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kooffeecup · 1 day ago

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࣪ ִֶָ love wins all ࣪ ִֶָ .

Summary ᝰ.ᐟ

You ended things with Miyeon to escape the web of his lies—but the truth was far heavier. Your heart had begun to crave something it shouldn’t: the quiet warmth of his father, Jungkook. pairing : ex boyfriends father ! Jungkook x you Genre : angst, age gap, forbidden love, fluff? credits : edited by me | picture resources from pinterest. status : oneshot.

a/n : just read you are gonna love it

The wind was cool against your cheeks as you stood near the edge of the River. You didn’t expect to see him, not here, not now.

“Y/N?” That soft voice, polite, gentle, hadn’t changed a bit. You turned, and there he was Jeon Jungkook. Miyeon’s father.

He was dressed simply, dark coat buttoned up, hands tucked into his pockets. His face was calm, but his eyes, they searched you like they were holding questions too delicate to ask.

“I wasn’t sure if it was you,” he said with a small, warm smile. “It’s been a while.” You nodded slowly, the corners of your lips twitching upward. “Yeah it has.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you, comfortable yet heavy.

“I… I heard about the breakup,” Jungkook said quietly, looking down at the ground for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “Miyeon doesn’t talk about it much. But he was different after. Still is.” You looked away, biting your lower lip.

Then he asked it. Not accusingly. Not with anger. Just curiosity laced with sadness. “Why did you leave him?”

You inhaled deeply. The words you had prepared if ever this question came never made it past your lips. Instead, you just smiled. A soft, pained kind of smile. One that said everything and nothing at once.

Jungkook didn’t press. He only nodded, as if he understood even without an answer. “You’re a good person, Y/N,” he said quietly. “Whatever happened I hope you’re okay.”

His kindness made your chest ache. He always was gentle. A soft soul in a harsh world. You looked at him one last time before turning back to the river. “Thank you, Mr Jeon.”

He gave you space. Respectfully, quietly. Like he always did. But that moment lingered, two hearts who once shared the same family, now just strangers under the same night sky.

You kept your eyes on the water, watching the way it flows under the city lights. The silence hung between you and Jungkook, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, it was waiting. Waiting for you to speak.

“I always wanted someone who wouldn’t judge me,” you said quietly. “Someone soft spoken, gentle. With a kind heart.”

Jungkook’s head tilted slightly, his expression still and listening. You finally looked at him, eyes soft but wounded.

“But I never found any of that in Miyeon.” Jungkook didn’t flinch, didn’t defend his son. He just waited, letting you speak freely, without fear.

“He made me feel like I was something to show off. He pretended to make me his, to care, but it was all surface. No depth. No, real softness.” Your voice cracked just a little. “Everything about us felt like a performance. And I was tired of performing.”

Jungkook’s eyes fell to the ground, his brows furrowing. There was a quiet pain in his face, not just because of what you said but because he believed you. And that hurt in its own way.

You sighed, your arms folding across your chest as you looked back at the river. “I never needed grand gestures. Just someone who made me feel safe. Someone who saw me, not someone who needed me to fit into his perfect picture.”

The wind picked up, brushing your hair across your cheek, and Jungkook reached out instinctively to tuck it back. His fingers hesitated before touching you, then retreated, respectful, always.“I’m sorry,” he murmured. You blinked, surprised. “For what?”

He met your eyes, voice soft. “For not raising him better.” That made your heart ache in a whole different way. You stepped back slightly, shaking your head. “It’s not your fault.” Still, Jungkook looked like he carried the weight of it. “You’re nothing like him,” you added softly.

You exhaled slowly, your gaze tracing the soft waves across the water. The weight of your words lingered between you and Jungkook, and you could feel the tension shifting not from discomfort, but from quiet understanding.

“The person I wanted,” you began softly, “was never Miyeon.” Jungkook turned to face you, his posture still gentle, patient. He didn’t interrupt, not once.

“I wanted someone honest. Someone whose warmth wasn’t just for show. Someone who didn’t need to pretend to care, or wear a version of love like a mask when others were watching.”

You looked down at your fingers, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “But Miyeon,” You smiled faintly, bitterly. “He was good at pretending. At making things look perfect from the outside. But when it was just the two of us, I couldn’t feel it. And I couldn’t bring myself to keep loving that version of him, the one that only existed when it was convenient.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I think part of me kept hoping that the person he pretended to be, might one day become real. But I was wrong.”

Jungkook remained silent, his face unreadable gentle, but quiet in a way that made you wonder what he was holding back. You glanced at him. “I didn’t stop loving because I gave up. I stopped because I couldn’t keep lying to myself.”

His eyes met yours then, soft and deep, like he saw something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to see and feel. “I understand,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “More than you know.”

His words lingered and the way he looked at you in that moment, it wasn’t just about Miyeon anymore. Something else stirred quietly between you and the man standing beside you. Jungkook hadn’t said much, yet his eyes held a softness that pulled the words right out of you.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “As the days went by,” you said, voice low, vulnerable, “I started to realize something.”

Jungkook’s gaze never wavered, but he didn’t press. He just waited.

“I found the person I was always looking for.” You glanced at him, then quickly looked away, cheeks burning despite the cool night air.

“Someone soft-spoken. Someone with a kind heart. Someone good, not just in the way they spoke, but in how they treated people when no one was looking.” You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight.

“But it wasn’t Miyeon.” “It was…” You hesitated, voice trembling just enough to betray the emotion behind it. “It was you. I never wanted to make things worse. Never wanted to make anything bad or uncomfortable,” you continued, your voice fragile now. “So instead of acting on my feelings, I broke up with him. I let him go.”

You looked at Jungkook then, finally, truly and your eyes stung with everything you had carried alone.

“I couldn’t even look him in the eyes when I ended it. Even though it was him who deceived me first.”

Jungkook’s brows pulled slightly together, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but no words came. His expression was unreadable: surprise, pain. Jungkook didn’t speak right away. He stood still, as if your words had rooted him in place. The kind of stillness that wasn’t silence, it was restraint. His gaze dropped to the pavement, and for the first time since you’d known him, you saw a crack in his composed, polite exterior.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were glassy, not from tears, but from the weight of things he had never said.

“You don’t know how many times I saw it,” he began, voice low, steady. “The way he talked to you or didn’t. The way you looked like you were slowly folding into yourself.”

You looked down, your fingers curling tighter into your sleeves.

“I wanted to say something,” Jungkook continued. “So many times. But I didn’t think it was my place. He was my son and you were his. I didn’t want to overstep. I thought if I said something, it would just make things worse.”

His jaw clenched slightly, eyes flicking toward the river before resting on you again. “But the truth is,” he said, softer now, “I noticed you more than I should’ve.”

Your breath hitched.

He took a step closer, not too close, just enough to close the distance between two people no longer hiding behind politeness.

“You were always so gentle. So patient. You deserved more than what Miyeon gave you, Y/N. And maybe it makes me a terrible father to admit it, but,” he paused, a slight shake in his voice now, “you felt more like mine than his. Not as a daughter. Not even as someone I had a right to want. But just someone I wanted to protect. Someone who made things feel quite Peaceful.”

Your lips parted, stunned not by what he said, but by the way he said it. Like he’d been carrying that truth for longer than you could imagine.

“I didn’t know you felt the same,” he whispered. “But I think a part of me hoped.” He stepped back then, giving you space again like he always did.

“I would’ve never crossed that line,” he said gently. “I still wouldn’t. But now that I know, I just needed you to know too.”

Neither of you moved. Nothing feel the same anymore. Not after that. The silence after Jungkook's confession wasn’t heavy. It was delicate, fragile. You stood there, heart thudding like it had been waiting years for someone to finally say the right thing.

You looked at him again.There was no trace of guilt on his face. Just quiet sorrow. The kind that came from holding back for far too long.

You stepped forward, closing that small space he had respectfully created. “I didn’t expect you to say that,” you admitted, voice barely audible over the wind. “I thought I’d carry it forever alone.”

Jungkook’s lips tugged into the faintest smile, sad, knowing. “You weren’t alone.”

Your throat tightened. “If things were different, if I hadn’t been with him—”

“Don’t,” Jungkook cut in gently. “Don’t blame yourself for any of this. You did the right thing. You walked away.”

You nodded slowly, but your eyes betrayed you, filled with everything you hadn’t been allowed to want.

“I just wish I met you differently,” you whispered. “Not as his girlfriend. Not like that.” His jaw tensed again, like the thought pained him too.

“If I met you differently,” he murmured, “I think I would’ve fallen for you all the same.” Your breath caught in your chest. He took a deep breath, then smiled faintly, eyes soft. “You still deserve peace. Someone who doesn’t just see you, but honors you. Someone who isn’t me.”

That sentence broke your heart again. But before you could speak, Jungkook looked at you with something deeper than longing, close to love but bound by timing, duty.

“I'll always respect you,” he said, voice warm and heartbreaking. “But if you ever need someone who listens, I’ll be here.” You stared at him, not sure whether to cry or say thank you. Instead, you nodded.

Then slowly, quietly, he turned and walked away. But not before glancing back once. That single look said everything he couldn’t.

—

Jungkook’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than he intended as he drove down the quiet streets. The night air outside felt cold, the weight of your words pressed heavier with every mile.

“I found the person I was always looking for. It wasn’t Miyeon… it was you.”

Those words echoed through his mind, repeating over and over, each time they grew harder to ignore. His fingers tapped the wheel, the rhythm slower now, like he was trying to keep pace with his racing thoughts. The confession wasn’t something he had expected, especially not from you. You had been his son’s girlfriend, someone he should never even dreamed of seeing in a different light. And yet, here you were, making him question everything.

The drive felt endless. Jungkook could feel the coolness of the night creeping through the car windows, but the warmth that had sparked inside him during your conversation was still there. It lingered, impossible to shake.

He was older. He was Miyeon’s father. He should’ve never let himself imagine something different. But he couldn’t stop.

The way you spoke about Miyeon, the way you described him pretending to be someone he wasn’t, it all made sense now. It clicked in his mind how carefully he had watched you from the sidelines, how he had noticed the quiet sadness in your eyes whenever Miyeon wasn’t around. The way you seemed to shrink a little more each day, your true self buried beneath his son’s shadow.

And then the way you had looked at him tonight. It was as though you had peeled back every layer of pretense you had kept for so long.

No. I can’t let this go any further. I’m his father. I’m not the person you need. He repeats in his mind. But it didn’t matter how many times he told himself that. Because the truth was, he had been that person for so long, the one who saw you when others didn’t, the one who noticed your quiet strength, your kindness. He had seen what Miyeon couldn’t, or wouldn’t. Could he really pretend it was nothing?

His chest tightened as he rounded the corner, the glow of the streetlights flickering softly outside. He needed to focus, needed to let this thought go. But as the road stretched out in front of him, all he could think about was you. And how, in some parallel world where things were different, it could’ve been him standing there with you. Not Miyeon.

The road blurred as Jungkook’s mind drifted to another day, the day that had shifted everything inside him, even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

It was the anniversary of his late wife’s death. The house had been quiet, as it always was on days like this. Jungkook had been alone in their living room, sitting in front of the fireplace. His eyes were fixed on the photo of her, the one that sat on the mantelpiece. The one that never seemed to lose its weight, even though years had passed.

He’d been staring at her smiling face, the sadness in his heart as palpable as ever. Her death had taken something from him that he didn’t think could ever be restored. He smiled at the photo, a sad, bittersweet smile as memories of her filled around him.

He hadn’t heard you approach, but there you were, standing behind him, your presence warm and quiet. There was no judgment, no rush to say anything to make him feel better. Just the simple comfort of being there.

"Life goes on for the living, Mr. Jeon," you had said quietly, your voice soft yet steady.

He turned to face you, startled by your words. But somehow, they didn’t sting. They felt true. In a way, it was exactly what he needed to hear. Life did go on. Even if it felt like everything was frozen in time when he was alone with his thoughts. Even if he couldn’t shake the pain of losing her.

He studied you for a moment. The way you stood there, not intruding on his grief but acknowledging it. There was something in your eyes, deep and understanding. You weren’t offering him empty comfort. You were simply reminding him that life had a way of moving forward, whether we wanted it to or not.

That moment lingered in his heart, unspoken, until now. You’d given him something he hadn’t even realized he needed: permission to move forward, not just for the sake of his late wife’s memory, but for himself.

It was then, in the quiet of that day, that he started to notice things about you. Things he hadn’t before. The way your presence seemed to fill the room without trying. The way you didn’t speak much, but when you did, your words seemed to make more sense than anyone else’s.

And now, as he drove, he remembered that day like it was yesterday. The softness in your voice, the compassion in your eyes, the quiet strength you held.

It was never supposed to be you, he thought. You were supposed to be off-limits. But somewhere along the way… he stopped seeing the line.

He wasn’t sure when his feelings for you had crossed the line from simple concern to something more. Maybe it had always been there, buried under years of politeness and respect. Or maybe it had started that day when you stood behind him, offering nothing but understanding and truth.

Life goes on for the living, Mr. Jeon.

And here he was, years later, unable to let go of that truth. Unable to let go of the feeling you had stirred within him. The one that whispered that, it was time to move on. Not from the memories of his late wife, those would never fade, but from the role he had built for himself as a grieving husband. Maybe life had more for him, too.

As Jungkook drove through the quiet streets, his mind couldn’t help but revisit that day, the day that seemed so far away, yet so close, like it had only just happened. His late wife’s face was still fresh in his memories, her laughter, her touch, and her voice.

She used to say the same thing to him, all those years ago. He remembered the warmth in her eyes, the gentle way she would remind him that life moves on, even when we don’t feel ready.

“Life goes on for the living, Jungkook.”

She’d said it to him so many times, especially after her illness had taken its toll. Her words always came with a soft smile, her way of trying to lift him out of the heavy grief that threatened to consume him. But back then, he hadn’t understood. He’d clung to the past, to the loss, unwilling to let go of the life they had shared, and to her, that had always been a weight on his heart.

“Life goes on for the living.” He had heard it so many times, but it never quite reached him until now. It never felt real until you said it to him. It was as though those same words, spoken in such a different context, had somehow found their way back to him, but this time they felt like an invitation rather than a reminder.

He wasn’t comparing you to her. He wasn’t trying to draw parallels. But in that moment, something inside him shifted. Life had sent two people into his life who thought the same, who shared the same sentiment, only in different times, in different ways.

He dont know, Was it fate? Was it just coincidence? The questions swirled in his mind, but he didn’t have answers. All he knew was that both of you had spoken those words when he needed to hear them most. His late wife had said them to help him heal, to remind him that he wasn’t bound by grief. And now, you said them to him, making him wonder if there was more to life than the quiet solitude he had wrapped himself in all these years.

He didn’t compare the two of you, he couldn’t. His late wife had been his everything. She had been his partner, his love, his guide through life. And you, You were someone completely different. Someone who had come into his world unexpectedly, someone whose presence had slowly become more than he ever intended.

But still, Jungkook couldn’t ignore the connection. The way you had understood him when no one else did. The way you had offered him comfort not in grand gestures, but in quiet words just like she used to.

As he drove, the realization hit him. He wasn’t looking for someone to replace her. He wasn’t seeking to find a replica of the love he had lost. But life had brought you into his world for a reason. You and your gentle understanding, your kindness, your words, so similar, yet so unique had become part of his healing, part of his journey. And though he didn’t know what that meant, he couldn’t ignore the pull.

The pull that kept him thinking about you even when he didn’t want to. The pull that kept him questioning whether there was more for him in this life than the grief he had carried for so long.

Jungkook let out a long breath, his mind still swirling with the weight of everything you had shared. His heart, though, felt lighter. He didn’t know what the future held. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with these feelings. But he did know one thing: life had sent two people into his life who thought the same, who had seen him in a way no one else had. And that meant something.

—

The house greeted Jungkook with stillness as he stepped inside. He took off his coat, shoes and padded down the hallway, gently pushed open Miyeon's door.

There he was, fast asleep, his face relaxed, untouched by the weight of heartbreak or memory. Jungkook lingered by the doorway for a moment, taking in the peaceful rise and fall of his son's chest. A part of him felt guilt gnawing at the edges of his heart. Miyeon had no idea that while he slept, his father was carrying a truth heavy enough to split him open. A truth that had a name, a voice, a smile,Yours.

But Jungkook didn’t step into the room. He only watched for a few seconds more before quietly pulling the door shut again and walking to his own room. And there, resting above the nightstand, was the picture that had anchored him all this time. His wife. Her eyes still held the same brightness. Her smile still reached into the hollow spaces of his heart. Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, leaned forward, and stared at her photo.

“Hey,” he whispered, as if saying it any louder might shatter the fragile peace in the room. His throat tightened.

“I… I met her today.” He smiled. “Y/N.” He gave a soft chuckle under his breath, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You would’ve liked her. She’s got that same quiet strength you had. She doesn’t talk much, but when she does it’s like she already knows exactly what you need to hear.”

His gaze softened, heavy with emotion. “You always said life goes on for the living. And for so long, I didn’t understand what you meant. I thought it was just something people say to make death easier to swallow.”

He looked away for a second, then back at the photo. “But today, she said the same thing to me. Years ago, actually. On your anniversary. I didn’t think anything of it then. I didn’t let myself think anything of it. But tonight, after what she told me…”

He exhaled slowly but painfully. “…I think she’s the reason I’m still standing. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I wasn’t looking for her. But she found me. I’m not trying to replace you. I never could. You were my home,” he whispered, voice trembling. “But maybe… maybe life sent her to remind me that I can still feel. That I can still be something other than a man frozen in time.” His fingers brushed against the edge of the photo frame. “I just thought you should know.” He sat there a little longer, letting his heart speak in the silence.

What Jungkook didn’t know was that as he sat on the edge of his bed, whispering confessions into the silence and memory of his wife, his son was standing just beyond the door.

Miyeon had woken moments earlier, stirred by the soft click of his door. He’d rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stepped out to get a glass of water, but what stopped him in his tracks was the sound of his father’s voice. Very quiet, Heavy and honest. And full of pain Miyeon hadn’t heard from his father in years.

He had leaned against the wall, out of sight, listening. Listening as his father uttered a name he hadn’t expected to hear. Y/N. Miyeon’s breath hitched when he heard it. And as he stood frozen there in the hallway, the words began to pierce deeper.

“She’s the reason I’m still standing.”

“I’m not trying to replace you…”

“…but maybe life sent her to remind me I can still feel.”

Each line dropped like stones into a lake Miyeon didn’t even realize he had within him filled with confusion, betrayal, hurt. At first, he thought he had misheard. But there was no mistaking it. His father wasn’t just talking about you. He was feeling something for you.

Miyeon’s jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. He didn’t know whether to burst into the room or disappear into the night. His legs felt numb, but his heart, his heart burned.

He had loved you. Maybe not perfectly, but in a way he did. And you had walked away without a reason. No explanation. Just silence and a smile that screams goodbye. Now it made sense. Now it hurts in a different way.

Without making a sound, Miyeon stepped back from the door. His eyes looked colder now, but not from hatred, just from the shock of a son realizing he might’ve lost more than just a girl. He turned and walked back to his room, closing the door softly behind him. For the rest of the night no one in that house slept soundly.

A soft knock echoed down the hallway. Jungkook, seated on the edge of his bed again, looked up at the sound. The door was still slightly open, and when he turned his head, he saw Miyeon standing outside his room, just standing, not moving, not looking at him. Just staring at the ground. Jungkook stood slowly. “Miyeon,” he said gently, “do you want something ?”

Miyeon’s eyes flickered toward his father, unreadable. There was something different in his posture, not angry, not broken. Just quiet, too quiet. “I didn’t know what to say,” Miyeon murmured after a long silence.

Jungkook stepped closer. “Then say it now.” Another silence. Heavy, filled with thoughts, Miyeon wasn’t sure how to word. “I just…” Miyeon exhaled. “I was standing outside your room last night because I thought you might be hurting. Missing mom.”

“I always do,” Jungkook replied softly.

Miyeon nodded, then looked up, straight into his father’s eyes. “But you weren’t just talking about her. You were talking about Y/N.”

Jungkook blinked, unsure whether to speak or listen. He chose the latter. Miyeon let out a breath through his nose, a bitter laugh. “At first I was confused. Then I was angry. I kept asking myself if I misheard. If I misunderstood. But I didn’t, did I?”

Jungkook didn’t try to deny it. “No,” he answered quietly. “You didn’t.”

Miyeon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “How long?”

“There was never a thing between us,” Jungkook said quickly, firmly. “Not a line crossed. Not once. But feelings, don’t always ask permission before they arrive.”

Miyeon nodded again, slowly this time. “So that’s why she left me. Not because she stopped loving me, but because she was trying not to love you.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. His silence was confirmation enough.

“I should hate you,” Miyeon said, his voice thickening. “But I don’t. I’m just tired. Tired of pretending I’m okay. Tired of feeling like everyone leaves and no one explains why, mom left me too and so did yn.”

“I didn’t mean to take anything from you,” Jungkook said, his voice almost breaking. “Especially not her.”

Miyeon’s eyes held an unreadable resentment, sadness, and even acceptance. “You didn’t take her,” he said. “I think she is already gone. From me, at least.”

Then, with nothing more to add, Miyeon turned to leave. But before walking away, he paused and added quietly, without looking back, “If you really care about her, don’t let the guilt kill you before you even try.”

And then he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Jungkook standing there conflicted, heavy-hearted, and more sure of what he felt than ever before.

—

Few Weeks later :

Jungkook stood frozen in the doorway, heart slamming against his ribs. Miyeon’s room was a mess of half-zipped duffle bags, strewn clothes. The sight alone was enough to ignite panic deep in Jungkook’s chest. “Miyeon” he breathed out. “What are you doing?”

Miyeon looked up from where he was folding a hoodie and smiled softly. “Don’t panic, dad.”

Jungkook took a cautious step inside, eyes scanning the luggage, the tickets on the bed. “Why are you packing?”

Miyeon zipped up one of the bags and turned toward his father. “Remember that scholarship I mentioned? The one I applied for and you said ‘don’t get your hopes up, just do your best’?”

Jungkook nodded slowly, still unsure where this was going. “Well,” Miyeon exhaled, holding up a paper with a proud grin, “turns out your useless son isn’t that useless after all. I got it.”

Jungkook stared, blinking. “You, got it?”

Miyeon chuckled, his tone warm and a little smug. “Full ride. Abroad. Six months of intense research work, project mentorship, the whole deal. I wanted to surprise you, so… here I am.”

Jungkook’s heart lifted and ached all at once. “Miyeon, that’s…God, that’s amazing.”

His voice cracked with pride. But there was also something else beneath it, fear and worry. Miyeon tilted his head, noticing the flicker of emotion in his father’s face. “You okay?”

Jungkook stepped closer, gently gripping his son's shoulder. “I’m proud of you. So proud. I just, I didn’t expect it to be so soon. I didn’t know you were even close to getting it.”

Miyeon looked down for a second before softly saying, “I needed space, dad.” That landed heavy between them. Jungkook didn’t try to fill the silence with excuses or apologies. He just nodded. “I understand.”

Miyeon looked up again, eyes clearer now. “I’m not running away, okay? I just need to figure out who I am without everything weighing me down. You, her, this house, it’s too much right now.”

Jungkook swallowed hard and nodded again. “Just promise you’ll call. Let me know you’re okay.”

Miyeon’s smile returned, softer this time. “ I will Dad .” They stood there for a long moment, father and son, surrounded by baggage both physical and invisible. Then Jungkook pulled him in for a hug. One they both needed more than they realized. They slowly pulled away a knowing smile on both.

Then Miyeon zipped the last of his bags and slung his backpack over one shoulder, glancing around his room like he was trying to remember it just as it was. Jungkook stood quietly, watching, unsure whether to speak again, still trying to process the shift between them.

Miyeon turned to him, gaze softer now. “Dad…” Jungkook met his eyes.

“I lost her because of my own stupidity,” Miyeon said, not bitter, just honest. “When I first saw her, she was beautiful. Like, really beautiful. Someone I could have on my arm and show off, someone I thought would make me look good.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed a little, sensing the weight behind his son’s confession.

“I didn’t know her,” Miyeon continued, his voice quiet. “Not really. And when I started realizing she liked a different kind of person, someone gentle, someone thoughtful, I panicked. I pretended to be that. Faked the softness. Faked the listening. I didn’t even try to be better. I just tried to appear better.”

Jungkook stayed silent, not because he didn’t want to respond, but because this moment belonged to Miyeon.

“She saw through me eventually,” Miyeon said with a sad smile. “She’s smart. Too good for what I gave her. And I hurt her. Badly.” He looked away for a second, then back up at his father. “If you ever see her again, tell her I’m sorry. Not the sorry people say to ease their guilt. I mean the kind that comes from knowing you broke something that was never yours to break.”

Jungkook looked stunned, but Miyeon chuckled softly. “Don’t look so surprised, dad.” Then, with a half-smile, he added, “Don’t stop your feelings for me. Chase her. You hear me?” Jungkook’s breath caught.

“She’s hurting without you,” Miyeon said, eyes steady. “I could tell when she left. That wasn’t peace, that was her running from something too big to handle. You were never the problem.”

“I thought maybe it would be selfish,” Jungkook finally whispered. “To even feel anything for her.”

“It would be selfish,” Miyeon said, slinging his bag over both shoulders, “if you let it die with guilt instead of living it with care. Be better to her than I was.

—

The drive back from the airport was quiet. Jungkook kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the gear, fingertips absently brushing against the edge of the wallet in the cupholder.

His mind replayed the conversation with Miyeon, over and over. "Don’t stop your feelings for me, dad. Chase her."

Jungkook exhaled, a small chuckle escaped his lips. “He grew up,” he whispered to the empty car. “God, he really grew up.”

He parked the car in front of the house. The moment he stepped inside, the silence of the house felt different. Not hollow but full of something new, a new beginning & Hope.

In the quiet, Jungkook sat on the edge of the couch, pulling out his wallet. Inside, tucked carefully between an old receipt and a faded note, was a photo.

His late wife. Smiling, holding baby Miyeon close to her chest. Her eyes held a calmness he could still remember like yesterday. He stared at the picture for a long time, thumb brushing over her face.

“Our son…” Jungkook’s voice was hoarse, low. “He grew up the way you wanted him to.”

His eyes stung a little, but he didn’t cry. “He’s not perfect,” Jungkook went on, a small smile forming on his lips, “but he’s learning. He’s trying. And he’s kind. God, you’d be proud of how kind he is.”

He leaned back against the sofa, still holding the picture, and closed his eyes for a moment. “You always said he’d surprise me.”

The memory of her voice echoed in his head—“He’ll find his way, Jungkook. Even if it’s not through you.”

And she was right. He looked up toward the ceiling, eyes soft, filled with a strange peace. “You gave me two miracles in this life. One was him… and the other…”

He stopped for a second, the image of you flashing in his mind, standing by the River, voice steady and eyes sad, saying everything he never expected to hear.

“The other one I got to know from miyeon… I let her go,” he whispered. But not again. Not this time.

—

The city was alive behind you, cars passing, couples laughing, a child crying over a dropped ice cream, but your little bench by the water remained untouched by the world’s chaos. Every Friday, without fail, you return here. To think, to breathe.

Today was no different except the ache in your chest felt deeper and heavier. The kind that settled into your bones and refused to be ignored.

You hugged your coat closer, the wind teasing strands of hair across your face, and let your eyes scan the slow-moving river. It looked so peaceful. So sure of its direction. You envied that.

Your mind wandered back, back to the months with Miyeon. The way he had smiled too easily. Said the right things too quickly. Held your hand but never truly saw you. It wasn’t dramatic; it wasn’t cruel either it was just… hollow.

And then, unexpectedly, in the cracks he left behind, there was Jungkook. His voice calm and gentle. His eyes never judging. Always listening.

You remembered the first time he’d walked past you here, nodding politely as if you were just another stranger by the water. You remembered how, over time, he stopped being a stranger at all. How your heartbeat had betrayed you when he looked at you too long. How guilt gnawed at you for feeling more in a single conversation with him than in all the months with Miyeon.

You pressed your lips together, blinking rapidly as your throat tightened. Maybe you were a bad person for it or maybe not. You tilted your head up, eyes closed for a second, whispering under your breath, “ God, Why did it have to be you…”

And just as those words left your mouth, A familiar voice behind you broke the silence. “Because maybe… it was always supposed to be me.”

Your breath caught. Slowly, you turned. There he was, Jungkook. Standing just like he did that first day, only this time, not walking past. Not avoiding what hung between you. His eyes met yours, soft but certain. There's no hesitation, no guilt. Only a man looking at the woman he could no longer stay away from.

You stared at him. He looked different, like something had shifted since the last time you saw him. Softer, yet more resolute. Like he’d made peace with something, or maybe decided he no longer wanted to run from what he felt. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Jungkook stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours. He nodded at the empty space beside you on the bench. “May I?”

You gave a small nod, swallowing hard as he slowly sat next to you, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that you could feel his presence. Neither of you spoke. Not right away. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was loud. Heavy with everything left unsaid.

You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. So many things swirled in your mind, but all that left your lips was— “I come here every Friday.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened. “I know,” he said quietly. “I came… hoping maybe you still would.”

You turned to him, brows drawn slightly. “Why?”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before speaking. “Because I needed to see you. I needed to tell you that… I heard everything. That night. What you said.”

Your stomach twisted. Shame flickered in your chest. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I’m glad I did,” he interrupted gently. “Because it gave me the truth. The one you were carrying alone.”

You looked away, blinking hard. “I never wanted to ruin anything. Especially not your family.”

“You didn’t,” he said, firm yet soft. “If anything… you helped it heal.”

You turned back to him slowly, eyes meeting his. Jungkook leaned just slightly closer, voice low but unshaking.

“I didn’t fall in love with you because you were hurting. I fell in love with you because you saw me, not as Miyeon’s father, not as someone broken by loss… just as me.”

Your breath caught again, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“And you,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper, “are the second chance life gave me when I wasn’t even asking for one.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

“I tried to stay away,” you admitted. “I thought it was the right thing. But every Friday, I’d end up here. Thinking about you.”

Jungkook reached out, slowly, and brushed that single tear away. “I’m here now,” he said softly. “And I’m not going to walk past you again.” Your breath hitched as Jungkook’s fingers lingered briefly against your cheek, warm, grounding.

Your heart was loud, too loud. But instead of pulling away, you tilted your head toward him just slightly, eyes glossy, lips parted with unsaid emotions.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “Not because of you but because I don’t know how to be something… forbidden.”

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re not,” he said gently. “You’re not forbidden. You’re honest. You walked away when it hurt the most. You didn’t cross the line, I did, the moment I started thinking of you when I shouldn’t have.”

You let out a shaky breath, laughing bitterly. “We sound like a sad movie.”

He smiled, it was tender, boyish, like he hadn’t smiled like that in years. “Then let’s rewrite the ending.”

He stood slowly and offered you his hand. You hesitated only a second before taking it. It was so simple, fingers laced like a long-lost fit. No tension. No guilt. Just warmth.

The two of you walked along the path beside the river, footsteps quiet against the gravel. The silence between you now was soft, soothing, no longer heavy. After a while, he spoke.

“I still remember the day you said, ‘Life goes on for the living, Mr. Jeon.’”

You looked up at him. “Your wife said that too… didn’t she?” He nodded, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “All the time.”

You thought he might say more. But instead, he stopped walking and turned to face you, gently pulling you into the moment. “And now here I am,” he said, “trying to live again. Because of you.”

You finally stepped forward. Slowly, you reached up and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing along the slight stubble he never bothered shaving on weekends. His eyes closed for a second under your touch, like he was memorizing it.

“I missed you,” you whispered. Jungkook opened his eyes again, those warm brown eyes staring right through you. He leaned in cautiously, and reverently, and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I missed us… even if we never really got the chance to be us.”

Your fingers loosely intertwined with his. The world was calm. The weight on your chest felt lighter than it had in weeks, maybe even months. Jungkook broke the silence first.

“You know…” he started, voice low, thumb gently brushing the back of your hand, “Miyeon asked me to tell you something.”

You turned to him slowly, your heart giving a little twist at the mention of his son.

“He said he was sorry,” Jungkook continued. “For lying to you. For pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He said he saw you as someone beautiful, someone to show off but he didn’t know how to be the kind of man you actually needed.” Your breath hitched.

Jungkook looked out at the water, like he was replaying the moment in his mind. “He laughed a little when he said it. Told me, ‘Don’t stop your feelings for her, Dad. She’s hurting without you. I’ll be fine.’”

Your eyes filled with quiet tears. “He really said that?”

Jungkook looked at you, smiling softly. “Yeah. And he meant it. I think… that was the moment I realized how much he’s grown. And how much you helped him do that.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I never did.”

“I know,” Jungkook said. “And he knows too.” Jungkooks words carried with it a strange peace.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For telling me. For… everything.” He squeezed your hand a little, leaning closer.

“No,” he murmured. “Thank you… for giving us both the chance to become better.”

You and Jungkook didn’t begin with love. You began with silence, misunderstandings, wounds that weren’t yours to carry, and a goodbye that was never really final. But life has its way of circling back.

He found you again not as his son’s ex, not as someone tangled in guilt but as the woman who saw him when he thought no one ever would. And you saw him as not the perfect man, not the father or the widower but the man who listened, who remembered, who showed up even when it hurt.

Miyeon left with an understanding he didn’t have before, his apology gave you closure, and his acceptance gave Jungkook freedom.

And now, there’s no more pretending.No more secrets. No more stolen glances across lines that once felt forbidden. Just two people, Still healing, Still learning. But finally, not alone.

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starmaidengarden · 2 days ago

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hello! first off, i absolutely love your writing ♡ i always enjoy reading your work! i saw your requests were open so if you don’t mind i’d like to leave one (๑>◡<๑)

could i get savanaclaw with a s/o who is in need of some comfort/external motivation during a hard time? life unfortunately has not been very enjoyable for me lately :’) thank you so much for all of your work ^^

hello! oh my, thank you so much for your sweet words! It truly means the world to me! (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) I’m really sorry to hear that life has been tough for you lately :’( I hope this helps if only a little!

Leona Kingscholar ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Leona picks up on subtle changes in your behavior. If you are quieter than usual or seem to avoid eye contact, he will notice and frown, but he won't confront you right away. He’s the type to watch silently until he’s sure it’s not just a bad mood. While he isn't the best with words, he sees you struggling.

⭑.ᐟ He doesn't want you to feel pressured to explain yourself, so he finds comfort in simply being there. He'll pull you down onto the grass and allow the silence to speak for itself. If you cry, he will quietly wrap his arms around you. Leona hates seeing you upset—especially when he knows how capable you are.

⭑.ᐟ He’ll cancel things for you without you asking — handling a class excuse or keeping annoying people away. If he knows something is causing you stress (e.g., a project, an event), he’ll handle the boring parts “It’s done. Now you can focus on pulling yourself together.”

⭑.ᐟ He’ll offer blunt but genuine encouragement. “You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? Just rest, You don’t need to prove anything to anyone but yourself.” He’ll push you when needed, but he will catch you if you fall.

Ruggie Bucchi ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Ruggie’s incredibly sharp. If your energy is off or your routine changes, he picks up on it right away. He notices when you look run-down and will show up with snacks, some drinks, or a silly distraction. He’s goofy but sincere — and his concern is obvious in the small ways he takes care of you.

⭑.ᐟ Ruggie knows what it’s like to be overwhelmed, “Hey, you don’t gotta do it all at once. Just one step, then the next.” He knows hard times don’t last forever, and he wants you to believe that, too.

⭑.ᐟ He brings you little things — your favorite pastry, a cute keychain, or just a bottle of water when you’ve forgotten to hydrate. He talks to keep your brain from spiraling — telling silly stories or gossip just to pull you out of your own head.

⭑.ᐟ He helps in small ways. He takes over tasks that feel too much for you. He will pause his own work to spend time with you, making things feel normal again. When he sees you making progress, even small steps, he smiles.

Jack Howl ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Jack is awkward with emotional stuff, but he feels deeply. When he sees you hurting, he offers silent support. Sitting next to you while you work or just lying in bed beside you during rough nights, even if you don’t feel like talking, He respects your space but makes it clear you’re not alone. “You don’t have to talk. I"'ll just be here with you when you're ready.”

⭑.ᐟ Jack is straightforward and honest. He tells you the truth with earnest belief. “You’ve made it through hard stuff before. I’ve seen you do it. You don’t have to do everything at once."

⭑.ᐟ He helps in small ways. He encourages you to get fresh air or be active, knowing that movement can improve your mood. Helping with what’s stressing you out, even if it’s not his usual thing, just to make things easier for you.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingsholar x reader #leona x reader #twst leona #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucci x reader #ruggie x reader #twst ruggie #jack howl #jack howl x reader #jack x reader #twst jack

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yourmessagehasbeendenied · 2 days ago

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~LITTLE DEATH

tw; MDNI, nsfw content ahead, insecure!reader, chubby!reader, smut, masturbation, BTW IF YOU KNOW ME IRL NO YOU DONT SHUT UP

Were you living or just breathing? You couldn't decide anymore. It was fairly familiar to the older stories you read in books, except for one fact, - It didn't have a happy ending so far, no boyfriend or prince charming.

You considered giving up your life to be a nun, at that point. But you can't do that, cause you're not a virgin anymore. Though with the amount of experience you had? You could be considered one. People pretend they have happy lives for the sake of pretending, to keep up a facade, for some reason it's much more important than actually being happy. You weren't into that thing. You felt how you felt and always showed it, that was the good part about you. You've gotten the same thing your whole life. "No, you're.. A good friend, I just.. Wouldn't date you, in a million years." From all your friends. Until him, anyway. A strong military man as your neighbor? You bet your ass you were gonna drool over him. Who wouldn't? Those muscles, that mask you had a strange thing for, and the way he dressed, his silent nature, he was like the whole package! There was only one problem. You knew he would never go for you. Life was boring at all times. No boyfriend to keep you occupied, just a stupidly used vibrator and your hands. No sex, a dead-end job, minimum wage, and an apartment that wasn't exactly the best. Not that it was the worst, either, you couldn't exactly complain. You didn't see Simon around much, as much as you would've liked to. He had missions to go on, debriefs, he left for weeks, months. The only times you've ever seen him around was rare occasions, like holidays. But on a certain night, that changed. You were out at a bar, with your friends - figuring you could loosen up a bit. The clock hit midnight and figuring you wouldn't get laid anyway- you headed home.

And there he was, in the elevator, with you. But it was different this time around, you felt him looking at you. When you looked towards him, he looked straight into your eyes. Silence erupted the small elevator and it broke like glass being slammed on the floor when he spoke, "Your tits are half out in that. I wouldn't wear it again if I were you. I could practically rip them off of you with a finger." He said, and looked at you, still stared, like he said nothing to you.

And it flustered you. You haven't had sexual interactions with a man in years- how wouldn't it? You blushed, and tried to open your mouth but all that came out was a measly, "thanks" but what you were thanking him for? You had no fucking idea, and hoped he wouldn't ask. The elevator shortly after arrived and he went to his, and you went to your door. This was the first sexual sentence probably you've ever gotten from a man whom you actually find the most attractive, and it made you feel a certain way. So even if it wasn't with a man, you knew you'd have fun that night. All by yourself.

Or so you thought. ~~ Laying on his bed, watching the damn TV and trying to find at least one good show or movie to pass the time with, Simon was unsuccessful of finding anything worth his time, so he found the show he usually watched- Dr. House, re-watching for the 6th time this week.

Halfway through the episode, and he heard it. Faintly, more of a distant echo rather than something that's loud, but it caught his attention. It made him interested, it made him feel a certain type of way. Did he hear it right? Was he hallucinating things, too desperate? That's when he heard it again. Sweet. Honey-like, a fucking addiction that sound was, and in that moment he cursed the walls for being so paper-thin, where-as he could hear your moans. He felt like a fucking creep, listening and actually enjoying hearing the nice cute lady next door touch herself- but he couldn't help himself. He lowered the volume of the tv, only slightly so he could hear more - he figured if he could hear your moans, you could hear his TV. He didn't wanna make things suspicious - and he SURE as hell didn't want you to stop. He swallowed. He leaned up against the wall, and he felt pathetic for having his head back against it, listening to your moans, the vibration sound coming from your bedroom. And fuck, he hated it, he hated how turned on it made him- how aroused he was. He swore- he would just listen, there's no harm in that, right? But that idea was quickly ruined when you turned up the speed and moaned louder- figuring he couldn't hear or care- getting more confident. He started hating himself even more when he realized his cock was getting chubbed up just by the sound of your moans. Was he really gonna get hard over nothing? And especially over you? He can't help it. You sounded like a fucking pornstar, and that outfit you wore today just made everything worse. It made him feel so much worse, but he just couldn't stop his hands from reaching in, from reaching his boxers- and inside. He told himself- this isn't his fault, right? It's yours, yours and you should be punished, punished for reducing him to do this, for not making a move. But he was wondering, what the fuck were you imagining? But the thought made him angry- jealous, what if it isn't him? It made him feel strange. He brushed the thought off and listened to your moans, the rhythmic vibration- and he decided to match the pace. It felt more intimate, more deep- and it also made him feel like an absolute pervert, a dickhead, but it felt so good. He imagined you, your plump body, your tits, and how he would touch them. Hold you down, sit you on his lap in front of a mirror when he pounded inside you. Going faster. ~ Vibrations fastened up and your moans were louder than before, and as much as he started loving your moans more, he started hating himself more with each passing moment. Snapping out of it while touching himself- he swallowed and looked down at his body. "Fuck, what am I even doing? This is insane." He pulled his hands out of his pants, ready to button up- stop this madness because of his guilt. That's when the question in the back of his mind got answered- hearing it, faintly- but still his ears picked it up as the loudest sound. "Simon~" And all the guilt was suddenly forgotten when he practically gripped himself, he was sweating hard, blushing, did it suddenly get too hot in his room? Was it the air conditioning? He swore it was- he had to get it fixed. It definitely wasn't the fact he was touching himself to his sweet little neighbor who's the type to bring cookies and pretend everything is fine. He touched himself, to your rhythm again- to your moans. Imagining he was there with you- it made him feel less guilty knowing you did the same. Because fuck, he would love to be, he figured he'd just slam your door open in a few minutes to go over and fuck you himself- but he couldn't. He wasn't a creep after all, right? ..More like, not brave enough. Definitely a creep enough.

Your moans were heavenly for him. He couldn't hold it for too long anymore- he swore he almost came in his pants even when he heard you moan his name. He cursed under his breath, "Fuck, like a teenage boy," He whispered as he looked down at himself, entire body sweaty, red, hot. He should've stopped. He should stop. But he can't. "Simon, please take me. Please fuck me, please, please, make me yours, all yours-" God fucking damnit, was this a cruel joke on him? He swallowed. His hand worked faster than before and he was on his peak, when he tried to slow down- guilt creeping up again just slightly but not enough for him to care. He heard your moans, and he swallowed. Your begging. He wants to take you more than anything. He tried not coming in 5 seconds after that moan- and he was doing good, and that's when you fucked it up for him. You came. He heard you come- and he heard you scream practically. "Sir- y-yes, just like that! T-thank you sir!" You screamed like he was the one doing it to you, not the vibrator- and it fueled his god complex, his ego. He swallowed and that's when he hit. Head thrown back against the wall. He was breathing heavy, he was fucked up, sweaty, and his mouth fell open as he couldn't find an alternative fast enough to cover his own mouth, so he simply let it out. "Fuuuuuck baby, that's my good girl.." He came. It felt like death, like his mind was numb, like he was drowning. A little death - this was the hardest he's ever come. Silence, full on fucking silence- and for the first time he felt afraid. Did he fuck up? Did you hear him? Odds are you did, but if you didn't - he'll start thanking god on his knees. But even if you did, there was nothing he could do other than clean his own pants and the bed he made a mess on, and get ready for bed. He had a long night. And so did you. ~~ The next morning, you were in the elevator- coming home from buying groceries. Well, awkward, because he also was just doing the same and getting in. When he saw you go in he debated to just let the elevator pass and go on the stairs- but he realized that would just make it more awkward. So he swallowed and got in the elevator, holding his bag, while you held yours. He cleared his throat, staring at you up and down and looking away. This time you spoke, and it was like a knife cutting through the tension. "...So, rough night, huh?" He didn't even hesitate before he immediately without a second of breathing said, "For fucking sure."

A/N: yeah nah idk anymore, possible part 2 might be coming, also for my babies who dont know, just search up the meaning of little death, love yall

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dilf-luvr-4evr · 2 days ago

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Like You Would ♡

f!reader, full fluff!! 🥰 18+ / pic by me! / divider: @aquazero / A/N: wrote all this down in an hour 🤭 I love this actually <3 the happy ending he deserved! ☹️

Arthur huffed out a satisfied sound, pulling the lasso hard enough to make the bounty fall.

Faceless. Dead or alive for $1000.

“Hold still,” the outlaw grumbled as he reeled the wanted in and started tying them up — not without a fight, to none of his surprise.

Once tied tight — pulling a grunt from Faceless — Arthur sat them upright and crouched in front of them, snickering at the glare from the badly cut holes of their mask.

“Now let me take a look atcha,” he said, voice low and dripping in mischief. Just a glimpse of the person who had him running in circles for weeks.

A beat and then the mask was pulled off.

His eyes widened as he took her in; a woman. A pretty one at that-

“Wait a minute! Mama was an outlaw too?” Your 10 year old gasped, sitting up from where she laid.

“Mhm. And a pretty one at that,” you teased, elbowing your husband who’s sat with you at the edge of the bed.

“Well,” Arthur cleared his throat with a smile. “We don’t know for sure so don’t interrupt me. Anyway,”

She turned away from him, hiding behind her hair. That fire in her eyes remained bright.

“I-..” Now he was the one tied; on his tongue. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have handled you so rough, I didn’t-”

“Didn’t think I’m a woman did you? Heard it all before. Just get on with it and handle me like you would.”

And with that, Arthur nodded. Though the last words had him feeling a little-

“Alright that’s enough. Bedtime,” you cut off, pushing Arthur off your daughter’s bed. You had forgotten this.. cursed little detail from the story. And curse him too, he laughed, that bastard.

“Aw! Feeling what-”

“Maybe you aren’t old enough after all,” you smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “For another time, okay?” She can only sigh in defeat and nod.

“Sorry kid,” Arthur chuckled, walking to the door.

“You should be,” you muttered as you joined him. He only pulled on your hand, fingers quickly intertwined. Following it, a soft kiss on your temple.

With a roll of your eyes and a smile you could barely dam, you wished your daughter a good night and closed the door.

“Now you,” you turned to your husband.

“What about me?” He played, turning to you too. That stupid — and irresistible — half smile on his face as he walked backwards to your bedroom.

“You are staining my outlaw legacy by putting unnecessary details like that. I’ll have you know I was famous.”

“Why, it ain’t unnecessary, darlin’. If anythin’, it was the start. The foundation of our marriage, if you will.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, pushing him. But before he got very far, he pulled you into a kiss.

You gladly melted into his lips, moving until he’s pressed against the door. With a click of the doorknob, the both of you are stumbling onto the bed, laughing like teenagers.

As your laughter died down above him, he looked at you just like he did that night. That fateful night he caught you.

“C’mere,” he gently said, right hand already guiding your face towards his again.

The sound of his breath as your lips melded with his was like the hiss of a fire put out; like the whole world disappeared with it and it was just the two of you.

“If they had your face on that poster,” he muttered between kisses, flipping you over. “I’d have caught you sooner.”

“Ain’t work that way.”

“Ain’t gonna let me say somethin’ nice?” You laughed. Oh, how happy he made you.

He pulled away, that same look in his eyes as he cradled your face. Like a man who won much more than $1000 that night. He made a mental note to thank Alden again first thing in the morning.

“Now handle me like you would, Arthur,” you whispered, turning slightly to kiss his hand.

“Yes ma’am.” And with that he was gone <3

thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

my masterlist

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption community #rdr2 community #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fanfiction

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araybiaaa · 1 day ago

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❝ home, ❞ ‎ annie x smoke

ooo. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔… domestic fluff, soft!smoke, edging, multiple orgasms, squirting, fingering, unprotected!sex, penetrative!sex, fluff, romance, handjobs, quiet sex, praising, dirty talk, brief use of the n-word. black!writer

ooo. 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔… smoke comes home to annie after a business trip.

ooo. 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔… wrote another one because i think writing for them is my niche lol. this is set before the movie but i incorporated some of the things that were in the movie (i only watched the movie once so far so i can’t remember if they said which twin was older but in this fic i made it smoke.) i didn’t go into any of the hoodoo practice because i’m not too educated on it. but what i did include was from google 💀 again, thanks for all of the love on all of the other fics i posted! i’m always so apprehensive about my writing sometimes especially if i get writers block. but anyway thanks for the constant support guys 🥺! oh this is very much inspired by someone who made a post that said annie cleanses smoke whenever he comes home and they spend the rest of the night making passionate love. (i tried looking for the post but i couldn’t find it but if anyone finds it lmk!) and as always likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated! ◡̈

smoke’s deep suspire of impatience accompanied with him looking down at the elgin watch that’s donned around his wrist has stack rolling his eyes at his brother.

“that’s your third time lookin’ down at your watch.” he acknowledges with an impish smirk as he brings the bottle of beer up to his mouth and takes a large swig. “you must got somewhere better to be?” he questions in a tease, wincing only slight at the potent taste that burned in the back of his throat.

smoke nods cursorily, “yeah, nigga i do. it’s gettin’ late and annie’s waitin’ for me.” he accents, already picturing his wife wide awake reading in bed instead of asleep like she should be. despite wearing the mojo bag that she created for him for his added protection; she still worried about him and would always be laid awake in bed waiting for his return. her worry grew heavier whenever he was with stack because she knew that even with smoke being older by a few spare minutes — he always found himself being persuaded into his younger brother’s impulsive ideas.

like tonight, instead of going out for drinks at the juke joint like stack claimed they were going to be doing, they found themselves at a burlesque house instead. stack had found amusement in looking at the women walking around bare dressed or in skirts that stopped just at their thighs, leaving absolutely nothing left for the imagination. the room was clouded with the stench of stale cigarette smoke. it was filled to the brim with men who just like his brother were indulging and salivating at the sight of the promiscuous women as they prowled around in their garters, corsets and dresses.

but smoke seemed to be the only man here that showed no interest in the women before him. instead of attraction he felt irritation; at himself for being talked into another one of stack’s ridiculous ideas and at the fact that the room was so crowded that perspiration stuck against his skin and was now drenching through the three-piece suit that he’d just bought.

stack nudged his elbow against smoke’s, clicking his teeth in a tsk-ing reprimand. “man we’re supposed to be celebratin’!” he enthused, his smirk curling deeper as he leaned in closer to (attempt to) whisper. “all the shit we just looted from that bank? we got enough money to open our own fuckin’ whorehouse and then some!”

smoke hurriedly looked around, wary of any bypassing eavesdroppers. the pungent smell of beer is fresh of stack’s breath, his eyes are red and glossy and smoke could see his cognition slowly dissipating with each swallow of beer that he took.

today’s job had been successful. through thorough days of planning, they’d managed to raid a bank a few towns over with nothing but their revolvers and masks for their discretion. it only took about five minutes for them load the $1,000 into their bags and make a stealth exit without any hassle. still on an adrenaline high, stack suggested that they go out to commentate their win. and smoke should’ve known that it wouldn’t just be a quiet night of drinking like it was supposed to be.

“we ain’t openin’ a damn whorehouse, stack. ain’t no real money in that.” smoke rebuttals, giving him an exasperated look. “and quiet your drunk ass down some!”

stack rolls his eyes, undaunted by his brother’s forewarning as he reached over and snagged the now lukewarm bottle of beer that smoke had been babysitting all night. “you know there’s money in it. you just don’t wanna do it ‘cause you know annie will skin your black ass alive!” he teases, his eyes distractedly avert towards the short woman that was approaching them.

stack whistles coquettishly at the sight of her; taking in the sight of the short length dress that accentuated her curvaceous physique. she gives them both a beguiled smile, her eyes curiously flint between the both of them in amusement like she’s trying to decide who she wants to hither to first — but smoke’s blatant expression of disinterest deters her and has her scurrying over to stack instead, gently nudging at his shoulders to make room so that she’s able to slide herself down onto his lap.

stack barred an arm around her waist while the other loosely held onto his beer. the woman’s piqued curiosity has her pointing a finger between them and inquiring, “y’all twins?”

smoke shakes his head, resisting the urge of rolling his eyes at the thickness of her question. “naw. we cousins,” he murmurs sarcastically, taking another look at the time to see that it was rolling dangerously close towards midnight already.

“ignore him darlin’,” stack avers, kicking his foot against smoke’s beneath the table as he gave him a pointed look at his dismissive attitude. “he’s just ready to get back home to his wife.”

“oh!” the woman exclaims in surprise, lowering her eyes to his hand. “you married?” smoke’s thumb brushes over the band of his ring, an instinctual gesture that’s become a habit of his whenever he thinks of annie.

he nods, pushing his chair back as he clambered to his feet. “yeah. come on stack, it’s late and we still got an hour drive back to town.”

“you go,” stack suggested with a shrug, leaning forward to bury his face in the woman’s neck as he pressed wet kisses against her skin. “i’m good right here,” he murmurs as the woman giggles and leaned closer into stack’s touch.

“if i leave you that means i gotta drive all the way back here tomorrow to come get you.”

“don’t worry, i’ll keep him safe.” the woman coos, though smoke doesn’t heed her attempted reassurance. he cut his eyes at her in a glowered expression; one that she easily interprets because she purses her mouth close and shifts against stack.

“i’m not leavin’ you.” smoke laments, folding his arms against his chest. “now we can keep standin’ here and you can tell annie why we got back so late or you can get your ass up and follow me outside to the car,” he shrugs defiantly as he knows the inevitable outcome of the bargain.

stack lifts his head from its nestled perch and sighs deeply. he imprints a kiss against the woman’s cheek before begrudgingly telling her to get up. her lips moue but she nods and stands to her feet; shifting her eyes confusedly between the two brothers. stack snatches his beer off of the table as tips back another swig before he’s petulantly brushing past smoke towards the door.

…

“i’m just sayin’ it was a cheap shot usin’ annie to threaten me!” stack complains from his perch in the passenger’s seat. “all’s i wanted to do was have a little bit of fun to celebrate.”

“you did enough celebratin’ tonight.” smoke countered, giving his brother a wayward look. his pursed lips pucker around the cigarette that’s hanging between his mouth and he inhales softly, holding the smoke in his mouth before blowing it into the air. “besides, you think mary would appreciate you steppin’ out on her like that?” smoke wasn’t close to her, but he cherished the beliefs of being faithful in relationships no matter what the extent of it was.

stack brushes a hand dismissively at him, though the tense pull of his jaw let’s smoke know that the mention of her had affected him more than he intended for it to. “i ain’t with mary no more. i can do whatever i want with whoever i want.” he mumbles, suddenly retreating at the mention of his ex girlfriend.

smoke takes another drag of his cigarette before flicking it onto the ground. he averts his eyes between the road and the petulant like frown pulled on his brother’s face. he knows that despite his brother’s feigned insouciance that he still cared about mary, but his stubbornness had prevented him from continuing their relationship.

“what should we do then?” stack asks. his question and subvert of the topic clefts through his brief moment of silence and as smoke furrowing a confused brow at him. “with the money,” he clarifies, recalling back on their earlier conversation.

he’s deflecting to avoid talking about mary anymore. and smoke decides to concede to his brother’s unasked request. smoke considers stack’s question before responding with a gestured shrug of his shoulders. “aside from a brothel, what else could bring in a lot of money?”

“a juke joint.” stack suggests, half drunk and half in a dazed stupor as the three beers that he’d chugged down earlier were now catching up to him. his head’s craned back in an uncomfortable position and his eyes are fluttering close as he fought against his exhaustion.

smoke considers it with a nod. “we gotta have entertainment and food though. and more money to pay for all that. the money we got right now ain’t enough.”

“we can loot more banks. and i heard you can get a lot from trains with the cargo they bring in,” he doesn’t know if stack’s serious, he’s drunk and a few blinks away from being completely conked out. regardless, it was a good idea. but there was one thing that had him reluctant on any further postulation.

“annie’ll kick my ass if she finds out i’m robbin’ banks and trains.” she wasn’t too keen on their lifestyle and would usually always have to cleanse him of his debauchery every time he came back home. he can only imagine her reaction if she found out that stack was suggesting them getting further involve in such corruption.

stack chuckles, shaking his head. “you one whipped ass nigga.”

…

just as predicted, annie’s wide awake when he arrives home. smoke retracts the keys from the car’s ignition as he pulls into the grass, looking through the bedroom window where he sees annie sprawled out across the bed with a book tucked against her thighs. he reaches over and nudges stack against his knees shaking him awake. “get up. we here.”

stack grouses as he stirs awake.

smoke clambers out of the car, tucking his keys into his pockets as he makes his way towards the front door. he hears the creak of the passenger door being pulled open and the sound of stack’s shoes walking on the pebbled ground as he follows behind him.

“elijah?” annie beckons upon their entry. he barely passed over the threshold before she alerts, almost like a sixth sense of knowing his presence.

he pushes the door further open as stack groggily saunters in behind him. “yeah, baby, it’s me.” they stand by the door waiting for her approach. he hears the soft patter of footsteps in her ascending gait. annie rounds the corner moments later, dressed comfortably in her nightgown and with her hair tied around in fabric.

“what mischief y’all get into tonight?” she questions, walking over to her shelf that was full of her hoodoo concoctions; oils, candles and herbs that she kept in stock.

smoke and stack share a look at her raised brow. “nothin’ too bad.” smoke ripostes, hearing the annie’s soft chuckle of disbelief.

she grabs a small bottle of her herbal mixture of sage, cedar, rosemary, lavender, and rue; and dispenses some of it in a white sage leaf and rolls it tightly until it’s in a bundle. “i can smell the negativity brewin’ off both you,” she lights the bundle and the potent smell of the burning herbs immediately invades their sinuses. she walks over to them and waves the sage stick over their bodies, reciting a hoodoo conjuring prayer as she continues her cleansing. she looks up and meets smoke’s gaze, shaking her head though there’s a small smile tugging at her lips.

“alright.” she says after she stubs out the fire and sets the bundle and the bottle of herbs back onto their respective place on her shelf. “y’all hungry? i can warm up the leftovers.”

“naw. i’m too tired to eat.” stack declines, his gait staggers as he makes his way into the living room. he falls forward haphazardly on the couch; groaning as his face squishes against the soft cushions.

“what about you, baby?” annie walks over to where he’s standing. smoke’s hands round to her waist; digging into the soft flesh before he’s gently tugging her closer to him. the small smile returns on annie’s face as she closes the distance between them. she wounds her arms around his neck — feeling the soft wisps of his breath brushing against her cheeks as smoke leaned in for a kiss.

“naw, i’m hungry for somethin’ else,” he murmurs, brushing his mouth against hers in a feverish kiss. it’s only been two days since he’s last seen her, but smoke always felt insatiable when it came to annie.

she giggles against his mouth, pushing gently at his shoulders before chancing a cautious look over at stack. “behave yourself, elijah. we got a guest.” she reprimands, but her words fall absentminded to his ears because the sight of her biting her lip distracts him completely.

she presses one last kiss against his mouth — teasing as she nips and sucks on his bottom until it swells. smoke groans softly, lowering his hands to her ass as he gives it a hard squeeze. he pulls her body closer to his; chafing his dick that was already swelling in his growing arousal against her thigh. he grinds against her torturously slow, allowing her to feel the outline of him as he prodded her thickly through his pants. she whimpers breathily at the friction, hurriedly releasing his swollen lip with a pop before looking over at stack’s sleeping figure again.

“come on to bed,” she murmurs, reaching for his hand before she’s turning around and retreating down the hallway to their bedroom.

he closes the door with his foot while his hands were preoccupied touching every inch of her body. they breathe softly; swallowing each other’s moan as they maneuvered through the room towards the bed. “missed you so fuckin’ much,” he murmurs, his greedy hands are groping her through her nightgown; he glides his fingers up the meat of her thighs and buried them between her molten crux — feeling the moistened stickiness of her arousal through the flimsy fabric.

he slides his thumb against her and circled at her clothed clit; rubbing deftly and with the right amount of friction to have her moaning loudly in response.

smoke slides his mouth over hers and silences her with a feverish kiss. “gotta be quiet, baby.” he says, though he feels himself slipping through his own resolve.

he slides through and against her slit; feeling the moisture thicken messily against his finger. annie makes a small noise of indignation, her chest heaves as she murmurs an pointed, “elijah!” that conveys her impatience at his continued edging.

he removes his finger from between her thighs and instead grabs the edges of her waistband and tugs them over her hips. the ruined underwear fall to the ground with a soft thud; pooling around her ankles. she absentmindedly kicked them aside then with hurried fingers, began to tug at his clothing.

they work in a frantic tandem; their mouths still heavy and slick against each other’s as they kissed — only momentarily breaking apart to shrug his shirt off of his body and remove his gun and its holster from around his waist. he shivers and groans when annie’s fingers slide down the chisel of muscles on his abs — stopping just before she reaches the waistband of his pants. she bites her lip at the sight of him and gives him this seductive look that has smoke’s dick twitching.

“fuck, i can’t wait to be inside of you.”

she smirks again. the expression’s caught between sexy and mischievous, because she knows the affect she has on him — how weak willed and submissive his body is when it comes to her. she shoves at his pants until they’re over his hips and in the same forgotten pile as his other articles of clothing and her underwear. he’s standing naked in front of her; his dick’s curled and painfully erect — throbbing and leaking rivulets of precum from the tip. he pulls her in for another kiss that’s filthier than the last — all teeth and their tongues sliding wetly in each other’s mouths.

annie reaches down and grabs ahold of his dick. her nimble fingers wrap around him and firms a gentle grip; the feeling of her fingers alone already had him swelling against her hand. she revels at the feeling of him — at the grunts and expletives that falls off of his lips as she pressed her finger against the engorged tip of his dick and squeezed softly until more milky spurts of precum spilled out of him, at the reflexive twitches she feels brushing against her palm when she oscillates her hand from base-to-tip, in one torturously slow drag. “fuck, annie.” he drawls out another stifled moan.

he bites on his lip, feeling his head loll back in pleasure as she continued to jerk him off. his brows furrow deeper, breathing hitches and dick lurches in her hand in forewarning. annie slides her hand against him; lubricating him with him precum and hastened the movements of her hands. his expression shifts as his jaw slacks and teeth dig deeper into his lip. he feels the thickness of his orgasm spill out of him like a tidal wave — the buildup of pressure releases from him all at once and skeets messily on annie’s hand.

his dick twitches again as her fingers brushed against his balls, holding him through his release. he shudders, looking down at her through the haziness of his vision. “i’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow. gonna make you feel every inch of it.” he whispers filthily, barely fully recovered from his first orgasm but his dick was already swelling in anticipation at the thought of being inside her.

“take this off.” his hands tug at her nightgown as she raises her arms in the air and allowed him to remove the last barrier of clothing until she’s completely nude. “i wanna see every inch of you.” his eyes wandered appreciatively over her body — at the thickness of her, at the swelled cupping of her breast and the coiled bush of hair on her pussy, the stretch marks drawn across her hips and the cellulite on her ass and thighs — every inch of her was sculpted to perfection and he couldn’t wait to ravish her.

“so fuckin’ pretty and perfect.” he praises, his hands find her hips again as he draws her in for a slow kiss. their lips brush softly, teasing and nipping, relishing in the salty taste of each other. then it’s a slip of tongue — gliding over the cupping over her lower lip, begging for further entry. smoke continues to maneuver them backwards until the back of annie’s leg hits the bed. he holds a hand around her back, steadying her in his grip before gently easing her onto the mattress.

smoke follows her in the maneuver, his body hovers over hers as their mouths continued their ravenous feat. annie whimpers at the slightest tease of his dick brushing against her slit. “‘lijah,” she murmurs, breath caught in a hitch as she lifted her hips and chased after the friction.

“i got you, baby.” smoke avows, nudging her legs apart with his knees as he seats himself between her. he teases his forefinger against her cunt again, feeling the slickness gathered along her slippery folds. “this all for me?” he murmurs, breath brushing against her lips as he looked down at her awed at her dazed expression.

his scissors his fingers and uses her slick to fondle her clit. he quietly shushes her when she inadvertently yelps and squeezes around his fingers at the contact. “quiet, baby.” he reminds her and she purses her lips and twists her fingers so tightly around the sheets that it burns. he drags his finger from her vulva to her opening, marveling in the raunchy sounds of her slick dragging against her walls.

annie’s breathing quickens, the skin between her brows crease and her face furrows in pleasure. tension tugs in her belly, warmth spreads from her ears to her toes and she can feel her pussy gaping so tight around his fingers that it hurts. “s-smoke!” she whimpers shakily, tittering so close to the point of delirium.

“i feel it. let it go, annie. c’mon.” he coos, lowering his eyes to the slick that’s covering his hands from his fingers to knuckles.

it’s a beautiful mess between her thighs and he spreads her legs further to watch as he curls his fingers deeper, sliding and stretching until he’s knuckles deep into her g-spot. “elijah!” any restraint she attempted to maintain suddenly falls short; because she feels her orgasm pulling out of her almost immediately.

she spasms and writhes beneath him, tears fall wetly against her cheeks as she she clenches around the thickness of his fingers. “that’s it. fuck you look so pretty like this,” he slips his fingers out and used his thumb to lift her clitoris lip and teased the padding of his fingers against her sensitive nub. she whimpers again as she arched her hips and dragged her clit against his wet fingers. it’s a bit slippery and messy through his movements, but he still manages to implement enough friction to where she’s already feeling her second orgasm pulling through her body again.

“f-ffuck elijah.” her words are shaky and a few octaves shy of a whisper. she squeezes her eyes shut as she continued to thrust against his fingers. her chest constricts, pussy throbs achingly at his unrelenting onslaught. she cums again and this one it feels bigger than the first with watery liquid spilling out of her. she flutters her eyes open, blinking through the wetness that clung to her lashes and the bleariness that hindered her vision.

“you okay?” he questions, attentive in his aftercare as he gauged a look down at her.

she nods numbly, still dazed from the pleasure. smoke leans down and kisses her, allowing the taste of her arousal that he licked clean off of his fingers, to pass between their tongues. annie moans at the taste; feeling herself become wet at the filthiness of their intimacy.

smoke reached between his thighs and grabbed ahold of his dick; giving himself a few limp strokes until he’s fully rigid. he aligns himself at her entrance but instead of slipping inside of her, he teases himself against her — grinding his dick against her slicked folds.

he moans at the feeling of her cunt lapping repeatedly over his dick and how she leaves a sticky trail of residue of her arousal in her wake. “elijahhh!” she breathes ruggedly through a high whine, her eyes fluttering shut and her back bows at the delicious skin-to-skin contact. he rubbed the head of his dick against her swollen clitoris, dragging himself through her labia and against her entrance.

“i know.” he grunts in agreement. “just gettin’ you ready for me, baby.” smoke swipes his cockhead between her wet pussy lips and spams, choking on a guttural groan.

“yeah?” he asks as he rolled his hips against hers and nudged his dick against her clit again. her pussy throbs achingly, desperate to feel him inside of her. she nods vigorously, feeling tears prickle in her eyes again.

“yes.” she avers, hurried. desperate.

smoke nods at her plea and adjusts himself so that he’s angled at her entrance. he levels his pelvis and shifts his perched position between her thighs before slowly rolling his hips forward. annie’s eyes roll to the back of her head, her mouth slacks agape as she flutters tightly around his dick; still sensitive and swollen from her previous two orgasms.

smoke lowered his eyes and bit his lip as he watched his slow penetration — he’s mesmerized by the visual of how she stretches around the shape of him. she’s so wet that he slides in without any resistance. he rolls his hips against hers and slides through her slick — stuffing her full of his dick inch by inch. she trembles though her body easily adjusts to his intrusion. the pain is sharp but immediately dulls into unreciprocated pleasure that has her gripping at the sheets for support again.

smoke slides his hand over her pelvic bone and presses firmly against to hold her in place. then, in an agonizingly slow pace he’s thrusting himself inside of her again — choking on another groan as her pussy nearly suctions him in. he marvels at the sight of how she takes all eight inches of him without hesitation, at how full he feels being inside of her. he slides his hand over her stomach again; feeling the swell of his dick as it sits there buried deeply past her cervix. “you feel that?” he murmurs, pushing deeper until he’s buried so deeply that he’s pressed flush up against her thighs. “you take me so good, baby.” he praises, narrowing his eyes where he sees the bulge of his dick curved inside of her.

his dick twitches at the sight.

it always felt like annie’s body was made for his with how easily she accommodates to the stretch of him. she takes him without hesitation, filling herself full of his dick until she’s biting back another whimper. smoke holds himself there, pressing his hand deeper as he begins to slowly withdraw. “nnnggh,” she makes an incoherent noise in response, feeling the torturous drag of him sliding against her walls. “smoke!” he brushes another kiss against her lips, shaking through his own reprieve.

“shhh. it’s okay, i got you. fuck annie. so fuckin’ tight around my dick.” he mewls through clenched teeth, feeling the flutter of her chasing after his dick through his retraction. he pulls out halfway before he’s hurriedly brimming her to the hilt again and pressing down on her stomach. it’s such a lewd but pretty sight; his dick slipping out and reclaiming her in and out, in and out with the juices of her arousal drenching him every time he withdraws from the tightness of her swollen pussy. “been thinkin’ about this pussy for days. missed bein’ inside you. fuck, baby.”

she grinds into him meeting him thrust-for-thrusts, arching her hips off of the mattress as much as she could beneath smoke’s firm grip on her. it’s overwhelming — the feeling of him like this; in her belly, curved and brushing against her so perfectly that it has her eyes lining with tears again. he alters his pacing, now fucking himself into her with a hastened vigor.

“you take this dick like you made for it.” he says, rolling his hips against hers. their slick skin ricochets with every upthrust of his hips that meets hers, it’s suave and precise enough so that he’s perfectly hitting her hilt with every stroke. annie drew in a quick breath, her throat grows heavy, her teeth are gnawing at the plush skin on her bottom lip again. she could feel the ridges of his dick chafing against her cunt while he pressed heavily inside of her; he goes slower and drawls deeper, much to her delight, emphasizing his emotions with every downward circulation of his hips.

he reluctantly removes his hand from her stomach, in favor of reaching down to slide it beneath her calf. he hefts her right leg over his shoulder and leans forward a bit so the angle’s shifted. “you—f-feel so good!” he’s deeper than before and it’s almost primal at how he wants to feel her come undone for him. the sweat that’s gathered on his forehead is slick against her skin as he lowers his head and tucks his face in her neck. smoke rolls his hips and fucks into her with abandon, brushing his pelvis against hers until he’s seated inside of her again.

“right there!” annie cries in pleasure when he thrusts into her swiftly and lingered there for a bit. he felt her clench tightly around his dick at the movement.

“yeah, like that?

“a-again!” she encourages, tossing her head back when he mimicked the move again, this time increasing the pleasure by pressing his thumb against her engorged clit. he’s nearly sprawled out across of her, hunched over in his position. his breathing is heavy and hot in her ear, his body’s shaking and burning against her.

“tell me this pussy is mine.” he rasps shakily, feeling every squeeze and tug that she warps around him. his muscles burn and ache from the exertion but his only focus is on making her cum.

“it’s yours, baby. only yours!” and annie swears she feels him get bigger at her praise; his dick twitches and swells in its girth and smoke curses filthily under his breath. he fucks her deeply into the mattress, the grip he’s got on her leg tightens as he rolls and thrusts his hips — fucking her deep and fast. “you’re the only one that makes me f-feel this good.”

she feels so damn good around him as she opens her body onto him. his jaw is slacked, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he watched himself prod deeper inside of her, penetrating her and filling her up to the brim.

then, she feels her breath catching and body seizing as she cums. the pressure erupts from her; fast and hard and she’s still throbbing through it as smoke’s dick continues its languid thrusts. he curses again, hand slips between her moist thighs finding her clit. he rubs attentively at the swollen nub and drags his hips against hers until he feels his orgasm following quickly behind hers. the pressure builds directly into his tip and he gives one last lazy thrust before he’s shuddering through his release.

he cums inside of her, thick and warm, still undulating his hips as he sees the fluid nearly spill out of her. smoke grunts as he fucks his cum back into her, watches it stretch and become almost frothy. his hips jerk again then he stills as his body nearly paralyzes from the overwhelming pleasure.

he breathes ruggedly as he pressed soft kisses against her sweaty skin. “i swear you gon’ be the death of me one day,” he says, rolling his hips lazily against her as the remnants of his orgasm milks out of him.

annie rolls her eyes fondly at him as she shakes her head. smoke kisses her thigh before reluctantly loosening his grip and lowering her leg back onto the bed. when his dick flaccids, he pulls out of her and falls beside her with a tired yawn. “i tire you out?” annie teases, shifting on the mattress so that she’s turned in his direction. he’s laid with his eyes closed and a lazy smirk curled on his lips.

he nods, “you always do.”

she smiles before shifting closer so that her head’s tucked on his shoulder. smoke maneuvers around so that he’s able to wrap his arm around her, pulling her closer into his embrace. “i missed you.”

smoke flutters his eyes open and looks down at her with a soft expression. “i missed you too, baby.” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over her cheek. he leans forward and kisses her, gently nudging his nose against hers.

“when you leavin’ again?” the question’s a soft whisper shared between them. her finger trails along his chest at the skin and muscle that’s there.

he shakes his head, sighing in a soft frustration. “i don’t know. we might have to go back up north to handle some left over business.” ever since him and stack had started running their schemes, they often split their time between here and up north as they acquired more business opportunities. sometimes the stretch of their journey took days, other times weeks and on occasions months. this last excursion was thankfully only a few days, but both of them had felt the longing of each other’s presence while smoke was gone.

“just make sure you’re safe and keep that mojo bag around your neck!”

he smiles as he nods his head. “yes ma’am.”

“i’m serious, elijah.” she remarks pointedly, though not moving away when he begins to kiss softly at her neck. “the shit you and stack been gettin’ into recently…it’s dangerous!”

“mhm…” he murmurs, now sucking at the spot of skin behind her ear as he brushes his thumb over her peaked nipple. he rolls his hips against hers, allowing her to feel the tautness of his dick that had seemingly erected again. “you feel what you do to me? just the thought of bein’ inside you again gets me fuckin’ hard.”

“you ain’t listenin’ to me.”

“i’m listenin’ baby, i promise.” he slides his mouth over hers in a deep kiss before he’s rolling onto his back. he bites his lip as he looked at her debauched appearance. she looked like she got fucked and smoke was getting more hard as he stared at creamy fluid of his cum slipping between her thighs and folds. he gestures a hand towards her. “c’mere.”

“elijah…”

“you ride and i’ll listen.”

she wants to scold him for not taking her warnings seriously, but he’s giving her that signature boyish smile of his and it has her shaking her head and rolling her eyes fondly as she sits upright and crawls over to him. she straddles his waist, bracketing her legs on the sides of him. her wetness drags up smoke’s thighs as she adjusts her perch.

annie arches her hips and back as she rolls her hips forward, catching smoke’s tip at her entrance. she’s then reaching in between their bodies and levitating herself off of his lap just enough so that she’s grabbing ahold of him. both of their eyes lower, watching in heed as she lined him at her entrance. she arches her hips again before lowering herself down onto him — refilling herself of his dick.

“oh, fuck!” smoke groaned, his hands steadying their grip on her waist. he’s buried in the heat of her again, trapped in that familiar warmth and tightness that already has him half dazed.

#sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #sinners fanfiction #annie sinners #smoke sinners #elijah smoke moore #annie and smoke #annie x elijah #wunmi mosaku #michael b jordan #michael b jordan fanfiction #black!writer #black!fem!reader #x black!reader #x black!fem!reader

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nerdallwritey · 1 day ago

Text

I Want to Live

Summary: He murmured something against your lips. You pushed lightly against his chest, laughing. “What?” “I want to live,” he repeated, seemingly out of breath. “Of course you want to live, you’re alive,” you smiled up at him, running a hand through his hair. “In all the ways that matter, I mean.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, clearly trying to be suggestive. He rolled his eyes. “No, you insufferable woman, I’m referring to something Shadowheart said.” OR Raphael asks you and Astarion for a favor, which leads to an important conversation.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 14.9k CW: Raphael is a thespian, vulnerable Astarion, Yurgir battle, mentions of killing oneself, Astarion's scars, confessions, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), breeding kink (DADSTARION IS IMPORTANT TO ME), smush (smutty mush) Spoilers: Spoilers for Act 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.) Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 8 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE AS I WROTE PART 8!!! I've become the busiest woman in the world - my job came to an end and I just started a new one, I'm in a play that my friend wrote this summer, I'm moving at the end of this month, and my power went out for nearly three days this week. BUT! WE FORGE AHEAD! I hope that you all enjoy this new addition and that it was worth the wait!! I was super excited to write this part and hope I was able to do it justice. Heads up: I am EXTREMELY busy for the next few months, so I'll probably take a mini hiatus from writing this series for a hot minute. I will be back, rest assured! I'm also interested in possibly starting a new series starring my Tav, Birdie! Anyways, I hope this part was worth the wait! It was a blast to write!! (Thank you to my beta @kermitwazowski, and the wonderful @arzen9 for reading!) As a reminder, last time, just as you were about to save Isobel from etheric's henchmen, Raphael whisked you and Astarion away for his own personal needs.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

With a white shock of pain, the cold of the Shadow Cursed Lands crept into your bones, rendering you frozen and disoriented.

What had just happened?

“Astarion?” you called out, remembering that he had been right beside you only a moment ago. “Where are you?”

“I’m here, darling,” you jumped when a pair of cold hands encircled your shoulders before they spun you to look into Astarion’s frantic eyes. He relaxed considerably once he saw your face. “I’m right here.”

You smiled slightly and turned your head a little to kiss one of the hands on your shoulder before looking around. “Any idea where we are?”

Upon scanning the area, it seemed that you and Astarion were in the middle of the Shadow Cursed Lands, high atop some sort of mountain. You saw what looked to be a heavily trodden path with stairs leading up to this place, surrounded by discarded weapons and pieces of armor. Not far off you spotted flags surrounding what you assumed was a makeshift graveyard.

Astarion’s eyes followed yours. “If I had to guess, it’s not the Blushing Mermaid.”

In the distance, you saw the roofs of buildings that must have made up the village Jaheira had mentioned. Looking to your left, you spotted the moon shield surrounding the Last Light Inn and witnessed tiny figures flying around the structure, along with blasts of magic from within the building through the windows. You ran towards it to get a better look, your stomach dropping when you realized how far you were from the battle you’d just been so rudely snatched away from.

“Where’s Raphael?” you growled.

Speaking of the devil, the cambion’s mortal form, which you hadn’t noticed standing at the grand entrance into some sort of temple in the side of the mountain, stepped forward, observing his nails. Behind him, chains hung from the sides of the cliffs and a large door loomed, destroyed, as if whatever had been inside had broken out with a great deal of force.

“Our heroes thought but a treasure ahead,” Raphael said dramatically, “did not consider the peace of the dead. Through the dark they went creeping, and awoke what was sleeping. A new grave they dug, which they themselves fed.”

Astarion clicked his tongue. “How long were you skulking there, practicing that rhyme before we saw you?”

“Until it was perfect,” Raphael said matter-of-factly. “I’ve grown quite fond of you, you know - in my way. I thought it only fair to warn you of the dangers ahead.”

“You brought us here!” you exclaimed. “We don’t even know where we are!”

“Patience,” Raphael chuckled. “There is a creature that lurks in silence and shadow - a creature who, like me, is of the infernal persuasion.”

You crossed your arms. “Is this creature as dramatic as you are?”

Raphael smirked, amused by your annoyance. “In truth, it is carnage incarnate. When you meet this devil of which I speak,” his tone became deathly serious, “kill it. Consider no other course of action.”

“Hmm,” Astarion hummed. “There’s something you’re hiding. You’re only telling us half that story. Out with it, devil”

Raphael narrowed his eyes. “This creature and I go back a long way. I admit it would be in my best interest as well should it remain trapped in the dark.” He grinned viciously. “Or misplace its head, perhaps.”

“Lovely,” you muttered.

“I should not relish its reacquaintance,” Raphael continued. “Let’s leave it at that.” He turned to you with piqued interest. “You have it in you to author a thrilling finale, if…”

“If?” You took a sideways step towards Astarion who instinctively placed his hand on your lower back.

Raphael’s face took on a scowl. “If you heed this warning: Do not underestimate this opponent. At best you will have the blink of an eye to strike.”

You looked to Astarion who swept a soothing thumb back and forth along the base of your spine.

Raphael’s voice was dripping with venom when he spoke. “Strike first. Strike true. Defy the odds, for they are distinctly in its favor.” He took a breath to settle himself. “That much I owe the bastard orthon to concede.”

“Okay,” you said cautiously. “And I assume this is about that favor-?”

He laughed and regained his leading-actor-giving-a-monologue stance. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your tale, Astarion.”

“It would be surprising if you did,” Astarion said flatly, “considering I only told you about it an hour ago.”

Raphael laughed again, an uproarious, overly dramatic guffaw. “When the beast is dead, I’ll consider that payment enough to translate the scars on your back.”

Astarion nodded his head towards the devil. “A fairer deal than I expected.”

“You wound me, spawn,” Raphael said, not the least bit insulted. “I always deal fairly. And we’ll close this particular deal soon enough - vanquish the beast, and all will be revealed.”

“As great as that sounds,” you said in mock sincerity, “where do we find this beast of yours? You can’t just lead us into the middle of nowhere, give us a task, and expect us to follow through with no other direction! Our friends needed our help back there!” You thrust your arms to your right, over towards the moon shield protecting the inn.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Raphael assured, though it didn’t help you to feel better at all. “But you do raise a fair point. That little Sharran of yours will want to see this place. And I know a shortcut.” “What kind of-”

Before Astarion could finish his sentence, Raphael snapped his fingers again, causing everything to go black once more.

When you were met with the familiar white shock of pain from earlier, you realized Raphael had transported you somewhere new.

“That is not a pleasant feeling,” you said, wiping down your armor to rid yourself of any sulphuric residue.

“No it is not,” Astarion agreed, standing up straight and running a hand through his hair. “Where the devil are we now?”

“Nice one,” you smirked while looking around.

It seemed that now you were in a temple of some sort, completely made up of purple, gray, and gold marble - stone pillars and staircases and columns sprang up in well calculated spaces, and judging by the atmosphere and the view out into the temple, it appeared that you were now inside the mountain that Raphael had met you outside of. Purple light surrounded you from lit braziers that littered the corners, and multiple large doors gave off an eerie, unwelcoming aura.

“Sharran, for sure,” Astarion wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Look at all the bodies,” you said quietly, observing several skeletons scattered around the staircases. “Do you think they were the Dark Justiciars Jaheira mentioned?”

Astarion approached one and kicked its helmet, which let out a dull thud. “They seem pretty dead to me.”

“Hmm…” You looked around, searching for any sign of this devil Raphael had mentioned. “Do you really think Raphael will keep his word if we kill this orthon?”

Astarion stiffened. “I’d trust a devil over a vampire any day.”

“That doesn’t bode well for me,” you joked.

He chuckled. “I think he likes us.”

“Do you think he loves-”

“Don’t start,” Astarion snapped with minimal bite.

You laughed. “Unfortunately he can be pretty entertaining. But I’d never say that to his smarmy face.”

“He is rather smarmy, isn’t he?” Astarion smiled. “Perhaps if we kill this orthon extra bloody, he’ll invite us for tea and brandy back in his House.”

“An invitation I eagerly await,” you said in your snootiest voice and mimed holding a tea cup on a saucer.

Astarion mimicked your snootiness and the two of you “clinked” your imaginary cups together while laughing airily.

“Wait,” you paused in walking along the corridor, suddenly catching a glint of red on the floor.

Astarion halted at your side. “What?”

You pointed at the ground. “You tell me, vampire.”

The vampire in question pursed his lips. “I’ve said before that I’m not some bloodhound,” he argued. He took a deep inhale and sagged. “But yes, that is blood.”

“Any idea how fresh?”

He considered. “Not very fresh, but not completely stale either.”

“Well,” you said, wrapping your arm around his bicep, “where there is blood, there are monsters.”

Astarion humphed as you both walked forward, following the tiny speckled trail of blood towards a set of stairs. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Noooo,” you said, reassuringly nuzzling your head against his shoulder, “you’re too full of love to be a monster.”

Astarion shoved you away and you laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“We are going to talk,” you said firmly, but not unkindly. “I have things to say to you, too.”

Astarion hunched over dramatically. “Blech. Put me out of my misery first.”

“Not happening,” you said, approaching him again and lacing your fingers through his.

He tried to hide it, but you saw the flicked of a smile on his face.

A sudden flash of black at the bottom of the stairs caught your attention.

A displacer beast.

You and Astarion froze on the stairs, and for a moment, the three of you were locked in an intense stare down.

Then, she bolted down the hall to the left.

“Hey!” you shouted, detaching yourself from Astarion and jumping off of the stairs. “Come back!”

“Darling!” you heard Astarion shout behind you. “What are you doing?! Be careful!”

The pair of you rushed down another set of steps before following the beast into a chamber to your right.

“What the hells has been happening here?” you asked, pausing briefly in the doorway, then walking forward cautiously and observing multiple dead bodies and piles of gore.

Astarion exhaled heavily. “So much blood…” He looked up suddenly, his hands hovering over his knives. “Something’s wrong.”

“Here in the death room?” you teased, looking around for the displacer beast, but not seeing her. “You’re sharp.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Oh ha ha, very funny. Just be on your guard.”

A low growl caught your attention as the displacer beast appeared again on a shattered dais in front of you.

You strummed a low tune on your lute, casting Speak with Animals.

“Quiet, darling,” Astarion warned softly. “This could be a trap.”

“Hi there,” you whispered to the displacer beast, as if that would shield you from a trap. “Would you perhaps know where we could find-”

“What’s this?” A deep voice echoed through the chamber as a giant figure seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Fresh entertainment?”

The figure, who you assumed was the orthon, was massive. His head bore jagged, razor sharp horns, and his body was adorned with armor, some of which, you realized with horror, was made of bones. To make matters worse, he had a giant crossbow trained on you. You saw Astarion take a shocked step backwards out of the corner of your eye before he lowered himself into a ready stance.

“Oh, really good job getting his attention,” Astarion shot at you bitterly.

“But you’re too fresh for this place, aren’t you?” The orthon looked between you and Astarion, before his eyes rested on Astarion. “A dark-dweller, you may be, but there’s a definite whiff of the surface to you.”

Astarion said nothing and carefully sidestepped his way over to you, standing in front of you and attempting to shield you with his body.

“We could try talking?” you suggested to the vampire. “Maybe we can get out of this without a fight?”

“A new arrival then,” the orthon continued, clearly not perceiving you or Astarion to be any sort of threat. “You burrowed too deep, little rabbits.”

Astarion meanwhile, was still taking in your surroundings. He nudged you with his elbow and gestured for you to look up.

Figures in golden masks looked down at you, all aiming weapons and preparing to shoot if either of you made the wrong move.

You cleared your throat and looked back at the orthon. “Allow us to hop to it,” you said calmly. “We’re just here to talk. Put that thing down-”

“I don’t talk to prey!” The orthon roared. “I-” He paused and Astarion hovered his hands above his daggers again. “There’s something else, almost hidden by your fear-stink.”

You discretely tried to smell yourself, but Astarion leaned back to whisper, “You don’t actually stink, darling.”

“Right,” you responded quietly.

“Cherries,” the orthon sniffed, “musk… and sulphur.”

“Oh, that,” you said, trying to wipe Raphael’s stench off of your armor.

The orthon exhaled steam from his nostrils. “Raphael! I can smell him all over you! Where is he?! Spit it out! Now!”

Overhead, the masked figures loudly made it known that their weapons were loaded and pointing down at you and Astarion. The displacer beast snarled and paced impatiently upon the dais.

“What are you doing?” Astarion asked you through the side of his mouth. “The devil told us to kill this thing, so let’s stop chatting and kill it!”

The displacer beast growled and shouted to the orthon: “Master! They’ve been sent here by the perfumed swindler to kill you!” She leaped forward off the dais and began circling around you and Astarion, her teeth bared and her tails flicking impatiently.

“Did he, now,” the orthon chuckled. “Many have tried to fell the mighty Yurgir, but none have succeeded.”

“What?” Astarion asked frantically. “What did the beast say to him?”

You rolled your eyes. “She tattled on us, basically.”

Astarion pulled his daggers from their sheaths. “Wretched thing!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you said, stilling Astarion’s hands, and stepping in front of him so you were closer to Yurgir. “Mr. Yurgir, sir, perhaps we can help each other?”

The displacer beast snorted. “The pretty one has pulled out his meager weapons. It’s clear they are here with intent to harm.”

“Not true!” you said quickly, noting the confusion in Astarion’s expression at having not understood the beast. You strummed a quick Speak with Animals for him so you wouldn’t need to continue to translate.

Yurgir chuckled again, amused with your distressed display. “Bargaining, are you? A Kara-Tur warlord once tried the same - I made him watch as I ate his concubines and young, then fashioned a codpiece from his skull.”

“Charming,” Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Silence!” The displacer beast lunged at Astarion, who sidestepped her and prepared to attack her with his daggers.

“Don’t!” you pleaded, preparing to cast a spell with your lute. The air in the chamber tensed significantly.

“Nessa,” Yrugir addressed the displacer beast calmly. He nodded to her and she begrudgingly took a step back from Astarion, who straightened a little and kept an eye on both you and the beast.

Yurgir sighed, all the while, his crossbow was still trained on you and Astarion.

“You can’t help. It’s not just walls that keep me here. Not the traps, the dark creatures it hides. Something stronger holds me. A contract.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. “Figures a meathead like you would get trapped in an agreement with a devil.”

A growl came from the back of Yurgir’s throat. “My patience grows thin with you,” he narrowed his eyes at Astarion who met his gaze unwaveringly. “One more snide comment and it’s lights out, pretty boy.”

Astarion chuckled. “He thinks I’m pretty.”

“Astarion,” you hissed. “Please behave.” You turned back towards Yurgir. “Can you tell me more about the contract?”

For whatever reason, perhaps intrigue, perhaps loneliness, Yurgir indulged your request.

“Either I fulfill the contract, die trying… or forfeit my freedom. If I leave this place now, I’ll become Raphael’s slave.”

You felt Astarion prickle behind you at the mention of slavery.

“Personally,” Astarion said angrily, “I’d prefer if you died trying.”

Without warning, he threw a knife in Yurgir’s direction, which the orthon dodged very easily. Yurgir looked up at his masked minions and nodded.

One by one, they jumped to the ground pointing their weapons at Astarion. Nessa pounced and pinned him to the bloodied marble floor beneath you.

“Wait!” you shouted as Nessa unhinged her jaw to snap in Astarion’s face. You cleared your throat. “Diabolic deals of legend always have loopholes! We just need to find it!”

Astarion struggled beneath Nessa. “Get off of me!” He pushed against her massive head, but she overpowered him with her paws on his shoulders and slashed across his face, causing him to yell out in pain.

Your whole body tensed. “Astarion, stop moving!”

“Listen to your mate,” Nessa growled.

“She’s not-”

“Oh please,” Nessa said, annoyed. “You two reek of each other. It’s as if you were attempting to make pups mere moments ago.”

Astarion scoffed but stopped struggling. You cast a quiet Healing Word and the wound on his cheek vanished.

Yurgir lowered his weapon. “Is he done being a pest?”

You laughed nervously. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” you murmured.

Yurgir lowered the weapon marginally, suddenly more comfortable, now that the problem child was pinned to the floor. “Raphael is no foolish story devil. His mind is different. Sneaky. Listen…”

The orthon closed his eyes, trying to remember the terms of his contract. Then, to your surprise, he started to sing.

“Spill all the blood sworn to the night. Silence all prayers; smother each rite.”

Raphael made Yurgir’s contract… a song?

“Wander Shar’s halls; hungry to slay; Leave no Justiciar alive to obey.”

Your fingers twitched on the neck of your lute, eager to accompany him, but not wanting to push your luck. At least now you knew what happened to the Justiciars. You didn’t plan on joining them any time soon.

“Leave none to hear it, then be set free; This song is your oath, swear, swear it to me.”

Yurgir finished his melancholy melody with an anguished sigh, clear that this contract had been his curse for far too long.

There was something about this song that differed from the ones you’d studied in the past… Something about the final couplet.

“So he’s the one who slaughtered the justiciars,” Astarion angled his head to look up at you.

You met his eye and saw his hand flick twitch at his side. One of his concealed daggers glinted in the dim light. Shaking your head minutely, Astarion smirked and pulled the dagger, plunging it into Nessa’s side. She shrieked in pain and staggered to the side, allowing Astarion to spring to his feet.

“What are you doing?!” Your eyes widened in fear.

Astarion gestured at Yurgir as the masked minions closed in on both of you. “Can we kill him now?” He lowered his voice, “Because if he doesn’t die, then Raphael won’t tell me a damn thing about my scars!”

“Would you-”

Suddenly, you felt a slash across your back as one of Yurgir’s minions grazed your torso with their axe. You gasped in pain, staggering forward into Astarion’s arms. He shouted your name, cradling you to his chest and bringing you to a kneel on the ground.

“I’m okay,” you winced. “He slashed me, but it’s not deep.”

Astarion searched your face to make sure you were telling the truth. When he was satisfied by your expression, he released you gently, then got up and approached Nessa. He pulled his dagger from her side and threw it into the gut of the minion who’d slashed you. He went down with a harsh thud.

“How dare you attack her!” he shouted. “If you have a problem with anyone, come after me!”

“Wonderful idea,” Yurgir hissed, before nodding to his minions.

In a blur of gold and black, the minions and Nessa jumped at Astarion, knocking him to the ground and making him disappear from your line of sight as they surrounded him and began taking hits.

“STOP!” you bellowed, running at them and banging one of the minions in the back of his metal head. He turned and swung his axe at you, just missing. Astarion shrieked from within the wall of enemies.

Yurgir’s face remained impassive as you turned to look at him.

“Tell them to stop!”

Yurgir laughed humorlessly. “You two were sent here to kill me. He seems dumb enough to try and follow through. He must die instead.”

Your fists clenched at your side in a mix of fear, frustration, and anger.

Astarion was acting reckless, and you had a feeling it had something to do with his accidental confession from earlier. So help you gods, you were going to give him a stern talking to once you got him out of this mess.

“Darling!” he yelled. “A little help!”

You heard his knife plunge into the side of a minion, who fell to the marble floor beside you.

Taking a deep breath, you stood your ground. You knew better than to attack Yurgir by yourself. And his minions greatly outnumbered you.

If only Raphael had poofed you here with your entire party.

“DARLING!” Astarion shrieked.

“OKAY!” you shouted back, searching your mind to find a solution.

If you attacked to help Astarion, chances were, you’d both be killed without a second thought and Yurgir would move on with his lonely existence. You almost felt bad for him. No, it would be better if you refrained from attacking and went about this from a different angle.

Perhaps distracting Yurgir from his loneliness was the way to go. You were rather gifted in the art of persuasion.

“The contract is a song! If you want, I could try and help you figure it out!” You strummed your lute for good measure, subtly sending a Healing Word Astarion’s way, along with some Bardic Inspiration.

Yurgir rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to make it pretty - I want to silence it.”

Astarion yelped in pain and shouted your name. You heard Nessa growl.

Yurgir trained his crossbow on you once more. “Enough prattle,” he said. “The lyrics are clear: all who hear the song must die. And now, you must die.”

The unmistakable sound of an axe connecting with flesh reached your ears and you heard Astarion cough and wheeze loudly. Your entire body tensed and you unconsciously reached for the scar on your torso.

“Wait!” you exclaimed, tossing your lute strap around so that it rested at your back and holding your hands in front of you to show you weren’t holding any weapons. “Raphael’s a sly lyricist - he tricked you!”

Yurgir raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true!” You turned and gestured to the masked minions gathered around Astarion. “Your followers heard your song and still live!”

Yurgir lowered his crossbow again. “The merregons? They barely have a thought to share among themselves…”

The merregons, as Yurgir called them, paused in their attacks on the prone vampire and turned to face the orthon, their vacant masked eyes staring at him blankly.

“But they do have ears…” Yurgir muttered.

You moved ever so slightly closer to Astarion, who lay bloodied on the ground, covering his face with his hands, his breaths ragged. Multiple daggers were plunged into the limbs of various merregons as well as in Nessa, who had paused her attacks as well to watch whatever was about to happen. You fell to your knees and laid your hands on Astarion’s wounds, channeling all your magic into Cure Wounds. You prayed to whatever gods were listening that this plan of yours would work.

Yurgir narrowed his eyes at his minions. “Kill yourselves,” he commanded. “Back to the hells with you.”

Without argument, the merregons turned to each other and swung their battle axes, striking fatal blows on one another. You slung your arms behind Astarion’s back, lifting him up and cradling him to your chest, using your body as a shield from flying viscera and debris. His eyes were wide with shock and pain, and you bumped his nose with yours to bring his focus to you. His eyes softened and you used the distraction of the merregon carnage to heal him some more.

“You’re okay,” you murmured, kissing just below his ear.

Astarion nodded slightly.

By now, it seemed that each golden minion was dead on the ground surrounding you both. Nessa watched the two of you closely, anger and confusion overtaking her senses.

“Can I put you back down?” you whispered to Astarion. “We’ve still got company.” You nodded your head towards the orthon and the displacer beast.

Again, Astarion nodded slightly, keeping himself seated upright as you rose to stand.

Yurgir clutched at his head, his eyes shut tight in frustration.

“I still hear it,” he groaned. “Seems your theory is wrong.”

With a flick of his head in Nessa’s direction, she pounced at Astarion again. This time however, Astarion was able to roll out of her way and stood beside you, brandishing a pair of daggers he pulled from the dead merregons.

“That’s because you’re not finished yet!” you said quickly, grabbing Astarion’s wrist to stop him from attacking Nessa.

You eyed the creature menacingly stalking around you and Astarion. The purple sheen of her coat was stained with red. Very likely caused by the blood of the man standing next to you.

The man you loved.

She had to die.

“The displacer can hear you, can’t she?” You squeezed Astarion’s wrist.

Yurgir looked at Nessa, and you saw the dots connecting in his head.

“Kill her,” you instructed.

The orthon’s eyes grew sad. “...Kill Nessa?”

Nessa herself straightened and looked at Yurgir with a mix of surprise and deep heartbreak. “Master…?”

Yurgir raised his crossbow. His words were soft: “Stay very still, my beauty.”

With that, he shot Nessa with a deadly arrow, piercing through her side and killing her instantly. You felt the warm spray of her blood splatter across your face and Astarion pulled you closer.

“Ugh!” Yurgir groaned, clutching at his head again. “I still hear it!”

With one final squeeze of Astarion’s wrist, you released him and took a step forward.

“Darling,” he reached out after you but you stopped him.

“I’ll be alright, my love.” You winked at him. “I promise.”

He dropped his hand to his side and nodded wordlessly.

You then drew yourself up into a confident posture, similar to how you would perform for crowds back in Baldur’s Gate.

“My dear hunter,” you said, “isn’t it obvious?”

A beat of silence passed before Yurgir answered you. “No?”

“Yes, no, darling,” Astarion whispered with a tinge of desperation and confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Shh,” you hissed at him before turning back to Yurgir. “You must kill yourself. Then you’ll be free.”

“Ohhh,” Astarion breathed, before projecting his voice for Yurgir to hear. “She’s right, you know. Raphael is a tricky bastard, this is exactly the kind of thing he’d never think you’d be able to parse from his insufferable lyrics.”

Yurgir growled. “ENOUGH! I’ve heard enough from you!” He pointed his crossbow at Astarion.

Astarion raised his eyebrows and held up his hands. “Right.”

Yurgir turned to you, his expression plainly showing that he was at war with himself and your words. He exhaled, steam releasing from his nostrils.

“If you’re wrong about this,” he snarled, “I’ll claw my way out of Avernus and eat you alive - contract be damned.”

“Trust me,” you said, “music and lyrics are kind of my thing. I believe this will solve your problem.”

Yurgir furrowed his eyebrows, once again considering your words, before he tossed his crossbow aside and pulled a gigantic greatsword off of his back.

“Nicely played, Raphael,” he said, knowing that Raphael was probably listening to this entire interaction from somewhere below. “Bastard.”

Without a moment of hesitation to talk himself out of it, Yurgir plunged the sword through his chest, grunting out in pain before the light drained from his eyes. He fell to his knees, then tipped forward, over the edge of the platform he’d been standing on, and landed with a gigantic thud in front of you and Astarion.

Dead.

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding and slumped forward, putting one hand on your knees, and another over your heart, willing your pulse to slow.

Astarion took a step forward to examine the orthon, not entirely convinced that the devil was well and truly dead.

When it seemed Yurgir wasn’t getting back up, Astarion spoke. “Does… Does that count as us killing him? That had better count.”

You laughed in disbelief at your accomplishment. “I don’t think it matters, so long as he’s dead.” You walked forward to stand at Astarion’s side. “And he seems to be dead. Aren’t you pleased?”

He was looking at you fondly, but you watched as Astarion put his mask back in place, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “The orthon is nothing,” he said pompously. I’ll have my satisfaction when Raphael makes good on his word.”

You rolled your eyes. Idiot.

“Repeat after me,” you said, wiping some wayward blood off his cheekbone, “‘Thank you for helping me, it was very kind.’”

“Hmm?” Astarion’s eyes widened. “Hrmm,” he whined and looked away. When he met your eye again, he sighed. “Thank you for helping me. It was very kind.”

You could tell the words pained him tremendously.

“You’re welcome,” you said cheerily before heading back out the way you came.

You heard Astarion hot on your heels, knowing he’d follow you.

“Darling, wait- ah!” He groaned out in pain and you immediately halted and turned to look at him.

He was doubled over and sank to his knees, clutching his side.

“Astarion!” you cried, rushing over to him and kneeling beside him. “What’s wrong? Did I miss a wound? Where are you hurt?”

He pulled his hand away from his side, revealing a tiny pool of blood in his palm.

“Blasted displacer beast must have nicked me when I wasn’t looking.” He smirked at you, clearly trying to disway your worry.

You furrowed your brow and summoned the strongest Cure Wounds you could muster. “Hold still,” you said gently.

The aqua healing magic that emitted from your fingertips created a soothing light that warmed both you and Astarion as it worked on fixing the wound.

“How did you know that would work?” Astarion asked quietly.

You looked up at his face and found him watching your hands. You smiled. “Which thing? My impressive healing magic? Or way with words?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “You know I was referring to the orthon.”

“I didn’t,” you shrugged, moving your hands to heal his side from a different angle. “Didn’t know talking would work, I mean. But I had to try something rather than let both of us die in this gross, decrepit temple to Shar.”

Astarion chuckled. “Don’t let Shadowheart hear you say that.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” you said. “Speaking of Shadowheart, I hope she and the others are alright.”

The vampire thought about it for a moment. “They’re probably fine. And if they’re not, I’m sure you’ll figure out some way to save the day.”

“And you won’t lift a finger, right?”

“Not if I can help it.”

You laughed. “Come on,” you said, standing up and offering Astarion a hand, “we should set up camp for the night.”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion raised an eyebrow,”you want to stay down here?”

“Not especially,” you admitted, emerging through the doorway you’d followed Nessa through. “But unless you see Raphael or a waypoint, it’ll be a little hard to get back to the inn right now. And I spent all my magic just now saving your ass from some mindless monsters.”

“Ah,” Astarion said quietly, with less sarcasm than you’d expect. “Yes, you did do that, didn’t you?”

You paused and looked over at him. “Do you want to talk now?”

He laughed softly. “Give me a moment, it’s still fresh.”

You smiled. “Take your time, my love.”

Without speaking further, the two of you made your way through Shar’s temple, attempting to find a suitable place to rest for the night. Sure, you’d only awoken a few hours ago, but talking an orthon and his minions into killing themselves wasn’t exactly an easy task. You felt completely drained, especially after channeling all your magic into healing Astarion.

Upon finding a suitable place to unwind - a grand, abandoned hall with minimal leaks, dead bodies, and foul odors - you slung your backpack off your shoulders, grateful you’d thought to put it on this morning.

Astarion, who’d just finished surveying the room, bit his lip. “Let me help you with that,” he said, coming over to help you unpack your extra camping supplies.

“Thank you,” you said softly, watching as he pulled out a bedroll that the two of you would likely have to share tonight.

“Of course, love,” he said absently, before his eyes widened and he looked at you.

You gave him a gentle half smile and kissed his cheek.

After a few minutes, your little party of two had a modest fire going in a brazier that Astarion had dragged over to your makeshift camping area, along with a stew heating up, thanks to supplies Gale had lent you for occasions like this when he wasn’t around. You swept your hand over the bedroll, flattening lumps and rearranging pillows to make it as comfortable as possible on the hard marble floor.

Astarion watched you from a tiny set of stairs not too far off, balancing the tip of a blade on his finger. He, like you, had stripped off his bloody armor and was now lounging in only his plain clothes, which were stained with dried blood from where Nessa and the merregons had pierced through his armor.

“Enjoying the show?” you asked, very aware that you weren’t being sexy, and were merely fluffing a pillow.

Astarion didn’t respond and kept staring at you, unblinking.

“Hello?” you asked, snapping your fingers in his direction. “Anybody home?”

He started, as if coming out of a trance, causing his dagger to fall and slice his fingertip. “Bugger!” he exclaimed, shoving the digit into his mouth.

You clicked your tongue. “Come here,” you said, motioning for him to approach you.

He got up slowly, walking over to you and kneeling on the bedroll.

“Let me see,” you instructed, holding out your hand for him to show you the cut.

It was a tiny little thing, right at the tip of his right index finger. The bleeding had already ceased.

“Yikes,” you said dramatically. “Not sure you’ll survive this one.” You smiled and reached into your bag, opting for a bandage instead of attempting another healing spell.

Before wrapping the wound, however, you brought it to your mouth for a kiss, letting out an overly exaggerated ��MWAH!” when your lips made contact.

“Better?” you asked, fastening the bandage in place.

Astarion nodded. “Much.”

“I have a fresh shirt, if you want,” you told him, pulling out one of his shirts that he’d let you keep from your backpack. “All that blood can’t be comfortable.”

“Speak for yourself,” Astarion joked, taking the shirt from your hands and lifting his soiled one over his head.

Though he was facing you, you couldn’t help thinking about the scars on his back.

“Listen,” you said as his head popped out of the collar of the fresh shirt, “even if Raphael doesn’t have the answers you want, I promise we’ll make Cazador pay for what he did to you.”

A wicked grin came over Astarion’s face. “Oh, I-” He stopped himself. You watched as he grew visibly shy. “Um… Darling, do you have a moment?” When you raised an eyebrow, indicating you were listening, he looked down at his hands. “I think we need to talk.”

You inhaled sharply.

Oh.

This was it.

The moment you’d been waiting for.

“I’d like that,” you brushed your fingers along his cheek.

His eyes grew wide and vulnerable, and he took your hand in his. “Look, I-”

“Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this… charming plane of existence?”

Both you and Astarion deflated.

“Perfect timing as always, Raphael.” You stood to face the devil and Astarion rose to join you.

“I’m nothing if not punctual,” Raphael smirked with a deep bow in your direction.

“Get on with it,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “We were in the middle of something.”

Raphael lifted his head. “My apologies to the flittering lovebirds.”

You sighed. “No, we don’t know what happens when a devil dies.”

The devil before you chuckled. “It returns to the hells - to the very point where it last stood before venturing to whichever devilforsaken plane it died on.”

“Your point?” Astarion asked impatiently.

Raphael looked between the two of you, observing the blood still speckled across Astarion’s face. “In the case of our friend Yurgir, he manifested in my House of Hope. He returned to me chastened but intact, his wounds healed, his body restored. He thought I would dismember him, but he has his uses so instead I am reeducating him.”

You groaned. “Come on, Raphael, we had a deal.”

Astarion placed his hands on his hips. “We delivered the devil. Now I want what I’m owed.”

Raphael exhaled an amused breath. “We did indeed have a deal. I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours.” He chuckled unsettlingly. “It’s a rather grim tale, even for my tastes.”

Astarion stiffened beside you, and you sidestepped to be closer to him. You took his right hand in both of yours and held on tight.

“Stop stalling,” you said firmly. “Astarion deserves to know whatever it is you found out.”

Raphael watched your hands before his eyes found your face. “As you wish.” He then turned to Astarion, who was staring at him with carefully masked fear. “Brace yourself, Astarion - we’re about to unveil your destiny.”

You squeezed Astarion’s hand.

“Carved into that ivory skin of yours is one part of a contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles, and your former master, Cazador Szarr.”

Astarion’s eyebrows furrowed in disgust at the name.

Raphael continued. “In full, the contract states that Cazador will be granted the knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile, it has never been performed.”

Astarion sighed. “Sounds like Cazador.”

Raphael raised his voice. “It is called, ‘The Rite of Profane Ascension.’”

You narrowed your eyes. “And what does that entail?”

The devil once again took up his favored performing stance. “Oh, it promises to be a marvellous ceremony. Very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical.”

Astarion hummed in displeasure.

Raphael smiled at him. “You’ll like this, little vampling. If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being - the Vampire Ascendant.”

Your vampire took a curious step forward, and you followed him, still gripping his hand. “Explain,” he said adamantly.

“All the strengths of his vampire form will be amplified,” Raphael clarified, “and alongside them, he will enjoy the luxuries of living.”

You couldn’t help letting out a tiny gasp. Astarion looked helplessly at you before turning his attention back to Raphael, who was still speaking.

“The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun.”

“Incredible,” Astarion breathed.

You nodded. If there was a way to let Astarion walk in the sun forever, you wanted to hear more about it.

Raphael smirked, seeing how his delicious words had drawn both of you in.

“But,” he warned, “the ritual has its price, as all worthwhile things do.”

“What is it?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Raphael placed a hand on his hip. “Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn, if he is to ascend.”

“No,” you murmured, your voice full of disbelief. You pulled yourself closer to Astarion.

“Imagine how he felt, then,” Raphael said, “when one of those precious spawn disappeared into thin air.”

This time, Astarion squeezed your hand.

“The only missing ingredient is Astarion.” Raphael smiled at him, devilishly, for lack of a better term.

Astarion scowled at the devil, but allowed him to continue.

“You are the final piece he requires to complete the ritual - your scars bind you to it. Your soul will set off a very wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life.”

“I won’t let that happen,” you said, more to yourself than either of the men currently in your presence.

Raphael smiled once more, taking on his performer’s stance one final time. “And that, my tragic and toothsome friend, is that.” He bowed deeply, before rising and giving you both a nasty look. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business elsewhere.”

Before you could ask any followup questions, Raphael snapped his fingers and disappeared in a cloud of foul smelling black smoke and embers.

Astarion stood still for a moment before turning to face you, his eyes focused on where your hands were joined.

“Hmm,” he hummed softly.

You blinked at him. “‘Hmm?’ That’s all you have to say?”

He met your eye. “I was… contemplating. There’s a lot to take in.” Astarion laid his free hand on top of one of yours.

“Hey,” you said, bringing one of your hands up to his cheek. “It’ll be alright.”

He looked incredibly sad. “What do you think I should do?”

You considered for a moment. The thought of Astarion being able to walk in the sun definitely had its appeal… but the cost was far too great and you doubted you’d be able to live with yourself if Astarion was somehow able to follow through and sacrifice innumerable souls for something that may have a cure elsewhere in Faerûn. It also sent a shiver down your spine to think of what Cazador might do with all that power. You were so immensely grateful that the mind flayers had kidnapped you and Astarion and dropped you into each other’s arms.

“We can’t let Cazador complete the ritual,” you said finally. “He could unleash terrible horrors.”

Astarion chuckled humorlessly. “The end of my life amongst them.” He exhaled slowly and nuzzled into your hand on his cheek. “Just when I was starting to enjoy it.” He took your palm and kissed it, before his eyes settled on some unseen object in the distance. “He’ll never leave me alone,” he continued. “I didn’t think he would when I was one more wretched toy for him to play with. But if I’m the key to this power he craves, he’ll hunt me to the ends of Faerûn.”

“What do you want to do?” you asked calmly, squeezing his hand once more.

He sighed, the slightest smile playing on his lips, his eyes incredibly soft as they bore into your own. Then his brow knit together. “I need to take the fight to him.” He stepped closer to you, brushing some hair behind your ear. “And I need you… to help me.”

“Of course I’ll help you,” you said almost immediately. You smiled, your voice taking on a half teasing, half serious tone: “We’ll hunt him down and kill him.”

You weren’t able to add anything else, because suddenly Astarion’s lips were crushed against yours, his hands tangled in your hair. You let out a surprised yelp before meeting his tempo with equal passion and desperation.

He murmured something against your lips.

You pushed lightly against his chest, laughing. “What?”

“I want to live,” he repeated, seemingly out of breath.

“Of course you want to live, you’re alive,” you smiled up at him, running a hand through his hair. “In all the ways that matter, I mean.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, clearly trying to be suggestive.

He rolled his eyes. “No, you insufferable woman, I’m referring to something Shadowheart said.”

You wracked your brain, trying to remember a time when Shadowheart had expressed wanting to live to either you or Astarion. Not that she was having trouble on that front. But nothing came to mind.

“When did she say that?”

Astarion led you over to the bedroll laid out next to the still burning brazier. He pulled you to sit down across from him.

“While you were dying,” he said softly, refusing to look at you. “Or, while you were sleeping, I suppose, since you’re still with us.”

“Okay, so while I was dying, Shadowheart was reflecting on how unlucky I was and how she wanted to continue living?”

Astarion flicked your nose.

“Ow!” you laughed, rubbing the appendage.

“This is it,” he said flatly. “I’m trying to have the conversation.”

Your eyes widened. “Okay,” you said, trying to reel in what you were sure was a stupid giddy grin on your face.

“Look,” he tried again, taking your hands in his. “I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me.”

“I don’t think this is accomplishing what you want it to,” you said, tilting your head questioningly.

“No, you’re right.” He looked up as if asking the gods for help. “I thought it would be easy. Instinctive. I thought that habits from two hundred years of charming people would kick in. And while they did work swimmingly,” his expression melted into one of easy seduction that made you laugh lightly, “you ended up charming me. Much to my dismay.”

“Aw shucks.”

He said your name, his tone laced with annoyance. “Honestly, darling. Could you withhold your snarky comments while I try and get this out?”

You mimed locking your mouth with a key.

Then you unlocked it.

“Sorry.”

And relocked it.

Astarion sighed and scooched forward, the tops of his knees making contact with your own. “You really aren’t making this easy for me.” He rubbed his thumb soothingly along the back of your hand, despite his complaints.

You shrunk back a little into your shoulders, smiling sheepishly at him.

He chuckled. “While you so graciously nearly died on all of us, Shadowheart decided it was a good time to talk to me about my, blech, feelings.”

“Brave.”

“Darling.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, it was then that Shadowheart told me that I was ready to see the world burn before I saw you get hurt. And she was right. If anything had happened to you that couldn’t be undone, I don’t think I could have come back from that.”

You smiled at him, feeling your insides go all mushy with adoration.

Astarion fidgeted with your hands in his. “She also said something I wasn’t expecting.”

He paused briefly, almost as if willing you to interrupt him again and distract him from what he felt so vulnerable saying.

“Go on,” was all you offered.

He exhaled.

“She told me that I was allowed to love you.”

You bit your lip and felt your eyes go misty.

Of course he was allowed! After two hundred years of torture and isolation, the man before you deserved nothing more than to feel love and be loved in return. The fact that he’d been holding himself back from his own happiness and comfort made your heart ache a little.

You allowed him to continue on his own.

“She said that heartbreak is a part of life. And while I’ve known far more heartbreak than any one person should ever experience in multiple lifetimes, she’s right.”

He looked at you earnestly in the eye, shyness playing at his features.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to live.”

You squeezed his hands a little nervously, ignoring the way your palms were clammy against his cool ones.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you deserve to be loved. Just as you’ve shown love to me.”

He leaned in close, resting his forehead softly against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered. Then added, “You atrocious woman.”

You laughed, a tear running down your cheek. “I love you, too, you beautiful, wonderful, terrible man.”

You threw your arms around his neck and pinned him to the bedroll, nuzzling your face into his neck, taking in his scent and letting all of him wash over your senses. You didn’t want to forget a single moment of this.

“You do?” he asked softly, staring up at the ceiling above you blankly.

You sat up on your elbows and looked down at him. “What about anything I’ve said and done in the past few weeks has made you think that I wasn’t already head over heels in love with you?”

Astarion’s face broke out into a massively giddy grin. He held a hand to his forehead and laughed in disbelief. “I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “You get so used to being alone that it starts to feel like that’s all you’ll ever be. I scarcely thought I’d find a bard on a dilapidated beach foolish enough to want to know me and not run away screaming when she did.”

“There’s still time,” you teased.

“Ha ha,” he rolled his eyes affectionately.

Now it was your turn to rub your thumb along the back of his hand. “If I recall correctly, you just said I’ve shown love to you - If I made it that obvious, why are you still doubting how I feel?”

He sighed for what must have been the tenth time this evening. “It’s only that you could be with anyone at camp and you’re choosing to love me? The one who eats rats and bugs and kills people for pleasure?”

You kissed his cheek, down to the side of his mouth. “You’re also the silliest, sexiest, most remarkable man I’ve ever met. And I seem to remember saying the same thing to you back when we first slept together. That you could have anyone, but you’d chosen me. Why can’t I choose you in return?”

“Because you’re…” He searched for the words. “You’re incredible. And you deserve something real. What if I can’t give you that?”

You bent forward and kissed his mouth, hard. “Where’s my suave vampire? Who is this vulnerable mess in front of me right now?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “‘Vulnerable,’ sure. ‘Mess?’ Hardly.”

“There he is,” you smiled and kissed him again.

“I mean it though,” he said between kisses. “You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

“This is real,” you murmured. “I love you,” you kissed his jaw, “I love you,” you kissed his throat, “Astarion,” you pulled back to look at him with eyes full of devotion, “I’m in love with you. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

He seemed dazed, watching you with half lidded eyes. He smiled like a dope. “There’s still time,” he teased.

You laughed and kissed his mouth deeply. “You’re who I’ve dreamed of meeting since I was a little girl. Someone to see me, and laugh with me, and make me feel like I’m the only one for you.” You pushed a hand to his lips before he could make a sarcastic comment. “Yes, I know you’ve been with thousands of other people, but I haven’t. And yet, you’ve made me feel like I’m the only one who ever mattered to you.”

He smiled softly. “You are,” he confirmed. “I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. None that I can remember at least. But as far as I know, you’re the only one who’s ever cared for me and truly meant it. Yes, you make dumb comments at the most inopportune times, you’re loud and obnoxious, your bleeding heart gets this group into far more trouble than we ever would have without you-”

“Gee, thanks.”

“-and I love every bit of it. You make me laugh, you never make me feel small or worthless for the things that have happened to me or that I’ve had to do in my past, and,” he cleared his throat, deeply embarrassed to be admitting all of this, “you bring out the best in me.”

“Aw-”

“If you say ‘aw shucks,’ I will kill you.”

“You will not.”

“I will not.”

He kissed you instead.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close. “I care about you. Deeply.”

He smirked at you. “Oh, really?”

“I swear,” you whispered in his ear, “you’ll never know a lonely day again. Not as long as I’m around. I adore you. I love you.”

Astarion’s breath hitched in his throat. “You… you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Get used to it,” you brushed your fingertips against the tip of his ear. “You’re never getting rid of me now.”

“Blast!” he chuckled. “And here I thought a grand love confession from a gorgeous vampire would send you running for the hills.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” you laughed.

He laughed again, a gentle exhale from his nose, and unwrapped your arms from his neck to hold your hands in his once again. He fidgeted with the ring on your pinky. “Honestly,” he said softly, “I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.” He raised your hands to his mouth and kissed across your knuckles. “But I know that this,” he leaned his forehead into yours and kissed the tip of your nose, “this is nice.”

“You’re nice.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Actually, darling, you’ll find that I am not.”

You smiled. “Shhh, let me enjoy this brief delusion.”

“With pleasure,” he smirked and bent forward to kiss you deeply. He placed his arms around you and lowered you so that you landed gently on the bedroll beneath you and redirected his attention to nipping and sucking around the bruises on your neck from where he’d fed the night before.

You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his back, and rubbing your hands up and down his shirt soothingly.

“I love you,” you whispered, still enamored by the taste of the words on your tongue.

Astarion moaned and dragged his teeth up towards your ear. “Again.”

“I love you,” you whimpered as he bit your earlobe.

His hips gave an unconscious roll against yours and you felt him already becoming hard in his pants. You lifted your head to gain his attention and raised your eyebrows.

“Here?”

He shrugged. “We’ve done it in the dirt before, a Temple to the Goddess of Darkness is quite the step up.”

You looked around skeptically. “You don’t think she’s watching, do you?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, what’s so special about one temple dedicated to her here out of the thousands littering Faerûn.”

You bit your lip. “But this one is surrounded by shadows.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Please, I was surrounded by shadows for two hundred years and her eyes never fell upon me specifically.”

“Or so you think.”

“Darling.”

You smiled sheepishly. “You’re probably right.”

Astarion preened. “Of course I’m right. Now please, I’ve never made love to someone before.” He leaned forward to kiss you again but you pulled back with a laugh.

“‘Never?”

His lips were still puckered, prepared to kiss you, but he blew out a raspberry instead, blowing the curl that hung freely on his forehead away from his face. “I’ve decided I hate you, actually.”

You threw your head back and laughed. “You’re the one who told our friends you made love to me literally the morning after we first slept together.”

Astarion waved his hand dismissively through the air. “I didn’t know what I was saying.” He rolled his hips against yours again, harder now, despite his supposed hatred towards you. “Please love, it’ll be so much better now.”

You rolled your hips in tandem with his, making Astarion hang his head and hiss. “It’s been pretty good before.”

“Well, of course it has, I’m excellent. I wouldn’t let a partner suffer, it’s not in my blood.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “But…”

“But,” he said more soberly, “you’re the first person I actually…” He paused on the word.

“Go on,” you encouraged.

He met your eye. “...love.” He held your gaze for a moment before continuing. “Last night was one of the most amazing nights of my life because of how loved I felt by you and hopefully, the feeling was reciprocated.” He sent you a small smile, which you returned with an excited and over-the-top nod. “But I think that the fact that I am completely and desperately in love with you is what made it feel wonderful as opposed to… tainted.”

You pursed your lips and attempted to make him smile again. “Are you insulting my skills now?”

He laughed. “No, sweet girl, you were and are marvelous.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to something low and breathy. “And I’d like to give it another go.”

You gave him a seductive half smile. “Then give it to me, dummy.”

Astarion lunged forward, laying you flat on your back and devouring your mouth with his own. “Oh, my love,” he moaned against your lips, “you’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

Your heart soared at the compliment, and you chased his lips as he pulled away to look at you with sparkling ruby eyes.

“I’ve been looking for someone like you my whole life,” you admitted when he bent to drag his fangs along your neck again.

“I doubt that,” he chuckled, nipping lightly at your skin for good measure. “But do go on,” he urged, spurring you with a roll of his hips, “what were you looking for?”

You sighed happily and wrapped your ankle around his. “Well, I already told you I wanted someone to laugh with, that’s big.”

“We’ve never laughed together,” he licked your ear.

“Not once,” you giggled. “But, I don’t know. You’re no knight in shining armor.”

“Certainly not.”

“And you never sing with me.”

“Nor will I ever.”

“And quite honestly, you’re a little frightening.”

“Thank you, darling!” “But despite it all, you’re kind.” He scowled at your words, but softened when you kissed his nose. “You care about me and the things I care about.” You stopped him before he could argue. “And don’t disagree with me, you stole a lute for me. You fought with Rolan-”

“Who?”

“-when he was being unreasonable and wouldn’t listen to me. And you nursed me back to health when there were honestly better people at camp who were far more equipped to heal me than some vampire rogue.”

“And I did a bang up job.”

“You did,” you laughed and kissed him sweetly. “And now, I can’t imagine my life without that vampire rogue.”

He kissed you again, gently massaging his fingers through your hair and across your scalp. “Then stay with me,” he murmured.

“For as long as you’ll let me,” you responded, meeting his eye with a fierce look that conveyed your sincerity. “And longer.”

One of his hands drifted down your sides and started playing with the ties on your pants.

“May I?” he asked.

“Only if you return the favor.”

He smirked and pulled his shirt over his head, folding it neatly and slipping it under your head for extra support. He kissed your cheek before running his hands under your shirt and squeezing your breasts playfully.

“Honk,” you said, thinking yourself funny.

“You’re not funny,” he said flatly, though his smile betrayed him.

“You love me, so you have to think I’m funny.”

“Are those the rules?”

“You’re the lawyer, you tell me.”

By now, he’d removed your bra and taken one of your nipples gently into his mouth. “Mmm-mm-mmm,” he attempted to correct, though he continued sucking the hardened pebble incoherently.

“Lawyer, magistrate, what’s the difference?” you asked breathily.

Astarion came up for air. “I have neither the time, nor the patience to explain, but know that you are wrong, and I still love you.” He took your other breast into his mouth, biting down a little harshly, and making your back arch.

“Whatever you say, handsome,” you sighed, rubbing at the tips of his ears and making him moan against your skin.

“Whatever I say, huh?” He looked up at you mischievously.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s an expression.”

“You’ll let me have you tonight,” he said, resting his cheek on your breast like a pillow.

You stroked your hands through his hair. “A given.”

“You’ll let me drink from you,” he added, before tacking on a sheepish “please.”

“Of course, my love.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, his brows furrowing in thought. “And,” he said, looking back at you with a shy expression, “and you won’t leave me, once this is all over.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, Astarion,” you cupped his cheek. “No. No sweet boy, I won’t ever leave you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”

He made a whining sound from the back of his throat. “You say that now, but what if we can’t beat Cazador? What if I return to his thrall?”

“We won’t let that happen,” you reassured. “Believe me, that fucker was dead the moment I met you. Not a chance he survives this.”

Astarion let out an amused exhale. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, my love, but Cazador will not be easy to kill. Especially now that we know about his dastardly ritual.”

You moved your hands from his hair to start rubbing soothingly up and down his back. “You are the missing piece, Astarion. He can’t come into his power unless you’re there. And with all of us at your side, we won’t let him take you.”

Astarion looked up at you skeptically, but saw how determined you looked and softened, pressing his lips to the swell of your breast.

“Thank you,” he muttered, resting his cheek back against your skin.

“I fear the mention of your former slaver has dampened the mood.”

Astarion chuckled. “What gave you that idea?”

“Let’s see if I can’t help,” you said, wiggling your hips beneath his, both of you still clothed from the waist down. “Hmm…”

“Hmm…” Astarion mimicked you, idly rubbing his thumb across your right nipple.

“Star jasmine.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Um, it’s pronounced, ‘Ah-star-ee-on.’”

You shoved him and he laughed. “No, idiot. We’ll have star jasmine growing on the side of our house.”

“Who, ‘we?’ You and me, ‘we?’”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, obviously.”

“Oh.” Astarion looked pleased. “What else?”

“We’ll live in the Upper City.”

“Staying in Baldur’s Gate, are we?”

“Shush, this is my fantasy.”

He chuckled. “Go on, then.”

“It’ll be in a nice quiet corner of the city. Exclusive to all but the finest of citizens.”

Astarion nodded, fiddling with the ends of your hair.

“You’ll be a renowned tailor and have a shop downstairs.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, will I? And who says I won’t want to live a quiet life, ravishing my beloved all day?” He kissed your breast again and dragged his fangs along the plump flesh.

You shivered. “We need to make money, somehow,” you said shakily.

“And you expect me to be the breadwinner? Selfish little thing, aren’t you?” He continued dragging his fangs along your chest.

“I’ll be performing at prestigious parties all around town,�� you clarified, tightening your hands into his curls. “And you’ll get bored if you’re not terrorizing patriars. What better way than with overpriced, yet exquisite garments? I’ve seen your embroidery.”

“Dextrous fingers and flowers made of thread does not a tailor make,” Astarion pointed out, nipping playfully at your nipple and moving his dexterous fingers to your still clothed core. “And besides,” he purred, circling your clit, “I’ll want to see my lovely little songbird in action every once in a while.”

You gasped at a particularly delicious rub of his fingers. “Two income households are quite common these days,” you argued, wanting to maintain the fantasy you were making up on the fly.

“And who’s to say,” Astarion said, kissing just above your naval, “that we won’t become fabulously wealthy on this journey of ours?”

“Fine,” you conceded, “then we’ll live in a mansion in the countryside. Overlooking the Sword Sea.”

“Think bigger, darling,” he massaged your hips, rolling his pelvis into yours, making you aware how hard he still was. “The love of my life deserves a palace erected in her honor.”

You snorted and he pinched your sides.

“Erected,” he repeated, seeing your eyes crinkle in mirth. “Gods you are a child,” he muttered, before kissing you fiercely. “And I love you very much. Stupidly.”

“Okay, loverboy,” you laughed, “what do you expect our future to look like?” You smoothed some of his curls behind his ears and absorbed the soft look in his eyes.

“Hmm,” he mused, kissing your neck. “Well, I’ve lived in a rather decrepit crypt of a palace for the last two hundred years, so maybe a palace is out.”

You nodded, absentmindedly tucking your thumbs into his waistband and massaging the bare skin found beneath. “Alright, palaces are off the list.”

“An estate, then,” he stated, kissing your bare shoulder. “Somewhere we can throw fabulous balls and gossip about the debauchery of our esteemed guests.”

“I like that,” you sighed, as he licked up your throat. “An estate with sprawling grounds, a notably vast library, and secret rooms around every shadowy corner.”

“You’ve been reading too many books, my love,” he chuckled, kissing your jawline.

“And with my notably vast library, I’ll read even more,” you said. “And you’ll read to me.”

Astarion pulled back to grin at you. “Will I?”

You nodded. “I adore your voice. It lilts like a melody.”

He laughed airly. “You flatter me.”

“I love you,” you shrugged, by way of explanation.

“And I, you,” he smiled. Then his face fell. “Oh gods, is it going to be mushy like this all the time now?”

You laughed again and playfully smacked the side of his head.

“I jest, love,” he chuckled, shockingly not complaining about you swatting at his curls. “I adore you. May I have you now?” His fingers slipped delicately into your own waistband.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. “Please.”

In one graceful motion that you’d come to expect, Astarion removed both your pants and underthings in one go.

He inhaled deeply. “You smell divine, my sweet.” His fingers swept through your folds, making you jolt at their sudden coolness. “And you’re nearly wet enough to take me already.”

“I like thinking about our future,” you admitted. “I like picturing you happy.”

“Blech,” Astarion stuck out his tongue in mock disgust, but began to circle your clit slowly with his thumb. “Tell someone you love them, and suddenly they picture you happy.”

You attempted to inch your hips closer to his hand. “You like being happy, admit it.”

“Never,” he growled, leaning forward to kiss you again. “But I suppose I like you.”

“I knew it,” you teased, closing your eyes with a blissed out smile as he inserted a finger into your dripping hole.

“Blue,” he said, pumping his finger into you.

“Yellow,” you responded breathlessly. “What are we talking about?”

“I was also thinking yellow,” he smiled, as if that response made any sense.

“Great! What are we talking about?”

“The estate, darling,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “I think blue for the sky and yellow for the sun would be quite a pleasant theme as opposed to the wretchedly dark crimsons, greens, and golds found in Cazador’s mansion.”

“Ah,” you whined as he inserted another finger. “Sounds… sounds like the winter solstice all year round.”

“Trust me, darling, there was never any joy or festivities to be had in that loathsome place.”

“Our house,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut to focus on your words, “will be full of nothing but joy.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Astarion teased, lowering himself to suck on your clit.

You gasped loudly and thrust your hands into his hair. He lapped at your folds, never removing his fingers, and sucked viciously at your bundle of nerves.

“We’ll hold dinner parties,” you sighed, “all the time. If only so you can flaunt our wealth.”

Astarion moaned into your core, bumping his nose against your clit as he licked you up and down.

Your hands tightened in his hair. “We’ll wear the finest clothes, sleep in the finest bed, make love in the finest bed- ah!”

Astarion pulled you closer to his face, a possessive rumbling low in his chest.

“I’ll hold you in my arms at night and never let you go,” you dragged your nails down his back.

“Please,” he mumbled against your sensitive skin.

“W-want that?” you asked as he returned to sucking your clit. “We-we’ll stay in bed, ah- for as long as you like. No expectations to go a-anywhere so do anything. We’ll be f-free.”

The vampire moaned loudly, pumping his fingers extra harshly and hitting the spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Oh Astarion!” you wailed, throwing an arm over your eyes and twisting your free hand into his hair again. “I love you.”

“Then come, damn you,” he whined, squeezing your hip.

“Trying,” you laughed. “Faster.”

He hummed an affirmation, swirling your clit around with the tip of his tongue and pumping into you harshly.

“I can’t wait,” you said, feeling the knot in your stomach about to burst, “for our future together.”

Astarion groaned against you, sucking your clit harshly and petting your hip with the hand that wasn’t currently thrusting into you. “I love you, my darling,” he said softly.

The dam broke and you were wailing his name, crying out for him to stay with you and never let you go.

Astarion for his part, released you from his mouth and continued fingerfucking you through your climax with sweet words: “You are so beautiful, darling. My love. My beloved, so good for me. Staying with me forever. I’m never letting you go, sweet girl.”

You came down with a shuddering sigh, gasping for breath and pulling at Astarion’s shoulders to bring his mouth to yours.

“Astarion,” you whined.

He mimicked your name in a mocking version of how you’d just whined his. “What is it?”

“I need you.”

He smirked. “A man could get used to shattering one's world, only to have them beg for more.”

“I’m not begging,” you clarified. “I want you, but only if you want me.”

Astarion’s eyes shifted from amused to adoring. He kissed you sweetly. “Oh course I want you, darling. You’re the only one I’ll ever want.”

You sighed, loving this mushy side of him. “Fuck me, then, won’t you?”

He growled, showing off his fangs playfully. “With pleasure,” he said, reaching for his pants and removing them quickly.

His cock hit his stomach, achingly pink at the tip and weeping precum.

“Wait,” you said, watching him take himself into his hand and gently begin to stroke himself. “Are you hungry?”

He threw you a wicked grin. “Famished, my love.”

You tilted your head, revealing your throat to him. “I’m all yours.”

He climbed on top of you, nuzzling into your neck with his beautifully sculpted nose. ”Thank you,” he said, dragging his lips across your skin before biting down at your pulse point.

You inhaled sharply, the icy familiarity of his fangs in your throat sending a pang through your entire body, right down to your core. Unconsciously, Astarion rolled his hips against yours, bumping the head of his cock against your clit. You moaned loudly, making him grunt against your neck.

“We’ll make love in every room of the estate,” you sighed. “On every possible surface.”

Astarion nipped your ear with a growl before returning to your blood.

“Our guests will have no idea we fucked on the lounge in the drawing room.”

“Mmm.”

“On the desk in the study.”

“Mmm.”

“On the very table where they dine with us.”

Astarion gave a gasping breath as he pulled away from your throat and kissed you feverishly. You matched his vigor, reaching down and taking his cock into your hand, pumping it slowly, spreading his precum down the length of him, and feeling how your blood already added to the warmth and hardness of him.

“Did you get enough?” you asked innocently against his lips.

He licked into your mouth, still tangy with the taste of your blood. “It’ll never be enough,” he said lowly, squeezing his eyes shut as your hand picked up the pace on his length, “but, ah, it’s enough for now.”

You smiled, using your free hand to wipe your blood from the corner of his mouth. “Is it time to make love?”

He sighed dramatically, flipping his hair out of his eyes before staring down at you with a smirk. “Yes, my dearest, I would like that very much.”

“So would I,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Astarion kissed you softly as he took himself into his hand and lined himself up at your entrance. He searched your face briefly, finding nothing but love and anticipation.

Still, he asked.

“Ready, darling?”

You smiled at him, hoping the small act conveyed all the devotion you could possibly lend to another being in this world.

“Yes.”

He pushed into you slowly, cooing at your mild wince.

“You always do so well for me, love, and you feel so good, wrapped around me so snuggly.”

You raked your nails down his back, softening down to your fingertips when you came in contact with the raised skin you found there.

“No need to be gentle, my sweet,” he said conspiratorially, “I’ve told you, they don’t hurt anymore.”

He pulled back slightly and observed the look in your eye, your gaze locked on something just past his shoulder, knowing that you were thinking about his scars, rather than focusing on him in this moment.

That wouldn’t do.

He bent and kissed the side of your mouth. “Can I tell you what I picture?”

You blinked and your gaze returned to his. “Of course.”

He paused briefly to make sure you were comfortable, before pulling back and snapping his hips forward again.

“You, obviously.”

You smiled. “I made the cut? How sweet.”

“Yes, it was a tight race between you and Wyll for a minute there, I won’t lie.”

You laughed and Astarion preened, thrilled to see the joy return to your eyes. He snapped his hips into you again, eliciting a surprised moan from your lips.

“Truthfully though, darling, as much as I’d love to flaunt our love from the most luxurious estate on the Sword Coast,” he kissed your jawline in time with his lethargic thrusts, “I think I’d prefer your quaint little idea.”

You’d closed your eyes and bliss, but opened them again, not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You mean the house in the Upper City?”

His mouth ticked up at the corner. “Yes, my dear.” He leaned down to lick at the fresh wound on your neck, and thrust into you firmly.

“But, ha,” you exhaled, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get him deeper inside of you, “the sprawling estate? The grand dinner parties? Your fancy balls?” You made to reach for his balls, but he swatted you away.

He laughed out your name. “I’m serious, love.” He kissed across your chest, allowing you to slowly run your fingers through his curls. “I’ve lived enough of my life in a vast palace with dark halls and looming shadows and it all felt… incredibly empty. I’d rather have a home. With you.”

You felt your eyes go misty for the second time tonight and looked away from his face. “But…” you said, grasping at anything to keep you from shedding a tear and possibly ruining the moment, “you’re the one who said to think bigger. And the estate would never be empty, there would be people over all the time.”

Astarion stopped kissing your chest to look you in the eye. “Is that what you want?”

You sniffled softly. “I want what you want.”

“Darling girl, are you crying?” Astarion immediately paused his motions and cupped both of your cheeks in his cool hands.

“I’m trying not to,” you giggled, shakily.

“Did I say something wrong?”

You laughed more loudly, and shook your head, a tear escaping your eye and rolling down your face to kiss Astarion’s thumb.

“No, Astarion, it’s just… I want to build a home with you too. I’d be happy anywhere you are. I love you.”

Astarion grinned and kissed you, rolling his hips and making you both whine into each other’s mouths.

“Picture with me for a moment, darling,” he said, thrusting into you again, “the little house in the Upper City… scratch that, it would be the biggest house on the block.”

You laughed. “That goes without saying.”

“Our home would be filled to the brim with possessions. Things that belong to us.”

“Like, ah-” you panted in time with one of his thrusts, “-like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion shook his head, his cheeks the faintest of red from exertion. “Jewels, perhaps? Gold, obviously. Whatever we want! We’ll buy and take it all.”

“Emphasis on ‘take,’” you teased.

“Oh absolutely,” Astarion smirked, bringing his fingers to his mouth and wetting them before bringing them down to your clit. “There’d be multiple guest rooms for us to make love in, a reading room, a nursery, a quaint little kitchen, perhaps a study for when I’m feeling rather grandiose-”

“Wait,” you sat up suddenly, making Astarion freeze and stare at you with terror in his eyes.

“What? What is it, what happened?” He searched your eyes and brought his hands to your cheeks.

You furrowed your brow. “What did you say?”

“Which part?”

“I don’t know, you were talking a lot, and you were making me feel so good, but you said-”

“Oh, my study? Well, I suppose we can share it, darling. Though I’d expect to be able to go in there to brood occasionally.”

“No, before that.” You laid back down gently, and he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. “Did you say ‘nursery?’”

“Did I?” Astarion looked vaguely embarrassed. “I suppose I did.”

You tried to keep your face neutral. “Do you want kids someday, Astarion?”

The vampire gave his hips a gentle roll within you. “I don’t know…” he admitted. “But with the way you act around those tiefling children, I’d imagine you want to be a mother. And I’d be lying if I said the image didn’t do anything for me.”

You smiled softly at his suggestive eyebrows. “I do love kids. I told you they usually make up the best audiences.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Ugh, I don’t know how you put up with all the mess and screaming and excessive energy.”

You shrugged, rolling your hips this time and making him huff out a small whine. “If you don’t want children, that’s fine. I still love you. That won’t change.”

Astarion looked back down at you with a slightly gooey smile. “Oh, but darling, you love children. And imagine how perfect our child would be. My good looks and charming personality, mixed with your… I don’t know… humor? I guess, if that’s what you want to call it.”

You smacked his arm and he laughed.

“Whatever children we’d have would absolutely adore you, I hope you know,” you said, reaching forward to grab his hips in a possessive manner you rarely showed.

Astarion looked at your hands and raised an eyebrow at you. “Would they?” he asked, the uncertainty in his tone betraying his attempt at being suave.

“Of course they would,” you said, sitting up again. You pushed him back gently, causing him to pull out of you completely. “Lie down,” you gestured to his rolled up shirt you’d been using as a pillow.

He gave you a questioning look, but obliged. He slowly lowered himself down as you climbed on top of him.

“Imagine, if you please,” you said, hovering above his cock and taking it into your hand gently. You pumped your own slick down his shaft, making him throw his head back in bliss. “Our home, full of love. Full of joy. Full of our possessions. Full of your possessions.”

You slowly lowered your heat onto him, taking him in slowly, and causing you both to hiss out in satisfaction.

“Imagine filling me up to the brim,” you bagan to bounce on your knees, “full of you and only you, and creating something that’s purely us.”

“Us,” Astarion breathed, taking your breasts into his hands, “I still love the sound of that.”

You bent forward to kiss him deeply, rolling your hips to get him to hit just the right spot within you, making you gasp against his mouth.

“You’d make a wonderful father,” you murmured. “That child would be yours and you’d spoil them everyday with attention and sweets and some misguided but well intentioned gifts.”

Astarion chuckled while brushing a loose curl out of his face. “I’m not going to give the baby a knife, my sweet.”

You gave him a sarcastic, disbelieving look, and he laughed louder.

“Not right away, at least!”

You kissed him again, slamming your hips against his playfully in a way that had you both moaning.

The two of you remained quiet for a moment, save for the sound of your skin slapping against his, mixed with your labored breathing and moans of pleasure.

“D-darling,” he panted, digging his nails into your hips, “I’m not even sure if giving you a child is possible with… with my condition.”

Astarion looked at you with a fear you’d never seen before. You cupped his cheeks and rubbed your thumb along his cheekbone.

“Astarion, my love, I swear to you that it would be okay. We would be okay.”

“But I want that,” he said, a bit childishly. “I want to see you round with my child. I want to see our babe supping from your breast and sucking their thumb for comfort. I want something that’s mine. That’s ours, together. Something I can proudly show the world that I helped make. Something good for once.”

You slowed your hips again and kissed him softly. “You are not defined by what you can offer the world, my love. You’re allowed to live now. You can figure out who you are and what you want.” Astarion nodded, grabbing your hand in his and kissing your palm. “Besides,” you continued, “bringing a child into the world while we have worms in our heads seems like the number one offense of negligent parents in the making. We have plenty of time to figure it all out.”

Without warning, Astarion pulled you off of him, scooped under your ass and flipped you around so you were on your back, and he was on top of you once more.

“Then for now, let’s pretend I want to put a baby in you,” he snarled, licking the shell of your ear. You whimpered slightly and he chuckled. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” you breathed, watching him line himself up with your entrance once more.

“Good,” he said softly before slamming his cock into you and making you cry out in ecstacy.

He started with a punishing pace, clearly desperate to reach his high and fill you with cum.

“You want that, don’t you, my love,” he teased, squeezing your thigh before placing your calf on his shoulder. “You want to carry my child and be treated like a queen for doing so. You wouldn’t lift a finger under my watch, beloved. You’ll be carrying precious cargo and I’ll insist on doing everything for you.”

You laughed. “No, you won’t.”

“Shush, darling, this is my fantasy.”

You laughed again at his callback to your earlier joke, and let your eyes fall closed from the bliss of his cock pounding into your sopping wet cunt.

“Our child would never know pain, if I could help it. They’d be the most spoiled child in the Gate. In Faerûn.”

“Gods help us,” you sighed, trying to make a joke, but feeling too good to commit fully.

“You would be an absolute warrior of a mother,” he continued, paying wonderful attention to your clit. “So beautiful and patient and kind. I hope they'll look just like you.”

You opened your eyes and looked at your gorgeous lover. “Are you kidding? I hope they’ll look like you!”

“Darling-”

“You, Astarion, who haven’t seen your own reflection in nearly two hundred years? I hope they are your spitting image. The world deserves more beauty like yours.”

Astarion looked at you fondly, as if he might cry. “Oh,” he said quietly, his voice almost breaking, “then in that case, yes, I hope they look like me.”

You laughed, flinging an arm over your eyes, to which Astarion pulled your arm away.

“I love your eyes,” he said sincerely. “Don’t hide.”

“I love you,” you responded.

“I love you, too,” he said, nuzzling his nose against yours and picking up his pace again. “Why stop at just one?” he asked, pulling back and wrapping his hand around your calf resting on his shoulder. “We’ll fill the Gate with my spawn.”

“Don’t love that phrasing.”

“Figure of speech, darling.”

“Hmm, we’ll work on it.”

“If saying that is an attempt to keep me from bedding you every chance I get, then it won’t work,” he said, turning his nose up at you pompously. “I intend to bed you whenever possible in our home, regardless of any guests we may have over, or children who might be in the next room.”

The thought of your hypothetical guests overhearing you made you moan.

Astarion grinned.

“Our little home won’t have a single surface where we won’t make love. Much like our country estate.”

You smiled, gasping as he circled your clit. “We’ll- we’ll have both?”

“I’ll need as many rooms available to me as possible to bed you, my love. And a place to escape the children.”

You lightly tapped your calf against the side of his head and he laughed.

“Only joking my darling, those children aren’t escaping our watch, they’ll be far too clever on their own.”

“Ugh,” you moaned, “I love the thought of you with our children.”

“Go on,” he encouraged, thrusting into you again and again.

“Reading them bedtime stories. Bandaging their wounds when they fall on the pavement. Bringing them soup when they don’t feel well.”

“Am I a single parent in this scenario?” he teased. “Where are you?”

“Watching you. Taking it all in and seeing the joy on your face when it hits you that you have something that’s completely yours.”

Astarion’s eyes melted and he leaned forward to kiss you harshly.

“Come for me,” he said against your lips, “I want to feel you milking me for every last drop I have.”

“I love you,” you repeated.

“And I love you,” he smiled and kissed you again, crashing his hips into yours and making you cry out in pure bliss.

With a few more thrusts, the knot in your stomach finally released, and you came crashing over the edge, images of Astarion holding your child, feeding them a bottle, teaching them to read and write and hunt, filling the space behind your eyelids as you called out for him.

Astarion held you tightly in his arms as he pumped you full of his spend, cooing sweet nothings as he went.

“Oh, my darling, my love, my one and only, take it, take it all, it’s yours, someday we’ll have our family.”

Tears glistened in your eyes as you finally came down from your high. It only took a few seconds before Astarion was whispering your name repeatedly and coming down from his own high. He laid his head on your chest as he had earlier and you ran your hands through his hair.

“Making sure it takes,” he said, explaining why he hadn’t pulled out of you yet.

“Stay with me,” you wrapped your arms around his torso comfortingly.

“Always,” he smiled, kissing the bare skin of your chest.

“I do want all of that,” you said. “Our life in Baldur’s Gate. We can figure out how to achieve the rest later. Maybe Jaheira or Halsin will know something about vampire offspring.”

“Ugh, darling, must you mention the druids while my cock is still resting inside of you?”

You giggled. “Sorry.”

He brushed some loose hair out of your face affectionately. “I’d like that too, love. I realize now, I’ve never really had… anyone. Not really. Nothing that compares to you. But if you insist on loving and adoring me, I guess I’ll just have to allow it.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Astarion hummed in amusement before his expression became more serious. “Once we kill Cazador and get these worms out of our heads, then that life shall be ours. I swear it.”

“We need to do something else first,” you pointed out.

“And what’s that, my love?”

“Figure out a way out of this gaudy temple.”

“Ah yes. Fuck.”

~~~~~

Meanwhile, back at the Last Light Inn, Shadowheart yelped out in pain.

Isobel, having been freshly saved from the henchmen of Ketheric, ran to her side to examine her wounds.

“Everything alright, Shadowheart?” Wyll asked, pulling his rapier out of a downed Winged Horror.

“You don’t appear badly injured,” Isobel observed.

Shadowheart clutched her right hand to her chest. “It’s this blasted wound on my hand. Lady Shar is not pleased about something.”

Gale adjusted his robes. “Why do I have a strange feeling it has something to do with our missing teammates?”

Lae’zel groaned loudly, while Karlach merely laughed.

“Nice.”

98 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 5 hours ago

Note

Hiiii I don’t know if you are taking requests….but if you are I have a slightly odd one of you don’t mind.

I was just rewatching the hunger games and idk if you have read or seen the book/movies but I was wondering if you could do any of the marauders x reader in a sort of hunger games AU?

Okay hear me out… it’s like the cave scene in the first movie, one of the marauders (your choice) is injured and the reader finds them and tries to help them and it’s angsty with hurt/comfort and confessed feelings and the reader is like “I need to go get medicine for you” and the marauder is like “no I don’t want you to risk your life for me”

Anyways just a silly little idea bc I love your writing smmm

<3333

Babe calling this idea "silly" is absolutely absurd of you haha, thanks for the request <3

cw: disabled Remus, typical thg universe angst, imaginings of death

tribute!Remus x tribute!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Since Remus’ name was drawn at the reaping, he’s known he was going to die. He can’t run fast or far. He’s no good for throwing spears or swinging an axe or really wielding anything that requires him to use both hands. He doesn’t have the charisma or good looks to win sympathy from sponsors. His best bet was always to survive on the vegetation in the arena for as long as he could and then curl up in some hidden place like a sick cat to die.

But you. Lovely, generous, softhearted you. You just won’t let it happen.

Your cave is damp. Dirt clings to Remus’ clothes and the air tastes of mildew. Every now and again, a drop of water will fall somewhere to his left, making an echoey plopping sound in some unseen puddle. It’s the loudest noise that’s passed through the cave for nearly an hour. Maybe it’s that taut silence that makes Remus’ voice come out so soft.

“You’re not really thinking of going.”

“I’m not?” you hum, noncommittal.

“No. You’re too smart for that.” He watches your face carefully. You’re looking down at your hands, practicing knots on a bit of rope, but at his words your brow tenses. Remus says gently, “You know it’d be a fool’s errand, and you’re not a fool.”

Your eyes flicker up to his. Dark in the low light of the cave, though it’s daytime outside. They’re Remus’ favorite color. “It doesn’t seem foolish to me.”

“It is,” he practically pleads. “It is.”

“Remus.” Your expression is resolute. “You need medicine.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“It won’t matter.” His right leg is as fucked as it’s always been. Remus wasn’t allowed his cane in the arena, though it hardly mattered; even when he found a good stick to use as a substitute, he was never going to be as fast or as lethal as the other tributes. The throwing knife that sliced through his left thigh seemed almost a cruel joke of fate. Now he truly is useless. “I’m no good to you.”

“Yes, you are,” you insist stubbornly. You tug at the knot you’ve made, tossing the rope away from you.

“Sweetheart,” he gentles his tone, “I’m not. This is nothing to give your life for.”

“What about yours?”

Remus gnaws the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know how to tell you what he’s known for weeks; that he was never going to make it out of here. That he was never driven by survival, only a half-desperate hope to distract the careers well enough to keep you safe. Now, your safety relies on him in a different, much more frightening way.

You move closer to him. Your hand twitches as if on instinct toward the torn-up shirt bandaging his leg, seemingly forgetting for a moment that you checked on the wound only a couple hours before.

“If they have medicine there,” you say, your voice gone quiet, “it could save you.”

“That’s a lot of ifs.” Remus looks at you imploringly. “If they have medicine, and if you’re able to get it back here, and if it works, I still won’t be any use to you.”

“Would you stop saying that?” You sound pained. “I don’t care about how useful you are. You’re not a tool.”

“Y/n, these are the games,” he says. “Please, listen to me. I’m the worst ally in this arena. You need someone who can protect you. Or if not that, at least someone who can watch your back and keep up with you. I can’t do any of those things.”

“I don’t need you to.” Your hand lays over his on the cold stone floor of your little home. Remus thinks he might be trembling. He loves you so hopelessly it twinges like a stitch in his side when he breathes. Your next words come out in a whisper. “They said tributes from the same district can win together. All I need is for you to stay alive.”

Remus shakes his head. It hurts him to make you so solemn, but he needs you to understand. “That rule won’t do us any good if you die first.”

“I won’t.” You sound surer of yourself than Remus thinks can possibly be true. “I’ll go tomorrow, at night—”

“The careers will be waiting.”

“—and I’ll make some sort of distraction somewhere else to be sure they’re not around. It’ll be quick.”

“You can’t know that will work.” Remus’ voice scratches against the emotion welling in his throat. “They could leave someone behind to keep watch, or they might not go at all.”

You’re resolute. “It’s our best bet.”

“Our best bet is for you to stay here.” He’s definitely trembling now. He doesn’t care. You can chalk his shining eyes up to the fever or whatever you wish, all that matters is that he convinces you. “Please, y/n. Please. I’m asking you not to do this. Not for me. It isn’t worth it.”

“It’s not just for you.” Your fingers tighten over his hand. In the dark of the cave, some of your fear finally shines through. “It’s worth it to me. I need you to be okay. And I’m—I’m sorry if you want to die peacefully, but I can’t just watch it happen.”

Remus shakes his head. His thoughts won’t stop running a feverish, horrific loop—your terrified, panting breaths as you sprint away with the careers on your heels; you not returning by the nightfall, and Remus crawling outside to watch your picture project across the false sky; your mutilated corpse being scooped up by a hovercraft’s unfeeling claws, a vial of useless medicine falling from your pack to lie on the forest floor.

“I can’t help you,” he says. “You can’t go. I won’t do you any good.”

“Remus.” You say his name like your throat tightens around it. Like a wish, or an ache. “I can’t do this without you. Okay? I won’t make it. I need you.”

Remus feels like his chest is cracking open. “Why?”

“Because I do,” you say, and now it’s you who sounds pleading. “I just do.”

You’re both silent for a heartbeat, one that feels too heavy in Remus’ chest. And he finally understands. Maybe it’s something he’s known for a while, only he hasn’t wanted to know. Because it’s so, so much easier to think that he could just die here, with this awful, twinging, unrequited love for you, and you could simply go on. It’s worse if you both have to weather the ache.

“I need you more,” Remus tells you selfishly.

“It’ll be okay.” You lean against his side, letting his head rest on your shoulder and combing your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “I’ll come back, and we’ll get you all healed up, and then we’ll get out of here together, yeah?”

Remus has about a thousand and one objections to that. The first being that he’s simply never letting you leave this cave until the packs of supplies are surely gone and you need to go out again to find food. Whatever you think, his life isn’t worth you risking yours. He’ll restrain you if he has to, or threaten to crawl out of the cave and shout until somebody comes to kill him and your fruitless mission is truly for naught, or do whatever he has to to keep you from letting your tender heart get you killed.

But for tonight, you’re still safe. He can indulge you in your sweet fantasy. So Remus only utters a soft, “Yeah,” waits for your breaths to even out, and goes to sleep.

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grandline-fics · 3 days ago

Text

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so he's his own warning. Don't read if he's not someone you enjoy reading fics about. Slight depictions of injury/death. Some hurt-comfort. Enemies to Lovers. Soulmate! AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,984

A/N: April's a rough month for me and I haven't had much creative energy if I'm being honest. Between life, work, and personal stuff writing sadly gets set to the side more than I'd like it to be. I know I have requests and the Valentines Event to finish but I don't want to force those out just to have them done. I want to take my time and post what I'm proud to have written and thank you all for your patience with those. Needed some Doffy to try and get things going again and help me out of my slump. Thank you all for the love and support, hopefully you like this chapter. The next one will be the party. Enjoy ♥️

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

——————

Doflamingo knew Dressrosa would be in safe hands with those in his family staying behind while he was gone. Long stretches of time away were rare but he always made sure nothing was left to chance in his absence. Counting in the time to get there, attend, and return he would be gone for nearly two weeks so he needed to settle preparations with the kingdom and his many other operations and work needed before departing. His subordinates and servants knew their daily tasks and duties and the higher ranking members were all given a fair share of additional responsibilities, everyone knowing that should anything be lacking on his return, all would suffer the consequences together. Finalising the last of the necessary details, Doflamingo rose from his desk and left the office, walking straight for the dining room. As he neared the room he heard Dellinger speak up. “So what time do you set sail?”

“First thing in the morning.” You looked up at the sound of Doflamingo’s voice answering the question that had been directed at Diamanté. With his usual chuckle and a building grin he added. “So those of you attending, make sure you get a good night’s rest because if you aren’t at the ship in time we’ll leave you behind.”

“Even me?” You asked as he slid into his seat beside you. You tried your best to look as innocently concerned about the prospect of being left behind even though it was because of you Doflamingo had even entertained the notion of attending this ordeal in the first place.

“I’ll drag you out of your bed personally.” Doflamingo answered with a grin when a challenging glint shone in your eyes.

“Hey, hey Doffy!” Trebol spoke up, leaning forward toward his King, getting as close as he possibly could and as always with with no regard for anyone’s personal space. You continued to eat, glad you were on the other side of Doflamingo and safe from Trebol’s overbearing reach. “Why are you going so far away this time?”

“Yes I was curious about that too.” Lao G added. “Is there something special out there? Are you planning something else while you’re away?”

“If something important was being planned it wouldn’t be so spontaneous and more of us would be going too.” Gladius argued, prompting more voices to join the conversation and theorise the reasoning behind this trip away to an event they knew their King tended to avoid as much as possible.

As they spoke amongst themselves you contented yourself to just enjoying your meal while also idly wondering what this event was going to be like. Beside you, Doflamingo had also said nothing to stop or encourage the current conversation, simply letting them be. After a while some became bored of trying to work out Doflamingo’s motivations behind his actions -as they normally did- and drifted into other discussions. Suddenly Baby 5 let out a gasp and she looked to Doflamingo with widened eyes and small blush dusting her cheeks. “D-doffy! Could it be your wedding?!”

Silence fell over the table among the family immediately. Some looked to Baby 5 first in silent fury, her overly romantic mind could be the cause they lose their heads because they get caught in the crossfire of angering their young master with her wistful and disrespectful question. Then again, they were all suddenly hit with the consideration that she may have been onto something. It made more sense than anything else they could have come up with so far. So they all looked to the top of the table where you and Doflamingo sat. Together you both looked at the other and immediately burst into laughter like this was the best joke you’d heard all week. Because that was the only way the both of you would even consider Baby 5’s words. It was ridiculous. At least it was to the two of you, everyone else on the other hand silently regarded you both and began to wonder if the time away was going to lead to any further developments between the two soulmates.

————

The Numancia Flamingo was definitely a sight to behold. You hadn’t been entirely sure what you’d been expecting before finally seeing and boarding the ship but when you did it was definitely the only thing you found that would suit Doflamingo. Had you put any thought into imagining the vessel it would have paled in comparison to the real thing. Truthfully it didn’t really matter on looks, it could have been a dingy little tugboat for all you cared because all that mattered now was getting to be on a ship again for the first time in months.

You stood leaning against the railing and let your eyes slide closed as you felt Dressrosa’s summer heat recede back and the cool sea breeze began to pick up and wash over your face. You took a long, relaxed breath and gave a small hum. Opening your eyes you turned around, casually bracing your hands on the railing and watched Doflamingo approach. You said nothing as he came to a stop beside you but you did catch Diamanté, Baby 5, and Gladius standing on the other side of the deck, watching with expressions of varied levels of curiosity. Since this was only day on of the journey you braced yourself for this being the calm, anticipating their behaviour to heighten over the days at sea. “You look peaceful. You miss being out on the water that much?”

“Can you blame me for feeling a little nostalgic?” You asked with a small smile, looking to Doflamingo as he adjusted his position to still lean by the railing but also face you. “The last time I was on a ship was when my unit docked to begin our mission on observing your little enterprise at the warehouse.”

“How long were you stationed there until I showed up?” Doflamingo asked with a grin, the memory of your dazed and pained face lit by the warehouse fire realise he was the one your unit had unknowingly been pursuing flashing in his mind. Even then on the brink of passing out and accepting of your fate you’d been stubbornly defiant.

“Nearly two months.” You explained, your smile lessening slightly. You were used to the routine tedium of keeping a low profile, watching for all activity, obeying the orders given on jobs like those but now that you thought on it and given that it was the last mission you’d ever have you couldn’t help but feel conflicted about it all. You thought fondly of your friends while also missing them but then would be hit with guilt. Did you even deserve to miss them when you were sitting and talking so comfortably with the man who was the reason they were all dead and gone. Quickly you cleared your throat and to distract yourself you added. “Now that I think about it, I suppose I was on a ship after that, right? To get to Dressrosa.”

“We didn’t sail. I carried you back while you were unconscious and used my strings to get back.” At Doflamingo’s words you tilted your head in slight confusion. At the time you’d never questioned how you’d gotten to Dressrosa. For one thing, you were certain you weren’t going to be alive much longer and that you’d woken to Doflamingo demanding to know how he couldn’t hurt you if didn’t give you much time to think about it beyond using logic to fill in the gaps.

“Being away from Dressrosa for so long is a bit of a hassle isn’t it?” You asked, his words now bringing a new thought to you. You couldn’t believe it but you were now beginning to share Trebol's curiosity from the night before. “Why did you pick this event to go to? You get countless invitations. I’m sure there were many a lot closer to home.”

“I don’t know why, this one seemed the most interesting.” Doflamingo shrugged casually, not making a comment on how you’d inadvertently called Dressrosa ‘home’ and also chose to ignore the feeling that it brought him. “Didn’t look at the location until you agreed to go.”

“Still I wouldn't have minded if we went somewhere closer.” You explained before smirking. “They're all the same right?”

“Right but it’ll be interesting to see you navigate this as a guest.”

“I’ll have to be careful though, won't get away with half the stuff I normally do will I?” You grinned playfully. “Also means I have to behave around you too. Guess I should practice my ‘yes King Doffy’s and ‘anything you say, young master’s on the way.” For emphasis you straightened up to give him your best attempt at an exaggerated bow fitting his title.

“As much as I loved that display, you don't need to worry about doing that in front of anyone. Just be yourself. It’s not like they can do anything to you if you annoy them anyway.”

“Not worried I could be a target of those ‘clumsy assassinations’ you told me about?”

“When they see you’re with me they’ll know to leave you alone.” Doflamingo’s voice took on a hard edge, the threat of what would happen clear, not that it needed clarifying further. You saw how furious he was when a mere servant opened a door against your face by accident. The bloodbath and Doflamingo’s ferocity that would come should someone else try to kill you when that was his goal didn’t bear thinking about. Strangely you didn’t feel fear from him when he was like this, you never did. While you wanted to avoid as much unnecessary violence or death as possible, you knew Doflamingo would do as he wished.

————

The members of the Doflamingo family on the ship had begun to become more observant when it came to you and their ruler. Most of the time back on Dressrosa you tended to keep to yourself up until recent events took place so there were things they were only noticing or getting to see now. When they had watched Doflamingo approach, you turned without him even making a noise. Whatever it had been you were discussing it seemed relaxed enough but what caught their attention the most had been how close you both stood to each other and how you and Doflamingo looked solely on the other’s face as you talked. Even more interesting was how neither of your called attention or seemed to notice that Doflamingo’s hand was over yours for the conversation and that your finger was curled around one of his.

Now they all sat in the ship’s lounge, relaxing after their dinner. Just as they would back in Dressrosa’s palace, they all settled into their own spots and contented themselves with idle chatter, a drink, and something to occupy them until they eventually would decide to go to bed for the night. Doflamingo took up most of one of the sofas all by himself, stretched out comfortably with a drink in one hand and the other draped over the back of his seat. Lazily he would twitch and arch his finger to move the chess pieces on the board between him and Diamanté who sat opposite him.

You were the last to come into the room, having stopped by your room to grab a book. Entering you were already reading and immediately walked to the sofa Doflamingo was sprawled out on. You wordlessly dropped down onto the seat without checking if any space had been made for you, which to the silent surprise of the rest of the family there had been. The second you’d made your move, Doflamingo remained focused on the game while lounging but had adjusted his leg in time to make room for you to comfortably settle against the cushions and his side. With your back against him, you turned the page, continuing to read while Doflamingo made his next move in his game with Diamanté, neither of you uttering a word to each other. Both of you seemed completely unaware of how effortlessly domestic and cosy it all seemed but it practically slapped the others in the face. Part of them wanted to make a comment, even a light, teasing one but held back, unsure how either of you would take it. With the other members of the family back home depending on them to bring back all the juicy details, they didn’t want to risk ruining things by pointing out the unconscious moments between two of you especially on the first day.

————

“Your family have been staring a lot today.” You noted as you climbed into the bed you’d be sharing with Doflamingo for the duration of the trip. It had already been mentioned and while you’d both slept in each other’s presence before, you couldn't help but realise this was the first time it was happening without you being sick or sleep deprived. Still you found no issue in it deep down, it just meant another slight shift in things was happening between you and Doflamingo. “Are they expecting something to happen?”

“Like what?” Doflamingo asked with a chuckle, his family hadn’t exactly been subtle with their observations but even he couldn’t work out what was suddenly so interesting.

“I dunno, they’re your responsibility so you tell me.” You shrugged with a yawn as Doflamingo switched off the light.

“Sometimes they’re a mystery even to me. They’ll get bored and move on to something else, they always do.” Doflamingo explained and you nodded.

Ultimately it didn’t matter what it was that had them acting stranger than normal. Whatever their motivations they were going to continue until what they were waiting for did or didn’t happen. Anything was possible in their imaginations, Baby 5’s ridiculous suggestion that Doflamingo and you were going to marry on this trip was proof of that. As long as they didn’t get too in your face about it, you were happy to just let them continue as they were. Besides you were too tired to give them anymore thought. With another yawn, this one deeper and longer than the last you lay back more and felt yourself fall over to sleep, carried there by the sounds of waves hitting against the side of the ship. It had been so long since you’d fallen asleep to the familiar sound and given your earlier conversation with the man asleep next to you, it was no wonder that your mind conjured the images that it did for your dreams.

It started pleasant enough. You were sat around a table with your unit sharing a meal, talking and laughing without any cares or worries. Then the laughter slowed and an almighty explosion came from the centre of the table, hurtling your body backwards through the air and plunging you into the coldest and darkest waters. You struggled and clawed with all your might to fight your way out of the depths but your limbs felt heavier and heavier with no sign of the surface in sight. Finally hands broke through the surface and hauled you from the water. You slumped onto the floor and took a few steadying breaths.

Lifting your head to thank your saviour you froze with the words lodged in your throat. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of the young cadet that died in the warehouse explosion but it wasn’t as you knew him. Standing before you now was his burning body, the scorched remnants of his uniform melted to his skin and eyes literally ablaze as he looked down at you in fury, with laboured, crackling breaths smoke bled from his parted mouth. “Traitor.” You flinched at the low, agonising voice he now spoke with. “You’re a traitor.”

Numbly you sat cold and horrified, unable to speak. Trembling you could only stare helplessly at the cadet and shake your head. Suddenly he was behind you, charred and burning fingers clawing into your skull and forcing you to look forward. Against the fires of the destroyed warehouse debris you were faced with the bloodied and lifeless bodies of the rest of your unit. You didn’t see what had become of them personally but knew they’d died so in this nightmare, your imagination created the worst visions possible. Then they all spoke together, a chorus of haunting accusations. “Traitor.” “You forgot us.” “Dead because of you.” “Sided with the enemy.” “Our blood is on your hands.” “Your fault.”

Their unseeing eyes blinked and their heads turned your way, their rigid, bloodied hands moving to drag themselves across the space between them and you. While the burning cadet held you firmly in place, the rest of the unit drew closer and closer chanting the chorus of “Your fault” over and over again until they were swarmed on top of you and smothered you.

With a strangled gasp you bolted upright in the bed, kicking and pushing to try and rid the phantoms from your nightmare away from you but still their touch persistently clung to your skin. You jolted when the most determined phantom grabbed your wrists to stop your thrashing. At the sound of Doflamingo’s deep voice saying your name you blinked through your disoriented panic and swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to calm your rapid breathing. Finally you were able to remind yourself that it had all just been an awful dream and that the images weren't real but as rational as you were it all still had a vicelike grip on you.

You were pulled forward and Doflamingo adjusted you to settle on his lap. He wrapped his arm around you and settled his other hand on the back of your head, settling you against his chest. Hearing his strong, steady heartbeat finally helped you to relax. Following his breaths as a guide you began to ease and the small shake in your frame settled. For the longest moment you remained against him, your eyes staring at nothing and only focusing on the warmth of Doflamingo’s body against yours.

With a tired sigh you began to pull out of his hold. Now that you’d calmed from the nightmare you decided to let him get back to sleep. Except you stopped when his grip tightened. Silently Doflamingo lay down and kept you against him. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“I’m no stranger to nightmares.” Doflamingo told you, his fingers moving against your back in similar motions as you had with him when you proved he needed to relax more. “Only talk about it if you want. Or say nothing at all. It’s your choice.”

“Thanks Doffy.” You murmured, your voice already growing thick and in seconds you were drifting off to sleep in his arms.

————

While the nightmare hadn’t been brought up again and even though it didn’t happen again, the consequences of it were evident. For every night that followed, no matter what position you both settled into the two of you would wake fully rested and in each other’s hold; usually with your head on his chest. As always when it came to anything that could be perceived as soft or tender or actions fuelled by emotion, nothing was said about the sleeping arrangements. If anything, you both would merely convince yourselves it was for your own benefit; simply a way to have a peaceful night's rest and nothing more. For you both this was the best way to handle things, to just continue as you both were without looking deeper.

As you sipped at your morning tea you saw the outline of an island slowly come into view, a tiny dot on the horizon. Still far away but now a sign the first stretch of the trip would be over. So far the plan was to attend the party that evening, stay overnight at the host’s lavish estate and set sail in the next day. The time of your departure would depend solely on the hangovers of Doflamingo and the rest of the crew whose tasks involved sailing the ship back home to Dressrosa. You lifted the invitation again and inspected it curiously. There was no real occasion listed so it was an even greater mystery for what you’d be walking into and had no real way to prepare for it all. Still from what Doflamingo had said, it would be a gathering of people similar to him; those holding great power-most not attained morally- some nobility and even a couple royals or rulers of their own islands, others just so insanely rich they may as well have a crown on their head. Adding in the numbers of each guest’s entourage of supporters, bodyguards and fawning dates to make them look good it was most certainly going to be a large affair. Now a thought came to you that you maybe should have asked sooner. “How are you going to introduce me?”

“By your name, obviously.” Doflamingo smirked as he observed you set the invitation down and let out an unimpressed huff. “What other way am I to introduce you?”

“I meant what's my place here?” You asked with a roll of your eyes. “They’re bound to already know the members of your family and will know I’m not one of them. I don’t think you want these people to know you have a soulmate and even if they didn’t believe you to openly call me your soulmate seems…out of character.”

Doflamingo stared at you hard for a few moments. Quickly he moved passed your first remark and settled instead on the discussion of openly calling you his soulmate. You were right, most of the people who would be at this party only had their uses for what Doflamingo could exploit and manipulate out of them for his own profit or entertainment. They had no need for any private and valuable information about the depths of the connection he had with you. Plus a sinister thought crept into his mind; if it was made public knowledge some fool could try and use you to get to him in an attempt to gain the upper hand on him which was something he wouldn’t allow in any capacity. Still you had his mind spinning in another thought. “They don’t need to know you as anything other than my date, just think of it as the same situation when we dealt with our cheating pirate guests only without killing this time. Also, 'out of character’ how?”

“As far as these people know I’m your date, just some random person you’ve brought along to look nice and stop you from getting bored too easily. You don’t strike me as someone who’d remember a one-time date's name passed the next day, let alone call them something as strong as ‘soulmate’ for a pet-name at a party.”

Doflamingo’s laughter built in his chest at your observation. As to the point as your words were, they weren’t spoken to insult or offend him. They were a genuine statement, and a very clear view of him which had its drawbacks. It felt odd to be so seen by someone like this, to be known in this way. You were right, he cared very little for any previous lover or date’s feelings and their names were at best half-remembered the next morning or when he chose to kick them out of his bed when they’d served their purpose. “So what pet-name can I call you?”

“It’s only for tonight, right?” You asked with a casual shrug while lifting the paper to go back to reading it. “I’ve played the pirate’s lover before, remember? Call me whatever you want and I'll play along.” Doflamingo grinned broader and looked out the window at the island in the distance. Tonight was going to be fun.

——————————————-

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darlingdaisyfarm · 20 hours ago

Note

First of all, Loveeeeee your work SO MUCH!! Your works are so comforting to me. Your writing is phenomenal every time. I’m not even really a Stan girlie (Ford girlie for life) but I still read your stuff with Stan because it’s too dang good to skip.

✨ANYWAY: I loved your Stan and Ford reacting to reader getting hurt post. I was curious if you had any thoughts on how they would react to you getting hurt specifically during an *intimate* situation if you will. ✨

Once again, LOVE your work! Don’t feel obligated to answer this if you’re feeling too stressed or overwhelmed at the moment 😌 take care of yourself above all else

𐔌 . how Stan & Ford react when you use your safeword or get hurt during intimacy .ᐟ ₊ ꒱

a/n: idk if it’s the universe or what, but literally right after finishing my last hcs i had this little thought like “hmm what would Stan & Ford do if you used your safeword??” and THEN. i kid you not. i got TWO asks about it!!! i have some mental connection with you people or what?? you are literally reading my mind!! AND THANK YOU SO MUCH SWEETHEART, FOR UR KIND WORDS. im so so happy u like my stuff<333 uve lifted my spirits so much rn <33

another ask said: How would stan and Ford react to their so getting hurt during sex? Nothing serious maybe they bump their head in the headboard of the bed or smth lol

STANLEY

♡ oh damn. Stan knows he’s big, and he knows he gets carried away, especially when you ask for it. when you say “harder” he takes it personally. that man pounds you non stop if u let him

♡ you flinch just a little, and he sees it. and it hits him like a brick wall. he was doing so good, he was so into it, he thought he was making you feel good and now you’re wincing and it’s like the floor drops out

♡ the instant the safe word leaves your mouth, no matter how turned on and panting and deep he is inside you, he freezes, “whoa, whoa. sweetheart, sweetheart, hey” his voice would change in a heartbeat. hoarse and full of fear. he’s yanking back, sliding out so fast it’s a little messy, grabbing you like you’re made of glass

♡ next thing you feel is how both hands of his are cradling your face, one sliding over your back protectively, his thumb stroking your temple. you’d feel how hard his heart’s slamming in his chest because it scares the shit out of him that he could’ve pushed you too far. “you’re okay. you’re okay. fuck, i’m sorry. talk to me, honey, please, i’m right here, ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Stanley would not care if he was still hard or close. nothing. all of him would go into comforting you, wrapping you up in his big arms, rocking you side to side a little, kissing your forehead over and over

♡ later when you're calmer he’d probably be like ”shit, got carried away, didn’t i? fuckin’ old dog like me shoulda known better.”

♡ but he's also MEGA PROUD OF YOU. making sure you feel safe, adored, and so, so good for knowing WHEN to use your safeword.

♡ “you did perfect, sweet thing,” he’d murmur against your temple, “you tell me anytime it’s too much, okay? that's good, good. that’s my smart, fuckin’ perfect baby.” while stroking ur hair <3333

♡ if you're hurt from him reaching too deep (we all know he will) and you whimper like “too deep, Stan, c-cant. your too big” HIS FIRST REACTION IS FEAR. “oh SHIT, baby. did i hurt you?? fuck fuck, we’re stoppin’. i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to” he physically recoils from you. freezes up with this overwhelming rush of horror and guilt, eyes huge like a kicked puppy. cupping your cheek with his hand still warm from where it was on your hip a second ago

♡ but also. . . if you go “it just went too deep, hurt for a sec, baby, please continue” and give him a half-lidded look through your lashes??? OH THAT OLD MAN WILL BE DOWN BAD!!! he’s like “wait. you’re tellin’ me i got that far in you? i’m that big?” and you’ve created a MONSTER. he goes from worried boyfriend to puffed-up cocky perv in five seconds!!

♡ uhhh will later brag about how he “tapped that cervix by accident” but still, next time he’s gentler. slows down and watches your face more. asks “this okay? this angle better?” every couple minutes. he learns and listens. he’s rough only if you want it <3 Stan is obsessed with making you feel safe

♡ sometimes you end up squashed under his full chest when he gets overexcited. just absolutely buried in chest hair, gold chain, his weight. and when you squirm, groaning, “babe, air, i can’t breathe,” he yanks back, mortified.

“m’sorry! i’m crushin ya, huh?” and then starts kissing your face all over like you’re a lil pancake he flattened <3

♡ but Stan can also go too fast and you get overwhelmed, so suddenly you’re a little dizzy, overstimmed. he probably notices it not by the sounds but by your grip, when your fingers curl too tight on his shoulder, or your thighs twitch too sharp. he knows and stops, breathing ragged, and Stan just presses his forehead to yours. “you need a break? talk to me, baby. don’t try to take more than you wanna.” his voice is gutted, yeah, he feels guilty even though you begged him to go harder in the first place

♡ but then he rubs your clit real slow instead <33 fingers soft and gentle, praising you, kissing your shoulders and neck, “lemme getcha there without makin’ it worse, ‘kay?”

♡ when his back gives out mid-thrust, he just pauses, winces, and goes “okay hang on. hang on. fuck. my back.” honestly he gets so vulnerable and cute that way, you can't help but giggle softly. “don’t laugh at me,” he murmurs, still inside you, trying to twist his hips, searching for the least painful position. “do you need to stop?” you ask. “what? no, absolutely not,” he grunts, rolling his shoulders although his face obviously speaks otherwise. “i just need a second. maybe a pillow. and a painkiller. and a heating pad. and— don't look at me like that, i’m still hot.” you kiss his forehead and tell him he’s the hottest man alive <333

♡ aaaahhhhg im going insane i CANT I NEED TO GET THIS MAN PREGNANT. JUST IMAGINE your getting railed like it’s the last night before the world ends. and it always starts in missionary so his gold chain keeps dangling in your face. it’s hitting your chest, sliding against your neck, catching in the sweat between your collarbones. Stanley doesn't wanna stop but he pauses, noticing this thing causes you trouble. “shit, babe, lemme take this off” and your hands are already on his chest like “no. don’t. it’s hot. keep it on.” that makes Stan grin. “yeah? y’like that?” so it’s a little tangled now. doesn’t matter. you damn love it because he looks even hotter like that. the gold flashes every time he moves, and you’re thinking about it for days. the chain’s choking him more than it is you but he’s too deep in it to care

♡ and when you bump your head on the headboard, Stan absolutely hears the bonk 😭 “what the—? sweetheart, y’alright?” honestly your not, but you're too horny to care. you’re seeing stars but trying to wave it off, and Stan’s like “nope. nuh-uh. i wanna be the one smacking my head, not you. i need your brain intact, ‘kay?” he guides you off gently and lies back instead, smiling at you. “get on top of me, gorgeous. ride me. no concussions this time.” you’re already climbing on, too cock drunk to care when he adds, “yeah, that’s it. take your time. safety first, baby”

STANFORD

♡ Ford is obsessed with feedback and you may not notice it but he keeps eye contact on you, even when your own eyes are closed. so if you're shifting your legs slightly? data. your breathing quickening? important. a stuttered whine? log it. that's cuz hes constantly analysing how you’re taking him because he’s so scared of going too far

♡ so when you gasp too sharply or your body jerks away, he panics. “w-wait, what was that? did i hurt you? please be honest. was it the angle? did i overstretch you?”

♡ imagine accidentally getting his glasses knocked crooked or smashing your forehead into his chin during a particularly frenzied thrust :(( he'll get so flustered and embarrassed. “i-it’s fine. i didn’t need to see that clearly anyway!”

♡ but i also think he's so attuned to you that honestly? he might notice something’s wrong even before you say it. but the second he hears the safeword, he’s pulling out, “darling! i’m stopping, i’m stopping“ his hands immediately go to your face, your shoulders, trying to touch you everywhere at once to calm you

♡ will check on you. like visibly scan your body with his hands and eyes probably saying something as “i’m checking for swelling. you feel tender here? here? what about this side?”

you’re like “Ford it’s okay i’m fine” and he says “NO I MUST BE CERTAIN.”

♡ even during most passionate intense sex, once you whimper your safe word or say “stop” he’d immediately withdraw, whispering “i'm sorry, i'm stopping. you're safe, you're alright, my darling” and he'd tuck you into his arms, checking your face, brushing your hair out of your sweaty forehead, kissing your cheeks

♡ lowkey his cock is deep-reaching so there’s a real chance he’s unintentionally hit your cervix at the wrong angle once or twice. you yelp, making Ford get a full existential shutdown. he wont continue. will sit on the bed with his face in his hands like “what kind of animal am i. . . i promised myself i’d never be reckless with you. . . i lost control. . . im horrible. . .”

♡ “i hurt you. that’s not acceptable. please, guide me differently”

♡ always kisses your hands first. then your forehead. then he wraps you up in the blanket, tucking it all around you to keep you warm even though he’s sweating too, whispering, “it’s alright, sweetheart. you’re safe. i promise you, you're safe with me.”

♡ has definitely tried to apply pressure to your hips or thighs to help reposition you and ended up giving you a bruise :(( ouchh he feels so much guilt!! will leave a handwritten note to you later that says “i saw the mark. i’m so sorry. i’ll be gentler. i love you.” because he gets too shy or awkward to tell you it in real life

♡ and if we're talking about clumsy sex. . . hmmm. Ford has zero business being that hot and that stupid when it comes to lab safety during sex

♡ so when you’re half-stripped on his cluttered workbench, legs around his waist, moaning into his shoulder and there’s a glowing crystal under your ass or some quantum device two inches from your foot, you both don't give a fuck because well, you just want to fuck each other. or make love as how Ford calls it. but that's the problem because when you lean back and suddenly SCALDING HEAT— your palm lands on a freshly soldered piece of alien tech, you yelp.

♡ he freezes and stops moving, asking “what happened. what did you touch. where. tell me exactly which object it was. does it have residue? how hot? do you feel faint?” already running to the emergency first aid kit

♡ then Ford is already holding your hand under the faucet. “you got minor surface heat exposure. i’m sorry. i should’ve cleared the workspace”

♡ but he learns quick! for example, you scrape your leg on a weird lab corner or get a bruise on your hip from a bad angle?? next time he gently positions your limbs, holding you, while pressing inside, kissing your cheek, “does this feel aligned? what about now? no strain? optimal angle?” so yep <33 you get chart-level care. but also intense eye contact the whole time, Ford gets even more tender when you’ve been bruised. your pain makes him want to worship you twice as hard

♡ believe me, he takes this seriously. might even start reorganising the lab after you leave. his smart ass probably thinks of making a “safe sex zone” in the corner with blankets and lead-free surfaces. pervert

♡ sex in the forest while anomaly hunting? Ford finds it so damn hot. but you both forget its literally dangerous too. and not because of the anomalies or some dangerous animals. what's worse is when he presses you up against a tree and forgets it’s covered in sap :') now your back is sticky, your hair’s tangled in pine needles

♡ hes so into the outdoors you’re getting laid where deer nap. or maybe it's some suspiciously lumpy patch of earth? but the result is: you’re getting laid on the ground. everything is good and sexy until your bare knee finds a rock, making you wince, “ow. that’s- there’s a literal rock, Ford. hurts :(” AND FORD IMMEDIATELY GOES “my darling you’re about to be on my coat” he shrugs it off, spreads it beneath you with, gets leaves in his hair though. but stays so focused, whispering in your ear, “i’ll carry you back if you can’t walk” because he knows you can't walk straight for some time after he's done with u. but he says this while literally having twig scratches on his shoulderblades :')

♡ and about back pain. . . he will NOT admit he’s hurting, not a single word. but halfway through he starts going weirdly slow and unsure. knowing your man's age and health, you go “is your back okay?” and Ford tight-smiles, saying “everything’s fine” but it's not because then you move a little and he flinches. turns out he threw out a vertebrae ten minutes ago and was trying to “focus through the discomfort” so yeah. . . eventually collapses and goes “ow ow OW, darling, please get off get off im gonna pass out.”

♡ not gonna lie, but you also love to give him head when he's working in his lab, meanwhile you take him in ur mouth, being under his desk. and yeah, shit happens. you bump your poor head on the bottom of the desk. hard enough to make a dull thud sound and jolt his whole spine. Forc gasps. “are you alright?! my love, did you hit your skull? do you feel disoriented?!” his hands are suddenly in your hair, on your cheeks, checking your pupils. “i should’ve made a better clearance. why is this desk shaped like this, it’s unsafe!” he looks at you and thinks, ur poor thing. he should’ve thought this through. you’re too precious to be bonking your head down there. no more injuries under Ford's watch!!

♡ so next time, when you’re back between his legs, eyes locked on his face while your mouth drives him insane, his big hand slides down. Ford finds the exact spot you bumped your head last time and he keeps it there, resting on the crown of your head, fingers curving protectively around it, shielding you. “there. right here. good. safe.”

♡ if you bump your head on the wall / shelf / headboard, Ford instantly goes into guilt. “no no no, we’re stopping. ill never forgive myself if u bruise. i love that head. u use it for thinking” you’re dazed, naked and being wrapped in his coat while he mutters something about using a pillow. then kisses your temple. “im so sorry. i can, well, i can pleasure you with my mouth. that doesn’t involve blunt force trauma.”

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amoromniaodium · 3 days ago

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Animal Kingdom

Andrew Pope Cody

Thank you all for reading the preview! I didn’t expect such a positive reaction to my writing. Your likes and comments have truly inspired me — I already have two more parts planned. Feel free to share your thoughts, whether good or bad. I always appreciate honest feedback.

We’ll be seeing more of the Cody family soon, but I wanted to give you some background on Pope and my character first.

Chapter 1

The Revival

—

When she was five, she witnessed something she’d only later come to recognize as bipolar disorder in her mother.

Her mother didn’t believe in medication. Said it made her too foggy, too far from herself. So she replaced prescriptions with “the good drugs.” And from then on, her daughter saw things no child should ever see — things done to her mother, things done by her mother.

By the age of ten, she was the unofficial head of the household. She cleaned, cooked, kept the apartment running. She stole — not because she liked it, but because it was the only way to survive. She lifted money from the men her mother brought home. Took soap, toothpaste, and pads from school. Stole lunches from bigger kids. She was a pro.

She loved her mother. Deeply. Enough to make sure she ate, drank water, showered. Enough to keep watch when her mother’s “friends” were over. She loved her even when she didn’t understand her — especially then. That’s where her obsession with psychology began.

She had seen people overdose. Seen how depression and addiction twisted people until they became unrecognizable. She didn’t judge. She watched. She asked questions. She wanted to understand. Needed to understand.

Her schoolwork improved. She started talking to the men who didn’t make her stomach twist. She made them feel seen. Safe. And in return, they opened up. She never gave advice. She just listened. By sixteen, she had done more emotional labor than most people do in a lifetime.

She read psych books from the library and used the tools they taught. Guided conversations, helped others find their own answers. She helped build relationships, and quietly helped end toxic ones, too.

They cried in front of her. Sat with her in silence. Let their rage unravel in the safety of her presence. And when her mother spiraled — manic or depressed — they were there. They helped her study. Helped her apply to university. Helped her celebrate when she got into med school on a partial scholarship.

And they were there when her mother overdosed.

In the quietest, darkest part of her chest, she was relieved.

She left. She studied. She was great at it — not just because she was smart, but because she understood. She could see pain before it was spoken. And she was determined to help fix both mind and body. That’s what led to her final rotation, at Folsom State Prison — and to the man who would change her completely.

⸻

Her first day at Folsom, she knew: this was not where she wanted to be.

Her attending was kind — as kind as one can be after decades in a place like this. He laid out the rules, the code, the expectations. Who to trust. What not to wear. How to walk, how to speak. He gave her a list of patients, diagnoses, medication routines.

That’s when she saw his name.

Andrew David Cody.

A massive dose of Thorazine. Enough to sedate rage. She didn’t meet the inmates until two weeks in.

And the moment she saw his eyes — dark, empty, emotionless — she should have known it wouldn’t end well.

⸻

There’s something to be said about leaving employment to return to school.

After her residency, she realized she didn’t want to be a prison psychiatrist. Not because she couldn’t handle it — but because she had no real power to help. She thought of a pair of eyes — dark, sad, and unblinking — and knew that wasn’t enough.

So she returned. Started a certificate in criminology, hoping to understand them better. But maybe it was something simpler than that: maybe she just didn’t want to grow up. Not yet.

Maybe she should work at a hospital in California. Maybe she should leave the country. Or maybe… maybe she should go back to her mother’s apartment. Let herself rot quietly, the way her mother had.

But then, walking out of class one evening, she saw him.

Not saw — felt.

A presence.

Straight-backed. Arms at his sides. Short sleeved shirt buttoned to the top like a priest.

And eyes — hawk-like, locked on her.

Andrew Cody.

But this time, for the first time since he’d been released, there was something new in his gaze.

A flicker of light in all that darkness.

⸻

There was something to say about the first time she saw him in months —it wasn’t fear that struck her. It was relief. A twisted kind of happiness.

Not about how he found her. Not how he knew where to look.

But because he was out. He had made parole.

Her first instinct, naive as it was, hoped he hadn’t gone back.

Not to that house. Not to her.

That maybe he’d gotten his own place, finally freed himself from the grip of that obsessive, broken mother — and the suffocating loyalty to his family.

But no.

She knew better.

Of course he hadn’t. They were the only thing he had ever known.

Letting go of them would be like letting go of oxygen.

She understood.

The only reason she ever left was because her mother was six feet under. These thoughts flickered and died the moment she saw him — standing there awkwardly, stiff as ever, eyes locked on her like always.

She moved toward him, not quite running, but not walking either.

Stopped just short of touching distance.

“Andrew!” she breathed. “You… you did it. Oh my God, I’m so happy for you. I knew you could do it.”

He didn’t say a word.

Just stared. But she saw it — the barest twitch of his mouth, a subtle lift of his brow.

He was happy to see her.

“How are you feeling? Have you seen your brothers?” she asked gently.

He replied, voice low. “Yes.”

She didn’t ask about his mother. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to open that door. Not yet.

So she reached for the first thing that surfaced — something safer.

“The fountain… did Baz ever finish it?” Her voice came out too light, too casual — even she could hear it.

But it was the only thing she could grab. He had once told her Baz promised to finish it while he was gone.

A flicker again — this time annoyance. A tilt of the head, the slightest grimace.

“No. I’m making it.”

So he was back there.

“Ah,” she said softly. “Well… I’m not really surprised. From what you told me about Baz…”

(From what your eyes told me. From what your silences said.)

“But it’s good, right? Keeps you busy. Keeps your mind quiet.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared.

“Right. Sorry… are you hungry? Want to grab something to eat?”

“I thought you were done with school,” he said.

“Yeah. I was. I don’t know —” she gave a nervous laugh, tugged at her sleeve, “—I guess I’m just not ready for the real world yet.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “I understand.”

“I know you do, Andrew,” she said gently. “Let’s go. There’s this Mexican place nearby — it’s amazing.”

She reached out instinctively, about to touch his arm — but paused.

He was watching her hand. Not with fear. Not quite with hope. Just a quiet, unreadable stillness. Like he wanted it more than anything but wouldn’t let himself show it.

There was something in his eyes — not pleading, but almost… waiting. The kind of stillness a child holds when something precious is near, afraid to move and scare it off.

She hesitated, her fingers curling slightly.

She knew how vulnerable he was in that moment. Knew what it meant — what it would mean — to touch him here, like this. There was desire under it, yes, but not sexual. Not yet. It felt more like comforting a child after a nightmare.

So she moved slowly.

When she finally took his hand, his fingers didn’t flinch. Didn’t tighten. Just rested there — solid, warm, resigned.

But he didn’t pull away.

And that was everything.

She led him forward, her grip light, his steps heavier — like he was trying not to fall into her.

#andrew cody #andrew pope cody #animal kingdom #animal kingdom fanfic #andrew cody x reader #Andrew Cody x Oc #andrew pope cody x reader #shawn hatosy #pope cody x oc #pope cody x reader #pope cody #obsession

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lastofdanny · 21 hours ago

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under your skin | part two

pairing: manny alvarez x f!reader, enemies to lovers

summary: tension fills the air as you and manny struggle with your feelings after the kiss.

a/n: thanks to everyone who read and liked part 1!! ♡ reader is kinda annoying in this and i loved writing manny as a softie (that couldn't be more far from reality lol. why is he so hot???? really like WHY) anyway, i had never written something so long in english before since its not my first language so i struggled a bit w this ending and for that i want to thank @littlemsramirez for the suggestion to the story ! i hope you all enjoy. i have a few other manny fics coming soon, so if anyone has ideas/requests u can send them to me ♡

After the kiss with Manny, everything had shifted. Sure, you hadn’t talked about it. You didn’t really know how to. But every glance, every touch, even the smallest brush of your hands against his seemed to carry a different weight now.

But the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about him. And with it came flashes of the first days with Manny: how smug he was when he first introduced himself, calling you cariño before even knowing your name, the way he always found a reason to sit too close or brush past you with that infuriating grin.

You remembered thinking he was the most annoying person you'd ever met — loud, cocky, relentless. But even then, before you’d admit it, part of you had started to look forward to seeing him. Maybe that’s what made it all so confusing — maybe the kiss wasn’t so sudden after all. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had always been something more, something deeper you hadn’t been willing to face.

The thought left you unsettled, and you quickly shook it off. Whatever it was — whatever it had become — you needed to stay away from him before it got even messier.

But the worst part is that Manny wasn’t the type to just let it go.

“Morning, mi amor,” Manny’s voice sounded behind you as you walked into the base one morning. The familiarity of it made you tense up before you could stop yourself. You didn’t even bother turning around, keeping your eyes fixed on the ground as you grabbed your gear.

“I’m busy,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“Is that so?” Manny asked, feigning confusion. “You didn’t look busy when you were staring at the floor there. Maybe you were just thinking about that kiss, huh?”

You clenched your jaw, your heart skipping a beat at the mention of it. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you refused to let him see it.

Your hand gripped the strap of your bag a little tighter. “You need to stop.”

“Make me.” His words were casual, but the challenge was there, in the way he spoke.

You ignored him, walking away as quickly as you could without running. But as you did, you could feel his gaze on you. As always.

The next few days were an endless loop. You did everything you could to avoid Manny’s teasing, even making a point to take different routes to patrol, staying busy with paperwork or helping others with tasks. But no matter what you did, his words and presence still lingered in the back of your mind.

You could feel the tension between you two every time he was near. It wasn’t just the teasing or the flirtation. It was the unspoken understanding that there was something more. Something neither of you were willing to admit.

"I see you’re trying to avoid me now, huh?" Manny said one afternoon, leaning against the wall as you passed. His voice was light, but the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.

You gritted your teeth. "And yet, here you are, annoying me again."

He chuckled, and said, "You know, if you want to pick up where we left off, all you have to do is ask."

Days later, the two of you were alone in the woods, in a patrol you tried your best to escape from, but didn't succeed. Manny’s boots crunched behind you, obnoxiously loud on purpose.

“You’re really gonna pretend it didn’t happen,” he said casually, “or are you just waiting for me to bring it up?”

You didn’t turn around. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That kiss. Y’know. The one where you practically melted into me.”

You shot him a quick look, heart pounding. “Manny, don’t start.”

“Too late.” He picked up the pace until he was at your side, grinning. “I mean, technically, you started it. You’re the one who pulled me in.”

“You kissed me,” you snapped without looking at him. He ducked under it, still talking.

“Oh, sure, but only after you gave me that look. You know, the one like you were two seconds from tearing my shirt off.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was a mistake.”

“Ouch.” He followed, voice dropping into something slower. “Didn’t feel like a mistake. Felt like something you’ve been dying to do for a while.”

You stopped walking. So did he.

“That was just adrenaline,” you said flatly.

He stepped in front of you now, cocking his head. “Right. Adrenaline. Just a little life-or-death make out session. Totally casual. Happens all the time.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Then why are you getting all tense every time I get close to you?”

“I’m not tense.”

You scowled, trying to brush past him, but he shifted, blocking your path.

“Just admit that you’ve been thinking about it. About how good it felt.”

You stayed quiet.

“I know I have,” he added, a little softer now. “More than I should.”

Your heart betrayed you with a hard, stupid thump.

“I haven’t,” you lied.

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But you're not fooling anyone.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful whisper.

“Adrenaline, huh? I’ll keep that in mind for next time we’re in a life-or-death situation. Maybe I’ll kiss you again — you know, just to test the theory.”

You stood in front of the roster board the next day, eyes scanning the new patrol assignments. When you saw Derek’s name next to yours, a strange mix of relief and anxiety settled in your chest. The tension with Manny had been building, and switching partners had seemed like the only option to avoid it. But as you stood there, the weight of your decision hit you.

“What’s this? You've got a new partner today, cariño?”

You turned to find Manny walking up to you, his usual grin firmly in place, though this time, there was something sharper in his eyes.

You didn’t answer.

Derek showed up a minute later, all eager confidence. “Hey — guess we’re paired up today. Should be an easy loop.”

“Who put this on the board?” Manny asked, his eyes never leaving you.

“I volunteered,” Derek said. “She wanted to switch.”

Manny’s gaze now flicked between you and Derek, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he leaned in a little, keeping his tone casual but laced with an undercurrent of something much deeper.

“I see. You sure he’s the best choice?” he asked. “I mean, after our... incident the other day, I thought you’d want to spend some more time with me. You know, to work things out.”

Your cheeks flushed at the mention of it, but you refused to look at him. “It’s just patrol, Manny,” you said, a little too defensively.

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out. “Big step. Hope you warned him you have a thing for kissing your patrol partners.”

“Manny.”

“What?” He grinned. “Just trying to keep the new guy informed. Wouldn’t want him getting caught off guard when you lean in all dramatic at sunset or whatever.”

You crossed your arms, your face burning. “Please. It was just a kiss.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just for you. “Yeah. A mistake, I know.. Just adrenaline. But you keep running from it. Are you afraid it might have been more than that, cariño?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Manny just smirked, straightened, and gave Derek a mock-salute.

“Have fun with him. Just try not to spend the whole time thinking about me.”

With that, he turned and walked off, hands in his pockets — but not before throwing one last glance over his shoulder. That look said everything his teasing didn’t: he cared. Maybe more than he wanted to show.

After the shift ended, you were walking back to the trucks when you heard his voice.

“You’re really doing this, huh?” Manny’s voice had a sharp edge now, and you could feel the weight of his frustration in the air.

You stopped, but didn’t look at him. “Doing what, Manny?”

He stepped in front of you, blocking your path, forcing you to meet his eyes. The tension in his jaw was unmistakable, and his usual easy smile was completely gone. “Acting like I don't exist. Switching partners like it's nothing.”

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place. “You thought I wouldn’t care?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up — not like this, not out here where everything felt too quiet, too exposed.

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “You did it on purpose. You’ve been dodging me for weeks. No check-ins, no eye contact. Running away every chance you get. Saying it didn’t mean anything to you, when we both know it did.”

You finally looked up. The hurt in his eyes was worse than the accusation. He wasn’t just mad — he was confused, maybe even a little heartbroken.

“I just thought it’d be easier,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For who?” he asked. “Because it sure as hell hasn’t been for me.”

Manny stepped closer, his boots scraping the dirt underfoot. “I don’t get it,” he continued, softer this time. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything” you lied, your voice coming out more shaky than you intended.

“Then what is it?” he asked, voice quiet now, like he was waiting for an answer you couldn’t give.

“Nothing!” You said it louder than you intended, but the words came out before you could stop them. “I just... I need space.”

Manny stepped closer, his face softening, but the intensity of his gaze didn’t let up. “I don’t want space,” he said quietly. “I want you. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say it.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to collect your thoughts, but Manny's eyes, so steady, so unwavering, held you captive.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing your cheek as you felt the warmth of his touch, the tenderness in the movement, and it made your breath hitch. Your heart beat harder, faster, like it was trying to tell you something, something you weren’t ready to hear — or maybe you were just afraid to.

“Manny,” you whispered again, but this time, your voice was softer, uncertain. Your mouth went dry, and you felt exposed in a way that both terrified and thrilled you.

“I know you feel it too."

The air between you pulsed with tension, with closeness, with the weight of every unsaid thing. And then, suddenly, it broke — he leaned in and kissed you.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was firm, full of everything he hadn’t said aloud. His hands cradled your face and his mouth moved against yours like he was trying to convince you that whatever you were running from didn’t have to win.

The pressure of his lips became more urgent, more sure. His hands found your waist, pulling you just a little closer, as if he couldn’t bear the distance between you for even a second longer. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, caught in the warmth of the moment, the intensity of everything left unsaid.

When the kiss finally broke, your chest heaved, both of you gasping for air. Manny’s gaze softened but didn’t lose that same intensity.

“Let me know when you want to stop pretending,” he murmured, his voice low, almost defeated. “I’ll be waiting.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, the weight of his words settling in the quiet space between you.

The days following that confrontation were long and silent. Manny’s words echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of everything you’d been avoiding. But no matter how hard you tried to ignore them, the reality set in: you couldn’t run forever.

You didn’t see him much after that — the missions kept him busy, and you distracted yourself with your own work, hoping that the distance would somehow make the confusion go away. It didn’t. If anything, it only made the ache in your chest grow sharper.

Then, the message came.

Manny's hurt. He’s not coming back with the rest of the group. When you heard it, all the words you hadn’t been able to say to him came rushing back, and the urge to find him, to make sure he was really okay, was too strong to ignore.

You reached the rendezvous point, your heart pounding as you scanned the area. The place was too quiet, and you felt a spike of panic rise up your spine, but then you saw him — sitting against a rock, looking far too calm for someone who’d supposedly been injured.

His shirt was ripped, a trail of blood ran down his cheek, and a few scrapes marked his arms — but nothing too serious. You crossed your arms, masking the rush of relief with a sharp tone.

“What the hell, Manny? They said you were hurt! What are you doing just sitting here?"

Manny chuckled, not even bothering to get up. “Oh, you know. Just a few scratches. Nothing I can’t handle.” He raised an eyebrow as he looked up at you, clearly enjoying the fact that you were so flustered. “Though I gotta admit I knew you’d come look for me, cariño.”

You felt your heart pound in your chest. “I wasn’t looking for you,” you shot back, trying to keep your composure. “I was just… checking up on you. You know, because they said you were hurt.”

He leaned back against the rock, a cocky smirk on his lips. “Sure you weren’t." He gave you a once-over, his eyes lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“How’d you know?” you asked.

“What?”

“That I’d come look for you.”

“I knew it was only a matter of time til you got tired of running from me. You weren’t fooling anyone trying to push me away.”

“I wasn’t—” You started, but he cut you off.

“Yeah, you were,” he teased, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You’ve been doing it for weeks, pretending like you don’t care. But I could tell. It was written all over your face. Then I’d figured it wouldn’t be long til you came to it.”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting you harder than you expected. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” you said before you could stop yourself. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just didn’t know what to do.”

Manny raised an eyebrow. “What’s this? A confession? Are you about to pour your heart out to me, cariño?”

“Shut up.”

“Too late,” he murmured. “I’m listening.”

You sighed, the words trembling on your tongue. “I was just scared. Because it all did mean something. It always has. And I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Manny was quiet for a second, his gaze softening. Then his lips tugged into a slow, teasing smile. “So you do like me. Interesting.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Can’t you be serious for a second?”

“No, no — this is important.” His voice was weak but playful. “I want to hear you say it. For the record.”

You leaned down slowly, pressing your forehead to his, feeling his breath fan warm against your lips.

“I like you,” you whispered. “And if you ever do something that reckless again without me there to yell at you after, I’ll..”

“You gonna punish me, cariño?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, “Mmm, I think I’ll take my chances. I’m kind of looking forward to seeing what you have in mind.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to his, silencing that smug grin in the best way you knew how. The kiss was warm, firm, and laced with everything you’d been holding back. His hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer with a low, pleased hum. When you finally pulled away, his eyes were half-lidded, his smile softer but no less playful.

“Took you long enough,” he teased, his voice light. “But hey, I’m not complaining. About time you realized what I knew since day one.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re really proud of yourself right now, huh?”

Manny leaned in just a little, his grin lazy and smug. “Of course I am. I always knew you’d come around eventually. I’m very persuasive.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling your constant flirting and ridiculous nicknames?”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

He softened then, just enough to let the truth slip through. “I’m also in love with you. In case it wasn’t obvious.”

Your breath caught.

He shrugged, but there was nothing casual in his eyes. “Just putting it out there, cariño. You don’t get to be the only one making dramatic romantic confessions.”

Despite your best efforts to stay annoyed, a smile tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“To resist, yes” he teased, his lips brushing against your neck.

You sighed dramatically, but your heart betrayed you, speeding up at his proximity. “I guess you’ve got me, then.”

“Good. Cause I’m all yours, cariño.”

tag: @littlemsramirez @sithdaya ♡

#manny alvarez #danny ramirez #tlou season 2 #manny alvarez x you #manny alvarez x reader #danny ramirez x reader #danny ramirez x you #danny ramirez fic #the last of us #tlou fanfiction

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chow0w · 3 days ago

Text

(Re)Designing a winglet! - part 1/7

Hello my beautiful blog readers, happy Wednesday!

While going through my procreate files, I found a jumpscare of an old drawing I made from a winglet I created in 2020. Looking at your old artwork is never fun, but it did give a good idea: redesigning all of these characters! Now that I've improved a lot, it will be cool to see how I can upgrade these designs and characters. I don't remember much about them, so I'm going in as blind as you!

For any artists following my work, these weekday posts are going to be a great time for me to explore my process as a designer/writer + the tricks I use to transform characters!

I REALLY do not want to hear a word about this old art. I can't believe I'm posting it. yes in hindsight it's not that bad but like omg. Sorry about the image quality throughout this post - a lot of these are cropped photos so they're very blurry.

To start off, here's the old character I want to redesign first!

I literally only have his name to go off, but based on first impression this guy seems annoying. He's giving me the energy of someone with high ego and low grades, and his name (Ficus) references Figs. The first thing we should do is fix his headshot, and try to emulate the qualities we know about already!

Identifying key features is important: his frills, eyebrows, smile and horns stood out to me the most because they seem to be what show his personality.

This is so much better! I amplified the key features we just found, and used my knowledge of shape to create consistency in his design. Ficus' expression also got an upgrade, and he looks much more natural in this mid-conversation pose. He reminds me a lot of that cocky snake from the Sahara (If anyone watched that as a kid).

Reading into the name, figs can often symbolize new growth or development - which gives me a lot of ideas about this character! Maybe Ficus is a dragon who starts the story as cocky/self-righteous, but unlearns his bad habits and becomes a more enjoyable person. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just gets worse as the story goes along - he's proven right one time and turns into an even more insufferable classmate.

It's important to think about group dynamics when creating a character, especially if they operate in a group setting. Does Ficus get along with his classmates? Do they like him? Do they know how to cooperate, and how does that impact their performance in times of crisis? I would argue that group dynamics can be one of the most influential aspects of a story: they don't just dictate the plot, but the tone of your story and how your audience reacts.

Here's my complete sketchpage for Ficus! I added a full body doodle so we could get a better reference of how he looks, as well as a small sketch of him lounging in a hammock and talking about how great he is. I'm going to leave this uncolored for now, but I might come back to it later!

Thank you so much my returning readers + all of you who made it this far! I love talking about art and WoF so this really is a win-win for me. To anyone wondering about the redesigns, those are still happening! I plan on releasing them over the weekend as larger batches, so these conversation posts are just here to fill my blog during the work week. I always love hearing what you guys think of my designs, so don't hesitate to let me know! As always, my askbox is open to redesign requests + general questions or comments!

( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

#wings of fire #wof #art #character design #oc #rainwing #wof rainwing #wof oc #wof oc art #artist #wof redesign

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alittlegiraffe · 2 days ago

Note

If you‘re ever tasking requests: Could you maybe write something about them being at the studio and his boys like her very much and think she great for Marshall? (like Royce, Mr Porter, Paul)

I absolutes love your waiting🥰🥰🥰

Title: “Soft for Him”

The house was loud. The kind of loud that came with sports on the TV, beer in hand, and men shouting over each other like the game could hear them. You stayed mostly in the kitchen, humming softly as you arranged sliders on a tray, fingers brushing pink gingham that matched the little bow clipped in your hair. You didn’t need to dress up for this—it was just the guys—but you liked feeling put together. Pretty. Even if sometimes you wondered if you looked a little too out of place next to the world Marshall belonged to.

You didn’t fit the mold. Not the industry, not the scene. You weren’t bold, brash, or razor-sharp. You were soft-spoken, gentle, more prone to offering a plate of cookies than a snarky comeback. And sometimes, you’d catch one of his friends or crew giving you that look—the one that said, her? really?

You’d learned not to read too far into it. But still.

“Yo, where’s the—” Paul’s voice boomed into the kitchen before he caught himself, “Ah. There you are. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You gave him a little smile. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just came to grab more napkins.” He leaned on the counter, watching you for a second. “You holding up okay?”

“I’m good,” you nodded, glancing into the living room where Marshall was half-reclined on the couch, beer dangling in one hand, eyes on the screen—except they weren’t. He was watching you. His gaze soft, settled, like the whole party had faded behind him.

Paul followed your line of sight. Smirked. “You know he looks at you like that even when you’re not watching, right?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only person in the room. Like you’re some kind of peace he didn’t think he��d ever get.”

You looked down, brushing crumbs off your apron. “I don’t always feel like I fit, you know? Like I’m not his kind of person.”

Paul gave a low chuckle and began stacking paper plates. “You’re not. That’s kind of the point.”

You looked up.

“He’s all sharp edges and fire,” Paul said. “And you… you’re the soft place he lands. You don’t have to be loud to be good for him. Hell, he’s loud enough for the both of you.”

Your eyes stung a little. You turned to the sink under the guise of rinsing off a spoon.

Paul clapped your shoulder, gentle. “You’re good for him. Better than good. And he knows it.”

Later, when the house was quiet again and Marshall tugged you into his lap without a word, burying his face into the crook of your neck like he always did when he needed grounding, you thought maybe Paul was right.

You might not fit into the world on paper.

But you fit into his.

---

The kitchen was quieter now, though it still held the echoes of the evening—beer bottles clinking in the trash, the faint buzz of the game’s post-show commentary drifting from the living room, the low murmur of goodbyes and back-slaps as people filtered out the front door.

You were stacking dishes in the sink, sleeves rolled up, soft curls falling around your face as you worked, when a familiar voice behind you said, half-slurred:

“Yo. Where the hell are the cookies?”

You turned with a laugh. “Hi, Denaun. Not even a hello first?”

He grinned sheepishly and leaned against the doorframe, red Solo cup in hand. “I knew you made those cookies. I told Proof’s cousin, like, ‘watch—she probably made the good kind with the sea salt on top.’” He peered around you exaggeratedly. “Am I wrong?”

You grabbed the plate from the counter and held it up with a little curtsy. “Sea salt and all.”

“Yes!” He took one with the reverence of someone who’d just found gold. “You’re too good for this place. For him.”

You raised a brow, amused. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

Denaun took a bite and groaned like it was a religious experience. “Nah, that’s my way of saying… listen. Marshall used to be a dick.”

You snorted, half-turning to rinse a bowl. “Used to be?”

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, laughing. “He’s still an asshole. But now? He’s, like… a better kind. A domesticated asshole. Like one of those angry raccoons that found a warm attic to live in.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Denaun continued, now gesturing with half a cookie. “There was a time you couldn’t talk to him before noon without risking your life. Now he’s out here asking people if they want ‘another slider’ and keeping your pink dish towels folded. I saw him fold a towel earlier, swear to God.”

You shook your head, cheeks warm.

“He’s different,” Denaun said, tone softening just a touch. “Still him. Still angry at the world. But with you? It’s like the anger doesn’t own him anymore. You’re the calm in his storm, and I think he finally figured out that he needs that. Needs you.”

Before you could respond, Marshall’s voice cut in from the hallway. “You giving my wife a hard time, Denaun?”

“Just saying nice things, swear on my mama,” Denaun called back with a mouthful of cookie.

Marshall stepped into the doorway, one brow raised, arms crossed. “Better be. You mess with her, you mess with me.”

Denaun held up the cookie like a peace offering. “Tell her to make more of these and I’ll never speak ill of you again.”

You and Marshall locked eyes, and despite the tiredness in his face, he gave you that look again—that steady, quiet one that made your chest go warm.

Denaun wandered off, muttering something about stealing a Ziploc bag.

Marshall crossed to you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “Don’t listen to him.”

You leaned back into him. “I liked what he said.”

He kissed the curve of your neck. “Yeah? What part?”

You smiled. “The part where he called you domesticated.”

Marshall groaned. “Jesus.”

You turned in his arms and cupped his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re still my asshole.”

He smirked and kissed you slow, sweet. “Damn right.”

Marshall’s lips were just about to meet yours—hands firm on your waist, his breath warm and steady—when the kitchen door swung open again.

“Yo!”

You both startled slightly, and Marshall groaned audibly, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as Royce burst in like he was announcing the second coming.

“Tell me Denaun’s not the only one getting cookies. That’s favoritism, and I know that’s not how this house runs.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, gently pulling back from Marshall’s arms to grab the small blue-lid Tupperware you’d prepped just in case. You held it out to Royce like it was a peace treaty.

“Already packed. I know how you guys operate.”

Royce’s eyes widened like you’d handed him treasure. He took the container reverently, then looked at Marshall, utterly serious. “I get why you love her, man. She’s the best of us.”

Marshall snorted. “Don’t tell her that. She’s already impossible to live without.”

Too late—you were smiling, cheeks warm.

Royce turned on his heel with a gleeful, “Denaun! Suck it, I got mine pre-packed!” as he disappeared back down the hall.

Marshall sighed, deadpan. “Next time, we fake our deaths and move to Montana.”

You laughed, turning back to him. “With your friends? That wouldn’t stop them. They’d still show up like, ‘you got Wi-Fi? And snacks?’”

He shook his head with a chuckle, then slid his arms around you again, tucking you close. “You’re too good to them.”

“I’m good to you,” you said quietly.

That finally settled him. He leaned in again, slower this time, pressing a kiss to your mouth that was all gratitude and grounding.

And no one interrupted this time.

---

It took some convincing, a glass of water, and a very firm “You can either sleep in the guest room or I’m calling your mom” before Denaun finally flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic groan.

You tucked the blanket over him like he was a sulking teenager instead of a nearly six-foot grown man. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Gonna steal your throw pillows,” he mumbled into the mattress.

“Fine. Just don’t puke on them.”

You turned off the lamp, pulling the door halfway shut behind you—and nearly bumped into Marshall, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing that unreadable half-smirk, half-melted look he always gave you when you did something that cracked him open a little.

“You enjoy bossing my friends around?” he asked, voice low, amused.

“I enjoy keeping them alive,” you said, brushing imaginary lint off your sundress.

Marshall reached for you, pulling you in without effort, tucking you into his side as the hallway dimmed behind you both. “You always this sweet to my friends, baby?” he murmured against the shell of your ear, lips trailing lower until they found that spot on your neck he knew made you sigh.

“Only the drunk ones,” you teased, smiling against the warmth blooming at the base of your throat.

He huffed a laugh, nose brushing your skin. “Lucky me, then.”

You walked together down the hall, his hand splayed warm and heavy on your hip, his body angled toward yours like even gravity favored pulling him closer.

“You’re really good at that, you know,” he said quietly, almost like it was a secret. “Taking care of people. Even the ones like him.”

“I like taking care of people,” you said. “Especially the ones who don’t always know how to ask for it.”

He hummed against your skin. “You sure you’re not too good for me?”

You stopped, turning to face him fully, your hands smoothing over his chest. “Maybe I’m just right for you.”

Marshall looked at you like you’d said something holy, and then his mouth was on yours again—deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to carve the truth of that into memory.

Behind you, Denaun let out a heroic snore that made the walls vibrate.

You both broke the kiss with a laugh, and Marshall grinned. “Guess we’re not getting much sleep tonight.”

You grinned back. “Speak for yourself. I packed the cookies and tucked in your drunk best friend. I’ve earned at least six hours.”

Marshall swept you into his arms anyway. “Fine. But I’m still making it hard.”

“You always do,” you giggled, as he carried you off toward your room.

---

By the time the bedroom door clicked shut behind you, your body felt like it had been wrung out and gently folded. The noise of the day had faded, leaving only the hum of the house and the low sound of Marshall moving behind you—setting his phone on the dresser, kicking off his shoes.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers working at the tie of your dress, when his hands came to rest gently on your shoulders.

“Let me,” he murmured.

You dropped your hands into your lap and let him take over. He undid the knot with slow, careful fingers, letting the soft fabric fall away from your frame like petals. There was no rush in him tonight—no teasing, no heat behind his touch—just that quiet kind of reverence that always caught you off guard. Like every part of you mattered. Like he saw you.

“You did a lot today,” he said, voice low as he leaned down to press a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “Didn’t sit down once.”

“I’m okay,” you murmured, even though your legs ached and your back was tight and your eyes stung just a little.

He didn’t answer. Just helped you out of the rest of your clothes, his touch soft and patient, like he was unwrapping something precious. You lay back against the pillows and he tugged the blankets up around you, settling beside you without a word, arm curling protectively around your waist.

“Turn over,” he said gently.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m giving you a massage. Don’t argue.”

You laughed, too tired to protest anyway, and rolled onto your stomach. A moment later, his hands were on you—firm, slow pressure working into your lower back, then gliding up your spine, his thumbs finding every knot and easing it out with practiced care.

You let out a soft sound as your body began to melt under his touch. He leaned down, brushing your hair aside to kiss the back of your neck.

“You do too much,” he whispered. “Always taking care of everyone else.”

“I like it,” you murmured into the pillow.

“I know you do,” he said. “That’s what makes you... you. But you don’t have to do it alone all the time.”

His hands slowed, resting against your shoulder blades. “You come in here, soft voice and pink dress, and you don’t even realize you’re the strongest one in the room.”

Your throat tightened at that, but before you could speak, he shifted beside you, curling you into his arms as he lay down, holding you close and warm against his chest.

“I got you now,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you for once.”

You didn’t answer—not with words. Just tucked your face into his chest, let yourself finally relax, and breathed him in.

And he stayed right there, one hand stroking lazy circles on your back, the other holding you steady—quiet, grounded, safe.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there in his arms, skin warm against his, wrapped in that stillness that only came with being completely known, completely safe. His hand never stopped moving—those slow, steady circles along your back that started out soothing but gradually dipped lower… brushing the curve of your hip, tracing the dip of your waist.

You sighed into him, soft and breathy, and you felt the way his body responded to the sound—his breath catching slightly, the arm around you tightening.

“You’re relaxed now,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

“Mhm.”

“I like you like this.”

His voice was low—rougher now, darker at the edges—and it made something in your stomach flutter. He shifted beside you, coaxing you gently onto your back, his eyes searching yours in the dim light.

“You sure you’re not too tired, baby?” he asked, fingers brushing your cheek.

You shook your head, already arching slightly into his touch. “Not with you.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you slowly at first, like he was still handling something fragile—mouth soft, patient, coaxing. But when your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, something shifted. The kiss deepened, his weight settling over you, hands sliding over your skin like he was relearning every inch.

“You take care of everyone else,” he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, along your collarbone. “Tonight, I take care of you. No interruptions. No distractions.”

You gasped as his mouth found that tender place just beneath your jaw, his hand slipping beneath the blanket to trace the inside of your thigh. “Marshall…”

“Shh, baby. Just let me make you feel good.”

And you did.

You let him take his time—let him worship every part of you with his mouth, his hands, his voice murmuring soft praises against your skin. He moved like a man who knew what it meant to fall apart, and how to put someone back together again—slowly, reverently, with just the right amount of heat to remind you how deeply he loved you, how much of himself he’d always give to you.

By the time you were breathless and shaking beneath him, his name on your lips like a prayer, he kissed you again—forehead pressed to yours, the words “I got you” whispered again and again like a vow.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you knew: the world could fall apart outside those walls.

But in here, you were home.

---

The morning light crept in slow, golden stripes through the blinds, brushing soft across the room. The scent of rain lingered faintly from the storm that rolled in sometime during the night, and somewhere down the hall, Denaun snored like a dying lawn mower.

You stirred beneath the sheets, sore in the sweetest way, skin still humming with memory. A warm arm was slung across your waist, and when you shifted, Marshall murmured low behind you.

“Mm. You movin’ already?”

You smiled sleepily, nestling back into the curve of his chest. “Trying to, but apparently I’m trapped.”

His voice was rough and lazy. “Damn right you are.”

His hand slid a little lower, fingers brushing along your hip possessively. You let out a soft laugh.

“Someone’s feeling smug.”

“You’re warm, you’re naked, and you moaned my name like a song last night,” he mumbled into your hair. “Course I’m smug.”

You reached back to swat at him, but he caught your hand easily, lacing your fingers with his and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“You sleep good?” he asked, voice gentler now.

You nodded. “Like a rock.”

He smiled against your shoulder. “Good. That was the goal.”

Just as you were melting into the quiet again, a knock sounded at the bedroom door—too enthusiastic, too familiar.

“Y’all decent?” came Denaun’s unmistakable voice. “Because I’m making coffee and I swear the cookies are gone and I’m suspicious.”

You groaned into the pillow. “He’s relentless.”

Marshall sighed, flopping dramatically onto his back. “I should’ve let him drive home drunk.”

You laughed and rolled over, leaning up on one elbow. “You love him.”

Marshall scowled half-heartedly. “I love you. Him? He’s like athlete’s foot. Won’t go away, mildly irritating, but you learn to live with it.”

You bit back a giggle, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Well, athlete’s foot made coffee. I’m gonna go make sure he doesn’t burn down the kitchen.”

He caught your wrist gently, looking up at you with that rare, unguarded softness.

“Hey.”

You met his eyes.

“Thank you. For yesterday. For last night.” His thumb traced a line along your wrist. “For being mine.”

You leaned down and kissed him, slow and lingering. “Always.”

And then you slipped from the bed, pulling on one of his shirts—the hem brushing your thighs—as you padded barefoot down the hall, laughter already rising in your chest at the sound of Denaun arguing with the coffee machine.

Marshall watched you go, head tipped against the pillow, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth.

Yeah, he thought.

Always.

#eminem #marshall mathers #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader #gracie answers #reader requests

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toxicrelief · 2 days ago

Text

Crawling Back to You

Chapter ten

Synopsis: After as bad a fight as you had just experienced against Omnipotus, a lot of the Guardians are in need of your assistance. So, it’s time to make your rounds, after a brief visit to an old friend.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Chapter: 10/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Descriptions of Gore and Excessive Blood, Descriptions of Vomiting

Note: Okay I lied, NEXT chapter will bring us to chapter one. getting super close :) and thank you everyone for the comments and theories! I love reading them!

“Flowers?”

“I didn’t know what else to get.” You admit with a lopsided smile, holding out the bouquet in front of you. “It didn’t feel appropriate to get you some random bottle of liquor when I have no clue what you like.” Rex was far easier to apologize to, maybe that was one of his few strengths. You had thought you were making progress with him, but you honestly had a really hard time reading him. You just knew he was hiding something; you couldn’t tell if it was related to you or not.

Donald hesitated before taking them from you. His head turned from side to side, looking for somewhere to place them, but he obviously did not spot someplace satisfactory. You felt bad now, he looked unbelievably dorky holding an obnoxiously sized bundle of flowers. “Thanks…”

“I snapped at you, during the museum job. And I’ve felt bad about it for ages.” Your hands gestured with you while you talked. “I bought these right before the showdown with Omnipotus, and since you’re here now it seemed like the best time.” In retrospect, it definitely was not.

He looked down at them, you couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a steady frown on his lips. “You snapped at me?”

You grimace slightly, maybe you have made the interaction much bigger in your head. After all, Cecil probably yelled at Donald enough that he hardly noticed a difference. Still, you did not want to excuse yourself when you knew you should be better. “I did, and I am sorry.”

“Oh, okay.” Donald returns his gaze to the flowers, the fluorescent lights of the Guardian’s headquarters reflecting off of them.

You liked Donald. He was quiet, competent. He could go completely unnoticed, but you knew how important he was. How much he did for the GDA. You had seen it firsthand when Cecil was familiarizing you with everything. Donald had supplied you with the files of all the superheroes you were going to work with after you had expressed anxiety to him about your oncoming situation. He never said much, but you felt comfortable in his presence. Like an old friend you used to tell everything, now you were distant, but you knew they had your best interest at heart.

A small silence settled over the two of you and you realized how odd it was to see him in the Guardians Headquarters.

“Why are you here Donald?” You inquired, now over the nerves of apologizing. “Did Cecil send you to check on everyone?”

“Yes, but more specifically you.”

“Aw, you guys worried about me?” You give him a cocky smile and lightly punch his arm, immediately feeling awkward afterward when he looks at your point of contact without speaking.

“How are you feeling? It was pretty rough out there, and the scanners are showing that your brain waves are still running slower. You’re not healing as quickly as we would like.”

“It was a rough battle, I’ll adjust.” You nod, you know he’s right, the residual headache is still there even a few hours later. “I think after a night’s sleep I’ll be back to my normal capacity. Right now, I just want to make sure everyone else is doing okay.”

“Everyone is alive, as far as I know none of them are in critical condition. Let them heal naturally or heal them tomorrow after resting.”

You put your hands on your hips raising a brow at him. “Is this a suggestion or an order Donald? Because it is my job to heal these people. I am not going to make them wait because I have a little headache.”

“It is a suggestion from someone who cares.” He says softly. “Your vitals have been all over the place for weeks, you’re unbalanced. With your incident and the last few close calls, you need to be more careful until you reach standard levels.”

The incident. Just call it what it is. You let someone die, no need to dance around it. You frowned slightly to yourself. Both Donald and Cecil had been dancing around the subject at hand. You didn’t even know the man’s name. Maybe it would be inappropriate to visit the grave of someone you had failed that much, but part of you wanted to. A more selfish part of you hoped that if you could, the nightmares would go away.

Maybe Donald and Cecil weren’t dancing around it, maybe they had just moved past it. And you were the one stuck in the past. If you weren’t careful it would start to affect your efficiency. You needed to start trying to move on. You can’t save everyone. But you should have been able to save him.

You blink a few times at Donald and then give him a soft smile. “Donald, I really appreciate your concern, but I am okay. I’ve got this. And if I don’t, should I really be on the team?”

“You’re not on the team Killdeer. You work for Cecil, and your worth expands beyond healing some scratches.”

You give him a nod of acknowledgment, but you have no intention of slinking off to bed in your apartment while these people are in pain. “Thank you, Donald.” You utter softly, before turning to leave the room you are standing in.

“Keep your earpiece in.” Donald says, and you look back at him for a final glance. He’s standing alone in the center of the room. The flowers held lightly in his grip. It was sweet really.

“I will Donald.”

“I thought you were bulletproof.” Rex sneered.

“There were no damn bullets out there were there?” Bulletproof snarked back.

It was your first time seeing Bulletproof out of his suit, it was almost jarring to actually see his eyes and to see the angry expression he was making at Rex. You ignored their bickering and turned your attention to the long laceration up his arm. “How did you get this?” You questioned, examining it further while grabbing some saline solution and antiseptic they had in the kitchen.

“Damn thing grabbed me. It had these weird claws on its knuckles, wasn’t pleasant I can tell you that.” His gaze dropped to the bottles in your hands. “You need that?”

It came across as a little rude, probably unintentionally so, but you felt yourself bristle a little. “If I purify it before healing it, I won’t have to use as much energy to make sure that your body cleanses itself from the inside.”

“Does it take a lot of energy to heal someone?” He seemed to be genuinely interested, and you felt your souring mood instantly fade away.

You pulled a chair up in front of him, sitting down with your knees almost touching. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rex tense a little. He probably thought he was entitled to go first, but you were working your way down into the smaller injuries. And besides the cuts he received from saving you, he wasn’t doing too badly.

You began to clear any debris from the gash and used a saline wash to clean it up. “It depends on the injury. A gash like this will probably take a pretty large amount of effort to heal, whereas Rex’s little scratches will take significantly less.”

“The fact I only have a few little scratches I think speaks to how awesome of a hero I am.” Rex leaned against the kitchen wall, a proud smirk on his face.

“Or it goes to show how unhelpful you are. How you hardly get in the real fights.” Bulletproof retorted.

“Look here dickhead, just because I am able to do just as much as you can without being able to fly and without getting hurt doesn’t mean-“

“Oh god please just shut up.” Amanda groaned from her place at the table, Rae sat next to her with her head resting on her arms.

“What’s even wrong with you? You look perfectly fine.” Rex focused his animosity on Amanda now, tilting his head.

“Nothing asshole, maybe I just want to be here for my teammates.” She spat back.

“We don’t need you here pitying us-” Rex started, stepping forward with an antagonistic finger pointed in her direction.

“I want her here.” You said simply, not bothering to look up from your work. A soft snicker escaped Rae but she didn’t lift her head at all either. You were getting a little worried about her, during your brief examination of them all she was showing signs of a concussion, but Bulletproof was losing blood. Even though he still seemed to have the energy to argue with Rex.

Rex hmphed loudly but didn’t continue, he recrossed his arms and rested his back against the wall once again.

“At least one of you has good tastes in company.” Amanda says, which makes you sigh because you know the arguing is about to start up again from this. Like bickering children.

You put down the bottles and grip the overside of Bulletproof’s forearm closing your eyes in concentration. Amanda leans forward slightly in her chair, her eyes wide as she analyzes what you are doing. The abrasion began to mend before their eyes, as if in reverse. Bulletproof grimaced quietly, a stark contrast to Rex’s outburst when you had healed him the first time. The sound of him shifting behind you told you he was reliving the same memory.

You glanced back for a moment, and his eyes immediately locked with yours. He maintained your gaze for a moment before looking away, his folded arms tightening slightly over his chest.

Odd.

You looked back at your work, focusing more on it. The wound was stitching itself organically. Any blood that was being pushed to the surface immediately sank back into the tissue until it was mended completely.

“It’s like it never happened.” Amanda stated, awe clear in her voice. “Pretty cool party trick.”

“But a party trick nonetheless.” Rex immediately interjected. You were getting tired of his whiplash, every time you thought you were both past frivolous insults, he always managed to input another. What an asshole.

You shook your head slightly, the headache was setting in strongly against you. It felt like miniature icepicks were taking turns going in and out at the base of your skull. Nothing new, but you were feeling your tolerance for the bickering begin the melt away.

“Seriously Rex?” Bulletproof responded.

“Why are you here Rex? You here to get healed for your little boo-boos?” Amanda’s tone was laced with the annoyance you decided to keep to yourself.

“Maybe I just want to be here for my teammates.” He said in a mocking tone, repeating Amanda’s earlier sentiment.

“You’re such a child.” Amanda spat.

“Look who’s talking!” Rex retorted.

“Thank you.” Bulletproof said to you, breaking your concentration from the once again oncoming fight.

“You’re welcome Zandale.” You said quietly in response, giving him a tired smile. He stood up, turning his arm a few times while looking over your handy work. He gave a silent nod and then went to leave, giving Rex a nasty look before exiting the kitchen.

Bulletproof’s exit left enough silence for you to turn your attention to Rae who was still laying her head on her arms.

“Rae, come here Hun.” You patted the seat and after a moment she looked up and bobbed her head. She clumsily made her way over staggering slightly to the right on her way over. She seemed to be getting worse as the day was going on, earlier she seemed almost fine. The adrenaline of their earlier battle was probably wearing off. As she sat down you placed your hand on her forearm, preparing to mentally check her. She was wearing a green and grey striped t-shirt; it was cute how everyone seemed more likely to wear the color scheme of their suits even when in their street clothes.

“Your hands are cold.” Rae stated, as she slurred just a little at the end of it, a telltale sign of some sort of brain damage.

“I know.” You responded gently. Her hair was still wet, dripping down her shirt leaving little streaks. “Can you tell me what your name is?” You were resorting to asking her questions, determined to conserve as much energy as possible as your head was killing you already. You wanted to be sure it was most likely a concussion before interfacing with her.

“You don’t know my name?” She frowned at this.

“I know your name.” You reassure, “I just need to hear you say it.”

“What is the point of this?” Rex’s sounds off again, which you consider ignoring, but you figure that will just edge him on.

“I’m checking for a concussion.”

“Can’t you just…I don’t know, tell?” He scoffs.

“The more time I spend determining what the extent of her injuries are, the more energy I burn off. If I can determine the core issue it is much easier to go from there.”

“Stop bothering her Rex.” Amanda glares at him.

“Your name?” You return your attention back to Rae.

“Rachel.” You actually had not known this was her name, so you looked at Amanda to confirm, who simply shrugged, clearly also not having known.

“And your last name?”

“My last name?”

“Yes.” You nodded. She didn’t immediately respond, her gaze wandering over the kitchen.

“Rachel.”

“Where are you right now Rachel?”

“The kitchen.” She looked over at the sink area, clearly taking cues from her surroundings rather than from her inner knowledge.

“The kitchen where?”

She remained silent at this, giving you a look like you had just asked her to do a backflip.

“Okay, Rae, do you know who I am?”

She nodded and gave a smile, immediately saying your name. “Well, that’s good.” You smiled at her. “I was getting a little nervous.” You closed your eyes and focused on the inferior parietal lobule as well as the hippocampus. The brain is a delicate organ, it takes a lot of focus to make sure that you do not accidentally do more damage than good. One small hiccup and you could leave her paralyzed or dead.

Luckily Rex remains quiet for this, and after a few minutes you see Rae’s brow relax, and as far as you can feel her cognitive functions should be back to normal.

“What is your name?” You ask, rubbing one of your eyes with the heel of your palm, willing away the shredding pain behind your eyes. You’re not too far yet though, you weren’t doing too shabby. And Donald dared to doubt you.

“Rae.” She said with a smile, sitting up straighter.

“Full name.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Well, she seemed fine now. You stretched, a wave of exhaustion falling over you. Soon you’d need to sleep this all off, it had been an extremely long day. “Amanda, can you make sure Rae gets back to her room? Right now, she’s feeling good because of the aftereffects, but once the usual aches set in it’ll hit like a truck.”

“Sure, why not.” Amanda stands up, heading to the door and holding it open for Rae.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow, okay?” You give Rae a pat on the arm you had just been holding on to.

“Next time drinks are on me.” Rae says, standing up with a little spring in her step.

“I’m sure you’ll bring them but somehow I doubt you’ll pay for them.” You tease back, which earns her giving you a shushing gesture before leaving with Amanda.

“Bye Rex.” She says with a glint in her eyes before disappearing out the door. Even with it closed behind them you can hear them both laughing loudly. Who knows why.

“Rather chipper.” Rex states sourly.

“It’ll wear off, you would know.” You lean back in the chair, rubbing the back of your neck.

It was now just the two of you. Hopefully, it would be quick, you were exhausted and in pain.

“Are you going to sit down Rex?” You cocked your head at him, crossing your leg over the other.

“No.”

“Are you going to stand over there like a creep until I feel so uncomfortable I leave?”

“It’s a free fucking country.”

“Well in that case I think I’ll be going-” You uncrossed your legs, putting your hands on your knees to stand up, only to hear him sigh and watch him sit in the chair in front of you. “Or not…I suppose.” You relaxed back into your chair, making no move to heal him. If you were being fully honest you weren’t sure that his minimal injuries were something that concerned you right now. You weren’t sure how much juice you had in you.

“So that fuzzy thing, after healing, that is a side effect of your abilities.” It’s a statement he’s trying to make, not a question.

“I’ve heard it can be. I don’t experience the same effect, so I am not sure.”

“But that is what Rae was feeling right?”

“I don’t know Rex, why don’t you ask her tomorrow?” You sigh softly.

“Why are you so secretive?” He accuses suddenly, a completely different tone entering his voice.

“What?” You sit up slightly at this.

“Access to our files, somehow being able to run missions alone, your little relationship with Cecil. What am I missing?”

“Can I not just be good company?” You furrow your brow at him, tensing slightly.

“No, not to Cecil.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Rex. I don’t do my job, you’re not happy, I do my job, you’re not happy.” You sit forward slightly. “You tell me you don’t dislike me, you save my ass out in the field, and then you talk shit about me to my face and consistently complain about me.”

Rex’s jaw tightens at this, but he doesn’t say anything immediately in response.

“What can I do Rex? What can I do to make you stop hating me so much huh?” Your frustration is growing by the minute, and you can almost swear your headache is getting worse alongside it. “You want me to quit? Fine, I could quit, but I don’t think that would solve it, would it? You would continue hating me until you forgot about my existence, and maybe not even then.” You stand up promptly, your chair screeching against the floor at the sudden movement. “I think you would grow old and hear the mention of my name, and only know you recognized it by the bitter taste in your mouth.” Your words are coming out harsher than you usually would let them, but you can’t find it in you to care. “You are miserable Rex, and I think that misery will follow you until the day you die.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” He says surprisingly calm, he’s still sitting, and his head is cocked upwards to look at you. His green eyes look darker than normal, and his jaw is ridged.

“You’re my fucking problem Rex!” You run your hands through your hair, stopping with them covering your face for a brief instant. You take a slow breath trying to regain composure. “Do you receive some kind of joy by being the only Guardian left fighting my presence?”

“I’m not the only one-”

“You’re the only one doing it outwardly! At least with the others, they have the decency to do it behind my back!” You took a few steps away, drumming your fingers on the countertop. After a silent, tense few seconds, you turn back around to continue your point only to see he is right behind you. Your back hits the edge of the counter as you try to step back, effectively trapping you.

“I don’t trust you.” He says through gritted teeth, his dark gaze resting on your face.

“Anyone can tell that much.” You respond back immediately.

“You and Cecil are hiding something; I just can’t prove it yet.”

“Are you always this suspicious of new hires?” You squint at him, your voice low.

“Maybe, when it is necessary.”

“Shapesmith is clearly an alien of some sort and you’re more worried about me, why? If you are really so determined to maintain the Guardians, then why aren’t you giving him as much shit as you are me?”

“Maybe I don’t see him as a threat.” Rex’s voice was low, and he was alarmingly close.

“And I am?” You try not to laugh. “An alien versus someone whose power is healing?”

“Is it?”

Your blood runs a little cold at this. How much did he really know? Was he simply baiting you? At this point, you couldn’t tell, and his close proximity was not making it easier.

“Did you want me to heal your scratch or not?” You finally rasp, your eyes dropping to the long gash on his jawline.

“Why would I want that?”

“Chasing that fuzzy feeling?”

“And everyone gets that?” You’re pleased he seems so easily deterred from his previous question.

“So I am told.” Before you think better of it your hand comes up to the side of his face, your fingers tracing over the wound. He doesn’t immediately back away or really have any reaction. He seems ridged. As if he were willing to stay exactly still. After the first swipe of your fingertip you restarted, the pad of your index finger making contact with the upper portion of the scratch. As you swiped down it mended, leaving his skin completely unharmed. Soft and golden. He let out a slow, controlled breath, his eyes were drilling into your face. “There, now it is like you never even saved me.” You say sourly.

“That was only one of the cuts from that ordeal.” He breathes, and for a moment you are sure you feel the atmosphere between you shift. The tension is less fueled by anger and irritation but now it is fueled by something else.

You blink a few times coming up with a response, but before you can think of one, you’re thoughts are interrupted.

“Are you okay?” genuine concern laced his voice.

“What do you mean?” You give him a weird look, and then you hear a voice over your earpiece.

“Brain wave levels are showing a spike, possible episode incoming.” It is a voice you don’t recognize, most likely one of Cecil’s agents.

“Shit!” You exclaim, putting a hand up to your upper lip. You pull your hand back but don’t see any blood. You wipe under your eye and instantaneously you feel the moisture. Pulling your hand back you see it, blood spread over the side of your index finger. “Shit, shit, shit.” You try to focus on breathing. This is not a good time.

Maybe it’s not real. You had not recognized the voice, and usually, your nose bleeds first. Maybe this is like that episode you had after your shower a few weeks ago. “Do you see this?” Panic is laced in your voice unintentionally; you hold your bloodied hand out to Rex.

“What-”

“Rex, do you see it?!” You repeat louder.

“Yes-”

“Rex!”

“Fuck Joy- yes I see it, what is happening?”

The metallic taste begins to fill your mouth, as you feel an oncoming heave working its way up your throat. The trash is too high, once you lose the use of your legs you will pull it down with you. You push past Rex to enter the kitchen, ripping open the cabinets in search of a bucket.

“Joy, what do I do?”

Blood is filling your mouth, and you can hardly hear him, a quick touch to your ear shows that you’re starting to lose blood there too. Finally, you locate what must be a mop bucket and fall to your knees. Your body fights itself, attempting to heal the abrasions you likely now have there too.

You begin to retch into the bucket, crimson blood quickly working to fill it, your eyes blur red as more seeps out of your tear ducts.

Hands come from somewhere behind you, pulling your hair back. A nice gesture, but it was not much use. In a few moments you would be completely out, and the blood would continue to leak out of you regardless.

“Robot! Robo- Rudy help me! Rudy!” Rex’s desperate pleas are drowned out by your gagging, and soon you start to feel your grip on consciousness loosening until you don’t remember what happened next.

Author's Note: This one goes out to the people who were upset we yelled at Donald, you all were heard. After almost one month of writing were nearly at 40k words and up to chapter one, I am so excited

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101

#rex splode x reader #enemies to lovers #slow burn #invincible season 3 #invincible rex splode #invincible #rex sloan #rex splode #rex sloan x reader #no beta we die like rex splode apparently #no use of y/n #rex splode fanfic #fanfic #crawling back to you rexfic #shrinking rae #bulletproof

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