#but she wants him to know that she’ll be there for him when she can!!!!!!

[pucked-bunnie]

home sweet home ⎜q.hughes

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!OC (rae noelle) genre: romance ⎜established relationship ⎜ famous FMC⎜ warnings: quinn is a jealous boy ⎜ misunderstanding ⎜ otherwise not much ⎜this was just a little big silly and goofy synopsis: quinn decides to bring his girlfriend home for the first time to meet his family - he doesn't expect the attention she brings to go so bad so quickly. word count: 4.5k authors note:  this was requested by a reader who wants to stay anonymous but i hope they enjoy it! and I hope I did their idea justice! this is also my first time writing with an OC so sorry if it's a bit awkward

(unedited)

+

+

“So is your girlfriend coming or not?” Quinn rolls his eyes as Jack keeps firing his questions - the middle brother still uncertain that Quinn was telling the truth about his “girlfriend”. 

“She said she’ll be here in a few minutes - work ran late.” Quinn responds, stirring the pasta sauce on the stove, trying not to smile at the thought of finally having you here with him for the rest of the summer with the break in your filming schedule.  

“So what does she do for work?” Jack questions again, his chin nestled in his palm as he watches his older brother cook dinner - unable to avoid noticing the grin growing on his brothers face as he continues asking questions. The only reason Jack hadn’t stopped bothering his older brother was because he knew Quinn was down bad as he was going to milk it or all it was worth. 

“She works in media.” Quinn says quickly, his gaze shooting away from the pasta sauce down to his phone as it lets out a high pitched ding. 

“Is that her? Is she here?” Jack questions perking up from his spot at the counter, watching his older brother read the text message with a knowing grin. Quinn just nods before he takes off towards the front door, wanting to beat his little brother and avoid his family scaring off his girlfriend. 

Quinn reached the front door just as Jack darted after him.

"Quinn, wait! I need to meet this mysterious media mogul," Jack said, smirking. 

Quinn shot him a warning glance over his shoulder. "Stay here, Jack. I mean it."

Jack didn’t bother hiding his laugh as he leaned against the wall near the entrance, ignoring the command entirely.

A moment later, Quinn pulled open the door, and there she was: Rae, dressed in a casual yet effortlessly chic outfit, her hair gleaming in the golden hour light.

“Hey,” Rae said, her warm smile directed at Quinn as she stepped inside. Her eyes lit up when he leaned in to kiss her, but the sound of a poorly suppressed snort nearby made her pause.

“So this is Rae,” Jack said, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “Not bad, Quinn. But I have to say, for someone in ‘media,’ you’ve got—”

Jack stopped mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he got a proper look at Rae. Recognition dawned, and his jaw dropped. "Oh my God. You’re Rae Noelle!”

Quinn groaned, running a hand over his face. "Jack, please—"

“No, no, no. Time out,” Jack said, spinning toward his brother. “You didn’t think to mention that your girlfriend is, like, a legit celebrity?” Rae laughed softly, stepping forward to shake Jack’s hand. 

“Hi. You must be Jack. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Jack blinked as he shook her hand. “Not as much as I’ve apparently not heard about you.” Jack looks between the couple, watching as Quinn leans forwards taking the bags from her hands “No, seriously how is this still a secret?” 

Before Rae could respond, Luke’s voice echoed from the living room. “What’s going on? Who’s at the door?” He appeared a second later, a soda can in hand, only to stop short when he saw Rae. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Wait a minute... You’re the woman from that magazine Mom has on the coffee table! The tiktoker!”

“Singer, actually,” Rae corrected gently, her smile patient.

“Singer and tiktoker,” Jack interjected, still looking at Rae like she’d stepped out of a movie poster. “Quinn, how the hell did you pull this?”

Quinn groaned louder this time. “Can we not do this right now? Rae just got here, and we’re supposed to have dinner as a family, not interrogate her.” Rae placed a calming hand on Quinn’s arm. 

“It’s okay,” she said with a soft laugh. “I’m used to it.” She turned back to Jack and Luke, her tone teasing. “We’re both incredibly good at keeping secrets.” Rae continues to tease, watching the two younger brothers mouths drop open. 

Jack blinked again, still processing. “This is insane. Rae Noelle, sitting in my kitchen. Does Mom know about this?”

“Just Rae.” She corrects him gently. 

“She will soon,” Luke yells excitedly in response to the middle brother, already pulling out his phone to text their mother. 

Quinn lunged toward him. “Don’t you dare, Luke!” The kitchen erupted into chaos as Luke laughed and darted away, phone in hand, with Quinn chasing after him. Rae watched the scene unfold with amused disbelief, turning to Jack.

“Is it always like this with them?”

Jack grinned. “Oh, you have no idea. Welcome to the family.”

Rae chuckled softly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “Thanks. I think.”

The clatter of feet and the sound of Quinn’s frustrated groans echoed through the house as he chased Luke, who was laughing like a maniac and shouting, “Mom’s gonna flip when she sees this!”

Jack stayed put, watching the chaos with a smirk. “You know,” he said, turning to Rae, “this might be the first time I’ve ever seen Quinn this... flustered. Usually, he’s the calm, collected one.”

“Oh?” Rae questions with a raised brow, her arms crossing over her chest as she watches the two brothers continue to play cat and mouse throughout the house. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him calm at home.” She chuckles barely noticing the slight surprise in Jack’s face as her words. 

“Home?” He questions to himself softly, looking over at the celebrity in his entryway, her eyes watching her boyfriend fondly as it all clicks into place, “This isn’t a new thing is it?” He questions, his grin growing as Rae’s eyes shoot over to him, her lips tilted upwards in a sheepish grin. 

“He made me promise not to say.” She chuckles. 

The commotion in the hallway died down as Quinn reappeared, looking frazzled but victorious, Luke trailing behind him with a sheepish grin and no phone in sight.

“Crisis averted,” Quinn said, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair. “Mom is not finding out like this. At least not yet.”

Rae gave him an amused look. “You do realise she’s going to find out eventually, right?”

Quinn groaned. “Yeah, but I was hoping to ease her into it. Preferably without Luke live-streaming it to the family group chat.”

Luke raised his hands defensively. “No live stream. I promise. Just... maybe a photo later?” Rae head is already nodding yes, shooting the youngest a soft smile as she watches her boyfriend turn to his brother with a glare. “I swear I won’t post it anywhere.” He says, throwing his hands up defensively. 

Quinn sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "Fine. One photo. Later. After dinner. And only if Rae agrees." Luke grinned triumphantly, while Jack shook his head, still marvelling at the situation. 

“Man, this summer just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Dinner turned into a lively affair, the kind of evening where the air buzzed with overlapping conversations, laughter, and the occasional teasing. Rae fit right in, her quick wit and easy laugh earning her the approval of Jack and Luke. Even Quinn couldn’t hide how much he loved having her there, sneaking glances at her as she joked with his brothers.

After dinner, the four of them moved outside to sit by the fire pit, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting the yard in hues of orange and pink. Luke had insisted on roasting marshmallows, which turned into a chaotic competition of who could make the “perfect golden brown.” Rae surprised everyone by nailing it on her first try.

“Beginner’s luck,” Jack muttered, his own marshmallow charred on one side.

“I don’t know,” Rae teased, holding up her perfectly toasted treat. “I think it’s just raw talent.”

Luke laughed so hard he nearly dropped his skewer. “She’s already my favourite.” 

Quinn leaned back in his chair, arms crossed but with a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Mine too.”

The evening wound down as the stars began to dot the sky. Jack and Luke shared embarrassing childhood stories about Quinn, much to Rae’s delight, Quinn equally sharing all the the stories he could think of about the younger brothers until their cheeks were flushing a soft pink, the two of them begging him to stop. 

The next few days followed a similar rhythm.

 Mornings were slow and lazy, Rae joining Quinn for coffee on the porch while his brothers slept in. Afternoons were filled with lake trips, group games, and many movies - borderline too many. 

By the third day, it was as though Rae had always been part of the family. Jack stopped gawking every time she entered the room, though he still teased Quinn mercilessly about “dating up.” Luke, meanwhile, had become Rae’s shadow, constantly asking questions about her career and how to go viral on TikTok.

Quinn watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction. Rae had not only handled his brothers’ antics with grace but had also managed to connect with them in a way that felt genuine. 

It was everything he’d hoped for and more.

On the fourth day, the summer rhythm hit its stride. Rae had settled into the family dynamic seamlessly, waking up to Quinn’s sleepy smile and coffee brewed just how she liked it. By mid-morning, the house came alive with the sounds of Jack and Luke’s antics—bickering about what game to play, who got the last pancake, or who was the best at trivia.

That afternoon, they all headed down to the lake. The warm sun glinted off the water as Jack and Luke immediately dove in, splashing each other like kids. Rae sat on the edge of the dock with Quinn, dipping her toes in the cool water.

“You know,” she said, leaning back on her hands, “I think I’ve laughed more in the past few days than I have in months.”

Quinn glanced at her, his features softening. “That’s what summers here do. It’s different—quieter. Grounding.”

She nodded, her gaze following Jack and Luke as they challenged each other to see who could hold their breath the longest. “It’s been good for me. And for you too, I think.”

Quinn smiled, leaning over to kiss her temple. “Yeah. It’s been really good.”

That night, as everyone lounged on the porch under a blanket of stars, the conversation turned sentimental. Jack, for all his teasing, spoke up first. “I gotta say, Rae, I didn’t think you’d stick around after the first day with us. We’re... a lot.”

Rae smiled softly, her hand resting on Quinn’s. “You’re a lot in the best way. Honestly, this feels like home.”

Luke, half-asleep in a hammock, muttered, “You’re way too cool for Quinn.”

“I heard that,” Quinn said, chuckling.

“Doesn’t make it less true,” Luke shot back, his eyes still closed.

Everyone laughed, the sound echoing into the quiet summer night. Quinn squeezed Rae’s hand, his heart full as he looked at her surrounded by his family.

As the night stretched on and the others began to drift inside, Quinn and Rae stayed behind, the porch swing swaying gently beneath them.

“You really meant it, didn’t you?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet in the stillness.

Rae tilted her head. “Meant what?”

“When you said this felt like home.”

She looked up at him, her gaze steady and full of warmth. “I did.”

Quinn’s smile was slow and genuine. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Rae leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. “I have an idea.”

“My mum and dad are coming over tomorrow, for the fourth.” Quinn adds suddenly his eyes trained on their joined hands, his thumb rubbing absentminded circles on the back of her hand. “You’ll be meeting them for the first time.” He adds. 

“Are you nervous?” She asks, glancing up at him as he shakes his head. 

“I just want you to like them — I want them to be as much my family as they are yours.” He says softly, bringing her hands up to press a gentle kiss against the back of her hand. 

“Quinn how could I not love them? They gave me you didn’t they?” Rae responds, watching her boyfriend falter, his fingers squeezing hers as he just nods, his words caught in his throat. “Something about us in this swing is very domestic, don’t you think.” She notes, changing the subject as Quinn clears his throat, the tips of his ears burning as he nods along. 

“You’d make a cute old lady.” Quinn agrees as Rae lets out a scoff of laughter. 

“Well, I think you’d be a pretty ugly old lady.” Rae jokes back, watching as Quinn shoots her a playful glare, his posture getting ready to lunge as she shoves herself away from the swing, just making it out of Quinn’s grasp. 

“You can run, but you can’t hide.” She hears Quinn call from behind her. 

+

+

“Morning.” Rae coos as she walks into the kitchen, her sky blue summer dress swinging around her ankles as she sidles up besides Quinn at the counter, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Anything I can help with, baby?” She questions, Quinn quickly shaking his head. 

“Nope, you just go and relax, the guests will be here in a few hours.” He notes, Rae’s eyebrows furrowing as she pouts softly. 

“C’mon give me something to do.” She sighs, “I’m going to die from boredom if I keep ‘just relaxing’” She continues, putting air quotations around her words. 

“Okay, fine—if you can head into town with Jack to pick up the cake, that would be great,” Quinn finally says, giving in with a playful smirk. He grabs a dish towel to dry his hands as Rae lights up with excitement.

“Done!” she chirps, spinning on her heel and heading toward the door. “Let me grab my purse!”

“Jack’s already outside,” Quinn calls after her. “Try not to kill each other before you get back, alright?” Rae sticks her tongue out at him before disappearing down the hall.

Outside, Jack leans against the shiny black SUV, scrolling through his phone with one hand and holding a coffee cup in the other. When he spots Rae walking toward him, his lips curl into a smirk.

“Well, if it isn’t Her Royal Highness,” he greets, mock bowing as she approaches.

Rae rolls her eyes. “And if it isn’t my trusty chauffeur,” she retorts, opening the passenger door and tossing her purse inside.

Jack straightens and grins. “Trusty? That’s a first.”

She scoffs, settling into the seat. “Don’t push your luck. You’re only here because Quinn refused to let me do this on my own.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack replies, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Let’s just pick up the cake so you can stop bossing me around.”

“Not likely,” Rae quips. The drive into town is lively, with Rae critiquing Jack’s playlist the entire way.

“Seriously? Another eighties rock song?” she groans as the intro to yet another ballad blasts through the speakers.

Jack gasps dramatically. “You did not just insult Bon Jovi.”

“I did. And I’ll do it again,” Rae teases, reaching for the volume knob.

Jack swats her hand away. “You have no taste.”

“Says the man who’s apparently trapped in a time warp,” Rae fires back.

Their banter continues until they pull into the small parking lot outside the bakery. It’s a quaint little shop with pastel-coloured awnings and a display window filled with intricately decorated cakes and pastries.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Rae says, hopping out of the car.

Jack trails behind her, taking his time as he sips his coffee. “You act like this is a chore. It’s cake, Rae. Cake is sacred.”

“Then maybe you should carry it,” she shoots back over her shoulder.

The bell above the bakery door jingles as they step inside, greeted by the sweet scent of sugar and frosting. Rae heads straight to the counter to confirm the order, while Jack lingers by a shelf of macarons, examining them like he’s never seen dessert before.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up an order for Quinn,” Rae says with a friendly smile.

The baker nods, disappearing into the back.

Jack sidles up beside her, holding a macaron in one hand. “Think they’ll notice if I steal this?”

Rae gives him a withering look. “You’re not stealing from a bakery, Jack.”

“It’s not stealing if I eat it before they catch me,” he replies, popping it into his mouth before she can protest.

Before Rae can chastise him further, a group of teenagers outside catches her eye. They’re huddled together, staring through the window and whispering excitedly.

“Oh no,” she mutters under her breath, ducking slightly.

“What?” Jack asks, his mouth still full of macaron.

“I think we’ve been spotted,” Rae says, nodding toward the window.

Jack follows her gaze and smirks as the teens pull out their phones, snapping pictures. “Ah, the price of fame.”

“Ugh, why today?” Rae groans, rubbing her temples.

Jack’s grin widens. “Relax, Rae. It’s just a few fans. Smile and wave. Or better yet…” He casually slings an arm around her shoulders, leaning in like they’re posing for a photo.

The teens outside erupt in squeals, and Rae’s face flushes crimson. “Jack!” she hisses, shrugging his arm off.

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. “They already think we’re a thing. Might as well give them what they want.”

“Do you have any sense of shame?” Rae snaps, glaring at him.

“None whatsoever,” Jack replies with a cheeky grin. Before Rae can argue further, the baker returns with a pristine white box tied neatly with a ribbon. Rae thanks her quickly, eager to escape the attention, while Jack picks up the box with exaggerated care.

“Don’t drop it,” Rae warns as they head back to the car, the group of teens still snapping photos and whispering loudly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack replies, shooting the fans a wink as they pass.

By the time they’re back in the SUV, Rae slumps into her seat, groaning. “Great. Just great. Now the internet’s going to think we’re a couple.”

Jack chuckles as he starts the car. “Hey, maybe Quinn will get a kick out of it.”

“Or maybe he’ll use it as an excuse to never send us on errands together again,” Rae mutters.

Jack glances at her with a playful grin. “You know, we’d make a pretty convincing couple.”

“Drive, Jack,” Rae deadpans, turning her attention to the window. Jack puts the car into drive but pauses for a moment, his head shooting to look over at the girl besides him. 

“I never payed for the macaron.” He yelps, his hand slapping against his forehead, “I really did steal from a bakery.” 

“Goddamn it, Jack.” Rae sighs, but she can’t help the smile that grows on her face. 

+

+

When they returned to the house, Rae carried the cake into the kitchen while Jack immediately flopped onto the couch, scrolling through his phone. Quinn looked up from his spot by the counter, smiling at Rae.

“Did everything go smoothly?” he asked, reaching out to take the cake from her and set it on the table.

“Define ‘smoothly,’” Rae muttered, shooting Jack a glare. Quinn’s brow furrowed, but before he could ask, Jack let out a low whistle from the living room. “There was an small hiccup at the bakery but it’s really not a bi—” 

“Well, would you look at that,” Jack drawled, holding up his phone. “Rae and I made the headlines.”

“What are you talking about?” Quinn asked, his tone sharpening as he crossed the room to snatch the phone from Jack’s hand. His expression darkened as he stared at the screen. The paparazzi images were crystal clear: Rae laughing as Jack leaned into her outside the bakery, his arm slung around her shoulders. The caption read: "Rae Noelle Spotted with NHL Player in Michigan - New Hot Couple Alert.” 

Quinn’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flicked up to Jack, then to Rae. “Care to explain this?” he asked, his glare focused on Jack, his voice clipped.

Rae stepped forward, her expression softening. “Quinn, it’s not what it looks like. Some fans spotted us, and Jack—” She shot Jack another glare. “—decided to play it up for the cameras.” Jack shrugged, unbothered. 

“What? It’s not my fault they assumed we’re a couple.” Jack sinks further into the couch as the couple send him another annoyed look. Quinn’s gaze lingered on Rae for a moment, her hand reaching up to gently rub his arm, his expression unreadable, before he turned back to Jack. 

“You couldn’t have just ignored them?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jack replied with a grin, but it faltered under Quinn’s glare. Rae let out a long sigh as she watches the two brothers in a stare off before linking her fingers with Quinn’s pulling him away from his younger brother. 

“Please don’t be mad, it was a joke and I can call my publicist to get it all sorted out.” She says quickly, Quinn nodding his head letting out a soft breath as he steps forwards, leaning his forehead against her shoulder, their hands still linked at their side. “But Quinn maybe now is the right time to just get it all out there — no more misunderstandings.” She whispers, raising her free hand to brush through his soft curls. 

“Yeah, maybe.” Quinn sighs, pulling away and giving her a tense smile before leaving back towards the kitchen. 

The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparations. Quinn and Rae worked together to decorate the dining room, stringing fairy lights across the ceiling and arranging bouquets of wildflowers in mason jars. Jack, under strict orders from Quinn, helped set up the outdoor seating area, though he complained loudly the entire time.

“Why do we even need this many chairs?” Jack grumbled, dragging another folding chair into place. “Half these people aren’t going to sit down anyway.”

“Because,” Quinn said patiently, adjusting a tablecloth, “some of us actually plan ahead for our guests. Unlike you, who once hosted a barbecue with no plates.”

“They had hands,” Jack shot back. “Plates are overrated.” Rae snickered, walking by with a tray of candles.

“Remind me to never let you host anything again.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the first guests began to arrive. The house quickly filled with the sound of laughter and music, the warm glow of the lights reflecting off glasses of wine and cider. Rae flitted between groups, making sure everyone had drinks and saying brief hello’s to most of the families star-struck friends.

Quinn watched her from across the room, a soft smile playing on his lips. She looked radiant, her laughter lighting up the space more than any string of lights could - kindly welcoming the overwhelming amount of photo requests. 

“She’s good at this,” Jack said, sidling up next to him. His tone was light, but there was a note of something deeper—approval, maybe.

“She is,” Quinn agreed, his voice steady. 

Jack studied him for a moment before speaking again. “Look, I know I can be... a lot. But you know I wouldn’t actually do anything to mess things up for you two, right?” Quinn just nods, his gaze still trialing his girlfriend around the party, “She’s perfect for you, Quinn, seriously.” 

Quinn’s gaze shifted to him, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nodded. “I know. But maybe just try to avoid dating scandals with my girlfriend.”

Jack grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “You got it, big brother.”

The rest of the evening was perfect—almost. Quinn found himself watching Rae a little too closely, his mind circling back to those photos. 

He trusted her, of course, but the way the media twisted things left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Could this happen with anyone? 

Would this keep happening as long as they were private? 

As the last guests trickled out and the house quieted, Rae sank onto the couch with a tired sigh. Quinn joined her, handing her a glass of water. She smiled up at him, her eyes soft with gratitude.

“Thanks. I needed that,” she said, taking a sip.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Baby, about earlier…”

She set the glass down, her brow furrowing. “Quinn, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupted gently. “I know it wasn’t your fault, but seeing those pictures… I guess I realised how much I hate the idea of people thinking you could be with anyone but me.”

Her expression softened, and she reached for his hand. “You shouldn’t worry about that, it’ll be taken care of if it happens again.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I know. I just… maybe I don’t want it to happen again.” Rae’s eyebrows lift as she tilts her head in confusion, her stomach dropping at the potential way the conversation should lead. 

“Loving someone this much,” he admitted, his voice low. “It’s terrifying.”Rae’s heart squeezed at the vulnerability in his tone. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, patiently waiting for him to break the bad news. “I think we should—” Rae can’t help the way she zones out, her teeth digging into her lip as she feels the lump grow in her throat. 

Shit, this was it. 

He was breaking up with her. 

“Rae? Baby, are you listening?” Her head shoots back to look at Quinn, his brows furrowed, his free hand lifting to wipe away the small tear rolling down her cheek. “We don’t have to do an instagram post if you want to do something more offical.” He says quickly, his eyes panicked as he adds, “Maybe we should talk with you PR team and see what they think.” 

“Wait, what?” Rae chokes out, he tears stopping almost immediately as she focuses in on what Quinn was saying. 

“What?” Quinn asks back equally confused. 

“You’re not breaking up with me?” 

“What the fuck.” Quinn reels back not understanding how the conversation had ended up here, he thought he was being pretty clear. “I said maybe we should do one of those hard launch instagram posts — you thought I was breaking up with you? Over this?” 

“Don’t make fun of me.” She whines, dropping her head into her hands, letting out a soft chuckle, “I’ve been broken up with for less.” 

“Well you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future. My family likes you too much to let you go” Quinn chuckles, reaching over and pulling her into his arms, pressing soft kisses against her hair as she lets out another embarrassed groan. They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other’s warmth, before Jack’s voice broke the silence.

“Ugh, if you two are gonna get all mushy, at least warn me so I can leave.”

Quinn groaned, pulling back just enough to glare at his brother. “Don’t you have dishes to do?”

Jack held up his hands in surrender, backing out of the room. “Fine, fine. But next time, keep it PG in the common areas.” Rae laughed, resting her head on Quinn’s shoulder. 

“He’s never going to change, is he?”

“Probably not,” Quinn said, his lips brushing her hair again. “But now you have to deal with it too.”

[dreamscapeee222]

i would like to request arcane characters x reader who is a creature made by signed, they are completely in control of there mind but are traumatized by being experimented on

A/n: I quite like this idea. I hope you like this anon ^^

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Caitlyn

Masterlist

Vi

Vi's first reaction is anger—pure, seething rage at Singed for what he did to you. She doesn’t hide it, clenching her fists and muttering about how someone like him shouldn’t walk free. But when it comes to you, her touch is impossibly gentle. "Hey, you’re safe with me, alright? No one’s gonna touch you again."

She gets that you don’t want to talk about it all the time, but if you ever bring up the experiments or the pain, she’ll sit down, her full attention on you.

Vi doesn’t see you as broken or monstrous. To her, you’re a survivor, someone stronger than anyone gives you credit for. When you’re feeling weak or haunted, she’ll stay by your side, grounding you with her presence. "Whatever they tried to do to you? It didn’t work. You’re still you."

Jinx

Jinx's reaction is a mix of fascination and anger. She’ll ask you questions like, "Did he put stuff in your veins? Did it glow? Did it hurt?" but stops herself if she sees you flinch.

She’s been through her own trauma, so she gets the fractured feeling of not being entirely yourself. Jinx has a way of making you laugh, even when you don’t feel like it, though sometimes her chaotic energy can be overwhelming.

When you’re spiraling, she pulls out her creations and distracts you with wild, fantastical ideas about revenge on Singed. "We could make him pay, y’know. Or just… forget him. He’s not worth the space in your head."

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s quiet support is unwavering. She doesn’t press you to talk about what happened but listens intently when you decide to share. Her voice is soft but firm: "What they did to you was wrong, but it doesn’t define you. You’re more than what they tried to make you."

She’s thorough about ensuring your safety, setting up layers of protection so Singed or anyone like him can never touch you again. If you’re startled by reminders of your past, Caitlyn is quick to calm you down, steady and sure.

She’s attentive to the little things, like ensuring you have time to decompress or offering a warm drink after a hard day. Her care is subtle but constant.

Ekko

Ekko doesn’t see you as a product of Singed’s experiments; he sees you as a person who’s endured unimaginable hardship. "You didn’t let them win. That’s all that matters." His admiration for your resilience is evident in the way he talks to you.

He’s patient when you need time to process your trauma but encourages you to find ways to heal. He’ll invite you to work with him, tinkering with gadgets or exploring the Undercity, hoping to help you find something that makes you feel whole again.

Ekko is fiercely protective, not just physically but emotionally. He knows when to push and when to back off, and his unwavering presence helps you feel grounded.

Jayce

Jayce is visibly shaken when he learns what you went through. His first instinct is to fix it somehow, though he quickly realizes it’s not something he can simply solve. "I’m sorry. No one should have to go through that."

He tries to show you that you’re not alone, whether by sharing stories of his own failures or simply being there when you need someone to lean on.

Jayce is big on making sure you know your worth. "What they did doesn’t define you. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met." He often marvels at your resilience, treating you like the hero you are.

Viktor

Viktor’s reaction is complicated. He’s horrified by what Singed did but can’t entirely distance himself from the methods, given his own work with Hextech. Still, his focus is entirely on you. "You survived despite everything. That takes more strength than anyone realizes."

He’s methodical in helping you recover, designing tools or devices to ease any lingering pain or discomfort from the experiments. His way of showing love is through action, ensuring you have what you need to move forward.

Viktor is incredibly patient, never rushing your healing process. He admires your resilience and often reminds you that you’re in control now.

Mel

Mel doesn’t flinch when you share your past; her calm, empathetic demeanor never wavers. "They tried to strip you of your humanity, but they failed. You’re still standing." Her words are like balm, soothing and empowering.

She uses her influence to ensure Singed can never harm anyone again, quietly working behind the scenes to dismantle any remnants of his operations.

Mel is your anchor when you feel adrift, offering steady reassurance and endless patience. She encourages you to redefine yourself on your terms, helping you see your worth beyond the pain you’ve endured.

See pinned.

[suzukiblu]

Day thirty of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut, the final day!! Eyyyyy, gang, we did it! Full month of daily updates for this one, haha. Ended up writing about 24k, give or take a few hundred words. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The alert on his communicator goes off again, and then again a few seconds later. Tim represses another frown. Nobody double-texts him on Tim Drake’s phone. The only people who ever would are Dick and Steph, and Dick never texts Tim Drake’s phone outside of emergency situations where Tim’s not suited-up and Steph doesn’t have Tim Drake’s number at all; they just use burners and the occassional dead drop. So who . . . ? 

The alert goes off a fourth time. Tim definitely doesn’t panic, but also definitely turns his wrist in his lap underneath the fall of his cape and taps the little armored pocket where he hides one of his micro-receivers for situations where he can’t pull the full-sized one out of his utility belt without being obvious about it. Cissie’s distracted with whatever’s distracting Cassie and neither of them can see his eyes behind the lenses of his mask, so it’s not difficult to slip it into his palm and out from under his cape to glance down at as he thumbs it open to wake up the tiny little screen. Four text alerts, and the caller ID is scrolling “UNKNOWN NUMBER” across the screen. 

Okay, so his civilian number is getting spam texts now. Jesus, he was worried, that’s so–

The actual number of the unknown number scrolls across the screen after the text. Tim . . . blinks. 

. . . that’s Kon’s number. Specifically, the number of the phone he bought Kon. Who is literally right outside, according to Cassie, and . . . texting somebody. While he’s out there. While he’s out there, and Tim is in here, and is being Robin. 

Tim has literally no idea how he feels about this situation, and honestly neither does Robin.

He opens the text log, and there are, in fact, four texts from Kon in it. 

so like 

superweird questin 

liek uh rly superweird tbh but uh 

cn u wish me luck babe??

Tim stares blankly at the messages. “Wish me luck”? That’s–what? 

Good luck, Kon, he texts back after a moment, figuring it’s the logical response anyway and assuming that using the other’s real name will help him feel better about whatever he wants the aforementioned “good luck” for. He’s going to have to try and get a read on him when he comes in, see if he can’t work that out. If it’s something to be concerned about . . . 

thx, Kon sends back with a blue heart emoji and literally nothing else. 

Blue, Tim thinks, yet again having to repress a frown. What the hell does a blue heart mean? Does that mean anything? 

He barely bites back the question, because it’s way too risky to ask even if if anyone knows what different-colored heart emojis mean it is definitely a teenage girl and if he texts Steph with a random question with no context attached and then doesn’t stick around to talk she’ll get annoyed and might leave another glitter bomb in their next dead drop. 

He really doesn’t wanna have to explain glitter in his cape to Bruce again. Or worse, explain glitter in his cape to Alfred. Alfred did not appreciate the glitter tracked all over the cave last time. Very, very much did he not appreciate it. 

Maybe Kon just picked it because he likes blue. Or maybe red seemed like too much to him? Or maybe– 

“I’m back!” Suzie announces excitedly as she spills into the room, and Bart bolts through her smoke trail a moment later and stops on a dime right next to the kitchen table. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, wrinkling his nose down at Cissie and Cassie. “Are you crying? Is it because your wig looks weird? It’s not that weird. I mean, kinda.” 

“That HeroWatch magazine thinks it’s your real hair!” Suzie offers brightly. “So it can’t be that weird.” 

“I am not crying and HeroWatch thinks what?!” Cassie demands, whipping her head up to stare at them both with a horrified expression. “It’s not even real hair! It’s like, synthetic! I buy the stupid things off Amazon!” 

“You should stop doing that,” Tim advises reflexively. There are so many ways for that to end badly for her secret identity. Genuinely so many that he doesn’t even know where to start, in fact. 

“And do what instead, exactly?” Cassie asks with a sullen scowl, leaning back just enough to fold her arms. “I can’t just clear out Spirit Halloween every–” 

She cuts herself off and stiffens, then jerks to her feet very quickly and straightens her wig and jacket even quicker. Tim has half a second to remember that while Cassie’s hearing isn’t super, it’s definitely enhanced, and then Kon walks into the room. 

“Yo,” he says, half-waving a hand at the table and then making a face. “Shit, I’m the last one here? Figures.” 

Tim . . . blinks. Blinks again. Cassie looks downright agonized, and Suzie and Bart both tilt their heads in opposite directions. Cissie raises both eyebrows and looks him up and down. 

“Jesus Christ, Kon, that is borderline indecent expo–” she starts incredulously, and Cassie immediately claps a hand over her mouth and leans down to hiss into her ear: “Cissie, you are my best friend and I love you and shut the hell up right the hell NOW.” 

Tim attempts to make his brain work. It needs to, like–do things. Be usable. Functional. Brain . . . able. 

The problem with that is the fact that Kon is currently wearing the tiny little jean shorts that first made Tim aware of the existence of the other’s thighs and the S-shield crop top that people really should have more respect for Superman than to have made and sold commercially with his usual leather jacket and sunglasses and a pair of heavy black boots that Tim also bought him, plus the sapphire stud earring from their last date with a little bit of eyeliner and chipped black nail polish and . . . thighs. Just–thighs. Kon is very, very much wearing thighs right now. 

. . . thighs.

Tim suddenly understands literally everything about the way Cassie came in acting and literally everything she’d said on top of that. Also, he isn’t sure, but he thinks maybe this is worse than the changing room was? Like, this might be worse than the changing room was. Because Kon’s not posing to show himself off like he was there, and “Tim Drake” isn’t here for him to be showing off for. So Kon is, presumably, wearing this outfit just because he wants to be wearing it. 

Tim needs a minute. Or a year. Or maybe a hard reboot and a new identity and a new reality to move to. Not permanently or anything, just until he can remember how to function like a reasonably-normal person again or he needs to send Kon his allowance, whichever comes first. 

It’s going to be the allowance, he already knows. It’s definitely, definitely going to be the allowance. 

“Huh,” Suzie says, looking a little perplexed. 

“Oh, is that what hormones are?” Bart says, looking surprised. “Weird.”

[lucygraysboy]

“that’s what i thought. you’re the real MVP for drivin’ at this time of year. remember when we got snowed in? all those years ago? it’s a wonder we both made it home in one piece.” especially with how emotionally charged those few days were. “don’t even ask how many times i’ve seen barbie,” he laughs, blushing at the confession and gently elbowing her side when she begins to giggle. “please, she wanted to camp here, in our living room, and wait for you. i had to beg her to let you breathe, thought you might be too tired to host a party right away.” billy loves charlie and manuela with all his heart, but they can be a bit much. he didn’t want to overwhelm lucy gray. “of course, i will. though, i’m not sure if she’ll accept anythin’ from us. think your mama gave her a pretty big discount on those baby blankets.” quilts. “you’re the coolest thing i’ve seen.” no view can compete. there could be central park or statue of liberty right outside and he still wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of her. “i have a little movie marathon planned for tonight. high school musical is on disney+.” if by the end of the day she still has enough energy to keep her eyes open, he’ll happily grab some blankets and snacks and turn it on. “i’ve just missed my pretty birdie so much. i can’t believe you’re really here.” smiling sweetly when she touches his face, he nuzzles into her palm and closes his eyes for a moment. arms coiling around her waist a little tighter, hugging her. he just prays blair doesn’t do anything silly. she’s had a hard time letting go, unarchiving old instagram posts of the two of them, trying to text him and be friends with him. it’s been long two weeks, having lucy gray here is like a breath of fresh air. “of course, i do. bryan adams, bon jovi, lucy gray baird… my favorite singers, not necessarily in this order.” it’s so cute how she always picks up on these subtle little references. “we have all the time in the world, pajarita.” the color in his cheeks deepens when she kisses his head, arms squeezing her waist three times. i love you. “if not today, we’ll check out the fun carousels and stuff tomorrow. oh, yeah… the swimming pool does have a slide and there’s hot tubs, too. wanna go to starbucks first, then for a quick swim, and to central park or maybe check out time square. there’s so many things you need to see and try.” and if she’s still against getting on a motorcycle with him, he figures they’ll use the subway, and that should be an adventure all on its own. “there’s a starbucks a few blocks away, always get my morning coffee there. but there’s also this cool, family-owned juice bar not far away from here. usually, if i just want a snack, i go to this bakery right around the corner, great pastries, delicious croissants, but the coffee isn’t all that good. are you hungry hungry? we can get pizza? i know a real good pizza place in little italy, one slice is about this big.” he uses his hands to demonstrate the enormous size of said pizza slice.

dressed in pink high waisted pants, a brown cowgirl snoopy top underneath her fleece fuzzy zip up with large flowers printed on it and a pink beanie with matching gloves. she’s super glad she brought the fuzzy jacket to shield herself against the icy cold new york winds. after finding somewhere to park the silverado, barb azure and the rest of the covey will be here later this week— god, she prays no one decides to rob her mama’s truck. it’s in a well lit and seemingly guarded parking garage to billy’s condo but still. she’s still amazed she managed to get here in one piece, actually still in shock at what she’s went through to get here. and then to come and stand in the middle of all of it, is surreal. eyes looking up at how tall everything is, buildings instead of mountains. people instead of animals— everywhere. noisy horns and crazy attitudes. no more southern hospitality to be found in sight, it’s certainly all very overwhelming but still not as bad as she imagined. and the moment billy’s came and got her, it’s like the moment in nashville again, but triple that at seeing such a fascinating sky line when the elevator ride up to his room shows her that. “i really love my flowers,” she’s in the midst of gushing about her roses and how he approached her with them like a prince when the door to his condo comes open and the inside of it makes her go speechless. “this is—” amazing. bambi eyes wide and bewildered. the interior but then the decorations… “looks like i live here.” the brunette laughs, standing in awe and confusion simultaneously. she reaches down to pull her converses off, then trails over to the living room, “look at this place. the view, the luxury, the view— that’s insane! and these,” hands touch the fairy lights, WHERE in the world did he find such girly like stuff? wait…smile dares to falter, is those blair’s? she retracts her hand, like it burns her. then eyes refocus on something else, going over to the couch to sit, a happy smile gracing her features. rainbow princess. “aww,” placing the roses on the table, she grabs the chocolates, “for me?” reading the card while opening the chocolates, taking the one with marshmallow inside it. her favorite. a sweet smile gracing her face, casting him a loving look.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Nonna Rosa fixes it

Okayyy, it's officially not the weekend anymore, but only for like five minutes, so technically I'm on time! This got totally away from me, and I had to actually force myself to end it where I did. Nonna Rosa took the narrative from my hands and said 'I'll take it from here', and good for her. Not to be dramatic but I love her. Anyway, if any Italian-speaking people read this: I AM SO SORRY. This is all Collins dictionary or Google Translate, I don't speak a word of Italian and I'll be very glad to correct any mistakes you might notice ♥ I hope you guys enjoy it! if you want to know more about Nonna Rosa, send me an ask, I have looots of headcanons for her (and Tommy's childhood). Here you go:

A week after breaking up with Evan, Tommy is still feeling like shit. He can barely sleep, anything he tries to eat tastes like sawdust, and he feels like he’s living on autopilot. He goes to work, he comes back home, he tries to eat, he tries to sleep, rinse and repeat. Nothing else matters, there’s nothing else he feels like doing. He doesn’t answer Howie’s texts asking how he’s doing (he answered the first one, telling Howie not to worry about him, but can’t do more than that); he completely ignores Eddie’s invitation for Muay Thai and basketball, and he comes up with an excuse as to why he can’t make karaoke bar that Thursday. And yet, there’s one thing he can’t put off, as much as he wishes to: talking to his Nonna. 

Tommy calls his grandmother at least once a week; she still lives in Indiana, in the same house he spent most of his childhood in, and he knows his uncle Bart visits often. But he likes to hear from her himself. Visiting her was a rare occasion, and the last time he was able to was about four months ago. The minute he had stepped in, Nonna had asked him if he was ‘innamorato’, because he was looking so much happier than usual.

And he knows she’ll perceive his sadness just as quick, if not quicker. The woman has always been able to read him like an open book. She’s probably the only person alive who can; he’s always made sure to keep his layers hidden from everyone else, even from… 

Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? 

Fact is, that if he misses his call with Nonna, it’ll be even worse. She’ll know something’s up, and he doesn’t put past her to fly across the country to check on him (he’s always been the favorite grandson and everyone knows it). So it’s best to get it over with. With a heavy sigh, he sits down on his couch (and tries not to think about how empty it feels when it’s just him in there) and rings her up, bracing himself.

“Pronto? Tommasino?” She answers the call, as always with the camera too close to her face, and that at least brings a smile to his face.

“Nonna, you need to stretch your arm a little. Remember, like Charlie showed you?” He asks with a chuckle; Charlie being his cousin’s daughter, Charlotte, who taught Nonna how to FaceTime so she could ‘see Tommasino’s pretty face more often’, in her own words. 

She stretches her arm and Tommy gets a good look at her. Nonna looks the same as always, sharp blue eyes in a soft face that’s wrinkled both from age and from a lifetime of smiles. Her hair is wrapped in hair rollers and tucked safely behind a red bandana. Tommy misses her fiercely, and wishes more than ever that he could get wrapped in one of her hugs. 

They always did wonders for him when he was a little boy who used to climb trees and get scrapes and bruises; when he was a scared eleven-year-old missing his mother (and as a grown-up he can appreciate Nonna was hurting at least as much as him, having lost her daughter, but still never let it show) and dealing with an angry abusive father; when he was a scared eighteen-year-old, before leaving the only home he’d ever known to join the Army. And when he was a scared 33-year-old man, coming out as gay to his 75 year-old-grandmother, afraid of being rejected by the one person alive who truly loved him, and Nonna had stood on her tiptoes, pulled him into one of those hugs, and told him all she ever wanted for Tommy was to see him happy, and that she would always love him. 

A hug from his grandmother had always made Tommy feel like the world was an easier place to be faced, and right now, that’s exactly what he needs. And his longing must show in his face, because she’s frowning at him, her eyes full of concern. 

“Oh, Tommasino” She says softly. “What’s wrong, bambino mio? You look so sad” She asks, and to Tommy’s horror, he finds his eyes filling up. Nonna has that way of bringing out every emotion he tries to repress.

“Everything’s wrong, Nonna, and it’s all my fault” He blurts out before he can stop himself, and the look on his grandmother’s face tells Tommy she’d be placing a sizable plate of cake and a cup of strong coffee in front of him if she could.

“You have a habit of saying things are your fault even when they aren't, so I'm afraid I'll need the entire story, my boy” She says gently, and Tommy watches as she sits down by her kitchen table (the same kitchen table where he did most of his school homework, the same kitchen table from where he always used to steal a biscotti while they were still warm), supporting her face in her hand and turning those sharp blue eyes at the phone screen. Tommy swears he can feel them pierce through his very soul. “What happened? Is it your Evanino?”

The question sends a knife right through Tommy's chest as he imagines what could have been. Gosh, Nonna would have loved Evan (who doesn't love Evan, you idiot?, he tells himself), and he knows deep in his heart Evan would have loved her as well. Every time Tommy would talk about her (which he did fairly often; he was a grandma's boy and had no shame about it), Evan would get a wistful expression on his face and tell Tommy that she sounded awesome.

He had been planning on taking Evan with him next time he managed to visit her, not wanting to introduce them through the phone. Now it's for the best he didn't; at least Nonna won't have to miss him like Tommy does.

“He… he's not mine anymore, Nonna,” He admits, his voice thick with emotion. “We broke up”

“What?! Ma comme?! You were so happy last time we talked!” She asked, and of course Tommy was happy; it was the day before their six month anniversary, and he had been so full of excitement. “Was he not happy? Is that why you're blaming yourself, Tomasino?”

A smile as bright as sunshine crosses Tommy's mind. A smile that only started to fade once Tommy told him he knew how it ended. A smile that had become his personal beacon of light in the past six months. A smile he misses like a lost limb.

“He… he was happy” He says, because that much he knows to be true; Evan was happy with him, Tommy made sure of that. His grandmother frowns at that, and Tommy doesn't blame her; the story seems convoluted, feels convoluted, even to himself, and he lived it.

“Thomas, you have to help your old grandmother, because I cannot understand what is the problem. If you were happy and he was happy, then why are you not together anymore?”

“Because he asked me to move in with him” Tommy says, and that doesn't seem to clear the situation for her. If anything, her frown deepens, and she reaches for a piece of bread, fiddling with it; Nonna could never keep her hands still, especially when she was nervous, and Tommy had inherited that from her. 

“Does that mean something different when it’s two men?” She asks, completely genuine, and that earns a surprised chuckle from Tommy. 

“No, Nonna” Tommy says, and all of a sudden the urge to laugh is gone again; it never lasts long, not after Evan. “It… It means the same”

“Very well, and you said no? That’s why he ended things?” She asks, and Tommy sighs brokenly, the memories of the night no less painful than when it happened.

“No. I… I broke up with him, Nonna. He asked me to move in with him, and I didn’t just say no. I… I broke up with him," Tommy admits with a heavy heart. 

“Tesoro, you do realize you are not making any sense? You and your boy were happy; he asked you to move in with him, and instead you broke up with him. Then you show up looking like your heart was broken and tell me it is your fault. What am I missing, bambino?”

“I have a house, Nonna!” He snaps, finally being able to voice the things that have been stewing in his heart and mind since that night. “I have a house, and he lives in a rented loft, and it makes no sense for me to move in with him!”

Nonna doesn’t answer right away. She chews thoughtfully on her bread, letting a small silence fall between the pair of them before she eventually sighs and answers him.

“Benne, you have a point, it wouldn’t make sense. But that isn’t the whole problem, is it, Tommasino?” Nonna adds shrewdly. “You could have talked it out, explained that to him. So what made you walk out of the best thing that happened to you in years?”

Tommy can always trust Nonna to lay things down exactly as they are, no matter how painful it sounds. She’s right, he did walk out of the best thing that happened to him in years, maybe ever, and it’s getting harder and harder to justify that decision to himself. 

“N-Nonna, I was… I was falling so in love with him” He tells her, and feels tears starting to prickle the corner of his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve known that since last time you were here” Nonna says impatiently. “That’s not a reason to leave, Thomas; that’s a reason to stay”

“Only if he loved me back” He says automatically, and Nonna crosses her arms, unimpressed. 

“And who says he doesn’t? Did you ask him?” She asks sharply, and Tommy sighs. This conversation is taking a completely different route than what he expected. 

“I didn’t have to, Nonna. I… I just know it, okay? I was his first relationship with a man. I cannot be the last, that’s not how it works. And I… I thought I was okay with it, that I could enjoy it while it lasted, but… But I didn’t expect to love him this much” He admits, as much to himself as to her. It’s all his fault, really, for falling so deeply, flying too close to the Sun. “I-it’s safer to break my own heart now than to let him do it when I’m way too deep to recover. N-not that I’m recovering all too well, but… could be worse” He finishes, already wiping the few tears that inconveniently decided to rush down his cheeks. 

If Tommy expects his grandmother to nod sympathetically at that and coo at him (he kinda does; she has a habit of doing that when he cries), he has another thing coming. Nonna scoffs loudly, hitting the table with her hand, strong from decades of kneading bread. The noise is enough to startle Tommy out of tears.

“Thomas Domenico Kinard, I didn’t know me and your dear Mamma, may God have her soul, had raised an estupido vigliacco!” She exclaims, her hand flailing loudly to emphasize her words. 

Tommy will be the first to admit his Italian is rusty, but he’s pretty sure she just called him a stupid coward. And. Ouch.

“Nonna!” He exclaims back, but she isn’t dissuaded. She tuts him with a sharp ‘Silenzio!’ and a raised finger, and Tommy shuts up right away. He knows that when Nonna starts, the best he can do is take the scolding, so he leans back on his couch, trying his best not to look like a chided boy who got caught stealing fruit from the neighbor’s orchard.

“You are my grandson, and I love you more than anything in this world. You are a good man with a wonderful heart, but you have one big problem, Tommaso. You always assume you know people’s feelings better than they do, and then you make your own decisions based on that without actually asking anyone. Remember when you decided I should move to California because you thought I was lonely here?” She asks, raising an eyebrow, and Tommy nods sheepishly. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“That if and when you wanted to move to California, you would let me know, but you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions” He mumbles back, the epic scolding from five years ago still fresh on his mind. 

“Esattamente. Now, I think your Evanino deserves the same courtesy. He is not a silly child, Thomas. If he wants you to be his last, if he loves you, who do you think you are to decide that he doesn’t?”

“But he never said he did,” Tommy replies stubbornly. “He… He never even told me he loved me, he just asked me to move in with him. It’s like… It’s like he wanted to prove a point, Nonna. That he could be… committed, or queer, or whatever, I don’t know. But he never said he loved me”

“Did you say it to him?” Nonna asks, and Tommy stares at her with his mouth agape. Damn this woman and her ability to ask the most uncomfortable questions. 

“N-no” He admits. “I… I was too afraid of him not saying it back”

“Hmmm” Nonna hums thoughtfully. “That’s your other problem, bambino mio. You think you don’t deserve to be loved. I blame that man for that” Nonna says with a scoff, and they both know exactly who she’s talking about; there’s no lost love between Rosa Lucciola and her ex-son-in-law, Brian Kinard, and the way he treated Tommy and his mother before she passed is the sole reason for it. 

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, Nonna” He says with a shrug, always uncomfortable when his father becomes even a small topic of conversation, but she tuts disapprovingly.

“Ah, isn’t it? Has it never occurred to you that maybe your Evanino could have the same problem? That he was as afraid as you to show his heart and have it broken?”

Tommy desperately wants to say that he thought about it, that it occurred to him; but it hasn’t. Evan is such a sunshine of a man, always so prone to smiles and loving gestures towards anyone he cares about, that Tommy never thought there could be insecurities there. Now it makes him feel selfish and stupid (or estupido as Nonna had so accurately called him). 

“Nonna…” Tommy says, his mind catching up to everything she said and a horrifying realization dawns on him. “What if he did love me back? Oh my God, did I fuck this up?!” He asks before he can stop himself. 

“Language! Do not take the Signore’s name and swear in the same sentence!” She chides him, and Tommy mutters ‘sorry’, but her look is impossibly fond. “But, well. Maybe you did; maybe you didn’t. Are you going to sit around and mope or try to find out?” Nonna challenges him. 

“W-what if he never loved me, Nonna? Or what if he did, but me walking out made him stop?” Tommy asks, not knowing which possibility scares him the most.

“What if he still does, Thomas?” Nonna counteracts. “What if he loves you and is too afraid to reach out because you already rejected him once, hm? Someone has to be brave, and he already was when he asked you to move in, bambino. Maybe it was a little impulsive, but his heart was in the right place; it was in your future together”

Tommy realizes Nonna is right. He can’t expect Evan to reach out (he realizes he was at some level, and he would have rushed to it; one call from Evan and Tommy would be right back to his life, ready to reheal his own heart when things inevitably went wrong, just for another glimpse of Evan Buckley’s personal sunshine); it’s his turn to fight for them. It’s his turn to be brave. 

“Ah, you finally realized it, hm?” Nonna says; something must be showing on his face, because there’s a satisfied smile on her face. “Fight for that boy, Thomas. Fight for your happiness, tesoro. Prove to your Nonna you are not estupido”

“Nonna, you are most definitely the best person on the planet, and I promise you didn’t raise a estupido. I’ll do right by Evan. By… By me. By both of us” Tommy promises to her, promises to himself. He blows a kiss to the screen of his cellphone, desperately wishing he could kiss her cheek in person. “Ti amo, Nonnina” (I love you, granny) 

“Ti amo, nipotini del mio cuore” (I love you, grandson of my heart) She tells him back, and a mischievous smirk appears on her face. “You better bring that boy here to try my rondelli before the year is over, you hear?”

“Dio, I hope so, Nonna” He tells her, and they say their goodbyes before hanging up. Tommy already misses her.

He holds his cellphone close to his heart, wondering if he should text Evan, but decides against it. This is too big for a text, too big for a call. He’ll go over in the morning, probably with a bouquet of flowers or whatever other extravagant gift he can come up with, ready to grovel and explain himself and beg for a second chance, even if it’s only to hear a ‘no’. Even if it’s only to let Evan yell at him and get the closure he deserves. Even if it’s only to get his already shattered heart broken into even more pieces. Tommy has to be brave.

After all, nonna and mamma didn’t raise a coward. 

(Evan doesn’t say no. And when Tommy explains, after several rounds of make-up sex, what made him change his mind, he promises to send Nonna a present. The present ends up being him and Tommy, because they go to Indiana for Christmas, and Evan falls in love with Nonna and her rondelli. Just like Tommy knew he would)

-- Tag list (let me know if I missed anyone! also if you want to be removed or only tagged in Little Blobs' Verse):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie (Although here's a lil spoiler - Nonna Rosa will probably show up in Little Blobs' verse cause I'm not ready to let go of her and she'd whack me in the head with a spoon if I didn't let her meet her great-grandchildren)

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part IX

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Warnings: light fluff, light angst, slight violence

Words: 4817

The narrow, dimly lit alley was eerily quiet, save for the soft shuffle of boots on cobblestone. Two figures move with purposeful grace, their sharp gaze scanning the path ahead.

“Queens don’t usually involve themselves in investigations and missions like this,” Steve remarks pointedly, casting a sidelong glance at the concealed figure beside him. 

“That’s not true,” Natasha counters smoothly, not breaking stride. “My parents didn’t stand on the sidelines when they were king and queen. They were always involved. Besides, she’s my sister,” she adds firmly. “It’s my responsibility to know what she’s up to.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. 

“And I’m sure this has nothing to do with avoiding your mother’s request for some of your time today.”

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, choosing to say nothing as her response, but that silence is answer enough.

Steve sighs knowingly. 

“If you don’t want a big celebration for your birthday, you can just tell her.”

Natasha’s mouth twists slightly, though her hood hides the expression from him. 

It wasn’t the celebration itself that she had a problem with. 

The real issue was that no matter how extravagant or intimate the event, it wouldn’t change the fact that she couldn’t spend the day with the one person she wanted to celebrate it with the most. 

Her thoughts flicker back to last year. 

Of how the supposedly joyous occasion had instead become a day marred by chaos and trauma. 

She had hoped this year could be different—a chance to create a new memory of happiness to replace the past. 

But with circumstances as they are, that hope seems far-fetched.

Natasha lets out a quiet sigh, pushing the thought aside. 

There was no use dwelling on it now. She’ll just accept whatever idea her mother comes up with when she returns.

Refocusing, she turns her attention to their current mission: finding Yelena and figuring out exactly what she’d gotten herself into this time.

The investigation had led them to this part of town, notorious for its shady dealings and less-than-reputable characters. 

Natasha’s sharp eyes dart to the buildings they pass, noting the darkened windows and wary faces that peeked out from behind curtains.

As they go deeper into the streets, more signs of life emerge, yet it’s still strangely hushed, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Natasha notices something else, too. The way the crowd parted as they walked, people giving them a wide berth. 

Suspicious glances were thrown their way, not at her—her cloak did well to obscure her identity—but at Steve. 

The towering blond man was receiving a mix of wary and curious looks, and it didn’t take much to figure out why. 

Natasha sighs again, this time with a hint of exasperation. 

“No offense, Steve,” she begins, her voice carrying a dry edge, “but you’re terrible at blending in.”

Steve glances down at himself, confused. His attire was casual, certainly nothing out of the ordinary—simple trousers, a loose shirt, and a cloak. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely puzzled. 

She gestures toward him. 

“Your posture, your stance. The way you carry yourself. It screams ‘knight.’” 

Steve straightens reflexively at her comment, clearly unsure whether to take it as a compliment or a criticism. 

“I’m just walking.”

“You’re marching,” Natasha corrects, her tone flat. “Head high, shoulders back, always scanning like you’re guarding someone.”

“That’s cause I am,” Steve points out, only half-defensively.

Natasha rolls her eyes and continues down the path with her leading the way as Steve falls a step behind, attempting—unsuccessfully—to appear less imposing. 

As they round a corner, the faint sound of barking reaches Natasha’s ears. Her eyes scan the area, and she spots two dogs just outside a tavern. 

At first glance, their coats muddied and darkened with soot nearly fool her, but when Natasha observes them closer, she recognizes the familiarity. 

Narrowing her eyes, Natasha whistles softly, a distinct sound she knew only a select few would recognize. 

One of the dogs immediately perks up, its ears twitching. It turns toward her, tail wagging enthusiastically, before trotting over with a familiar bounce. 

“Hey, Fanny,” Natasha greets, crouching slightly to pat the dog’s head. Her voice carries a mix of affection and exasperation. “Where’s Yelena?” 

The dog barks once in response before turning toward the tavern door, her nose pointing unmistakably in its direction.

Natasha straightens with a sigh.

“I’m guessing Kate’s with her too,” Steve remarks, his eyes drifting to the other dog in the distance. He sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “As a knight in training, she should know better than to let Yelena be in places like this.” 

“Trust me,” Natasha says knowingly. “I’m sure she tried her best to stop her. This is Yelena we’re talking about.” 

Her focus shifts to Kate's dog, Lucky, who is still barking excitedly at something high in the air. 

Frowning, Natasha tilts her head, trying to glimpse whatever had captured the dog’s attention. 

Her heart stops when she notices the faint outline of a bird circling above—and the unmistakable flash of red feathers on one of the wings.

“Steve,” Natasha says sharply, grabbing his arm and pointing toward the falcon. “Tell me that’s just some random bird.”

Steve follows her line of sight, his jaw tightening as he hesitates. Finally, he lets out a low, noncommittal sound, which only confirm her suspicions.

Natasha exhales a long, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, wondering why in the world you are in such a dangerous part of town.

Steve must’ve mistaken her reaction for nervousness to meet with you again after witnessing the small confrontation between you and her during the council meeting. 

“You want to stay out here while I go in?” Steve offers, already stepping forward. 

Natasha stops him with a wave of her hand. 

“No. You’ll draw too much attention in there,” she says. “Stay here and secure the perimeter.” 

Steve nods reluctantly, stepping back as Natasha moves to step inside. 

The moment she enters, a wave of noise and activity hits her. Natasha’s eyes quickly scan the space, taking note of exits, potential threats, and the clusters of people gathered in conversation. 

Her attention is soon drawn to a commotion at the far end of the room. 

Rowdy onlookers surround a table, their cheers and jeers rising above the din. As she moves closer, fragments of conversation reach her ears, punctuated by a familiar voice.

“Aww, is the big man scared?” a teasing tone rings out, followed by a roar of laughter from the crowd.

Natasha sighs exasperatedly, muttering under her breath, “Yelena…” 

The crowd shifts, giving her a clearer view of the table. 

There was her sister, masked and oddly sporting black hair but unmistakable as she leaned back in her chair with an infuriatingly confident grin. 

Across from her sat a burly man, his face red with anger as he glared at his cards. 

Behind Yelena, another figure stands nervously—a masked woman fidgeting with the bow strapped on her back. 

“Kate,” Natasha murmurs, shaking her head.

Her gaze sweeps the crowd once more until it finally lands on you. 

You were blending in among the other patrons, partially obscured by the hood of your cloak, but to Natasha, you always stand out above everyone else in her eyes.

Natasha immediately moves toward you, weaving her way through the crowd. 

As she approaches, she notices your body tense as your gaze locks onto something at the table. 

Natasha follows your line of sight, her expression frowning when she sees what had caused your reaction. 

Yelena was casually twirling a dagger in her hand, the blade catching the light. 

Natasha’s frown deepens when she realizes it wasn’t just any dagger—it was the one she had lent Yelena, the one you had gifted her. 

And Yelena appears to be contemplating using it as part of her wager.

At the possibility, Natasha could see the tension increase in your frame, the way you clench your fists and begin to step forward. 

Not wanting you to be in the middle of a confrontation, Natasha reacts instinctively, reaching out to grab your arm and pulling you back into the cover of the crowd. 

What she didn’t expect was for you to jab your elbow sharply into her side. 

The sudden impact made her loosen her grip slightly, though she didn’t entirely let go. 

Instead, she tilts her head to meet your gaze, her hood revealing just enough for you to recognize her. 

“Natasha?” you hiss, your tone both surprised and accusatory. 

Natasha rubs the spot where you’d elbowed her, a smirk tugging at her lips despite the situation. 

“Not bad,” she remarks, a note of pride in her voice. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, flustered. 

Moving closer, you instinctively rub soothing circles on the spot you had hit before your eyes widen in realization. 

“Wait a second!” you continue, giving her a softer but reprimanding smack on the arm. “You’re not even supposed to be here! What are you doing here?” 

Natasha raises an eyebrow, throwing the question right back at you. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Your eyes widen as if remembering the reason for your presence here, and you hesitate, your eyes darting away. 

Natasha recognizes the look immediately—it was the one you always wore when you were about to dodge a subject. 

Before she could press further, you shake your head and deflect the conversation. 

“Why does Yelena have the gift I gave you?” you ask, your tone sharp.

“I let her borrow it,” Natasha replies simply, though her voice carries an edge of regret now.

“Well, she’s about to bet it in a game of cards,” you snap back, frustration clear.

Natasha’s brows furrow, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“I’m sure Yelena is just messing around. She wouldn’t—”

“All right, all in!” Yelena’s voice rings out, triumphant and smug.

Natasha’s jaw drops, her eyes snapping up. 

“I’m going to kill her,” she growls, about to push through the crowd, but you hold her arms, stopping her in her tracks and blocking her way. 

“You can’t risk revealing yourself here, Natasha,” you whisper in warning, your voice low but firm. “Think about it—one wrong move, and everyone in this room will know who you are.” 

Natasha pauses, her gaze flickering between you and the other shady characters around her, weighing her options. More than half of them probably wouldn’t hesitate to attack or try to capture and use who she is for their own gain.

Knowing you’re right, she exhales sharply and gives you a curt nod in agreement to stay put.

The two of you turn to watch as the game proceeds.

Despite the precarious situation, Natasha can’t help but feel her focus shift momentarily when your hand finds hers, gently pulling it around your midsection.

The inviting gesture is instinctive–natural–as though you belong there in her arms. 

Natasha’s hold tightens slightly, drawing you closer until your back rests entirely against her. Her chin dips subtly, brushing against the edge of your hood, and she allows herself a moment to simply exist in the comfort of your warmth. 

The chaotic noise of the tavern fades just a little, replaced by the steady rhythm of your breathing.

Like always, you fit perfectly against her, a seamless connection that feels as familiar as it is grounding. 

Natasha’s fingers spread against your midsection, her touch firm yet protective, as if anchoring you to her in this swirling world of chaos.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips, one that she doesn’t even try to suppress. 

If she could stay like this—holding you close, feeling your warmth and presence—she wouldn’t ask for anything more. 

To stay in this moment, that would be her perfect wish for her birthday: no grand celebrations, no feasts, just you in her arms, safe and near.

But the moment is fleeting.

Natasha’s attention is pulled away when the crowd erupts with cheers and groans. She stiffens slightly, her gaze snapping back to the table. 

Yelena is standing now, triumphant as she gathers her winnings, your gift safely returned to her side.

You release a sigh of relief, relaxing back against Natasha as the possible conflict appears to subside. 

Her arms remain around you for a moment longer, her protective instincts keeping you close, but her eyes also focus on her sister to ensure her safety too. 

As Yelena turns to leave, the burly man across from her slams his fists onto the surface. The noise reverberates through the room, silencing the crowd and drawing every gaze to him.

“You think you can just make a fool out of me, take my money, and walk away?” he growls, his face flushed with anger and humiliation. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he stands, towering over Yelena. 

“Sit back down. We’re playing another round.”

Yelena’s masked face tilts slightly, her body language relaxed, almost amused. 

“Sorry, big guy,” she says airily. “A deal’s a deal. You lost. Better luck next time.”

The man’s hand darts out, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip. 

“I said sit down,” he snarls, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

Standing just behind Yelena, Kate freezes, her hand twitching toward her bow, but she hesitates, clearly unsure how to proceed. 

Natasha tenses, her protective instincts flaring as she starts to move forward.

“No,” you whisper sharply, stopping her with a firm grip on her arm. “You can’t.”

Her head snaps to you, disbelief flashing in her eyes. 

“He’s threatening my sister,” she hisses, her voice low but deadly.

“And if you step in, they might recognize you, and we’ll have an even bigger problem,” you remind her, your voice calm but insistent. “Let me handle this.”

“Handle it?” Natasha repeats incredulously, her gaze flicking between you and the escalating situation at the table. “How?”

“Just trust me,” you say, already stepping forward before she can stop you.

Natasha clenches her fists, her jaw tightening as she watches you approach the table. 

Her every instinct screams to intervene, but she forces herself to stay put, trusting you despite the growing knot of worry in her chest. 

You slip through the crowd, your movements calm and deliberate, raising your hands in a placating gesture as you approach the table. 

“Now, let’s not let a friendly game turn into something regrettable,” you say, your voice carrying just enough authority to catch everyone’s attention. 

The burly man turns his glare to you, his grip on Yelena’s arm tightening. His eyes raked over you suspiciously. 

“Who the hell are you?” he demands, his tone dripping with hostility. 

Without a word, you reach up and lower your hood, revealing your face.

“I’m Lady Y/n Dreykov.”

Kate audibly sucked in a breath. “Oh…”

“…shit,” Yelena finishes for her, her voice tinged with surprise and apprehension. 

Your house title is usually effective in any scenario, though with recent events, the response is slightly different than the previous caution and fear. Around the room, murmured whispers began to ripple through the crowd.

“Hold on…Dreykov? As in the traitors?”

“Never imagined their house would fall this low…” 

Natasha’s hands curled into fists, her anger bubbling to the surface at the words directed at you. 

Nearby, a particularly unpleasant man pushes forward through the crowd, his smirk leering. 

“Well, if the lady wants a friend to play with, I can show her how friendly we are down here,” he slurs with a disgusting grin. 

As he passes Natasha, his shoulder pushing hers, she acts in a swift, calculated motion. 

With a discreet move, she stomps down hard on his foot. The man yelps, doubling over in pain, and Natasha smoothly delivers a sharp punch to his stomach. He collapses to the ground with a strangled heave, clutching his midsection as he remains in his prone position.

Natasha casually resumes her stance, her expression neutral as she glances around the room. The other patrons barely notice, dismissing the man’s collapse as the effects of too much alcohol. 

Meanwhile, you remain composed and unflinching despite the murmurs around you, your attention focused solely on the man still holding Yelena’s arm. 

“How about another game?” you offer, your tone calm but laced with subtle authority.

The man’s eyes narrow, suspicion and pride warring on his face. “With you?” 

Without answering, you reach into your cloak and pull out a hefty pouch of coins, setting it on the table with a deliberate thud. The clinking of the coins is unmistakable, drawing the attention of the entire room. 

The man’s gaze flicks to the pouch, his expression shifting slightly. The allure of more money is clear in his eyes, but so is his wariness. 

After a long pause, he releases Yelena, who is quickly pulled away to a safe distance by Kate, and sits back down, gesturing to the seat across from him.

“All right,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “Let’s see if you’re as lucky as that brat is.”

You smile faintly, taking your seat.  

Among the crowd, Natasha watches closely, her eyes never leaving you. 

Despite the situation, a light smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as she watches you pick up the deck of cards and begin shuffling. She knows better than anyone that luck has little to do with your skill. 

Games, puzzles, strategy—these have always been your strong suit. Natasha learned long ago never to challenge you to anything like that without careful planning or calculated risks.

“Let’s all just have a good time,” you say, your voice smooth and pleasant, as you deal the cards. 

That same enchanting smile Natasha knows so well graces your lips, the kind of smile that always manages to lower defenses and captivate attention.

The game begins, and as Natasha predicted, you quickly prove yourself. 

Each move you make is calculated and deliberate, a balance of strategy and subtlety. Unlike Yelena’s bold, audacious style, your approach is graceful and humble, drawing in the crowd with your calm confidence. 

The tension that previously dominated the room dissipates, replaced by a calmer atmosphere of camaraderie. The cutthroat gambling match now feels more like a friendly game among peers. 

Even your opponent, whose gruff exterior seemed impenetrable, starts to show hints of amusement. 

Laughter and cheers ripple through the room with every round, and the growing excitement draws an even larger crowd. The press of bodies around the table pushes Natasha forward slightly, giving her a better view of the unfolding scene. 

Impressed murmurs rise from the onlookers until one in particular catches her attention.

“Can you believe this, Happy?” a voice nearby cuts through the noise. “You give her some money for a drink, and she spends it on a game instead.” 

Natasha’s brows furrow at the words, her gaze discreetly scanning the crowd for the source, but with so many people packed tightly around her, it’s difficult to pinpoint. 

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she notices something that makes her stomach tighten with unease—a faint yellow glow emanating from beneath a cloaked figure’s arm before it’s quickly concealed. 

Natasha’s instincts flare. Her eyes lock onto the figure, who she realizes is weaving steadily through the crowd toward the table—toward you. 

Immediately, Natasha moves to follow, her focus trained on the cloaked individual as she slips through the crowd. She edges closer toward the center, her eyes never leaving the figure, until she reaches Yelena and Kate’s position at the edge of the gathering.  

Reaching their side, Natasha places a hand on Yelena’s shoulder, startling her younger sister slightly. Yelena looks up abruptly, her mouth falling open in recognition. Before Yelena can say a word, Natasha’s expression hardens, and she gives her a stern warning glare. 

The message is clear: Stay quiet and stay back.

Natasha ushers Yelena and Kate behind her, positioning herself as a barrier between them and whatever threat there might be. 

Her focus snaps back to the figure just as they reach the front of the crowd, their attention fixed solely on you. 

At that moment, the game reaches its climax with another of your perfectly executed moves. Cheers erupt from the crowd as you lay your cards on the table. 

The burly man opposite you grumbles, his frustration masked by the impressed grin he offers. Coins clink as they are added to your growing pile of winnings, and the lively energy in the room swelled.

Then it happened. 

Taking advantage of the eruption of cheers and laughter, the cloaked figure lunges forward, their gloved hand outstretched with a glowing stone aimed directly at you.

Natasha reacts immediately, her body moving faster than her thoughts as she rushes toward the attacker. Just as she is about to reach them, another blur of motion also intercepts the figure’s strike at the same time.

A stranger appears between you and the attacker. 

Natasha pauses for a split second, her mind registering that this new figure was also equipped with a glove strikingly similar to the attacker’s, except without the glowing hue.

The stranger’s gloved hand shoots out, meeting the attacker’s mid-lunge, the impact emitting a sharp, resonant hum. A sudden force erupts between the gloves, repelling the attacker’s hand backward, away from you.

With the attack directed at you momentarily thwarted, Natasha seizes the opportunity. 

Her hand darts out, grabbing the attacker’s wrist with a steely grip. But as her fingers brushed against the glowing stone embedded in the glove, her mind was yanked somewhere else entirely.

For a split second, she wasn’t in the tavern. Instead, she was back in that hauntingly vivid moment—that moment. 

Blood spilled across her hands as you lay crumpled in her arms, your face pale and your breathing faint. The weight of helplessness and fear pressed down on her chest as she screamed your name, her voice raw and desperate.

Natasha gasps sharply, shaking herself free of the memory with a force of will. She focuses on the present, channeling her rattled emotions into action. 

With a fluid, precise maneuver, she twists the attacker’s wrist and uses their momentum against them. In one seamless motion, she flips them onto the table. The wood splinters beneath the force, shattering on impact, and a bright light explodes and fills the room. 

Coins scattered everywhere, clinking against the floor in a chaotic cacophony. 

Immediately, the tavern erupts into chaos. Some people surge forward, scrambling for the spilled coins, while others take advantage of the confusion to pick fights. Shouts and crashes fill the air. 

Natasha stands amidst the chaos, her chest heaving as her breathing turns shallow and erratic. Her gaze remains locked on the now dimming stone at the downed figure’s side, suspicion and unease growing in her chest. 

The vision—the memory—lingers in her mind, vivid and suffocating. She couldn’t shake the image of your blood on her hands.

But then a warm, familiar touch cups her face gently, breaking through her spiraling thoughts. 

Her wide, unfocused eyes meet yours, and though your lips are moving, she couldn’t hear the words. It felt distant, muffled by the storm raging in her mind.

Slowly, the sounds of the room begin to return—the shouting, the clamor of fists and chairs—but your voice is what brings her back. 

“Natasha,” you repeat, your tone firm yet soothing. “Look at me. Are you okay?” 

Her gaze locks on your searching ones, the chaotic storm in her mind settling slightly as she absently nods, grounding herself in your presence. Then her eyes dart around, taking in the havoc unfolding around you. 

“We need to go,” she says abruptly, her voice regaining its strength. She grabs your hand firmly, pulling you through the crowd. With practiced efficiency, she navigates the chaos, quickly locating Kate and Yelena near the back of the room. 

“Move!” Natasha commands, ushering the two younger women ahead of her as she keeps you close at her side. Together, the four of you slip out into the night, the muffled sounds of chaos fading behind you. 

Outside, Natasha leads you to a quiet alley, her breathing still uneven. She leans against the wall, her hand gripping your arm as though grounding herself further. 

The glowing stone haunts her thoughts, and the memory it brought up lingers in the back of her mind. But when she looks at you, alive and whole in front of her, she feels the faintest flicker of relief.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, brushing your hand over hers.

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, Natasha nods quick but stiffly, her lips pressing into a tight line. 

“I’m fine,” she says, though the slight tremble in her voice betrayed her. “We’re fine.”

Before you could press further, Steve’s voice emerges from the shadows, his gaze scanning over the four of you with concern. “Everyone okay? What happened in there?”

“Nat started a bar fight by throwing a guy,” Yelena answers plainly, her tone far too nonchalant for the situation. 

Natasha releases a deep breath, scoffing in disbelief as she straightens and turns to glare at her sister. 

“You mean, saving your ass from getting killed. What were you thinking, Yelena, going into a place like that and provoking them?”

Before the argument can escalate, you step in front of Natasha, placing a calming hand on her arm. Across from you, Kate mirrors your actions, gently restraining Yelena. Together, the two of you create a barrier between the sisters, preventing the brewing storm from erupting. 

A low whistle interrupts the tension, drawing everyone’s attention to the side of the group. 

Natasha turns her head sharply, her eyes locking onto the same stranger who had intervened during the tavern fight. He was approaching them with another man following close behind. 

“Like I said,” the stranger says with a smirk, his words Natasha realizes directed at you, “you really know how to attract trouble, huh?” 

Natasha’s gaze flicks to you, finding your expression twisted into an annoyed scowl. A deep sigh escapes your lips, and your hand instinctively pushes Natasha slightly behind you, as if shielding her from view. 

“You didn’t need to step in,” you say, your tone sharp and clipped.

“Clearly,” the stranger replies smoothly, his eyes flickering across the group before settling on Natasha. His gaze drops briefly to your hand on her arm, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Looks like you’ve got more people protecting you than just those little twins.”

He nudges the man beside him. “Look, Happy, she even has a knight playing dress-up.”

Natasha shoots a pointed look at Steve, her expression screaming I told you so. 

Steve sighs, clearly catching her unspoken message, and shifts his attention to the stranger, his posture tightening as his eyes narrowed slightly. 

“We should probably go, sir,” the man named Happy suggests quietly, eyeing the group warily.

“Yes, please do,” you snap, your irritation palpable.

Natasha’s brows furrow as she watches you. She’d never seen you this short-tempered with someone before. 

The stranger’s smirk only widens at your tone.

“Fair enough,” he says, turning to leave with a wave of his hand. “Oh, and a small warning,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder, “you’d better bring her home safely. There’s a little redhead who’ll throw a tantrum if you don’t.”

Natasha catches your irritated sigh as you turn back toward her. Tilting her head slightly, she asks, “Who was that?”

You exhale deeply, running a hand over your face. 

“Just ignore him,” you mutter. “He’s someone I hired to help fix the gate at my manor.” 

Natasha opens her mouth to press further, but her sharp instincts catch movement out of the corner of her eye. She turns swiftly, her gaze zeroing in on the two figures attempting to slip away unnoticed.

“Don’t even think about it,” Natasha calls out, her voice sharp as a whip.

Yelena freezes mid-step, groaning loudly before turning back around to face her sister. 

“What?” she asks, her tone feigning innocence as her arms crossed over her chest.

Natasha crosses her own arms, leveling an unimpressed glare at Yelena before shifting her focus to Kate, who stands awkwardly beside her. Under Natasha’s intense scrutiny, Kate caves quickly.

“Yelena made me promise not to tell you!” Kate blurts out, pointing at Yelena as if to absolve herself of guilt. 

“Really, Kate Bishop?” Yelena gasps, swatting Kate’s hand down. “Where is the loyalty?”

The two begin bickering, their voices overlapping as they try to blame each other for the current situation. Natasha closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly in exhaustion.

Steve interrupts the argument with a firm clap of his hands. 

“Can we continue this somewhere safer?”

You glance around the dark alley, your expression skeptical. 

“Is there even such a place around here?”

Yelena raises her hand with a slight, proud smirk.

“I know one.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

a/n: Thank you for the sweet messages about this series. I'm glad to see that you all are excited whenever there's an update. Again, thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

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[bbearthyy]

Pogues share everything. Hear me out alright?

content warning: cock warming, cunnilingus, overstim, slapping, subspace, kinda mommy kink? not rly tho, somno, i think that’s all lemme know if i missed any

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

The pogues are all together. It’s not like a poly relationship exactly; Sarah and John B are married, JJ and Kie are dating, so are Cleo and Pope. HOWEVER - they all share each other.

like just thinking about sometimes when JJ is feeling overwhelmed he’ll find Pope so he can sit in his lap and suck on his fingers, relaxing his jaw and just having them on his tongue, Pope thrusting them into his throat every now and then to keep him entertained. or he’ll go to John B who’s on the couch, just hold the brunette’s cock in his mouth while John B sits on his phone or does whatever he wants, the other pogues floating in and out of the room (sometimes ruffling JJ’s hair when they pass or running their nails gently down his back cause this is normal and he’s just a baby)

or if Kie wakes up horny in the middle of the night and goes to grab a glass of water, and John B just so happens to be in the kitchen at the same time. he eats her out on the counter until she’s in tears and has to push him away because it’s so good

and sometimes Sarah wants to be on top for once, but John B can never bring himself to be submissive so she’ll find JJ. she’ll sit on his face till she cums at least twice and then ride him until he’s fighting to stay awake, trying so hard to be good but he’s cum three times already and “oh fuck mama please i can’t no more plea-“ and she just slaps him. not hard enough to really hurt but just to shut him up for a minute because “i know you can take it baby, just a little longer.”

and maybe cleo will hear them, come join just for the last round, spreading her pretty thighs to keep JJ’s mouth occupied. and when they’re done Sarah will go run a bath and Cleo will hold JJ close and he might cry in her arms but only a little because he’s floaty right now and mama is no where to be found but it’s ok because “Sh sh sh, you’re alright rude boy. She’ll be right back, she’s just getting a bath ready. C’mere.” and JJ will wrap his arms around her stomach and suck on her chest to ground himself until Sarah comes back.

and sometimes one of them will sleep on the couch, wrapping a pretty red ribbon around their index and middle finger on one hand, to let everyone know they’re ready to be used even though they’re sleeping. maybe it’s JJ, and Pope has a bad dream and he goes out there and fucks JJ awake, pounding into him so deep that neither can tell where one of them ends and the other begins. or maybe it’s Cleo, and John B will walk in and eat her like she’s his last meal. forcing her legs apart with his hands and burying his face deeper even when her nails scratch his arms and pull his hair and she cries for him to stop because fuck man she said she wanted to be used not sucked completely dry.

anyways thanks for coming to my ted talk. please be nice if this sucks i’ve never written anything before😭

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

[shaiprsly]

𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 - PT.4

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Elvis Presley x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 1972. Fame, wealth, and the haunting allure of Elvis Presley—everything Y/N could ever want, except the one thing that really matters: a simple, normal life. Hired as the nanny for Lisa Marie Presley, Y/N is thrown into the heart of the Presley world, where she quickly becomes more than just a caretaker for Elvis's daughter. As Priscilla remains distant, Y/N steps in, offering Lisa Marie the affection and attention she craves. But it’s Elvis, cold and aloof at first, who soon becomes captivated by her. With 15 years between them, Elvis begins to blur the lines between professional and personal, showering Y/N with gifts and flirting dangerously. He may be married, but that doesn't stop him from wanting Y/N. Torn between duty and desire, Y/N must face the growing tension, knowing that giving in could shatter everything she’s worked for. Will she resist the King of Rock and Roll, or will his love prove impossible to escape?

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬/𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Cussing, cheating, age gap (Elvis is 37, reader is 22), emotional manipulation. I guess that all !!

𝐀/𝐍 : Haiii, just wanted to clarify that I'm talking about the famous photoshoot of the Presleys here, the date isn't correct!! The real year where the pics have been taken is 1970. And they weren't taken at Graceland.

The soft light of the morning filters into your bedroom as your alarm clock buzzes faintly. Groaning, you stretch out under the covers, reluctant to leave the warmth of your bed. But the clock reads 7:00 AM, and you know you need to start the day.

After a quick shower, you towel off and get dressed. You slip into an off-shoulder olive-green top, the textured fabric hugging your figure comfortably, while the tiered brown ruffled skirt you choose sways softly with each step. Fastening a green leather belt at your waist and stepping into dark brown platform heels, you feel ready to tackle the day. A spritz of your favorite woody perfume and a glance in the mirror seals the deal before you head into the kitchen to pour yourself a cup of coffee.

You’re halfway through your second sip when the phone on the wall rings, breaking the morning silence. Setting your mug down, you cross the room and pick it up.

“Hello?” you say, your voice still groggy from sleep.

“Y/N, it’s Priscilla.” Her voice is brisk but not unfriendly.

“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Presley,” you reply, instantly more alert. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” she assures you, though her tone carries its usual sharp edge. “I’m calling to let you know Elvis and I will be at Graceland this afternoon at 2pm for an hour or two. There’s a photoshoot scheduled with Lisa Marie, and we’ll need you to keep her entertained beforehand and make sure she’s ready.”

“Of course,” you say, nodding even though she can’t see you.

“You’ll need to be here by 10 AM, and you can leave around 11 PM today.” Priscilla continues. “She’ll need lunch and dinner, so plan accordingly. And make sure she’s in a good mood—Elvis doesn’t want her cranky during the shoot.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply, jotting down a quick note to yourself on the counter.

Priscilla pauses for a moment before adding, “Elvis and I will be busy after the photoshoot so we're not gonna be home after that, but we’ll see you briefly when we arrive around 10:50pm tonight. Just keep Lisa Marie happy.”

“I’ll take care of her,” you promise.

“Good,” she says shortly, and with that, the line clicks dead.

You hang up the phone, letting out a soft breath. Graceland days were long, but you didn’t mind spending time with Lisa Marie. She was sweet, if a little headstrong, and you’d grown fond of her.

Finishing your coffee, you grab your handbag and double-check that you have everything you’ll need. It’s just another day at Graceland—but you can’t help but feel a faint flicker of nerves whenever you step into that world.

The drive to Graceland is peaceful, the sun still low in the sky as it casts a golden glow over the treetops. You hum softly to the radio, your nerves fluttering as you approach the iconic gates. With a wave from the guard, the heavy iron gates swing open, and you ease your car up the winding driveway, Graceland’s grand silhouette growing larger with each passing moment.

As you park near the side entrance, the door creaks open before you even step out. Lisa Marie stands there, her little frame leaning against the doorway, her face lighting up the moment she spots you.

“I saw ya, I saw ya!” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “I was lookin’ out my winda an’ I saw ya drivin’ up! Like a princess comin’ in her big carriage!”

Her excitement makes you laugh softly as you grab your bag. “Good morning, Lisa. You’re wide awake already, huh?”

“Uh-huh!” she nods, bouncing on her toes. “been waitin’ for you. Daddy said I gotta do pic-shures today, but don’t wanna. They always make me wear itchy dresses, an’ I don’t like ‘em.”

You step into the cool entryway, kneeling to her height as you gently smooth her bedhead curls. “Well, we’ve got a little time before all that, don’t we? Maybe we can do something fun first.”

Lisa tilts her head, considering your words. “Like what?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you reply with a reassuring smile. “But first, have you had breakfast yet?”

She shakes her head dramatically, her lips forming a pout. “waited fow you. Daddy says gotta eat all my yucky eggs, but I don’t like ‘em. You make better eggs. Not yucky ones.”

“Well, how about we skip the eggs and make pancakes instead?”

Her eyes grow wide, and she gasps, clasping her hands to her chest. “Panny-cakes?! With the little tiny syrupy thingies?”

You laugh. “Yes, with syrup. Let’s go whip some up.”

Lisa grabs your hand eagerly, tugging you toward the kitchen. Her little feet patter softly against the floor as she chatters on. “You’re da best pancake maker in the whoooole world. Better than Daddy, better than Mommy, better than evy-body!”

“Well, that’s a big title to live up to,” you tease, rolling up your sleeves as you reach the kitchen.

Climbing onto one of the chairs, Lisa swings her legs back and forth as she watches you with rapt attention. “Can you make ‘em look like Mickey Mouse? Daddy tried one time, but it looked like a blob,” she giggles, covering her mouth. “A big, funny blob!”

“Challenge accepted,” you say, setting the ingredients on the counter.

As you start preparing breakfast, Lisa’s nonstop chatter fills the quiet kitchen, her giggles and questions making the grand, empty house feel a little less intimidating.

You grab a fresh batch of pancake batter and pour it into the hot pan, trying to make a Mickey Mouse shape, just like the one Lisa Marie asked for. But as you carefully pour the batter, it doesn’t quite turn out how you imagined. The ears are lopsided, and the face is more of a squiggle than anything resembling Mickey Mouse. You frown, poking at the mess with the spatula.

“Uh-oh,” you murmur to yourself, trying to salvage it, but it’s too late. The pancake is already burned on one side and too runny on the other.

Lisa Marie, who’s been bouncing around the kitchen, pauses and looks at the pancake with big, wide eyes. “Is dat Mickey?” she asks, tilting her head and blinking like she’s trying to figure it out.

You laugh nervously, holding up the pancake with a sheepish grin. “Uh, well… it was supposed to be, sweetie.”

She stares at it for a second, then giggles. “It’s Mickey’s... cousin!” she exclaims, pointing to the pancake. “Mickey Mouse’s cousin! He funny.”

You can’t help but laugh too, shaking your head. “Yeah, I think he’s got a bit of a funny face. But hey, it still tastes good, right?”

She nods eagerly, grabbing her fork and taking a big bite. “Mmm, it’s yummy! But he looks silly,” she giggles between mouthfuls.

You serve up the rest of the pancakes, making sure they’re not as disastrous as the first one. As you set the plate in front of her, she claps her hands, excited. “Yay! Pancakes! Lots of pancakes!”

You sit down next to her with your own plate, watching her happily eat her pancake “cousin” and then pour syrup all over it with delight. “I think you like pancakes more than Mickey Mouse,” you tease.

Lisa Marie smiles, syrup dripping down her chin. “Yeah, pancakes are better than Mickey!” She giggles, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her dress, completely unbothered by the mess. “I wike you! You make da best pancakes!”

You smile, feeling a warmth in your chest. “Thanks, sweetie. But next time, I think we’ll leave the Mickey Mouse pancakes to the experts.”

She giggles again, nodding. “Okay! Let’s make more pancakes tomorrow!” she says excitedly, her little hands pushing her empty plate aside to grab another.

“You got it,” you reply, getting up to grab the syrup again.

Lisa Marie just laughs and nods enthusiastically, already digging into her next pancake with glee.

The rest of the morning goes by in a blur of giggles and games. You play hide-and-seek in the big living room, Lisa Marie darting behind furniture with a squeal as you pretend not to see her peeking out. Then, it’s coloring time, her tiny hands clumsily switching between crayons as she insists on drawing a picture of you, herself, and Elvis. The drawing turns out more like scribbles, but she holds it up proudly, saying, “Dis is you, Y/N! See, your hair’s so pwetty!”

After all the fun and running around, you manage to coax her into sitting down for lunch. You prepare her a small plate of chicken nuggets, some mashed potatoes, and green beans, and to your relief, she actually eats most of it while chattering on about her favorite toys and how she wants a puppy.

“Can we get a puppy?” she asks with wide, hopeful eyes as she pops a nugget into her mouth.

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “That’s a question for your daddy, sweetheart.”

She pouts dramatically, but the expression is gone in seconds as she skips off to play again after finishing her plate.

Around 1 PM, it’s time to start getting her ready for the photoshoot. Lisa Marie dances around her room as you look through her closet, trying to pick the perfect dress. You hold up a few options, but she shakes her head at each one.

“Not dat one,” she says, pointing to a pink dress. “It’s too itchy!”

Finally, she gasps excitedly when you pull out a white, blue, and red dress with tiny white dots scattered all over it. “Dat one! Dat’s my princess dress!”

You smile, kneeling down to her level. “This one’s perfect. You’ll look so pretty in it for the photos.”

She grins, bouncing on her toes. “Like a princess!”

You help her into the dress, smoothing the fabric and tying the sash in the back into a neat bow. Once she’s dressed, you brush her soft curls. Lisa Marie admires herself in the mirror, spinning around and giggling as the skirt twirls.

“Do you like it?” you ask, straightening the bow one last time.

She nods enthusiastically. “I’m so pwetty!”

You laugh softly, planting a gentle kiss on her head. “You’re the prettiest, sweet girl.”

Lisa Marie beams up at you, grabbing your hand. “Can we play till Mommy and Daddy come?”

You glance at the clock, noting there’s still a little time before they’re supposed to arrive. “Of course. What do you want to play?”

She tugs you toward her dolls, already deep in thought about what adventure they’ll go on next. The rest of the time passes quickly, filled with laughter and imagination as Lisa Marie bounces between games, her energy seemingly endless.

____

Around 2 PM, the sound of car tires crunching on the gravel outside catches your attention. You glance out the window and see a sleek black car pulling into the driveway, followed closely by another vehicle.

Lisa Marie tugs on your hand excitedly, her curls bouncing as she tries to see. “Is Mommy an’ Daddy here?”

You crouch down beside her and point. “Looks like it, and the photographer’s here too. Are you ready to show them your princess dress?”

She gasps and twirls on the spot, the skirt of her dress flaring out. “I’m so weady!”

Grabbing her hand, you guide her downstairs. Just as you reach the bottom step, the front door opens, and Elvis steps in, followed by Priscilla. The two of them are dressed to perfection, both looking like they’ve just walked out of a magazine.

“Daddy!” Lisa Marie squeals, running toward Elvis.

Elvis crouches to catch her in his arms, lifting her up effortlessly. His lips curve into a warm smile as he spins her around. “Well, don’t you look like a lil’ doll, darlin’.. Ain’t ya just the prettiest thing I ever did see?”

Lisa Marie giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Y/N picked my dwess!”

He glances over at you, his piercing blue eyes locking with yours for a brief moment as he whispers. “Good choice, baby. She looks perfect.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at the nickname, quickly nodding. “She’s the one who chose it, really.”

Priscilla steps inside then, her heels clicking against the floor as she pulls off her sunglasses. She gives you a polite nod before turning her attention to Lisa Marie. “Sweetheart, you look beautiful. Let’s make sure you stay clean before the pictures, okay?”

Before you can respond, the photographer walks in behind them, carrying his equipment. He flashes everyone a bright smile. “Afternoon! Ready to get started?”

Elvis sets Lisa Marie down, ruffling her curls gently. “Let’s get to it, then. Don’t wanna keep anyone waitin’.”

Lisa Marie grabs your hand again, tugging you toward the door. “Come wif me, Y/N! You gotta come see!”

You follow them into the formal sitting room, where everything is already set up for the photoshoot. The ornate chairs and backdrop look like they were arranged yesterday, with the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the setup. Lisa Marie skips ahead of you, her tiny hand still gripping yours tightly, and she looks up at Elvis with wide, excited eyes.

You follow them into the formal sitting room, where everything is already set up for the photoshoot. The ornate chairs and backdrop look like they were arranged yesterday, with the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the setup. Lisa Marie skips ahead of you, her tiny hand still gripping yours tightly, and she looks up at Elvis with wide, excited eyes.

“Daddy! Y/N gonna be in da pictures too, wight?”

Her innocent question catches everyone off guard. You stop in your tracks, glancing between Lisa Marie and Elvis, unsure how to respond. Elvis exchanges a quick look with Priscilla, who raises an eyebrow, and then back at you.

“Uh, baby, this is just for me, your mama, and you,” Elvis explains gently, crouching down to her level.

Lisa Marie’s expression shifts instantly, her lips trembling. “But...but I wan’ Y/N in da pictures! She’s fam’ly too!”

Your heart squeezes at her words, but you kneel beside her, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Lisa, sweetheart, this is a special photoshoot for you and your parents. I’m just here to cheer you on, okay?”

She shakes her head stubbornly, tears welling in her eyes. “No! I wan’ you too! Pwease, Y/N! You gotta!”

Priscilla sighs, crossing her arms. “Lisa, honey, stop fussing. You’ll ruin your dress.”

But Lisa Marie only starts crying harder, clinging to you. “Pwease, Y/N! Don’t weave me!”

You glance at Elvis helplessly, but he gestures for you to handle it. With a soft smile, you brush Lisa’s curls back from her tear-streaked cheeks. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, baby girl. Tell you what—I’ll sit right here, and I’ll make you laugh while you take your pictures. How does that sound?”

She sniffles, looking up at you with watery eyes. “You pwomise?”

“I promise,” you say firmly, holding out your pinky.

She hooks her little pinky around yours, her sobs quieting slightly. Elvis picks her up and carries her to the chair while you find a spot just out of frame. As the photographer begins, you make silly faces and wave your arms dramatically behind the camera, doing everything you can to distract Lisa and make her giggle.

It works—soon, her laughter fills the room, lighting up her face for the photos. Even Elvis can’t hide a smile as he watches you from the corner of his eye. When the shoot finally wraps up, Lisa Marie runs straight to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your neck.

“Thank you, Y/N! You da bestest!”

You hold her close, your heart full. “Anything for you, sweet girl.”

____

You’re standing in the kitchen, rinsing off the last plate from lunch when you hear the sound of boots scuffing lightly against the tile floor behind you. Turning, you see Elvis leaning in the doorway, one arm crossed over his chest, the other casually holding the edge of the frame.

“Afternoon, baby,” he drawls, his voice low and syrupy, the Southern twang unmistakable. “You mind if I keep ya company for a minute?”

You blink, caught off guard, but quickly nod. “Uh, sure. I’m just finishing up here.”

He steps further into the room, leaning his hip against the counter like he owns the space. His gaze flickers over you before settling on your face. “How old are ya, anyhow? You look young, but I can’t figure ya out.”

“I’m twenty two,” you reply, feeling a little self-conscious under his sharp gaze.

“Twenty two,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word. He smirks slightly. “Well, damn. I thought maybe younger. You from Memphis?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m from a small town a couple hours away.”

“Small-town girl,” he muses, his grin widening. “That right? What’d ya do for fun out there, huh? Or you just jump straight into watchin’ other folks’ kids?”

“I didn’t do much,” you admit with a small shrug. “I like to read. Sometimes draw. It’s pretty boring, honestly.”

“Borin’?” He raises an eyebrow, his grin turning crooked. “I don’t believe that for a second. Bet there’s more to ya than you’re lettin’ on.”

He leans a little closer, his voice dropping just slightly. “What about boys? Got a boyfriend back in that little town of yours?”

The question catches you off guard, and your cheeks heat up instantly. “No, I don’t,” you say, stumbling a little over your words. “I… haven’t really had the time for that.”

He chuckles, the sound rich and low. “Smart girl. Boys can be trouble anyway. Nothin’ but headaches most the time.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. His blue eyes wander the room before landing back on you.

You finish up putting the dishes away when you hear Elvis’s voice again, this time softer, more sincere.

“Hey, baby,” he says from the doorway, his tone almost hesitant. He’s not leaning casually against the frame this time—he’s standing a little straighter, a more serious air about him.

You turn to face him, your hands still occupied with drying the plates, but you give him a nod. “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry for the other day. For yellin' at ya,” he begins, his Southern drawl steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability you never heard from him. “I wasn’t myself, and I shouldn’t have treated ya like that.”

You pause, drying your hands on the dish towel, looking at him. You can tell by the way he’s standing, the way his shoulders are slightly slumped, that he means it.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you say, your voice a little more honest than you expected, but you can’t help it. The tension from the past few days still hangs heavy in the air.

He lets out a slow breath, like he’s trying to steady himself before continuing. “It’s just, sometimes… things pile up, ya know? Life gets in the way. I got a lot of pressure on me, and sometimes, I don’t know how to deal with it. Those pills help me cope… but they also make me a little… different.”

You give him a quiet nod, not sure what to say. You’ve heard whispers about Elvis’s struggles before in the newspapers and all, but you'd never imagined him admitting it in front of you like that. The vulnerability in his words catches you off guard.

“They help me,” he continues, looking away for a second, as if finding it hard to look you in the eye. “But sometimes, it’s like they turn me into someone I don’t want to be. I didn’t mean to take it out on you, though.”

You watch him carefully, the softness of his apology settling in. You want to say something comforting, but you aren’t sure how.

“It’s alright, Mr.Presley,” you finally say, your voice quiet but sincere. “I understand. Just… don’t do it when Lisa's here..”

He looks back at you, his eyes softer than before. A small, almost shy smile curves at the corner of his lips. “I promise, shuga.”

You nod as Elvis finishes speaking, his words lingering in the quiet space between you. The apology felt real, and even though it caught you off guard, you appreciated it. You watch as his posture shifts again, a bit of his usual swagger returning.

“Well, I better get goin’,” he says, his voice a little more relaxed now. “I gotta tell Priscilla we need to head out soon. Got a schedule to stick to.”

You give him a small smile and a small nod.

He gives you a quick grin before heading toward the stairs. As he walks past you, you catch a glimpse of that familiar Elvis energy—the kind that fills a room, but it’s gentler now, more thoughtful.

“Take care of yourself,” he adds, pausing just a moment at the bottom of the stairs before continuing his way up.

You stay in the kitchen, listening to his footsteps fade as he makes his way upstairs to tell Priscilla it's time to leave. You take a deep breath, feeling the quiet settle in once more. For now, things feel a little less heavy between you two.

To be continued...

Tags: @jhoneybees @pxpresley 🤍

[elvensorceress]

sunday sentences

@spotsandsocks @chaosandwolves @livinginsunnyhell @rainbow-nerdss @eddiebabygirldiaz @tizniz @bekkachaos @thelikesofus @hippolotamus @rainbow-nerdss @sofa-king-lame @ronordmann @sazanahashi @kejfeblintz @evaneds 💕 tagging anyone who wants to share something no pressure 💕

The last stop before Eddie goes to wait out his remaining hours in LA in his dark, empty house, is his tía’s. 

She meets him in the driveway and hugs him tightly. Too tightly. The way she used to when he was much younger. When everything was overwhelming, lonely, horrible, but he was devoutly holding it in, and Pepa would know he was breaking. She somehow always knew. She’d hug him like she wanted to lift the weight he was carrying and keep it from killing him.

She would cradle Eddie in her arms and tell him it was okay and that he wasn’t bad, he hadn’t failed, he has a good heart and he should have patience, kindness, forgiveness given to him. 

As long as he was in her arms, he wasn’t being crushed and wasn’t alone. And then he’d cry because she told him he could, that it was okay. Then it would feel a little better. 

Who would be able to listen to her reassurance and validation and not cry? Even now, it makes him want to crumble and burst into tears when they hug like this. The feeling is still there, the urge to just let go and break and sob until he’s empty and can’t any more. But he doesn’t.

He got too numb, too old, too jaded for even her words and affection to reach him. It was too hard to believe. They were just faded platitudes. His sins grew to be too great.

This isn’t the same. He’s not punishing himself. He needs to earn happiness. He needs to earn his son back in his life. This is Eddie’s choice. He doesn’t have to do this but he wants to do this so he is doing it. It won’t make everything better, but he’ll have Chris. 

He’s too hollow and numb right now to feel anything else. 

Pepa takes his chin in her hand. “Don’t let them tell you you are anything less than a good father. A wonderful, most selfless father. Don’t you tell yourself that either.” 

Eddie tries to smile genuinely for her. It’s sweet that she believes that and tells him as much. But he’s not sure can ever believe it. He changes the subject instead. “Can you do something for me?” 

“Anything, mijo. What is it?”

The word, the endearment makes his chest tight. He wishes, wishes his aunt could have been his mother. He wishes he could have had a mother who actually felt like a mother to him. Someone who at least attempts to not think the worst of him. “Will you—” He can’t say it. He can’t think it. But he has to. This is his choice. He’ll be happy. Eventually. He needs to be with Chris. He can’t miss out on Chris’ life. “Will you,” Eddie tries again. He just has to get the words out. They’re just words. 

But they make it real. Is that the problem? Is that why they’re so difficult?

He doesn’t even know why he’s asking. Why it feels like he needs to. Other than he knows Pepa and knows she’ll be able to look and reach and connect where other people can’t. Maybe because he knows she’ll be missing Eddie more than most people. Hopefully anyway? And she’ll know what it’s like. She’ll know what to say and how to comfort. She always does. 

Eddie hopes. That’s all he can really do. Hope. 

“Will you look out for Buck?” He finally says. Finally asks. “For me? He’s been. Baking. He likes baking and I’ve been assisting. And I don’t know— I don’t know what he’ll do. How he’ll do. Without. Assistance. He needs someone. He needs—”

He needs someone who loves him unconditionally. Everyone leaves him and Eddie has to leave him and he wasn’t supposed to leave him. They were supposed to be— God, he doesn’t know what they were supposed to be but it’s something. In each other’s lives forever? That at least? 

“I don’t know what he’ll do without me. Not— not me specifically. But without someone like me? Who looks out for him. And you always did that for me. Made me feel better. Loved me no matter what. And he— he needs that, too. I don’t know what he’ll do without that. I don’t know what I’ll…” 

I don’t know what I’ll do without him.

[larvasmoon]

In a Glass Darkly

Pairing- Fem!AstarionxFem!Tav / AstarionxFem!Tav Word count-8,4k Ratiing- 18+ Tags- Female Astarion, oral sex, biting

Ao3 - Masterlist

Astarion finds a mysterious belt in his bag. Things take an unexpected turn when he tries it on...

It’s a frosty night in Neverwinter, and she is shivering under her mantle, walking by the avenue with his hand in hers. He knows it’s stupid, that his fingers can’t warm her own, and that he is as cold as the snow that comes down swirling in front of their eyes. 

And yet, he keeps holding it.

Greedily. Selfishly. 

His palm presses further in her skin, fingers intertwined tighter, as if he’s afraid she’ll disappear or be ripped away from him at every street corner. 

She looks at him from under her hood, nose and cheeks growing red because of the freezing air, smiling so prettily in the bright store fronts.

And like a moth who just wants to share her light, he aches to draw closer.

He bends down, gently cradling her face in his other hand, and presses a firm kiss at the corner of her lips. He lingers there, sheltered from the noise of the busy street, nuzzling against her cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. 

The smell of burning wood, from the fire they’ve lit the night before. The lingering perfume of the rose water he likes to put in her curls when she’s just out of the bath.

I love you so terribly, he thinks, nose pressed right under her ear, as if he wants to inhale all that she is, trap her in his lungs and keep her there, forever. 

A drunk tiefling man bumps into him, staggering and barely standing on his two feet. 

“Oi, find yourself a room will ya? Pfff those horny youngsters,” he grumbles to himself before disappearing in a nearby tavern. 

He’s about to turn around and catch up with the horrid boor when she tugs on his hand, very softly, silently asking him not to make a scene. If she hadn’t held him back, he would’ve taught the man a few lessons, the kinds that would’ve left him all bloodied and cold for the simple crime of interrupting the kisses he was giving her. 

“He’s right, we’re in the middle of the street, Astarion,” she protests, still snuggling in his neck and hiding her face into the thick fabric of his scarf, “Let’s find somewhere to spend the day.”

His arms close around her waist, and he pulls her body flush against his, resting his head on her shoulder, “Just a little longer, darling.”

They have been traveling for a tenday now, walking all the way from Mirabar to Neverwinter, after hearing rumors of the ring of the sunwalker’s gift being in the Jewel of the North. Their journey through the Crag Mountains has been particularly tiring for her. Every day at sunrise, after hours spent on dark steep mountain paths, they would set their camp in some cave or abandoned home. As soon as he'd laid their bedrolls on the floor, she curled up in his arms, pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and eagerly welcomed the embrace of Sehanine.

One that would forever be refused to him now.

As he holds her in the middle of the busy avenue, she melts into him the same way she would at night and he knows that she is getting slumberous. When she looks up at him again, her dark eyes are heavy-lidded, unfocused. 

It awakens some primal urge in Astarion to protect her, take her somewhere warm and comfortable, but he doesn’t dare to move yet, simply stays wrapped around her like a blanket. He lovingly strokes her hair, wishing he could give her everything she has ever wanted. 

A big house with a lovely garden, blooming flower beds as far as the eye can see.

A wide bed with heavy blankets and plush cushions, on which he would make love to her for hours and hours.

Warm and delicious dishes on her table every time her stomach starts to growl. 

Little children running around, with the same eyes and smile as her. 

A nice stroll on a warm and sunny summer’s day. 

And yet here he is, dragging her through all of Faerûn, forcing her to flee the sun and walk in the gloom, searching for a cure he has very little hope of finding and letting her use her magic to the point of exhaustion—What has he ever given her, except for doom and pain ? 

“Is something wrong, love?” she asks, each of her gentle words turning into little vapour clouds in the cold midnight air, “You are frowning again.”

Her warm hands come up to mirror the way he had touched her just before, lightly moving along his brows and forehead to get rid of his sullen expression. It draws a smile out of him, the simple feeling of her fingers following the lines of his face, as if she could shape a better version of him with them. 

A lighter and worriless one. 

For a moment, he almost thinks she could. 

“I have never been better, my sweet,” he says against the skin of her palm, turning his head to the side and laying a kiss there, “Let’s head to the Driftwood tavern, they have wonderful rooms and comfortable beds, or so I have heard. You need all the rest you can get.”

He wordlessly grabs her bag, throws it on his shoulder, takes her hand in his again and sets off. The tavern is not too far away, at a corner of one of the main streets of the Blacklake District. The façade of the old building is inviting, adorned with pretty stained glass windows and arched double doors, warm light pooling out of it and into the snowy streets each time someone new enters the place. 

Astarion makes quick work of getting one of their finest rooms, there is nothing that a few of his charming words can’t buy in this world. He flatters the owner and the great taste with which the place is arranged, swiftly compliments the way she is dressed and the pretty pin in her red hair, until she finally gives him the key to the “Grande Suite” on the highest floor of the inn.

Once they are upstairs, he helps Tav undress and clean up in the large tub of the adjacent bathroom. He gently brushes and braids her hair until she almost falls over, dozing off while he finishes tying her plait with a ribbon. Even in sleep, her hands reach for him, they gently yet persistently tug on his shirt until he lies next to her under the covers. Astarion chuckles and obliges, tucking her under his arm and idly playing with her hair until her breathing is finally deep and even. 

He stays like this for a long time, minutes or maybe hours, slowly losing all sense of time. Behind the closed curtains, the sun is going up and the city is awakening after a long and cold snowy night. People are laughing and chatting in the corridors of the inn, getting ready to leave for the day. Each of the steady beats of her heart against his silent one is a comfort, a grounding melody that keeps him present and tied to reality.

But no matter how hard he tries, he cannot trance. 

His mind is still racing, unable to let go of the idea that he doesn’t deserve her, that all the love she pours into him is like water in a broken jar. It leaks and drips out of every crack and split in his shattered being, wasted on someone that won’t receive it or reciprocate it the way it deserves to be.

After a little while, Astarion silently slips out of her arms and drapes the blankets around her, quietly heading to the main room to sit in front of the fire in one of the armchairs. Gloomy and discontent, he plays with one of his daggers, spins it between his pale fingers time and time again, while thinking about the things he could do to prove his love to her.

He is supposed to be good with his words. He has spent most of his long life sweet talking people, manipulating them into following him back to his master’s palace, but when he is with her, they are never quite enough. All of his “I love you” sound fake and phoney to his own ears, they have no value in the mouth of a man who has said it too many times without actually meaning it.

Each day is different since the end of their adventures. They find new paths to climb up to, new dangerous leads to follow, new places to call their home, but Astarion’s feelings are unwavering. He so desperately wants to find a way to show to her that she is in each and every of his thoughts, even the darkest and saddest ones. Something that would convince her that he can no longer imagine a life in which she is not adored by him. A token of his everlasting love. 

His eyes land on his travel bag, negligently laying against the wall alongside Tav’s. It reminds him of all things he has looted along the way, on all of the foes he has killed and on the many corpses he has stripped of their possessions. There’s a pretty ruby ring he has kept there for a few months now, the perfect size for Tav’s ring finger…and the perfect fit for a wedding ring. 

He frantically rummages through his packsack, laying on the carpeted floor the many trinkets and jewels he has collectionned over time. Countless sapphires or crystals, hand-crafted wooden boxes adorned with little pieces of nacre, pearl necklaces and diamond rings, messily scattered in front of him like he is searching through a pirate’s treasure chest. 

“Ah, there you are, you pretty thing!” he exclaims, happily looking at the way the light reflects on each of the facets of the big red stone it is adorned with.

He can already picture it on her hand, shimmery and red like a drop of blood on her smooth and soft skin.

Astarion is about to put it all away again when something catches his eyes at the very bottom of the bag, something he didn’t even remember having in the first place. It sparkles in the dark, eerily shimmering as though it is not exactly glinting in the light, but rather shining on its own. He hesitantly reaches for it, his fingers skimming across the cold metal of what seems to be a clasp. 

As he unfurls the mysterious object, Astarion discovers that it is a very beautiful belt, a finely crafted accessory, worthy of a duke or a king. The leather band is adorned with a river of rubies and emeralds, of all shapes and sizes, fastidiously sewn in the middle of gold thread embroideries. He inspects it very closely, looking for any trace of the magic he felt earlier, but apart from its undeniable beauty, it’s just one unremarkable belt. 

Another stunning piece of clothing that must have caught his eyes. Nothing more. 

He vaguely remembers the way Tav used to spend hours lecturing him on the caution one has to exert when stumbling upon a new object, something he never really managed to do. He’d steal some fineries on a dead man and recklessly try them on, spinning on himself and making a show of proving that they looked better on him than on their previous owner.

"Please be more careful, Astarion. What if this thing is cursed? What if there’s some spell tied to it? Let me take a look at it before putting it on. It’ll save us a lot of trouble … "

This time is no different, and while she is carefree and sound asleep in the next room, he impulsively tucks his shirt in his breeches and tries the fancy thing on. He happily hums a tune to himself as he pushes the leather band through the golden buckle, completely unaware of what is about to happen. 

It’s barely noticeable at first, a slight buzzing feeling in his limbs that he doesn’t acknowledge, too busy admiring the way the belt hugs his hips.

And then, all of a sudden, it strikes him. Searing hot and electric like thunder. 

A wave of scalding heat that travels through his body, from head to toe.

“Hells!” he breathes, realizing with horror that he truly has been deceived by the accessory's gorgeous appearance, “I need to take this off quickly!”

His entire body jolts, all of his muscles spasming and aching, as he falls to his knees. The world spins and blurs in front of his eyes, and suddenly he is so dizzy that he can’t even sit straight. He slumps to the floor, his legs flailing around when the leather horrifyingly tightens around him. There’s a spiral of fire underneath his navel, a sensation that is neither pleasurable or painful, but somewhere in between. It tingles and it itches, turning and twisting deep under his skin, where the belt encircles his body. Astarion groans, uselessly tugging on it with clammy hands, but it’s all pointless.

Like so many times before, he cannot do anything to save himself.

His eyes turn to look at the closed bedroom door, he wants to scream, to call for Tav, but no sound ever comes out of his mouth.

A veil of darkness slowly falls over his eyes and he feels himself dangerously slipping away, losing consciousness.

**

When Astarion opens his eyes again, he is still lying on the floor, blankly staring at the embers of the dying fire in the hearth.

He quickly gets up before furiously patting his waist to see if the belt is still there.  

And to his horror, it still is. 

What did that thing do to him ? 

As he thoroughly inspects his body, he imagines all the terrible ways in which it could have altered his appearance or violated his physical integrity. 

Giving him a dragon tail.

Covering his skin with countless dark scales. 

Gracing him with an extra leg or arm.

Or god forbid, messing up with his hair and dashing looks!

Nothing feels different at first and it takes him a few seconds to notice the way his clothes don’t fit him anymore. His sleeves are too long, his breeches are tighter around his backside but feel too wide around his waist. Everything sags and slides off of his figure. 

It’s only when he looks down to tie the laces of his ruffled shirt a little tighter that he finally understands. There, standing still in front of the dim glow of the lit candelabras, he can clearly see the way the neckline hangs unusually low on his chest, down to his stomach, generously exposing his chest … Or what should have been his chest. 

Two pale breasts emerge from under the frills instead, round and dainty. 

For a moment, he thinks he is hallucinating or dreaming, that it is merely a side-effect of the crippling fear he felt just a little while ago. His shaky hands glide over them, weighing the supple and sensitive flesh, making it move and bounce against his ribs, until he eventually comes to the dreadful conclusion that it feels too real to be an illusion. Then, he anxiously tugs on the waistband and notices that things also changed quite a bit down in the confines of his pants. 

His manhood is nowhere to be seen. 

“No no no, this cannot be happening!” he starts panicking, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace like a caged lion, “What in the sweet hells am I supposed to do now? I should’ve left this stupid belt where it was!”

Even his voice is also considerably different— higher pitched than it was before but still slightly lower than Tav’s, rich and warm toned but undeniably feminine. 

His eyes frantically dart around, looking for something and anything that could be of use to undo this mess. What if he cut through the leather and forcibly took the belt off? 

Astarion grabs one of his daggers, determined to violently tear his way through it, even if he has to hurt himself in the process. He has already placed the blade against his belly, its sharpness digging both into the band and into his skin, when he hears a hushed sound next door. The wood board creaks and soon, the door cracks open. 

Right when he thought things couldn’t get worse, Tav appears on the threshold, all messy hair and sleepy eyes. 

“Astarion? I heard a loud noise,” she says, rubbing her eyes and yawning, “Is everything alright?”

He quickly turns his back to her and crosses his arms on his chest to hide the evidence of his condition.

“Of course, my love,” he coughs, ridiculously trying to lower his voice and mimic what used to be so effortless, “ I’m sorry I woke you up, go back to sleep, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

There’s a beat of silence before he hears her draw closer, her naked feet silently treading on the floor behind him. Her scent washes over him and he almost instinctively turns around to find refuge in her arms. 

“You are obviously not okay,” she gently says as she lays a warm hand on his shoulder, “You’ve been acting strange all day.”

He grows tense, restless, when she bends over to try and see his face. She is so close that she could see the way he is drowning in his own clothes, or notice the way his voice doesn’t even remotely sound like him anymore.

“Astarion,” she asks again, more insistently this time, “Please, talk to me.” 

He knows that he is only buying time : he won’t be able to hide it from her for long and he doesn’t know how to handle this problem on his own. His lover also happens to be wonderfully stubborn, she won’t leave him alone until she knows what is troubling him.

“Promise me you won’t laugh or get angry, darling,” he finally answers, nervously fumbling with the seam of his ill-fitting night shirt. 

“You’re starting to scare me.” 

He stiffly turns around to face her, waiting for her to scold him for his carelessness.

But, strangely enough, the rebuke never comes. 

Tav’s eyes grow wide at first, she looks him up and down a few times, frantically staring at his chest then at his hips before looking up at his face again. After a few seconds, her gaze settles on his half exposed breasts and she goes red as a beetroot.  

“Gods above,” she gasps, doing her best to look him in the eyes but failing abysmally, “What happened ?”

“What a pleasant surprise,” Astarion thinks, suddenly a little less worried about the whole endeavor. He simply did not expect her to be so … enthralled by his new appearance. There’s a glint in her eyes that he has learnt to recognize. It reminds him of the nights they spent around the campfire all those months ago, back when he was still courting her and back when she still blushed whenever he looked her way. Now, whenever she is giving him that particular look, it doesn’t take long before her clothes are off, and he has his mouth or hands on her. 

“Well, a very unfortunate accident might or might not have taken place while you were asleep,” he giggles, taking a few steps towards her, until he is so close he can smell all the oils she rubbed on her skin earlier, while it was still wet and flushed from her bath.

Notes of lavender and vanilla gently float in the air.

She shakily points at his belt before letting out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t tell me it’s because of this belt that you are wearing. Where did you even find it?”

“I have no idea, darling. All I know is that I forgot I had it in my bag and when I tried the wicked little thing on, ta-da ! It had a little surprise in store for me.”

He dramatically gestures towards his body, like he is a magician doing a trick on a stage and he is the main attraction of his own show. 

“If I’m right, there’s a bad news and a good one,” she solemnly declares, comically stealing a few more glances at his chest before continuing her very serious explanation, “ If I’m right, this girdle is probably a very rare cursed item. I read about it in a book a long time ago, and it completely changes the wearer’s sex. Now, the good news is that it’s not irreversible.”

“So what is the plan? What do we do next?” 

Her eyes follow the motion of his lips while he talks and he wonders if they changed as much as the rest of him did. “Would you like a little taste, my love ?” he internally laughs, ready to give her a long and thorough kiss nevertheless.

“A remove curse spell should do just fine,” she sighs again, quickly heading back towards the bedroom like she is suddenly eager to put some distance between them, “I think I have a scroll in my satchel.” 

He trails behind her and pensively stands near the bed while she kneels on the floor, looking through the few spell scrolls that she always keeps in her little leather bag. 

“There, this should be enough to turn you back to your old self,” she says after a little while, proudly holding the rolled piece of paper in her hand, “Come, I’ll free you of whatever this is.” 

Astarion closes the distance between them and, once again, she cannot help but blush under his gaze. Her little heart hammers in her chest and blood rushes to her face, cheeks tinged with pink.

She is about to unfold the scroll and read it out loud when his hand shoots up to curl around her wrist.

“Wait, don’t use it yet, darling.” 

Now that he knows that there is a remedy, a way out, his outlook on the situation is changing. 

A single lecherous thought is at the forefront of Astarion’s mind. 

Why not enjoy this while he can? He’d be an idiot not to make the most out of it.

He wants to make love to her in this body, he wants her to touch him while he is in this shape, he wants to know what it feels like for her when she comes on his hand or finds release while he thrusts inside of her— 

“Why?” she asks, abruptly bringing him back to reality and interrupting his lewd thoughts. 

When he touches her again to cradle her face in his hands, there’s a shakiness to his movements, a hint of uncertainty in the way he holds her. His thumb tenderly traces her lower lip and he leans to press a small yet lingering kiss there. Entirely chaste compared to the way he would usually entangle his tongue with hers, take his sweet time to savor her. 

“Have you ever been with a woman before?” 

The words hang in the air, like another kind of spell, bold and electrifying. They make her drop the scroll that she had in her hand, and hungrily chase his lips in return. 

“I have,” she says as soon as their mouths separate, puffy from how passionately she threw herself at him,“It doesn’t matter to me, I don’t really think about such things.”

This is not uncommon amongst elves, he knows it. The great sexual freedom of his people extends far beyond such futile considerations, many of the elves he has crossed paths with in his two hundred years of existence were versatile lovers. Seeking pleasure in the arms of whoever caught their eye or stole their hearts : in men, in women, and in all the beauty that lies in between. 

“I know that look in your eyes, I’ve seen it a thousand times before,” his delicate hand traces her collarbone and the soft swell of her bust under the collar of her night shirt, “You want me.” 

Tav leans a little bit more into him, pupils all but blown under the shadow of her long lashes, and something about this all affair suddenly becomes unbearable. 

“Would you please teach me, darling? What feels good,” he murmurs, taking her hand and languidly placing it under his shirt, pressing her palm on his naked breast, right above where his beating heart should be, “I want to know more about women’s heavenly anatomies… and about yours.”

The sensation sends thrills of pleasure down his spine and he lets out the softest of sighs. Her eyes roam his body, unbashful. If she could undress him with them, he is pretty sure all of his clothes would be gone by now. Magically torn off his body by whatever enchantment resides in those spellbinding irises. 

“Are you sure this is what you want, Astarion?” she quietly asks, moving her fingers to gently toy with his nipple under the thin cotton fabric, making him throb in his pants. 

The sensation is unfamiliar, unsettlingly delectable, but he gladly welcomes it, already entrusting her with all that he is. 

He drags her closer by the hips, brushing his lips against her jaw and neck. "I am, if the fact that I’m so turned on I could come right now is any indication.” 

It’s all the answer she needs before she urgently shoves him onto the bed and straddles his hips, like she has so many times before. She only stops to clumsily take his shirt off his back and bare his chest to her hungry eyes. 

“You need to tell me if anything feels uncomfortable, alright? And I’ll stop right away,” she blurts out, barely leaving him enough time to nod before she captures his mouth in a searing kiss again. 

Astarion’s fingers greedily glide through her braid, unmaking it, untying one more long lock of her hair each time her lips hypnotically moves against his. How many times has he thought while embracing her that he will never ever grow tired of the way she feels ? He could be at death’s door, graciously offered by the gods to experience one very last earthly pleasure, and he’d still choose to have her like this all over again. Every single one of the kisses she gives him always simultaneously feels like it’s the first and the last one she’ll ever give him. Unmatched in its glory and desperate in its fervor.

Tav pushes him down in the cushions and he lies under her, deliciously at her mercy. 

Offering his body to her, naked from the waist up, trembling with desire. 

He grumbles when her lips eventually leave him, traveling down his chest instead. She occasionally likes to lick or kiss his nipples during sex, butthis feels entirely different. Her warm palms slide on the sides of his bust, pressing his boobs against her face so she can grace them with a few precise and hot swipes of her tongue. One obscene moan echoes in the room when she takes his nipple in her mouth. 

Sucking and rolling it between her plump lips.  

It takes him a bit of time to understand that he is the one making that sound, that he is throwing his head back and lifting his hips off the bed each time glides her tongue over his skin. 

How prettily she makes him chant and sing without even getting him out of his pants.

Two dark eyes lift to stare at him. The fluttering flame of the lit lantern on the nightstand eerily reflected in those black pits, ablaze with lust.

His lover shifts on top of him and her long and untamed hair make her look like one of those goddess statues, in the hushed darkness of some abandoned temples, tall and magnificent when their crowned heads reach the sky. Astarion wants to worship her, kneel at her feet in boundless reverence, but she isn’t done bestowing her graces upon him yet. She won’t allow it.

“You’re so beautiful, Astarion” she breathes, admiring her work with a devotion that is not unlike his, caressing his skin like he is made of a celestial material that a mortal like her shouldn’t be allowed to touch, “ Then and now… You always were and always will be.”

The sight of her like this, perched on top of him, disheveled and divine, is almost enough to make him tumble over the edge.

And she hasn’t even touched him properly yet .  

Her thumbs draw little circles on his nipples as she continues to hold his boobs in the palms of her hand. “Look how red and wet they are, so out of place in the middle of all that milky white skin. Makes me want to tease you until they are all aching and bruised.” 

Nails scraping the sensitive skin of his ribs and belly, her hands skim over the belt and settle on his clothed groin. One of her fingers dips down to trace it, rubbing the fabric of his underwear and pants on his sweetest spot. 

“I wonder if you would look the same down here,” she whispers, sliding down the length of his body to lie between his opened legs, “If I licked you again and again and turned you into a quivering mess.”

She has a mouth on her, in every sense of the term. The things she says wrap around his body as he pictures them in his mind, like a sensuous and depraved phantom touch.

“Why don’t you see for yourself, my love?” 

A dangerous smile settles on her lips and in a flash, she leans back and rips his pants down, throwing them somewhere on the floor behind her. She leans on his naked thigh, her long curls draping over his knee, tickling him as she lays tender and featherlight kisses up his leg. It’s sweet and it’s wicked, the way she keeps torturing him with the feeling of her cheek and mouth nuzzling against his skin.

Leaving him wanting more. Never quite giving him enough of her to satiate his hunger.

Astarion starts to squirm, growing impatient under her ministrations, but she seems to be purposefully ignoring what’s under her nose, literally. She chuckles, nibbling and biting his mound as she finally parts him with her fingers. Still making an effort not to touch him anywhere that feels good. 

Dazed and limp with desire, he distantly hears her say that he looks gorgeous, pink and dripping with arousal. 

But it is all starting to be too much for him, he wants her so much it’s painful. All of his muscles tense and contract every time she caresses any part of his body.

“Darling,” he says, half a groan, half a complaint, when she resumes her little game and denies him his pleasure once again. 

“You did this to me so many times, remember ?” she asks, tentatively hovering above the apex of his thighs, “Touching me everywhere but where I wanted you to, making me wait for the moment you would finally kiss me between my legs. I’m merely giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

Every time she talks and breathes right above his pulsating slit, he twitches and moans a little. 

“If you say please, I’ll consider it,” she smirks, unconsciously inching a little closer already.

He grips the sheets in his clenched fists, unable to go on without her touching him in some way anymore. 

“Fuck fuck ” he rumbles, glaring down at her before finally giving in to her request, “Please, darling. For the love of god, please put your mouth on me.”

And miraculously she does. 

He releases one long indecent moan when she finally takes him in her pretty mouth, sucking relentlessly, until the room is filled with wet vulgar sounds. 

The pleasure he feels in this body is a thumping ecstasy, like something taking flight in his lower belly, fluttering its wings in his core. Both the butterfly and the flower lie between his hips, dripping with morning dew when she kisses him with her tongue. 

It’s messy and he keeps waiting for the moment it’ll finally fly away and sore higher, reaching the great and promised euphoria.

If it’s what it feels like when I go down on you, he confusedly thinks, his head lolling to the side when her fingers leave his hips to gently prod at his entrance, I should do it every single day. 

“You said you wanted to know more about a woman’s body. Allow me to show you something, a little place you will adore, hm? ”

She rests the side of her devastatingly beautiful face on his thigh like she did earlier, patiently looking up at him. Waiting for him to say that she can put her fingers inside him, he realises. 

Astarion reaches down, cradling her cheek in his palm, wiping her soaked chin and mouth with his thumb.

“I’m all yours, darling. I always am, do what you will with me,” he huskily says, chest heaving and voice breaking along the edges. 

Tav smiles, so tenderly that he almost wants to drag her up and have his ways with her already. The rest be damned. 

He has no time to delve on that thought before she is back on him again, her index deliciously finding its way in his warmth, pressing inside as she endlessly laps his clit. Then, she adds another finger, creeping a little higher with every up-and-down motion of her hand. Fabulously stretching and filling him up.

There’s a specific spot that she hits after a little while, so far inside it might be not too far from his cervix, that makes him tremble and say incoherent things. 

Sluggishly going on and on about how heavenly she feels; how her lips are heavenly when they press on whatever part of his body; or how her hands must’ve been blessed by the goddess Sune.

Astarion gasps as she latches on him one last time, and suddenly, here it is. 

The orgasmic delirium of his release. 

Nothing rushing out of him like it usually would. Just fireworks inside. A few powerful wing strokes in the gloom of his new anatomy. 

So intense that he doesn’t make any sound, simply convulses time and time again, while she helps him fly through his high a little longer. 

When his mind clears a little, she is straddling him again. Still completely dressed against his naked body, looking at him like he is the most glorious thing she’s ever seen. 

“So how did you like that? Not disappointed?” she says, smoothing out a few of his silver curls and gently caressing his face. 

He giggles like she just said the stupidest of things, incredulously shaking his head. “If I’m disappointed? Darling, that was … amazing.” 

It is dark enough for them to leave the inn and roam the city once again, it has been for quite a little while now. 

But Astarion is not ready to go yet.

It is his turn to give her pleasure now and nothing will stop him from making love to her for a few more hours.

“So amazing in fact that I’m dying to see if I remember what you showed me correctly,” he adds, flipping them around until he is on top of her, “Would you help me make sure of it, my love?”

Her shirt is the first thing he peels off of her, crushing his nose in between her boobs to bathe himself in her scent. 

The one that lies underneath all of her perfume, the primal scent of her skin and blood, the distinct aroma of her body that he would recognize everywhere. In a crowded street. In a room filled with strangers. 

Her pants and underwear slide off her legs as he is already pulling her first moans out of her. 

He is about to slide her legs on his shoulders, ready to feast on her, when she speaks again. 

“Bite me, Astarion,” she says, and his hips involuntarily thrust against the mattress, chasing a friction that is now completely out of reach. 

Her legs open a little wider for him, the veins of her thigh quickly pulsating under the soft unmarred skin. He has never bitten her there yet, it is still a blank canvas, ready for him to leave his mark.  

“Please,” she persists, nudging gently on his head to get him closer to where she wants him to sink his teeth.

Desire has only barely left his body that it is back, stronger than before, as he presses countless desperate and hurried kisses right where he is about to make her bleed. 

“You know I can’t refuse you anything, my love.”

The bite is slow, unhurried, affectionate in its own brutal way, and they both moan when blood starts to rush in his mouth.

These days, he has learnt to take his time when he feeds on her, lingering as long as he can against her, petting her hair, caressing her skin, hugging her tighter. This time though, his touch doesn’t aim to comfort or soothe her.

No, this time he almost makes her come with his hands while he drinks from her. Playing with the hood of her clit until it swells with desire, hungrily watching it pulsate under his finger. 

When his teeth leave her skin, Tav whines, slick and spread in front of his bloody mouth. 

He’s had his fill of her and yet, Astarion still wants to devour her, in more ways than the ones he already has.

Red trickles down from the raw bite and onto her inner thigh. Dripping down on her slit and mixing with the small glistening river that is already pouring out of her.

It makes him shudder, his scarlet eyes glowing bright in the dim atmosphere, staring in awe at the ways she oozes blood and liquid pleasure. Before she has time to move or shy away, he hungrily plunges his tongue inside her. His eyes roll in the back of his head when he tastes her blood and her wetness all at once. She is everywhere, on his tongue, around his fingers, endlessly running down his throat. He vaguely hears her moan prettily again, too engrossed in his task and half-delirious from how infatuating she is. Soon, she comes into his open and sucking mouth again, reverently calling his name time and time again. Her hand tightens in his curls, thighs violently shaking against his cheeks, twitching as he continues to eat her like a maddened beast. 

With each new flick of his tongue she sighs and groans, overstimulated.

“Where is the scroll, my love ?” he asks, kissing his way up her belly, smearing blood around her belly button and chest, until he sloppily finds her mouth again. Making her taste herself on his tongue.

Their breasts press against each other, pillowy and sensitive, and he relaxes further into her. 

How perfectly their bodies mold against each other when he is like this…two sides of the same coin, two mirrored reflections, two works of art traced from the same model. 

“Somewhere on the floor.”

Tav’s touch travels between their bodies, past his hips, until she is drawing circles there once again. She voraciously licks and nibbles along the column of his throat, her fingers rhythmically moving in and out of him while she abuses his nape, deftly playing with this new and sweet part of his body.

“I want to be inside you, darling,” he begs in her hair, out of breath and blinded by pleasure,“ Please, get this damn belt off of me. I want to move inside you until you see stars, I want to make you come on my cock.” 

She lets out a shuddered breath and fumbles in the dark, bending down to look for it. As soon as she finds it, she says the words, loud and clear. The girdle starts to shine again, and she unbuckles it from his hips with shaky hands, clumsily sliding it off his hips and throwing it away on the floor.

The transition to his old body isn’t as scary and spectacular as the transformation was. It’s like an expansion, a big breath taken after long minutes spent underwater, a soothing wave washing over him and his scorched body. He slumps against her with a groan, toes curling against the sheets when he’s finally back into his original form. 

The soft press of her lips on his forehead is the first thing he feels, and the gentle words she speaks against his skin are the first thing he hears, “Welcome back, love.” 

Her wide and wet eyes skim over his features, admiring his face with a fondness that is not lost on him. His heavy and aching length falls against her lower belly, leaking with precum, as they lovingly stare at each other.

“Already hard?” Tav chuckles, smiling up at him in the way that makes the pretty dimples on the side of her mouth more visible. 

“What do you mean 'already' ? I always want you, whenever, wherever. You just have no idea how much—”

Pleasure unexpectedly coils in his belly as she takes him in her hand again, coaxing a low growl out of his chest when she languorously slides her fingers up and down. “Show me then.”

She could make him come like this, just a few of her expert caresses, and he’d reach his climax again. For what feels like the hundredth time of the night. 

It is not exactly what he has in mind though.

Tav moves to unhurriedly fondle his back and hips, caressing every bit of skin while he kisses her long and hard. When her hands land on his ass, she deliciously squeezes.

A renewed invitation to make love to her. 

He doesn’t resist for long, she looks far too beautiful for him to be able to. Hair spread around her on the sheets, a pearly sheen of sweat on her feverish skin, her soft thighs impatiently draping around his hips like a new sort of magical belt. 

The bed creaks under them when he enters her, inch by inch, with a few slow and sensual thrusts of his hips. Deeper and further every time. 

“As much as I loved our little 'experiment', this is still the way I like you the best,” he whispers against her cheek, peppering little kisses everywhere on her face, “Sprawled under me, legs spread open, all flushed and ready to welcome me.” 

A few drops of sweat trickle down his spine as he tries to contain himself, relishing in the way she is tightly wrapped around his length and body. Gods, he wants to move harder into her, find the sweet spot that she showed him earlier and make her sob. 

But she is still trembling after her orgasm, shivering in the afterglow. He keeps an excruciatingly slow rhythm for a little while, up until he feels her growing restless, hips lifting off the mattress and meeting each of his thrusts with one of her own.

“I just thought of another way to put what I learnt into practice,” he says, lewdly licking the shell of her pointy ear to make her twitch and spasm between her legs.

“How?” she asks, a sound that is more akin to a breathy moan than a word.

“Like this.” 

He swiftly slips out of her and turns her flat on her belly. As much as he likes seeing her face while he makes love to her, admiring the way pleasure washes over her when she comes, this is much better for what he has in mind. 

The headboard violently slams into the wall as he settles into her again in one perfect thrust. 

“Ah-ah-Astarion,” she moans into the pillow, her ears and nape taking a lovely pink shade, “What-”

One of his hands snakes underneath her body, pressing firmly on her lower belly and lifting her backside up in the air. He kneels behind her and angles his hips slightly differently, rolling them against her times and times again until he hits that delicious spot inside, the one that made him wail earlier.

So deep that he feels like he is melting away into her skin, disappearing into her body.

She has never made such beautiful sounds before, a string of choked and melodic moans in the middle of which he thinks he hears his name from time to time.

Tav is the first to come, stringing him along towards the edge and screaming “ I love you ” so loud that he is sure everyone in the inn is hearing her.

How scandalous… he thinks, bending down to kiss her back and prolong her ecstasy, loud lovemaking in broad daylight, I hope the owner likes what she's hearing.

They fall on their sides, facing each other again, legs entangled and foreheads pressed against each other. 

“So much for letting you rest…” he jokes, staring at all the little specks of green in her irises, like moss on a forest’s soil.

She laughs, a warm and comforting sound that is enough to silence most of his fears and worries.

“This is resting in my vocabulary.”

Her heart is so loud he could almost believe it’s his own, thumping hard against the blood-stained sheets. Astarion wouldn’t be surprised if loving her made it beat once again some day, she always makes him feel so very… full of life.

Maybe the cure was never in any of the countless realms and cities they have visited, maybe it was in his arms. All along. 

“You gave me such a fright,” she sighs, curling against him, like a little ball of sunlight, “but it was fun, you were so very dazzling with that belt on.” 

“Which Astarion did you prefer, darling?” he laughs, curling one strand of her hair around his finger, “I could put it back on if you liked the other version more.”

She looks up at him to answer, taking his face in her hands and giving him countless little small kisses. On his nose. On his temples. In the middle of his eyebrows. On his cupid’s bow. 

“I love you just the way you are, intensely, deeply, irrevocably,” she says, a light so bright in her eyes they almost look golden, “I wouldn’t have you any other way, you silly silly man. Don’t you ever doubt it.”

Why do you always read into me like in an opened book ? Why do you always say the things I so desperately need to hear ?” he marvels, wondering how a wretched creature like him ever managed to win the heart of a woman like Tav.

“So please let’s sell this cursed thing, tomorrow,” she says, hugging him a little tighter, before chuckling again, “Even if your boobs were truly glorious.” 

“I love you too, darling,” he whispers in her ears, her hips buckling under his hands, “so much that those three little words are never quite enough to express what I feel for you.” 

His thoughts drift back to the ring he left on the floor earlier, the little jewel that would mean more than the countless sweet words he could croon to her.

“There’s something I’d like to give you,” he says, reluctantly loosening his hold on her and getting up, “Just a minute, my love.”

Astarion hurries back to the main room to fetch it, all buttnaked and glorious. He ridiculously searches through all of the little treasures he has left scattered in front of the fireplace earlier until he finally gets hold of it. Anxiously wondering if tonight is the right night for any of this. 

When he comes back, she is still all stretched out and naked in the crumpled sheets of the bed in which he just made love to her. She playfully stares back at him, like she expects him to show her another one of the weird items he keeps in his bag, something that would get them into another sex-crazed frenzy. 

He kneels at the feet of the bed instead and her eyes grow wide and teary. 

“Will you marry me, darling?” he says, voice growing hoarse, presenting the ring to her in his trembling hand. “I know that life by my side isn’t exactly blissful at the moment, that all I can offer to you are run-down tavern rooms and countless nights spent wandering through all of Faerûn but — Would you still stay with me now and forever? I have aimlessly roamed this land for more two hundred years now, enchained and enslaved, wondering what the true purpose of my existence was. And then I’ve met you, I’ve known you, I’ve loved you. And I could go through each and every of the things I had to endure all over again, all the pain, all the sufferings, if only I had the certainty of meeting you on the other side of hell. You make all of my hardships meaningful. You are the light I did not expect to find in all of that darkness.”

A few tears silently fall down her cheeks, her lips trembling as she tries to speak a few times. At loss for words. 

“So will you keep shining down on me or not?” he asks again, and she frantically nods, giving him the brightest smile he has ever seen her make. 

The bed creaks so loud when she hops down from it that he is sure it’s broken. She throws herself against him and he almost falls back on the floor, awkwardly resting on his forearms while she buries her face in his neck. 

Sobbing, laughing — or both at the same time, he is not sure. 

“Yes,” she starts repeating again and again, choking on her tears, “A thousand times yes, Astarion.”

He kisses long and deep, until she is all out of breath, laughing in his arms like she just had one too many glasses of wine. 

Drunk on love. 

They spend the day and the following night in bed that night instead of looking through the city for the ring of the Sunwalker’s gift, holding each other through the darkest hours, trancing and dreaming about a future that doesn’t seem so out of reach anymore. 

In the sun or in the dark. 

But together, forever. 

[shan-yee]

•𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘐 = 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 𝙣𝙨𝙛𝙬 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙄

•𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 = 𝙎𝙖𝙠𝙪𝙧𝙖, 𝙎𝙪𝙤, 𝙐𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙮𝙖

•𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 = 𝙎𝙚𝙭, 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙤𝙤𝙘 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙, 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙧, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

•𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 = 3148

•𝘈/𝘕 = English is not my first language, please let me know if you see any mistakes ! Enjoy ✨

——— 𝐒 𝗨 𝗠 𝗠 𝗔 𝗥 𝗬 • • •

𝐈 :: 𝗦𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗿𝗮

𝐈𝐈 :: 𝗦𝘂𝗼

𝐈𝐈𝐈 :: 𝗨𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘆𝗮

╰─► 𝐈 ･ ｡ﾟ☆ 𝗦𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗿𝗮

[Biting/marking]

⇰ So, I think that under the emotions Sakura will have the reflex to bite his partner, during an orgasm for example. His goal will not even be to mark, just a way of reacting under the pleasure.

⇰ But in situations where sex is initiated by jealousy he will leave teeth marks as a way of reassuring himself but also to show that the reader is his.

⇰ Sakura doesn't really leave hickeys, he honestly doesn't know how to do it, so teeth marks are his signature. Also, he will never take the time to learn how to give hickeys.

⇰ He secretly likes it when his partner leaves marks on him although he is quite reluctant at first, probably his misplaced pride.

⇰ But in front of the mirror he will begin to observe each mark carefully and touch them with his fingertips, this is proof that the love he experiences and receives is very real.

⇰ On the other hand, he will categorically refuse to let his girlfriend leave them in visible places. He would die of shame if anyone said something about them.

[Vocals]

⇰ during his first experiences, taking into account the foreplay, I don't think he will let go and therefore will be really vocal.

⇰ if we take a blowjob for exemple, I can clearly see him with furrowed eyebrows, red cheeks, and the back of his hand on his mouth while he bites his lower lip to hold back his moans.

⇰ Because, given his character, I would say that he is more the type to moan than to groan.

⇰ It will take time and reassuring words for him to finally relax and I think he will never really let go except, maybe, in moments of overstimulation.

⇰ At the start of intercourse he will always have the habit of biting his lip but with one or two caresses on it and soft words he will stop and let the sounds come out.

⇰ He also particularly likes to hear his partner moan, it's a kind of ego boost even if he won't say it.

⇰ He will do anything to hear her and if she covers her mouth he won’t say anything but will show his displeasure by being more “aggressive” in his movements. Move his fingers faster and deeper, lick and nibble more slowly or even thrust his hips more sharply.

[Kinks]

⇰ Even if he says otherwise Sakura clearly has a praise kink, he secretly likes to hear that he brings pleasure to his partner and that he is good at what he does.

⇰ He is a little ashamed of it though, he finds that it doesn't go with his passion for fighting. What delinquent would like to hear that he is a good boy ?

⇰ But he won’t ask his partner to stop, it is possible that at the beginning he will be very embarrassed and pass off his discomfort as discontent.

⇰ I wanted to say “threesome” but honestly that doesn’t match his character, he’s way too possessive and couldn’t stand to see his girlfriend being touched by someone else.

⇰ Also, he would be afraid, because of his insecurities, that she’ll find more pleasure with someone other than him. So it's a no no for Sakura but still an honorable mention.

⇰ Maybe Wax play ? I think that he would find it very “beautiful” but that he would rather do it than receive. And he would be quite stressed at first, afraid that the wax would end up being too hot so he would probably try it on his finger in secret.

⇰ Honestly, as much as I racked my brain, I couldn't find many kinks that would interest him, I was thinking bondage or blindfold but I don't think that he would be comfortable enough to be restricted due to his trauma.

⇰ But maybe he would be willing to try it on his partner who knows ?

[Positions]

⇰ I think we can all agree that Sakura is into classics ! At first he’ll prefer to stay on a missionary. He likes being able to look at his girlfriend although holding eye contact is quite complicated for him.

⇰ He likes to be able to put his face against his partner's chest, it's a way of hiding but also of being physically close. Reader, take the opportunity to touch his hair and caress him ! This is surely the only moment where he allows himself to truly let go.

⇰ After gaining some confidence he will be willing, perhaps a little reluctant at first, to explore different positions and I like to think that cowgirl will secretly be one of his favorites.

⇰ He will be very embarrassed at first, being dominated, in a certain way, will be slightly humiliating for him but he will change his mind quite quickly.

⇰ I think this position will bring out his “submissive” side so to speak and he will let himself be overcome by pleasure very rapidly. This is a good position if your goal is to make him moan and react.

⇰ A special mention for “Face off” which will surely also be one of his favorites. Just like the missionary, he will love the closeness it provides.

⇰ I think that he will be up for trying new things but he’ll always come back to the simplest positions that allows him to be as close as possible, mind and soul, to his partner.

[Dom/Sub/Switch]

⇰ Sakura has the presence of a dom but the behavior of a sub. Honestly I would put him in the “switch” category although he has a penchant for sub, which he doesn’t really embrace.

⇰ At the start of a relationship he will categorically refuse to let himself be dominated by his partner, mainly because of his ego but also because it is very hard for him to appear « helpless » in front of someone, even his girlfriend.

⇰ It will take time for him to gain confidence in his relationship and himself. He will have to understand that being dominated does not make him weak and that he can always regain control if it is too much for him.

⇰ In the end he will end up particularly enjoying this "role", not thinking about anything and simply focusing on pleasure. However, there will always be a little alarm in his head even though he makes sure it doesn't go off.

⇰ During the evening he will switch between the two, taking his time to provide pleasure to his girlfriend but also to receive it.

⇰ In front of others he will always pass himself off as a great dominant who does not allow himself to be dominated but most of the people close to him like Suo and Togame - Nirei would take his word for it - doesn’t really buy it.

╰─► 𝐈𝐈 ･ ｡ﾟ☆ 𝗦𝘂𝗼

[Biting/marking]

⇰ Suo likes to leave mostly hickeys and very light bites in strategic places, like the inner thighs and chest.

⇰ He will make sure that everyone can see them, it's a way for him to show that he is the only one who can touch his girlfriend and to dissuade any potential flirts, my boy is possessive.

⇰Personally, he won’t hide them, unless his partner asks him to. He finds his skin much more beautiful with the marks of love from his girlfriend, a true romantic !

⇰ But hey, most of the time they will be hidden by his collar to his great dismay. You will only be able to see one or two or you’ll have to wait for the rare moments when he changes his style of clothing, like at the beach for example.

⇰ He will always be very delicate in leaving his marks and will maintain eye contact with his girlfriend, especially when he buries his head between her thighs.

⇰ This is the place he prefers to bite the most, the traces of his teeth never stay long so he will add more as the evening progresses.

[Vocals]

⇰ Honestly I don't think Suo is really vocal during the act, and it breaks my heart...

⇰ On the other hand, I think that it’s possible to get slight grunts or whimpers during oral sex. Often being the dominant one during penetration, it’s the only moments when he doesn’t think of anything.

⇰ He doesn't even hold back, it just doesn't come out. He is also very difficult to get out of breath so his breathing is never jerky, the only real way to see that he is having pleasure is to look at his eye.

⇰ During the act he has a gentle look but above all, full of desire and a spark of deep love. He will also have a slight, more mischievous smile than usual that he reserves for sexy time.

⇰ Despite his lack of vocality, he particularly enjoys hearing his partner's moans, it's a slight ego boost but he mostly likes to hear her take pleasure.

⇰ He will not hesitate to tell her about it and will encourage her to let go with sweet words and kisses on her chest and stomach.

[Kinks]

⇰ I don't know why but I think we all agreed that Suo hides a lot of things and is quite mischievous. This is why I could see him being into BDSM.

⇰ Not the extreme, especially if his partner isn't into it, but he likes to incorporate some aspect of BDSM into his sexual life.

⇰ Especially anything involving domination and bandages. He likes to control his partner and can be slightly naughty at times, however I don't see him using words like "slut", "whore" or "cum dump" at all.

⇰ He is a very attentive character who takes care of himself and others -Nirei- in the manga, which leads me to think that even in sex he remains a gentleman.

⇰ However, that doesn't stop him from being a tease and he likes to push his girlfriend's limits, observing her reactions is surely his favorite activity.

⇰ I'm not sure but I'm thinking maybe he's open to roleplay and exhibitionism ?

⇰ For roleplay I see it well in plays like, master x servant, professor x student, boss x employee, etc.

⇰ But honestly every other time he would come out of his role in amusement and the roleplay wouldn’t last long. Some times he will let go and even start to get into the play.

⇰ For the exhibitionism I think he would be “cheating” a little. Suo is possessive, he can’t stand his partner being ogled by someone else so he will always create situations that will never end in true exhibitionism.

⇰ But, there would be a very small exception. Seeing the relationship he shares with Nirei I tell myself that maybe, just maybe, he would be up for trying a threesome with him.

⇰ Of course there would be strict rules with whom he will not joke even for the blond, always protected, under his gaze and especially no kissing. It is an intimate act that is reserved for him and him alone.

[Positions]

⇰ Suo loves to see his girlfriend face but he also particularly likes the curves of her back and backside.

⇰ Reverse cowgirl and doggy style are perfect positions for him. Compare to Sakura the reverse cowgirl is not used as a position to dominate him, despite the fact that he is not the one who moves he keeps all the control.

⇰ Using his hands on his partner's hips, he manages the rhythm and intensity. He will also surely take the opportunity to explore her body with his fingertips.

⇰ I think he will use “Doggy style” for domination games. If his partner agrees, he will take the opportunity to lightly close his fingers around her throat and experiment with “breath play”.

⇰ He’ll never squeezes too hard or for too long, just enough to intensify the reader's pleasure. Suo will always inform himself about the different practices he wishes to use and will then be very informed about the risks of this practice, hence his refusal to use it for too long.

⇰ For gentler sessions he will revisit the missionary in several different ways. Knees on his shoulder, around his waist, legs in the air while he holds her ankles, etc…

⇰ This type of position allows him to control many things but mainly to maintain a certain intimate contact, other than sexual, with his partner.

[Dom/Sub/Switch]

⇰ Dom, dom, dom. Something in his eyes tells me that he is dominant in many aspects of his relationship but especially during sex.

⇰ But ! If his partner wants it, he would be willing to try to be dominated. However he won’t be able to stop himself from teasing her and would eventually regain control.

⇰ Suo is a gentle and loving dominant, he will not like to hurt physically or psychologically but that would not stop him from pushing his partner's limits, as said elsewhere, for his own pleasure.

⇰ He would be for the safeword system and will respect it with each use. For him, sex is a moment of trust and pleasure, so if this trust is broken there is no more pleasure.

╰─► 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ･ ｡ﾟ☆ 𝗨𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘆𝗮

[Biting/marking]

⇰ Umemiya clearly prefers to receive than to give, not that he doesn't like to mark his partner, on the contrary, but having hickeys on him or teeth marks is a kind of pride.

⇰ He would be capable to walk around shirtless so that everyone could see them and if he was asked questions he would answer “ho that ? It’s my girlfriend” with a big smile.

⇰ These marks are for him proof of his partner's affection and compared to Sakura he does not wish to hide them at all.

⇰ As for giving it, he refuses to use his teeth, he is terrified of leaving a permanent mark by not controlling his strength.

⇰ Also, he prefers them to be hidden. Umemiya is quite possessive, although much less so than Suo, so he wouldn't like people looking too closely at his girlfriend because of that.

⇰ He considers hickeys to be a very intimate but also sexual act, so he prefers to keep these marks for his eyes.

[Vocals]

⇰ I think that Ume is between moans and grunts, he will also probably be short of breath. Everything is visible on his face, especially his pleasure and his noises add something seductive.

⇰ Even if the moans can be compared to femininity, Umemiya's moans are quite loud and deep.

⇰ He doesn't hide at all and lets himself go during the act, in fact even if he wanted to he couldn't even try to hold them back, the pleasure he feels being too strong.

⇰ Hearing his partner is surely the best way to make him feel pleasure, after penetration, knowing that he is the cause makes him happy and motivates him to continue.

⇰ After one or two rounds he will start to have heavy and rapid breathing, he may also cum slightly more quickly but that is a detail.

⇰ I can also see him burying his face against his partner's chest and whispering sweet words and praise while making slow but deep hip movements.

⇰ Ume also talks quite a bit during penetration, making sure his girlfriend is comfortable despite how many times they have done it and also to know what she prefers, what speed, depth, inclination, etc.

[Kinks]

⇰ We probably all agree on that but he clearly has a breeding kink ! Although he is not against starting a large family in a few years, his goal is not at all to make his partner pregnant.

⇰ He simply loves the feeling that the proximity of this act gives him, agreeing on the fact that "breeding kink" is performed without a condom, he likes to tell himself that in this way he leaves a kind of trace, a part of him, inside the reader.

⇰ Once he pulls out, after a few minutes, he will insert two of his fingers to keep his cum a little longer while kissing his girlfriend's thighs.

⇰ He might also be interested in bandages and blindfolds but for him, especially if it's something his lover would like to try, he would be more than happy to be at the reader's mercy

⇰ To join the “breeding kink” I think that after a few years of relationship he will start to be interested in the “pregnancy kink”.

⇰ Ume has always been a brotherly figure and I think he will clearly have the paternal instinct once a father, he will surely want several children but before thinking about it seriously he will only like to fantasize about his partner being pregnant and will tell her about it.

⇰ His fantasy will manifest itself in more kisses placed on his girlfriend's stomach or it will only finish inside. He also will sometimes caress or press on her stomach quite absently.

⇰ There are also many things he will flatly refuse to do, like anything that is impact play or "real" BDSM. His lover is precious to him and he will refuse even if it’s something she would like to try.

[Positions]

⇰ Umemiya is a gentle partner who likes to hold the person he loves close to him and especially during sex, which is why I think "face off" would be one of his favorite positions.

⇰ It allows him deep movements but at a slow speed so he enjoys feeling the warmth of his girlfriend's insides, literally heaven.

⇰ “The lazy man” is for me a sort of derivative of “Face off” which also allows a certain closeness and intimacy. His partner is the one who decides the rhythm and the depth which allows him to simply holding her against him while enjoying himself.

⇰ I think he would be open to trying a lot of things but in the end he prefers positions that allow him to hold the reader in his arms and feel her close.

⇰ “ Spoon” or “Open-legged spoon” are also very good options and he loves using them in the morning when he wakes up or after tiring days.

⇰ He would surely suggest “Hovering Butterfly” even if it is not a position that allows penetration, he likes to provide pleasure to his partner so he will surely ask to use it often.

[Dom/Sub/Switch]

⇰ Ume is a dom-switch. He is naturally dominant but to please his partner or just try different practices he lets himself be dominated with pleasure.

⇰ Compare to Suo he is not a tease and will take his role very seriously although I don't see him being submissive as you can see some people in BDSM or Sakura.

⇰ He will always make sure not to step out of his role but will not be able to help but sometimes snicker or give questioning looks, but his ultimate goal is to please his partner so if she's really into it he will make some efforts.

⇰ His dominant side is also very light, it shown by the fact that he particularly likes to be on top and tends to be the first to engage in intimate acts, particularly sex.

[opiopal]

Something I think abt often is this little thing my mc has,

like hear me out: Ik yall are tempted to scroll bc I mentioned it’s my own mc but PLZZZ it’s cute I SWEAR, and it also included Mams,

so my mc Opal does NOT like to be touched/touch other people they do not know/aren’t comfortable with, they’ll actively pull away when people are too close and will scoot away if someone’s sitting too close. It’s not a mean thing or anything, she just genuinely hates it. it makes her skin crawl and makes her feel icky.

HOWEVER, out of the whole HOL, in the beginning sessions, Mams ends up becoming the one person she’ll cling onto both physically and emotionally, mostly because of how quickly he goes from threatening mc to suddenly wanting to just be around them, also she felt he actually made an effort to gain their trust via presents along with quality time, which she heavily appreciates.(she doesn’t have the heart to tell him she has no spice tolerance and that she only eats the spicy ramen he makes because he’s the one who made it.)

and I like to imagine that at first, an occasional grab at his sleeve or hand would send him into a mini spiral as he flusters, because he is a DORK. And also you just KNOW he would respect tf out of someone who doesn’t like to be touched physically, I can imagine him being the type of guy to like, pat people’s shoulders/back and stuff when talking and exaggerating stuff, so I feel he would restraint himself well and make sure to keep it in mind!

and adding onto that, something as far as mc leaning on his shoulder nearly makes him EXPLODE. He’s gripping his knees and his face is heating up as he tries to be as still as possible, really it’s hard to not mistaken him for levi, but his feelings for them combined with his anxiety of making a mistake that makes mc never touch him again mix together, so he goes so stiff. He’d understand that doing stuff as simple as that is a big step up in trust and so in turn he’s acting as if this is the craziest step forward in their relationship EVER. once mc also gets comfortable with bigger things, like hugging onto him, holding hands, casually touching each other when sitting, lighthearted pats and smacks, ect. He starts to go back to his usual body language, and honestly I feel it would make him a lot clingier.

i have seen a lot of other people say that they imagine mammon just suddenly being so flustered over tiny things once he’s actually with someone he likes, and I am a firm believer in it lowkey. like, you think that even though he’s been with and flirted with many people in the past he’s super flustered and gets super shy about mc doing something as tiny as offering him a tissue?? I agree, we’re best friends now.

(also he would TOTALLY fight off anyone getting too close to mc, whether it’s intentional or not he’d be so protective. All like “oi back up a little bit” his pookie NEEDS personal space and he’ll make sure they get it)

[wanderingknights]

Started thinking about crow!Rook, Neve and the Minrathous decision and ended up spiraling about Rook/Viago and being favored by your talon (being the kings bastard son)

You fuck up a big Crow operation and instead of being killed (like anyone else would be) Viago simply sends you away (after yelling a lot). You get roped into an insane plot to save the world and some time later run into what is most definitely the love of your life standing over dead venatori like it’s nothing (her names Neve and youre a goner). Some crazy ritual later some gods get released and after months of being away you get to go back home. Viago is still angry and yells at you about it but everyone around keeps implying he’s easier to deal with when you’re around (yeah right). After recruiting a grey warden your fellow crow and Neve let you know that the cities are under attack and you need to go to one. Your heart wants to go home but logically you know how bad it’ll get if the venatori take over. This is where your belief in Viago comes in. He’s the talon that survived a direct attack that killed 3 other talons, if anyone can find a way to survive through the worst things it’s him. Two De Rivas, one in each city, thats the only way to win. Except you save Minrathous and go home to a destroyed city, turns out your talon is just a man and your blind faith in him doomed your city.

You do what you can to help around Treviso while the accusing glares of your fellow crows follow you around everywhere. And again if it were anyone else they would be dead already but having the talons favor (being the kings son) means that you get away with a lot and crows know better than to target you directly. Time passes, you save the world and get to watch your love blossom and become someone who trusts and leans on the people around her (she’ll never be an optimist about almost anything but she learns to rely on her friends always). And while shes more open with your friends (family really) you feel yourself get more and more paranoid each passing day. Crows betray each other, that’s just how it is and now that the world is safe there’s no reason for them to not go after you. You’ve always made fun of Viago for being on edge all the time and distrusting of everyone around him but it’s different now when you know you’ve got a big target on your back. He’s let you get away with everything, even letting Treviso down, somebody is going to want you dead you just know. And while you don’t exactly regret your decisions you do start to take his lessons much more seriously, I mean he is right, food and drinks are just so easy to poison no reason not to take your time and test them every single time.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 18

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

“(italics)” Indicates that the speaker is speaking in Spanish (unless stated otherwise). This author only knows English, and I did not want to misrepresent Spanish by using Google Translate.

First - Prev - Next

CH.18

“FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS I LAY DORMANT. WHO HAS DISTURBED MY- Oh hey Fordsy, what’s up?”

“Cipher, I need to project into a different mindscape.”

“I already know who it is, but tell me anyways.”

“My mother, Caryn Pines. I need to glimpse into her memories. She should still be asleep at this time, going deeper into her mindscape will be easier than if she were awake.”

“Oh, wow, your own mom. Aren’t you worried she’ll know it’s you?”

“She’s not a real psychic, my muse. She will be none the wiser.”

“If you insist, let’s hope that isn’t foreshadowing.”

SNAP

(...)

“Stan, this is Ms. Ramirez, and she is the Hypnotherapist I referred you to.”

“Stretch here has been saying great things about ya, ma’am.”

“Hello Mr… Stan? The last name is blank… (I’m sorry).”

“(I'm not offended. I don't know what it is either.)”

“(Where did you learn Spanish?)”

“(Colombia.)”

“Ah, yes. Dr. McGucket, are you sitting in on this session?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And Mr. Stan, you are okay with this?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Very well… This dosage of ketamine is based on your height and weight, and will be delivered intranasally. I also adjusted based on your extensive drug history. Normally, I’d consider this dosage to be lethal but…”

“Don’t worry, not dying when I really should is actually my first or second greatest skill.”

“...First or second?”

“Yeah, it’s interchangeable with lying.”

“Try to be honest during this session at least…”

(...)

“How are we going to find her specific memories about Stanley and this… accident?”

“Well Fordsy, her mindscape is structured like a carnival-”

“I can see that.”

“You can. They can’t. Anyways, one of these rides or attractions gotta be based on guilt or grief, let’s start there.”

(...)

“Let’s go back to when you were first on the streets, Stan.”

“...Okay…”

“How old were you?”

“17.”

“How did you start out?”

“Lived… Lived? I was- I was living in my car…”

“Only there?”

“For a few weeks… had a hard time. I caved and went to a homeless shelter but- but only once. Never again.”

“Why is that Stan?”

“...Something bad happened.”

“What bad thing?”

“I… I… I don’t want to-.”

“You don’t have to talk about that specifically, if it’s too distressing for you. Do you remember anything else from the homeless shelter? Was there a reason you went there that time and not before?”

“That one had free telephones.”

(...)

“Okay so we’ve been to the Dunk Tank of Phobias, The Rifle Range of Unrealistic Beauty Standards, The Deep-Fried Food Stand of Excuses, The Carousel of Broken Dreams, The Dime Pitch of Daddy Issues, The Strength Tester of Mommy Issues, The Roller Coaster of Regrets-.”

“Bill, you don’t have to list off everywhere we’ve been, everytime we are about to enter another carnival attraction.”

“You never know when the narrative will pick us up again.”

“I do not even want to know how that reasoning works.”

“Ah- look over here Sixer! It’s the Funhouse Mirrors of Memories!”

“I can read the sign, my muse.”

“Let’s go in here, and wander around aimlessly until we find that specific string of memories you’re looking for.”

(...)

“You needed to use the telephone?”

“I was… scared.”

“Scared?”

“I just… I just wanted to talk to my mom…”

(...)

“Is this the home of Caryn and Filbrick Pines?”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“Ma’am, do you recognize this license plate?”

“STNLYMBL… Yes, that belongs to my son, Stanley- is something wrong? Did his car get stolen?”

“Ma’am… You may want to sit down for this.”

“We should skip this part, IQ. You already know what they’re about to tell her.”

(...)

“Can you remember what you wanted to talk to your mom about?”

“I didn’t know what to do… I wanted help, I…”

(...)

“Where… where is everybody?”

“It looks like PTSD Barnum had a mostly empty funeral.”

“That can’t be-.”

*Bill suddenly winks out of the scene*

“Stanford? What are you doing here?”

“...Ma?”

“You weren’t at this funeral, sweetie.”

“Where- Where’s Pa? Where’s Sherman?”

“Shermie couldn’t make it, his son was sick. And your father… He won’t admit it, but he wouldn’t be able to handle it, so he didn’t come.”

“And who is that?”

“An IRS agent.”

“This isn’t over.”

“Ma… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Stanford, I tried to. Every time I brought up his name over the phone you hung up. I thought you knew and… you weren’t handling it well, just like your father.”

“Ma, you can’t really believe Stanley’s dead. He-.”

“You should have known first, Stanford. Can’t you see your bond was severed?”

“...Bond?”

“Your twin bond.”

“That is not a real thing, Ma.”

“You do not get to project yourself into the Astral Plane and tell your Ma what is or is not real here.”

“...”

“I need you to think about your brother - really, really think about him. How much you loved each other, how close you were. And imagine there is a rope between you two… like one that keeps a boat attached to a dock.”

*a rope suddenly appears, with one end fading into Ford’s chest. The other end appears clean cut after a few yards*

“Just as I thought.”

“What is this, Ma?”

“I told you, sweetheart. Your twin bond. Not all twins have it, but you two did. You can see… the other half is gone, it’s been severed. There’s nothing for you to attach to anymore.”

“Th-that doesn’t mean he’s dead! Couldn’t one of us have severed it another way?”

“One of you would have to have enough of a presence on the Astral Plane to manually sever it. I can see you are here, but if you do not remember severing it, it means Stanley would have had to have been the one to cut it. And… your brother never showed me the ability to deeply meditate enough to have a presence here, let alone sever a bond.”

“Ma, he’s not gone-.”

“Oh sweetheart… They never really leave us.”

(...)

“Help with what?”

“My life, what to do, where to go- everything. I… I just wanted to go home.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t allowed to… I did something wrong, I-. I don’t remember what it was, but I did something, and I wasn’t allowed back home anymore.”

(...)

“Is she going to remember any of this, Cipher?”

“If you’d talked to her mental projection while she was awake, maybe. But she’s asleep right now, only her unconscious mind will remember. While awake she might just have a feeling.”

“This twin bond, it’s a real thing?”

“Lots of things in the Dreamscape can be real - you only have to imagine it.”

“So this bond is something she made up- that she had me imagine was real?”

“Oh, no, yours is definitely real. At one point, you and your twin both believed in ‘Twinsense’ so much you manifested that connection all by yourselves. Impressive for a pair of twins who didn’t know how to manipulate the dreamscape at the time.”

“And… It's severed. Why is it severed?”

“Your mommy just told you, Fordsy. Either the other end of that connection is gone, or your brother actually managed to come into the dreamscape and cut it himself.”

“I need more data… I need to know how he did it.”

“So, you’re gonna ask him?”

“No. I need more data.”

“That’s what I expected from you, Sixer.”

(...)

“Stan?”

“...Fiddleford?”

“Do you feel yourself coming back?”

“Yeah…”

“Ms. Ramirez left a few minutes ago. Do you remember any of that?”

“Most of it I think?”

“Stan… do you remember saying that you were kicked out of your home?”

“Yeah… I kinda always felt like that was it but I couldn’t put the memories into place. I’ve been sabotaging myself since I was just a snot nosed punk after all.”

“Stan, it doesn’t matter what you did, you were only seventeen, you were still a kid. For Heavens sake, one of your first instincts was to try to call your mama.”

“S’not like we can do anything about it now. And I don’t even remember my mom.”

(...)

“Conference! Conference now!”

“I’m not in the mood for a meeting right now, Fiddleford…”

*Fiddleford drags him to the office anyways and locks the door*

“Fine. What information did you gain from the hypnotherapy session? Any useful data?”

“Stanford?”

“...Yes?”

“Look at me.”

SLAP

“What the-! Fiddleford!”

“You have some nerve, Dr. Stanford Pines. Nerve, and a thumpin’ gizzard for a heart.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why did you lie?”

“Lie about what?!”

“You told me that your twin brother Stanley left home when he had a following out with you over your science fair project. But he remembers being thrown out.”

“...”

“So, it’s true.”

“...I didn’t lie, I said he left, I didn’t say it was his choice.”

“I know darn well that we attended the same ethics class, and they made it clear early on that deliberately withholding information is the same as deceit. Now, you wanna share with the class what really happened?”

“Our father had imagined if I had been accepted into West Coast Tech I would have been wildly rich and successful. When we found out Stanley sabotaged my project, he kicked him out of the household and told him to not come home unless if he brought back millions.”

“That is… Awful.”

“I know it is.”

“Then why lie about it?”

“...”

“Stanford. Be honest with me. Or at least be honest to yourself right now.”

“Because I feel guilty about it. Back then- back then I felt justified, I was so upset I thought he deserved it. But then we got older, and the more I thought about it, I realized… it was wrong. I thought-...”

“Thought what?”

“I thought maybe he was always going to strike out on his own, as some act of defiance against- I don’t know, our father? Me? The IRS? Something.”

“You thought you could alleviate your own feelings of guilt by convincing yourself that he wanted what happened? Stanford, he was seventeen.”

“So was I.”

“It isn’t your fault your father kicked him out, you were just a minor yourself. What is your fault is that you saw your brother was an amnesiac and still changed the narrative to fit your own comfort zone. You cannot ask someone to trust you, and not have the common decency to be honest. You’ve been so overprotective, and yet still keep him at arm's length.”

“I am not over protective.”

“Horse feathers! You’ve been over compensating like hell this whole time. He’d still be in the containment cell if he didn’t break out of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you implanted a tracking chip somewhere on him.”

“I did not chip him! Every time I tried they just short out for some reason.”

“... What?”

“What is it you want from me, Fiddleford?”

“For you to see that Stan isn’t stupid. You think he doesn’t realize what you’ve told him isn’t properly aligning to what he’s starting to remember? What are you going to do if he confronts you?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Some brother you are. You should talk to him before one of you has a breakdown, it’s for your own good.”

“Wow. It is quite annoying to be on the receiving end of that phrase.”

To be continued…

[aza-writes]

Right Where You Left Me

Bucky Barnes x reader

Requested: no

Summary: Bucky found his fiance from the 1940s, but she isn't his fiance anymore. 

Warnings: ANGST, use of y/n (ONLY TWICE AND IN PASSING), talks of dementia and religion. 

Inspiration: Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift 

A/N: Combining my two favorite things, Bucky Barnes and Taylor Swift. Religion is vague in this btw

Bucky's POV:

She looks so beautiful. So, so beautiful. I imagined her like this so often. 

But I imagined the situation differently. I imagined myself either six feet under or in a bed right next to hers. Our hands touching, or if we could, hop into each other’s beds for the night. 

But that’s all just a fantasy. 

Right now, she’s there, across the hallway. I can barely see into her room, curtains blocking me from her face. All I can see is her hands, her quilted blanket, and her grandson. 

Her grandson.

Her’s

That’s not even the worst part; he’s technically older than me. Or, he looks older than me, aged more than I have. He even has kids of his own, a boy and a girl. 

She has a great-grandson and a great-granddaughter. 

I want to walk in and see her face, speak to her, but I’m terrified. There are two possible outcomes if I walk in there, and both are paired with an unimaginable heartbreak that hurts to just think about. She could either recognize me or not. If she sees my face and knows who I am, she might hate me. And if she doesn’t, it’ll break me. 

If she recognizes me, I don’t know if she’ll see the good times or the bad. The last time I saw her broke both of us, her more than me. That’s what scares me the most. 

• • • • • •

“Tomorrow?” Her voice cracks. Slow tears fall down her cheeks as she quickly wipes them off. 

It feels like the whole diner is looking at us, but the truth is no one cares. Everyone is so wrapped up in their own shit they don’t care about the couple in the back corner being torn apart by the war; they’re probably worried they’ll have to do the same soon. We’re the future to them. 

I nod and rub my thumb on the back of her free hand. It’s taking every ounce of strength I have to not start tearing up with her. I need to be strong for her. I need to be hopeful for both of us. “I’m so sorry, doll. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” 

Drafted. Enlisting is one thing, but being drafted is something different. Steve begged me to join him, but I said no. Claiming I would after y/n and I got married at city hall. Even if we were able to follow through with those plans, I wouldn’t be able to leave her. She would’ve kept me here just by waking up next to me. But none of that mattered now. Our future plans would have to be put on hold for a while. 

Her tears pick up the pace, causing a bit of mascara to chase after the tear. She wipes it off then looks at her finger, the black clumping next to her nail. 

“Please don’t cry, darling.” My voice starts to shake, but I push it back. “I’ll be back. I promise I’ll be back.” 

She shakes her and pulls her hands away. “No, no don’t do that.” She wipes her tears again; this time, there weren’t any that followed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She looks me in the eyes and brings her hands back to mine. “I have two friends already who are widows, and both of their husbands made promises. Promises are bad luck.” 

I nod at her now. I know exactly what she’s talking about. There’s been a lot of letters recently, not from the soldiers but from the government, all starting with, “We regret to inform you” and ending with “Our deepest condolences.” 

“When tomorrow do you leave?” Her voice was quiet but less sad. It was more of a matter-of-fact tone. 

“Early morning.” Early, very early. It's too early to get to the courthouse tomorrow before I have to leave. Too early to get a marriage license. Too early in every aspect of the word. It’s too early to leave her. Too early for anything. 

“Does Steve know?” 

I shake my head again. “No, I’m telling him after this, though.” 

“Are we still going to the Stark Expo tonight?” A small smile creeps up on her face. She’s trying to lighten the mood, and it’s working. I can’t feel anything but pure joy looking at her face. 

“Of course, doll.” 

• • • • • •

The other option is that she doesn’t remember me at all. How would I approach her then? I haven’t gotten the courage to go into her room yet, but her family has to reintroduce themselves every time they go to visit. Their voices stay sad, and every conversation they have is the same. Pleasantries and them updating her on their lives. She doesn’t say much besides a few “oh” and “Is that right?” She never uses their names or asks more questions. I don’t think she would be able to. 

The word “dementia” is thrown around a lot by her nurses. Recently “Lewy body” has been added to it. They also say Alzheimer’s a lot when looking at her charts. That cluster of words is enough to fill me with dread. I want to take all of this away from her. I want her mind to be perfectly sound, I want to be in a hospital bed with her, and I want to be the man who has to keep reintroducing himself as her husband. But I can’t. All I can do is listen to the nurses from a distance. My time for seeing her is running out, it won’t be long before I’ve missed my opportunity. She won’t be around for much longer. 

Her grandson leaves the room while holding his son’s hand, the baby back in the car seat on his arm. Tears are in his eyes, but he’s trying to hide them in front of his kids, not wanting to upset them. 

Through the window, I can still see her hands. She fiddles with the quilt a bit, but they don’t move much. They don’t look like the hands I held years and years ago, but mine don’t look the same either. Scars outline mine just like age does to her’s. 

Is it crazy to think someone’s hands look beautiful? 

A small chime goes off the speakers, indicating that there are ten minutes left in visiting hours. The halls will be cleared soon, medicine will be passed out, and lights will be turned off. 

Ever since I’ve come to visit her in the hospice facility, “soon” has been another word that is thrown around when they mention her. 

She’ll be out of pain soon.

She’ll be reunited with her loved ones soon. 

She’ll be leaving us soon. 

I don’t have any more time to just sit here; “soon” will run out eventually. 

The hallways are almost clear, and the nurses move to their stations and the medicine cabinet to prepare for bedtime. 

This is my chance. My brain doesn’t comprehend what my body is doing when I stalk down the hallway and into the doorway. It wasn’t more than a second before our eyes lock.

Her eyes. Her eyes are still so perfect. They haven’t changed at all. Still soft, bright, and expressive. They have always been so beautiful, so why, at this very moment I’m speechless? I’m sure I’ve seen them over a million times in my life, but they are even better than I remember. Her eyes bring back more memories, ones I was sure were lost forever when Hydra took them. I remember remembering them during my time as the Winter Soldier. They brought me peace then. They’re bringing me peace now, too. They even give me courage. At least enough to look at the rest of her face. 

Her face. The face I was so scared I wasn’t going to recognize was in front of me. Why was I so scared? I couldn’t forget it even if I tried. It’s been decades. Smile, frown, and laugh lines sculpted in, but I feel like they were always supposed to be there. They were mapped out years ago but finally took their rightful place. 

She looks so beautiful. So perfect. 

Her eyes change when she sees me, but there isn’t confusion behind her eyes. There’s relief. 

“We’ll look who it is.” She smiles softly. “I thought you were going to be at work all day.” She removes her blanket and swivels her torso, trying to get out of the bed. She hasn’t been able to move like this in a long time; why is it happening now? 

“You know who I am?” My voice is so quiet, so stuck in the back of my throat that I’m scared I might lose it. 

“James, I know who you are. Not quit messing around and come here.” She giggles and tries to swing her legs to the side of the bed. Her wrist shakingly grabs the railing next to her, the deteriorated muscles using everything they can to pull her out of that bed. Her arms outstretched gently, hands reaching towards me. “Could you help me, Buck?”

I feel like I’m outside my body. Is this even real life? She knows me. Not recognize, knows. I place my hands in hers, too wrapped up in the moment to worry about my arm. Would she notice? Do I care if she notices? No, not really. 

She rubs her thumbs over my hands, something she does to provide comfort. Comfort for what? Does she know what day it is?

“Can you help me out of this bed, Buck? I’m tired of sitting here.” She moves uncomfortably and sighs when she realizes she can’t get up by herself. 

I pull away only for a moment to pull up a chair next to her bed. “I’m sorry, doll, but you need to stay here a bit longer.” I keep my voice quiet, wanting to keep her here at this moment. 

She just nods, her mind too tired to fight with the logic.

“I don’t have to go anymore.” Her eyes go wide; tears fill them and threaten to spill out. “The war is done, and I get to stay here with you.” Her hands go to cover her mouth, a few rouge tears fall from her eyes. 

“Really? Please tell me you’re telling the truth, James. This has to be true.” She moves her hand back down to grasp mine, revealing her hopeful smile. 

“It’s all true. I’m not going anywhere.”  I bring her hand to my lips and softly kiss it. A small, relieved laugh leaves her, and a few more tears come out. 

“C-can we still go to city hall? I want to marry you, Bucky. I don’t want a wedding I want to be married tomorrow.” 

“Of course, darling, of course.” 

• • • • • •

Two days later, I didn’t even have to read the paper. I was met with her eyes one final time…

Sadly, right above it was the title of the column: Obituaries

A/n: Request are open! Look at guidelines and taglist info😚

[sunliights]

“it’s metal, actually. like one of those little things you put on a desk with your name on it.” fallon lets out quite the exaggerated huff, “that’s just mean, you know.” it’s not though, not really. “am i setting the pace if you’re offering?” she’ll at the very least have to suggest she buys a drink at some point. not yet though, she’ll probably get him the easiest when he’s drunk. “s…sure i can dance. depends who you ask, did you want to find out?”

"oh i'm sorry, it's wood." whatever she says really won't end up changing his mind so he's happy to continue the bit for as long as she tries to defend herself. "so you're not cool! excellent, just as i thought." loose laughter spills again, benji righting himself to dance a bit more with the rim of his glass hardly ever leaving his lips. when was the last time he allowed himself to have a good night out like this? not since the before the tournament, surely. "okay, so that means you set the pace for tonight by continuing to accept. i'll match you, don't worry. now the question is: can you dance?"