a tropical island vacation. He had business to take care of, and you certainly weren’t going with him. It didn’t really matter what city or country he was leaving for; it was all equally dangerous.

“Romania. I might be gone for a few weeks.” So, I woke you up early to spend as many hours with you as possible before I leave.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, though your voice gave way to something you wouldn’t say until hours later, when you were naked in the sheets together, having one last bout of intimacy before his flight: “I’m scared of you dying”.

Often, in the post-orgasmic bliss, you tell him how much you love him, how good the sex was, and infinite praises. That morning, you told him you were scared he was going to die, and the minutes before that meant something entirely different. While he was away, memories of you beneath him would permeate his mind. It wasn’t the first time you had affected his ability to focus in the field, but now, he was overcome with not only longing, but also sadness and an unprecedented wave of guilt. How could he leave you like this? You must be worried sick. Hopefully, you’ve patched things over with your dad.

While Leon was gone, you moved back in with your dad. You rung his doorbell, ready to beg for his forgiveness, something you never thought you’d have to do.

To your surprise, he opened the front door with a smile.

“It’s good to see you,” he said when he pulled you into a hug. “I missed my little girl.”

You had convinced yourself that you’d made yourself immune to your father’s actions, that he couldn’t make you cry anymore. But, you broke down in tears. You were so used to apologies, excuses, and bargains. He rarely said he missed you, and never with such conviction.

“I missed you too, dad,” you said, refusing to let go of him. You had the shared knowledge that you didn’t mean that you’d missed him for the small period of time you spent at Leon’s, you missed the person he was when he was sober, the person who was standing in front of you. There was a significant period of your childhood during which he was sober, or at least rarely drunk, but you’d accepted that the man he was then had abandoned you. He was home.

He noticed your suitcase, and asked, “Are you planning on staying awhile?” He was trying not to get his hopes up. That was something you had in common.

“Can I?” you asked.

“Of course. I haven’t changed your room into a man cave just yet.”

He carried your suitcase upstairs, he helped you put the fitted sheet on your bed, he cooked dinner and sat across the table from you. It didn’t feel like a transaction or a placation either.

The topic was inevitably brought up.

“So, Leon…” he said, hoping you could fill in the blanks.

“I still love him, and I want to be with him,” you said.

His pointed gaze asked, why are you here?

“He had to leave for work,” you answered.

He nodded, accepting the situation. “I’ve been thinking a lot while you were gone.”

You braced yourself for impact.

“I think I was being too hard on Leon… and on you. I’ll admit, I still think it’s a little weird to see you two like that.” He looked up from his plate and made eye contact finally. “And I don’t want to find you two getting it on in my living room.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“But, as long as he’s good to you, I’ll learn to be supportive. I don’t want to lose either of you in my life, especially my daughter.”

“Me neither. I want to be with Leon, but I need my dad too.”

“I know.” He paused before saying, “Plus, I thought about it, and if you insist on dating a middle-aged man, there are much worse ones you could pick.”

Leon came home with a bloody nose, broken fingers and too many bruises to count. His clothes were torn and dirty, his eyes were tired, but his smile was warm as ever.

You wanted so badly to run into his embrace but you approached him slowly. Much like when he fell from the pedestal you kept him on the day you found him with another woman in the living room, his facade crumbled in front of you. His injuries were proof that he was breakable. He was made of skin and bone, powered by blood pumping through his veins just like you, not stardust or whatever angels are made of.

“I missed you,” you said, holding back tears.

“I missed you, too,” he said. He looked oddly well-adjusted to the situation. You wondered how many times he’d come home beaten up like this. Moreover, how many times there was a woman waiting for him.

This was the first time he'd tell you if you’d asked.

He headed towards the kitchen, but you stopped him.

“I’m just getting a glass of water, baby. I promise I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll get it. You should sit.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he said, backing towards the couch. He was too exhausted to argue. It was emasculating to have you take care of him, but he’d have to get used to it. He realized, then, that you’d do this for him – you’d have to – if you stayed with him through his old age. If he made it that far.

You brought him some water and sat down on the couch next to him. You surveyed his injuries. You tried not to stare, but failed. Even if he wasn’t covered in blood, you’d stare – he was the love of your life, how could you not?

“What?” he said, turning to you.

“Just looking at you,” you said, trying to remain cheery, though your tone gave way to something sad.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ve been through way worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

He shrugged. “You told me to come back alive, not to come back unscathed,” he said.

You frowned. He grabbed your chin and moved closer to you, going in for the kiss. “If you don’t want me like this, then-” he started.

You cut him off with a kiss. You were lucky his lips weren’t injured. You could kiss him as hard as you wanted. And you did. When you pulled back, you said, “I want you like this. I’ve wanted you for weeks.”

He tried to speak, but you put your finger to his lips, shushing him. “But first,” you said, “I want to get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t worry. I planned on taking a shower before getting into bed.”

You stood and offered him your hand. He took it and headed for the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on the way. When he noticed you were following him, he asked, “Are you coming with?”

“Yeah,” you said as if it should have been obvious. “Who else is going to help wash you?”

He sighed, and you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face.

“You’ve taken care of me my whole life. Let me take care of you for once,” you said.

“Fine, but don’t get used to it. When I’m all healed, I’ll be taking care of you.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watched him strip and all of your thoughts faded – aside from one, which you spoke aloud. “You’re so hot. Your dick better not be injured.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I kept it safe just for you.”

He turned on the water and tried to adjust it to the optimal temperature, but he got distracted when your clothes came off. He whistled.

“Leon!” You covered up instinctively, feeling flustered by his whistling.

“Oh come on,” he said, “You’re gorgeous. I couldn’t help myself.”

His shower was not made for two – and it was further complicated by the fact that Leon had to bend over for you to be able to reach his head. But, you made it work. It felt emasculating, borderline humiliating, on his end to be so incapable of something simple, and to have to rely on his girlfriend to do it for him. But your soft hands washing his skin and your fingertips massaging his scalp, the way you made sure not to miss a single spot on his body, the way you cared – all he had was gratitude. And a whole lot of love for you.