#not if there was a chance the one who loved them could be safe from that pain. do you see. theres a fucking pattern here

[reidmania]

maiden name | s.reid

summary; reader is struggling to accept having to change her last name, spencer is there to remind her he will love her regardless.

warnings; fem reader, talks about changing names, reader has a healthy childhood (the fact this is a warning?!?) reader grew up with two brothers, fiancee!reader, almost smitten spencer, mentions a childhood dog death, doubts, anxiety, hurt x comfort, a little angst but its pretty sweet overall, happy ending duh! Reader graduated highschool and uni

an; HAI GUYS!! first fic in who knows how long 🔥🔥

Spencer was perfect. The proposal was perfect. Private, safe, romantic. Everything you had always dreamed of and more. He had made sure you had gotten your nails done recently enough, he made sure you loved them. He used Penelope and his female coworkers to figure out exactly what ring you would want. Of course, he already knew, but their reassurance helped.

You didn’t see it coming, but that wasn’t a bad thing. saying yes to spending the rest of your life with Spencer Reid was the easiest thing you had ever done. You never doubted that for a second, the fact you wanted Spencer, everyday, for the rest of your life. To feel the warmth of him when you woke up, or to see the small note on your bedside table when he had to wake up early for work and didn’t want to disturb you.

You wanted his long rambles, and beautiful mind everyday, for as long as the universe would allow you to have it. You wanted his too sweet left over coffee’s when you were running late and he offered you the rest of his so you didn’t have to wait for your own to brew.

You wanted his fears, everything that made him second guess, you wanted every chance to reassure him, you would spend the rest of your life reminding him how perfect he was to you, for you, and you would do so happily.

You were completely enthralled by Spencer from the moment you met him. And he never let you second guess if he felt the same when his actions made the answer clear as day. Spencer was the person you wanted to have a family with, to grow old with.

So why, a week before your wedding did a daunting feeling fill your stomach.

“You alright, baby?” Spencer’s hands gripped your waist gently as he moved past you in the kitchen, where the two of you were supposed to be cooking dinner. This had been routine, something you fell in love with. One night, dedicated to making dinner together. Eating it while watching some documentaries, because to you and him date nights didn’t need to be fancy, just together.

You however had zoned out, probably for the last long while. You had been cutting tomatos but your thoughts had gotten the best of you, leaving you staring at the knife in your hands, but not really looking at it. Now, snapped out of your daze, your head turned to Spencer as he held out a sheet of paper towel for you to wipe your hands.

You took it, pushing a soft smile to your lips. “Sorry- Yeah.” You said, eyes moving to the paper towel as you wiped away the juices the tomato had left. Spencer seemed unconvinced but hummed, moving to wrap his arms around your waist, his chin finding place on your shoulder.

The way his hands slipped under your (his) t-shirt, fingernails drawing gently up and down the skin of your waist, made you smile. The action so gentle and full of everything you needed in that moment. “Talk to me, sweet girl.” The touch a grounding reassurance that Spencer Reid, was not the issue.

And while you couldn’t seem to pinpoint the exact reason, you knew that reason was sitting in your childhood home, at the breakfast bar in the morning, the house smelling sweet with whatever your mother had been cooking for breakfast, the front door left wide open as your brothers came in and out, noise following where ever they went. Their friends coming in to steal a slice of toast, or a piece of fruit before they drove you all too school.

Because your house was the type of house they could do that.

The reason was in the living room on weekends, where you watched your brothers laughing and fighting over the mario kart round they had been playing, while you sat on the floor in between your mums legs while she braided your hair. Your dad due home from work any moment, which would be followed by more chaos and laughter because Saturday nights were movie night.

It was in long car rides full of meaningless bickering with your brothers, then a lot of giggling, pit stops and bathroom breaks. It was in your dad carrying you inside after you fell asleep in the car, which eventually turned into your brothers carrying you inside, when everyone got older and your dad’s back was no longer equipped for carrying body weight, your brothers never minded.

The reason was in your brother’s shared bedroom curled up in one of the beds, both of them on either of your side, all three teary eyed and sniffling because your childhood dog had just passed away and at 15, there was no where safer then in your older brothers arms. The reason was in how they allowed you to sleep on a mattress in their room for a month after, because your room felt too lonely without your dogs company anymore.

The reason was in when you graduated from high school, and your family cheered so loudly you couldn’t hear anyone else. It was in the flowers they gave you, in the hugs — and how it was the exact same when you graduated from university. It was in doing the exact same for your brothers when they graduated.

You hadn’t realised Spencer’s arms were wrapped around you, at some point you shifted, or he shifted you so your face was buried in his chest, cheeks tear stained. His hand on the back of your head, rubbing gently over your hair. Movement so tender it made you realise now Spencer’s arms were the safest place in the world.

“M’ sorry” you sniffled as you pulled away from the hug, the knuckles of your fingers coming to wipe away the wet spots under your eyes that left an uncomfortable residue of everything you were feeling. A shaky sort of breathless laugh leaving your lips, “It’s not a big deal, I’m being dramatic.” You smiled up at Spencer, a sad sort of smile.

He smiled back but you could see the worry in his eyes as he leant over to turn off the stove. He could read you better than you could, well enough to know this wasn’t a conversation you could have while juggling between cooking dinner. His hands then moved to cup your face, thumbs replacing your knuckles as he wiped away whatever was left on your cheeks.

“If its making you cry, its not dramatic, its how you feel.” He mumbled gently, eyes dancing over your face. Before he leant forward, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, the sort of one that made you exhale and melt into him a bit, the soft, lingering one he saved for moments when he knew you needed it. “Talking about it?” He asked, because he knew you, and knew sometimes all you needed was to cry, words weren’t always necessary to deal with it.

But you nodded, sniffling slightly. “Talking about it.” You agreed gently. Back of your hand coming to wipe your nose, followed by another sniffle.

Spencer smiled, “Okay pretty, go sit on the couch and I’ll make you a tea yeah?” He offered gently, you knew it was more because he knew you’d need a minute to mentally prepare what you were going to say, he knew you’d do that better without his gaze on you. He knew you’d be more comfortable on the couch, in the corner where you had a place to sink into in the corner because at least once, you would feel silly and embarrassed. Spencer knew you.

You nodded, offering him a grateful smile to which he responded by scrunching up his nose a little playfully, pressing another two quick kisses against your forehead before letting you go so you could walk to the living room. Which you sat, trying to make sense of your own emotions.

He didn’t take long but you know he waited till you nodded to follow through with entering the living room. He sat close, but not close enough to overwhelm you if your emotions became too much, but still close enough for you to feel he was there, enough to remind you that he was not the reason you were down.

The candle, the one lit in the middle of your coffee table, the same one your mother had lit your entire childhood didn’t help the way you were feeling, but it didn’t make it worse. In a way it was comforting, just no longer comforting enough.

“Did i do something?” Spencer asked, because he knew figuring out what the issue was vaguely would help him help you, and it would help you build the courage to tell him what was going on, and what you needed from him in order to fix this.

You shook your head, smiling gently. “No, Spence. It’s not— Nobody did anything. It’s just me.” You said quietly, his face twisted into something familiar, concern, doubt, worry. You hated that, and he knew you did. When he jumped to conclusions in his mind, overthinking getting the better of him.

“Second guessing?” He asked, his lip then caught in his teeth as he tried not to show how much getting the answer terrified him. You knew what he meant, second guessing the wedding, getting married. You almost wanted to laugh at his lack of understanding of how impossible it was for you to doubt that, when he was him, and oh so perfect, all the time even when he wasn’t — especially when he wasn’t.

You shook your head again, “No.” it was simple, straightforward because it was true.

He sighed something similar to relief, his eyes studying yours for a moment. “You gotta help me out here, angel.” He silently pleaded with you, because he tried not to show it, but you knew your random crying and emotional change was concerning to him, because he cared about you in an all consuming way.

“I don’t— i don’t know how to make it make sense.” You said quietly, looking down to fiddle with the engagement ring on your finger. Not because you were thinking about taking it off, but because it was something safe, and fiddling helped calm you down.

“Word vomit, I’ll put it together.” He said. A familiar line you had heard a hundred times, and he always seemed to prove that.

You sniffled again. “I- I just-“ you sighed, “I want to make it clear I’m not doubting you or us or anything— And its not that I don’t want yours.. Really its not— I like the way it sounds. I love your family.. Your mum- i feel bad i feel this way. I love you and I’m yours forever, I want this, I want you and I can’t wait” You breathed out, then your voice broke and the tears started all over again, a wet lining on your eyes that made your vision blurry and you afraid to blink, “And I’ll really miss my last name.”

You didn’t watch Spencer’s face twist into something a lot gentler and softer, as he shuffled closer on the couch to wrap his arms around you. It was easy to melt into him, so secure and safe and something that made this so difficult. Something you should be excited for feeling so scary and distant, and you really did feel bad you felt this way.

“You don’t have to change it, honey. You- I would take your name a million times if thats what you wanted — You don’t- Oh Im so sorry baby.” He mumbled as he pressed a handful of kisses into your hair, his hand moving to smooth it over in between.

“We could hyphenate it, if that’s what you wanted. God- Honey I don’t care about whose last name we take as long as I have you.” He said gently, voice so soft and honest in made your stomach twist and you wish you could better explain yourself, but you melted into him, letting the tears fall from your eyes.

A shaky breath left your lips, “Its not even so much about the name.” You spoke out quietly, “I guess— Its just my family, my life- Im good with change, y’know I am— I just.. I want yours— I’m just really gonna miss mine.” You breathed out.

He nodded and you could feel it, his hand moving from your head to your lower back.

“Okay— Thats okay. We can wait a while, yeah? You don’t have to change it immediately, we can wait till you have processed it and you’re ready. And if then — You decide you want to keep yours, or you want me to change mine, thats okay too. Sounds like a plan?” He offered.

Perfect Spencer Reid. He never failed you remind you. His patience and gentleness everlasting and unconditional.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[awyeahitssam]

Travelling back in time is an accident. Harry isn't going to waste it.

Harry glances at the calendar and grimaces. He can't go to Knockturn today. Hogwarts just let out for Summer holidays, and he's already decided to avoid the alleys until school term starts. Just in case... well. Just in case.

He never thought there would come a day that he missed Voldemort's soul pressing alongside his own, but it would make things simpler. If he could peer into Voldemort's mind, he wouldn't have to go about things the old fashioned way. As it is, one of his spies is twenty minutes late, and he can't snatch him from work on the off chance that children are wondering around places they shouldn't be.

Burke's still alive, at least. Harry would feel his death.

It does nothing for his current situation. There will be an attack today. 3 July, 1973 was significant. The day Voldemort's attacks went from targeting the Knights of Walpurgis' political opponents to involving the public.

He just can't remember where.

He knows this. He knows he does. But the time magic takes knowledge, seemingly at random, until he's left with bits of the puzzle. Harry knows Voldemort's broken his soul into pieces, but he no longer remembers what those pieces are called. He doesn't know what they're contained in, either, except one: Slytherin's locket.

Harry really needs to get a move on with this whole defeating Voldemort early thing before he forgets who he is. Forgets why he needs to.

He takes a deep breath. There's nothing for it. Diagon and Hogsmeade are the most obvious places to stage a first attack. Diagon is the more dramatic option, though Hogsmeade would strike fear, especially just a day after the children have left the station. Which one...

Fuck. He's got no time for guessing games, for hoping he knows Voldemort well enough to predict him. The Voldemort of this time is more politically minded than the one Harry defeated, and he's losing information by the day. Who knows how much he's forgotten about his Voldemort.

He needs Burke. He needs the bloody information.

Snape would be home, wouldn't he? His mother's still alive. There was no chance Lily Evans would be sulking about Knockturn. And the Marauders? No...

It should be safe enough.

It's a risk. If he sees one of them, he's going to screw up spectacularly. He has to steer clear.

Too bad he's still got a saving people thing.

He twists through the wards and lands at the apparition point. A moment later, the screaming starts.

Turns out he doesn't need his spy for this after all.

He runs towards the shouts, wand at the ready.

He puts it to good use.

"Evans?" Charlus calls out. "Is that you?"

Harry grimaces and keeps walking. Ever since he saved Charlus's baby brother in the Dark sects first Diagon Alley attack, Charlus Potter has been dogging his steps. The very last thing he wants is the be associated with this family. He already only manages to avoid being labeled a Potter by virtue of using the Sleekeazy's hair potions to settle the characteristic chaos of his hair.

If anyone can recognise its use, it is the inventor. Charlus dared to call him "cousin," before Harry sharply corrected him. He hasn't tried since, but he still has that gleam in his eyes. That set to his jaw.

The famous Potter stubbornness. Harry would be warmed by the fact that it exists outside of himself (and he is, truly, because even if he will never claim them as such, he has family here), but it's causing issues.

"Is that him, darling?" Another voice rings out, clear and lovely. Harry keeps moving along, heedless.

"Yes love, that's our errant Potter-"

Harry spins with a snarl. "I told you," he says, stepping forward to stab his wand into Charlus' chest, the threat bald, "my name is Evans. I want nothing to do with you or your family. I'm a muggleborn, for Merlin's sake."

The woman beside Charlus looks at Harry with wide grey eyes. Aside from their shade, she looks a great deal like Bellatrix LeStrange one day will. Her hair is carefully controlled, brown rather than black, and she's dressed conservatively, as is appropriate for the time period, but. She's certainly a Black.

"Are you quite sure he's yours, darling?" she near-purrs, meeting Harry's burning gaze with a fire of her own. Like recognises like. Black madness sparks in them both.

It has to be Dorea Black. Her arm is linked with Charlus', and she calls him darling. His grandmother.

He turns on his heel and flees.

Pretends the lump in his throat is from fear instead of longing.

Voldemort's yew wand twirls through his fingers as he considers the man on his knees.

Octavian Nott has always been reliable, yet...

"Are you the only one alive?"

Nott's shoulders draw tight.

"No, Vo-" Voldemort presses his magic around the proud little pureblood who dares think to say his name after he's failed. As if he's earned the privilege. "My Lord."

"And where are the others, Octavian?"

"I don't know, My Lord," Nott tells the ground. It's clear from his inflection that his teeth are gritted.

"Oh?"

"The... the vigilante put something around each of their necks. Portkeys. He said the activation phrase when I was the only one left. They... vanished."

Voldemort's methodical movements pause. The mysterious new player on the board has kidnapped his soldiers?

Well. It was an effective tactic, to be sure, but why not simply kill them? Was it weakness, or strategy?

He couldn't help but assume it was the latter. The man - and he was that from the many memory's Voldemort's stolen, though he remains cloaked - was always a move ahead. He met Voldemort's attacks each time.

It was exhilarating. Infuriating, too. The only way his every move could be so neatly countered was a spy. Yet even after he began limiting plans to his Inner Circle, the Knights, this man still knew what he would do...

"What else?" he presses, impatience growing.

"He knocked out five men with a single stunner. It... it seemed to split, my Lord, midcast. And..."

Nott truly is testing his leniency tonight. "You will not like what happens if I have need to prompt you again, Octavian."

A shudder. How positively plebian. "I apologise, My Lord. I simply do not wish to give you incorrect information."

"It just... sounded as though the portkey passphrase was in parseltongue."

Voldemort stares down at his head. Nott's been with him for a very long time. He knows what parseltongue sounds like.

Still, Voldemort must be sure.

"Look at me."

The man does speak parseltongue.

The words "fuck you" spill prettily past concealed lips.

Voldemort obsesses.

The more he learns, the more his fascination grows.

The man performs feats of magic that surprise and delight. Simple things, weaponised. Magical control the likes of which Voldemort has rarely sought to achieve. From fiendfyre, yes, but basic spellwork...

He tries to split a stunning spell. He can still only manage three branches, and they're difficult to aim.

Voldemort keeps trying.

Keeps hunting, too.

The first time he meets him on a battlefield, Voldemort shreds the spell that normally hides his vigilante. The haze cloaking features fractures.

His eyes are unforgivably green. Voldemort almost wishes he would cast the killing curse, just to see how the shade compares side by side.

Victory. He hadn't even had to fight for the other's identity. He tells himself it isn't a disappointment. He can feel the magic this man radiates. Lord Voldemort does not need to be convinced he isn't weak.

He dips his head politely, never letting his eyes stray from that brilliant shade. "Lord Voldemort," he introduces.

One beat.

Two.

Manners, he thinks mildly.

"Harry Evans," his opponent rasps out. It sounds like he hasn't talked to anybody in some time. Voldemort notes the name. Muggleborn, perhaps? Or a half-blood, like him?

Voldemort is hungry to know more. He licks his lips. Bright eyes dart to the motion, then rise back to meet his. A silly mistake. Voldemort tears into his mind.

Or, he tries to.

Blankness meets him. Not fog. Not a wall. Nothingness.

After some heavy-handed prodding, Voldemort pulls back before he is lost in the abyss.

An occlumens as well, then.

He ducks a blasting curse shot at his head.

Time to play.

Thing is, as much as Voldemort likes to play with his food, he's always been a thief at heart.

He wants to steal this man - this Harry Evans - more than he wants to break him.

He leaves with wounds his healer must tend to. They require dittany not to scar. He accepts it for the two large, arched marks. The small one, though - a knife wound, of all things - he keeps. He can rid himself of it later.

For now, though, he has something to press when he thinks of Harry.

Besides, he's not the only one to have left with marks. If Harry is smart, he will bear his well. If not... well, Lord Voldemort is generous. He can always give him more.

His men have standing orders to flee when they see him. He's still down seventeen fighters, stolen by Harry. The next time they dare to linger, he gets three more.

It's annoying to have his pawns taken. Especially because he does not know why.

Harry could ransom them to their rich families. Could try and use them as leverage over Voldemort. Could even just kill them: but he doesn't. Voldemort can tell that much from the Dark Mark. The fact he can't communicate with them or plot their locations is interesting. Unsettling, too. The magic of his mark, circumvented.

It's been a long time since he has gotten stuck on a puzzle.

He thrills at the challenge.

He next sees Harry in his human skin. The other is in Knockturn, just coming out of a shop.

How rare. He's not often spotted in public unless he's dismantling Voldemort's plans.

"Hello," he greets politely. Those green eyes slant over to him, then catch. Like he recognises Lord Voldemort even in this pitiful mask. A part of him delights at the notion, even as he double checks his magic. It remains tucked tight to his body.

"Hello," Harry breathes back.

Voldemort barely suppresses a frown. Is the other attracted to him like this? A pity. He wouldn't think Harry one to fall for a pretty face.

Still, it could prove useful... imagine what information he could pull on a date...

Green eyes trace his features intently. Voldemort is no longer used to being examined in such a way. And then-

Then Harry's magic lashes out at him without the aid of a wand, and the glamour is ripped from Voldemort's skin. He hisses in discomfort at the sensation, taking a step forward and pressing long nails to Harry's throat.

Fingers catch around his wrist before he can make contact. Somehow, Harry is strong enough to hold him in place. Strengthening rituals rendered void. Just what was this man?

The hold does nothing to stop Voldemort from stepping into him. From leaning close to his ear once they're chest to chest and hissing, low in threat, "That was rude, Harry."

The chest pressed to his moves. A laugh trembles out of Harry's throat. He sounds a touch mad. Just look what Voldemort's reduced him to...

"Sorry," he lies. "Were you doing some shopping?"

"No."

Harry hums, disbelieving. Voldemort licks his lips and stares at the neck his fingers have been denied. He wonders how much blood he can draw with a bite before Harry manages to escape.

Harry has a habit of vanishing all the marks he gives him. Such an ungrateful creature.

If given half a chance, Voldemort will bite a collar around his throat.

Harry can't breathe.

He doesn't know how it's come to this. He doesn't understand.

Voldemort's mouth is hot and urgent against his. Nails dig into his hip and back. One of Harry's hands is angling Voldemort's chin.

Voldemort lets him. Tips into his touch. Darts a tongue out to taste him.

He shivers.

Isn't he meant to be destroying Voldemort?

A wicked thought catches in his mind.

Can I destroy Voldemort like this?

Long, powerful fingers trace a burning path up his thigh.

Undo him with my touch?

He takes Voldemort in hand.

Unmake him with my mouth?

Slots teeth against his neck when Voldemort jerks. Scrapes them down when the Dark Lord shudders.

Well. It's not a plan he's thought up, before, but-

It's worth a try, isn't it?

au where auror harry potter ends up in the marauders time period, right by the beginning of voldemort’s rise.

harry potter who avoids hogwarts by all means (the memories are too painful) and instead tries to take down voldemort and his death eaters by himself.

harry who drops his last name in favor of the common muggle last name “evans” to completely separate any ties to the potters (for their sakes.)

harry evans who keeps his distance from his mom, the marauders, and snape because he knows if he sees them he’s going to ruin something.

instead, harry evans catches the attention of the potter family (who is convinced he is a long lost heir), the blacks (who start to suspect he is a new up and coming darm lord), dumbledore (who believes the same), and the dark lord himself (who is intrigued by this mysteriously strong man thwarting his every move.)

i timetravelled to when my parents were still kids to destroy the dark lord but i became his lover instead!?

[freshxsturniolo]

but, why? CHRIS STUNRIOLO x FEM!READER - PART THREE.

Part 1 ∣ Part 2

a smile illuminates your face as you walk across the bar after using the bathroom, jasons eyes finding your instantly. gods, he was gorgeous. so gorgeous. you'd had such a lovely evening and enjoyed every second of his and his friends company, but there was a feeling inside of you that just needed to be home.

"did you manage to get an uber?" he asked as you reached him, his hand reaching for your instantly as you sit down. you plaster on a smile and lean forward to drop a small kiss to his lips. gods, those lips.

"yeah. it'll be here shortly." you say, pulling back away and squeezing his hand tightly before letting go, grabbing your drink and finishing the final sip. you had no idea how many drinks you'd had over the last few hours. jason and his friends had done a fine job of ensuring your purse and bank card stayed firmly away, and a drink was always in your hand.

"I feel so bad. are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he leans forward, his hand finding your thigh. your leg tenses on contact, and a warmth washes over you as his hand slowly rubs against your bare skin. "we could go back to mine. or yours." he drops kiss behind your ear and you let out a shaky breath.

truthfully, you had fully expect the night to end exactly like that. you'd made every effort possible, you'd cleaned your apartment within an inch of its life incase he finally came back with you, but still, as much as his touch and his voice was incredibly tempting, tonight didn't feel the night.

"i promise, next time." you flush. and he chuckles into your ear before pulling away, giving your thigh a quick squeeze. "anyway," you start, looking around at his friends who are all around your table, laughing and joking with each other. "imagine what this lot would say if we ran off together."

jason chuckles, picking up his drink. "i dont care, as long as its you im running off with."

your phone pings at exactly the wrong time. your heart swells. you almost want to curse yourself for texting him. asking him to pick you up. theres a light blush against your cheeks and you're about to say something when one of his friends slaps his shoulder, leaning forward and passing another drink forward. you take your chance to look at your phone, seeing his name and letting out a smile.

"i didn't get you one, y/n." your head whips up. "unless you've decided to stay?"

you smile at jasons friend, before you grab your bag from the arm of your chair.

"my ride just got here, but thank you." you smile, starting to stand up. jason follows suit, and you give him a quick look before turning to his friends. you thank them all for a wonderful night, and to your surprise every single one of them stands up to give you a hug. it takes a while, all 5 boys pulling you in and wishing to see you soon, but when you finally spin back to jason, he's made his way to the bar and is leaning against it, staring at you deeply. you walk your way over, and your hands find his neck immediately.

"im busy for the next few days," he starts, and you nod. "but can i call you tomorrow? and the day after that? and then the day after that?"

you laugh, dropping your head down before looking back at him. "of course."

he smiles, leaning forward to brush his lips to yours and you accept gratefully. "let me walk you out." he says, and your heart rate speeds slightly, but you give him a smile.

"im fine, babe. go enjoy yourself."

he's hesitant, but he smiles before leaning forward to drop another kiss."let me know when you're home safe, please." he whispers into your lips.

"of course" you whisper back, and then you give him a final peck before squeezing his arm slightly, and walking away. a laugh escapes you as you hear his table of friends cheer at him as he walks back, and it takes everything in you not to turn around and stare at him one last time.

and yet, the minute you get outside and are greeted by your best friend, you heart leaps a little.

"your carriage awaits" he speaks, leant against the wall. your smile falters as you role your eyes.

"dont gloat" you say, and he laughs, pushing himself off the wall and grabbing you into a hug. your arms are around his back instantly as you give him a squeeze.

"you absolutely stink of vodka" he says into your ear, and you pull away, pushing him away. he laughs, grabbing his car keys from his pocket. "and mr lover boy hasn't even walked you out?"

you roll your eyes again, but grab his wrist for support. "his name is jason. and no. i told him to stay inside."

"such a gentleman" chris mutters, grabbing your arm as you walk towards the car.

"i'll go back inside if you can't be nice." you say, coming to a stand still.

your best friends had become more open over the last few days to your relationship, or not relationship, with jason. but chris still stuck on the fence. disengaging when conversation arose, changing the subject at every possible moment too without it coming across as rude. you had sighed just the night before as you lay in bed with nick, turning over to him and asking him WHY chris was so cold with any man you entered into your life. nick had been hesitant, and he had looked at you like he didn't know what to say for right or wrong, but he had pulled you into a hug and told you to have fun, regardless of what his brother thought.

chris stopped walking too, but a laugh escaped his lips as he slings his arm over your shoulder.

"im only joking, come on, lets get you food."

and so you did. the moment you got in the car and chris played your favourite playlist, you felt the most relaxed you had had all evening. you were drunk, so incredibly drunk, and for some reason chris' energy and presence had bought it out in you. but he took it in his stride. he laughed with you, he payed for your food without question and he sang along to all your favourite songs with you.

when he finally pulled up, at his and the boys house you noticed, you grabbed your phone out of your bag and pinged jason a message to let him know you were home safely, and thanked him again for a great night. when you put your phone back away, chris was staring at you intensely.

"what?" you laugh, grabbing your drink from the cup holder at the side of you. the full sugar pepsi after copious amounts of wine was much welcomed.

chris stared at you, but shrugged as he turned to get out the car. the moment long forgotten when your phone pinged again. you got out of the car, drink in hand and your heart jumped a little when you saw jasons message, telling you he would call you in the morning. placing your phone back in your bag, you make your way towards chris.

"i don't remember asking you to bring me back here" you joke, slipping your hand into his. he looked down at your hands before he interlocked them, grabbing your closer.

"i don't remember you telling me to take you home, either." he jokes. you laugh.

"if you want to spend more time with me, you only have to ask." you say back, hitting his shoulder with yours.

but chris says nothing as you walk into their house, chaos descending the minute nick hears your heels on the floor. you're pulled from chris' arms immedately, nick spinning you round and asking you for every single little detail possible about the night. you were a smirking giddy mess by the time you were done, explaining all the times jason had squeezed your thighs under the table, the kisses behind your ear. nick had listened and gasped in all the right places, but it was matt who bought you back to earth as he flung himself down on the couch after listening from the kitchen.

"so, why the fuck are you here and not at his house?"

you whip your head to him immediately, but it takes you a second. because you're not sure. your eyes scan to chris, and he's staring at you again, exactly how he did in the car. it isn't lost on you that you can't seem to tear your eyes away from him.

"does it fucking matter, matt?" nick chimes, and your trance is broken as you turn around to nick. you smile, internally thanking him for speaking out. you hear matt chuckle behind you, and then nick is on his feet.

"are you staying the night? fuck why am i even asking, you're absolutely staying the night. i have some of your make up wipes in my bathroom. matt, did you throw her stuff from last night into the laundry?"

you spin round to matt, and he stand immediately. "yeah, let me get them."

you smile. "can i borrow a hoodie?"

matt rolls his eyes, but gives you a grin afterwards. you laugh, sinking back into the couch, flinging your heels off onto the floor and pulling your knees into your chest. but when the room becomes silent, matt and nick in other rooms, chris' voice pops up.

"why did you?"

you look to him immediately. you screw your eyebrows. "huh?"

"why did you? come back here? why didn't you stay and end the night with him"

"i-"

he doesn't let you answer.

"what was your excuse for coming home?"

you gulp. "i said i was tired."

"and who did you tell him was giving you a ride?"

you pause. "i told him i called an uber."

he stares at you for what feels like an eternity, before he stands up.

"i cant do this."

"chris-"

but he's off down the stairs to his room before you can say something else.

[vividiana]

tastes like she might be the one

pairing: Astarion x f!Dark Urge · word count: 5.3k

rating: E for shameless smut (MDNI)

tags: blood drinking, period sex, oral sex, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, masturbation, Astarion being a little feral, porn with (some) plot, idiots in love, post-canon, general Durge spoilers

“Well, all of that’s to say that if you would like to… indulge, this might be your one and only chance to do so.” “Oh. I see.” Astarion’s eyes light up at the idea and Eve’s breath hitches when he takes a couple steps closer, his face just inches away when he says: “Then I suppose we better make it count.”

a/n: I did it, I succumbed to the Urge and wrote a period kink oneshot. hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

tagging some of my lovely moots who were hyping me up as I shared snippets from this fic: @khywren @nerdallwritey @xxnashiraxx @obsessedwhyyes @verbenaa @bby-bel-art @hellethil @arzen9 (thank you so much for getting excited about this with me. tbh it would have still been sitting in my wip doc if it weren’t for you all ❤️)

the title is from "LUNCH" by Billie Eilish

read on ao3 · dividers

As Eve is leaving the market, she feels her lower abdomen clench painfully in a manner she doesn’t recognize. She winces, tightening her grip on the grocery bags and tries to figure out what mundane malady it could be this time as she hurries back to the apartment. 

Soon, she reaches the familiar facade, but as she goes for the handle, the door swings open. Eve startles when she sees Astarion, wide-eyed and visibly tense. 

“What are you doing?” she yelps when he pulls her inside, standing just inches away from the pool of sunlight spilling onto the hardwood floors. “Get away from the door!” 

She kicks it shut behind her, the room safely dim again. But Astarion seems to pay no mind to the obvious danger, as he grabs the bags from her and puts them on the ground, before turning her around and assessing her body as if looking for something.

“What happened? Where is it? Show me.”

“Where is what? Are you okay?”

“The wound!” he shrieks, voice high-pitched from nerves. “Hells, I can smell your blood, I could smell it from blocks away. Did someone attack you? Who do I have to kill?” 

Eve freezes as the pieces connect in her mind. The pain. The scent of blood that was imperceptible to her but obvious as alarm bells to Astarion’s senses. 

Eve laughs at the absurdity of it, Astarion’s eyes widening even further as he tries to fathom what in the Hells she’s on about. Bhaal hand-sculpted her for one purpose and one purpose only, designed her to carry out his gory vision most efficiently, and yet he still made her bleed like this…?

“Oh, that petty son of a bitch!” Eve says to no one in particular. After a deep breath, she reaches for Astarion’s hands and explains in a calmer tone: “I’m not hurt, Star. I think I just got my period. It’s as novel to me as it is to you, honestly.”

She watches as Astarion’s expression cycles through a series of emotions, so clear and unfiltered. First confusion, then relief, and finally a peculiar mix of glee and dread. 

“Oh. Oh. ALRIGHT.” He takes a step back, frantically looking up and down her body. When his mouth opens again, words spill out in a chaotic monologue punctuated by nervous giggles. “Fear not, I am so prepared for this. Well, truth be told, my only knowledge about half-elves and menstruation comes from Shadowheart and I don’t know how reliable that is, she tends to be a tad dramatic, don’t you think? But let’s think hmmm… A bath! Would you like me to draw you a bath? Wait, no, you must be hungry, let’s make you some food first.” 

He reaches for the grocery bags and darts upstairs.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Eve asks warily as she follows him up to the kitchenette. 

“Oh yes darling, I am doing quite SPLENDID myself, I am just concerned about your comfort!!” 

Rather unceremoniously, Astarion turns the grocery bags upside down, produce tumbling in all directions across the counter. He grabs a small knife and begins to peel some potatoes whilst aggressively humming Down by the River.

As Eve watches his frantic movements, her stomach drops in realization. 

“Star…” she starts, walking up to him.

“YES, my dearest?”

“Is the blood… distracting?”

Astarion’s nervous, high-pitched giggle is enough of a confirmation.

“OH YES! Incredibly so! But do not worry about me, the concern right now should be YOUR COMFORT.”

“Oh gods,” Eve sighs, massaging her temples. “Is this what the next tenday is going to look like?”

“TENDAY?” Astarion stabs the counter, the tip of the knife wedged into the wooden surface. There is sheer panic in his eyes when he turns around and asks: “You bleed for a tenday?”

“I don’t know, this is a first! But as far as I know, people can bleed for anywhere from three to ten days?”

“THAT’S FINE. We will get through this together!” He yanks the knife out and resumes his task. 

Eve stands there for a moment, watching him, unsure of what to do with herself.

“Are you hungry, is that the problem? Would feeding on me help?”

For a moment, Astarion freezes. He turns around, knife in hand, his gaze slipping down Eve’s body for a split second.

“What exactly are you offering?” he asks when he meets her eyes again, and Eve can feel her cheeks grow hotter in an instant.

“GODS, ASTARION.”

“I’M JUST SAYING–”

“YES, I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING–”

“IT COULD HELP WITH YOUR CRAMPS–”

“OKAY, I’M GOING TO TAKE A BATH NOW, BYE.”

“SOUNDS GOOD, I’LL KEEP PEELING–”

“YOU’VE ALREADY PEELED A DOZEN POTATOES, THAT’S TOO MANY POTATOES FOR ONE PERSON.”

“I’M STILL LEARNING, GIVE ME A BREAK.”

“OKAY I’M LEAVING NOW, I LOVE YOU.”

“I LOVE YOU TOO.”

Eve storms off to the bathroom. As she starts pouring water into the tub, she tries to push away the mental image of Astarion’s head between her thighs.

She adds some lavender oil into the water and gets inside, the hot temperature helping soothe her cramps. She leans her head against the edge of the tub, trying to make sense of all this.

Perhaps the reason she doesn’t remember this happening before is because her body put this particular function on hold while she was fighting for her life every day, sleeping on the ground, and eating irregularly. But now in the six months since the Netherbrain fell, she has been able to finally feel safe, giving her organism a chance to settle back into its natural rhythm. 

It still doesn’t explain why Bhaal didn’t just skip this part in the design process, but Eve does not even want to begin to understand his sick and twisted ways, so she pushes those thoughts away and tries to relax.

After fifteen minutes or so, there is a light knock on the door.

“Yes?”

The door creaks and Eve opens her eyes to see Astarion with a mug in his hand, looking a tad embarrassed.

“Hello,” he says as he continues to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

“You can come in, I won’t bite.”

He walks up and places the steaming mug on a stool by the tub. Eve can smell the mix of chamomile, ginger, and something else she doesn’t recognize. Astarion kneels beside her, arms propped on the edge of the tub.

“I brewed you some herbs that should help ease the pain. And there’s stew cooking, it will be done in an hour or so.”

“Thank you.” She reaches for his hand and places a kiss on his knuckles, eliciting a soft smile.

“I’m sorry about earlier. It was a lot to process all at once. I thought you might be bleeding out on the street somewhere and I couldn’t do anything about it, I was just stuck inside waiting for you to come back. And then you waltz in here as if nothing happened and once I knew you were safe, the smell of your blood was–” He trails off with an absentminded smile. “Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten somewhat accustomed to it now, but it is still quite distracting.”

“I’m sorry you were so worried, that must have been terrifying.”

“It was. But I also should have known that if anyone was foolish enough to attack you, you could handle it just fine. Anyways, you should drink your tea,” he says, passing her the mug. She takes a sip, the herbal mix blossoming on her tongue, and hands it back to him. “Are you enjoying the bath?”

“Yes, the hot water is helping a lot. But, I’m afraid there is something wrong with our tub.”

“Which is?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s missing an elf.”

“Ah, an easy fix,” he says with a smile. 

Eve takes another sip of her tea as Astarion slips out of his clothes. She shuffles forward to make space for him, and he slowly lowers himself into the tub behind her, gasping as he touches the hot water. She leans back against his chest, nestling into his open arms.

After a moment of silence, Astarion asks:

“So, we don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to… But, um… Doesn’t this seem like a design flaw?”

“No, we do have to talk about him, because what in the actual fuck was he thinking? As if my whole life wasn’t bloody enough. And I can’t even justify it in any pragmatic way, because it’s not like I needed to bear more Bhaalspawn. I was supposed to be the last one!” 

“Daddy’s special girl.”

“Do not ever say that again.” She elbows him and Astarion laughs behind her.

After her bath and dinner, Eve decides to head downstairs and visit Derryth while the apothecary is still open. She explains the situation and asks for some menstrual cloths and anything that could help ease her cramps. The woman watches her intently as she listens, brows furrowed.

“Okay, so personally this is none of my business of course,” Derryth says, raising her hands defensively. “But as an apothecary, I feel obligated to ask: are you aware that you do not need to bleed every month? There are ways you can stop it.”

“There are?”

“Yes. Well, but first: are you and Astarion trying to conceive?”

Eve just stares blankly ahead as her life flashes before her eyes. It’s not something she ever thought to consider, she just assumed… Well, he is undead, after all.

“Umm… is that even… possible?” she asks weakly. “Given our… situation?”

“Under regular circumstances, no,” Derryth rushes to answer and Eve sighs with barely concealed relief, “but I’ve heard of some rituals… I don’t know, Eve, stranger things have happened. But no, unless you go out of your way to achieve it, you’re safe.”

“Okay. Then no, we are absolutely not trying to conceive. Gods, could you imagine–”

“I’d rather not,” Derryth says curtly. “Now, if that’s the case, then there is absolutely no need for you to suffer every moon. There are different ways you can go about it, the one that seems most popular with my clients is this tonic,” she says as she pulls out a couple of bottles from the drawer behind her and places them on the counter. “It’s fairly easy to use, it comes in these little bottles and you drink one the first night of each tenday. And there you go, problem solved.”

“That sounds… awfully easy,” Eve says as she eyes the medicine before her.

“Well, yes, because it is.”

“Does it have any side effects?”

“Of course it doesn’t. It’s supposed to make your life easier, not harder,” Derryth says with the patience of a parent explaining the most obvious concept to their child. 

Eve gets a month’s supply to try out, along with some pain medicine to help carry her over before the tonic starts to work. When she gets back to the apartment, she shows Astarion the bottles and explains how it all works.

“That’s probably for the best,” he says. “I’m glad you won’t have to go through this pain again.”

“Yes, me too, but…” Eve hesitates for a moment, but the memory of Astarion’s frantic energy from this morning is enough to give her the confidence to suggest: “Well, all of that’s to say that if you would like to… indulge, this might be your one and only chance to do so.”

“Oh. I see.” Astarion’s eyes light up at the idea and Eve’s breath hitches when he takes a couple steps closer, his face just inches away when he says: “Then I suppose we better make it count.”

There is a moment of tense silence as they regard each other, Eve’s chest rising and falling heavily at his proximity. 

But then the final thread of self-control snaps and Astarion pulls her closer, capturing her mouth in a greedy kiss, swallowing up the gasp that slips past Eve’s lips as she opens up to him. Suddenly, the air around her is all citrus and spice, Astarion’s scent and taste mixing into an intoxicating combination. It could easily sweep her off her feet were it not for his hands digging into her hips, anchoring her against him.

With a firm tug to her lower lip, Astarion breaks away, an undeniable urgency to his movements as his mouth slips down to her neck and he inhales sharply, head nuzzled against her. His voice is low and breathy when he says:

“Hells, you smell divine.”

With bated breath, she awaits the sharp sting of his fangs, wanting nothing more than to give him everything he craves. But instead, Astarion’s hands slip down to the back of her thighs and Eve’s body instinctively follows, like it’s a routine they’ve been rehearsing. She jumps, legs wrapping around his waist as if that’s precisely where they belonged. 

Eve sinks her fingers into his soft curls, kissing him with a newfound ferocity. She barely registers the steps Astarion takes until with a loud clatter, he kicks a chair out of his way, and she realizes they’re at the dining table. He lets go of her with one hand to push his notes to the side, pieces of parchment flying to the floor as he seats her on the edge. 

Astarion breaks the kiss, pinning her in place under his watchful gaze, the room silent save for the heavy pounding of Eve’s heart.

“Indulge, you say? Don’t mind if I do.” 

Astarion sinks down to his knees before her, and the sight of it alone is enough to make Eve’s head spin with need, the overwhelming desire to feel his mouth against her skin, to hear the savory sounds that escape his throat every time he tastes her. 

He tugs at her waistband and Eve lifts herself off the table just enough to let him pull her pants down and toss them to the side. Astarion swallows hard when she parts her legs for him and it looks like it’s taking him every ounce of self-determination to not rip off the final barrier between them and devour her right there and then. 

His hands reach up to push her back, and she leans away, propped on her elbows, not daring to miss out on a single moment of this hypnotizing spectacle. A low, guttural sound rumbles out of his chest as he presses his lips to her plush thigh and starts kissing up, closer, and closer, and–

Eve winces at a sharp stab of pain that begins to radiate down her thighs and up her spine in a throbbing, dull shiver, the hard wooden surface beneath her doing nothing to soothe her discomfort.

Astarion pauses, leaning away to meet her eyes.

“Are you alright, love?”

“I, um–” she sighs, bemoaning the need to be rational at a moment like this. “I am loving this energy, I really am. But there is no way we’re doing this on a table, my back is killing me.” 

“I suppose we can make do with a bed, then.”

He wastes no time as he rises to his feet and scoops her up, and in that moment Eve is convinced that she could get used to being carried like this. Astarion rushes to the bedroom to find Scratch splayed out across the mattress, raising his head curiously as they enter.

“Out,” he orders with poorly concealed desperation.

The dog whines, but darts out of the room obediently, and Astarion kicks the door shut behind him. He lowers her onto the edge of the bed and retrieves some pillows to place under her back. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes, I feel quite spoiled, actually. Are you comfortable?” she asks, unconvinced, watching as he once again gets to his knees on the hardwood floor.

“Oh, trust me, I am exactly where I want to be,” he says in a tone that erases any lingering trace of doubt from her mind.

Eve falls silent as Astarion’s hands begin to snake up her thighs, lithe fingers reaching the hem of her underwear, eyes meeting hers for a final confirmation that feels superfluous given their current predicament, and yet he still seeks it. Eve nods slowly, her throat too tight with anticipation to utter a sound, and she watches as Astarion hooks his fingers in and begins to slide the garment off her body with nigh religious reverence.

Once it slips down to her knees, she can finally get a better view and gods damn it, she changed into clean clothes less than an hour ago and already the fabric is ruined, a dark, rust-colored stain blooming along the gusset.

Eve shuffles her legs, helping Astarion slide the underwear completely off her. She expects him to toss it on the floor, but instead she watches, transfixed, as he folds it meticulously before slipping it into his pant pocket.

“Excuse you–”

But her objection dies in her throat at the sight of Astarion parting her thighs with unmatched focus. For a moment he just kneels there completely still, pupils blown wide, watching her like a predator poised to strike. It would be unnerving if it wasn’t him.

He hooks his arms under her thighs and pulls her closer, resting her legs on his shoulders.

Under his scrutinous gaze she becomes utterly aware of the wetness between her thighs, blood and arousal mixing into one. Suddenly, her mind drifts away from her kneeling lover to the softness of the silk bed sheets beneath her, the sheets that they got as a housewarming gift from Shadowheart, the ones that Astarion was so excited about, and however weakly, she whispers:

“Wait– We’re going to ruin the sheets–” 

Her words seem to snap Astarion out of his trance and he looks up from the sanguine scene before him to meet her gaze. 

“I can live with that.”

And as if to prove his point, he lunges forward, their moans mixing in unison the moment his tongue drags a firm line along her center. His grip on her tightens, surely enough to bruise, but Eve is way past the point of caring. Damn the bruises, damn the sheets, all that matters right now is the inferno raging within her, the ungodly sounds erupting from the depth of Astarion’s chest as he feasts on her like a man starved. 

Eve’s elbows give in beneath her and she falls back on the pillows, losing sight of his efforts. Instead she reaches for him, nails scraping against his scalp, legs crossed behind his head and urging him closer. Astarion’s nose presses deliciously against her clit as his tongue enters her time and time again, his groans vibrating through her core. 

One of his hands wanders to the hem of her shirt, lifting it up past the soft curve of her stomach. He leans away ever so lightly, lips brushing against her as he pleads:

“I need to see all of you.”

Eve complies, the tempo of Astarion’s tongue hastening the moment the linen slips past her the stiff peaks of her nipples. As she tosses her blouse to the side, she is struck by how completely bare she is before him, all the while Astarion looks as if he might have just come home from work, every button accounted for, every thread in place. A perfect picture of composure, were it not for the state of his curls, dampened with sweat and flattened against the grip of her thighs, nor the blood smeared against every inch of his exposed skin.

His tongue leaves her, but before she can protest this newfound emptiness, his mouth shifts up, lips closing around her clit with a firm suck as a single finger teases her entrance. Astarion slips inside with no resistance, one knuckle deep, tormenting her with how it’s simultaneously overwhelming and not nearly enough.

“Please, Star–”

But before the words fully leave her lips, they blossom into a wanton moan as he sheathes his finger, and beckons her, brushing against the spot that makes her feel weightless, like she is not of this world.

She bucks her hips into him and he moans against her cunt, encouraged by her reaction, and soon enough a second finger follows. He slides in slowly, the stretch combined with the suction of his lips pushing any previous aches and discomfort from her mind, leaving naught but an all-encompassing surrender, delicious pressure rising within her.

Through the haze, she reaches down, fingers teasing the points of his ears, and she knows exactly what she is doing, knows the effect it has on him, how it coaxes the sweetest sounds from his lips she is sure she will never get enough of. 

She recalls the first time she did it, over a year ago, back when neither of them knew how to define the curious companionship that has grown between them. It elicited the most unrestrained noise she ever heard from him and Astarion must have been taken aback by it, too, because he tore her hands away from him, pinning them above her head. He told her then that she was playing with fire but she couldn’t help it, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blaze. 

It consumes them both now, eliciting the most obscene sounds from her love, his fingers picking up speed as they dart in and out of her, brushing deep inside with every stroke. 

She knows she won’t last long, cannot last long, not with the way he has become fluent in the language of her body, knowing exactly which strings to pull to make her sing. 

And sing she does, mouth falling open with praises that get increasingly terser, until the only word she can remember is his name. 

She cries it out as she grasps the sheets, the moment the pleasure becomes uncontainable, when it lights up every nerve, every inch of her skin. It’s a trust fall and he is right there to catch her, just as he always is. Just as he always will be.

Astarion’s grip doesn’t soften as she rides out this crest, his mouth and fingers relentless in drawing every last one of her moans, her eyes shut in pure bliss.

But then eventually all of her energy evaporates, her thighs growing slack around him, and Astarion retracts slowly, placing the softest kiss on her clit before getting to his feet. 

Eve feels the mattress dip as he crawls towards her and she somehow wills her eyelids to open, only to witness Astarion’s bloodied fingers slip into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he begins to suck. The display is enough to make her throat go dry, skin flaring up with want that never got the chance to subside. 

Finally when he salvages every single drop, he lets go, eyes meeting hers as his fingers leave his mouth. Eve takes in the gory state of him: there is blood on his lips and chin of course, but also some on his nose, and is that…? Yes, somehow a bit of it found its way to his brow line. She can’t help but laugh as she tucks a flattened curl behind his ear.

“You look…”

“Happy?” Astarion offers, making a show of licking his lips in a manner that is surely against some moral law.

“I was going to say insatiable.”

“You would be correct,” he admits as he cups her cheek. 

He kisses her deeply, his taste a heady mixture of them both, laced with the metallic tinge of her blood. And suddenly their bodies are flush against one another once more, hands wandering, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh. Eve’s hand slithers down between them, Astarion’s jaw going slack the moment she palms his still-clothed cock. 

Her breath hitches at the feel of him in her hand, but Astarion seems to have a plan of his own because he manages to compose himself, leaning away to ask:

“Can you take more?” 

“Try me,” she dares, the attempted edge of her words dulled by how breathless she is. 

A wide grin blooms on Astarion’s face, the tips of his fangs glinting in the moonlight when he asks: 

“How is your back?”

It takes her a second to register the meaning of his question. Truth be told, she completely forgot about it, the pain pushed out into the far corners of her mind by the overwhelming pleasure.

“It’s better.”

“Excellent. Do you think you can sit up?”

“Yes?” she says, unsure of where he is going with this.

Astarion leans away enough to pull his shirt over his head, and then rests on his back, tapping his shoulders as he says:

“Then sit.”

“What?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“You heard me.”

Slowly, Eve gets to her knees, trying to ignore the way the wetness pooled between her thighs seems to shift with the movement. But the shameless anticipation painted on Astarion’s face is enough to weed out any sprouting insecurities, and so she moves up, caging his head between her thighs and gripping the carved headboard for support. 

There is a moment of stillness when she hovers over him, and then Astarion’s gaze travels from her face down to her core and he licks his lips at the sight because of course he does.

Eve rolls her eyes and says:

“You’re ridicul–” 

But before she can finish the thought, Astarion grabs her waist and pulls her down, forcing an ungodly gasp out of her and suddenly all she can think about is how overwhelming the feeling of his mouth is in that position. Astarion gives her a slight, encouraging shove, and Eve starts rocking against him, chasing the friction that feeds the tempest brewing within her.

Astarion seems to be completely lost in the feeling, clawing at her thighs and moaning against her cunt in a way that vibrates deliciously up her spine. Eve wants to hear more of those sweet sounds, so she looks back, witnessing the erection straining against his pants and she reaches out to stroke him through the fabric. He groans, the movements of his tongue growing sloppier by the second, as she’s trying to unlace his pants with one hand without losing her balance.

“Need a little– Ah– Help,” she gasps when the task quickly proves beyond her current capabilities.

Astarion lets go of her thighs, nimble fingers moving to unfasten the garment in no time. He pulls his pants and underwear down just enough to free his untouched cock and Eve’s mouth waters as she catches a glimpse of how hard and flushed it is.

She leans back, propping herself with one hand as the other reaches out to spread the bead of precum over the head. As much as she can muster from that position, she starts to stroke him, encouraged by the truly obscene sounds that start erupting from his throat. 

But then she feels her side cramp up, her arm giving in beneath her. Astarion’s hands dart to grasp at her waist to keep her from collapsing.

“Bad idea,” she admits as she regains her balance, clutching at the headboard.

Astarion hums a noncommittal ‘mhm’ against her center as he settles back into a rhythm. His tongue is relentless in forcing ragged gasps out of her, but Eve wants to give him more, so in a flash of lust-laced genius, she offers:

“Bite me.”

Astarion’s eyes widen, his pupils dilated to the point where she can barely see the scarlet encircling them. He turns his head to the side and Eve would mourn the loss of his touch, were it not immediately compensated by the deep guttural moan that escapes his mouth the moment his teeth sink into her thigh.

Somehow, in all this time together, they have never done this. The initial sting is much sharper than usual, but as Astarion starts to drink, blood leaving Eve’s body in greedy pulls, she feels the familiar throbbing sensation begin to radiate from the wound, her cunt pulsating with every sip he takes and oh gods–

She watches mesmerized as Astarion reaches down and starts to pump himself and the image alone is enough to push her towards the edge. Her fingers slip down to her center to gather some of her slick before gliding up, tracing circles around her clit, her movements matching the rhythmic groans that Astarion makes with every mouthful of her blood. 

Eve knows that he’s close, recognizes it in the timbre of his voice, the furrowed line between his brows, the tension in his muscles as his strokes pick up pace. She swallows hard, wishing for nothing more than to watch him unravel beneath him, to witness–

It sneaks up on her this time, the electrifying shudder that tears through her body. Her mouth falls agape, knuckles white as they grip desperately at the headboard as if it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Through the bliss, she barely registers the final guttural moan coming from somewhere below, the thick, hot rivulets painting her back.

Astarion’s mouth reluctantly leaves her thigh, his tongue cleaning up any remains of blood off her skin. Eve can feel his hands come up to her waist to steady her, but for now all she can do is just sit there, breathing heavily, head spinning with blood loss and afterglow.

After a couple moments she wills her muscles to move, her legs shaky as she shuffles down Astarion’s body before collapsing on top of him. His arms drape softly around her and they lie there in silence, utterly spent.

Eventually, Astarion slips out from underneath her, and Eve would reach out to stop him if she had any energy left. Instead, she burrows her face into the pillow and listens to the soft clicks of Astarion’s heels against the floor (how did he keep his shoes on all this time?) as he rustles through some drawers. 

When he returns, she feels his palm nestle in between her shoulder blades, his voice soft and steady when he utters the incantation:

“Te absolvo.” 

Healing magic begins to radiate across her body, lifting the heaviness from her muscles and dissipating the fog clouding her mind. And then there is another sensation as what she assumes to be a warm wet cloth runs gently along her back before slipping between her thighs, erasing the evidence of whatever the Hells it was they just experienced.

Suddenly, Eve feels a pang of disappointment and she voices it by mumbling incomprehensibly into the pillow.

“I don’t speak Ghukliak, love,” Astarion says.

Eve groans before turning her face to the side. She meets his amused gaze, spotting the Amulet of Silvanus that adorns his bare chest.

“I said: ‘are you done already?’ You don’t want more blood?”

Astarion laughs heartily as he grabs another cloth to clean his stomach and chest.

“Oh, and I’m the insatiable one? I always want more blood, dear, but you look like you could use a break, you know.”

“Excuse you, I feel excellent.” 

And as if to prove it, she props herself up and sits on the edge of the mattress. She takes a sip from the water cup he left for her on the bedside table before getting to her feet. 

Astarion watches her intensely as she approaches. Usually, he’s much more relaxed after he feeds, but Eve can see that there is still some tension in his features, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as she steps into his space. 

She knows he’s holding himself back. 

And that just won’t do.

Her arms drape around his neck, and she leans in, lips brushing against his ear as she whispers:

“Take as much as you want, Star. It’s a rare treat, after all.”

Eve delights in the strained gasp that leaves his lips, in the caress of his hands that trail down to her waist before pulling her flush against him.

“How awfully selfless of you,” he drawls, leaning in to kiss her.

a/n: aaaaaand with that, I have officially passed 100k words on ao3. what a glorious way to reach that milestone 😅 I would love to hear your thoughts on this one, especially since I rarely write smut so any feedback is super helpful ❤️

[sorceresssundries]

The Tower

My next contribution for the @bg3tarotdeck is Rolan!!

This one was very special to me as I adore Rolan, and The Tower card is a pretty intimidating one to write for.

I loved it though, and I was blessed to get to pair up with the wonderful @mescalitoart for this one! Their artwork for this card is incredible.

Project Kickstarter info here!

It came as if from nowhere. 

The elder brain was a monstrosity, an abomination wearing the cursed crown of a heretic. As it rose from the bowels of the undercity ruins, its vast, pulsing mass blotted out the sun and cast a shadow that swallowed Baldur’s Gate. From his vantage point atop Ramazith’s Tower, Rolan watched in grim silence, the memory of Elturel's fall tightening like a clawed fist around his heart. He had made a promise to Tav that the sky would fall upon any who stood in their way.

He had been powerless when Elturel was dragged into hell, but not anymore.

Not this time.

This must be what it was all for, he thought with surprising numbness. He had faced banishment, the slaughter of his people, the crushing grief of thinking Cal and Lia were dead, and the humiliation of countless beatings from a cruel and undeserving master. Yet, he had endured. This was no longer a path he was being dragged down, but a mantle he was ready to pick up. 

Everything had led him here. From the pits of hell to the top of the tower - and now, he had a part to play. 

From its perch in the darkened sky, the elder brain pulsed waves of psychic energy, calling forth reinforcements. Nautiloid ships filled the sky in response, their grotesque silhouettes slipping through portals to ready themselves at its side. Minutes before, the air had been filled with the chatter and life of a bustling city. Now, there were only screams and smoke.

Rolan had made improvements to the tower’s defences and artillery, rectifying the neglect of his predecessor. The former master had been lazy and indulgent, more focused on seizing power than fulfilling his duty as the city’s protective mage. Rolan had done what he could, but feared it might not be enough to withstand the onslaught of Illithid attack ships. 

It didn’t matter. He had a promise to keep. If the tower had to fall alongside the sky, then so be it.

“Rolan!” Lia’s voice was a blade through his epiphany. His brave, stubborn sister stumbled out onto the balcony, suddenly sounding like the frightened little girl who had taken him in when they were children. She and Cal had saved him and become his family when he had no one. It was a debt he was determined to repay.

“What are you doing?” he snapped as a massive shadow from the nautiloid ship passed over their heads “It is not safe! Get out of here, now!”

“Don’t be a dolt, Rolan,” Cal snapped, emerging right behind her. “You really think we’d leave you up here alone? Not a chance. Tell us what needs to be done.”

He looked at their faces, jaws set and eyes blazing. His fierce, selfless siblings who he loved completely.

“Fine, make yourselves useful. I need more scrolls, as many as you can carry. Get back to the shop, and find any that will summon lightning.”

“But...” Cal started.

“Quickly!”

The two of them exchanged a glance, and Lia sighed.

“Do not do anything reckless, at least until we get back,” she said with one of her easy smiles. “We stick together, remember?”

He nodded, fighting the urge to pull them both into a hug—the way he had during stormy nights when they were children.

They raced through the portal without looking back, recklessly determined to help as always. Just like at the grove, on the road to Moonrise, and at every step of their journey. They had never wavered.

“Forgive me,” Rolan murmured, his voice cracking softly. With a heavy heart, he flicked his hand, and the portal shimmered and vanished in a flash of magic. Sealing them away, ensuring they couldn’t return to him.

He was alone.

Rolan resumed his place at the tower’s ledge, watching as the nautiloid ships steadied, focusing their barrage on the High Hall. They were trying to stop Tav and the others from reaching the top. His eyes flicked to the tower’s artillery control. One press, and he could rain fire down on any target he desired. But there was no signal from Tav yet, and without it, he had to wait. 

The tower shook as another volley of fire pummelled the city. He knew he had only one good shot before he gave himself away completely, and the tower’s defences wouldn’t stand a chance against the concentrated firepower of the entire fleet. 

Just then, a nearby nautiloid shifted, its shadow darkening the tower as it pivoted toward him. Its artillery halted and readjusted —focusing on the tower’s spire. 

They had noticed him. 

His heart quickened as he realised it wouldn’t wait for him to strike first. If he didn’t act quickly, it wouldn’t matter whether Tav signalled or not. His promise would count for nothing. 

He had to keep the ship off him, just long enough for the signal. 

He felt for the threads of the weave, silken and pliant between his fingers as the comforting scent of rosewater wrapped itself around him. His focus sharpened as his tongue carved out the arcane command, splitting the delicate threads of magic apart. Silk became static, and magic gathered in the skies above him, transforming smoke into storm clouds. The soft, rolling darkness growled and purred, and with one word from his lips, lightning crackled and spat across the battlefield sky.

Flashes of lightning turned his gold eyes silver-blue, illuminating his bruises and making his slow-healing scars look like fresh wounds. His teeth were bared in concentration, his muscles taut.

 He was the thunder that summoned the lightning. He was the storm atop the tower.

A bolt pierced the nautiloid ship. It sparked and blazed, and the ship stuttered like a failing heart against the smoke-clotted sky. Another bolt threw itself down, missing and hitting the surface of the Chionthar with a hiss. And then… lightning struck the tower.

The explosion rocked the structure and falling shrapnel slit his skin, but Rolan did not move. He stood firm. The end was near—he could see the ships turning toward him. He wouldn’t last long.

A strange relief washed over him. At least Cal and Lia were safe.

Just as he thought his time was up, the signal he had been waiting for pulsed in the distance. Hope bloomed once more, as it always had.

It was time to fire the cannon.

[milla-frenchy]

One of my favorite Javi p series, with my favorite Javi p gif EVER? 🫠🫠🫠👌

Emily, you know how much these two mean to me. How Birthday present left a mark in my heart, how photocopies rushed into this same mark, and now this one???

Thank you thank you thank you for writing more of them 👌🤌

The bounce of your hair, held back prettily by silver hair clips he gifted, floats your fragrant shampoo behind you and Javier inhales it greedily – the sweet smell instantly transporting him back to when he would breathe it fresh from its source; nose buried your hair as you curled up, sated in his arms - your naked body still warm from the shower entangling with his in the once crisp, now damp sheets of your shared bed.

She's wearing his clips!!! The smell reminds him such sweet memories 🥹🥹🥹

A good man would leave you alone, not invent the flimsiest of excuses to walk past the window next to your desk every chance he got just to catch a glimpse of you.  A good man wouldn’t try to time his arrival at work to coincide with yours, marking the time he shares your same air in the elevator as the most blissful thirty seconds of his day.

I disagree firmly, Javi 😌

Too many hours later after the briefing finally concludes, Javier purposefully takes the long way back from the conference room to the DEA’s office so he can walk by your department.  He’s checking his watch after noticing that your desk sits empty, your belongings gone

Javi realizing she's not in her office 👇😁

(dear lord he's so beautiful)

Without even thinking, Javier breaks out into a sprint so he can slip into your elevator just as the doors start to close.  The elevator is packed with embassy staff eager to leave work; though the DEA agent cannot see you, he can feel you.  Javier’s shoulders sag in relief just to be this close to you again.

Awwww 🥹🥹🥹

Your actual resolutions for the new year are for you and you alone: To break though to Javier Peña and make him confess the truth to you.

Screaming!!!!!! Yes you go girl!!!!

After your run in with Javi in the photocopier room a month ago, you had forced yourself to push past the hurt of having his betrayal thrown in your face and sat down to really contemplate the interaction.  His soft confessions, vulnerable and pure, were so reminiscent of the Javi you had loved – the man who had so much compassion and empathy in that hidden heart of his that whenever he felt safe enough to lay it bare, it couldn’t help but overflow.  Further tearing down your already crumbling walls was the memory of his kisses - they had melted you near instantly, your own lips as desperate and wanting as his to be reunited.  And his eyes - the look in Javi's eyes that day had threatened to drown you with the intensity of devotion and love that you saw storming within. For a brief moment, your Javi had returned to you. 

Loved all of this so much. I love them so much, damn

And then you think back to your birthday and the thoughtful, considerate gift he wanted you to have but never took the credit for.  So characteristic of the man to give and give, never taking anything for himself.

Omg do I love this. I LOVE when Javi is a giver, and you describe this side of him so perfectly ❤️❤️

You wear the clothes he loved best and always, always the silver bird barrettes he gifted you in your hair.  You’re generous with the perfume and shampoo you know he associated with your signature scent and waft by him as often as you can.  Today, for example, you could have easily left the analysis on the Ambassador’s desk, but you knew he could be found in a DEA debrief, so you went there directly instead.

Oh please that's so cute

Your heart sings affectionately in your chest. I’m going to keep reminding you of me so you don’t forget, you promise silently.  Come back to me and tell me the truth, please, Javi.

I loved reading their emotions, loved learning more, OMG??? Javi baby, you deserve to be loved, stop ruining everything 😭😭😭

I love that she noticed his moves, but pretend she didn't

This is absolutely perfect, thank you so much for this new gift 🥹❤️🫶

Always Tomorrow

1.8K / Javier Pena x fem!reader

Summary: Javier chooses an impossible new year's resolution.

Warnings: Longing, pining. Allusion to past relationship. Cigarettes.

A/N: A quick one for the same couple from Birthday Present and Photocopies; written for @beefrobeefcal's New Year, Same Pena challenge. Can be read as standalone, but if you follow them, this takes place ~a month after Photocopies (includes a few references to what happened in that instalment); there's a clue in here re: the truth about what happened if you squint, and if you squint a little less, some hope.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘/ Should I make this an official series/collection and make a masterlist?

“So, you fellas make any new year’s resolutions?”

The Ambassador’s seemingly innocuous question slices through the curls of smoke swirling upwards from the overflowing ashtray in the centre of the conference table and causes Javier to stiffen.

“To put the lid down on the toilet.  Connie’s request,” quips Steve.  The joke is a bit too juvenile and lighthearted for the serious nature of today’s debrief on Search Bloc’s updated strategy for the new year – both Murphy and Crosby’s resulting laughter is superficial, perfunctory.  Javier remains silent, pensive – preoccupied by both the myriads of tactical plans and diagrams spread across the table and his own answer.

“What about you, Agent Peña?”

He wants to glare at the older man.  Spit out his new year’s resolutions with the same soul-eroding venom it took to make them in the first place and watch as the Chief of Mission absorbed the acidity behind their meaning:

To stop being such a creep and stay away from you.

Even now in this very moment, Javier’s failing at his resolve; covetous eyes instinctively drawn to the hypnotic sway of your hips in that dress of yours that always made his heart skip - you’ve appeared out of nowhere, as if Javier’s very thoughts conjured you. He only wishes he held such a power.

Sauntering into the boardroom, your graceful but decisive steps bring you straight to the Ambassador, to whom you hand a folder and whisper your purpose.  Does Javier unwittingly lick his lips at the sight of your plush pout fluttering open and closed?  Only Murphy notices.  Is Agent Peña imagining how the warmth of your sweet breath might feel on his neck if he were on the receiving end of your quiet words?  He is.  The ever present regret in his heart reminds him that there was a time when he didn’t have to imagine.

He's jolted out of his daze when you brush past him and Steve with a professional but friendly, Agent to each man.  Even the curt moniker sounds like a song in your angelic voice - Javier closes his eyes, an attempt to slow down time and soak in your melody a little longer.

The bounce of your hair, held back prettily by silver hair clips he gifted, floats your fragrant shampoo behind you and Javier inhales it greedily – the sweet smell instantly transporting him back to when he would breathe it fresh from its source; nose buried your hair as you curled up, sated in his arms - your naked body still warm from the shower entangling with his in the once crisp, now damp sheets of your shared bed.

“Peña?”

Mierda. So much for not being a creep.

“My new year’s resolution?  To catch Escobar.”

“Good man,” a supportive palm is clasped onto Javier’s shoulder as the Ambassador turns back towards the paperwork on the table.

Yeah right.  A good man would leave you alone, not invent the flimsiest of excuses to walk past the window next to your desk every chance he got just to catch a glimpse of you.  A good man wouldn’t try to time his arrival at work to coincide with yours, marking the time he shares your same air in the elevator as the most blissful thirty seconds of his day.

Well, I’m not a good man, concedes Javier, but I am NOT a quitter either.

Too many hours later after the briefing finally concludes, Javier purposefully takes the long way back from the conference room to the DEA’s office so he can walk by your department.  He’s checking his watch after noticing that your desk sits empty, your belongings gone, when he spies the pretty shape of you disappear down the hall and around the corner towards the elevators.

Without even thinking, Javier breaks out into a sprint so he can slip into your elevator just as the doors start to close.  The elevator is packed with embassy staff eager to leave work; though the DEA agent cannot see you, he can feel you.  Javier’s shoulders sag in relief just to be this close to you again.

When he exits on the main floor, Javier walks swiftly towards the front doors – pretending that going out for a cigarette had been his intention all along.  He’s just lighting up when you fly past him and down the embassy steps towards your waiting car.  He adores you from behind - you're oblivious to him memorizing the curl of your fingers in the handle of the opening car door and the grace with which you slip in the backseat. Ever unaware of your admiring audience, the chime of your greeting to your driver rings loud and joyous even from where Javier stands.  For the second time today, Agent Peña closes his eyes to replay your voice in his mind – taking a deep drag of his cigarette as he does so; the twin high from having been in the vicinity of your being, your voice, your smell and the nicotine making him slightly lightheaded.

“Don’t most people quit cigarettes for their new year’s resolution, Peña?”

Opening his eyes, Javier sees one of his CIA counterparts standing next to him, chuckling as he himself pulls out his own pack.

“Nah.  I like a challenge for my resolutions,” Javier half jokes.

“Oh yeah?  How’s it going so far?”

Not sure if he’s happy or resigned at the truth, Javier confesses, “Failing miserably.”

“Well, there’s always tomorrow, buddy.”

“Yeah, always tomorrow,” agrees Javier, wistful - his softened eyes following your car as it leaves the embassy grounds.

You

When you walked into the big conference room to update Ambassador Crosby on the Columbian-US trade fluctuation analysis he had asked for, you weren’t at all offended that he didn’t include you in the new year’s resolutions conversation.  The man had already engaged you in what seemed to be his current go-to small talk topic earlier this morning over breakfast.

You had answered something believable about procrastinating less, improving your Spanish, to which he had approvingly nodded.

Your actual resolutions for the new year are for you and you alone:

To break though to Javier Peña and make him confess the truth to you.

After your run in with Javi in the photocopier room a month ago, you had forced yourself to push past the hurt of having his betrayal thrown in your face and sat down to really contemplate the interaction.  His soft confessions, vulnerable and pure, were so reminiscent of the Javi you had loved – the man who had so much compassion and empathy in that hidden heart of his that whenever he felt safe enough to lay it bare, it couldn’t help but overflow.  Further tearing down your already crumbling walls was the memory of his kisses - they had melted you near instantly, your own lips as desperate and wanting as his to be reunited.  And his eyes - the look in Javi's eyes that day had threatened to drown you with the intensity of devotion and love that you saw storming within.

For a brief moment, your Javi had returned to you. 

And then you think back to your birthday and the thoughtful, considerate gift he wanted you to have but never took the credit for.  So characteristic of the man to give and give, never taking anything for himself.

It had been the same when the two of you were together before.  You let yourself revisit the times you felt the safest, cherished, understood while you were in Columbia and they were all moments spent in the rough agent’s arms.  He had given you patience, kindness, and tenderness – his everything; not once did he demand anything in return, though Javi would never admit that he yearned for the same. You saw through his facade easily and showered him with your support, comfort, calm – all given freely and without reservation; and for that, he had loved you fiercely.  He had known you and you had known him, the real Javi beneath his gruff exterior armour.

Something he said that day in the photocopier room struck you as odd:

You deserve someone who can give you the best things in life.  You deserve someone better than me.

Those were not Javier Peña’s words.  After everything you had shared with him about your upbringing, your family and your complicated feelings about legacy and privilege, he would know that those words could never hold any weight with you.  Then why did he say it?  Whose words were they?  You don’t know but you think it’s the key to figuring out why Javi is pushing you away. 

After that horrible night when you ran from the heart shattering scene in his apartment, you became convinced that your relationship and the Javi you had fallen in love with had both been a lie.  A ruse to add you as another notch on Javier Peña’s already heavily laden belt.  But the thoughtfulness of his birthday gift and then the sincerity and emotion that radiated from him during your brief reunion last month had you reconsidering that premise.  Your Javi exists, you know it.  He’s in there, locked away, and you think he still loves you.  You think you still love him, too.

So, you decided you would draw him out. 

You pretend not to notice when he walks by the window next to your desk more than anyone could possibly need to, but make sure to be there as much as possible whenever he’s in the office.  You ask people to come to your desk instead of going to theirs whenever you're needed; you trouble the embassy catering staff to bring you coffee instead of going yourself to the breakroom.

You wear the clothes he loved best and always, always the silver bird barrettes he gifted you in your hair.  You’re generous with the perfume and shampoo you know he associated with your signature scent and waft by him as often as you can.  Today, for example, you could have easily left the analysis on the Ambassador’s desk, but you knew he could be found in a DEA debrief, so you went there directly instead.

You keep your schedule regular and your arrival and departure times punctual, allowing yourself to be easily found should Javi so choose.  Every morning you feel a little closer to victory when he seems to magically step into your same elevator.  At the end of today when he narrowly avoids being smushed by your closing elevator doors, you beam at the backs of the other embassy staff that stand between the two of you. 

Even as you flounce down the embassy steps past Agent Peña’s broad-shoulders, you feel his eyes - you don’t need to turn around to know that he’s watching and listening, and that thought alone warms you. 

Your heart sings affectionately in your chest. I’m going to keep reminding you of me so you don’t forget, you promise silently.  Come back to me and tell me the truth, please, Javi.

As your car pulls away from the curb, you driver engages you amiably, “So, Miss, how are your new year’s resolutions coming along?”

“Slow going,” you answer honestly, “but I am NOT a quitter.”

“Good for you! Just remember, there’s always tomorrow.”

“Right, always tomorrow,” you agree, feeling hopeful when you look back through the tinted rear window and see Javi’s puppy dog eyes following as you drive away.

Thank you all so much for your support of this Javi and his Pretty Bird, especially @milla-frenchy, without whom I may not have written any more of their story. 🥹🥹🥰 Tagging a few lovely people who left me kind words on Photocopies 😘😘: @greenwitchfromthewoods @axshadows @sunnytuliptime @joelmillerisapunk @professionalpromqueen

@ad23900 @galway-girlatwork @inept-the-magnificent @harriedandharassed @aurorawritestoescape

@desuidesu @littlemisspascal @jobean12-blog

[reidsangel]

seven minutes | s.r

summary: spencer, your husband is dying and there's nothing you can do but cherish those last moments

wc: 2.9k

warning: fem reader, death, tears, hurt, reader is reminiscing her life that she got to have with spencer, Spencer and reader have a daughter named Tessa.

song recommendation:

a/n: this is sad ( for me at least ) I cried while writing it so! just a heads up, and Spencer can be alive in your reality but in this one....yeah! 😕

The room felt suffocating, the weight of the silence pressing in on me as I sat beside Spencer, holding his hand. The beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound, steady and unyielding, a reminder of the fragile line between life and death. The man who had been my everything he is my rock, my soulmate, the father of our daughter and now he was lying there, unconscious, barely holding on.

Spencer had always been the one who believed in the good in the world, who believed in us, even when it felt like everything else was falling apart. And now he was here, so still, so quiet, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had missed my chance to tell him everything I needed to say.

I had never imagined this day would come. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to grow old together, argue about little things, watch Tessa graduate, watch her get married. 

“Spencer” I whispered, leaning down to press my forehead against his. His skin was cold, too cold, and I squeezed his hand tighter, willing him to wake up. To give me that crooked smile that always made my heart skip a beat. “I don’t know how to do this without you. I need you, Spencer. Tessa needs you”

I glanced over at the small bundle of blankets in the corner, where Tessa had fallen asleep earlier, exhausted from the long hours of waiting. She was so young, so unaware of the storm that was brewing around us. I couldn’t imagine what her world would be like without her father. The way Spencer had always been there for her- his soft laughter, his gentle hands, his quiet way of making her feel safe. He was her everything, too.

I wiped away the tears that had fallen onto my cheeks, but there was no stopping them. Not this time. “I don’t know how to tell her, Spencer" I murmured, my voice breaking. "How do I explain to her that you’re not coming home ever again?”

His breathing was slow and shallow, his chest rising and falling with the effort of the machines that were plugged in. But I knew he couldn’t hear me. He couldn’t answer me. The doctors had said he was likely gone, that this was the end. But I refused to accept it. I refused to believe that this was the last time I would be sitting here with him. That the man who had spent his life trying to protect people, to help others, would be lost to me so soon.

I had spent so many years in love with this man. Spencer Reid, the genius, the man who had always tried to save everyone else. But now, no one could save him. And as much as I hated to admit it, I knew the truth. He was slipping away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, there was nothing in this world- that could bring back my husband. 

I stood up from the chair, feeling the sting in my chest, and walked over to Tessa’s side. She was sleeping so peacefully, unaware of the storm raging just a few feet away. I brushed a strand of her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead, trying to hold back my tears. How am I supposed to do this alone?

“Mommy?” Her voice was soft, quiet, and I felt my heart break all over again.

I turned to face her, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Hey, baby. You’re awake”

Tessa blinked up at me, her small face filled with concern. “Is Daddy going to be okay?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my eyes filling with tears again. “Tessa baby, Daddy’s- he’s very sick, sweetie. But we’re going to stay here with him, okay? We’re not going anywhere”

She slid out of bed and walked toward me, her tiny hand reaching for mine. “Is Daddy going to come home with us?”

My heart cracked wide open. How do I explain this to her? How do I explain that the man who had filled her world with laughter, who had kissed her goodnight every night, the man who had loved her like she was the only one in the world, the man who cried when she took her first steps- would no longer be there to hold her? 

I bent down to her level, my hands trembling as I cupped her face, trying to find the words. But the truth was too hard. “No, baby” I whispered, my voice faltering. “Daddy- Daddy’s not coming home”

Tessa’s brow furrowed, her tiny fingers pressing into my palm. “Why? Why won’t he come home, Mommy?”

I felt the ache in my chest deepen, a lump in my throat that made it impossible to breathe. I searched for the right words, but nothing seemed like it could be enough. Finally, I whispered, my voice breaking, “Because he’s very, very tired, sweetie. And sometimes, people get so tired that they have to rest. They don’t wake up, baby. They go to a place, a beautiful place, with lots of birds and flowers- and a beach, a peaceful beach, where they can sleep forever”

Tessa looked up at me, her brow furrowed, trying to make sense of what I was saying. “But Daddy hates the beach, Mommy” she pouted, her voice small and innocent.

The pain in my chest twisted, and despite everything, I let out a soft chuckle, the sound a bittersweet mixture of love and heartbreak. She was right. Spencer had always hated the beach. The sand, the crowds, the heat. But at that moment, I could almost hear him laughing along with me. “I know, sweetie” I whispered, brushing a tear away, “but maybe this is a different kind of beach, one that he doesn’t mind”

“Daddy will sleep peacefully now” I whispered, my voice barely more than a soft breath, the weight of the words heavier than I ever imagined.

Her eyes widened, and she tilted her head in confusion. “Like when I sleep? But I wake up, Mommy. Daddy will wake up, too, right?”

I couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped my chest. I gathered her into my arms, feeling the weight of her innocence in my embrace. “I wish that were true, sweetie” I said, my voice breaking. “But Daddy- he’s not going to wake up this time”

Tessa clung to me, her little body trembling as she began to cry softly. “I want Daddy, Mommy. I want him to come home”

“I know, baby” I whispered, rocking her gently in my arms. “I want him too. But we have to be brave for him, okay? We have to be strong, because he would want us to be. He loves you so much. He’s always going to love you”

As I held my daughter, the weight of the grief settled over me like a blanket. Spencer had been the love of my life, the person who had seen me at my worst and still chosen me. And now, just like that, he was slipping away. I had no idea how to navigate this world without him, how to keep going without the man who had been my anchor and my light in the darkest days.

I looked over at the bed where Spencer lay, his face still and peaceful, the steady rhythm of the machines the only sign of life left. He was gone in every way that mattered. And I couldn’t find the strength to let go. Goddamn it Spencer. 

I leaned down to kiss Tessa’s forehead, holding her close as my tears mixed with hers. “We’ll get through this together” I whispered, even though I wasn’t sure how. “Daddy will always be in our hearts”

And even though I didn’t believe it in that moment, I said the words because they were all I could give her. Because, for her sake, I needed to believe we could somehow survive this. That we could carry Spencer’s memory and his love through the rest of our lives.

But as I looked at Spencer, lying motionless, I knew that life would never be the same. That part of me had already left with him, and all that was left was the aching reminder of everything I had lost. 

It all started with a meeting in the most ordinary way. I was walking out of a coffee shop, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and my phone in the other when I bumped into someone. The coffee spilled over the side of my cup, splashing onto my shirt. I looked up, half-expecting an angry look, but instead I saw Spencer. His wide, concerned eyes met mine, and in that moment, I swear the world stopped.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” he stammered, his voice as soft as it was nervous. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it's okay” I laughed, trying to brush off my embarrassment. “It’s my fault, really”

His hand reached out, almost instinctively, to grab a napkin and dab at the coffee stain on my shirt. I tried to protest, but he was already focused, like the calm in the chaos of a spill. 

“I’m Spencer” he said, his words just a little too fast, a little too eager. “Spencer Reid”

“Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid” I smiled, trying to hide the fluttering in my chest at how kind he was, how gentle, even in the face of disaster.

And that was how we met. It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn't a moment of fireworks and music in the background. It was simple, a collision of two separate people over a cup of spilled coffee, but it was the start of everything I had ever wanted in my life. 

In the days that followed, we spent time together in unexpected places, at the local park, where Spencer would sit with me on the grass, casually pointing out the constellations even though I was mostly just trying to keep up. Or when we’d go to his favorite little bookstore, and he’d tug me down aisles filled with dusty books, his voice soft as he recited bits of poetry or scientific facts he was too proud to admit had a bit of a romantic edge.

There were small moments- too small for anyone to notice but us. The way his fingers would brush mine when we were sitting next to each other, or how he would always hold the door open for me, as though I were the most important thing in the world. I had never seen someone love the world in the way he did, with that quiet intensity, like he was constantly seeking meaning in everything.

And then there was the day we brought Tessa home from the hospital. The overwhelming joy of her tiny hand curled around Spencer’s finger, the way he couldn’t stop staring at her in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was ours.

 He was always a little awkward with babies, he didn’t know how to hold her quite right at first, his arms unsure- but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t the perfect way he held her that mattered. It was the way his face lit up when she wrapped her fingers around his hand, trusting him, even though she couldn’t know who he was yet.

“Look at her” he whispered, his voice barely audible, like he was afraid the moment would shatter. “She’s perfect” 

I remember laughing through the tears, feeling his hand on my back, steady and warm. “You’re perfect too, you know that?”

And just like that, he smiled- his crooked, beautiful smile, the one that always made me feel like I had all the time in the world, like we were invincible, that nothing would ever tear us apart.

In the quiet of our evenings, the moments we shared were so simple, but they were everything. Spencer would always find a way to surprise me. Whether it was with a new book on the latest research he was obsessed with or a jar of my favorite strawberry jam that he’d hidden in the back of the pantry for a rainy day, he always knew exactly how to make me smile.

And then there were the quiet moments when it was just us. On the couch, Tessa tucked between us, Spencer would lean in, his voice soft and full of affection. “You know, you make me feel like I’m home” he’d whisper into my hair, his fingers tracing little circles on my wrist, making me feel like the most cherished person in the world.

Now, sitting in the sterile quiet of the hospital room, I find myself clinging to those little moments, trying to hold on to the pieces of Spencer that were so effortlessly woven into my life. I stare at him, unconscious, hooked to the machines that now marked the final stage of his fight with his life. But even in this hospital room, I could almost feel him with me, as if his presence was never bound by the limits of his body.

I remember the way we would argue about the simplest things, like how to properly fold the towels or what movie to watch on a Saturday night. Spencer would pretend to be exasperated, his arms crossed, but I always knew he loved it. He loved our little quirks, our silly fights, because they meant we were living together as a married couple.

I remember the soft way he’d kiss me goodnight, every night, no matter how long the day had been. “I love you” he’d whisper, his voice low, the warmth of his breath brushing against my cheek. His words never failed to make my heart race, always filled with the same unspoken promise- that we’d always have each other, no matter what.

And then there were the moments we shared just for ourselves, when Tessa was asleep and the world outside felt far away. Spencer would pull me close, his arms wrapping around me like he never wanted to let me go. “We’re good, right?” he’d ask, his voice a little too soft, a little too vulnerable.

“We’re perfect” I’d reply, knowing that in this imperfect world, we were exactly what we needed.

But now, in this room, with his hand cold in mine, those little moments felt like pieces of a dream, fading with every beat of the heart monitor. And I wanted so desperately to hold on to them, to keep him with me, even if I couldn’t have him here physically.

“Spencer, I love you” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll love you forever”

His chest rose and fell with a shallow breath, the machines beeping in the stillness of the room. I could hear the echoes of our love, the laughter, the whispers, the simple moments we shared. And somehow, through the pain, I knew that those memories would never leave me. They would be the quiet whisper in the back of my mind, the soft touch I would carry with me for the rest of my life.

No matter what happened in this room, no matter what the doctors said, Spencer Reid would always be the love of my life, the one who had made me believe in a future filled with joy, laughter, and love. And as much as I wished for just one more moment, just one more laugh, I knew that the moments we’d shared were enough to last a lifetime.

The human brain, in it’s final seconds, can play the whole life of a person- every detail, every memory, every quiet moment. In seven minutes. In those seven minutes, Spencer would be granted a final chance to relive his life- every moment, every laugh, every tear- before he would drift into eternal sleep, leaving this world behind for good.

 Seven minutes to relive a lifetime.

I leaned down, pressing my lips to Spencer’s forehead, the coldness of his skin sending a shudder through me. My tears fell freely now, each one carrying the weight of every word left unsaid, every moment we would never get to share. I whispered, my voice barely a breath, “You can rest now, my love. You’ve fought so hard. I’ll carry you with me, always”

But the words felt hollow, empty, like they were trying to hold together something that was already slipping through my fingers. I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t bring him back. I couldn’t save him this time.

The sound of the machines, the quiet beeping that had been the soundtrack of our fight, faded into a painful silence. And in that silence, all I could feel was the gaping hole he left behind. A hole that no amount of time would ever heal. He was gone. My Spencer was gone.

I would carry him with me, as broken as I felt, as shattered as I was. I would tell our daughter every story, every memory, every beautiful moment. I would make sure she knew just how much he loved her. 

I looked at Spencer, lying there, still and peaceful, I whispered one last time, my voice trembling with the weight of my grief, “Always” 

And then, with a heart that felt too heavy to carry, I had to let him go. Forever.

@carisc4pshaw @1992chinawhite

[eddiediazismyhusband]

Long time no see…

wow it’s been a while…

for starters: i just want to say thank you to @lenaboskow and @mazzystar24

the two of you have stuck by me through the whole rollercoaster that has been my break from tumblr and i don’t think i would have wver come back if it wasn’t for the two of you, so thank you both for being such amazing, talented, beautiful, gorgeous friends to me through it all ❤️

and to those who have sent me kind asks/messages while i’ve been gone, thank you all for the kind words of support and encouragement as well- you are each appreciated so deeply and i can’t thank you enough!

so… a few things have happened while I’ve been gone

the first of which being my 22nd birthday in october which thankfully was spent with AC and a hot shower after having been without power for 12 days in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene; despite the inconvenience of having no power or water in those 12 days, i was still immensely lucky to have been safe and received no damage to my home unlike countless others who unfortunately are still recovering from the storm.

the other major-ish life update from my time away:

i adopted a puppy!!!

in early october (in fact, while we were still without power), I adopted this precious little girl (called ellie) from my local humane society.

she was around 3 months old when i adopted her, and in the beginning of January, she turned 6 months.

she has been a massive help in managing my anxiety and depression, keeping me company and giving me something to love and care for, and in the few months i have had her, she’s already wrapped me around her paw

i could not have asked for a better fur baby than her ❤️ she is probably the best thing that happened to me in 2024, and I cannot wait to see all the adventures life takes her on.

In other news; I’m back!

I had made the decision a few months ago to step away from tumblr as the landscape leading up to the s8 premiere of 9-1-1 was immensely difficult and taxing on my mental health, and I realized that it wasnt healthy to feel the way I so strongly did about the show or the fandom, and I needed to take a step back, alter the way i approached the show and fandom, and refocus on other things.

one of those things was refocusing on my job. shortly before i took a break, i had started a new job and was still very much in the training phase when i made the decision to take a break from tumblr. since then, i have been focusing on establishing myself as a reliable hardworking employee at my job, and i’ve also been focusing on the future;

i currently plan to take a flight attendant training course to become certified, and eventually find work with an airline.

because of this, 9-1-1 and the fandom have taken a back seat to more important things.

that being said, i still watched the entirety of 8a (not live, but a few days after airing once i had the chance to grill sarah and addie about what happened each episode- i have a lot of opinions on how things have gone and seem to be going but now is not the time nor place for that). i have still posted the occasional fic on ao3, and i am still working on my various wips as i am able to

i eventually realized how much i truly did miss being a part of the fandom, and have made the choice to come back, but going forward, i’m going to be doing things differently:

1. i will not be engaging in speculation or anything of that nature about future episodes- all it does is give me anxiety that manifests through frustration and i don’t want to continue feeding into that

2. i am going go be returning to my original philosophy of “the block and delete buttons are my friends.” in the last few weeks before my break, i found myself engaging more and more with toxic fans rather than just blocking them or deleting their replies to my posts- that won’t be happening anymore: if you come on my page being toxic or rude, you will be blocked and ignored because i do not have time for that shit

3. i want to branch out to other fandoms- this will remain a 9-1-1 blog first and foremost, and the majority of what i post will be related to 9-1-1, but i will also occasionally make posts about other fandoms/media that i have an interest in

4. most of what i post will either be fic related, headcanon related, or memes. as stated above, i do not have a healthy relationship with spec, and therefore i am not going to foster that by actively involving myself in it.

all that said, i’m really gald to be back, and i’m looking forward to being involved again! i hope everyone who stuck to the end of this long ass re-introduction post is having a wonderful morning, afternoon, or evening wherever you are in the world <3

[boopshoops]

Extra Game Mechanics - No Yan Sim by @quartztwst!

New Student

Jocia- knows practically no one. All the information she does know is second hand and thus very biased (Yuu Shi loves to talk shit sigh). Therefore, her impressions of other people and awareness of others reputation can be easily toyed with or changed depending on outside factors.

Going Solo

She prefers to be alone. While this may SEEM like it could offer many openings for Quartz to slide in and do what she needs to do, this is actually bait. Jocia takes care to always be ready for combat and always have a weapon on hand.

Dead Eyes

Her reputation, while starting off average, can fluctuate VERY quickly once she starts attending school. She naturally gives off a very intimidating vibe, especially since she's way more cold than usual. Rumors that are about her spread fast, and can cause her reputation to fall rapidly.

Declining

The more Jocia falls into this pattern of what is essentially hunting dog behavior, the less apt she will be to put up defenses. She is more and more likely to slip up and make a mistake as time passes.

True Rage

Jocia can enter a state of complete and uncontrolled anger- even more often now that before transferring schools. During this state, she can endure heavy injuries and continue fighting- even if it means eventual hospitalization or death.

Belongings of a Ghost

Jocia has a lot of Yuu's old belongings, INCLUDING her blackmail notebook. She knows a lot of secrets, though little about the people who hold them. How much she'll know about Quartz will vary depending on how much she interacted with Yuu. Unlike Yuu, however, she will not hide information for her own benefit. If she thinks someone is a murderer, she will come right out and say it.

Bulk Up

She will teach those who manage to grow close to her self defense techniques if they weren't aware of them already.

Unstoppable Force

Jocia will keep hunting until she drops. She will keep her eyes open, unsleeping, around every single corner until she knows that this school is a safe place. This also includes "True Rage" and "Declining."

Predator Response

Upon spotting someone she wants to take down, she will carefully either follow them until they are at their most vulnerable OR attempt to bait them to go after her, like in "Going Solo."

A Set Up

If Quartz attempts to follow her to her current place of residence, Jocia will have an ambush at the ready.

Taking you with me

If Jocia is on the verge of death, she will do anything in her power to take her killer down with her- even if it means removing any chance of saving herself.

If her reputation is on the fritz, she will do something similar. Jo will do anything in her power to make sure the one responsible looks just as bad as she does.

Healing

If Jocia makes enough friendships and rethinks her current hobbies, she will stop hunting as frequently. It can eventually stop all together. Once she has regained a bit of health (mental and physical), she will take temporary leave from school to go grieve properly with her family.

Evacuate

Only occurs after "Healing." Jocia will encourage her friends (and even friends of friends) to leave the school as fast as possible, or at least take a few days off. She will share everything she knows with those she trusts, but its also a possible way to get people out of Quartz's way.

The brain worms.. tHE BRAIN WORMS..

Anyway no yan sim oc pt. 2 "you offed the sassy cunt" edition.

I will expand more on her mechanics and possible relationships later but please note her character is very exaggerated here and in like- every other setting she'd grieve in a more tame way ok? Ok!

In basic summary of what I have mind, she's like if the delinquent characters actively tried to smite u ✨

TaaaaaAaags wowowowowo

@lowcallyfruity @cecilebutcher @kitwasnothere @skriblee-ksk @justm3di0cr3

@techno-danger @scint1llat3 @the-trinket-witch @thehollowwriter @distant-velleity

@beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @qsoap @twsted-canvas @prince-kallisto

@tixdixl @twstinginthewind @sillyslipperybananapeel @nemisisnemi @jadelover69

[merbear25]

HII I was wondering if you could do headcanons for Benn Beckman and a f reader who is pretty aahhmmmm.... busty and deals with alot of shit whenever they go out together (if possible please include him humbling them I need it so baddd)

ALSO I really love your works!! Everything is so unique and it makes me wanna write like I used to a few years ago <///3

Oh my GOSH! You're too dang sweet 😭I hope you get the chance to write again! Hope you like what I've written for you 💜💜

CW: SFW, fem!reader, mentions of reader having a large chest, headcanons, fluff

With a well-endowed reader (Beckman)

He could tell whenever you were nervous to go out. Dressed in loose fitting clothes—it was obvious to anyone, but especially him.

Being one of the few you felt comfortable confiding in, he held that trust close to his heart, never letting it stray far.

He usually stayed near you even before you mentioned your discomforts to him. The look on your face drew him close to step in as a type of bodyguard. Not that he minded, in fact he enjoyed being the one to lend you some confidence.

Keeping his distance at first so as not to overbear you, there came a point when he needed to step in.

There were a few men who couldn’t take a hint if their lives depended on it, and that day their lives surely did. If his demeanor weren’t enough to scare them straight, the difference in strength certainly was. 

Though the tussles he’d find himself in on your behalf were few and far between, when conflict couldn’t be avoided he gently guided you away from what was brewing. There was no need for you to witness however he needed to put those men in their places.

On the rare occasion you went out in a more form fitting top/dress, you were absolutely beaming. This made him all the more protective. After all, why would he ever want that joy to be stripped away from you.

It was on days like these when you shined the brightest, leaving him in awe at the woman in front of him. If you weren’t opposed to some PDA, he’d adore wrapping you up in his arm in hopes of soaking up some of your rays.

This also helped to steer others clear of you, but that wasn’t the main reason for it. Maybe a soft peck on your forehead was added, as well just to be safe.

[moghedien]

Minthara says “in Her name” when you first meet her and she’s following the Absolute but when you recruit her and she expresses that she no longer follows any god, but she still has an intact paladin oath, and she says “in your name” occasionally because she’s no longer Lolth’s paladin or the Absolute’s paladin, she’s your paladin

[passerinesoncaffeine]

tonight on thinking about homura and madoka.

[arsenicflame]

so, this ones technically not a fix it because its still major character death but this is how i would tweak the canon story to give Izzy's death meaning and weight.

First of all, Izzy doesn't get shot by Ricky. The crew of the revenge may still be absolute rookies by Izzy's standards but even they know to take all the weapons off a hostage and unload any guns. Ricky still escapes and alerts the Navy, and our crew are running through the woods, down to the beach and Izzy is still falling back. For all his new prosthetic has helped his mobility immensely, its no good for running. Its clunky and dragging behind him and Ed and Frenchie and Jim and everyone keeps slowing down to make sure he's keeping up with them, but in doing that the navy are quickly catching up to all of them, they're being swarmed.

They break through the trees onto the beach, with more and more men coming up behind them. Izzy's struggling even more across the beach than he was in the woods, the hoof sinking in and sand shifting as he tries to run, and he stumbles. All the while Navy men continue to appear from all directions- and it hits him. That this is it. There's no way they will all make it out alive.

But he's Izzy Fucking Hands and even if he cant run anymore, he can still fight. He can fight for this crew, this family, these people who have given him so much, who have opened their arms to him when he was at his lowest, who have allowed him to feel free. He can still fight. He can buy them time.

So he turns, and draws his sword.

There was never any way he could win, of course. Even when he truly was the best swordfighter in all the Caribbean, fighting dozens of navy men at once would have been beyond him- but he can distract them, hold them off long enough the revenge sets sail. Its a glorious sight, one man against dozens, bodies falling around him as he holds them back. Its impressive to watch, and maybe, for a second, the crew allows themselves to hope. But then, he takes a cut to his sword arm, and another to his side.

And then he goes down.

But he goes down fighting.

Izzy Hands, who spent his whole life fighting dies that way too, fighting for the safety he spent his whole life searching for.

[adara-et-al]

well. *i* think my response to having something mildly ominous said before the house was left empty and everyone i love is out on the road was actually completely reasonable and the sobbing breakdown in the kitchen because i didn't get to say "I love you" to any of them before they left home was more than well within my rights. It's not like i could do anything if something happened, even without a warning.

gonna blame my dad specifically for this one, and the way he handled fights with my mom when i was little. we're gonna add on the more than once i was left somewhere after pickup time because they were running late and i didn't know why but i knew one of the reasons it could be was Real Real Bad (currently superstitious, scared of invoking problems). Did it ever turn out it was that way? no but that didn't fucking stop me from assuming it could be.

if you're reading this and know who i am, if you could just leave a little explainer by your ominous goodbye statements, especially if you're leaving them before i've woken up, that'd be great.

[featherymainffins]

Why you all got ok mothers leave some for the rest of us

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Elf lover who researches immortality to make sure you, his human wife would never die. Unfortunately, he spends most of your lifetime with his nose buried in a book, and misses out on so much.

When he realizes you’ve become old and gray in the blink of an eye… he’s heart broken. You’re in pain, he couldn’t burden you with an eternity of this. If only he had spent more time with you, given you his all instead of researching something that might not even be real.

When you die, he’s inconsolable. You were everything to him. His love, his life, the very air he breathes, and without you he feels like he’s suffocating.

One day he learns about reincarnation, and that’s when he begins searching for you. You had always said the bond you shared would last forever, and god he hoped it was true.

When he found you, all he could feel was… impatient and upset. You were a newborn, unable to do anything but cry, feed, and sleep.

He let you be, making sure to come back when you were an adult. All he wanted was to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and soft touch again.

Part of him knew there was a chance some man would ask for your hand in marriage before he could return… but he held on to the words you said.

“I’ll always love you… not even death can change that.”

Although you didn’t remember your past life, you still felt a strange sensation in your chest when you met him for the first time. He had been watching you the past few years, scaring away potential suitors and making sure you were safe, but this was your first meeting with him.

He was gentle, kind, and attentive. When his hand brushed against yours, there was a spark that made your body feel like it was on fire.

It didn’t take long for marriage to come up after he started courting you. He wanted you back as soon as possible. Despite being an elf that would live forever, the two decades he spent apart from you felt like centuries. Time slowed down with your absence, and he couldn’t bear being apart from you any longer.

After marrying you, he finally felt at peace. Getting to see you underneath him, mewling in pleasure as he held onto your hips and fucked into you was nothing short of ecstasy. He hadn’t taken another woman the entire time he had been waiting for you, and it felt nice to feel the warmth of your cunt after being lonely for so long.

He spent most of his days holding you, his hands tracing your soft sides and belly, moving down your thighs and then between them.

Finally, he got a second chance, and this time he would cherish you with everything he had.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads