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cowboyshadows · 2 months ago

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Okay yandere ex husband Simon who refuses to leave you alone. A more sinister, reversed version of this

Cw: stalking, obsessive behaviour, gun violence (inflicted by reader), paranoia and gaslighting (indirect), repeated home invasions, there's no sexual content but this is still non-con and dark. Minors DNI and adults please heed warnings. Dead dove do not eat.

It’s always deliberate. Subtle enough—if you didn’t know him, you’d think it’s a genuine slip-up. If you didn’t know what he was capable of, maybe you’d have brushed it off as complacence.

Alas… you’re wiser than this. You know that. He knows that, and mocks you still with the assumption of naïveté.

Deliberate as it may be, its always small. Harmless. A dried tulip petal resting on your pillow. The careful arrangement of your knicker drawer disturbed with a slight crease. A bottle of his favourite brand of whiskey in the fridge—unopened. An invitation. In your own home.

Outside, you feel it. At every turn of your car, there is always another behind. Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.

You feel it at grocery stores. It isn’t so much as one gaze—rather a cacophony of silent whispers and pairs of shifty eyes scrutinising you.

Your ex-husband is a ghost. You know he’s alive—but he refuses to be more than a looming, dark presence. It’s comforting in a way—when the dread settles and the effluent you’re left with is a familiarity.

And you let him. Hell, you hadn’t exactly been the most… genial ex-wife. You hadn’t even talked about it. He’d returned from a taxing deployment to what was once your shared flat, empty and stripped save for a document. He’d been served.

For all he’s worth, he’d taken it well. Signed, mailed, cleaned up. Expunged himself out of your life. Radio silence.

Except for… whatever this was. This lack of bothering, the eerie silence of being by yourself actually starting to resemble a low buzzing sound. Like that of a broken radiator.

The absence of warmth.

The two of you never had fights. It was always you bringing something up, him pointedly looking away, and under the rug would it be brushed.

You left because you knew that for a love to be sustained, you needed a spark. You needed that extra heat, that little inkling of passion—however mis-channeled—to show that you still cared.

And so far, no one but you was willing to add inkling to the fire.

Maybe you could chalk it up to his non-confrontational nature, but even the suggestion makes you laugh. Every time a man so much as smiled at you in public, you would have to prepare yourself for walking back to the car in the lot with heat on your ears, gazes searing into your backs. Yet another fight, yet another argument. But never with you.

Maybe you should’ve considered yourself lucky. Stressing out over nothing. Your biggest problem was that he gave you nothing. No trouble, no hankering for sex, no weaponised self incompetence. He was a ghost.

In some ways, he didn’t participate more in your life than when you were married as compared to now. But it still stings all the same.

You find yourself watching the clock hanging up by the wall behind your cubicle almost obsessively. If you slow down your breathing and really focus, you can hear the ticking of the seconds hand. The grinding of the gears. And it grounds you.

Your workplace has become your one haven. The one place you know he can’t reach you. The one place you know that if something weird happens, everyone will see it. And nobody will look at you with sorry glances when you announce you’re changing your locks again. Or that you’ve changed your number, installing cameras, redoing your shelves. When you’d tried to prove it to your mother like a fool once, that he’d been in your house that day and left a bottle of wine—only to be answered to an automated voice message letting you know he’s deployed.

But no matter how much you tried to change your life, he’d always find a way to correct it. To find you.

No one could understand. No one would ever understand. Why a sweet man who’s done so much for queen and country could ever do something so heinous. You had close to no credibility.

You were just the crazy woman spewing bullshit about how her war hero ex-husband was tormenting her for sport.

When you enter your home that day, keys jangling and legs stumbling, you smell it.

It wafts into your nostrils like a gas leak.

The undeniable scent of musk and grime. Mixed with laundry detergent that doesn’t irritate sensitive skin.

You drop your bags, falling to your knees. You let out a sharp breath, feeling the tears prick your eyes. He’d always been in your house. But this makes it all tangible. All so real. Not just chalked up to your imagination and a few maybes.

Below your television rests a box—small, dainty. With shaking hands, you lift it and contemplate whether to open it.

Could it be possible that he wanted to kill you? No, if he wanted to kill you he’d have done it ages ago. This can’t be a bomb.

He wouldn’t do that to you. Right?

There’s a lingering dread pooling in your gut when you slowly raise the lid. Your engagement ring.

Nothing more, nothing less. Just a silver band with a small jewel in the middle, shoved into the cushioning of the box.

What is this? Is he proposing? In his own sick, twisted way?

You snap the box shut, letting it fall haphazardly to the floor. Like clockwork, your phone rings. An unknown number. But you know who it is. You always know.

“Goddammit, Simon, leave me alone!” you sob, voice shakier than you’d like it to be. There was no time to pretend or present a strong front.

Heavy breathing on the other end.

You cry more, hand reaching up to cup your mouth and stop your wails. Voice frustrated and exasperated.

“Don’ cry,” a distorted voice mutters. To no avail.

The call disconnects before you can hear anything else. You rise to your feet, only to be met with a rattle of your windows.

Enough to spook you, but not enough to warrant a check. It could’ve been the wind.

You walk pensively into your room, immediately reaching to card through your drawers with reckless abandon. Nothing had been changed. Everything was exactly the way it was.

Another rattle makes you freeze still, the location of the sound shifting with your movements. It had been the kitchen window first, and now your bedroom window. The curtains were drawn no doubt, so you had not an inkling of an idea whether he was outside your house right now.

In a final Hail Mary, you pull out your battered copy of the DaVinci Code. You let the heavy bound cover fall to the side to reveal a precisely cut out shape for a pistol. You pick up the pistol resting in the cavity, flip open the safety, and move closer to your window.

You don’t know what your game plan is. Show him that you weren’t gonna take this lying down, perhaps. That you’re serious about this shite. You’ve lost yourself, and he’s succeeded.

When another rattle sounds out, without thinking you fire a bullet in the general direction of the sound. You hear a few sounds of feet shuffling, confirming your suspicions.

You drop your gun, and immediately dart to your front door. Maybe it is a stupid decision to move out of the safety of your house right now. But you had important things to deal with.

When you sit in your car, your hand feels empty. You should’ve brought the gun.

But Simon wouldn’t hurt you. Hopefully.

There’s a certain quality to your walk—paranoid, dodging. Like you’re afraid he’d jump out from anywhere in his own drive way.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and against your better judgement, you answer the call. You’re about to bite back a spiteful response when a strained voice interjects.

“Walk away,” distorts on the line. “You don’ wan’ to do this.”

In a final act of your anger crescendoing, you end the call abruptly.

Just as you’re about to ring the doorbell, a familiar voice sounds out behind you. The reaction your body has to his deep timbre, unfiltered by a distorter, is visceral. It has your knees shaking and your heart thumping.

“What are you doin’ here?” There’s something different to it. The accent is the same as the calls, but the cadence is off. The pitch is off. And there’s no strain to it.

Your phone buzzes again, and you stare at the number on it. Craning your neck, you see the familiar brutish silhouette of your ex-husband, both hands occupied with hefty grocery bags. You answer it, placing it on speaker.

“’S not jus’ him, love.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #so..... i went a little crazy #spooked myself w this one icl. sorry #once again pls proceed at ur own risk after reading the warnings #u are responsible for ur own media consumption #if i need to tag anything else please let me know #ridings #Simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost

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explorevenus · 11 days ago

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something permanent pt 14 ♡ yandere!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. i stg. do not interact or i will call the cops

reminder that this is a dark fic, if any of the following bothers/triggers you, do not read: yandere!leon kennedy, kidnapping, forced daddy kink, forced breeding, pregnancy, non/dubcon

in other words, dead dove: do not eat !!! u have been warned and u are responsible for ur own media consumption.

chapter index: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10, pt. 11, pt. 12, pt. 13

'something permanent’: the spotify playlist

word count: 6.8k

description: leon and darling become parents at last.

tags/warnings: yandere!leon kennedy, fem/afab!reader, no use of (y/n), some gory descriptions cus darling goes into labor obvi, girl dad leon, corny dad leon, horny dad leon (no smut tho i'm sorry. she just gave birth idk what u want from me), medical setting, breastfeeding, manipulation, stockholm syndrome-ish implications, some angst but also fluff

a/n: !!! i hope this was worth the wait <33 big big big big BIG sexy thanks to @dollfacefantasy and @gigabyte-flare for beta reading <3 i don't really have anything else to say other than that i appreciate everyone's patience while i've been dealing with some pretty major life things and i just hope you like it. gentle reminder that the taglist has been moved to the bottom of the chapter to reduce clutter

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy !!

-venus ♡

It went without saying that Leon had seen a lot of gore in his life.

A whole lot of gore.

He'd witnessed gushing bullet wounds, gaping slices of undead flesh, pulverized bodies, genetically modified monstrosities exploding into even more horrific versions of themselves, only to be slain by his hand, often spraying back to douse him in the kind of fetid rot that couldn't be washed out, only burned, the kind that clung deep in his skin for days after... and yet nothing could have possibly prepared him for what it would be like to witness you going into premature childbirth.

Nothing.

You were in so much pain, you were hollering and crying so hard you could barely get a breath in, and apart from holding your hand, he was powerless to help you. It was gutting.

"Shh, shh... you're doing so good, baby, just breathe with me, just breathe," He said to you, trying to manage his tone to be as reassuring as possible, but the stress had long since become him.

How could it not? He was watching his own lover split apart while conscious, pleading with the universe to ease the pain, even with an 18-gauge needle in the spine. You were miserable, and you were terrified, and Leon was terrified too. Perhaps even more than he'd ever been, because this wasn't supposed to be happening yet. He was supposed to have at least another month and a half to pamper you and watch you grow, at least another month and a half to prepare for this.

Not to mention he wasn't entirely fond of the swarm of nurses in your face and between your legs, the rotating door of doctors and specialists working on your exposed body with absolutely no capability of understanding how important you were to him, how special and sweet you were, how little you deserved this.

It did occur to him, in the midst of all the noise, that perhaps this was the wrong idea. That he shouldn't have forced the one person he loves the most in the world to suffer like this on his behalf. That maybe he'd made a grave mistake that he could never atone for, a mistake that would surpass anything he's ever experienced in its devastation.

But all of those fears crumbled to ash when he saw her for the first time.

Monday, December 21, 2015. Winter solstice. 3:36 a.m.

She was so pink. She was so, so small, so pink, and so angry to be alive, but she was alive and crying. She was alive.

In that moment, Leon experienced whatever the opposite of blacking out was, a shot of pure adrenaline down his spine that made everything shine a little brighter. He didn't even realize he was crying with relief until he turned and saw that you were, too. You were barely cognizant, what with the delightful cocktail of shock and panic and pain medication coursing through you, but you were conscious and aware— at least for now— limp with exhaustion aside from clutching Leon's hand for dear life while the professionals got to work sewing you up, and he couldn't help but swipe your slick hair away from your forehead to shower you in tearful kisses.

"My good girl... I'm so fucking proud of you," He spoke into your hair, pressing a heavy kiss to the crown of your head as his free hand cradled your cheek, holding you as close to him as he could physically manage. "I love you so much... I love you..."

You weren't really registering much other than the pure relief of it all, but Leon couldn't blame you. In his eyes, he just witnessed you creating his entire universe, and you deserved all the rest you could get. You'd certainly need it in the coming months.

And even just the coming weeks, as many as it might take for her to incubate and grow a bit.

She was alive, and she was as healthy as she could be, considering the circumstances, but Christ, she wasn't even done cooking yet. She was so little, weighing in at just three pounds, seven ounces, and she looked more like a gummy bear than a baby. She was hooked up to so many machines in the NICU that he could barely stand to even watch after a while, for his own peace of mind.

But he couldn't relax, either, so Leon just stayed at your bedside for most of the night, watching you sleep. Killing time. Occasionally he would wander off for a walk up and down the halls, or to the cafeteria for a bitter black coffee to jump his brain, or he would linger by the window into the NICU for a while to watch her sleep, to see her pink and yellow baby blanket just barely rise and fall with every tiny breath so he could know for sure she was really here. And then he'd repeat his rounds all over again.

The nurses promised him over and over again that she was healthy, that there was no cause for concern at this point, but that didn't really stop him from concerning himself quite severely. He wasn't even sure he understood his own metric for what it would take to get him to relax at this point, so he just stopped asking questions after a while.

Walk the halls. Bitter black coffee. Check on baby. Walk back. Check on you. Wash, rinse, repeat. Eventually the nurses were looking at him like they were debating offering him an Ambien under the table just to calm him down, and perhaps because he'd grown so used to avoiding drawing attention to himself, that was when he finally decided to just sit his ass down at your bedside and stay there.

In his boredom he found that the TV was perpetually stuck on the Hallmark channel, streaming from an endless well of corny, poorly written holiday movies that left more than enough to be desired, but it was better than nothing. Leon couldn’t stand the silence, and at least it kept his mind somewhat occupied while he thumbed through that heavy book of baby names.

He’d already found one he liked— Abigail— but that still left room for one more. He couldn’t even decide if he thought that should be her first name or her middle name. All he knew was what the book told him, flowery words describing the meaning of the name as that of my father’s joy, and that was quite true, wasn’t it? She was his firstborn, and more than that, her mommy was you. Nothing in the entire universe could possibly stand to make him happier or more joyous, and thus Abigail was fitting. But how was he supposed to find another name to describe her when he hadn’t even had the opportunity to get to know her yet?

Or was this secondary name his opportunity to start a thread of her destiny for her?

It’s not like he never asked you for your opinion, you had just chosen time and time again not to give it to him. You were almost completely impartial when it came to talking about the baby, so regardless of how badly he ached for your participation in planning for the life you’d created together, he had long since become bitterly used to making decisions like this on his own.

With a deep sigh Leon let the book rest in his lap, fingertips drumming on the wooden armrests of his chair in thought of the kind of life he wanted for his baby girl. All he could think was that he wanted her to run, play, and be happy. He wanted her to be good to the world and he wanted the world to treat her even better in return. He wanted to ensure she’d never have to worry about a thing, that she would grow up kind and quick and a much better woman than he ever was a man.

He wanted her to be gentle and sweet and protected, like a princess, his jubilant little baby princess.

Lifting the book once more, Leon opened it back up to its table of contents and skimmed over the lines for the millionth time, only now he actually had a vague idea of what he might be looking for. The book was structured in sections, the first being cultural and regional names, the second being historical and literary names, and the last section was an alphabetized glossary of them all in one. It was exhaustingly organized and comprehensive to the last detail, but hey, so was he.

Tracing the page with two fingertips, he found the historical section of the table and went down the line, skimmed over architects, artists, explorers, war heroes, religious figures… all the way down to royalty.

Leon’s hope wavered a little bit when he found most of the names under that section to be underwhelming or flat-out bad when paired with ‘Abigail,’ but his mind had been set on that for so long that he’d already decided he wasn’t budging on it. He was toying with the idea of taking a break from his search for the night, until an entry on the list of princess names caught his eye. In his exhaustion, he must have previously overlooked it.

Charlotte.

“Charlotte Abigail,” Leon mumbled aloud, testing the name on his tongue. “Charlotte Abigail Kennedy…”

It flowed from his lips like a beautiful waltz.

The enticing scent of Leon's umpteenth black coffee was the first thing you noticed when you woke up, followed by the dull, full body ache that weighed you down to the hospital bed. Your head was throbbing, your eyes and throat were stinging and dry from overexertion, but more than that, you felt something like relief.

Yes, it was definitely relief, because any amount of pain in that moment felt like reprieve in comparison to active labor. And maybe you were still a bit fuzzy from the meds, but you weren't complaining.

Slowly, you blinked awake and took in your surroundings, the room quiet aside from the occasional beep of electronic medical equipment, and the subtle, rhythmic rumble of... Leon snoring?

Tilting your head, you saw Leon right there at your bedside, coffee untouched and still steaming on the little tray next to him. His legs were outstretched, arms crossed at his chest, and he had his head tilted back with that comically large book of baby names split open to rest over his face, blocking the fluorescent lights and rising sun from his tired eyes. You just watched him for a moment, knowing he'd likely spent all night fretting over you until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

For as much as you would have loved to just lay there and enjoy the quiet for a moment, though, you knew it was probably wiser to let him know you were awake. At least that way you could talk him into forfeiting his coffee.

"Hey," you spoke up gently, your voice hushed with sleep and a bit hoarse, "I'm pretty sure the shop in the lobby sells bookmarks."

He jolted a little and then stirred, gravity pulling the heavy book down until his arm shot up to catch it and lift it from his face with an exhausted look of surprise. "Y-You're awake—”

"Gimme that," you interrupted, arm outstretched in a dramatic show of grabby-hands at the paper cup of coffee placed just outside your reach. You could barely even remember the last time you were allowed a sip of coffee, and having to lay here smelling it but not tasting it when you so sorely needed it was torture.

Leon blinked once or twice in confusion, clearing away the haze that clouded his frayed neurons, and as his eyes followed the path between your fingertips and the shitty cup of black coffee he'd fallen asleep before having the chance to drink, he couldn't help but puff out a little laugh, handing it off to you without hesitation. For fuck's sake, you'd earned it, hadn't you?

The cup had been sitting there idle for just long enough that its contents weren't blistering hot, but perfectly drinkable. You took a quick sip, and then another, nose scrunching up for a moment because it tasted more like a dirty ashtray than it did coffee, but somehow it still went down like liquid gold. At least the taste was enough to keep you from drinking it too fast.

"How do you feel, pup?" Leon asked, tracing the curve of your cheekbone with a delicate thumb. As joyful as it was to see you awake and in decent spirits, he had to ask, because it's not like you were just waking up from any old nap. He watched you split apart last night. He could still smell your blood. Surely you had more to concern yourself about than caffeine.

Setting aside the cup, you searched your mind for the right way to articulate how you felt right now, but found it exceptionally difficult to encapsulate what all was going on up there after giving birth for the first time. So, you decided to start with how your body felt and work your way through it from there.

"Sore, like a bowling ball went through me... but it's not unbearable. I think the pain meds are still working," you began, tilting your head to let your cheek squish into the palm of his hand. "I feel a little numb and groggy."

With a sympathetic hum, he nodded, leaning over you to smooth your messy hair back and press a kiss to your forehead. "I'm not surprised, baby, you do seem a bit silly. They drugged you up pretty good," he said, speaking from experience, "but at least you're not in too much pain."

A beat of surprisingly comfortable silence passed between you two as you finished waking up and Leon just stared at you, as he often did. While the air between the two of you felt thankfully free of tension, it wasn’t without anticipation, nor was it without the presence of that massive elephant.

You knew she was okay because if she wasn’t, Leon would be having a nuclear meltdown, but you barely even got to see her before you passed out, so you didn’t know how okay she was.

“Where is she?” You asked gently, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“She’s in the little incubator, but they said they could bring her in here when you woke up, if you were feeling well enough,” he answered, looking up at you through his lashes like a pleading puppy as he asked, “are you?”

You felt a rush deep in your chest that you couldn’t explain, emotion, and you found that your head was bobbing up and down in a nod before you even thought about it. You didn’t need to think about it. Of course your feelings about your situation and this baby were… complicated, to put it kindly, but you spent seven-ish months cooking the damn thing, so you might as well take the chance to hold her and get to meet her, right?

Leon didn’t waste any time scrambling off to get a nurse, and as you sat there waiting, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was going to be like. You weren’t ignorant of the fact that newborn babies didn’t have strong features yet, but you wondered if she would have any hair on her head, or what she would feel like in your arms, or what little sounds she might make. The few short minutes it took for Leon to return with your baby and a couple of nurses felt like a million years.

The door opened, and your heart stopped beating for a second. Your mouth dried and your eyes burned with tears.

She was so little.

Even swaddled up in a blanket, her tiny body was barely the width of Leon's forearm, her little head rested in the crook of his elbow while her socked and blanketed feet were tucked in the palm of his hand. Everything you felt in this moment was truly overwhelming— fright, nerves, and perhaps even a bit of pride, because come on. You made that thing. Willingly or not, you made your own little human, and in a removed context, that was crazy.

She was so little that you were almost afraid to touch her, trembling as Leon lowered her into your arms, but right away there was something about having her near that felt familiar to you.

Like an old friend.

For a long few minutes, you just cried. Deep, ugly, open-mouth cries that made your entire body feel weak. You couldn’t possibly get ahold of yourself, or even begin to understand how you were meant to.

Stooping down to kiss the crown of your head, Leon spoke gently into your hair, voice thick with emotion, “I-I named her Charlotte. Charlotte Abigail.”

Oh, how pretty. Internally you had to admit that he chose well, whatever his reasoning was.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” you sniveled, thumb caressing the thin, tender skin of her cheek, your chest throbbing as she squirmed and poked the tip of her tiny tongue out. “I-Is she okay? Are there any issues?”

The nurses calmly explained to you that she seemed to be regulating her temperature well enough on her own, but that the incubator was a precaution that would allow you and Leon the opportunity to get some actual rest. Her blood tests didn’t show any concerns and her oxygen levels were okay, but other than that, it was too soon to tell if anything else might be off, and they spared you the anxiety of getting too specific about the potential complications just yet. She would likely be spending at least 30 days in the NICU for good measure.

You, on the other hand, would be well enough to be on your feet as soon as the numbness wore off. That wasn’t to say it would feel good if you did, just that it was possible and wouldn’t kill you, though Leon would probably need to help you around for a few days… as if he needed the doctor’s order to do that.

Once they were sure you were healthy and comfortable, the nurses stepped out and for the very first time, it was just you, Leon, and your child.

“I’m so proud of you,” Leon whispered, watching you reverently. The sun had risen enough now to drench you in a saintly glow, your skin radiant and dewy with motherhood, your eyes glittering with tears as you gazed down at the sleepy baby cradled in your arms. “You’ve come such a long way, puppy, and just look at what you made for me. Look at what a perfect little angel you made for daddy.”

Letting out a slow breath from your nose, you resisted the urge to react to that. He’d done a pretty decent job of acting normal since you went into labor, and you didn’t realize how badly you were hoping he would keep it up until he ruined it with a brisk return to form. Perhaps the blame was on you for getting too comfortable with your expectations that high in the first place.

What felt especially unfair about it, however, was that his phrasing got beneath your skin more than you thought it would. Telling you that you’d come such a long way, and all because you made a perfect baby for him.

For daddy.

You’d only just had the chance to allow yourself to feel some kind of a bond with her, and Leon was already claiming ownership over it without a second thought. You wanted to snap at him that not everything was about him, that it wasn’t your goal to please him even if something you did made him happy, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to say any of it.

Charlotte hadn’t even been born for 24 hours yet, you couldn’t start fighting in front of her already.

You stood in front of the window with Charlotte swaddled tightly in your arms, letting her watch the glittery, falling snow outside in an attempt to calm her. She was red in the face and hollering with all the power in her little lungs— which was a lot, you’d come to learn— quite cranky about the fact that your milk was taking its time to come in. In defense of your boobs, the girls thought they were going to have eight more weeks to prepare than they ended up getting.

But at a certain point you just had to wonder when enough might be enough. You knew it wasn’t your fault, that your difficulty producing breastmilk so soon after going into premature labor didn’t reflect negatively upon your ability to love and provide for your daughter, so why did it feel that way? You were trying to keep ahold of your emotions for the sake of your daughter while wondering somewhere in the back of your mind if you were even fit to care for her, if it was your fault that she was starving.

“It’s common for newborns to lose a little bit of their birth weight in the first few weeks, especially waiting for mama’s milk to come in,” the attending nurse calmly explained to you as she changed the sheets on the bed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear. There’s no guide to being a new mother.”

“Thank you,” you replied over the shrill cries of your daughter, letting some of the tension drop from your shoulders. Leon had told you nearly the same thing practically a thousand times over the past few days, but it was hard not to convince yourself that he didn’t know what he was talking about and was just spouting nonsense to make you feel better. It felt more legitimate coming from a professional.

Once she finished up changing the bedding, the nurse offered to take Charlotte for a while if you needed a break, but for right now, you didn’t really mind. Having her close was supposed to stimulate milk production, as you’d been told, and for lack of a better way to put it, you sort of enjoyed hogging her from Leon. He’d stepped out for the morning to check in at work and grab a few things from the house, so he wasn’t here to take her anyway, but you felt it was your responsibility to seize every available opportunity to bond with her. You needed her to know that you were there for her, that you weren’t budging, and that you never would.

Being alone with her was a treat. She really was so cute, just a teeny tiny little thing, and you could have already sworn she had your nose. She was pretty.

“Oh, Lottie, Lottie, Lottie,” you sighed affectionately, cupping the back of her head to cradle her close to your shoulder, gently swaying and bouncing on your feet. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

As expected, her only response was a continuation of shrill cries. Part of you worried that your presence wasn’t comforting her at all, but every time you slowed in rocking her or made any move that she perceived as you getting ready to put her down, she hollered louder and clung to you for dear life. Clearly she knew where her bread was buttered.

You crossed the room in slow, bouncing steps, trying to keep her distracted just long enough for you to sit down with her in the rocking chair. Little as she was, your arms were getting tired from holding her up, and you just needed a bit of a break from it. Pressing your lips to her soft forehead, you breathed in through your nose and began quietly singing to her.

“I’m… a lonely little petunia in an onion patch, an onion patch, an onion patch,” you hummed, “I’m a lonely little petunia in an onion patch, and all I do is cry all day… boo-hoo, boo-hoo…”

It was an old, old song, and you weren’t even really sure where you remembered it from, but Charlotte seemed to enjoy it, and it felt fitting enough right now. Dragging in a breath, Charlotte reached up to rub her eyes with her chubby little fists, wailing cries beginning to soften down to weepy whimpers. It was victorious moments like this that almost made you forget how you got here.

“Hey, sweetheart,” came Leon’s voice from behind, reminding you exactly how you got here, “how are my girls?”

Almost immediately, Charlotte started screaming again.

Sighing out an exhausted breath, you turned over your shoulder to watch Leon approach, trying not to let it show on your expression just how annoyed you were that he’d ruined her calming mood right after you managed to get her there.

“Cranky,” you answered him simply.

Leon clicked his tongue and moved to sit at the edge of the coffee table in front of you, reaching out to brush your hair away from your face with a sympathetic gleam in his eye. “No milk yet, huh?”

You shook your head.

“Oh, puppy… I’m sorry.”

The look on your face gutted him. He could tell you were blaming yourself in some way, feeling guilty for not being able to produce quite yet, but his mind wasn’t lingering anywhere near blaming you for this. You’d already been through so much just to deliver the baby— if anything, he’d be more surprised if these next few weeks were to proceed perfectly after that. You were a superhero to Leon right now, a goddess, and not even gods or heroes were exempt from hardship, from plain bad luck.

“It’s fine,” you said with a slow sigh, “the nurses swear we’re getting somewhere. There was some of this… I don’t know, like… clear, sappy stuff that came out this morning, and they said it’s good for her, so…”

Nodding gently, Leon took your hand and squeezed it, trying to get you to actually look at him. “Well, that’s a good sign, right?”

“I think so… I don’t know. I hope so.”

“I hope so, too, baby.”

A few moments of silence fell between you— aside from the screaming newborn, of course— and Leon continued to think about how proud he was of you. When he first brought you home with him, you were adamantly against the idea of having babies, let alone being pregnant at all. But you took it like such a champion, nourished and cared for your child anyway, his child, and even after going into labor unexpectedly early, your priorities and your focus still remained on her.

He couldn’t confidently say he’d have been as brave if it were him. That alone gave him a lot of reflecting to do.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Leon asked, squeezing your hand again. “Absolutely incredible.”

“I don’t know about that,” you puffed out a dry breath, finally looking up at him. “Women have been birthing babies for thousands of years. I’m no different from any of them, unless you count panic-attacking myself into early labor, and even then I’m not the first. And I definitely won’t be the last.”

Shaking his head in affectionate disagreement, Leon said, “As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t just hang the moon, you molded it with your bare hands. Just… take the compliment, pup. You deserve it.”

A slight smile graced your lips for just a second, like you briefly allowed yourself to believe what he was saying. As much as it pained him to think about, Leon knew you hadn’t been given a whole lot of incentive to take him at his word on anything, but when it came to the praise you’d earned for making him a father, for growing his baby in you, it was so important to him that you knew he wasn’t just talking out of his ass.

So he spoke up again, following his praises with a gentle, genuine question; “Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

This gave you pause. He wasn’t wrong by any means— you absolutely were being hard on yourself here, in every way you could think of. The ways you’d been talking about and carrying yourself since he came home from San Francisco were indicative enough of that. It was like you were cowering from yourself, avoiding every part of you that made you you, like a mouse in a lab finally recognizing which buttons would shock you.

“She needs me,” you finally muttered, cradling Charlotte closer to your chest, even as she screamed your eardrum out. “She depends on me, I can’t just… fail her.”

“Fail her?” Leon whispered, encouraging you to continue.

Swallowing back nerves, you suddenly found you were having a difficult time making sense of what you’d been feeling lately, let alone putting it into articulate words. Still, you replied to the best of your frazzled, tired ability, “She was supposed to have eight more weeks… she wasn’t ready to be born yet, and I freaked myself out so much that I put her at risk. I’m so grateful that she’s okay, that it didn’t end badly, but Leon… it could have. It really could have.”

“I know,” he soothed. “I know it could have, but it didn’t. It didn’t. Look at her, she’s here and she’s alive and she’s healthy. She’s got strong lungs. She’s got your nose. She’s perfect, sweetheart, she’s absolutely perfect, and that’s not in spite of you, it’s because of you. I’ll repeat that as many times as it takes for you to internalize it.”

That framing of the situation was surprisingly insightful, coming from Leon, though you supposed he’d had some practice in forgiving himself over the years.

Sniffling, you nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “T-Thank you… daddy.”

He leaned in to kiss your forehead, and Charlotte began to settle.

You were so confused when you woke up in the middle of the night to Charlotte crying again— not because of anything she was doing differently, but because of how you felt. Sitting up in bed, you briefly glanced over at Leon to find that the commotion had roused him too, stirring him from a light sleep.

“I can get her,” he was quick to rasp out, voice clouded with grogginess, but for once, you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“No, no, wait,” you whispered, your other hand kneading at your sore chest in an attempt to soothe the discomfort, but this wasn’t the same kind of breast pain you’d grown used to by now. They were tender and full to the touch, nipples stinging under your nightgown.

And leaking.

Eyes widening, you shot out of bed with a quiet, excited exclamation of, “oh, shit,” not even taking the time to mull over how silly it seemed to be so ecstatic that your nipples were leaking milk through your favorite nightgown. All you could think about right now was her. You could finally sate her hunger.

Leon sat up too, rubbing his eyes and leaning over to turn the bedside lamp on, trying to wake himself up enough to understand what you were acting so urgently about. Only once Charlotte’s cries were silenced and replaced with a soft, greedy suckling sound did he realize what was happening.

“Oh,” he gasped, stunned, “shit.”

You just laughed, completely unable to wipe the stupid grin off your face. Feeding for the first time felt really fucking bizarre, but with how happy you were that your daughter was finally able to eat, you couldn’t bring yourself to care even slightly. That was far from the biggest thing on your mind.

“She’s eating,” you beamed, turning over your shoulder to look at Leon, desperate to share this moment with the only person who could truly understand your relief. “She’s eating, Leon, she’s— she’s perfect. Holy shit.”

“You’re perfect,” he smiled wide, crawling out of bed to join you where you stood by the crib, his strong arms slinking gently around your waist. Pressing a kiss to the highest point of your cheekbone, Leon whispered in your ear, “I knew you could do it, puppy. I love you, I love you both so much.”

And now you were crying. You couldn’t help it.

Charlotte fed for a good long while that night, gulping down every stray drop she could find, and you and Leon just watched her in complete awe. She could barely keep her eyes open in her satisfaction, long lashes fluttering angelically upon chubby cheeks, her squishy little lips bobbing back and forth with every suckle as you both cooed at her and cheered her on.

Wiping away a drop of milk from her chin, Leon preened, “Oh, little Lottie… such a good eater, princess, my goodness…”

“Such a good eater,” you echoed, adding playfully, “must’ve gotten that from your daddy. He gets grouchy without breakfast, too.”

“Hey now, it is the most important meal of the day,” he pointed out to his own defense, very much in on the joke, though he couldn’t help but add another cheeky point that was reserved only for your ears. “Well… the second most important meal of the day, right behind dessert.”

Groaning, you rolled your eyes at him, “Cornball. You’re a horny, horny cornball.”

He only smirked, “Guilty as charged, pup,” and kissed you again.

Your mood improved a lot over the next several days, and Leon was so grateful for it. The timing couldn’t have been better for squashing your insecurities about being able to care for Charlotte. Waking up to feed her wasn’t something that stressed you out anymore, it was something that made you feel useful and needed, which you always were, but now you truly believed it. Leon joked more than once that he’d never seen you happier to whip your boobs out at any given time.

You were eating well, you were laughing, you were getting lots of good rest, and you were actually talking to him. Like, talking talking, not just nodding your head and pretending to follow along. You told him about your day, you told him how you were feeling, you commentated on TV shows together. Your unanticipated stay in the NICU was turning out to feel a lot more like a dream than a nightmare, and as such, he was almost reluctant to see it end.

But time marches on, as it always does. Part of him worried you’d go right back to being difficult once you were home and the novelty of new parenthood wore off. Part of him wanted to trust that you wouldn’t, because you truly understood everything now. Didn’t you?

The final week of Charlotte’s monitoring was dwindling down, and now that he wasn’t so preoccupied with worrying himself sick about you both, he couldn’t stop thinking about what you said to him before you went into labor.

‘Daddy, I have to tell you something.’

Whatever it was, you never told him. In the chaos of everything that happened right after, he almost forgot you even mentioned it, but it’d just been gnawing at him since the dust settled.

Leon wasn’t sure how to approach this with you. Talking about it clearly distressed you last time, even though you brought it up on your own, and he didn’t want to risk setting you off, but the intensity of emotion it brought was undoubtedly indicative of its importance. By principle, you should tell him if there’s anything he needs to know, right?

Maybe it wasn’t all that important. Maybe your reaction at the time was just a product of your condition, the hormones and anxiety, and maybe you hadn’t even thought about it since that night. Maybe it really wasn’t a big deal.

So why had it been so obviously eating you alive during the final leg of your pregnancy?

“Baby?” Leon asked quietly, tilting his head to look at you. It was three in the morning and you were laying in bed together after Charlotte finally fell back asleep for the millionth time, partly trying to get some more rest and partly preparing yourselves to have to get up again at any moment. But it was peaceful, and he hoped that would mean you were calm and comfortable enough to have this conversation.

Humming in acknowledgment, your eyes met his. He had his arm around you, thumb caressing you at the waist, your cheek against his chest. It was now or never.

“I’ve just been thinking lately… the night Lottie was born, you said you had something to tell me,” he began, pouring all his effort into coming off as non-threatening as possible, careful not to spook you. “The little lady interrupted you and I never got to hear what it was. Do you remember, sweetheart?”

At first you couldn’t move, completely paralyzed in his arms. Your initial inclination was to panic, of course, but for once in your life, the nerves weren’t manifesting like they probably should have been.

Or, rather, like they definitely should have been.

You resumed breathing, biting your lip while you tried to organize your thoughts and come to a decision. It would be a tough shot to lie right now, you knew that, and while you would have usually tried to come up with a convoluted way to worm yourself out of this, for some reason, you didn’t even really feel the need to right now. Leon had been in a great mood. You were pretty sure he hadn’t stopped smiling since Charlotte was born, and even leading up to her birth, he had been acting so gentle and loving with you.

But you still needed to cover your bases if you were going to be honest with him.

“Do you remember saying that whatever it is, we’ll handle it? That I wouldn’t be in trouble?”

Uh oh, Leon thought to himself, but didn’t dare let it show on his expression. That’s not a great start.

“I do,” he nodded encouragingly, “and that still stands.”

All you had was his word, and that was going to have to do, wasn’t it? Taking a deep breath, you tightened your arms around his middle as if preemptively pleading for mercy, and then you quietly admitted, “I-I broke the rules while you were away on that mission.”

He figured as much while speculating on what it might have been, so this didn’t really floor him too much yet. “Okay. What rules did you break?”

You hesitated for a beat, looking away to collect your thoughts and then back again, hoping he could see the guilt in your eyes, the regret.

“I went outside,” you whispered, feeling an awkward and unpleasant heat burning at your ears— shame. “I-I went on a walk, a long walk, and…”

Now it was Leon who wasn’t breathing. “And?”

“And I tried to get h-help.”

There it was. You tried to get help. Help. As if you needed any fucking help when you had Leon.

But then again, he thought, she didn’t have me. I wasn’t there.

His bottom lip quivered until he bit it back, stooping his head down to bury his face in your hair, hiding, both arms holding you tightly to him. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He thought he was prepared for anything you might have to confess, but this… this was devastating. This felt awful.

“God fucking damn it, puppy,” he wept, “what were you thinking?”

The realization that he was crying made you tear up too. He wasn’t angry, he was anguished.

“I-I’m sorry… I know, I’m sorry—”

“Did anything happen? Did anyone see you? Did anyone touch you?”

“No, no, n-nothing happened, no one touched me, I promise—”

“Don’t you ever do that shit again,” he sobbed weakly into the crown of your hair, clutching you to him like you’d fall apart if he let go, or perhaps like he would fall apart. “Do you hear me?”

You just nodded, stifling your cries with a hand over your mouth to keep from waking the baby. She was sleeping so peacefully in the crib a mere few feet away.

“I hear you, I hear you, I promise I won’t ever do it again… it was freezing and I was so scared, I… I couldn’t get home fast enough…”

Home. Was that what it was to you now?

“Good,” Leon said firmly, but not apathetically, sighing out a deep, shaky breath. “You don’t just have yourself to worry about anymore.”

You and Leon were practically tangled with one another, stuck together like glue as you desperately tried to soothe each other. Silence fell around you again.

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nocturnalcharm · 8 months ago

Text

Taking Care of You (Dame Aylin x Fem!Tav x Isobel)

𐙚 prompt: (Act 2 Spoilers*) After Dame Aylin kills Lorroakan, Isobel and Tav take care of her. 𐙚 cw: poly relationship?, normal bg3 violence, 𐙚 a/n: smut will be in part 2! i haven’t had a lot of time to write so i wanted to get something out there! thank u for ur patience

18+ blog!! you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any of the above makes you uncomfortable, do not proceed.

“Aylin!” You rushed back to camp, headed straight for Isobel and Aylin.

While they were resting, you and some others went out to explore Baldur’s Gate while you had the chance. You wanted to do some shopping, stocking up on potions and such, when you found a big store called ‘Sorcerous Sundries’.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Aylin immediately looked worried.

You could tell by her voice how anxious she was due to your tone and frazzled nature. You didn’t want her or Isobel to get too upset by what you had to say, so you tried to calm down before continuing. “I was at this store, and there was this wizard named Lorroakan. Um... Do you know him?”

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” She rushed over to you, grabbing your hands, giving your body a onceover, checking you for injuries.

“No. He, um.. He said he knows you.” They both could tell that there was more than you were letting on.

“Sweetheart.” Isobel said, seriously. “What do you mean?”

“He wants to.. trap you.” You turn to Aylin. “Trap the Nightsong. And use your powers to keep himself immortal.. We need to stay clear of his shop.”

“Stay away? Dame Aylin will do more than stay away!” She turns, grabbing her glaive. Her wings spread, perked up at the thought of a fight.

“We will kill him!” Isobel's voice growls.

“No!” Aylin interjects. “No. I will kill him. You two will stay here. I will not have either of you getting injured.”

“No, please, let’s just ignore him! I didn’t tell you this so you would go kill him. I told you so we could be sure to stay away from him.” You cried out. “He is crazy! If he knows where you are, or if you fight him and lose—”

Aylin grabs your shoulders. Her eyes meet yours. “I will not fail. You two will stay here, and I will go with the others.”

You look over at Isobel, trying to decipher what she thinks. She looks defeated, knowing that Aylin won’t stand down.

“But what if—” You try again.

“Love, I will not fail.”

You paused, waiting to see if she’d change her mind, but to no avail. “Fine. Just.. please be safe.”

“Please.” Isobel emphasizes, handing her helmet over.

Aylin kisses you, then Isobel, before sliding her helmet on and disappearing from camp.

***

Hours later, the party still hadn’t returned. The sky went from a baby blue, to a dark midnight, only worrying you and Isobel more.

“I hate this.” Isobel rants, pacing around the camp. “It’s been hours and we don’t know if she’s okay. If any of them are okay!”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” You picked at your fingers, nervously.

“Don't blame yourself, Sweetheart. You’re not the evil, psychotic wizard after the one we love.” She tries to joke, attempting to lighten the mood.

Just as she does, you hear rustling in the woods behind you. “Aylin!” You call out, hopeful.

“Yes.” She finally comes into view from the campfire at your feet. You and Isobel rush over to her, embracing her in a tight hug.

“Are you okay? Are you injured?” It was your turn to check her for wounds. “You’re bleeding.”

“No, my love. It’s not my blood. It’s his.” Her voice was… off.

“Is he dead?” Isobel asks, wearily.

Aylin nods. She walks over to a log, sitting on it, staring at the campfire in a daze.

“Are you okay?” You question, and she stays silent.

“Sweetheart?” Isobel places a hand on her shoulder, and again, she is quiet, unmoving.

You and Isobel look at each other, brows furrowed in anxiety. “Don’t worry.” She finally speaks up again. “We’ll take care of you.”

She walks over to your tent, grabbing a healing potion and making her drink it until it was gone. You also stroll to the tent, grabbing some water and fruit to help her settle her stomach, that was probably in knots.

Aylin downs the health potion in one go, followed by the water, then takes a few bites from an apple. While she eats, you and Isobel rub her back gently, and stroke her hair, just wanting her to know you two are here for her. She normally didn’t act like this after a fight; It was odd. She didn’t seem to have any physical injuries at all, so the only conclusion was that the fight hurt her mentally.

You were unsure of how to comfort her, as that was never a strong suit of yours. You let Isobel take the lead, and you followed her actions. Isobel could tell you feel guilty, as if this was your fault, but it wasn’t. And that’s not what mattered right now. This was about Aylin, and you couldn’t let your self-pitying get in the way of taking care of the one you love.

“Why don’t we go to the lake? The water is warm, it’ll ease your muscles and help you relax. You can clean up, get that blood off of you” Isobel offered.

“That sounds nice.” Aylin finally spoke up.

You quickly grabbed three sets of camp clothes, and a few other things you thought you might need, and headed out to the lake. It was secluded, with only one entrance to the water. Other than that, the edges were covered with tall trees, dripped in vines and moss, and berry bushes. You knew you wouldn’t be bothered by others.

Once you arrived, Isobel started to help Aylin undress, removing her armor for her. She handed the pieces off to you, and you gently set them down on a tree stump a few feet away.

Once she was bare, you and Isobel also undressed. With one of you on each side, you took her hands and walked with her into the lake. As you sunk deeper into the water, you could feel Aylin’s body ease in the tepid water.

After minutes of silence, just filled with the sound of water and rustling trees, you finally asked Aylin if she wanted to talk about what happened.

“No. I’m fine. I just feel… different. I should be happy, killing a man who wanted to imprison the Nightsong yet again, but I’m not happy. At least, I don’t think I am. I feel numb.”

“You might be in shock.” Isobel suggests.

“I’m sure that’s what it is. After a bit of time, this feeling will go away and I’ll be back to normal.”

You rubbed her arms, in a comforting way, but also in an attempt to rid her body of Lorroakan’s blood. Isobel left the lake, only to return with an empty bottle. She filled it with water and poured it down the back of Aylin’s head, to wash away the red stains that were in her blonde hair.

Aylin had a slight smile across her face now, since she was safe with the women she loved; Her smile looked quite genuine. “I’m ready to head back, now.”

Once you were all back to the tent, dried off and cozy, you offered to give Aylin a massage to relax her even further, and she accepted. While you kneaded her aching limbs, Aylin let soft moans slip through her lips. Piquing your interest, you massaged her body deeper, wanting to draw out the moans even more.

Aylin laughed slightly, “You’re doing that on purpose, now. Aren't you?”

You smiled, “I just like to hear you. It lets me know you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I can enjoy myself in other ways, too.” She winked.

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