#both these passages moved me to tears

[hxxsxxng]

to have and to hold - lee heeseung ❦

「pairing」 : husband!heeseung x fem!reader

「word count」 : 1.3k

「genre」 : fluff. fluff. FLUFF.

「summary」 : heeseung always pays attention and remembers the little things, and his love language is definitly all of them.

「warnings」 : no warnings!

「authors note」 : this is the first part of the FROM THE HEART❦ series!

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I curled up on our plush sofa, my favorite book in hand and a steaming mug of tea on the side table. The soft pitter-patter of rain against the window created the perfect ambiance for a cozy afternoon at home. As I flipped to the next page, I heard the front door unlock, and a smile tugged at my lips. Heeseung was home.

"I'm back!" his melodious voice called out, followed by the sound of shoes being removed and keys jingling as they were placed in the bowl by the door.

"In the living room," I responded, not looking up from my book just yet. I was at a good part and wanted to finish the paragraph.

I heard his footsteps approaching, and soon felt the sofa dip as he sat beside me. A gentle kiss was pressed to my temple, and I finally tore my eyes away from the pages to look at my husband. His dark hair was slightly damp from the rain, and his eyes sparkled with warmth as they met mine.

"How's the book?" Heeseung asked, nodding towards the novel in my hands.

I marked my place with a bookmark and set it aside. "It's getting really good. The main character just discovered a hidden passage in the old mansion."

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Sounds intriguing. Though I hope it's not giving you any ideas about tearing up our walls to look for secret rooms."

I playfully swatted his arm. "Don't worry, I'm content with our secret-passage-free apartment."

Heeseung's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Speaking of which, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes."

Curiosity piqued, I did as he asked. I heard him move away and then return a moment later. "Okay, you can look now."

I opened my eyes to find him holding a small, gift-wrapped package. "What's this for?" I asked, taking it from him.

"Just because," he replied with a soft smile. "Go on, open it."

Carefully, I unwrapped the gift to reveal a beautiful leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with intricate designs, and when I opened it, I found the pages were lined with tiny constellations.

"Heeseung, it's beautiful," I breathed, running my fingers over the smooth leather.

"I remembered you mentioning that you wanted to start journaling," he explained. "And I know how much you love stargazing, so when I saw this, I knew it was perfect for you."

My heart swelled with love. It was just like Heeseung to remember such a small detail from a conversation we'd had weeks ago. "Thank you," I said, leaning in to kiss him softly.

As we parted, my stomach let out a low growl, causing us both to laugh. "Hungry?" Heeseung asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded sheepishly. "I may have gotten a bit too engrossed in my book and forgotten about lunch."

“Okay c’mon, take a break from the book and we can cook some food together” he suggested, slowly taking the book away from my hands. “How about stir-fry”

"Sounds perfect," I agreed.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm, chopping vegetables and preparing the sauce. Heeseung hummed softly as he worked, a habit I'd grown to love over the years. As I reached for the soy sauce, I accidentally knocked over the bottle of sesame oil.

"Dang it" I exclaimed, watching in annoyance as the oil spread across the counter.

But before I could even move to clean it up, Heeseung was already there with a cloth. "Don't worry, I've got it," he said, quickly wiping up the spill.

"My hero," I said dramatically, placing a hand over my heart.

He grinned, tossing the cloth into the sink. "Always at your service, my lady."

As we continued cooking, I couldn't help but marvel at how in sync we were. Heeseung seemed to anticipate my every move, handing me utensils before I even asked for them and moving around me with practiced ease.

Once the stir-fry was sizzling in the pan, filling the kitchen with delicious aromas, Heeseung turned to me with a glint in his eye. "How about we have a little fun while we wait?"

Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled out his phone and hit play. The opening notes of our favorite song started to play, and I couldn't help but laugh as he started dancing, gesturing for me to join him.

I hopped down from the counter and took his outstretched hand. We twirled around the kitchen, our socks sliding on the smooth floor as we moved to the beat. Heeseung sang along, his voice harmonizing perfectly with the music.

As the song came to an end, he dipped me low, both of us breathless and giggling. "I love you," he said softly, his face inches from mine.

"I love you too," I replied, my heart full to bursting.

The timer on the stove beeped, bringing us back to reality. We reluctantly separated, and Heeseung turned his attention to the stir-fry while I set the table.

As we sat down to eat, I couldn't help but smile at the sight before me. Heeseung had arranged the vegetables on my plate to form a smiley face, just like he used to do when we first started dating and I was feeling down.

"What's got you smiling?" he asked, noticing my expression.

I gestured to my plate. "Just appreciating your artistic skills."

He laughed, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Only the best for you."

After dinner, we settled back onto the sofa, this time with our gaming controllers in hand. It had become a tradition of ours to spend our evenings playing video games together, alternating between cooperative and competitive games.

"Ready to get your butt kicked?" I teased as we booted up our favorite fighting game.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "Big words from someone who lost the last three matches."

"I was going easy on you," I retorted, selecting my character.

~

Later that night, as we lay in bed, I turned to face Heeseung in the dim light. He was scrolling through his phone, but set it aside when he noticed me watching him.

"What's on your mind?" he asked softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

I snuggled closer to him, resting my head on his chest. "I was just thinking about how grateful I am for you. For us. For days like today."

I felt his arms tighten around me as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Me too," he murmured. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you."

As I drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of Heeseung's embrace and the love that filled our home, I knew that this, these quiet moments, these small gestures, this deep understanding between us, this was what true happiness felt like.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

taglist: @jakeflvrz @simpjay @slutforjaeyun @rayofsunshineeee

[misswynters]

Royal Welcome - Chapter Two

Dragon Twins Series

Aegon Targaryen x Dayne!fem!reader x Aerion Targaryen

[synopsis: You locked yourself in your room for the entire day after the events that occurred during the morning. You couldn’t believe aegon would humiliate you like that. Aerion however finds a solution to your sadness.

[warning: kissing, sensual touching, almost smut, puppy-eyed aegon

[word count: 3.0k

[a/n: we don’t often see the calm aegon in hotd so i decided that he will be that.

[note | it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

As the day progressed you were sulking in your chambers, not moving a muscle. What aegon did was so humiliating to you that you didn’t even want to step foot outside. Soon the evening shadows cast long tendrils of darkness across the room as you lay on your bed, your face buried in the silken pillow that was damp with the tears you had shed. The humiliation of the council meeting replayed in your mind like a cruel jest, Aegon's mocking laughter echoing in your ears. Your heart pounded with a mix of anger and shame, your cheeks stained red from both the wine and the sting of his words.

A soft knock at the door barely registered through your sorrow. You remained silent, unwilling to face anyone, least of all Aerion. The door creaked open regardless, and you heard the quiet, purposeful footsteps approach. A gentle hand rested on your shoulder, and you looked up to see Aerion's concerned face.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. “You haven’t left your room at all since what happened at the small council meeting”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. Aerion sat down on the edge of your bed, his hand never leaving your shoulder. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort amidst the turmoil of your emotions.

"Aegon was out of line," Aerion said, his voice steady. "He had no right to treat you that way."

You looked up at him, your eyes red and swollen from crying. "It doesn't matter," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I'm just a pawn to them, a tool to be used for heirs and be discarded."

Aerion's expression hardened. "You are not a pawn," he said firmly. "…and luckily you have me."

His words touched a chord deep within you, and before you could respond, Aerion leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a sudden, passionate kiss. The world seemed to melt away as he cupped your cheeks, his fingers gentle against your skin. You followed suit, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your heart raced.

The kiss deepened, a fervent exchange of unspoken emotions, each moment stretching into eternity. Your mind was a whirlwind, but in that instant, nothing else mattered. You were no longer burdened with duty and expectation; you were simply you, and he was with you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Aerion's eyes searched yours, a mixture of longing and concern reflected in his gaze.

"Wanna come somewhere with me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, feeling a newfound strength. "Yes," you replied, your voice steady. "I'm sure."

Aerion smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. He stood up, offering his hand. "Come with me," he said. "Let's get out of here, even if just for a little while. Clear our heads."

You hesitated for a moment, but then took his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Together, you slipped out of your chambers, the castle corridors quiet and dimly lit. Aerion led you through a series of passages until you emerged into a secluded garden, the night sky above and all inhibitions were cast aside. Aerion's hands became more insistent, gripping your waist and pulling you even closer. The cool night air contrasted sharply with the heat building between you, making every touch, feel electric.

The cool night air was refreshing, and you took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Aerion stood beside you, his presence a comforting anchor in the sea of your emotions.

"Sometimes," he said quietly, "we need to step away to see things more clearly. Out here, it's just us. No titles, no expectations. Just me and you."

You looked up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you said softly. "For everything."

Aerion nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Always," he replied.

After a few minutes in silence, you stood there watching the night sky, "Aerion," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and anticipation.

He responded with a low growl, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left you both breathless. His hands slid up your sides, tracing the contours of your body with an urgency that mirrored your own. You arched into his touch, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as the kiss deepened.

You broke apart, gasping for air, your foreheads resting together. The garden seemed to pulse with the same intensity that thrummed through your veins. His eyes were dark with desire, his breathing heavy as he looked at you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to find the words but certain in your heart. "Yes," you whispered, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within you. "I want this, my prince. I want you."

He needed no further encouragement. With a swift motion, he lifted you, guiding you to a secluded bench surrounded by the fragrant blooms. You settled into his lap, your legs straddling his as he pulled you close, his hands gripping your hips. The new position only heightened the intensity of your connection, your bodies pressed together in a desperate, fevered embrace.

Aerion's lips found yours again, the kiss raw and hungry. You matched his fervor, your hands roaming over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingers. Every touch, every kiss seemed to ignite a fire that threatened to consume you both.

His hands slid under your dress, the roughness of his fingers contrasting with the softness of your skin. You gasped as he found the sensitive spots along your thighs, his touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. You clung to him, your own desire mounting with each passing moment.

"Aerion," you moaned, your voice a breathless plea.

He responded with a low, guttural sound, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His hands continued their exploration, and you could feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against you, adding to the delicious tension building between you.

The night around you seemed to disappear, the world narrowing to just the two of you, lost in each other. The garden, once a place of peace and tranquility, now echoed with the sounds of your shared passion. You moved against each other, each touch, each kiss pushing you closer to the edge.

"Aerion, I..." you began, but the words were lost as his mouth claimed yours again, silencing any further thoughts.

The kiss was possessive, demanding, and you surrendered to it completely, your body responding to his in perfect harmony.

Your hands moved to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in your haste to feel more of him. He helped you, shrugging out of the garment and tossing it aside.

Your hands roamed over his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of his muscles. You marveled at the sensation, the way his body seemed to fit perfectly with yours.

Aerion's hands were no less busy, his touch exploring every inch of you, leaving a trail of desire in its wake. The night air was cool against your heated skin, but it only heightened the intensity of your connection. You could feel the dampness between your thighs, a testament to your growing need for him.

"Aerion," you begged, your voice barely more than a whisper. “We should stop…”

He groaned, his lips brushing against your ear. "I need you," he murmured, ignoring you as his breath laid hot against your skin. "I need you so much." You started to feel guilty as he continued to kiss you passionately.

He paused for a moment thinking about what you said, his breathing ragged, eyes dark with lingering desire. “You’re right,” he hesitantly agreed, his voice hoarse. He reluctantly let go of your waist, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment longer before he pulled back.

You both stood, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from your bodies. Aerion’s eyes never left you as you adjusted your dress, smoothing out the wrinkles and making sure everything was in place. His hands moved to help, his touch gentle and careful as he straightened your clothes, his fingers brushing against your skin with every movement.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice a mixture of regret and lingering desire.

He shook his head, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Don’t be,” he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. “I understand.”

As he continued to help you, his hands moved with a deliberate slowness, and he couldn’t resist placing soft kisses on your lips. Each peck was tender and affectionate, a stark contrast to the fevered kisses from moments before. You leaned into him, savoring the sweetness of his touch, even as the urgency of your previous encounter faded.

“There,” Aerion said softly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “All set.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with emotion. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice filled with a depth of feeling that went beyond words.

He smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Always,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with a promise of more moments like this, of a connection that went beyond the physical.

The garden was quiet once more, the night enveloping you both in a serene embrace. You took a deep breath, the cool air calming your racing heart. He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and together you walked back toward the castle.

Aerion gently led you back to your chambers, the soft glow of the torches casting warm light across the stone corridors. His hand remained firmly clasped in yours, a silent promise of protection and affection. When you reached your door, he paused, his gaze lingering on your face.

"Goodnight," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. He leaned in, brushing a kiss against your forehead, a soft, lingering touch that left your heart fluttering.

"Goodnight, Aerion," you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you watched him turn and walk away, the connection between you still palpable.

࣪⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫ 

A few moments later, your handmaidens entered the room, carrying your nightgown and the items needed for your nightly bath. They moved with practiced efficiency, helping you undress and preparing the bath. As you slipped into the warm water, a sense of calm washed over you, the events of the night replaying in your mind.

The handmaidens' gentle hands washed your body, the soothing motions helping to ease the tension from your muscles. Your thoughts drifted to Aerion, his touch, his kisses, the way he looked at you with such intensity. A smile tugged at your lips, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the bath.

Just as you were beginning to relax, the door to your chambers burst open with a loud crash. You startled, the peaceful moment shattered. Aegon stumbled into the room, his eyes glassy and unfocused from his usual nights out. He reeked of alcohol, his steps unsteady as he glared at the handmaidens.

“Get out!” he bellowed, his voice slurred but still commanding. The handmaidens exchanged frightened glances but quickly obeyed, scurrying out of the room and leaving you alone with him.

Aegon’s eyes flicked over you, and he took a deep breath, the fury from earlier momentarily subsiding. “Get dressed,” he muttered, his tone softer but still laden with the effects of alcohol.

Fearful of his unpredictable state, you quickly stood from the bath and wrapped a towel around yourself, hurrying to slip into your nightgown. Aegon sat on the edge of your bed, watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

Once you were dressed, he patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Sit,” he commanded, his voice a mix of authority and vulnerability.

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes made you comply. You sat beside him, the tension between you palpable. Aegon’s expression softened, the anger replaced by a sadness that caught you off guard. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lay his head on your lap, his vulnerability exposed.

“I saw you and my brother in the garden,” he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. “I saw everything.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and guilt mingling as you searched for words. “Aegon, I—”

He cut you off, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your lap. “Why?” he asked, his voice filled with a sorrow that made your heart ache. “Why him? Why not me?”

Hesitantly, you raised your hand and began to caress his head, your fingers threading through his hair in a soothing manner. Aegon, usually so arrogant and self-assured, now seemed vulnerable, exposed. You looked down at him, seeing the pain and confusion etched on his face.

“Aegon, it’s not about choosing one over the other,” you began, your voice gentle. “Aerion and I… it was unexpected, we just connected in that way.”

He let out a shaky breath, his body trembling slightly against yours. “But I can love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can learn how.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken feelings and regrets. You felt a pang of sorrow for Aegon, but your heart still belonged to Aerion. You had to tread carefully, not wanting to hurt him further.

“Aegon,” you said softly, continuing to stroke his hair, “I care about you, too. But i can’t live like this, i hate being constantly ignored”

He let out a shuddering sigh, his grip on your dress tightening. “I’m sorry” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You gently squeezed his shoulder, your touch tender. “I’m sorry, Aegon,” you said, your voice filled with genuine regret. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

He looked up at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”

For a moment, you both sat there in silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Aegon finally lifted his head from your lap and stood, his movements sluggish and weary.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice hollow. He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You sat there for a moment, the events of the night swirling in your mind. Aegon’s confession, his vulnerability—it all left you feeling conflicted and sorrowful. Your heart now remained stuck in between the two, drawn to Aerion with a pull you couldn’t resist. But also struck by aegon’s sudden burst of emotion. Even though he was drunk, you could feel his true feelings spurring out of his heart.

࣪⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫ 

In the morning, as the first light of dawn filters through the curtains, you wake with a sense of unease lingering from the events of the previous night. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts about Aerion, Aegon, and the complex web of emotions entangling you.

The handmaidens enter quietly, bringing a basin of warm water and fresh linens. They help you into a simple but elegant morning gown, their hands gentle and efficient as they prepare you for the day ahead. Despite their calm presence, you can’t shake the tension in the air.

After dressing, you head to the dining hall for breakfast, apprehensive about facing Aegon. As you approach the hall, you hear the soft murmur of conversation. Steeling yourself, you enter the room.

Aerion is already there, looking as composed and handsome as ever, though his eyes light up with concern as he sees you. Aegon, on the other hand, sits silently, staring into his cup, his expression unreadable.

You take your seat, the tension between the three of you almost palpable. Aerion reaches over, his fingers brushing yours in a subtle gesture of reassurance. You manage a small smile, grateful for his presence.

Aegon finally looks up, his gaze locking with yours. There’s a flicker of hurt and something else—resignation, perhaps?—in his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then closes it, shaking his head slightly.

The silence is broken by the arrival of the other family members and courtiers, who fill the room with their chatter and laughter, oblivious to the undercurrents at your table. You focus on your food, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

After breakfast, Aerion suggests a walk in the gardens, a chance for some privacy away from prying eyes and ears. You disagree, wanting to speak with aegon about the happenings of last night.

After breakfast, Aerion suggests a walk in the gardens for some privacy, but you shake your head gently.

"No, Aerion. I need to talk to Aegon," you say, glancing over at your husband, who still sits at the table, his eyes fixed on his empty plate.

He hesitates but nods, understanding the importance of the conversation. "I'll be here if you need me," he murmurs, squeezing your hand before he leaves.

Taking a deep breath, you walk over to Aegon. He looks up at you, a mixture of frustration and sadness in his eyes. Without a word, he stands and takes your hand, leading you out of the dining hall. You're surprised by his sudden action but follow him quietly.

He leads you to another room, the council chamber. As you enter, he heads straight to the table and pours himself a glass of wine, leaning against the edge as he takes a sip. You stand there, hands behind your back, waiting for him to speak.

"When I saw you with Aerion in the garden," he begins, his voice tight with emotion, "I got angry. So angry."

He sets the glass down and looks at you, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. "Come closer," he instructs.

You hesitate for a moment but then step forward. As you reach him, Aegon takes your hand and pulls you against his body, positioning you between his legs. You can feel the tension radiating from him.

"Aegon," you start, but he silences you with a gentle touch to your lips.

"I need you to listen," he says softly. "Seeing you with him... it hurt me. Deeply. I know we've had our differences, but you're my wife. And I can't bear the thought of losing you to him."

You place a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. "I never wanted to hurt you, Aegon. Aerion and I... it was just a one time thing that happened out of the blue"

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Just promise to me that you will not go near him. I don’t wanna see you with someone else."

"Only me," he whispered, his voice trembling. You looked up at him, his eyes still closed. "That can be done" You stood on your toes and reached out for his cheek and gave him a small kiss.

Aegon opens his eyes and looks at you, his expression softening. “Well that settles it then."

You nod, relieved that he's willing to work give you another chance and not lash out. He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you close.

As you stand there in his arms, you feel a sense of hope. However, your mind couldn’t stop thinking about your relationship with the other twin, now that aegon is starting to show a little of his good personality. You’ve now found yourself in a situation that could break you or make your life better. This was all you could think about until aegon pulled you back to reality, his hand at the small of your waist. The hug lingers, lasting longer than either of you anticipated. You can feel Aegon's heartbeat slow and steady against your chest.

After what feels like an eternity, Aegon gently pulls back, his hands now resting on your shoulders. He looks into your eyes, a small, genuine smile forming on his lips. "I appreciate you for staying and talking to me, i thought you would’ve left”

You return his smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I was the one who wanted to talk with you, so why would i leave.”

He nods and then surprises you by lifting you slightly off your feet, twirling you around playfully. You laugh, the sound filling the room with lightness and joy.

Setting you back down, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "Let's spend the day together," he suggests. "Just you and me. We can go for a ride, visit the market, anything you want."

You beam at him, touched by the effort he's making. "I'd love that."

Aegon takes your hand, leading you out of the council chamber. As you walk through the halls, you talk about trivial things, the heavy conversation from earlier giving way to lighter, more comfortable topics. The air between you feels clearer, the connection stronger. Then you noticed that you didn’t even say where you would like to go.

You looked up at him as you walked “May we visit the market, dear husband” you playfully said as you swinged the hand that was holding his.

“Where ever you want to go, i will come with” aegon looked at you, his eyes shining. You left out a sign of relief as you were able to get closer to him. You were glad that he didn’t turn out to be a furious husband as the rumors concurred throughout the Red Keep.

However, you were thinking so many thoughts, “What if there was a slight chance that aegon was just doing this to get his piece, a future heir” You didn’t want to think that way but what if it’s true.

a/n 2: i’ve proofread this so many times but there could very well still be mistakes :’(

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

taglist: @sab-falco @spn-obession @tomgcsmrs @sturnioloarchive @arquiiva @malfoycassimalfoy @klutzylaena @champomiel @p45510n4f4shi0n

[tojisun]

I have a feeling gaz would sometimes, whilst face fucking you, hold your nose until tears pour down your face and he lets you go, you gasping for air head dizzy and hhhhhhh

I STARTED YELLING!!! OH MY GODDD!!!! absolutely. 100%. no lies detected; as far as i'm concerned (which is very because this is so personal to me) this is canon mhmm mhmm

he lets you start, his eyes crinkled in gentle delight when you slither between his legs, nosing over his crotch. you're already so whimper-y, breaths ragged as you stare up at him, pouting. kyle huffs a fond laugh and unbuckles his jeans for you.

you take his cock out with softness, your body thrumming with impatience—reeled in only by the fact that kyle's hand on top of your head is warm. heavy.

a warning.

you swallow him as far as you can, kitten-licks along his slit and over his veins, before choking when the bulbed head of his cock hits the back of your throat. with your gag reflex activated, you move to slip him out, only, you find that you can't.

it seemed that while you were lost in your euphoria, kyle's hand had slid from the top of your head to the base of it, cupping your skull with faux gentleness. mouth full, you stare up at him, the backs of your eyes prickling and your skin racked with goose bumps.

no—

kyle grins, dimples forming in his cheeks, then he pushes you down, forcing his cock into the passage of your throat. you squeak, mind blanking at the confusing tug of both pleasure and pain—"see? my pretty, masochist baby, y'are."—before tears finally trickle from the corners of your eyes.

"shh, love. shh," kyle croons, drumming his fingers against your scalp, his chest heaving with measured breaths. "y've got to learn how to hold me there, sweetheart. s'time f'r you to be good f'me, no?"

you can't even hear him from the sound of blood rushing into your ears, blocking everything of the world that isn't the weight of kyle's cock fucking into your throat, the organ pulsing with every of your choked-up swallow.

it's—

it's so good. so dizzying.

it's grounding, somehow.

you feel your body relaxing, your heaving chest finding its own beat as your breaths begin to pass through your nostrils with ease. your eyes, cloudy with tears, clear up and it is then that you see kyle gazing at you with such a reverent look, it makes you wriggle, shy. he smiles, gentle, and it fills you up with this creeping warmth until you're sagging onto him, comfortable. relaxed.

kyle chuckles, the rumbles of his laughter muffled. he pushes your hair away from your face, murmured coos passing through the fog in your mind, and you warble a response, unable to contain yourself at the weight of kyle's softness.

you want more. you want so much more. you want to show him that you can take whatever it is he'll give you; that you're ready for everything he asks of you. you want him to use you. to manhandle you. to fuck your throat until all you are is his toy. you want—

you want the pain.

kyle's eyes glint like he's got ahold of your dirty, twisted thoughts; gentle smile twisting into something mean. he doesn't even ask anymore, but he doesn't need to, and it makes you throb with such strong need when the hold he has on the back of your head gains strength.

he tugs you back from him, his cock easing out of your throat, leaving it so empty it feels wrong. the head slips until it lays on the flat of your tongue. you lick up, trying to get a taste of his pre, to savour it, but before you could kyle is already pushing your head back down again, smothering the ample amount of air in your lungs into nothingness as he fills you up again.

you squirm, choking, the gargled sounds of your words rumble from your chest, unable to actually be sounded out with how he has you stuffed. kyle huffs, overwhelmed himself as he repeats the action, chasing his orgasm from the press of your throat, his cock hitting depths that has you wailing, your eyes tearing up—

a heavy hand falls on your face, pinching your nose. instinctively, you try breathing in, mind overwhelmed at the sudden threat, but it only makes blood rush to your head, making you heady. making you feel more cornered than you really are.

no.

you’re thrashing, nails biting at his legs as you scramble for purchase. for air. for anything to save you.

you try to slack your jaw, stretching your lips until they go taut in hopes that it’d create a sliver passage way for oxygen, but it’s futile.

nonono—

you are sure hours passed before he removes his hand from your face, trilling praises that you couldn’t even digest. not even with his thumbs swiping just underneath your eyes, a mimicry of all of the times he’s done this to calm you down and comfort you.

but now, crying as you are while your trembling body is still poised for a threat, you see the way kyle is looking at you so adoringly. his eyes are narrowed in that way that lets you know how pleased he truly is, and you understand that this wasn’t a fluke nor a one-time thing.

“breathe, little star,” he murmurs, his palm sliding from your cheek to your throat. he rubs at the stretch of your skin softly, almost humming to himself as he feels the bulge of where his cock starts and where it disappears underneath your muscle and skin.

you sniffle.

“c’mon now,” kyle tuts. “i know you want this.”

you narrow your eyes at him. he just grins, so boyish all of a sudden.

“don’t worry,” he says, his hold around your neck tightening slightly. “i’ll be gentle.”

liar.

anon im staring at you with my mouth agape bc me next !!! (also im sorry its not written well 🥺 i was horny one moment [bc of this] n then angry n betrayed the next [bc of work]. im sorry if it was reflected on the work. i hope u still like this <33 mwah mwah thank u for gibing me it!! i adored it teehee)

[alwaysmicado]

keep you warm

1.3k | Joel Miller x f!reader

post-outbreak, established relationship, pregnancy Summary: You reveal to Joel that you are carrying his child. He vows to keep you both safe and warm, always. A/N: This fic is a bit different from the things I've posted so far and it was so much fun to write. I put my heart (and tears) in it and I hope it will bring you as much comfort as it did me. 🤍 series masterlist

There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights. - Bram Stoker, Dracula

The car engine growls softly as it cruises down the winding road, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of autumnal hues.

Joel has his hands placed firmly on the wheel as he glances over at your sleeping form, your silhouette painted in the warm glow of the sunset. The air inside the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of your continued journey hanging in the atmosphere.

As you navigate through the autumn landscape, daylight begins to fade, casting long shadows that sway with the curves of the road. Joel steals a glance in the rearview mirror, squinting against the diminishing light. The forest on either side of the road stands like a wall of rust and amber, a silent observer to your passage.

You stir in your sleep, a soft moan escaping your lips. Joel reaches, caressing your cheek gently, tracing a promise with tenderness he thought long gone. 

Until he met you.

A few miles ahead, Joel spots a fitting spot by the edge of the forest. He eases the car to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The engine hums into silence, leaving only the rustling of leaves and the fading whispers of the day.

“We’re here, darlin’.” 

Your eyes flutter open to Joel’s soft touch, his hand brushing away the remnants of sleep. You both step out, the cool evening air enveloping you like a gentle embrace.

Setting up camp unfolds as a familiar routine. Joel sparks a small fire, the flames dancing in the encroaching darkness. The scent of burning wood mixes with the crisp fall air, creating an ambiance that is both comforting and hauntingly beautiful. You arrange your sleeping bags near the fire, a makeshift sanctuary in the wilderness.

As you sit by the fire, the warmth casting a soft glow on your faces, Joel pulls out two cans of beans and some beef sticks. You eat in companionable silence, the crackling of the fire punctuating the stillness.

Yet, Joel can’t help but notice the subtle changes in you—grimaces and absent-minded belly rubs.

He sets his half-eaten bowl down, a subtle tension settling into the contours of his expression as he watches you closely. “You ain’t lookin’ too good, honey,” he notes, his voice laced with concern, slicing through the ambient crackling that reverberates in the air. “Somethin’ not sittin’ right?”

Gazing at Joel across the fire-lit expanse, his weathered face bathed in the flickering glow of the dancing flames, your heart swells with love—and dread.

You clutch your belly as you double over, a sudden, strong wave of nausea overcoming you. Startled, Joel’s eyes widen, but he reacts instinctively, abandoning all else to rush to your side.

With a tender urgency, he crouches beside you as you vomit, his hands moving intuitively to cradle your back. His voice, usually rugged and steady, softens into a soothing cadence. “Easy now, darlin’,” he murmurs, rubbing comforting circles on your back. “I’m right here.”

Your body tenses with each convulsion, tears mingling with the involuntary heaves, but Joel’s steady hands and reassuring words calm you.

As the waves of nausea subside, he eases you back, offering a makeshift cloth to wipe your mouth. His gaze holds a blend of worry and tenderness, the firelight flickering in the depths of his eyes.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice still shaky.

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies, a crooked half-smile playing on his lips. “We look out for each other, remember?”

Nestling closer to the warmth of the fire, Joel wraps a comforting arm around you. The quiet forest listens, an unspoken witness to the vulnerability shared beneath the starlit sky.

“You gonna tell me what’s been goin’ on?” Joel asks, his voice a gentle yet firm prompt.

You swallow hard and nod weakly, lifting your head up from his shoulder to meet his gaze. His brow is furrowed as he searches your watery eyes for answers. “What happened, darlin’?” he asks, wiping away the lone tear that is tracing a delicate path down your cheek.

The unspoken secret sits heavy within you, a silent burden that has been shaping every whispered conversation and stolen glance over the past few weeks. Each passing day deepens the weight, a constant companion in your shared journey.

The fear of Joel’s reaction, the uncertainty of the world you are living in, and the vulnerability of bringing innocence into chaos weave a complex tapestry of emotions, a heavy cloak draped over the anticipation of a new life.

You have never been more terrified. 

“Joel, I–” your voice is shaky and you need to gather all your strength to not break down into a million pieces. “I think I might be pregnant.”

The revelation hangs in the air, momentarily freezing time. Joel’s eyes widen, a mosaic of emotions crossing his face—shock, concern, disbelief, and then a surprising warmth.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Pregnant?” he repeats, his voice softer now, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Mhm,” you sniffle, your vulnerability echoing in the quiet night. “I swear I wanted to tell you before, I just–” you hiccup and wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m so fucking scared, Joel.” You look into his warm eyes for reassurance, your lip quivering, your whole body trembling with anxiety.  

Joel’s expression softens further, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he puts his hands on your arms, his eyes boring into you. “It’s gonna be alright, darlin’.” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, the firelight casting a comforting glow around you.

“We’ll figure it out together.”

As Joel’s reassuring words wash over you, a tangible weight lifts from your shoulders, carried away by the currents of relief. You allow yourself to breathe out a heavy sigh and let your tears run freely as you cling to the man who has saved you in more ways than he will ever know.

In this moment, beneath the vast canvas of the starlit sky, you find solace in each other—a fragile yet resilient hope kindling in the midst of your endless journey. 

Later, as you settle into your sleeping bags, Joel’s arm draped protectively over you, you feel a surge of gratitude. The warmth of Joel’s body pressed against yours creates a safe haven, momentarily replacing your fears with the undeniable comfort you both find in each other’s arms. 

“Sarah always wanted a little brother or sister,” Joel breaks the silence with a murmur, his warm breath ghosting your neck. “I wish she could be here to experience it.”

“I’m sure she’s going to look after her little sibling,” you whisper with a soft smile on your lips, tears silently pooling in the fabric of your sleeping bag. “Just like she’s been looking after you all this time.”

“I’ll do everything to keep you and our child safe and warm, my love. I promise.”

In the quiet cradle of the night, you drift into sleep, the rustling leaves and the forest’s whispers weaving a lullaby for your dreams.

Joel tenderly places his hand on your small bump, whispering promises to the precious life growing within, his words a secret shared with the quietude of the night. 

He lifts his head to look at your face, a soft smile gracing his lips as he cherishes the serenity painted across your features.

“You are the light of my life.”

-----

Series Masterlist | Joel Masterlist

[neteyamyawne]

🫀— You Promised

༄ Pairing : Aged!up!Neteyam x Fem!pregnant!Reader

༄ Summary : You never thought about losing your mate, atleast not when you needed him the most in your vulnerable state.

༄ Warning : Angst! Lots and lots of angst, no comfort, crying, pregnancy, major death, depression, sadness, dying of a loved one and more sadness, maybe a smidge of fluff.

༄ Prompt : Holding their mate's (or child's) unconscious/dead body

༄ Word Count : 2.7k Proof read.

༄ Note : I love making you guys cry, idk why, I cry myself when I write this kind of stuff.

༄ Glossary : [Yawne] - Beloved, [Olo'eyktan] - Na'vi clans' leader, [Iknimaya] - Na've rite of passage, [tsahik] - Na'vi clans' spiritual leader, [Uthuru] - to seek refuge, [Paskalin] - sweet berry, [Skxwang] - moron.

◦ Angstmas || Masterlist

It was like any other normal day only if you were in your home and not in another strange clan that you've never known except for stories and political talks.

You lay on the soft woven mat, made by your mate just for you, a hand on your swollen stomach as the life growing inside moves at its own pace while you rest from the tiredness that comes with.

»»————-　𑁍　————-««

You and Neteyam mated right after he passed his Iknimaya, being the first in line to be the olo’eyktan and you to be his tsahik but it was all came crashing down when your father-in-law decided it was better to flee for the good of the clan and for the family as well.

It was the second month of your pregnancy when you had to leave your home forever, the strength of your mates arms held you up as you cried in his chest, hands shaking like a leaf as you watched Jake renounce his position as the Olo'eyktan to Terasem.

The tears in everyone's eyes, Neytiri’s sobs, Neteyam could only stroke the side of your head, pressing a kiss to your temple as he lead you to his Ikran “It'll be okay, Yawne, believe me, we'll be alright, I'll take care of you and our little one” he whispered comfortingly in your ear when you both mounted his Ikran and he placed you in front of him, your face towards him as he draped and covered you with his own shawl, he held you against his chest tightly before he took off with his family.

He had one hand on Seze’s reigns, controlling her moves through the air and the other on your back, under the shawl that was draped on your body, your face buried in his neck, your arms wrapped around his waist, so you could rest comfortably on the rough journey, he caressed patterns on your back as everyone flew more and more away from the forest until it was just the expanse of the water in front of them.

Neytiri kept glancing at her eldest son, pride blooming in her chest as she saw how much of gentleman her son is, the scene could only remind her of the time with Jake during the war, when they aligned all the clans, with a small smile she looked away, giving the couple some privacy as she moved closer to Jake's Ikran, bob, while running her hand through Tuk’s braids.

»»————-　𑁍　————-««

It took a week or more to reach the metkayina clan, Awa’atlu, they accepted your Uthuru, with much criticism and nagging, but they did, it wasn't the same since then, there was always a deep feeling in the back of your mind, reminding you, again and again that something is wrong or would go wrong.

Even now, 4 months later, as you rested in the mauri with Neytiri on the other side making dinner while the others were out for their lessons, as Neytiri didn't willingly wanted to take the lessons and would rather look after you because it wasn't recommended for you to start your swimming lessons yet, she was always there for you, no matter what.

Even then, it's only been a month or two since Quaritch started his search spree across all the water Na'vi clans for Jake, that was the one thing everyone was alert for after Tonowari gave us the news, you didn't want to keep that in mind, not in your condition, not when it added to your ever growing worry.

Neteyam came back later, seemingly happy to see you resting on the mat he made, and because he loved the beautiful curve on your belly, the sign that his little baby grew safe and sound, he also knew that you didn't like the ocean as much as the trees back home but it was doable, plus he would rather have his baby in a safe environment than a hostile one, which was the only reason he loved this place, for the sake of his family's safety was all he cared about.

On a good day, you'd join the group, watching them learn in the depths while you sat in the shallow waters laughing at their failed attempts until your stomach starts to hurt from laughing while clutching your bump or learning new things with them, even successfully befriending an Ilu and riding it safely that you could have options to move around Awa'atlu.

But on days like these, when your exhaustion hits a little too hard, he couldn't help but lay down behind your back and just wrap his arms around you and pull you into his warm hug.

You always knew it was him, by the way he'd kiss your neck gently, one large hand on your belly as he strokes it softly, his head nuzzled in the Crook of your neck “You know you don't have to pretend you're asleep when I'm right beside you, Paskalin” he whispered, hot breath lingering on the curve of it.

You chuckled at the tickling sensation, giving in after he catches you in your pretend sleep, once again for the upteenth time, turning around to face him while he strokes your cheek with his hand as the other caresses your belly, peppering your face with kisses as you giggled “Did you eat anything, Honey?” He asked in a whisper, picking up after his father to call you sweet human nicknames that he loved. Like father, like son.

He was disappointed when you shook your head “how many times have I told you to eat something every two hours? It's not good for the baby, yawne!” He whisper-yelled at you but the answer he got from you was just a chuckle “I wasn't hungry, Ma teyam, and i wasn't feeling well either, Now let it-” he just shook his head in disappointment “tsk tsk tsk, you should have told me or sa’nu, she would have-”

The sentence was left unspoken when the loud commotion and yelling was heard outside, the locals were screaming at something or someone and loud cries were heard, both you and Neteyam got up with Neytiri and made your way to the rage going on inside the supply tent.

Neteyam kept his arm around your waist as you entered the tent, shielding you from the hands that reached out to hit or hold you or him. He was surprised at the sudden uprise until he understood what was happening when he took in the gossip and looks he was getting and looked at his father who was trying to explain.

Ronal’s Tulkun, Roa, was found dead or rather murdered by the human, as well as her babe.

»»————-　𑁍　————-««

When Jake apologized and made his preposition on how to save the other Tulkuns from further harm, Neteyam saw Lo'ak running away from the crowd towards the diving edge, calling for his Ilu, immediately knowing what he was upto, he went behind him with you in tow after him.

“No way you're rolling out of here, baby brother” Neteyam said sternly as he walked in on Lo'ak strapping the saddle on the Ilu, Lo'ak halted, rolling his eyes at his brother in annoyance.

“I have to warn payakan about the pingers!” He snapped back but lowered his voice when he saw you behind Neteyam.

“No! you've gotta keep your skxwang ass here, you understand me?!” Neteyam said with a hint of annoyance lacing his, he didn't want another one of his brother's stupid mistakes to be blamed on him, not right now, not when he himself was about to be a father.

“Neteyam…Calm down” you whispered lightly, holding his arm back, you didn't want him to blow off on Lo'ak again, it could be done quietly and patiently.

Lo'ak on the other hand wanted to try and reason with him to let him go “he's an outcast, there's nobody to warn him but me”

Neteyam huffed, placing a hand on Lo'ak’s head, holding his brother in place “bro… why do you always have to make things so hard?”

Lo'ak hissed, flicking his brother's hand off his head in anger and defiance as his tone shifted to an aggressive one “No. You mean why can't I be the perfect son like you! The perfect little soldier! Who does everything right, has the perfect life and a perfect little mate and family! Well I'm not you! Okay?!” Neteyam sized him up and Lo'ak took a step back looking up at his brother and lowered his voice again “I'm not you..He's my brother! I'm going”

You were taken aback at that, you grabbed his arm making him face you as anger simmered in your eyes at what he just said “LO'AK!! What are you talking about?! He's your brother! Stop this right now! Is this how you talk to your brother?!”

Lo'ak skipped a look between you and Neteyam nervously as he took another step back but Neteyam stopped him by grabbing his arm tightly and forcing him to look “He's not your brother, skxwang! I am! And don't you dare talk like that again”

But Lo'ak was having none of it as he twisted his arm out of his grasp just when Tsireya, Ao'nung and Rotxo arrived giving Lo'ak a good distraction to dive into the water for his Ilu, Neteyam growled loudly before patting on Ao'nung’s chest “we have go behind him, he's going to payakan” he said urgently.

But something in your heart panged when he said that, a weird unease spreading to your chest again and you called out to him “teyam…please, don't go” you didn't know if it was stupid or not but you wanted to believe it “please, it doesn't feel right”

He looked back at you after he called his Ilu and came up to you quickly, cupping your cheek in his palm, stroking his thumb over your cheek, his other hand caressing your swollen belly, as he looked into your eyes intently, connecting your foreheads together and kissing your nose “Shh… I'll be right back, I promise, don't worry, I just have to put this Skxwang back in his place again” he whispered lovingly with a smirk, kissing your forehead one last time and giving your hand a tight squeeze before diving into the water with the others and following Lo'ak.

»»————-　𑁍　————-««

Your heart was pacing a mile per second, the feeling of dread getting worse when it was notified by Lo'ak that Payakan was marked by the humans and Neteyam was their with them, Almost half of the clan, including Ronal and Tonowari were gone to save them, but all you could think of was Neteyam.

Hours passed and the sun began to set, spreading an eerie red and orange hue throughout the sky, no news of anyone or anything, only the sight of the injured or fallen warriors broughton back to Awa'atlu filled your mind with nightmares you only prayed stayed in your dreams.

You placed a hand on your stomach, the feeling of your baby moving against your palm was enough to give you some courage to call your Ilu and riding over to the scene yourself following behind another group of Warriors who were sent back to help others.

»»————-　𑁍　————-««

The sight was a horror to take in as you sat on your ilu looking at the havoc the place was in, the ship sinking, fire ablaze on the water from the oil spill, the sky dusted in a amber color and dark smoke, as if matching the hell beneath on the water but your heart dropped when you saw the rock Island… with others gathered together around something.

Urging your ilu over to it, you climbed off of the creature before you saw a body lying on the rock and dread filled the pit of your stomach, the feet looked eerily familiar but you refused to think about it, it couldn't be… a cold shiver running down your spine, goosebumps spreading over your body as your breath hitched, before you could confirm your suspicions spider pulled you back, shaking his head, but that's all it took for your worst fear to come true, gears in your head turning as a scream erupted from your throat which ultimately caught everyone's attention in horror when they saw you, when you realized what you were looking at.

“NETEYAM!!!!! NO NO, GREAT MOTHER, PLEASE” you ran towards him but Neytiri stopped you, catching your body in her arms as your cries rang out for everyone to hear, thrashing in her arms as Jake came up to you “Shh look at me, look at me…” he whispered holding you back and not letting you see his body yet, placing his hands on your cheeks and forcing you to look at him as tears already ran down your cheeks.

“NO NO NO, NETEYAM, LET ME GO PLEASE!! please….” You sobbed as they held you back, Neytiri couldn't hold back either as she hugged you, your loss was far greater than any others, your knees gave out from the shock as they caught you once again before they let you go, knowing there was no denying it “It's going to okay, it's going be okay” Neytiri whispered desperately to calm you but nothing could soothe you in this moment.

Your heart almost stopped beating in your chest as you saw his lifeless body, crawling over to his side, with trembling hands as you touched his chest that was now covered in his blood, cold lifeless eyes staring up at the sky, as sobs wrecked your body, crying over your mate, who promised you he'd come back, who promised to spend the eternity together, now gone, forever.

Kneeling beside him as your wails of despair shook the heart of great mother herself, shaking your head in disbelief, as you held his limp hand in yours, only if he listened to you, only if he stayed back!

Your head laid on his chest, like the thousands of times before where he caressed your hair, as he hummed a sweet melody for you so you could sleep peacefully in his arms, listening to his heartbeat as you fell asleep, was cold, quiet and unmoving, as if the once alive, beating heart, never existed, you sobbed on his chest, blood coating the side of your face but you didn't care, holding his hand as if he would wake up and smile saying this was all just a dream and he was there with you, like he said.

Lo'ak placed a hand on your shoulder to comfort you but it only fueled your anger towards himas you snarled at him viciously and everyone was taken aback “DO NOT TOUCH ME, STAY AWAY! ONLY IF YOU EVER DID AS YOU WERE TOLD TO THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED, LO'AK!”

Your anger was justified and no one dared to stop you or invented in between, Your screams hit him like bullets as he didn't say a word, stepping back as you turned back to look at Neteyam's face, still unable to register the fact that he's gone and would never come back to you or your child ever again and your weren't ready to face it just yet.

“Teyam, please… you promised, right? you promised you'd come back to us, please, you can't do this to me, teyam… I can't do this without you, you promised to be there with me, to hold our baby, to hold my hand, you can't do this to me please, we- we…” you couldn't even form words anymore as more tears streamed down your cheeks, breaking down to the point of no return as your cries rang through everyone's ears.

They all couldn't handle to see your desperate attempts and cries to get him back, in hopes to get you back, begging any greater force would listen to give him back, their hearts breaking even more as they saw you placing his hand on your stomach one last time as you broke down completely, your head placed on his chest, watching the horrific sight of a mate mourning over her other half as their symbol of love grew inside her.

You closed your eyes and held him close one last time, holding his hand one last time, laying your head on his chest one last time, his hand on your stomach to feel his child for one last time as he still watched the darkening sky unmoving “you promised…”

Ho Ho Ho : @cryinginthemoonpool, @luvv4j4ybe11, @xylianasblog, @plooto, @itchaboi-itchyboy, @pandoraslxna, @taylormarieee, @thewiltedpeony, @neteyamswillow, @danniackerman, @hotdsworld, @zafrinaxyz, @xstarsdiary, @moondaisye, @puddle-nerd, @eywxveng, @minnory, @neteyamssyulang, @tavsianus, @ele-sme.

©Neteyamyawne2023 | All Rights Reserved. Do not repost on other platforms, copy, steal, or translate any of my works!

[morning-star-joy]

lose your faith in me

Pairing: Low Honor!Arthur x One-Sided F!Reader to High Honor!Arthur x F!Reader

Summary: Arthur only changes for the better when everything happens for the worst.

Warnings: Angst. Canon ending. One-sided love that subtly becomes requited in the end. Lots of regret and grief. Low Honor to High Honor progression (or Canon-Typical!Arthur as @joelsversion bec calls him). Sad ending. Low Honor!Arthur is mean but he's still got some of those Medium to High Honor qualities when I write him. References to Reader being kidnapped when Arthur meets/saves her (like the stranger encounter in the game). Canon-typical violence.

Wordcount: 3.6k

A/N: I was possessed with ideas for this in the middle of the night, and for once I wrote them down in my notes app! Super sad fic because I was sad over the pixel cowboy.

dividers by @saradika

masterlist || kofi || updates blog

Arthur could be a kind man if he wanted to be. It just so happened that most of the time, he didn’t want to be.

You’d heard tales of a more compassionate man who lived in the rough-and-tumble outlaw’s skin once upon a time. A time hardened body that held a heart beating with too much love for others. Care that the world threw back in his face. Sensibility that it kicked from him when he was down.

So each time he got back up, more of that sensitive skin fell away. It grew back tougher, littered with scars that told of the cruelty of the passage of time. Life had not been kind to Arthur Morgan, and so he was not kind in return.

He was decent enough to the folks around camp, giving nods and short greetings as he moved from one job to the next. It was that work he did for the gang that spoke to the once generous nature that life hadn’t completely stamped out of him. Work that nearly wore him down to the bone, and he still did it without complaint, even when he was bloody, beaten, broken down.

Or maybe even that was without tenderness of the spirit. Maybe it was a mere habit with which he worked for the gang. A stubborn, undying loyalty that remained even when the love was gone.

Maybe it was just out of trifling obligation when he shot down the monster of a man who had you hogtied on the back of their horse.

Maybe it was out of innate violence that he took one glance at you, battered and bloody with tears streaking down a layer of grime on your cheeks, and then delivered a few more gunshots to your kidnapper’s head until it was an indistinguishable mess of gore, throwing in some well-placed kicks to a long dead body for good measure.

Still, Arthur let you follow him. For miles you trailed after him on the horse that had just before been carrying you to your doom. You kept glancing around you, wondering when you would come out of the wilderness to wherever he was going, until he finally shouted back to you.

“What you followin’ me for, girl?”

You had paused then. Embarrassment gave way to heat in your face, and you held the reins tighter, staring at the back of that worn hat you would grow secretly fond of, eyes tracing the old twine wrapped around the brim. Wondering what story it told, how many more stories were held behind cold blue eyes. How many people he saved, how many more he’d killed.

“Ain’t got nowhere else to go, Mister,” you had replied quietly, and his shoulders, broad and carrying weights both quantifiable and otherwise, stiffened under the battered brown jacket he wore.

“Best find someplace, then.”

He spurred his horse forward again, faster this time. Intending to lose you, maybe.

And when you followed right on his path again, he brought his steed to an abrupt spot, whirling it around to fix you with a glare.

“You deaf, woman?” he snapped, and you winced, though you didn’t cower away from the angry man who had been your savior. “Told you to get lost.”

“I have nowhere to go.” You urged your horse to trot closer now, trying to gain eye contact to better implore him of your predicament. “No one’s waitin’ for me.”

He just shifted the brim of his hat down, covering the top half of his face, and you were stuck staring defeatedly at the edge of a strong nose and lips pressed into a firm, bitter line at your desperation.

What a burden you had been to him from the start.

“Please,” you had whispered, and he turned his head away completely, giving you only the image of a well-armed, dangerous man that wreaked havoc across the states, leaving blood and death and despair in every place he left.

Arthur didn’t say anything else then, not even when you followed him all the way to the first camp you had witnessed of the Van der Linde gang.

Many camps were to follow, as your group of degenerates and ne'er-do-wells could never seem to catch a goddamn break. At least they let you settle into the ranks relatively without fuss. 

But how could they not? When you kept your head down, kept your voice quiet, did your work without complaint.

Even as weeks turned into months, then into years of being there, you were a ghost among them. Nobody really knew where you came from, what you thought and felt. Your cards were kept close to your chest, for all matters except one.

At least if anybody noticed the way your eyes lingered on Arthur Morgan, they didn’t say anything. 

If anybody saw the way you hovered around the gang’s enforcer, like a pitiful lost puppy since the moment he had saved you from a fate worse than death, they didn’t judge you for it. Not to your face.

Time passed, one camp gave way to the next in your group’s ever-searching path to freedom, and you loved Arthur Morgan all the same.

Blackwater was good until it was bad. Colter was worse, cold winds biting into your limbs and keeping you half-numb even halfway out of the mountains and to Horseshoe Overlook.

You liked that camp the best. It had the most life to it, the most times you had seen Arthur smile in the whole time you’d known him, even small, fleeting smirks as they were.

That night when Sean returned may have been the best of your small, inconsequential life. Drinks were flowing, laughter was booming, and there was music every which way, a different song being sung or played around each corner.

And through it all, Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

He was one of the men who saved the boisterous Irishman, and the only one missing from the party. Throughout the night, you kept glancing around for a glimpse of his face, all to no avail.

Eventually, you took up a post near where the horses grazed, waiting with a drink in hand to catch him rolling back into camp.

When even that led to no sight of him, you ambled through the outskirts of the trees, farther from the glow of warm campfires and jovial festivities, searching and searching until…

There.

The moonlight shone off the speckled horse that Arthur had gotten in Valentine weeks before, hidden amongst the trees unless you were as close as you had gotten in your relentless search for the object of your affections. 

When you saw him a bit further on, leaning against a tree and gazing out over the cliffside with a cigarette perched between his lips, your heart leapt in your chest besides yourself.

He didn’t say anything when you emerged from the darkness and settled against a tree next to him. Likely he had heard you crashing through the forest in your half-drunken state, silently declaring you not a threat and, hopefully, not enough of a nuisance either.

Silence fell between you for a few moments. You never seemed to know what to say around him, and he never seemed to want to say anything around you.

Eventually, you settled on the wrong thing. “You did good today, Arthur.”

You could nearly feel the discontent grow at your praise, and you shifted under the weight of it in the air.

“Good?” he repeated the word like you had insulted him, although you had intended the opposite. Perhaps that was why he hated it so—because he hated himself so, couldn’t acknowledge a good deed he did if it hit him on the nose. “I beat a sick man for some money I didn’t even end up gettin’ before I did any good today, girl.”

“Arthur—”

“Our first trip into Valentine, ‘member that?” he interrupts you as if you hadn’t spoken, and you frown into the darkness, watching as he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap some ash off the end.

“I remember you fightin’ those men off o’ Tilly and Karen—”

“I chased that man who recognized me out of town, right to a cliffside.” Arthur steps forward, the spurs on his worn boots clinking with the slow, deliberate movement. He flicks the burnt down cigarette from his fingers out over the cliff you were both standing next to now. “Just like this one.”

He gestures to it, glancing back at you with the cold words he spoke. The moonlight casts him into shadow, creating a faceless entity out of him, one that you know should terrify you. 

“He was dangling off of it, beggin’ for his life,” Arthur continued in that low, dangerous tone he reserved for intimidating folks, now using it to try and convince you of how wrong you’d always been about him. Even then, there’s a strange contradiction to the rumble of his voice—lack of empathy for what he’s done, and the knowledge of how awful that was in and of itself. “And I let ‘im fall. Figured it was better him than me.”

“Jesus…” you whispered, eyes fixed to the edge of the cliff next to where he stood. You wondered if he just watched the man’s grip loosen, or if those muddy boots had stomped on the tips of the man’s fingers, and you wince at the terrible imagery your mind concocted. 

Arthur had done worse, you know he had. All those times he’d shown up with blood on his clothes, you knew well they weren’t from his own injuries. And still, you’d gladly washed the stains from his shirts during your chores. Relieved it wasn’t his own. 

“Jesus ain’t helpin’ me, not with what I’ve done,” the man muttered with a frigid chill that sent shivers through you with how ominous his words were, how foreboding and imminent it felt. “Not with what we’ve all done.”

It’s quiet again as Arthur stands at the cliffside. You watch him glance over the edge, and yet you’re the one who finds yourself slipping, “We could still get out of here.”

He freezes. You know he knows what you mean, and yet he still asks, “Who’s ‘we’?”

“You and me,” you whisper breathlessly, the alcohol you’d consumed dulling the fear of the rejection you knew was inevitable as everything you kept bottled up comes spilling out. “Save up some money, get a small patch of land somewhere out where they won’t come lookin’. We can raise sheep or—”

“Sheep,” he scoffs. The man won’t even look back at you, won’t even give you the decency of eye contact as he breaks your heart. “Small land still ain’t cheap. And there aren’t many places they ain’t lookin’ nowadays, neither.”

“We can do it, Arthur.” You step closer, your eagerness on plain display in the moonlight, and he finally looks back at you. His face reveals nothing, expression blank as you finally lay all your cards on the table, his own forever in his lonely hands. “You and me.”

“You’re just as bad a dreamer as Dutch.” The words are harsh, bitter even, and it’s not the first time you start to wonder why you love Arthur Morgan. “Hell, you may even be worse.”

You think that’s the end of it then. You hope it is, but he stops next to you as he’s walking away, looks you right in the eye as he spares you no mercy in harshly chastising you, “Get your head outta the clouds, girl. Ain’t nothin’ good, ain’t no honest ending out there waitin’ for the likes of you and me.”

It breaks your heart. 

More than that, it makes you want to prove him wrong.

You never do quite prove him wrong.

Arthur Morgan is dying.

It both shocks and horrifies you, how long it takes the others to notice.

He carried on doing what he always did for the gang, hiding his own decay the best he could. His movements were slower than before, and you’d watch from a distance all the times he’d pause to take as deep a breath as his traitorous lungs could manage when no one was looking.

For a while, you dared to hope it was just a lingering sickness from his time stranded on Guarma. You thought he would shake it off eventually, bounce back healthier and stronger than ever before.

But he lost even more weight instead of putting it back on. His face grew gaunt, pale. Sharp blue eyes became streaked with red, clouded with a weariness that contrasted the strength you’d always come to associate with the man.

Still, things carried on with as much normality as the gang could afford, even with the camp clearing out more and more each day. 

Ghosts lived amongst you now, dead as well as living. Skeletons were buried under every crack and crevice you traversed each day, trying to pretend it would all be okay, like it always had been in the past.

At night, you heard Arthur coughing. 

It was always muffled, like he was smothering the sickness into his pillow, so as to not wake the others. But it became as steady a noise as the faint sounds of wildlife underneath the stars, tearing your soul apart further and further each time.

When you heard a weak gasp following a coughing fit one night, you rose from your bedroll, unable to stay in quiet denial of what was happening any longer. You pattered over to a dying campfire as if possessed, stoking it to life enough to concoct a health tincture to hopefully ease some of the pain he was trying to hide with every fiber of stubborn strength he still had left.

You slipped through the tent flap to see him curled up on his side, coughing and wheezing into his fist next to the dying light in the lantern beside his cot. The sight threatened to ruin you completely, leave you nothing but a husk of your former self in the grief of your sustaining love, but you held it together through sheer will alone as you approached him.

When he saw you, you saw fear. It flashed through his eyes, the blue of them just as pretty as the day you met him, even with the sickness that addled them.

Arthur opened his mouth as blood trickled from the corner of it, no doubt to insist you shouldn't trouble yourself with fretting over him, but you gently hushed him. 

You wiped the blood from his lips with your handkerchief, coaxed him to drink the tincture, taking sips through the coughing fit until it subsided. When it did, the words he finally gained that familiar strength to speak with shocked you.

“You always done right by me,” Arthur wheezed quietly, avoiding your eyes when they snapped to his face at the sentiment you never thought he’d acknowledge. “Don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

It struck you silent then, left you with an emptiness you didn’t know the first thing about filling up again. Knowing that he recognized all the love for him you’d kept locked up inside, until it was bursting from the seams. Knowing that he recognized how cruel he’d been to you, time and time again. 

And how you had loved him just the same.

“You saved me,” you whispered as you tenderly wiped the handkerchief along his blood speckled chin. Your fingers followed the path to skim across those scars where hair could never grow, where it barely grew now.

“Any decent man woulda—”

“Not many decent men, though,” you interrupted him, his eyes finally meeting yours as you spoke, “are there?”

You both fell quiet then, the truth of his nature hanging in the air between you. 

The sicker Arthur had gotten, the more he had changed. Faced with a slow union to his eventual mortality, his own body betraying him as his family fell apart, he had tried to right the wrongs he had done.

You had seen the shift; how it had happened slowly, then all at once. Giving away the money he had fought and killed for to help widows, orphans, or those in misfortune—some of whom he had put there with his own two hands. 

You think that Arthur saw those ghosts that still lingered better than the most of you. You think he loved them more than anybody else. That he fought to avenge them, or maybe give them peace, the best he could still manage to do.

Or maybe he was already one of them.

And still, for him, it wasn’t enough.

“I ain’t one of those, either,” Arthur murmured, denying the gravitational shift in his very own nature, his voice strained with effort from not coughing after you had tried so desperately to heal him. 

Tears blur your vision, choking your throat at his resignation to the cruel strings of fate, the belief that he was nothing more now than rot and regret.

“You’re close enough,” you whispered, meaning every damn word of admiration that you’ve held in your heart for him since the very first day. 

Because he wasn’t good, but he was good enough for you.

When he’s quiet again, his eyes still avoiding yours, you figure it’s time to go. 

You move to get up, and without a sound, his hand catches yours.

Arthur doesn’t let go.

You stay.

As long as you can, you stay.

“Where you goin’?”

Weeks later, more people are dead, or gone, or close to one or the other. You’re packing all of your measly earthly belongings onto one of the extra horses in the dead of night when Arthur approaches you.

“I dunno,” you reply honestly, heart in your throat as you avoid his gaze. You can’t look at him anymore, can’t see him working himself to death for a man who would gladly watch him fall into his own grave, who wouldn’t have the decency to stay long enough to watch him buried. “Somewhere else.”

“What're you plannin' on doin’ when you get there?”

“I don’t know, Arthur.” You finally look at him, afraid to see betrayal in his eyes at your leaving them, leaving him, when all you had ever wanted to do was stay.

But you only see understanding, relief, and genuine concern for if you actually have a plan in getting out. 

“Suppose I’ll become some kind of maid, or a working girl, or—”

“Don’t,” he whispers hoarsely, gaze hardening, and you throw your hands up in the air before grabbing onto your saddlehorn, foot in the stirrup as you hoist yourself up into the seat.

“What choice do I have, Arthur?” You’re defeated when you say it, as is he. As are all of you, doomed to who knew what awful fate was waiting at the end of this road the crazier that Dutch got, and the more that that snake Micah kept whispering into his ear.

What you had never expected was for Arthur to reach down into his satchel and pull out a stack of money. He hardly spends any real time thumbing through it all before handing the whole thing over to you. 

When you don’t take it, he grabs your wrist, and you lose your breath when his thumb tenderly strokes the inside. It’s as if he’s caressing your pulse, gently tracing the steady thrum of life still in your veins, as he turns your hand over and places the cash into your palm.

“You wanted sheep, right?” He’s so gentle with the question he murmurs to you in the still night. So kind to the memory you were sure he’d gladly forgotten.

It’s the final straw that breaks you.

You’re crying now, tears you had held in for so long streaming down your face, because this is the last time you’ll see him. You know it, he knows it, and there’s no goddamn thing left that you can do.

Still, you whisper that old, forgotten dream he had once chastised you for, “I wanted it with you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Arthur rasps, a cough caught in his lungs that he fights back. His eyes are so tired, and yet they still hold your gaze so readily. There’s regret there, so much of it, and you wonder if he’s ever thought of that old pipe dream of yours, if it ever once was one of his. “I know. Get outta here, now.”

When you don’t move an inch, his voice takes on an urgency, harsh and desperate in its rasp, “Go, girl, ‘fore it’s too late.” And then he adds more words, quieter, but just as pleading, if not more gentle in their earnestness, “Couldn’t stand it if they got to you too.”

“Come find me?” The question slips from the tightness in your throat, from the depths of your heart, fruitless as your wanting is, as it has ever been. “There’ll be a place for you with me.”

The way Arthur looks at you then—the grief, the yearning—you dare to dream sometimes, years later, that maybe some small part of him loved you after all. 

Or at least the idea of you, of what could’ve been, towards the end.

“If there’s air left in my lungs by the time this is all done,” he wheezes with the words, a dreadfully poetic thing, “I'll go to you.”

He’s the one who spurs your horse off then with a gentle smack to its hide then, and you’re the one who looks back.

You weren’t a fool, much as he once believed you were.

You knew that Arthur Morgan would never have enough breaths left to crawl to you, in the end.

You could only hope he got that sunset.

[dekariosclan]

Thinking about God Gale again…(especially since you made a great point about how he still loves you as a god! Which is so good and SO ANGSTY!) You may or may not be able to answer this, but I’d love to hear your thoughts: do you think God Gale would give up his godhood to be with a mortal Tav again? Would his love for Tav overcome his need for immortality and feeling like “he’s enough” as the God of Ambition?

As always: thank you for the wonderful meals about our boy 🙏 Dekarios the Divine bless you

OH DEAR GODS AN ANGSTY ASK

(ok, ok. I can do this. keep it together *hyperventilating into paper bag* just act normal goddamnit—)

Greetings fellow human! Hi! Thank you for this lovely ask, and rest assured that I am an extremely normal person who can totally handle emotional discussions about pixel people! NO I’M NOT CRYING—

Do I think God Gale would give up his godhood to be a mortal with Tav again?

Yes, I do—but only if he was able to be self-aware enough to realize that Godhood was not making him feel as happy or as content as Tav’s love did. Then his scholarly mind might finally begin to question what in the heavens he’d been thinking by giving that up just for ‘divine power’ which, as it turns out, really isn’t all that ‘divine.’

Would his love for Tav overcome his need for immortality and feeling like “he’s enough” as the God of Ambition?

The problem is that Godhood changes Gale (as it would change anyone) from a self-aware mortal to a divine being who can no longer relate to human experiences, including the passage of time. So while it’s confirmed that Gale still loves Tav, that love is now buried under weight of Gale’s hubris and godly ambitions, which would be very hard to overcome.

I know Raphael has the ending monologue where he predicts that Gale will eventually tear apart the pantheon, BUT, I personally don’t take that at face value as a guaranteed outcome. That speech reeks of sour grapes to me, and Raphael just being the smug bastard that we all know and love, so I think it’s less ‘Raphael’s Guaranteed Prediction’, and more ‘Raphael’s Fantasy Fanfiction’. Is it still possible? Sure, and I think if Gale did not romance Tav and did not get to experience their love then it is probably a more likely possibility.

But if Gale did romance Tav, then what I think is the tragic and more probable outcome is that Gale would eventually ‘wake up’ and realize that Godhood is not all that it’s cracked up to be, and decide to return home to Faerun and to Tav—but so much time has passed (and he did not realize it) that Tav and everyone he loved has now passed away.

AH GOD THE ANGST HURTS MY SPLEEN

But let’s focus on the GOOD outcome of him giving up Godhood and doing it in time to be with Tav again. It would be hard, and it would require Gale to REALLY overcome his insecurities and his pride, but I do think it is possible. Just looking at Gale’s ‘Godly Form’ you can see literal cracks in his exterior. He is not 100% unbreakable.

I still think at least a decent chunk of ‘human time’ would have to pass—we’ll say five years or so—before he would come to the realization.

And then one day (assuming Tav had not moved on and found new love) they would open their door, and—

“Hello,” Gale said, softly.

Tav blinked, for a moment trying to find their footing as their entire world spun out from under them.

“…Dekarios the Divine?” Tav asked, uncertainly. Gale’s clothes were simple robes, his skin no longer glowing with divine power. He looked almost as he had in Tav’s dreams, in all of their memories of when he’d still been a mortal.

Only this man’s eyes were much, much more tired. And filled with regret.

“No…I’m just plain old Gale Dekarios now. A most brilliant wizard of intentionally limited reknown.” He reached out, hesitantly, and took Tav’s hand in both of his.

For a moment they both stood silently, relishing the warmth of each other’s touch.

“Apologies. I hoped I’d be better at this.”

A smile was beginning to pull at Tav’s lips, even as their eyes filled. “At introductions?”

“At begging for your forgiveness.”

————— *One additional note: I simply must add that @lady-sapphyre wrote this excellent fic that tackles Gale giving up Godhood and I highly recommend it!

[storiesabouteli]

Romance (Maybe it's a place) // Elijah Hewson X fem!Reader. PART 1

prompt: Eli is a vampire who falls in love with a human. The story explores the passage of time and the challenge of maintaining a relationship between two very different beings. It’s a guide on how to date a vampire/human while seeking a place of comfort in someone—and all the complexity that this longing brings.

words: 4K

(it'll probs 2 or 3 parts, it won't be long promise!)

There was nothing to expect, no prospects for the next day. Everything felt empty, his chest heavy, despite the absence of a beating heart. He wasn’t tired of the life he led; it was simply that so many years had passed, and he felt he’d experienced it all. Then, you showed up.

“Uh, she has this endearing look when she’s around me, like when you discover something new and know it’s going to be worth every moment. It’s still like that, even though we’ve been together for a while. I think I’ve gotten used to the idea that she knows who I am and isn’t afraid of me, even though I still watch my every move, thinking it might come to the surface one day. My point is, Josh, my human is kind and deserves a beautiful life. We’re not on the same page, but I can’t let her go.”

His voice cracked, eyes filling with tears, and he welcomed the feeling—it had been a long time since he’d felt anything like this. Over time, he’d grown numb to so many things. Josh sighed, understanding the weight of what Eli was going through but knowing there was little he could do.

“Eli, you’ll know what to do. You can agonize over it and delay all you want, but not making a decision right now is already making a decision.”

Josh had offered advice—he was a bit more adaptable to modern trends, though he knew how to use a phone just fine. He had tried getting Eli on board with it, considering up until recently, he still received letters, written as outdatedly as Eli sounded when he spoke on the phone. It was like he was composing his words with an old-world elegance, carefully phrasing each sentiment. But then you came along, and suddenly, he found himself adjusting to screens and adopting habits a bit more in tune with the present day.

Eli rubbed his face with a frustrated urge to shout. He had hoped his friend would offer a practical solution, but he knew this was the truth. Many of them had been through something similar. He knew what he wanted; he’d seen both paths before. And yet, he kept overthinking it, as if that would help somehow.

...

Eli chose heavier coats when he went out with you—usually something soft, like wool, more inviting to touch. “You alright, love?” His thick accent made you glance up at him. You couldn’t answer right away; all you wanted was to stay pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. There were no steady heartbeats to listen to, but his breathing—always at the same, calming rhythm—was comforting in its own way.

“Yes, El,” you murmured, slipping your hands into your own hoodie pockets. The cold air wasn’t helping. “You’re freezing,” he said, with a hint of guilt, the words lingering like it should’ve been obvious this would happen. But you didn’t mind. You chuckled; sometimes he was quick to worry. “I’ll go grab more blankets, alright, grumpy?” You didn’t want to downplay his concern but hoped to ease the way he saw it.

You took his face in your hands, kissing his naturally flushed cheek, then pressed closer, brushing a kiss to his lips. He savored the warmth eagerly, even though he could feel the chill in your fingers and nose—areas that must’ve ached from the cold. Embarrassed, he looked away for a moment, until you returned with more blankets. Wrapping yourself in one and placing another thick layer between you and him, it wasn’t ideal, but it worked; you could hold onto him, enough to count as a hug; proper physical contact.

He took in the scent of your hair, and it was enough—these little moments that reminded him you were his human, seeing every detail about him as a feature, never a threat (which was a little worrying, if he was honest). Eli held you close between the blankets, feeling a bit better.

“You know, El,” you said, turning your face to invite him in for a soft kiss, “your body temperature is going to be really useful in the summer. It’ll be nice.” He laughed, noticing your lips were warming up again.

...

Eli was waiting for your shift to end at the bar, his usual spot reserved with that easygoing smile. You'd started a weekend night job, one that fit around your studies, and he'd made it a point to pick you up every night so you wouldn't walk home alone. There he was, leather jacket, cigarette between his fingers, his hair charmingly tousled. He leaned on the bar, a soft, inviting smile playing on his lips as he ordered a drink. "You look beautiful." He tilted his head, letting the dim light catch his gaze as he took you in. You'd put in a little extra effort tonight – waves in your hair, a cinched dress under your apron, all for the quiet thrill of seeing Eli at the end of it.

"You too," you murmured, cheeks heating up as he let out a soft chuckle. His hand met yours briefly, the contrast in temperature catching you off guard, so he held onto them a little longer than usual. You slipped off your apron, glancing around to make sure everything was in order, and turned back to him. Eli rarely smiled fully-one of those open, toothy smiles. But whenever he did, you couldn't help but imagine those sharp canines showing, a detail he'd told you only appeared at his choosing. You had never seen them before, but fairy tales made you think it would be cute. Eli wasn't the tough type.

"And you're hot," he whispered with that thick accent, words lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more. You felt his cold hands at your waist, fingers resting lightly, and wrapped one hand in his hair, pulling just enough to get that quick intake of breath, followed by the softest sound that showed he liked you being a bit bold. "I like the dress," he murmured faster, hands resting on your hips as he nudged you back against the wall at the exit, his body pressed close against yours. It was quick, a thud against the wall that didn't hurt, but he caught himself, realizing you weren't quite like him. His apologies were soft, but you just whispered, "I like that, to be honest," which made his eyebrows raise in a mix of excitement and teasing.

The hem of your dress hitched a bit as he held you close, your pulse quickening against him, and the smirk on his lips only grew. Your eyes traced the freckles across his nose, his pink lips near yours, and it left you a bit breathless. "You're dying for me to kiss you, aren't you?" And you were. He cradled your face, pressing a kiss to your cheek, trailing down to your jaw. Your hands trailed up his arms, reaching his neck, pulling him closer. He nestled into the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling your skin. "Missed me that much, El?" you asked before his eyes lifted to meet yours. He finally pressed his lips against yours, slow and deep, and you sighed into it, feeling everything melt away.

"I did. So much." His eyes had a soft gleam to them, a smile lingering, one that felt like it was just for you. Seeing your shaky breaths, he peppered your lips with little kisses until you settled, or at least got used to the fact that he wasn't about to stop. "Do... do your teeth ever show?" It slipped out before you could stop yourself. His eyes dropped for a second, awareness hitting him, and you instantly felt bad. "Sorry, you said I could ask."

"It's fine," he reassured you, fingers still gentle. His rings brushed your skin – a subtle reminder that he was there, by your side, despite whatever thoughts he kept to himself. "I won't bite you, okay?" His voice had a deep warmth, cautious but reassuring, and you let yourself believe him. He kissed you again, the same trail as before, from your cheek to your jaw, then this time letting his lips brush along your neck. You melted, fully aware of the way he held you. The kisses were soft and warm, pulling your eyes shut, and truthfully, you didn't fear much. Eli wasn't cruel, and you'd give him the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. You felt a faint graze, almost a scratch – it felt good. This was good. "I won't hurt you, little one." You'd talked about it before, those early questions you had about his predatory nature, and he'd told you he could handle it. He needed things but managed them.

"Maybe I'd like it if you did," you teased, part joke, part honest. He drew back, clearly content with all of it. "We should go. We're in public, miss." You groaned, laughing in playful protest.

...

The first time, you sent him a message saying you needed company, that you weren’t doing well. That way, he’d have the choice, the option to decide not to stay if he didn’t want to. But Eli called immediately—there was no time for your mind to spin into catastrophic scenarios. He briefly asked what was going on and if you needed anything (he didn’t even remember the names of medications anymore). It was clear he’d be spending the weekend by your side.

There was something about his presence that made you feel better, and knowing he’d be there in person filled you with a renewed sense of relief.

“I can turn my back, even if I’m in the

bathroom.” He said it so casually, and he was hard to read sometimes; every now and then, he seemed almost detached. You curled your toes, wrapped in a towel and seated on the edge of the toilet. He stood in the doorway, trying to figure out the best way to help. You needed a shower—your temperature was all over the place, and it would ease things a bit. But your feet ached at the slightest touch of the floor, and your shoulders were so heavy that you felt you’d collapse if you stood for too long.

“Can you?” Your voice came out low, soft, as if admitting just how much you needed him, even though you didn’t want to. Eli looked at you, and his expression softened as he came closer, kneeling down in front of you. His hands cupped your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. You looked so tired, and instinctively, your cheek pressed into his palm, despite the chill of his skin against you. He pulled back, but you held his hand there, keeping him close.

“You know you shouldn’t wait ‘til things get worse before calling me, don’t you?” He spoke gently. You nodded, but dealing with this on your own was second nature; it was just how things had always been. Your eyes lingered on his tank top, the small star tattoo peeking out alongside his necklace, and a few scattered freckles across his shoulder. Your warm fingers traced over them, grazing those little dots softly. He smiled, and you looked up to see his eyes crinkling at the edges, that pointed nose and unruly curls, with a few locks twisted just perfectly.

He was beautiful, maybe that was why he wasn't human. Pale, rarely a fan of sunlight, but not repelled by daylight either. He didn’t sleep in a coffin or flinch at garlic; he’d answered all your questions, even if he felt uneasy talking about it. You often avoided asking too much. He needed blood but had assured you it wasn’t as dire as the movies made it seem—he didn’t hurt anyone, didn’t kill innocents.

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close. The intimacy of being wrapped only in a towel didn’t faze him; he was there just to help. “It’s chronic,” you admitted, barely holding back tears. “It’ll keep happening, and I don’t want to depend on you… but I’m just, uh, so tired.” He heard the strain in your voice, the soft sniffle, and drew you closer. His hands moved gently along your back as your cheek rested against his shoulder, forehead pressed to his neck. He kissed the top of your head, feeling a deep ache he hadn’t felt in years. For a fleeting moment, he felt the exhaustion you bore—aching shoulders, tired eyes, a sudden warmth creeping into his skin.

He couldn’t take this from you, but he’d stay with you as long as you allowed. “Well, then, I’ll be here with you more often, and as often as you need,” he said, and you simply held him a little tighter, eyes meeting his. He noticed the subtle dark rings beneath them, a telltale human weariness he found beautiful, something unique to you. Morning puffiness, the way your scent changed with the seasons—these little shifts only added to your charm in his eyes.

Feeling a bit lighter, you were ready to try standing. “I won’t look, I promise, love,” he murmured, and you knew he wouldn’t. Slowly, you stepped into the shower, letting the water pour over you, hoping the fever would slip away down the drain. Through the steam, you could just make out his silhouette, back turned, his posture more relaxed with you nearby. You’d seen him tense up in public around you, but you understood.

He didn’t look, not even once. When you were done, you let him know, narrating as you dried off and dressed. When you finally said you were ready, he turned around with a soft smile, placed a gentle hand on your waist, and kissed your forehead. Then he led you out, guiding you with a steady grip.

Lying on your back, you stared up at the ceiling while he lay beside you, careful not to touch, as if he knew it might not be what you needed right now. The bed felt small with him so close. You took his hand and guided it to rest at the crook of your neck and shoulder. “The feeling of warmth happens when the fever reaches the new set point the body establishes. At that moment, blood vessels dilate to release heat, and you start sweating to cool the body down.” Your words came out so precise, almost like a textbook. Eli smiled, clearly thinking you’d looked it up somewhere for him. Still, your temperature was finally stabilizing, and his natural coolness seemed to help. “Do you still feel any pain?” he asked, his eyes growing heavy, yet relieved to see you were getting better.

“Just a little, I’m much better now. You’re like an angel,” you murmured, watching his nose wrinkle slightly. You found it curious how he felt emotions without any functional organs. His body didn’t give him trouble; he was visually healthy, able to just… live. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be like him, but something about it felt unfair. Silence settled over you both, and he turned on his side, his deep, amber eyes holding yours, drawing you in.

“Can you turn people? Just anyone?” The question tumbled out suddenly, genuine, raw. He looked away, as if bracing himself. This was bound to come up, sooner or later. “It’s like when you asked if I’d move away when you leave for college because, otherwise, I might not be here anymore,” you added, trying to ease the weight of your question. You were getting to know him better.

He nodded slowly, knowing he’d answer you honestly if you asked for it. If you wanted, he’d let you be like him. “I can,” he whispered, keeping it brief, not wanting to linger on the subject.

You hesitated, taking in the idea. He knew how much you suffered from chronic pain, how sometimes you just wanted relief, independence. And while he wouldn’t think twice about offering you this existence if you wanted it, he couldn’t shake a selfish feeling—the thought that, in giving you this choice, he’d be binding you to him and trapping you in your current form for eternity. Even so, he’d never refuse to help you if you needed him.

“So… it’s just a bite? And that’s it?” you asked, curiosity shining in your eyes without a trace of fear.

“Biting’s just for blood,” he clarified, his voice softening as he took a deep breath. “To turn someone, it takes a witness and making sure the person won't die, y’know?” He sighed, and you noticed, arching a brow.

“I thought you didn’t feel tired,” you teased, sensing his discomfort and wanting to lighten the moment.

“I don’t,” he said, brushing off the feeling with a small lie. You let it go, realizing you were also getting sleepy, even though he didn’t need sleep the way you did.

He’d once told you he’d been at this for around 300 years, adapting quickly but feeling his enthusiasm fade with time. He didn’t even remember who’d turned him, just that he’d woken one night alone, with the pain of transformation, figuring everything out by himself. That always made you think about your own fear of being alone, especially when pain flared up and made you feel trapped to someone.

“Can you… have kids?” you asked softly, eyes tracing the constellation of freckles on his nose.

“No,” he replied simply.

“I was going to say I’d have your kids if I knew they’d inherit that nose and those freckles, but I didn’t want to offend you or anything.” He chuckled, that familiar, comforting nasal laugh. Eli felt pain, but holding you like this made it melt away. He’d met thousands of people over the years, but you were the one who made him want his world to keep turning.

“Do you want kids?” he asked.

“No,” you said without hesitation. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to go through this just because of some unlucky genes.” He looked at you, an emotion in his eyes that made you wonder if he’d learned to mimic human reactions, replicating them when needed, though Eli had never done that with you.

“Would you have wanted them? If you were still… you know,” you asked.

He wrapped you both in the blanket, creating a cocoon. The light smell of cigarettes and mint gum surrounded you. His curls tickled your face, and you reached out to touch his lips with your fingers as he spoke, feeling the faint movement of his mouth. “I don’t know. I never thought about it when I was human, and now it doesn’t make much sense. Maybe I’d be happy, maybe I’d be sad if I’d had kids in a life that isn’t mine anymore. But I’ve stopped dwelling on what I can’t control.”

He said it with a calm acceptance that made you wonder just how long one had to live to reach that kind of peace. You liked living in the moment, but only when it was good. And you understood that Eli wasn’t always okay; he just knew how to deal with what life had given him.

“You don’t see a future with me, do you?” you whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. His arms tightened around you, but his silence broke something in you. Still, you reminded yourself to cherish the present because, as much as it hurt, you understood the complexities of it all.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words soft and full of regret.

...

“Dear Jenkinson, this will be a brief update, yet a necessary one. I’ve bought a cellphone and shall be more present. I still prefer to avoid the daylight; perhaps it’s simply the desire to remain unseen. I enjoy a quiet life—or at least, that’s what I believed. Recently, I’ve noticed a girl at the café near my house, yes, the same place here in Dublin. She comes around midday, doing something on her little black screen, though that detail hardly matters. I simply like knowing she’s there, and that she’ll likely be there tomorrow. I don’t speak to her, and I don’t imagine I will. Is it wrong for me to want to be near her but not seen with her? I mean her no harm, yet my human bears little resemblance to me. I write to you in confidence, as I suspect you’ll advise me to approach her. In any case, it’s a curious feeling, waking with this small excitement, the uncertainty and hope that she’ll be there, sitting in her usual spot.”

You scanned the first letter; they were all unsealed, unhurried in their elegance, as if they weren’t truly hidden from you—yet he kept them private all the same. You didn’t recognize the name, “Jenkinson,” but something in the writing made you imagine an old friend of his. Strange that you hadn’t heard of any friends. He knew all about your life, perhaps because you were far more open than he was. A pang of guilt hit you for reading his words. You’d picked them up from the mailbox by accident, and now you’d leave them where you found them, pretending you hadn’t seen any. Still, a gnawing question lingered in your mind. Eli cared for you, and you’d told yourself you were fine with this arrangement, just living in the moment—but you wanted something more, didn’t you? Eli seemed so sure of what he wanted from the beginning. You’d hoped maybe he’d change, but could you truly resent him? He wrote such beautiful things about you, didn’t he?

Your pulse quickened as you ran your fingers over the heavy paper, catching another letter. “Dear Jenkinson, I had forgotten that humans suffer, not just from their own mental wanderings like us, but from very real, very physical pain. My human has a condition that keeps her days limited, wrapped in intense pain. I’ve been there for her, and you’ll understand the significance of that, won’t you? It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. Anyway, she’s full of a light-heartedness you’d never picture me having. She deserves so much more, you’d like her, but I don’t intend for things to reach that point—” You felt a sting behind your eyes, frustration and a sense of discomfort flaring up. How could he be so dense, filling these white spaces with beautiful words about you while being so unthinking about the future? After all, he’d have a future, regardless of what happened. His nature was certain that there was a tomorrow.

“Dear Jenkinson, I would never hurt her, truly, nor do I feel any inclination to do so, yet there’s something in her calm, gentle scent, and the eyes that makes me wonder what it would be like to bite her. Am I a bad person for thinking this? I know what it’s like—the taste and the quiet satisfaction when it’s with someone we truly appreciate. I don’t think of it as feeding, but rather as a form of cultivation.”

It was sweet, kind of sexy, in its way, yet left you with a hollow ache. Eli had a life, a very long one, yet he’d never shared any of it with you—not his past loves, this friend, or why, of all places, he still stayed in Dublin. You wanted all of him, but a part of him wasn’t there to be yours, was it? The letters lacked dates, having only found their way back to him. Why were you committing yourself to something that felt like it had an expiration date?

[footballfanficwriter]

Absent Father

Summary:where the reader is about to give birth and Jude is not home

"When are you going to be back?" I ask as I watch him pack his bag

"In a couple of months Love" he says

"Oh"

"But don't worry it'll be over before we know it"

"Can't you pull out of the squad and say you've got an injury or something"

"You know I can't do that, they'll examine my body to check my story out"

I sigh

"Hey, it's not that bad, we'll call eachother and face time, we're gonna be ok"

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself"

"I'm trying to convince the both of us"

"Jude you know that I'm due any day now right"

"I know"

"And you won't be there by my side holding my hand or getting to witness the birth of your child" I say trying to hold back my tears

"I know baby, and I'm sorry"

"Sometimes I wish you were Just Jude Bellingham, not Jude Bellingham the Real Madrid and England Star

He stops packing and looks at me

"Sometimes I wish that as well darling, but that's not how it is"

"Yeah, I'm going to the kitchen to make a snack"

"Ok"

I leave the room and walk to the kitchen to make something to eat

As I'm busy I hear Jude come down the stairs with his bag

He places it down and walks up to me and towers over me, places a kiss on my forehead and bends down to kiss my belly

"I have to go" he says as he stands up

I come in for a hug and hug him very tightly as if by doing so I can just pause time and stop it from moving

He hugs me tightly as well indicating he doesn't wanna let go

As we're hugging the tears start coming out and I don't even try to fight them this time, i'm silently crying, and pretty sure my tears have now stained his shirt

He pulls away, looks me in the eyes and wipes the tears from my face

"I love you"

"I love you"

He kisses my forehead one more time walks to his bag and heads for the door where his driver waits for him

A week later:

I'm lying on the sofa watching a series that I'm not really paying attention to, all I'm thinking about is how scared I am and how I won't have anyone in the delivery room with me, and the person that I do want to be there is in another country

It's been difficult to talk and Face time with Jude, because he's either very busy or he's too tired to talk, if he's not training, he's doing press, if it's not press it's games, if it's not games he's out with his teammates, there's just always something happening and it makes me wonder if he's  trying to avoid me, because if he wasn't ignoring me then he would at least make the time to try and talk to me, it's always me reaching out and calling him but he never does the same

The only interactions we have nowadays is when he posts something and I like and comment under his post and he'll just reply to my comment

I honestly don't know what to do but I just keep telling myself that he's busy and can't talk

I stand up and walk upstairs to get my phone to check if I've gotten any call from Jude

The minute I grab my phone from my bed there's a warm liquid that I feel on my legs

I look down and see water on the floor

I start freaking out a bit but then compose myself and walk to my wardrobe to grab my bag

And walk downstairs and get into the car and start driving to the hospital

When I arrive at the hospital I ask the receptionist for my doctor, but she tells me that in order to see her I have to have an appointment

"Lady listen to me, I'm a Pregnant Woman that's about to give birth, are you really gonna tell me to wait to see my Doctor?"

"I'm sorry I was not aware, I'll go get her"

She walks down a passage and makes a left knocking on a door, 2 minutes later she returns with Doctor Ashley Johnson

"Mrs. Bellingham, what are you doing here?, Where's is your Husband?"

"On a business Trip" I say breathing heavily

"Can someone get this woman a wheelchair?"

A few minutes later I'm in a hospital gown and walking around my hospital room trying to Dilate myself enough to give birth to this baby and Doctor Johnson holding my hand

"So where is your husband?"

"He's away, on a Business trip"

"Your Mother?"

"We don't really get along, let's just say she's not happy with the decisions I made in my life"

"Like?"

"Marring my Husband"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing, she just didn't want me to marry someone who is from a different country number one and from a different culture"

"Your mother in law?"

"She moved back to England to be with my Father in law and brother in law"

"Siblings?"

"They are all married and even if I were to call them they are too far away"

"So I guess it's just you and me then" she says

I nod my head realizing that no one from my family is actually coming

"Yep"

After 10 hours of walking around and trying to Dilate Doctor Johnson informs me that I'm ready to give birth

She calls the rest of her team to come and assist and after two hours

A baby Boy is born

My body is tired and I just feel absolutely exhausted

"Mrs. Bellingham, we're going to clean your baby boy, you just get some rest we'll bring him right back"

"Ok" I say falling asleep

The next day I wake up feeling much better than the previous day, I turn my head to see my baby sleeping peacefully and Doctor Johnson walks into the room

"Hi, how are we doing in here?"

"We're ok, he's asleep"

"Have you spoken to your family yet?"

"No, I haven't, I'll wait for him to wake up first, then I'll make calls"

"And a name, have you decided on a name yet?"

"No I wanna call my husband first then we'll discuss it"

"Ok"

Doctor Johnson stays with me for some time until the baby wakes up

"I'll leave you to it then"

"Thank you"

I grab my phone and the first people I call are my Four sisters

They all get excited and squeal as they see the baby for the first time

"What's his name?" One of them ask

"I don't know, I'm gonna call Jude and we'll talk about it"

"Aww, he's so cute"

"Thank you"

"Congratulations sis, we're so proud of you, we wish we could be there"

I shed some tears and tell them it's fine and that we'll all meet up eventually

The next person I call is Denise.

"Hello love"

"Hi Mom, you alright?"

"Yeah, how are you"

"Oh we're fine, but I have something to show you"

I slightly turn the phone to Show her the baby and she looks in shock

"Mark, Jobe come look"

After some time Mark and Jobe appear on the screen

"Oh God he's so adorable"

"Are you ok though love"

"Yeah, I will be" I say

"What's his name?"

"I still need to call Jude, then we'll discuss it, and then we'll let everyone know

"Ok love, take care of yourself ok"

"Ok"

"We love you"

"Love you too"

The next person I call is Jude, hoping he'll pick up but he doesn't instead he sends a text

Hubby: what's up?

Me: can you call, it's important

Hubby: what is it?

Me: Jude can you pls just answer your phone it's really important

Hubby: just text me, I'm busy rn

Me: with what?

Hubby: With Trent, Madders and Hendo

Me: so you can't just excuse yourself for some time, I'm telling you that this is important why are you being difficult?"

Hubby: no actually I can't excuse myself, we're playing UNO, and I'm losing like hell

Me: oh so you would rather play a game of UNO than to hear what I have to say?

Hubby: just text it to me, I'm sure it's not a big deal

Me: if you consider the fact that you have a son not important then Yeah, it's not important

Hubby: what 🤯 are you being serious, you game birth?

Me: yeah but don't let me stop you from your game, it's most definitely more important than the birth of your son

                           Hubby ❤

                            Calling...

I decline the call

Hubby: babe answer the phone

Me: The baby is asleep, I'll call you when he wakes up, if I answer it'll wake him up

Hubby: oh c'mon don't be like that

Me: I'll call you later, get back to your game

I place my phone next to me and admire my newly born baby boy who is fully awake

"Hey Babe, welcome to the world, I'm gonna love you so much more than anything in the world"

He only giggles and cuddles further into my arms and it makes me Coo

2 months later:

Today is the day Jude comes back and to say I'm excited is an understatement we never had the discussion of the Baby's name so I just decided it Myself

And I Decided on Jamie

Ever since Jamie's birth Jude has been calling a lot more often and calling to check on us every day, which is good because then he won't miss that many Moments

Jamie is growing so fast it feels like it was just yesterday when it was just the two of us cuddling in a hospital bed, now he can crawl

Jude should be landing in a few hours and Jamie and I are preparing something to have for dinner, hopefully Jude will be here in time for dinner

Jamie however is on top of the counter grabbing things and putting them in his mouth while I prepare dinner

After making dinner, I get Jamie cleaned up and into his pajamas

And I carry him downstairs where we'll sit and wait for Jude

I'm so excited because we're about to have our first dinner as a family also adding the fact that I haven't seen Jude in almost three months

20:00( 8pm)

Jamie and I are sitting in the dinning room waiting for Jude to come home

21:00( 9pm)

Jamie has fallen asleep on my chest

22:00 ( 10pm)

Jamie is now asleep in this crib and I'm waiting for Jude while doing the dishes and packing away all the table decor that I've put out

23:00 (11:00 pm)

Fast asleep in bed

00:00 ( 12:00pm)

01:00 am

The door to the house opens and I hear Jude walk up the stairs and towards our room, the door opens and I hear him sigh and take his clothes off leaving him in his trunks

He gets into bed and kisses my shoulder

"Hello my love" he says in a husky voice

"I know you're awake, you're a light sleeper, I know you heard me come in"

I shrug him off and try to make myself comfortable on the bed

"What's wrong, are you not going to greet back"

"Hi"

"Is that all I get?"

"Yeah"

"Why are you upset i haven't seen you in 2 months and the first time I come back you give me a cold shoulder?"

"Exactly we haven't seen eachother in 2 months, and you couldn't even get home on time for dinner like you promised"

"Oh, you know I thought I told you that I was gonna be late, because Trent wanted to party for a bit before we were all headed home because we wouldn't see eachother in a long time"

"Does Trent have a two month old  baby boy who he hasn't seen ever since his birth and a wife who gave birth on her own  waiting for him at home?"

"No"

"Do you?"

"Yes"

"So please explain to me because I must be losing my mind, you had two months, two months with these people "your sheriffs" to laugh and share moments, yet your two month old son has not even shared a single moment with you and you still put your teammates before him to make moments with them and you don't even have one with your son"

He is quiet

"So is it wrong for me to assume that from now on your international teammates and club teammates will forever be the first choice no matter what?"

"No babe, you and James are the most important thing in my life and will forever be my first"

"I can't even look at you right now"

"You were not there when he was born, when we were suppose to name him , i ended up naming him myself because I had to put something on the birth certificate, you weren't there when he started crawling and now you said the wrong name yet he's your son"

"Is his name not James?"

"If you had answered your phone on that day we would have named him together" I say getting out of bed and grabbing my gown

"And his name is Jamie" I say walking out of the room and walking to Jamie's room to sleep there

The next morning I'm woken up by Jamie's cries

I walk to him and pick him out of his crib and walk to the Kitchen to find Jude making Breakfast

"Morning babe"

"What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast, I'm making French toast, still your favorite right?"

"Yeah"

"Great, have a seat it'll be ready in just a few minutes"

Jamie lays his head on my shoulder as he looks at Jude almost as if he's asking who is the guy in our Kitchen making food

He's uncomfortable

"Hey it's ok, that's your dad" I whisper into his ear and kiss his head

I walk to the dinning table and put Jamie on my lap where he stares at me and shows his gums that are without teeth

I smile down at him and shower him with kisses and he giggles

In that moment Jude walks to us and almost  immediately Jamie's head goes on my chest and he stops giggling

"Here you are"

"Thanks" I say

He takes a seat across me and looks at Jamie and sends him a small wave, but it only makes Jamie force himself further into my chest

Jude gives me a sad look and I look back at him

He clears his throat and breaks the uncomfortable silence

"So how have you been?"

"Fine, yeah I've been fine, you?"

"Yep same just really tired"

"Yeah"

The awkward silence is among us again and we eat in silence

"Fuck" he says under his breath

"How much have I missed?" He asks

"A lot more than you can imagine" I reply

"Baby, I am so sorry, when you said that I missed so much I didn't know you meant it like that to the point where my own son doesn't recognize me"

"Yeah"

"How can I make up for it?"

"I wouldn't know either Jude, Jamie is a baby, he doesn't comprehend what's happening, it not like you can just throw the words I'm sorry to him and he'll forgive you just like that"

"You're not helping, I'm asking for solutions not for you to make me feel worse than I already do"

"Well you wouldn't be feeling like this if you had been there number 1, if you had answered your phone so we could name him together and if you had made more time to talk to us"

"I called you every day"

"Did you call me when I was a week from giving birth, huh, when our only interaction would be on Social media where I was liking pictures and commenting and you were liking or replying to my comments"

"I called you guys every day, to find out how you were doing"

"For five minutes, you can't really say anything in five minutes"

"I was tired"

"But you were never too tired to go out with your teammates, right?, all that time you spent with them, could have been used to get to know your son, given how difficult it was to be there for him when he was born"

"So what, you wanted me to stay in my hotel room and be left out while everyone was enjoying themselves?"

"If you couldn't do it for me then you could have at least done it for Jamie, you were an absent father, and it's not my fault that after I tried to get you involved in his life and you refused and now he doesn't even know you"

He's quiet and just continues eating his food

After having breakfast Jamie and i walk to the Kitchen and i get started on the dishes while He sits next me with his favorite chew toy that keeps him behaving

Jude walks in

"Let me take him" he says

He goes to pick Jamie up and Jamie starts crying

I immediately leave the dishes and walk to them

"Here take over the dishes, I'll take him

"No it's fine, he'll be fine"

"No Jude let go of him, I need to feed him he hasn't been fed yet"

He let's go of Jamie and I walk to his room to feed him

After 2 hours Jamie falls asleep for his afternoon nap

And I walk to the living room to watch some TV only to find Jude watching TV

I take a seat and Jude pauses his show

"Is he ok?"

"Yeah, he's asleep"

"That's good"

"Mhm"

"Y/n, I'm sorry, I know that the past 2 months have not been easy for you and that you were scared when you had to give birth to Jamie, because I wasn't there for you both"

"It's fine, you were working"

"Yeah but that's not an excuse, I feel horrible, I feel like I'll never get to have a relationship with my son if things go on like this"

"Don't say that Jude, Jamie will get use to you, eventually, maybe not tomorrow or next week, but eventually"

"You were right, if I made the time then we wouldn't be here right now having this conversation"

"True, but you made a mistake and you are rectifying it, now you know what to do and what not to next time"

He smiles at me and I return the smile

"Thank you"

"You're welcome"

He scoots closer to me and places his arm around my shoulder and I lay my head on his

"I've missed you so much"

"I've missed you as well"

"Can you believe it, we're actually Parents now"

"Right, times like these are gonna be fewer, where it's just the two of us bringe watching Movies and series"

"That's true, we're gonna be so occupied, it's crazy"

"Yep"

"I love you"

"I love you too"

He kisses my forehead and unpause the show he was watching.

[08melancholie]

Light Banter. — Micah/Reader

tags: Grief/Mourning, Loss, Death, Mistakes, Soft Micah Bell, Crying, Men Crying, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Murder, Brutal Murder, no comfort, Minimal fluff, Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Not Proofread, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell, and reader lol

summary: The things Micah would do to go back in time and listen to Dutch, the things he'd said about you. Just for once, to rewrite this passage in his life. But that's an ending he may never face; so he must learn to cope with his mistake—both of your mistakes, and must do so all alone.

a/n: so ummmm ive been thinking abt my own fic for the entire two days ive been writing it LIKE i was in class imagining one of the scenes. micah bell angst LETS GOOOOO !!!!

words: 3,648 | AO3 LINK

Dutch is many things; controlling, manipulative, power-hungry—but somehow never wrong. And Micah had to learn that the hard way.

How he said the two of you were a match made in hell—he was right there. When he said you were both the biggest pains in his arse, always causing trouble wherever you went; when he had to put you both on camp-arrest, an attempt at lecturing you to not go into random bars and start fights; when he'd refuse to send you on jobs together, because he knew the outcome every time.

And you both should have listened, for once.

Another day brings you more trouble to stir. Micah and yourself have been out all day—early morning to late afternoon. Few folks were robbed; few non-compliant killed. It was a bit ruthless and brutal—but you were outlaws, so who cares?

Well, Dutch cared. Too much, in your opinion.

Always had his nose in your business, finding ways to scold you and Micah for any minuscule mission that ended in bloodshed or law. But that was your nature! And per his own word, you can't fight your nature—and so you won't.

Now, was that worth being sat in his tent, talked down to for hours? Well, yes. You either zoned out every time, or were struggling to hold in your chuckles and chortles with Micah; always worsening your situation.

Like today.

"You two are just.. unbelievable!" Dutch is scolding you like two children whom were just caught stealing candy from the corner store. He made you sit down on his cot before he started tearing into you both for another bar fight two towns over—initiated by Micah this time. "I sometimes just want to keep you both in camp, doing chores—because this isn't the way to go about." He adds, and it falls on deaf ears as you space out wherever while Micah just.. sits there, staring at him as if he's processing the words coming out of his mouth, when he in fact isn't. Dutch sees this and is simply fed up. "You know what? We're not gonna continue like this."

His next words get your attention instantly.

"I'm separating you two." Your eyes dart up to meet Dutch's dark ones, glistening with distaste. "No more sharing a tent; no more doing jobs together; hell, if you make me go that far, I'll prohibit you two speaking to each other." He barks, and you feel your heart drop to your feet.

"The fuck?" Dutch shoots you a glare at the vulgar reply and raised tone. "You can't do that, Dutch." You protest, standing up off the cot. Micah's head shoots up to look at Dutch, just as surprised and protesting.

He stands firmly above the two of you, looking and talking down on both. "I can do as I please," He stands back to his desk, where he previously was. "already had Charles start to move your—" He gestures to you. "—things out into a different tent at the other side of camp."

Your jaw goes slack and you feel like you have to pick it off the floor. "That.. Dutch! You can't be serious, that's just plain cruel!" You protest, clearly against the entire idea. But, everyone knows who has the last word; it's the reason Micah hasn't talked all night, and the reason he's been watching you, bewildered at how you're protesting to Dutch's word so confidently.

"I am not changing my mind; get out of my tent, both of you." He says firmly, and you have to be dragged out by Micah as to not pounce on Dutch right then and there.

Micah grabs you and—reluctantly, because he'd love to see you ravage the bastard like a wolf—leads you out of the tent, sighing after you exit and shut the flaps behind yourselves. "As much as I'd love to see it, I can't have 'ya killin' Dutch."

It felt much more real when you've left the tent.

Your eyes snap over to where you shared tent would be; split into two, like they were before you 'moved in' together. "This is bullshit.. he can't just segregate us!" You turn to Micah, who looks just as upset.

"I hear 'ya," He places his hands on his hips, looking at the tent as well. "but.. we both know there's nothing we can do." The truth in his words is painful, and you almost don't want to believe it. "Let me help get yer stuff in." He offers, and you nod with a small frown.

Micah helped you get your stuff across camp, the choice of being moved surprising most onlookers who caught a glimpse of what was going on. You just felt worse; even they didn't understand the choice Dutch made. You were reluctant on sorting the last item in its original place, slowly placing your last book into a drawer. "I.. I won't be used to this—I can't do this, Micah." You turn to face him, looking up with a quivering frown.

Micah feels for you. He doesn't even know if he'll be able to process this. He got used to having you in the tent; reading on your shared bedroll before he'd lay himself down, and you'd start reading aloud to him; early mornings where you'd slip out before him—if he managed to get some shuteye, ever—and greet him with coffee; pouncing on him whenever there was a job the two of you could do together. He'll miss it all. "C'mere, I know.." His arms extend to you, and you waste no time in pressing yourself up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

You felt safe there—and you know it sounds foolish; safe in the arms of a bloodthirsty, ruthless killer? Well, that was the honest truth. Before you were this close and started sharing bodily contact every day, his hugs—because rare—always felt much more meaningful and real. Your face buries itself in his chest, hands hugging him from under his arms and resting on his back, where his hands find your sides and squeeze reassuringly. You can't tell if he's trying to reassure you or himself right now. "Why would Dutch do this to us?" You huff into his coat.

He looks down at the top of your head. "Beats me, darlin'. I can't put my finger on it, either." He shifts one hand to your back and traces your spine slowly. "But it's damn unfair, that's one thing."

You nod against him in agreement, then pull away slightly, to be able to look up at him. "I think that we should part right—there's an O'Driscoll camp out west, close enough to be a problem." You smirk up at him, and he returns it.

"Oh, yeah? Is there, now?" He releases his hold on you, letting you take a step back. "Well, what're we waiting on? Don't want Dutchy stoppin' us here, do we?" He brings your smile back to your face, and you instantly make a b-line for your horses, mounting up and not caring about the approaching Hosea, trying to stop you.

The ride to this camp was pretty quick, seeing as the both of you were overly excited about it. You were going to end this right, have fun and then probably sneak off to do jobs and have one of the girls cover for you, like they have before when you got 'grounded' by Dutch a few months back. "And there it is," You point out the small outpost-looking area ahead, hitching your horse close-by, but not too close either. "In all her O'Driscoll glory."

"She looks promisin'," Micah jumps off of his horse, following your lead as you take coverage behind a nearby boulder. "tell me how we're doing this, partner." He looks over to you, ready for your command.

Now, whereas you always usually had a plan on how to do things, you just wanted to stress-relieve this time. And so, you did exactly that. "The plan is, you shoot everyone but me and yourself." You give a brief chuckle before drawing your guns. "I just need to relieve some of these emotions, and killin' off O'Driscoll scum will do it perfectly for me." You add.

Micah's smile turns into that devilish grin you love; taking his DAs out swiftly. "Oh, you've got it, girl." He laughs wickedly—oh, how you love that sound. You nod and cock your weapons, rising from your spot.

The entire area smells of blood and gunpowder, a scent you've gotten much more used to since meeting Micah and going on blood-thirsty missions with him. Bodies are scattered all around; faces with bullet holes in them, slit necks and penetrated chests. You and Micah were stood in one of the cabins there, searching through the many drawers, cabinets and closets inside the room. "Damn, these bastards were poor as dirt." You lean on the table behind Micah, on the opposite side as you watch him search through a closet, his back turned to you.

"I found a few pocket watches, but that's about it." You add.

"Hm, well 'least we got something, wouldn't dream of getting back to Dutch with noth—"

His sentence is interrupted by a horrifying squelching sound. Your breath hitches, nearly just enough to silence you. "Mic.. ah—" Your words are knocked out of your mouth by the sharp pain in your waist, and the hand on your mouth.

Micah turns around immediately, met by the traumatising sight of a knife in your side, a barely alive O'Driscoll's hands on you as he runs the knife deeper, slowly and excruciatingly painfully. "What the—" He draws his revolvers, pointing them at the man who tuts at him like at a bad dog.

"Don't do that, Micah." You let out a breathless gasp when the man twists the knife inside you, your hands shakily trying to push him off. You're gasping into the hand on your mouth, backing up into him as your eyes water. You never had a bad pain tolerance; it was more the look on Micah's face at the predicament you both got yourselves into now that had you wanting to cry. "You killed my brothers, 'ya rat."

Micah's unsure in what he's supposed to do. He grips his guns tightly, staring wide-eyed at the sight before him as he scrambles for any way to stop your pain, watching you squirm for release. "Let her go, she ain't done nothing."

The man just laughs and gives another twist of his hand and knife in your side that has you gritting your teeth together. "She slit one of 'em's throats. Wild little thing, is she?" His breath is hitting your neck as he speaks, clasping his hand down harder on your mouth. His knife handle is almost soaked, red staining your light blue shirt and trickling down to your jeans. Just as he stops twisting it, he pulls it out. You squeak out in pain, shutting your eyes closed.

Micah practically growls, watching the man pull the knife out and press the soaking red blade to your throat. "Please—don't." He's desperate, barely able to look at you fighting to stay standing, gripping onto the mans' forearm for dear life. Dear life, indeed.

"Wow," The O'Driscoll laughs, pressing the blade in harder. "beg me some more, Micah Bell. Never thought you was that kinda person." Micah is fighting between anger and worry; wanting to rip the man's head off while watching you squirm, losing more and more blood by the second.

His blood runs cold when a dead silence fills the room and you still up—the knife painting your neck red.

"No!—" He shoots the man dead on the spot, a headshot right into the forehead. He drops his guns and kneels to you, making you sit up and lean on the wall. "Damn it! No, no—don't do this to me, girl.." He unbuttons his undershirt and rips a piece up out of it, trying to hold it up to your neck in an attempt at saving some blood loss. "Come on, you can't do this to me—this is not how we said we was parting, sweetheart," He holds your hand up to your neck, your eyes rolling back as you cough and clench your side. "Please, please don't."

As an outlaw, this was actually how you always envisioned your demise. But, you never thought it'd be this brutal—or that Micah would be forced to watch. "Micah—" You attempt to speak, and it sounds terrifying; your voice isn't you, it doesn't sound like you.

"Don't talk, baby. I'mma.. I'll get'chu home.." You can't really tell if he's trying to convince himself or you that there's a possibility of redemption here, the horrifying look in his eyes as your blood paints the floor and himself, the hand holding yours over your neck getting soaked and trickling down his whole arm. He's getting just as bloody as you, and yet he still thinks there's a way to save this. "It's not too deep.. I can still get 'ya home.." He's huffing and out of breath, as if he just ran a marathon.

You use the hand on your hip to shakily touch his shoulder, removing it from the first knife wound. "No—.." You mumble breathlessly, shaking your head at him. "Stay.. while I go." You manage out, blood leaking down your front from between yours and Micah's fingers.

"No, please—please let me help 'ya. Don't do this to me." He's pleading with you, reaching his free hand to hold onto your side. "Please." He's never experienced loss like this; for a man that killed and saw death since he was a young boy, he sure wasn't prepared.

"Hug me."

"Y/N, don't."

"Hug. Me."

"I love you, darlin'. Why won't you let me help you?"

"Please, Micah. Hug me, hold me in my last moments."

His hands release your wounds. One goes to the back of your head, leaning you into his chest as the other runs through your hair. "I never wanted this, baby. I'm so fucking sorry." He's whispering into your ear while running his bloody hands through your hair, pressing you into himself. This is how you always wanted to die; in the hands of your favourite person, getting to hold them and breathe in their scent, making sure they're the last memory you have despite the way you'd die.

You start to feel woozy; dizzy. You feel your breaths leaving your lungs, your life leaving your body. This, was something no amount of preparation could calm you. "I'm.. scared." You manage out, holding onto his shoulders with a surprising amount of strength.

"Don't be, baby. You'll feel better." He hums, his voice cracking. "And I'll see you there, too. I'll be there, at some point." He whispers, pulling you away briefly to press a kiss to your forehead, wiping some blood off of your neck before leaning you back into him. "I'mma bury you at the nicest spot you'd have ever seen. I'll visit you every day, babygirl. I know you love tulips; how 'bout I plant some there? You'll love that, won't you?" He rambles into your hair.

A haunting silence. Your breaths slow down and hands stop gripping his shirt, and you go limp on top of him. That's what truly breaks him as his eyes water, maybe for the first time in multiple decades. "Oh, baby. I'll make sure you have the prettiest little spot.. with the prettiest little flowers." His tears stream down to your face as he pulls you away to look at you; his beautiful, strong girl.

"Me an' Charles'll bury you, give you the best spot in the entire damn country. I'm so goddamn sorry."

After a moment of silence, he got up and grabbed his guns, holstering them before gently picking you up. He got you up on his horse, calling your own to follow him as he left the massacred O'Driscoll camp behind—not before setting a fire to the cabin in which the man who killed you laid. Just in case.

He held you against him the entire ride back to camp which felt much longer without your little quips and stories, uncaring of how stained his clothes were from your blood. He occasionally leaned down to kiss the top of your head, fastening you against him.

Getting into camp was probably the most terrifying part. He hitched up and held you against him as he stood at the entrance of the campsite, feeling shellshocked. He looked down at your unmoving body, his eyes narrowing to your much more peaceful face.

"Oh, Micah."

His head perks up to the sight of Hosea, standing up from the campfire and slowly walking over, his eyes wide and one hand covering his mouth. "Micah.. Micah, how.?" Hosea was at a loss for words; hell, he assumed you invincible from how many close calls he had to watch you suffer through, so seeing you unmoving in Micah's arms was a terrifying sight. "No—you don't have to say anything. I'll.. get Charles—Charles!" He turns and yells for the other man, as Micah looks back down to you, waiting on Charles.

He soon shows up and instantly frowns, looking down at your body. He looks up to Micah after a moment of silence.

"You know where you want to bury her?"

It was a nice little hill, always painted in flowers during the spring. There was a lake nearby—you always loved sneaking off and skinny-dipping with him, uncaring of Dutch's lecture the next day when you'd be too tired to work. You liked smelling things, too; from flowers to Pearson's meals to Micah himself. You constantly got up into his chest and took in his scent when he hugged you—or when you involuntarily tacked him into an embrace. He'll miss your little surprise attacks on him. He hopes that the flowers will be enough to smell for you.

"Do you want a moment before we lower her in?"

Charles' voice gets Micah out of his zone, and he looks at the man. "Thank you.." He grumbles and Charles nods, walking off a few feet to give Micah his well-deserved privacy.

Micah takes a seat down next to your lifeless body, now cleaned up and dressed in your favourite outfit. You looked mostly like yourself—if you ignore the paleness of your skin and neck wound openly displayed, unable to be hid behind your shirt collar. He takes you in for one final hug, breathing in your scent, like you would with him. It pained him that you smelled like gunpowder and blood in your last moments, but at least the perfume Karen offered to put on you made a small difference. He embraces you for a long time, enough for Charles to come back and interrupt, asking Micah if it'd be okay now. And Micah knew you needed peace; so he agreed.

His eyes could barely stay opened as Charles shuffled dirt over your body, losing the sight of you slowly. He bit his lip, watching the last of your face get lost in the surrounding dirt. His eyes watered briefly, but he couldn't let himself cry in front of Charles, so he shoved it down.

Charles tapped the back of the shovel over the dirt pouch, flattening it out before taking a step back. "There," He turns to Micah briefly. "I'll leave 'ya to.. process it. Seems you still need to." He hums before walking away, leaving Micah holding back tears before your grave.

Despite never being a religious man, he hoped that an ending was real and that you'd gotten your peace, even in your brutal suffering.

People in camp mourned you and visited your grave for a few weeks before most stopped and moved on. But Micah couldn't.

He was there every day—early morning to late evening, if not downright sleeping at your burial. He had issues with insomnia before, and you always made it easier to fall into the slumber he always hoped for. Sleeping next to your grave hasn't helped too much, but he feels better; not wanting you to rest alone, by your wish you vocalised when Dutch wanted to split your tent apart. Your grave was cared for immensely, and there was barely any space around it from the overwhelming amount of flowers Micah had either bought or planted himself. He had one of the girls teach him how, and made sure to include dozens of tulips. He knew what you liked.

"You've been gone three and a half months, baby. I still bring 'ya tulips.. but I'm not sure if you're getting tired of them." He spoke to your gravestone a lot; he missed your voice immensely, now regretting the few times he'd space out while you yapped his ear off about some random topic. "I planted a few roses, I know you like 'em too."

"Hope you can see and hear me, darlin'. Did you know I got your name into my other barrel, huh?" He takes his right revolver out, tracing his fingers over the initials he carved into the guns' barrel. "Yeah... it's real nice, huh?" He holstered the weapon again, looking down at you under the dirt patch for a moment before looking up at the sky. Somehow, it always looked the prettiest when he'd visit you.

"That's you, ain't it, sweetheart?"

The sky was a mix of neon oranges and pinks, slowly fading into light, morning blues as the sun made its way up the horizon. The clouds were nowhere to be found, letting the sun pass into another day. Another day he spent with you.

"Hi to you too, my sweet girl."

Kudos on AO3 very appreciated! Finally finished this fic dear God. I want this man so bad its unreal chat.

[skcirthinq]

I may have read "I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good" by @dandylovesturtles again.

So I drew. Again. (Small spoilers ahead)

The first piece is a little comic adaptation from chapter 2; context is that Leo is cursed out of his body, intangible, and unable to communicate.

And well. His family doesn't know about the curse.

And Donnie's been running some tests on Leo's empty body. They're not. Coming up with good results.

Dandylovesturtles's writing is so much more impactful than what I got here, so like! If you haven't, go read their works!

The other pieces are random scenes from the rest of the fic, with some descriptions under the cut.

Image 1: colored and rendered comic adaptation of a scene from chapter 2 of "I May Be Invisible". Raph is hitting a punching bag, while Leo walks in and watches him. Raph cannot see or hear Leo. They're both upset, with Raph's knuckles splitting open and bleeding, and tears gathering in his eyes over the panels. Leo begins to sit down, as Raph stops punching, and falls to his knees, crying in earnest. Leo turns around to give Raph some privacy, and talks to Raph, who eventually curls into himself and unknowingly rolls into Leo.

Dialogue is taken from chapter 2 of "I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good", Leo is the only speaker, and reads as follows: "Well, the good news is, Donnie's wrong about this one." "I know it looks bad. Donnie's not wrong about that, I mean, I saw the EEG, I know it's..." "It looks bad." " But... thanks for sticking up for me in there." "Don't give up on me, big guy." "I promise I'm doing whatever I can think of to get back to you." "I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could tell you not to worry. I mean, I know you'd worry anyway, but at least you'd worry a little less." "You don't deserve this, Raph. I wanted to take some of the weight off your shoulders, but I messed it all up again. And now you're having to deal with it, just like we make you deal with everything, and I'm just... I'm so sorry." "At least, do me a favor, and talk to Dad? Or April, or ... Or someone." "Not Donnie, obviously, that could Not have gone worse. But you don't need to deal with this on your own. I hope you don't deal with this on your own..." "Sleep, big guy. I'm with you, I promise. I'm not going anywhere. "

Image 2: when your cursed brother yeets himself off an overpass and through a van's roof and the artist won't draw cars. (A partially rendered set of drawings featuring a blue, glitchy Leo falling through the roof of a moving vehicle, while an upset Mikey crouches on the roof. It's night, raining, and lights are zooming past at high speed.)

Image 3: Leo activated his ninpo after a character arc, just in time for the final battle! (Partially Rendered; a blue glitchy Leo, holding katanas solidifying from his ninpo, turns and looks over his shoulder. Behind him is a wall of pink-magenta flames being pulled up by the big bad.)

Image 4: Leo's family and friends are seeing him (image 3) for the first time in days. While also beating up some elementals. (Sketch)

Images 5-10: sketches of various scenes from the rest of the fic, except for 7, which did Not happen. But I thought would be a little funny if it had. 5 is Mikey and Donnie playing catch with the cursed amulet. 6 is Raph busting out of a dome made of rock. 7 is April accidentally letting the baseball instincts take over when being tossed the Leo ball. 8 is Raph trying to squeeze through a narrow cave passage, and Leo walking through the cave walls. 9 is Casey Sr. getting one last punch in on an elemental. And 10 is Leo looking up at his overjoyed family, once he gets back into his body.

Obviously, all credit goes to Dandylovesturtles!

[moonselune]

Hello writer! Could you write a drabble for the BG3 women about them accidentally reuniting with their youngest sibling who deemed them to have passed/turned after the nautiloid attack? (Sorry if this gets a little tricky or angsty with Shadowheart having lost all memory of her family)

OOF THE FEELS THE ANGST THE FLUFF THIS REQUEST HAS IT ALLLLLLLLLLLLLL

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach wandered through the bustling marketplace of Baldur's Gate, her eyes scanning the crowd for anything suspicious. She'd just grabbed some extra supplies and was about to head back to camp when she heard a familiar voice—a voice she never thought she'd hear again.

"Karlach?"

She turned, her heart pounding in her chest. There, standing before her, was her youngest sibling, Y/N. Her heart skipped a beat. "Y/N? Is it really you?"

Your eyes filled with tears as you ran towards her, throwing your arms around your older sister. "I thought you were dead! You stopped writing from Avernus, then there were rumors you killed Gortash—then there were things in the sky, scary things—and I thought I lost you!"

Karlach hugged you tightly, tears streaming down her face as she held you without any respect for your crushing lungs—not that either of you cared. "I thought I lost you too, Y/N. I can't believe it's really you."

You buried your face in her shoulder, your body shaking with sobs. "I was so scared, Karlach. I didn't know what to do. Everyone said you were gone."

Karlach pulled back slightly, her hands cupping your face as she looked into your eyes. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

The two of you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious to the bustling marketplace around you. The sounds of vendors shouting and people chatting faded into the background as you reveled in the unexpected reunion. The warmth of your sister's embrace and the steady beat of her heart against yours brought a sense of peace that neither of you had felt in a long time.

Karlach's grip tightened as she whispered, "We'll make up for lost time, Y/N. I won't let anything come between us again."

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face, but a smile beginning to form. "I missed you so much, Karlach. I'm so glad you're back."

Karlach's eyes shone with determination. "We'll face whatever comes next together. I promise."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The darkness of the Underdark was both familiar and foreboding as you navigated its winding passages. The air was thick with tension, and the ever-present danger made every step cautious. You were on high alert, your senses sharpened by years of survival in the cruel depths of the drow society.

As you turned a corner, a shadow moved in the distance. You tensed, your hand reaching for your weapon. The figure stepped into the faint bioluminescent glow of the fungi that lined the walls, revealing a face you never thought you'd see again.

"Minthara," you hissed, your voice filled with a mixture of shock and fury.

"Little one," she replied, her tone cold but with a flicker of surprise.

Without a second thought, you lunged at her, your blades clashing in a dance of aggression and familiarity. Minthara parried your strikes with practiced ease, her eyes never leaving yours. The fight was fierce but brief, both of you knowing each other's moves too well.

"Mother said you were dead!" you spat, breaking the deadlock and stepping back, breathing heavily. "She said you were a traitor, that you abandoned us!"

Minthara's expression hardened, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—regret, perhaps. "I did what I had to do to survive," she said evenly. "Things are not as they seem."

"You expect me to believe that?" you snarled, your weapon still at the ready. "You abandoned your house, your family. You left us to fend for ourselves while you played at being a surface dweller."

Minthara's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and sadness. "I didn't choose this path lightly. I had no choice. But it's good to see you alive, little one. I feared the worst."

You hesitated, the anger still burning in your chest but mingling now with confusion and a reluctant relief at seeing your sister alive. "You have a lot to explain," you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

Minthara nodded, lowering her weapon. "I know. And I will. But not here. It's too dangerous. We need to find a safer place to talk."

You eyed her warily but nodded, your guard still up. "Fine. But if you try anything—"

"I won't," Minthara interrupted softly. "I promise. Let's move quickly. We have much to discuss."

Together, you navigated the treacherous terrain of the Underdark, your mind racing with questions and conflicting emotions. The sibling bond, strained and tested by betrayal and survival, was still there, buried beneath layers of hurt and mistrust.

As you walked, Minthara glanced at you, her voice softening. "I missed you, little one. More than you can know."

You didn't respond, but a part of you, deep down, was glad to hear it. The road to understanding and reconciliation would be long, but for now, you were together again, and that was a start.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

he docks of Baldur's Gate were alive with activity, the chaotic aftermath of the nautiloid attack leaving a palpable tension in the air. You moved through the crowd with purpose, your heart pounding in your chest. You had heard whispers, rumors that your twin sister, Lae'zel, was leading a group against the lich queen Vlaakith in the name of Prince Orpheus. You had to find her, to offer your support and join her cause.

As you approached the docks, you spotted a familiar figure standing tall amidst the chaos. Lae'zel, fierce and commanding as always, was barking orders to those around her, her presence unmistakable. You felt a surge of emotion at the sight of her—relief, joy, and a deep sense of purpose.

"Lae'zel!" you called out, your voice cutting through the noise.

She turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the crowd. When her gaze landed on you, her expression shifted from suspicion to shock, and then to a mixture of overwhelming emotions. She pushed her way through the throng, her steps quickening as she closed the distance between you.

"You... you're alive," she breathed, her voice trembling slightly as she reached out to grasp your shoulders. "I thought you were dead. I feared I had lost you."

You smiled, placing your hands over hers. "I'm here, Lae'zel. I survived, just like you. And I've come to pledge myself to your efforts against Vlaakith. In the name of Prince Orpheus, I am ready to fight by your side."

Lae'zel's eyes shimmered with a rare display of emotion as she pulled you into a tight embrace, her grip almost crushing. "You do not know how much this means to me," she said, her voice low and filled with a fierce intensity. "To have you by my side, my twin, my equal. Together, we will bring down the traitorous lich queen and restore honor to our people."

You felt a sense of completeness as you held her, the bond between you as strong as ever. When she finally released you, her eyes were alight with determination and pride. "Come," she said, her tone brisk as she turned back to the gathered group. "We have much to do, and your presence will bolster our strength."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The battlefield was littered with the remnants of the recent skirmish, the eerie quiet only broken by the groans of the wounded and the crackling of distant fires. You moved cautiously among the debris, your heart heavy with the memories of the past and the uncertainty of the present. You had not seen your sister, Jen, since you were a little girl. The stories of her transformation into Shadowheart, an acolyte of Shar, were only whispers in the wind.

As you walked, your eyes scanned the surroundings for any sign of her. The rumors of her presence among the adventurers had led you here, and you clung to the hope of finding her. Suddenly, a familiar yet distant figure emerged from the shadows, her dark armor glinting in the fading light.

"Jen?" Your voice trembled with a mixture of hope and fear.

The woman stopped and turned to face you. Her eyes, though hardened by years of hardship and devotion to Shar, widened at the sound of her old name. She stepped forward, her movements cautious, as if she were afraid you might disappear like a mirage.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice a blend of curiosity and suspicion. But there was something else there too—a faint flicker of recognition.

"It's me," you said, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest. "It's your sister. I haven't seen you since we were little."

Shadowheart—Jen—froze, her breath hitching. She stared at you, and for a moment, the mask of the devoted acolyte cracked, revealing the vulnerability beneath. Memories she had long thought buried resurfaced in flashes—playing together as children, the warmth of your shared laughter, the bond that had once been unbreakable.

"I remember you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I remember… feeling safe with you."

You closed the distance between you, your eyes filling with tears. "I've missed you so much. When I heard you were alive, I had to find you."

Shadowheart's eyes welled up, and she reached out, her hand trembling as it brushed against your cheek. "I… I don't remember everything, but I remember the love. The love I felt for you."

You pulled her into a tight embrace, and for a moment, the years of separation and the horrors each of you had faced melted away. She clung to you, her armor cold and unyielding, but her touch was desperate, as if she were trying to anchor herself in this moment of reunion.

"Jen, I never stopped looking for you," you murmured, your voice choked with emotion. "I always believed we'd find each other again."

Shadowheart pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours. "I don't know if I can be the sister you remember," she said, her voice tinged with sadness. "Shar has taken so much from me."

You shook your head, a determined look in your eyes. "You're still my sister, no matter what. We'll face whatever comes together."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I realise Lae'zel's is the least angsty one which for some reason I find quite funny, I made them a twin because I felt their chances of survival would increase considering how much Lae'zel goes on about culling her kin - can Githyanki lay twins? They can now. Hope you enjoy it! - Seluney xoxo

[klausysworld]

you can do a one-shot for yandere klaus mikaelson, where Hope is already a teenager and all her life she adored her parents and family and always wished that someone would love her like her father loves her mother *y/n*, but one day he was reading cases of people who had been missing for years and a case in particular of a girl who seems quite familiar to him, and he discovers that this girl is his mother years ago and he starts to investigate and discovers his father's obsession with his mother and that he kidnapped her and kept her with him until she fell in love with him, he also discovered the secret rooms of the mansion that have her mother's stolen belongings and her portraits. Obviously Hope feels cheated and disillusioned and wants to confront her father.

Confusion, Fear, Horror.

Hope knew she was cherished by her family.

Her aunts and uncles fawned over her and brought her the best possible gifts at special occasions.

Her father always called her ‘his hope’ and made sure she knew she could always have whatever she desired.

And her mother…her mother looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. She calmed her father whenever he got mad that she was going out with friends. When Hope got home late, her mother would sort everything out. She was like a guardian angel.

So finding an image of her on a ‘missing person’s’ website was a shock. At first she thought maybe it wasn’t her, maybe a doppelgänger of sorts?

So she began to dig.

She certainly wasn’t expecting to find a secret passage way.

To find hundreds of portraits of her mother, stacks of pictures of her doing things as simple as walking down the street to standing in a towel in the window.

Clothes in boxes labelled by the year and dozens of love notes written to y/n from Klaus.

And then a note book…

Mondays ~ 2:30pm she has afternoon tea with male co-worker. Needs to stop.

Tuesdays ~ works until 5pm. Walks home alone. Possible opening.

Wednesdays ~ gets a lift home from work,, varies between three coworkers. Kill all?

Thursdays ~ tight schedule at work-forgets her lunch. Will come in handy when courting.

Fridays ~ half day. Possible date night?

Saturdays ~ often sees friends and/or family. Need to tear her away from this.

Sundays ~ lazy days. Great days to watch her.

She blinked in confusion and slight fear before turning over the page

Favourite colour=y/f/c

Favourite food=y/f/f

Favourite song=y/f/s

Dream job=y/d/j

Favourite things to do=f/s/t

Aspirations=y/a

And so on.

There were pages and pages of information on her.

Hope wanted to believe that he was just an amazing boyfriend. He just loved her so much he made sure write down everything she told him. But then she found the notes

At 2:36pm I watched her go into a mans house.

4:08 I eliminated the problem.

6:29 she had a shower. Left her curtains open.

7:45 she had her dinner. Alone this time-good.

9:13 she put her favourite show on

01:53 she fell asleep on her couch-it’s okay, I moved her to her bed.

She didn’t know what to think. With the amount of times he had written in these books, it’s safe to assume he watched her daily, nightly for months, years on end.

Even after he seemed to ‘get her’, court her, he still watched her. He suspected she would cheat on him, leave him. He was more paranoid than she had ever known him to be.

And the entry he made about ‘taking’ her mother completely through her off course.

She looked through security footage of the dungeons only to watch her own mother scream and fight against her father. They were both hysterical and Hope watched in horror as her father threatened and raged at her mother.

Over the weeks she watched her mother slowly become more obedient and affectionate towards Klaus.

She watched as her mother clung to him in fear that he would leave her alone for days upon end, she noticed her fathers manipulative behaviour from the “how do I know this isn’t some ploy to make me let you go?” To “I just don’t think you truly mean it” Watching her mother beg for him to stay, pleading for him to show her some sort of affection.

She saw how her mother became reliant on him, how she began to love him because he was all she had.

She saw the photos of her mother pregnant, Elijah, Rebekah, Kol and Freya all in the background as Klaus tended to her mothers needs.

Pictures of her as a baby and how her mother sobbed as she held her, the look she had in her eyes when Klaus took Hope from her arms, the fear they held.

Hope didn’t understand.

She saw her parents in whole other light.

Every time Klaus would take something from y/n’s hands and give her a look, the way she would lower her head and apologise and he would remind her to ask before she does.

The certain looks he would give her, almost warning like when she ‘stepped out of line’

It frightened Hope.

She tried to say something to her mother but as soon as Y/n realised she knew, the utter horror on her face was enough to stop Hope.

“Hope- please, you need to be quiet, please my heart, please I promise I’ll keep you safe”

The way y/n would hold her and cry until it was Hope holding her mother and convincing her it was okay

“We can run away”

“I know it’s difficult to understand but…I do…I do love him Hope…I just…do”

Y/n feared for both of them what would happen if Hope spoke out of term. Y/n would never let anything happen to her baby but her baby was strong enough now go protect her mother too.

[mostly-mundane-atla]

Hi! Your blog is awesome. I don't know if I'm allowed to ask non-atla questions, so I hope this is okay. I'm working on a non-avatar ttrpg campaign that takes place both in a (fictional/fantasy) northern tundra region AND during a magical endless winter. The people in it aren't based on any specific culture but, given that they're successfully living in similar environments & have for countless generations, I want to draw as much inspiration & knowledge from real-life circumpolar cultures & native science as much as possible. Do you have any advice or even just fun, underappreciated ideas for winter tundra survival, things someone who grew up in a desert like me wouldn't think of on my own? If you need/want more direction: I'm particularly looking for clothing, shelters, resource gathering-practices for non-food (esp what kinds of resources would be valuable), as well as like, any fun details that evolve naturally in a culture that formed in the tundra that you'd want to see represented. I hope that makes sense ^^; Thanks so much if you decide to answer, have a good day either way <3

[I am SOOO sorry this took so long! Tumblr kept not saving my progress when i tapped "save draft" so i had to rewrite a few of these passages a few different times]

Don't worry about asking, friend, i get cultural questions all the time and i'm happy to share.

Note: my knowledge is almost entirely based on coastal tundra peoples with access to marine mammals. That's not to say it's impossible for people to live farther inland, just that it's not my area of expertise.

Clothing

Just about everything you wear is going to come off of a dead animal. This doesn't necessarily need to be the case if your fictional culture has a means of raising hardy livestock for fiber and a history of woven textiles, but even then skin clothes are warm and generally quite hard-wearing and are a good fit for living in these circumstances.

This amount of fur means lice are a perpetual problem. If you want to make that an immersive part of the game, you can work in a mechanic for checking scalps and clothing and bedding for lice.

Bird skins can also be used for clothing and waterfowl specifically has the benefit of water resistance. Fish skin can also be used for similar properties. Animal intestines can be made into a waterproof material if sewn with sinew and soaked before finishing.

On that note i'd recommend making a list of available animals and what qualities and textures their skins and furs have. Even if you don't intend on being incredibly descriptive with clothing, it's something better to have and not need than need and not have. And if you do anything else creative in a similar setting you have your nifty little source to consult.

When it comes to the actual construction of the clothes, you want a loose fit. Trapped air ia a great insulator and you want clothes to be easy to move in. Another benefit for loose-fitting upper body garments in cold weather is you can pull your arms in and keep them by your much warmer core. Not only will this option keep you comfortable, it can also prevent muscle injury or getting frostbite

Mittens can be worn on a string yoke. This doesn't have to be exclusive to children either. Wind can pick up out of nowhere and lost mittens means fingers exposed to arctic cold which can mean gangreen and amputations down the line.

Swimming or running to deliver a message may involve stripping nude, even in cold. Clothes soaked in water or sweat are deadly in the cold.

Clothes may be stored in bags outside when not in use. The low temperatures can kill bugs and bacteria. On a similar note, boots and coats are best to be hung to dry as soon as one is indoors for the day. This may mean it's normal for people to be topless indoors.

Boots should never have holes or tears. Frostbite and resulting gangreen is already bad enough but you especially do not want it on your feet

Shelter

You're going to want dwellings to have as few rooms and windows as possible and small doors. The fewer walls you have, the easier it is for heat to circulate throughout the whole dwelling. You'll probably want one room separating the door and where you sleep. Remember: trapped air is a great insulator.

The culture I've reconnected with is semi-nomadic so the permanent houses are not always occupied and a village can seem abandoned when it's just on its "off season". You can take that or leave it depending on what you're going for.

Even if the dwelling is not a tent, you're probably still going to have poles serving as a supporting frame.

Sod houses are common due to the availability of sod (the grass and the dirt its roots are tangled in). Tents made of warm, waterproof skins (like walrus skin) are also an option.

An easy way to insulate such a dwelling is to build a wall of packed snow around and fill the gaps with loose, airy snow. This traps air the same way down feathers do.

Non-Food Resource Gathering

While I imagine you meant obtaining resources outside of hunting, in a tundra or tundra-like setting, a lot of your resources are going to come from dead animals. Your garments and shelters and bedding are likely to be made of animal skins, with hollow and/or fluffy fur for warmth, or smoked intestine or fish skin, sewn with tiny stitches and soaked to keep everything flush, for waterproof boots and overlayers. Antlers and tusks are good carving materials for things like spoons and closures and slabs for armor and handles and also talismans and smoking pipes and beads and art. Baleen is good for art too, as well as boot soles and smaller sleds and beautiful baskets. Sinew and rawhide are good for thread, ties, and rope. Bones have a near infinite amount of uses from tiny wing bones to make sewing needles to huge whale bones used to build houses.

For the purposes of working this into a roleplaying game, i'd second the recommendation of keeping a list of animals in your universe and their properties, as well as the things that can be gathered from or made of them. A sort of crafting recipe guide would allow all kinds of quests and sidequests.

There are, of course, non-animal resources to gather for non-eating purposes. Soapstone is the traditional material for oil lamps. Grasses can be woven into baskets for any number of purposes, including supports to give the uppers of one's boots more structure. Wood, in the form of slices of tree trunks, can be hollowed out into bowls and small tubs and buckets or, as logs or slats, can make up flooring. Sturdy branches can be used for frames in houses, boats, and drums, and tree resin makes both good glue and antibiotic salve for closed wounds. Sod, also called turf, makes a good building material and moss is exellent insulation in boots. You can make a list of these too, if it helps.

If your fictional culture has a strong tradition of metallurgy, then they'd also mine for metal that can be used for knives. If not, slate is another option that requires significantly less fire. You could even have both and make the metal a status symbol.

Fun Details to Represent

There are so many lovely little things that show up in arctic cultures

First, a gift economy. Where a cash economy relies on a fairly individualistic culture where you work for someone else to earn capital and exchange that capital for goods and services, a more collectivist and interdependent culture natural to the harsh conditions of the tundra tends to result in a gift economy. The currency in a gift economy, to perhaps oversimplify, is favors. Someone does you a good turn, you remember that, and when you're in a position to help, you return the favor. Usually this means basic material things like hospitality and food, but the "gifts" exchanged can also be luck! King Islander boys would often wish hunters setting out at dawn good luck, with a slab of driftwood as a token of that luck, and if the hunters were successful, they'd give the boys who wished them luck a share of their catch. I believe it was Frank Ellana who remenised that this was what the world was like before money.

Another thing that would be nice to include is parenting practices considered fairly gentle to a Euro-American perspective. Physical punishments are traditionally treated as abuse and scolding a child is not only seen as wrong but something an adult ought to be ashamed of. Discipline is instead a series of moral lessons, teaching children why what they did was wrong and using stories as examples of the consequences. Given the amount of stories about the dangers of abusing a spouse or child, i'd say a lot of these lessons were proactive and preventative. Knowing someone will be hurt by it is considered enough of a deterrence to stop bad behaviors. Traditional potty training, for example, is also gentler in comparison; starting at a younger age (about six months) with more emphasis on praise and encouragment than routine. The goal here is to teach the baby to signal when they need to go so they can be taken out of mama's atigi and relieve themself in a hygenic manner instead of holding it until they get permission. Even our take on kissing is based on inhaling instead of pecking with the lips. This kind of gentleness is usually overlooked to instead focus on the badass hunter image or overall "cuteness" so it would be nice for it to be referenced.

Oral histories would be pretty neat too. I think the idea of learning to be a historian of oral histories is an interesting one and i think it has a lot of potential plot hooks for an rpg.

That's all i have for now. Sorry for the delayed response time. Happy gaming, and i'm always up for further discussion if you would like ^-^

[glasskey]

Nick & June's Mixtape Vol. 4

All hail Noirvember. Of course it’s only right that we celebrate it’s passing for the year, with a Mixtape from the first half of Season 4. It brought us a classic noir style entrance, a fight for survival and an unforgettable farewell.

I'm Trying to Keep You Alive

This is easily one of my aesthetically favourite scenes from the Handmaid’s Tale. It’s dripping with classic noir shots and character poses, and features the sniper circle that comes full circle at the end of season 4, with the handmaid’s torch beams as they enthusiastically slaughter Fred. It’s easy to forget that this is the first time June’s seen Nick in almost a year, and that the last time she saw him was when she first learnt about his role in the Sons of Jacob. The guard’s death is a clear statement; Nick is no longer the cocky boyish driver she once knew, he is now dangerous and powerful, commanding a team of snipers with a mere swipe of his fingers. “I’m not leaving you” the guard says immediately before he is cut down by a bullet, a premonition of Nick and June’s separation throughout seasons 4 and 5 as he tried to “move on”.

June lies on the ground, covered in blood, eyes darting around into the pitch dark. Nick appears, a faceless figure accompanied by a death squad, demanding the location of the Handmaids. There’s an aura of dread, and then suddenly Blaine steps into the light, kneels down and briefly brushes her shoulder with his fist. “I’m trying to keep you alive” he whispers, it’s a warning and also a secret reassurance that, as always, he’s there to hold the Gilead wolves at bay.

A tear rolls down her face, he’d lied to her or at least not told her the truth about the Sons of Jacob, can she trust him? Then as he whispers to her and their eyes meet, she understands why HE of all people is there. Here in the darkness their secret bond still exists, she slides her hand away from the gun.

As she rises to her feet and looks in his eyes, a blinding light floods them both as snipers swarm. They’re surrounded, and yet to one another they are the only two people that exist in that moment. It’s been an eternity but the man she loves is there, changed but always there.

The dark aura suggests he could have become just another part of Gilead’s killing machine, but as this confirmation of secret devotion and trademark illumination in one another’s presence tells us, his loyalties remain squarely with Osborn.

The Strength of His Might

The looming brutalist grey building Osborn is carted into here, in the back of the van tells us in no uncertain terms that yes folks, it’s torture time. The doors open, it’s a barren concrete hallway and there’s no escape. But there IS Nick, and as he steps up he tenderly removes the restraint from around her neck, caressing it, a sign that he will save her neck from the figurative noose.

He fucked up, he can tell she knows who is now, what he’s done and he’s going to have to promise, to SWEAR he’s on her side. He kneels down as a pledge of his fealty to her that mirrors the moment at the end of season 1 when she revealed her pregnancy. She remains gagged, it’s a sign that she’s resolved to keep her mouth shut and without his help, she WILL die. While Nick has paid her the courtesy here of asking her to “Please let me help you”, the reality is he’s not going to give her the choice. He’ll help her whether she likes it or not. Nick knows that while he may have a bit of pull, he only gets one vote on a board of many Commanders, and they WILL kill her if she does not give up the goods; regardless of the fact that scarcity has suddenly increased her value as a handmaid.

As Aunt Lydia appears in the background proclaiming to be Osborn’s “Guardian Angel”, Blaine unleashes one of his trademark bible quotes from the passage The Armor of God. As usual Blaine’s giving us double the value at half the price here, with a veiled message for Osborn about personal strength and faith as protection against evil forces, all the while appearing to pledge allegiance to Gilead. No sooner had he turfed June from the van into Aunt Lydia’s clutches, than he was busy twisting Lawrence’s arm to get her out of them.

He’s not to be denied either, Lawrence owes him a favor and it’s time to cough up. There’s some subtle back and forth over firelight and whiskey here but the long and short of it is that Lawrence’s position is still precarious and Blaine won’t hesitate to rip out the rug if he doesn’t comply. Lawrence recognizes this desperate longing in the young commander, he loved and lost Eleanor, and he’s acutely aware of just how bad June can be for the health of the men in her life. But as we all know, Nick doesn’t give a fuck about his own neck and sure enough Lawrence does as he’s bid.

While Nick may have gotten what he wanted, he’s also revealed to Lawrence that Osborn is his ultimate Achilles Heel. There is nothing he won’t do, no arm he won’t twist and as we later learn, no commander he won’t kill for her. Lawrence is constantly making mental notes for his future 3D chess games and while Nick may have won the day, he definitely lost the war. Lawrence proceeds to spend the next 2 seasons using Nick to his advantage with Osborn as his lure.

She Loves You. I Love You.

At the end of Episode 3 June is transported from the brutalist realm of Gilead torture central to a picturesque pastoral setting. Sure, she’s unceremoniously shoved from the van by The Eyes but never mind, because guess who’s stopped by? Nick is waiting in the middle of a large ageing wooden bridge, its arched beams are reminiscent of the interior of an ancient church. June walks in slow steps like a bride down an aisle as Nick stands like a groom waiting for her.

Notably in this scene Nick is standing almost to the other side of the bridge, metaphorically he still hasn’t quite switched sides yet but he’s well on his way. For a moment the darkness of Gilead is gone, the menacing sound of barking dogs has been replaced with the sound of birds and a gentle stream, an aura of eternal romanticism permeating the air. It’s a gorgeous illustration of the escapism and solace these two find in one another.

Ah if only life for Nick and June were that simple, unfortunately the reality is that June’s hands are still bound, her “wedding dress” is a Handmaids uniform and Nick is still dressed in his dapper commander garb…..these two aren’t getting married, once again they’re saying goodbye. As Nick assures her that both himself and her daughter, love her, she spies the red handmaid van inching stealthily down the drive behind his back. It’s a reminder that every moment of comfort these two have ever known, has been invaded by the spectre of Gilead.

There’s a sense of true desperation in the way they touch foreheads here, their minds clinging to one another, perhaps for the last time. As she rips herself away, June suddenly has her “fuck it” moment. If this is the last time they see one another, and it well might be, she’ll let him go on her own terms. Aunt Lydia can wait in the van and cattle prod be damned.

As the music swells and the camera spins we get a glimpse into the dizzying heights of their romance. It’s intentionally intoxicating and indulgent and true to nature, heartbreakingly fleeting.

I’ll be back with more Hitlists, Playlists and Mixtapes soon. Until then you can find the others on my page.

[marrrrss]

Hank Voight x reader. A child had come to her and was begging to be saved. She didn't know what to do and contacted Hank. While the team investigates, she and the child bond. Unknowingly, the assailant had eyes on them and kidnapped both of them. Leaving Hank race against time to save them. You decide how it ended. Tag me later! Thanks!!! :))

Against the clock (Pt.1)

Bf! Hank Voight x Gf! Reader x kid

Hell a lot of angst but fluff end

Summary: request

TW : kidnapping, guns, swearing

Words count: 1 735 words

Writer's note: omg anonymous, this is so good!!!!! If you want me to tag your account on the post text me on dm's :))

Took me days to write it 🫣Enjoy!

(gift's not mine)

A cop and a nurse, maybe cliché but You and Hank have been dating for over 3 years. Before the second year mark you had moved in with him and with it came helping kids from Hank cases that had nowhere to go.

You had a day off and as Hank would be the whole day at the station you went to have breakfast with your sister Anna and her husband Parker.

"Plans for tonight?" Anna asks you as the 3 of you leave the diner after having breakfast.

"Take out, beers, and a movie when Hank comes back home," y/n says sipping her coffee.

"pray that he'll be home on time," Parker says with a chuckle

"Watch it Parker. Keep it on and I won't go to your work promotion" you say giving him a smack on the arm and a look that makes him put his hands up in surrender "alright alright I'll stop it"

"You'll never learn babe. Hey, see you later y/n and don't drink too much" Anna says as she hugs you goodbye.

"See you later and I'm not 15"

"Never too late to care about my sister," Anna says as y'all break the hug.

As Anna and Parker leave for their car to go to work, and you wave goodbye you decide to take a walk around the city because you really don't have anything to do (and cleaning the house ain't on the plans at all).

Walking around a park that was quite empty because of work hours, you see in the distance a kid running in your direction. As the kid comes close you notice the dirty clothes and crying and panicked face.

Before you can react the kid is in front of you "I- I- need help. Please help me" he says with a cracking voice hugging your leg.

The kid couldn't be more than 5 years old, he was begging "Please help me"

"Hey, its ok. What's your name?" y/n says kneeling down to be on eye level with the kid rubbing his arm.

"I- I'm Liam..." The kid, Liam, answers cleaning his tearful eyes.

"Alright, I'm Y/n. Are you hurt? Can you tell me what happened?" your eyes are all over the kid seeing if you can spot any injury on Liam

Instead of an answer you receive a hug from the kid. He was seeking comfort desperatly.

You had no idea what was going on or what happened. At least you didn't notice the kid being hurt. As you hug the kid back you call Hank knowing he would help with this weird, freaking, and confusing situation.

"Hey, what's up honey? Everything ok?" it didn't take too long to hear Voight's voice through the phone.

"busy?" "Not really what's up?"

"I- uhm" you take a pause to try to form a phrase with some sense. "Alright I left the coffee shop with Ana and Parker and I went to the park nearby and I saw this kid scared and panicking. He doesn't seem hurt but is panicked. He just told me he needs help, can you uhm... come around an-"

"I'm on my way. Dont move or leave the kid" Voight says over the phone getting up leaving his office and signaling Adam to follow him leaving the rest of the team asking what's going on.

"Thanks. This does feel right Hank. Something is going on" you say rubbing Liam's back, which he keeps sobbing and whispering asking for help.

"I'm on my way with Adam, don't move. I'll be there in 10, ok?" Hank was already in the car on the driver's seat as Adam was on the passager seat.

As Hank hangs up the call and starts driving Adam turns to him "what's going on?"

"y/n found a kid scared and fuckin panicking on the park. She fells something happened before the kid appeared. Let's go there and check it out." Hank asnwes with a sight having no idea what was going on. It was supposed to be a slow day damnit.

"did the kid talk?" Rusek turns his face to look at Hank as he drives.

Voight' sales his head, eyes focused on the Chicago roads. "No he didn't say anything. Y/n said she doesn't see the kid hurt or anything but this doesn't feel alright. A kid doesn't appear around in a park like that for nothing."

When Hank and Adam arrive at the park , they spot you on a bench with Liam on your lap. He's cuddling on you but his dirty clothes are noticeable by far.

"hey sweetheart. What's going on" Hank's asks as he gets closer

"hey, I found this little guy Liam. And yeah... Help me out. " Y/n says looking up to Voight and Rusek. "You can tell them Liam. They're friends and they're gonna help" Liam hearing your words slowly peaks up to look at Hank and Adam that give him a simple smile .

"i- uhm... Someone got into my house... There were gun shots..." Liam says in a small voice. Afraid of what could happen .

"do you know where you leave Liam?" *Voight was speaking in a sweet voice. Doing everything to not freak out the kid. Liam nods his head and leaves your lap grabbing your hand so you could follow him.

"oh ok I think we'll follow you Liam" you say getting up starting to walk next to Liam looking back at Hank and Adam with a 'whats going on' look.

As you aproach the house next to Liam, the front door is open and the front window shatered. With one look to Hank you pull Liam back as Voight and Rusek pulled out their guns to expection the house.

The house was clear. A male boddy on the top floor next to the stair case. By the looks a overdose and a gun shot to the chest. A female boddy on the living room with a shot to her head and a bag next to her with guns and a whole bunch of cash.

As Hank and Adam leave the house, Adam is already on the phone to call the rest of the team and patrol as Hank comes up to you.

"This place is a mess, we'll clean it out and see whatever did this and why. You take the kid to MED, check him out and try to get his last name or something, by the looks of this house... his parents might be on our database." hank sights "not the day off you talked about"

"The beers and take out will have to wait i guess" y/n says picking up Liam again. "and not the calm day you talked about. I'll head up to med, when i have something I'll call you"

"Call me when you have updates. I'll do the same"

Leaving med and knowing the kid has no injuries you go over to the district. Arriving you leave Liam with Trudy so you could go upstairs to intelligence.

"Hey" y/n say entering inteligence. "The kid's name is Liam Kennedy. The last thing he did in Med was some blood work. Procedure. His mom is Sabrina Kennedy and his father Joel Kennedy, he had and overdose 5 years ago around when Liam was born and overdosed again 2 years ago"

"and that Joel guy is on our database as a witness of an old case" Kevin says from his desk "and now he's dead. Well killed as forensic says. Like his wife"

"So... Y'all think Liam run away from being... killed?" The thoughts on your mind of a 5 Year old running away from a scene like this were killing you.

"probably. We're still trying to get the footage from the other side of the street" Voight says as he sees you sitting next to him on the desk as everyone was looking at the board with information about the case.

-

During the rest of the day the intelligence team keeps working on the case to find the killer. What no one knew is that he had eyes on everyone all the time .

Liam had stayed the night at your and Hank's place. Because of him you took the day off praying that the case would get closed today.

Leaving home the next day after

making sure Liam had breakfast and was settled with some cartoons, you decided to run a quick errand. Hank had reassured you he’d have a patrol car stationed outside for extra security, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.

The errand didn’t take long, but when you returned, the house was eerily quiet. The patrol car outside was empty, and your heart sank as you opened the door.

“Liam?” you called out, stepping into the living room. The TV was still on, but the little boy was nowhere in sight. A muffled sound came from the hallway—quick, heavy footsteps—and before you could react, a figure emerged, shoving you back and clamping a cloth over your mouth. The sharp, chemical smell overtook you as you struggled, and everything went black.

Back in inteligence Hank was going crazy trying to contact you.

“Where are they?” Hank’s voice was sharp, but beneath it, there was a tension that only came when something hit too close to home. Trudy’s voice had been tight when she reported that the patrol unit outside your house hadn’t checked in. When Adam confirmed your phone was going straight to voicemail, Hank’s heart sank.

Arriving at the house, Hank felt the chill run through him. The patrol car was empty, the driver-side door slightly open. Inside the house, the door hung ajar, and the living room bore unmistakable signs of a struggle. A broken coffee mug on the floor. The faint scuff marks of a fight. No sign of you or Liam.

Hank ran a hand over his face, the tension building to a boil. “They were here,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. His fists clenched as he turned to Jay, who was already scanning the room for anything useful. “Whoever did this… they don’t know who the hell they’re messing with.”

Jay glanced at him, his expression serious but resolute. “We’ll get them, Hank. Kev’s pulling footage from the neighborhood cams. We’ll find the car, and we’ll find them.”

Hank’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with determination. “Not ‘if.’ We will.”

(PART 2 ⬇️)