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dior-luxury · 3 months ago

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How'd They Propose To You

PT.1 [trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver] PT.2 [cater . ruggie . floyd . kailm . vil . rook . idia . lilia . sebek]

( ✧ ) ────── fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver

- [𝐩:𝐬] Emotional Intimacy / Fluff . Marriage Proposal . Mentions of Future (e.g., family, dreams) . Slight Angst (Epel’s insecurities, Silver’s loneliness)

Note: I wrote these with lots of love and character insight — Epel’s countryside roots and yearning to be seen, and Silver’s desire for peace and purpose are central to their proposals. I hope this gives you warm fuzzy feelings 💕 Let me know if you'd like versions with other characters ! ♡( ◡‿◡ )

Trey Clover

It started with a letter.

You found it tucked inside your baking apron one quiet Saturday morning—a soft cream envelope, the Clover family seal pressed neatly in wax. The handwriting was unmistakably Trey’s: neat, deliberate, comforting. Inside was a note asking you to meet him at the Heartslabyul greenhouse at sunset.

The walk there was quiet, peaceful. Spring had arrived in full bloom. The air was sweet with budding roses and the earthy perfume of garden herbs. As you stepped into the greenhouse, the world seemed to pause.

It had been transformed.

Fairy lights twinkled through ivy-draped arches. Rows of potted clovers shimmered with droplets of dew, and glass jars glowed softly with fireflies. At the center stood a small round table, covered with a hand-stitched tablecloth embroidered with the Queen’s roses. A three-tiered cake sat on a stand, iced in white and green, decorated with edible flowers and delicate gold lettering.

You blinked. The letters read:

“Every chapter sweeter than the last.”

And then you heard his voice.

“Hey,” Trey said, stepping from behind a row of flowering bushes, dressed in a crisp button-up and vest, tie slightly loosened, eyes warm. “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

You smiled as he approached, his hands gently reaching for yours. He kissed your knuckles like he always did when words weren’t enough.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, voice quieter now, the weight of emotion in every word. “Ever since we baked our first cake together. Ever since you fell asleep in the library with flour in your hair and your smile still somehow sweeter than anything I could put in an oven.”

You laughed softly, eyes brimming.

Trey took a deep breath, pulling something from his pocket—a small velvet box, the color of forest leaves.

“I know life isn’t always going to be sugar and frosting,” he said. “There’ll be bitter days, tough bakes, and cracked crusts. But if I’m going to face any of that—burnt edges and all—I want it to be with you.”

He knelt slowly, the glassy floor reflecting the warmth in his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

Inside the box was a ring shaped like a delicate vine wrapped around a single emerald, shaped like a clover leaf. Handcrafted. No doubt.

You could barely choke out the “yes” through your tears before he was standing again, arms around you, holding you like a man who had finally found home.

Later, you shared the cake. It was a perfect balance of tart raspberry and soft vanilla cream.

Just like Trey. Thoughtful. Grounded. Honest. And head-over-heels in love.

Jack Howl

With Jack, love had been something sacred. Not loud, not overly poetic—but fierce and deeply rooted. He wasn’t a man of flowery words, but everything he did—the way he protected you, respected you, always supported you—spoke volumes.

After finishing school, Jack had become a respected guardian of the Starlight Expanse—a sweeping range of ancient wildlands west of the Savannaclaw territory. He lived in a modest cabin, surrounded by pine trees, riverstones, and silence. And often, you visited, sharing weekends hiking the cliffs, lying under constellations, and sitting by campfires where he’d sneak glances at you like you were something he still couldn’t believe he deserved.

On the anniversary of your relationship, Jack invited you to hike a new path with him—an old trail he'd been restoring himself. It led high up into the mountains, through narrow ridges, blooming wildflowers, and old stone arches carved with symbols of the old tribes.

As dusk fell, you reached a cliff overlooking the vast wildlands. The stars began to prick the sky, and the moon rose—huge, luminous, casting a silver sheen over everything.

Jack turned to you, looking breathtaking in the moonlight. His hair fluttered with the wind, his tail stilling behind him.

“I always thought I was meant to walk alone,” he said, voice deep and honest. “Wolves don’t… usually need packs like others do. I was okay with solitude. But then I met you. And suddenly... it wasn’t enough anymore. Every mountain felt lonelier without you by my side.”

You stepped closer, heart pounding.

“I wanted to bring you here because this is where I made my decision,” he said, kneeling in the grass. From a small leather pouch around his neck, he retrieved a ring—hand-forged from stone and silver, with a single small diamond embedded in its center.

“It’s not fancy. It’s not perfect. But it’s strong. Like my feelings for you. I don’t want a ceremony or attention—I just want you. Always. Will you be my mate, for life?”

Tears slid silently down your cheeks. Jack’s hands were warm as he took yours, and his eyes—usually so intense—were soft, vulnerable.

You knelt with him, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes,” you whispered.

He exhaled, tail flicking once with relief, then pulled you into a tight, protective embrace—one that said “home” more than any place ever had.

And above, the stars bore witness, as the wild and the heart became one.

Jade Leech

With Jade, your relationship was anything but ordinary. From the beginning, he had been a puzzle wrapped in a smile—dangerous in his elegance, but mesmerizing. Over time, behind his teasing words and cryptic looks, you found a man who was curious about love, who had never quite known how tender a connection could feel until you came into his life.

After graduation, Jade returned to the Coral Sea, taking on a diplomatic role that let him travel between land and ocean. He’d often bring you rare mushrooms from distant forests, small ocean treasures, and letters written in his perfect, flowing script—always sealed with wax, always smelling faintly of salt and ink.

One day, he invited you on a private excursion—“an adventure,” he called it, voice light and playful. He guided you to a secluded sea cave he’d discovered, hidden behind a curtain of kelp off the southern coast. The tide was low when you arrived, and as the sunlight filtered through the surface, the cave glimmered like a cathedral carved by the ocean itself. Bioluminescent moss clung to the rocks, glowing faintly blue, and tide pools sparkled with tiny sea creatures.

Jade turned to you, hands behind his back, smiling just slightly.

“You once told me you wanted to see the place where I felt most like myself,” he said. “This is it. This place is both wild and calm… like you make me feel.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by the beauty—and the fact that he’d remembered such a small, passing thing.

He led you deeper into the cave, to a small flat rock that overlooked an underground pool glowing with a soft, enchanted light. There, nestled in a tide-smoothed shell, was a ring: a unique band shaped from coral and white gold, with a pearl set in its center—glimmering with the faintest swirl of blue, like moonlight trapped in water.

Jade took your hand gently, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.

“I’ve watched the tides change, the reefs grow and crumble, the land erode and form again… And still, I’ve never seen anything so constant as the way I feel when I look at you. Curious. Grounded. At peace.”

He dropped to one knee on the glistening cave floor.

“I don’t pretend to be simple, and I cannot promise calm waters every day. But I can promise loyalty, wonder, and a love as deep and eternal as the sea. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered yes.

He kissed your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger as waves echoed softly in the background. Then he stood, pulling you into a slow, wordless embrace as the ocean whispered around you, forever holding the secret of the moment it witnessed two souls choosing each other.

Jamil Viper

Falling for Jamil was like watching a guarded temple open its doors to you alone.

He was a man who had always lived in someone else’s shadow, who had learned to survive by hiding—his talents, his feelings, his dreams. But with you… he had finally started living for himself. And slowly, impossibly, he had allowed love to bloom—quietly, steadily, like a candle that refused to be extinguished no matter how many times the wind tried.

After years of study and work, Jamil had become a renowned performer and choreographer across the Scalding Sands and beyond. He was known for his breathtaking dance performances, his fire magic, and his unspoken magnetism. But despite the crowds and praise, he always made time for you—stealing away into the desert, where the stars were so thick they felt like they might fall.

One evening, Jamil asked you to accompany him to a rooftop performance in a palace overlooking the oasis. You assumed it was one of his shows, but when you arrived, the space was empty—just open air, flowing curtains, and a circle of candles laid out in a ring of red and gold petals. A lone tabla played softly from somewhere unseen.

“Jamil…?” you asked, bewildered.

He stepped into the candlelit ring wearing his traditional red and black, but tonight, his expression was more vulnerable than you had ever seen. No mask. No tension.

“I choreographed something,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “Just for you. And me.”

Then, without further word, he began to dance.

It was a solo piece of story and soul—a blend of fire and emotion. His movements told the tale of a boy trapped in chains of duty, eyes always cast down… until a figure of light walked into his life. His steps became bolder, freer, as if each moment with you was releasing him, piece by piece. And at the end, as the final flame circled him, he dropped to one knee, his hand extended to you.

In his palm sat a ring—ornate and beautiful, inlaid with rubies and obsidian, shaped like a coiled serpent guarding a heart.

“I never imagined someone would love all of me,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Not just the dancer, not just the servant or the schemer. Me. And now that I’ve felt that love… I can’t go back.”

He looked up, his dark eyes glimmering with a fire only you had ever truly seen.

“I want to build a future not in someone else’s shadow… but in our own light. With you. Will you marry me?”

You fell to your knees before him, nodding through your tears. He reached for you, holding you close as music, fire, and moonlight danced around your entwined forms.

The desert winds whispered over the rooftop, carrying the beginning of your shared forever across the sands.

Epel Felmier

It was springtime in Harveston, and the apple trees were in full bloom.

The countryside stretched out in a watercolor of soft pink petals, dew-frosted green grass, and gentle sunshine. You had come with Epel to visit his family for the season — partly for the festival, partly for a bit of a break from the whirlwind of NRC. Epel had insisted on showing you his "secret spot," a place hidden at the edge of his family’s orchard where the trees grew in wild, enchanted arches.

He led you there barefoot, the grass cool underfoot, laughing at the way your fingers intertwined. He looked so at peace here — freckles glowing, violet eyes warm like dusk skies, his country drawl a soft hum as he told you stories about when he used to climb these trees as a boy.

But today, something was different.

“I gotta confess something,” he said suddenly, his voice a little hoarse. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’ve been wantin’ to ask ya somethin’... for a long while now.”

Before you could respond, he pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief from his coat. He unwrapped it slowly: a ring made of braided silver and rose gold, shaped like twisted vines, holding a pale lavender gem — the exact color of his eyes. Handmade, by the local artisan. With love. With care.

Epel dropped to one knee in the soft grass, right beneath the blooming apple trees.

“I know I ain’t always perfect. I get worked up tryin’ to prove myself, ‘specially around people who don’t think I’m strong just ‘cause of how I look. But you... you see me. The real me. You’ve always made me feel like I ain’t gotta try so hard just to be loved.”

The petals were falling around you both like snow.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Laughin’ with you, growin’ with you, maybe even raisin’ a family out here someday, in a house by this orchard. Will ya marry me?”

His voice cracked slightly on the last line, and his hand trembled just enough to betray how hard he was trying to be composed.

You said yes. Of course you did.

And as you kissed him under a sky of blossoms and sunlight, he whispered against your lips, “I’ll love you ‘til the apples stop growin’, and even after that.”

Silver

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the forest in golds and violets.

Silver had taken you to a quiet glade near the edge of Briar Valley — a place that few people knew about, where the trees whispered in ancient tongues and the breeze always seemed to hum lullabies. He had told you it was where he used to go to clear his mind, to think, to dream.

You both sat together on a blanket beneath a canopy of willow trees, surrounded by flickering fae lights that blinked in and out of existence like stars caught between realities.

“Do you know what I used to dream about before I met you?” he asked, voice low and soft, brushing a strand of your hair from your face.

You looked up into those calm, silvery eyes. “Tell me.”

“I dreamed of peace. Of stillness. Of finding a place — or a person — where I could let go. Where I didn’t have to always be ready to protect or to run. I thought it was just a fantasy. But then I met you.”

He took a small wooden box from his side — carved with delicate forest motifs, glowing faintly with magic. Inside, nestled in velvet moss, was a ring of moonstone and silver filigree, shaped like blooming lilies and crescent moons. Ancient enchantments laced it: protection, clarity, love everlasting.

Silver knelt, but not awkwardly or with nerves. No — he knelt with reverence, like a knight before a queen.

“I’ve spent my life dreaming with my eyes closed. But with you... I dream while I’m awake. You’re my dawn after centuries of night. Will you marry me, and walk through all the dreams and waking days to come — with me?”

You felt tears rise unbidden, your heart aching with the beauty of it. The way he looked at you — steady, unshakable, serene — it was like every fairytale you had ever read but more real, more raw.

When you said yes, he smiled — that quiet, rare smile he saved only for you.

Then he held you in his arms as the stars lit one by one, and you knew — truly knew — that you were his peace, and he was yours.

⟡ tag list : @dreaming-of-tae @chai-yas @yunar1 @fever-en @sol3chu @alastor-simp

#𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐑-𝐋𝐔𝐗𝐔𝐑𝐘 #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland headcanons #trey clover x reader #jack howl x reader #jade leech x reader #jamil viper x reader #epel felmier x reader #silver vanrouge x reader #twst silver x reader

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alexthetrashyracoon · 1 year ago

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Simon wants to marry you.

This fact was as clear as rain on his mind. You were the love of his life, he was ready to settle down with you and grow old.

So Simon prepared everything for that special day, it was your fourth year anniversary and Simon wants to ask you the biggest question someone could ask and he hoped, maybe even prayed despite not believing in any higher deity, that you would say 'yes' to his proposal.

He has planned out the whole day, from the moment you woke to the moment you would close your eyes for the night again, everything was supposed to be perfect.

Simon brings you breakfast in bed, watching your smile brighten when you see the freshly pressed orange juice and the fresh buns, still warm from the bakery. "Happy Anniversary." He whispers before slipping back into bed behind you, pulling you between his legs and stealing some of the freshly cut Mango from your plate.

When breakfast is over, you two made a mess out of each other while trying to feed each other, he scoops you up and carries you into the bathroom, telling you to get ready and that he has a lot of plans for today which causes you to become perceptive. Immediately starting to question him about his plans, but he's still a trained soldier, he withstands your flow of questions.

Another plan of Simon for today was bringing you to a fair, the same one you two met four years ago.

Here he wanted to ask you to marry him, on top of the Ferris wheel where you two had been stuck together four years ago due to a technical issue with the electronic.

But after spending a few hours walking the fair ground, having to walk back to his car once to bring Lord Otto from Otterson, the plush Otter he won you at one of the stupid and usually very rigged fair games, to safety and out of the way. You make it to the Ferris wheel and Simon's face fell.

"Out of order..." He breathes and runs a hand through his short blonde hair, staring up at the still standing wheel and the dangling cable cars.

"Damn." You curse softly next to him and scratch your neck. "Well, maybe we can ride it another day, mhm?"

"Yeah, maybe. Well, we can't change anything now." He chuckles and squeezes the velvety box in his back pocket. Keeping it safe until you two would reach the next destination.

The small restaurant by the corner where you two lived was filled with loud voice, happy laughter, children running around, not that Simon minded, he knew you were a very outgoing person and enjoyed the social interactions from such evenings.

Simon had reserved a table a few weeks ago and the waiter brings you and him over, Simon shushing the poor man who just wants to help you sit.

He is your boyfriend, bloody hell, he can do something so simple as helping you get seated.

"I know it is our anniversary, Simon," You chuckle as you put down the glass of wine Simon has ordered for you and him, "But something feels different. I just don't know what. Special..."

"Four years is just a long time, love. Maybe your brain finally catches up with... wha-?" Simon wants to be cheesy with you before asking you the question of all questions when suddenly his feet feel wet and he looks down, seeing water come from the kitchen.

His second attempt of asking for your hand has been sabotaged by a broken water pipe.

Simon curses internally as he carries you back outside, not wanting to get your feet wet and cause you catching some flu.

Well, there is only the romantic walk through the nearby park which is empty around this time of the night, so you two can walk around the pond and watch the fireflies and swans before he can go down on one knee and finally ask.

But before he even get you through the sturdy iron gates that allowed entrance to the park, his phone rang, Prices' number on the screen and everything in Simon screams to ignore his Captain for the sake of your relationship and your future.

He apologizes and takes the call, listening to Price explaining that they've got information about a certain Russian Terrorist planning an attack and that they had to meet within the next hour.

"It's fine." You reassure him when he brings you back to your shared apartment, squeezing his hand with a gentle smile on your lips. "I had a lot of fun today with at my side. And saving the world is much more important. We can celebrate another time, Si."

"You're too forgiving." Simon replies and presses his chapped lips against your forehead. "But it's not fine. I had the whole day planned out. And the universe seems against me at all, bloody hell. All I wanted to do tonight was asking you to marry me. And everything I've tried blew. The Ferris Wheel, the restaurant, even the walk..."

You cut him off before he can talk himself into a frenzy by wrapping your arms around his neck, having to stand on your tiptoes and planting your lips on his.

"Yes." You grin when you pull back. "Yes, I will marry you, Simon Riley. I will marry you."

Maybe he should have simply asked you this morning during breakfast, might have saved him from getting another grey hair on his head. But sometimes the simple answer is hidden behind the complicated ideas.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you #cod x gn!reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 days ago

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The Blackline.

Summary: The Blackline is a sultry and supernatural tale set in 1929 in the hidden quarters of Little Rock’s Black district, where flappers, vice, and hoodoo tangle in velvet-lit shadows. Violet, a timid Gullah Geechee girl with nowhere else to turn, finds herself working in a brothel run by the enigmatic Stack Moore—a pimp with charm, secrets, and a past steeped in sin. But it’s Stack’s older twin, Smoke, who consumes Violet’s thoughts. A war-worn man of few words, Smoke commands the room with silence alone.

Warnings: SMUT (building tension, soft dominance, Virgin!OC)

Part Two

Part One

The air was thick with the smell of mud, gasoline, and tension.

Smoke crouched near the edge of the swamp, one hand resting on the rusted hood of the Ford truck stacked with crates of illegal whiskey. The wood was still damp from its time hidden beneath floorboards in a dry preacher’s shed two counties over. Now, it was headed to a juke in Helena run by a man with gold teeth and too many enemies.

Moonlight shimmered off the bayou. Mosquitoes buzzed. Fireflies gleamed. Cypress trees stood like sentinels in the dark. Stack wasn’t with him this time. He’d taken a different route—diversion. If anyone was watching, they’d trail Stack’s decoy load and leave Smoke to move the real cargo quiet and clean.

He lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, then puffed it out through his nose.

Bootlegging in the Delta wasn’t for loudmouths. It was for men who could ride the edge of blood and silence, and Smoke was the best at it. He wasn’t just muscle. He was methodical, deadly when necessary, and trusted by the wrong kinds of powerful men.

As he drove down the narrow dirt road through the trees, wheels kicking up mud and stones, he kept his pistol close. A sawed-off sat under the seat. A blade tucked behind the brake lever.

By the time he reached the turnoff toward the dock, two headlights appeared behind him.

Too close.

Too fast.

He cursed under his breath, flipped the lights off, and turned into the trees.

An ambush.

They thought they had him cornered. Had him outsmarted. Two trucks boxed him in.

But Smoke didn’t panic.

He reached for the sawed-off, climbed out the side of the cab, and disappeared into the trees like a ghost. By the time the two men stepped out with rifles and cocky grins, Smoke was behind them. He took the first one down clean—barrel to the back of the skull. No sound but the crunch of bone. The second tried to run. Smoke caught him by the collar and shoved the shotgun into his gut.

“You workin’ for Silas ‘Shine’ DuBose?” he asked low.

The man stammered, “We—we just got told to—”

BOOM!

He didn’t let him finish.

Smoke never left loose ends.

He loaded the whiskey back up, blood on his knuckles, sweat dripping from his brow.

When he pulled up to the drop site an hour later, the man with gold teeth handed him a fat envelope.

“You always deliver, young blood. Can always count on you to come through.”

Smoke lit another cigarette.

Didn’t smile.

He spoke to himself, “Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop my route but death. And even then, you better check twice.”

This job would pay for more supplies at The Blackline. It would keep him and Stack in power. And when he walked through the red door the next night, dusty, armed, and silent, he still hadn’t noticed the girl behind the curtain.

But she noticed him.

He’d just come off the job.

Boots still dirty from the swamp road. Hands scabbed from a scuffle. Chest humming with the kind of quiet that followed violence. A calm earned by taking care of unfinished business. The Blackline was warm that night. Velvet air. Laughter soft. Jazz slow. He walked in like always with a cigar in his mouth, hat low, shoulders square, dragging a heat behind him that made men straighten and women stare.

He was headed for his usual booth.

Didn’t glance around. Didn’t speak. Didn’t acknowledge a pretty eye or a pretty smile.

But then…he felt it.

A pull. A tether.

Not sharp, but deep. Low. Like a string tugging at the base of his spine.

He turned his head slow.

And saw her.

She wasn’t working.

Not like the others.

She sat behind a thin curtain, legs tucked under her, body half-shadowed by lamplight. A ribbon tied around her neck. A short slip hugging hips that didn’t move. Hair pinned up loose with curly tendrils falling around her cheeks.

She wasn’t trying to be seen, which made her impossible to look away from. Her skin glowed like candle-warmed honey, and her lips looked soft, untouched and parted slightly when their eyes locked.

Smoke’s removed his cigar from between his full lips slowly.

His whole chest tightened.

He didn’t believe in love at first sight.

Didn’t believe in fairytales or fate.

But something about the girl behind the curtain hit him like a ghost recognizing home.

Violet saw the shift in him.

The pause.

The narrowing of his gaze.

And her breath caught because she could feel it too.

Heat.

Recognition.

Danger.

Need.

Smoke took a step forward.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t smile.

Just stared like she was something he couldn’t name but already missed. And in that moment, under velvet light and saxophone moans, a man like Smoke noticed a girl like Violet, and everything started to unravel.

The Blackline hummed around them with low laughter, glasses clinking, piano weeping under the weight of a blues tune. Smoke had barely stepped inside when Stack appeared at his shoulder, tugging him toward the back, behind the curtain where the light dimmed and the shadows got honest. They stood near the back hallway, a worn fan rattling overhead, paint peeling on the wall.

“Big Brotha. Job go smooth?” Stack asked, lighting a cigarette with one hand, leaning against the doorframe.

Smoke rolled his shoulders, jaw clenched, “Ran into trouble near the canal. Two sent by Shine.”

“That so?”

“Handled.”

Stack nodded, “Figures.”

A pause passed. Long enough for Smoke to glance back through the curtain and towards the floor.

Toward her.

Stack noticed the look but didn’t press it.

Instead, he exhaled smoke slow and said, “Things been movin’ here while you were gone. We took in two new girls. One’s already makin’ her money.”

“…And the other?”

Stack smirked.

“That one,” He jerked his chin toward the soft drape near the corner booth, “Name’s Violet. Gullah blood, I think. Quiet. Real sweet lookin’, but icy. Ain’t opened up to no one. Still got her flower too, far as I can tell.”

Smoke didn’t respond. Just kept staring.

Stack watched his brother’s profile. The way his jaw ticked and his mouth set.

“Ain’t initiated her yet,” Stack added casually, “But I planned to ease her in. Once she soften.”

Smoke’s voice cut in low.

“Don’t.”

Stack arched an eyebrow, “…Don’t?”

Smoke turned to him now, finally, eyes hard.

“Hold off. Not sayin’ I’m stoppin’ you. Just…don’t rush her.”

Stack leaned back slightly, measuring with a mischievous smirk, “You interested?”

Smoke looked away, back toward the drape.

“I just want a feel…she different…and I wanna know why.”

Stack grinned faintly, dragging his cigarette.

“Well, well. Ain’t often you speak first on a girl.”

Smoke didn’t flinch, “I ain’t speakin’. I’m studyin’.”

And with that, he pushed off the wall and walked back into the room, steps slow, eyes never leaving Violet.

It was late now.

That kind of late where everything turns honest. Voices lower, movements looser, touches less disguised. The scent of sweat, bourbon, tobacco, and sex wove through the air like a sensual fog caught in lace. A girl moaned in the back room. Laughter burst at the poker table. A piano crooned something low and tired in the corner.

Smoke hadn’t moved from his booth.

Hadn’t touched his drink in nearly twenty minutes.

Because she was stepping out.

Violet.

For the first time all night, she peeled back the sheer drape and moved out into view.

Not for a man.

Not for money.

Just to breathe.

But even from across the room, Smoke saw it. The way her eyes scanned carefully, the way her shoulders rounded slightly inward, like her body had learned how to make itself smaller when it needed to.

She walked slow.

Barefoot.

In a short silk slip the color of wet bone, the thin straps slipping down the curve of one shoulder, the hem hitting just above the soft part of her thighs.

Her ribbon was still tied.

Smoke’s eyes dragged down her figure—the roundness of her hips, the narrow slope of her waist, the high curve of her small, perky breasts beneath the silk.

But it wasn’t just her body.

It was how she carried it.

Careful. Quiet. Measured.

She wasn’t used to being seen.

Not like that.

And now she was. By him.

He watched the way her fingers brushed her own wrist absentmindedly, a soft nervous tic. The way her chin stayed tilted downward, even though she tried to glance up. The way she paused at the edge of the light, just short of where the men gathered, hovering between the safety of shadows and the threat of being chosen.

And still…

She felt his stare.

He saw it in the way she shifted her weight.

The way her hand lifted to her ribbon like it gave her armor.

Smoke’s jaw clenched.

His cigar burned down to the nub in the ashtray. He sat forward, just slightly, and let his eyes take her in like a man thirsting in the desert.

This girl was untouched.

This girl was hiding.

And this girl had no idea that the man in the shadows had already started claiming pieces of her just by watching.

He didn’t approach.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

And in that stretch of air between them, the room changed.

Everything else faded.

All he could hear was her breath.

All he could see was her legs.

And all he could think about was how she was already in his mouth, in his hands, in his thoughts, and she didn’t even know his name yet.

Violet felt it.

Not like the way men usually looked at her all hungry, obvious, leaning too far forward. This was different.

His gaze didn’t lurch toward her.

It crawled.

Wrapped.

Rooted itself.

And it didn’t let go.

She turned slightly, pretending to adjust her ribbon, pretending not to notice how heavy her breath had become. But her hands trembled against the silk.

Smoke Moore was watching her.

The quiet one. The twin with shadow in his shoulders and heat behind his eyes. The one who hadn’t said a single word to her since she arrived. Not even a hello.

And yet…

He was staring like he knew every secret she was trying to keep.

Her cheeks burned.

Her thighs clenched.

And her skin buzzed like it’d been read.

She couldn’t take it.

Not yet.

She turned slowly and slipped back behind the drape, her posture softer, her steps smaller, her breath caught just behind her lips.

She didn’t look back.

But Smoke…

He never stopped looking.

He waited just waited.

Gave her a minute.

Let her sit in the heat of what just passed between them—no words, no touch, no promises. Just pressure.

Then he stood.

Slowly. Like smoke rising off a fire that didn’t go out when the logs burned down. He adjusted his cuffs, reached for the bottle on the table, and poured two fingers of bourbon. But he didn’t sit again, instead he started walking. Not toward her.

Just…near.

To the bar.

Which just happened to be along the wall beside her curtained corner. His boots echoed soft on the floorboards. His coat moved around his hips like liquid shadow. And every pair of eyes in the room followed him out of instinct.

But Violet?

She felt him coming.

Like a raging storm rolling in.

Her body tensed even behind the curtain. She could feel the way the air changed. How the room shifted around his presence. Smoke stood at the bar, one hand resting on the wood, eyes on the row of bottles like he was deciding what to drink.

But in reality? He was listening to her breath.

Sensing the tremble behind the curtain. Reading the way her silence now said more than any voice in that house. He didn’t speak to her, didn’t look at her. But she could feel the back of his coat inches from the silk veil.

And Smoke?

He was close enough now to smell her skin.

And he didn’t even need to touch.

The music in The Blackline rolled slow and dirty like honeyed drag through a throat full of smoke. Laughter bounced off the walls. Someone moaned behind a closed door. A card game roared to life across the floor.

But Violet couldn’t hear any of it.

All she could hear was his boots near the edge of her world. Smoke was just outside the curtain now, standing at the bar, pouring bourbon like he hadn’t just shaken her to her core. His presence radiated like heat through floorboards, like thunder behind silence.

She sat on the edge of the velvet cushion, hands clasped, her chest rising and falling too fast.

Then…

She leaned forward.

Just slightly.

And slipped two fingers into the edge of the drape, parting it a whisper.

She peeked.

He was there.

So close.

Back turned, coat draped over broad shoulders, shirt tight across a back and chest shaped by violence and long days on the road. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, veins thick across the backs of his hands. His knuckles were scarred. His boots scuffed. His holster dark with wear.

He didn’t fidget.

Didn’t glance around.

He just stood there like the world wasn’t allowed to move without him giving it permission. And yet, there was no tension in him. No vanity.

Only gravity.

A presence that said…

I’ve done worse than you think.

And better than I deserved.

And I’m still standing.

Violet’s lips parted.

Her thighs pressed together.

She didn’t understand it, this pulse that bloomed between her legs just from looking. But she couldn’t stop. She studied the line of his jaw, the angle of his nose, the glint of sweat on the back of his neck. And for a moment, he moved.

Not toward her.

Not away.

Just shifted.

And somehow, she swore he knew. He knew she was watching. And he was letting her.

Violet let the curtain fall.

Her heart was still racing. Her breath shaky.

She tried to sit still again, tucking her legs beneath her and staring at the candle flickering on the table like it might hold the answer to why she suddenly felt like her skin didn’t fit right anymore.

She could still feel him out there.

That man.

That stare.

That heat like a hand around her throat.

The drape shifted again behind her.

And then a voice slid in, low, slow, honey-slick and sharp.

“Mm. So that’s who you watchin’.”

Violet flinched.

Cordelia stepped into the little curtained corner like smoke curling under a door. She smelled like jasmine and rum. Her silk robe was open at the thigh, and her eyes gleamed like a cat that already caught the mouse. She sat without asking, legs crossed, one arm draped over the back of the chair.

Violet tried to say nothing.

But Cordelia smirked.

“Girl, you act like I ain’t seen the way your breath left your body the second he walked by.”

“I wasn’t—” Violet started.

“Don’t lie to me now,” Cordelia said, laughing soft, “You look like somebody plucked your ribbon loose just by lookin’ at you.”

Violet dropped her gaze, cheeks burning.

Cordelia leaned in close.

“Let me tell you somethin’, baby…you ain’t the first girl to sit behind this curtain and melt for a man like Smoke Moore.”

Violet blinked, “what’s his real name?”

Cordelia smiled wider, “mm. Now she wanna know names,” She tapped her nail against the glass on the table, “His name’s Elijah, but we all call him Smoke. The quiet twin. The one who don’t look at much. But when he do look,” she snapped her fingers, “you best believe he seein’ every inch of you.”

Violet shifted in her seat, flustered.

Cordelia leaned closer, voice softer now, “He done killed men with those hands, baby. And still…he touches a woman like she was made of glass. You think a man like that ain’t dangerous?”

Violet swallowed then licked her lips, “I ain’t never had nobody look at me like that.”

Cordelia nodded slowly, “No, you haven’t. And you ain’t ready for what it means when he don’t just look…But comes back.”

She stood then, smoothed her robe, and before slipping out, gave Violet one last glance.

“You better start askin’ yourself one thing, baby girl…Do you wanna be safe? Or do you wanna be seen?”

And with that, Cordelia disappeared into the curtain fold, heels clicking softly.

The curtain was still swaying when Violet sat forward.

Cordelia’s words throbbed in her chest.

Do you wanna be safe?

Or do you wanna be seen?

She didn’t know the answer. But her body moved like it did.She uncrossed her legs slowly and adjusted the tie of her ribbon with quiet grace. Instead of retreating, she shifted closer to the edge of the booth, to the space where the curtain parted just enough to let the world in. And for the first time…She let herself be looked at.

Smoke was back at the bar.

Same place. Same stance.

Only now he turned.

Not fully.

Just enough to lean against the bar with his elbow propped, bourbon in one hand, and his gaze fixed on the sliver of light where Violet now sat, half-shadowed, half-glowing, waiting. He could see her now. Not all of her just the outline. A bare thigh, one strap slipped from her shoulder, the delicate slope of her neck. Her curls had loosened slightly. Her lips were parted, soft and unsure.

But her eyes?

They were different.

Still shy. Still wide.

But no longer retreating.

Now she was inviting.

Smoke’s throat tightened. His grip on the glass flexed. She was sitting still but everything about her screamed movement. The curve of her hip pressed into velvet. The dip of her collarbone catching firelight. Her chest rising in a soft, unsure rhythm.

She hadn’t spoken.

Hadn’t smiled.

Hadn’t even glanced directly at him.

But she was waiting.

For him.

And he felt it like a thread wrapped around his ribs. She wanted to be seen now. Not by everyone.

Just him.

He raised his glass slowly and took a sip, didn’t look away.

And Violet?

She stayed right where she was, trembling, blooming, letting herself be devoured.

No more hiding.

Just heat.

The curtain fell closed again.

She hadn’t moved but everything inside her was shifting. Violet sat still in the quiet hush of the velvet nook, hands resting in her lap, heart drumming like a hummingbird’s wings against her ribs.

She could still feel it.

Him and that gaze and that weight. The pull of it like silk wrapped around her waist, tightening with every glance. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just nerves. It was something older, something deeper. Something unnamed. Her thighs were slick and tense and her lips dry. Her mouth unable to remember how to form a word. She reached for the edge of the table for something to ground her and exhaled slowly, as if trying to breathe the heat out of her blood.

Why’d he look at her like that?

Like she was the last quiet in a room full of noise. Like he could taste her without touching. Like he’d already chosen her and she ain’t even spoke his name.

She closed her eyes.

Violet tried to remember how it felt to be invisible. Tried to remind herself that she wasn’t made for a man like him.

Men like that didn’t look at girls like her.

But he did.

And that look made her body buzz like the string of a plucked violin—tight, thin, and trembling.

She touched the ribbon at her throat, fingers grazing the knot.

Her voice caught.

Her skin burned.

And somewhere behind the curtain, she could still hear the faint clink of a glass. The sound of a man drinking slow, like he had time. Like he had already decided.

What if he speaks to me?

The question rang in her chest like a bell.

And still…she didn’t run.

She smoothed her thighs. Straightened her spine.

Let herself bloom in the dark.

She wasn’t ready.

But she wasn’t hiding anymore.

Violet waited until the noise swelled just enough to carry her movement. A crescendo in the music. A burst of laughter near the bar. The groan of wood shifting beneath dancers’ feet. That’s when Violet rose slow and smooth. A breath exhaled into motion.

She didn’t rush.

Didn’t push back the curtain with drama.

She let it part like the petals of a flower at dusk—quiet and deliberate. And when she stepped out, the silk of her slip whispered against her skin, catching the light in places that made every inch of her look soft and secret.

The room was darker now.

Oil lamps turned low. Smoke coiled above heads like lazy ghosts. The scent of musk, pipe tobacco, sweat, and sweet perfume hung thick.

And there she was.

Barefoot. Ribbon still knotted at her throat. Shoulders bare. Back straight. Face calm but burning.

Smoke saw her immediately.

He was still at the bar, leaning with his drink in hand, but his whole body shifted like gravity itself had tilted in her direction. He didn’t move but his gaze locked on her with the kind of stillness that carried weight like he was memorizing her. Violet walked slowly along the edge of the floor, trailing one hand along the wall, not toward anyone in particular, just out into the open. Her hips swayed gently with the rhythm of the piano. Her thighs brushed, and the hem of her dress floated just above the softest part of them.

She passed two men.

One looked.

One said something.

She didn’t hear it.

Because she could feel him behind her.

That gaze. Heavy as a hand.

She turned ever so slightly and glanced over her shoulder.

Her eyes met Smoke’s.

And there it was again. That low-burning tension between them, thick as sticky glide. A pull. A knowing. And this time, she didn’t look away. Her body stayed open, her lips stayed parted. Violet let him look. Let him feel the weight of the woman she was becoming—the woman who was no longer hiding.

Violet walked past the bar.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t sway too much. She held her chin up just enough to look composed, her fingertips grazing the edge of the wall, the slip of her dress brushing the inside of her thighs. She was trying—trying to own her steps, to hold the quiet fire Cordelia lit in her chest. Her breath still fluttered, but she kept moving.

Behind her…she heard nothing.

But she could feel it.

That weight.

That energy like coiled thunder.

She didn’t have to look back to know he was moving.

Smoke Moore.

He was following.

Not loud.

Not rushed.

Just present. Like the slow drag of stormclouds across a summer sky—you don’t hear it right away, but you know the air’s about to change. She turned the corner near the back hallway, just beyond the glow of the main room. A curtained doorway behind her, a stack of crates ahead. Dim. Quiet. Close. She paused, pretending to smooth the ribbon at her throat.

And that’s when she felt him.

Close.

So close the heat from his chest kissed her back.

And then…

His voice.

Low. Velvet-wrapped gravel.

Southern Smoke.

“…You walk like you tryna convince yourself you ain’t afraid.”

Her breath caught. He didn’t touch her. Not yet. But she could feel him—just inches away, his energy wrapping around her like silk ropes.

“…You that scared of me, baby girl?”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her hands tightened at her sides, the edge of her dress clenched between her fingers.

“No,” she whispered timidly.

He leaned in closer. His heat consuming her from behind. Still not touching. Just air, heat, and hunger.

“…Say that again,” He spoke with a hushed tone.

Her breath hitched. She tried to sound steady.

“…No.”

Smoke exhaled slowly near her ear, his mouth barely a whisper from her skin.

“You tremblin’. I ain’t even laid a hand on you yet.”

She felt a shiver ripple down her spine. Her knees wanted to give. Her voice betrayed her body.

And still…she stayed.

Quiet.

Soft.

Open.

He could smell her now. Skin warm, breath sweet, the faintest scent of fear laced with something deeper.

Want.

“You run now, I’ll let you go,” he murmured, pausing for effect, “But you stay?” He tilted his head dangerously close, “You mine to learn.”

And she stayed.

Trembling.

Timid.

But not moving.

She didn’t dare move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe right.

Smoke was right there with his breath still warming her shoulder, his voice still curling around her spine like smoke through cracks in a door. Her body was betraying her—softening, aching, silently begging.

She didn’t need his hands to feel claimed.

She already did.

But then…

He stepped back.

Just a half-inch or less. And somehow, the loss of him, of his warmth, his weight, his watchfulness, hit her harder than the press of his body ever could have.

She blinked.

Her fingers curled against her thighs.

And then she felt it…

The tension between them stretch like silk soaked in heat.

He hadn’t touched her once. But she felt more bare in that moment than she ever had undressed. He watched her for a breath longer—just watched. Then his voice came, quiet. Steady.

“…You don’t even know what you doin’, do you?”

She shook her head. Slowly.

Smoke hummed, “Didn’t think so.”

Another pause. The air thick between them.

“…But I do.”

And then?

He turned.

Walked away slow. Boots low and heavy on the floor.

Didn’t touch her.

Didn’t speak again.

Just left her standing there in the soft light, alone with the ache he placed between her thighs without ever laying a finger on her.

The room was still.

Only the faint hum of music bleeding through the walls, the occasional moan from the back hallway, the creak of footsteps overhead.

Violet sat alone on her narrow bed behind the curtain, legs curled beneath her, slip still clinging to her thighs like a second skin.

Her breath was slow. But her chest rose too fast.

She could still feel him.

The heat of his body. The gravel of his voice. The way he whispered like he could taste her fear and loved the flavor.

And the worst part?

He hadn’t even touched her.

He didn’t have to.

She slid her hand to her chest.

Just above the ribbon.

Her fingers trembled slightly, tracing the bow. Then lower—over the curve of her breast, down the dip between her ribs.

She thought of his voice in her ear.

You tremblin’. I ain’t even laid a hand on you yet…

A whimper caught in her throat.

She lay back, the pillow cool beneath her, eyes half-lidded.

Her knees parted.

The silk slipped higher.

And with a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her hand slid lower.

Between the heat.

Through the ache.

Right where he left her wanting.

She touched her pussy like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to—soft, tentative, gasping.

But the more she remembered his voice…

But you stay? You mine to learn.

…the deeper her fingers sank.

Violet stroked her clit gently, like she was afraid of what her body would do if she pressed down harder. Her hips twitched faintly. She shut her eyes, drifting back to the way his body felt behind her, a heat so intense. She could hear how soaked her folds are. The sound deafening. Violet opened wider, whimpering. Moaning soft and faint. Barely above a whisper.

She came quickly, shaking, the sound muffled against her wrist as her body clenched and opened around nothing—but the memory of him. When it passed, she lay there breathless, thighs damp, skin burning. He hadn’t touched her.

But Smoke Moore already owned her breath.

The ache between her legs and the exhaustion of her strong climax had Violet slipping into sleep like a drop falling into warm syrup. She was still wet between her thighs. Still flushed from the touch she gave herself.

But what lingered most wasn’t her own fingers.

It was him.

Smoke.

His breath.

His voice.

His presence like thunder waiting to break.

And now…he was in her dream.

She wasn’t sure where she was. The walls didn’t matter. The light was soft and gold. She was bare, thighs parted, laid out like a sacrament on fresh sheets.

And he was standing there.

Smoke Moore.

No coat. No holster. Just skin and shadow and slow breath.

He didn’t say a word. He just stepped forward and stared at her like she was already split open for him.

She felt no fear.

Only ache.

Only longing.

If he had touched me…

He knelt between her legs, eyes locked to hers as his hand grazed her inner thigh.

Not rushed.

Not rough.

Just…inevitable.

“Did you cum thinkin’ about me?” he asked in her dream, voice low as river water.

She couldn’t speak.

He smirked.

“You wet in your sleep. That ain’t just a dream. That’s your body rememberin’ what it never had.”

She gasped when he touched her there—just once—and it was enough to make her cry out.

He didn’t stop. He dragged his tongue along her thigh, slow, teeth grazing her skin. Her hips lifted on instinct.

His voice came again—dark and thick.

“You want me to eat it, baby?”

She nodded.

Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He smiled against her inner thigh.

“Then keep your legs open, and let me feast.”

And when he did?

She broke.

Soft cries. Trembling thighs. A climax that rolled through her like waves licking the shore of some secret island.

She woke gasping.

Sweating.

Empty.

And aching all over again.

Don’t hide from me, girl. I see you. And what’s mine don’t got to shrink…

Come here. Bring all that fear, all that want. Bring it to me. I got you…

Next time you touch yourself thinkin’ ’bout me, you better come find me instead. I wanna see it. Hear it. Taste it…

Violet hadn’t slept much.

The morning light pressed in low through the gauzy curtain, soft gold and dust-flecked. She’d stirred on and off—waking breathless, thighs damp, her dream replaying in vivid, pulsing fragments. Now she sat at the small vanity tucked in the corner of her sleeping space, brushing her hair in slow, gentle strokes.

Her eyes were unfocused.

Her thighs still pressed together.

Her body hummed with memory.

His mouth.

His hands.

That voice—low and knowing—telling her to stay open and let him feast.

She swallowed.

Her ribbon was untied. Hung loose down her chest like a thread of silk she no longer needed to hide behind.

She glanced at herself in the mirror.

Her cheeks were warm. Her lips slightly swollen from biting them in sleep. She looked kissed. Touched. Marked. But it had only been a dream.

And still…

Her body didn’t care.

She picked up a small notebook from the drawer—just pages she sometimes jotted thoughts in when the silence got too loud. She didn’t write much. Just a line.

Her hand trembled as she spelled it:

He hasn’t touched me.

But I feel like I belong to him.

She closed the book softly.

Set it down.

And then went to draw her bath, knees still aching from how hard they had clenched the night before.

The Blackline was quieter in the morning.

But not silent.

The house never slept fully. It shifted. Stretched like a cat in the sun, its sounds softer but still alive. Footsteps on creaking floorboards, water boiling on the stove, a distant radio playing slow Delta blues on the back porch. The sun leaked in through the stained-glass windows—coloring the wooden floors in fragments of amber, rose, and wine.

Curtains hung loose.

Smoke from someone’s cigarette curled lazily through a shaft of light in the parlor. The girls were up and moving—some in robes, hair pinned, faces bare. Others already dressed, painting their mouths red in shared mirrors, laughing soft between swigs of morning bourbon. There was perfume in the air, powder and orange blossom, musky oils, sweat sweetened by heat.

Stockings were hung over chairs to dry.

Heels lined the baseboards like soldiers.

Some girls cleaned their rooms. Others climbed into each other’s beds for warmth or gossip or comfort. Someone was ironing lingerie in the kitchen. Someone else was bent over a basin, washing blood from silk with careful fingers and a hymn on her tongue.

Stack was around, but easy.

He was seated at the long table near the front room, counting money from the weekend, cigar between his teeth. His suspenders hung loose over a rumpled shirt. Every so often, he’d pause, lean back, and scratch the side of his face while listening to the radio.

“We need more rye,” he muttered to no one, “And more ice.”

No one answered.

He didn’t care.

He just kept flipping bills.

Violet moved differently.

Not slower. Not faster.

Just…more aware.

She’d bathed early. Combed her curly hair back into a bun. She wore a soft green slip today, thin at the shoulders, hugging her hips.

Violet didn’t talk much. Just lingered in doorways. Sat near open windows. Swept when asked. Watched.

Always watched.

Her eyes traced the curls of smoke rising from Cordelia’s cigarette…the shape of a dancer’s back as she stretched in the hall…the gold necklace one girl wore backwards so it draped down the small of her back like a secret.

But her thoughts weren’t on the house.

They were on him.

Smoke.

His voice still echoed in her.

His breath still lived in the bend of her neck. Every step she took, every time her thighs brushed together under silk, she remembered.

You mine to learn.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

But she knew what her body remembered as she walked the halls of The Blackline with his gaze still burned into her skin.

Not to long after, Violet was folding linen napkins in the side parlor, the morning light slanting across her bare feet. She didn’t speak much that day. Just moved with her usual softness, her hair pinned loose, her green slip fluttering just above her knees.

Her body still felt tender.

Sensitive in places she didn’t dare touch again just yet.

She’d just finished setting the last napkin down when Cordelia passed by with her robe open, heels clicking, cigarette trailing a ribbon of smoke.

She paused at the archway and looked back at Violet with that same cat-glint smile.

“Smoke’s back from town.”

Violet looked up.

“Oh?”

Cordelia nodded, walking over to the tea tray on the buffet.

“He asked for coffee. But he don’t really drink it. Likes it warm, though. Something bitter in the mouth, sweet in the aftertaste…”

She poured a black cup, added a drizzle of cane syrup, then held it out to Violet.

“You bring it to him.”

Violet’s hands froze.

Cordelia’s smile widened just slightly.

“He’s out back, takin’ off his boots.”

“Why me?” Violet asked softly, eyes lowered.

Cordelia leaned in, voice low and lazy.

“Because he didn’t ask for it from nobody else.”

She pressed the handle of the cup into Violet’s palm.

“Go on. He won’t bite…Not yet.”

Cordelia sauntered off, leaving Violet with a task. A task that left her heart thumping beneath her ribs. She stared down at the cup, then exhaled a rattled breath. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before facing the man that she thought of while playing with her pussy. Dreaming of almost every night since she’d laid eyes on him.

Violet walked down the hall slow, cup trembling slightly in her hand.

Each step felt louder than it should.

The back door was open, light pouring in golden against the floorboards.

She could smell him before she saw him—leather, pine, dust, tobacco. The scent curled around her like haze and made her thighs press together. He was seated on the edge of the porch, shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled up, one boot off, the other halfway unlaced.

He didn’t look up when she approached.

“Heard you comin’,” he said, voice rough from the road.

Violet paused just behind him, heart pounding.

“…Cordelia said you wanted coffee.”

“Mmm.”

She stepped beside him, carefully placing the cup on the small table near his hand.

He finally looked up.

Right at her.

His eyes dragged over her face. Her lips. Her collarbone.

“You bring it ‘cause she asked you to?”

Her breath hitched.

“Yes.” She replied with a small voice.

He reached for the cup, sipped once, then leaned back.

“And you stayin’ now ‘cause she told you to?”

Violet said nothing.

Smoke’s lips curled faintly at the edges, “Didn’t think so.”

He looked out over the trees again.

“You smell like rosewater. That yours?”

She nodded.

“Don’t wear too much of it,” he murmured, “Makes a man wanna follow you ‘til he finds where it’s comin’ from.”

Violet swallowed hard.

“I’ll…I’ll remember that.”

He didn’t look at her again. But his voice was low enough she felt it in her stomach.

“Good girl.”

The words followed her like heat.

Good girl.

Two little syllables—barely more than breath—but they landed like a hand pressed between her thighs.

Violet didn’t reply.

Didn’t dare look at him again.

She turned.

Careful. Quiet. Controlled.

And walked back inside with the empty tray still trembling in her fingers.

Her knees felt soft.

Her core hummed.

The ribbon at her throat suddenly felt like too much and not enough all at once. She moved through the hallway like a girl floating—dazed, raw, skin warm from within. In the mirror of the front parlor, she caught her reflection.

Cheeks flushed.

Eyes wide.

Lips parted.

And she whispered it once—not for anyone else to hear.

“Good girl.”

Her thighs clenched hard.

Her breath hitched.

And she didn’t sit for a long time after that.

Because the ache between her legs was too tender.

Too fresh.

And that voice—his voice—was still buried in her bones.

It was Cordelia again.

Mid-afternoon, warm light spilling through the windows, the house quieter now—girls resting, Stack gone off with a bottle and a deck of cards. Cordelia found Violet in the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

“Smoke’s washin’ up out back,” she said, casual, like she wasn’t smirking behind her cigarette, “He asked for a fresh shirt. You know where the clean ones are. Go on and take it to him.”

Violet didn’t ask why.

She just nodded.

And tried not to let her hands shake when she folded the crisp white fabric over her arm.

Smoke was on the porch again.

Hair freshly slicked, combed back with a deep side part by Stack’s hand, glinting beneath the low sun. He wore only his trousers now—bare from the waist up, his back to her as he dried his hands with a cloth. His skin was the color of wet earth and iron, all tanned deeply from the heat of the South. Broad back, ridged muscle. Scars. One long one across his shoulder blade like he’d been cut once and never talked about it.

He turned when he heard her.

Didn’t speak at first.

Just looked.

“You bring that for me?” he asked, voice thick as velvet syrup

She nodded, holding out the shirt for him to take.

“You wanna help?” he said low.

Not teasing.

Just offering.

She hesitated.

Then stepped closer.

Violet unfolded the shirt in shaking hands. His body radiated heat. He smelled like soap, cedar, and something underneath—raw and masculine and animal. He bent his arms slightly and she slid the fabric over one first, then the other, brushing her fingers along his forearm to pull the sleeve through.

Her hands trembled against his skin.

When she reached up to guide the shirt over his back and onto his shoulders, her palm skimmed the top of his chest.

He was watching her the whole time.

Quiet.

Steady.

Hungry.

“You always this careful,” he murmured, “or is it just me?”

She couldn’t speak.

Her fingers hovered at the buttons.

Smoke leaned forward slightly.

“Start at the top, baby. I like it slow.”

She obeyed.

One button.

Then the next.

Each one closer to his heart.

Violet’s fingers brushed the top button.

The white cotton was still warm from his skin, soft from wear but clinging in places where his chest curved and swelled—solid and unyielding. She pressed the first button through the hole slowly, careful not to tremble too much.

Smoke didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

He just watched her.

His head tilted slightly, eyes locked on her mouth as she worked her way down.

Each button brought her closer to the center of him.

Her knuckles brushed his sternum.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like if he breathed too deep he might lose the self-restraint he wore better than his clothes. By the third button, she could feel the beat of his heart beneath the cotton.

Not fast.

But heavy.

Her hands moved lower, guiding the fabric closed over his ribs, over the slight dip above his navel.

She could feel his heat through it.

Could smell the mix of soap and sweat and skin.

And even though he hadn’t touched her…

She felt him everywhere.

His voice came, low and gritty, just as she reached the last button.

“You always this gentle?”

She didn’t look up.

Didn’t trust herself to.

Her fingers slowed at the last button. Held it there.

“I…I don’t know,” she whispered.

Smoke leaned forward just slightly.

“That mean I’m your first?”

She blinked hard.

Her lips parted.

But her answer—whatever it might’ve been—caught in her throat.

She finished the button.

Pulled her hands away.

Tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

He stared at her.

A full breath.

Two.

Then stepped back.

Not far. Just enough for the air to grow colder between them.

His shirt was buttoned now.

His body clothed.

But the tension?

Still naked.

“You done real careful,” he said finally, “Almost too careful.”

He turned before she could reply. Smoke reached for his hat, smoothed it on top of that slicked-back part, and stepped off the porch.

No touch.

No praise.

No smile.

Just the soft clink of his belt, the low creak of the stairs…

And the sound of Violet’s breath shaking in the absence of everything she wanted.

As Smoke stepped off the porch, the screen door whispered closed behind him. He didn’t light a cigarette right away.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t curse.

He just kept walking—down the back path, past the chicken wire fence, past the empty rain barrel, boots scuffing dirt as if the earth itself needed to feel how tense he was.

His hands flexed at his sides.

Jaw tight.

Chest tight.

He could still feel her fingers—soft, unsure, adoring—moving down his shirt one slow button at a time like she was afraid touching him might make her burn.

Hell, it just about burned him.

Good girl.

He’d said it without thinking.

But the sound of it on his tongue felt too damn natural.

Too right.

He made it to the old toolshed behind the fig tree and leaned against the frame, the wood creaking under the weight of him.

He rolled his neck once.

Twice.

Then finally lit a match.

The tobacco sparked. Smoke curled.

But the fire in his blood?

It didn’t cool.

She didn’t know what she was doing to him.

She couldn’t.

That little ribbon at her throat, the way her lashes fluttered when he spoke, the way her thighs brushed with every step like they ached even when she didn’t move.

She didn’t even smell like the other girls.

She smelled…quiet. Like rosewater and something softer underneath. Something only he’d find if he buried his face deep enough to taste it.

And that tremble in her hands?

God.

He wanted to hold her wrists and make them tremble harder. He wanted to hear what her breath sounded like when it broke. He wanted her on his lap, in his bed, under his weight, whisperin’ his name like a sin she’d learned to love.

But he didn’t touch her.

Because if he did?

I wouldn’t stop. And I ain’t ready to let her see that part of me…Not yet.

He took another drag from the cigarette.

Felt the ache in his dick throb hard beneath his belt. He wouldn’t jerk off. Wouldn’t give himself that release.

Not for her.

Not yet.

He’d wait.

And when she came to him—when she begged?

He’d give her everything he’d been holding back.

And she’d finally understand why he kept walking away.

The next few days passed like molasses poured over flame. The air in The Blackline stayed thick—sweet in the morning, sultry at dusk, dangerous by night.

Smoke and Violet never said much.

But everything between them spoke loud as thunder.

Every morning, she brought him his coffee.

Same way: hot, bitter, with a thread of cane syrup stirred slow.

She never asked if he wanted it.

She just brought it.

And he always took it from her hand, brushing her fingers like an accident he meant.

She watched him when he cleaned his pistols. He’d sit out back with a rag over his lap, gunmetal gleaming, sunlight sliding down the ridges of his forearms. She’d pretend to be folding laundry near the open window—but her eyes always found him.

And Smoke?

He let her watch.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t speak.

Just dragged a slow cloth over the barrel like he was teaching her how he handled things that got out of line. When Stack came by, they sat close at the porch table, talking in low tones over the hiss of liquor being poured into tin cups.

Business.

Bootlegging routes. Threats. Names.

Violet couldn’t hear it all. But she saw how they leaned in close—twin shadows, born from something brutal, bound tighter than blood.

And even then…

Smoke would glance at her.

Every time she passed, every time she walked near.

He noticed.

By nightfall When the house came alive, Violet floated. Soft slip. Ribbon back around her throat. Mouth painted the color of crushed berries.

Men watched her like moths.

Some tried to talk sweet.

Some talked slick.

She smiled. Laughed. Gave lap dances but never let them touch too much.

And always, Smoke watched.

Sometimes from the booth near the back. Sometimes from the bar. Sometimes while he cleaned a blade behind the curtain.

Until one night.

A man—drunk, swollen with coin and frustration—grabbed her arm too tight.

“I done spent two whole nights feedin’ you drinks, girl,” he slurred, spit thick in his throat, “You ain’t gon’ keep teasin’ me like that.”

She pulled back, “let go of me—”

He grabbed harder.

Her ribbon pulled loose.

“Lemme see what I paid for,” he snapped.

Smoke moved like a shadow with teeth.

No warning.

No shout.

Just there—sudden, solid, deadly.

Hand at the man’s collar. Gun drawn. Cold steel pressed against his cheekbone. Violet flinched, stepping back as she watched with wide eyes.

“You touch her again,” Smoke growled, voice like thunder in a cellar, “and I’ma put a hole in your face so clean they’ll bury you in silk.”

The whole room stilled.

Girls froze.

Men backed up.

Even Stack sat up straighter.

The man stammered. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Empty your pockets.”

“What—?”

“Every dollar. Every coin. Give it to her.”

The man looked at Violet.

Then at Smoke.

Then started dumping crumpled bills and coins into Violet’s palm.

Smoke’s voice dropped lower, but heavier. He raised the end of his pistol and cracked the man on the side of the face. Sharp. Bloody.

“You step foot back in this house…I’m killin’ you where you stand.”

Then he shoved him back hard—sent him stumbling towards the front by Stack’s bodyguards, half-drunk and humiliated, clutching the side of his face as blood seeped through his fingers. They shoved him out the front door. Left him stumbling into the night with his pride bleeding and Smoke’s threat still ringing in his ears.

The man was officially gone.

And just like that, everyone knew.

Violet wasn’t just pretty.

Wasn’t just new.

She belonged to someone.

Even if he hadn’t said it yet.

The room had started breathing again—slow, nervous, pulsing like something had just been broken and patched back together.

But Violet…she hadn’t moved.

She stood near the back wall, breath shallow, one hand curled around the ribbon at her throat, the other hanging limp at her side.

Smoke stepped toward her.

“You alright?”

His voice was low, but she felt it in her chest like it pushed past her bones.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, then they dropped, dragging slowly down the front of him.

The crisp lines of his buttoned shirt.

The shadow of muscle straining beneath cotton.

The dark holster vest at his chest and the way his gun disappeared into it like it had always belonged there. He shifted his arm and the fabric clung tight across his biceps.

Violet nodded faintly.

But her eyes… they were wide. Glossy. Shaken.

Smoke moved closer.

Suddenly.

His hand came up, rough fingers catching her wrist before she could tuck it behind her back.

She flinched.

“Lemme see,” he murmured.

His thumb pressed into the skin just above her pulse.

There was a faint red mark where the man had grabbed her.

Smoke’s jaw ticked.

That was when Stack stepped in.

“What the hell happened?”

His voice hit the room like a hammer.

He looked between them.

Saw the look on Smoke’s face.

Saw the way Violet’s body shook.

“He hurt her?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Stack turned to Violet, eyes gentler, “You alright, baby girl?”

She nodded. Still quiet.

Stack looked at Smoke again, voice lower. Sharper.

“If we catch that son of a bitch,” He stepped closer, “We kill him. Don’t nobody hurt my girls. You hear me?”

Smoke gave a slow nod.

Stack squeezed Violet’s shoulder and walked off, muttering something to one of the other men.

When they were alone again, Violet looked up.

“…Thank you.”

Her voice cracked.

Her eyes still glossy.

Smoke met her gaze, calm and steady.

“You ain’t got no worry,” he said, “Me and my brother? We’ll kill any man that tries to put hurt on a woman in this house.”

His thumb brushed over the mark on her wrist once more.

Gentle. Intentional.

“That’s a promise.”

Then he let her go.

Turned.

And walked back into the dark—the weight of his words curling in the air like gun smoke.

@theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @slut4smokemoore09 @readingaddict1290 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @theethighpriestess @theegoldenchild @blackpantherismyish @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @girlsneedlovingfanfics @cancerianprincess @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @dashhoney25 @pinkprincessluminary @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @syko-jpg

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #elijah smokes #elijah smoke moore #elias smokes x black!oc #elijah smokes x black!oc #elias stack #elias stack moore #stack sinners #smokestacktwins #smoke sinners #sinnersfanfiction #sinners fic #sinners fanfiction #sinners smut #sinners 2025

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kxsagi · 1 month ago

Note

hiiii !!! can u write smth abt the blue lock ppl seeing their s/o with a chiikawa plushie of them 🌹🌹🌹🌹

“𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬”

a/n: I WOULD KILL FOR A CHIIKAWA ISAGI PLUSH

ughhh thank you to my cousin from japan who introduced me to chiikawas they’re so cute

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro

isagi yoichi

isagi opens the box you hand him and pulls out a soft, palm-sized plush that has his exact hair, comically large blue eyes, and a tiny jersey with a teeny “ISAGI 11” on it.

he blinks. then blinks again. “why do i look like a confused rice ball,” he whispers.

you’re trying so hard not to laugh, but the plush’s little open-mouth expression is too perfect. he looks perpetually shocked, like he just saw someone miss an open goal.

“this is my villain origin story,” he says seriously, holding it up next to his face. “this is how people see me?”

he starts carrying it around the house like it’s a mini-him. sometimes you’ll hear him muttering plays to it like it’s his tactical assistant. “okay, yo-chan, if the defense is in a 4-3-3…”

when you catch him asleep on the couch with it tucked under his chin, you snap a picture. he claims he only fell asleep once. the picture says otherwise.

itoshi rin

“what the hell is this.”

rin is holding it with the most disgusted, betrayed expression you’ve ever seen on a human being. the chiikawa plush version of rin is EMOTIONLESS – straight-line mouth, dull green eyes, arms by its side like it’s judging you.

“i look like i just filed my taxes.”

“you look adorable,” you giggle, poking its little tuft of hair.

“don’t.”

but he doesn’t hand it back either. instead, he sits down, plush still in his hand, staring at it like it just insulted his flow state form.

days later, you find it sitting on top of his protein powder tub, with his game controller facing it, like it’s watching him play.

“is that… your emotional support you?”

he won’t answer. but you spot it in his gym bag the next morning.

kaiser michael

“oh. mein. gott.”

kaiser holds up the chiikawa plush like it’s a sacred relic. “is this my soul in material form?” he asks dramatically. “this is perfection. look at the smirk. the confidence. the tiny BM jacket.”

the plush is grinning like it just scammed people and got away with it. it has kaiser’s blue streaks in his hair, a tiny smirk, and its little hands on its hips.

he immediately posts it on instagram with the caption: “even as a plush, i'm still the most iconic person in the room.”

he makes it his keychain. fans start showing up to games with their own plush-kaisers. you regret everything.

when you try to borrow it one day, he snatches it back.

“no. he only rides with me. he’s my co-pilot. i talk to him when you and ness are being annoying.”

bachira meguru

bachira’s eyes light up like a thousand fireflies the moment he sees it.

“IT’S ME!!!” he screeches, clutching it to his chest. the plush has the biggest smile, wild hair, and stars in its eyes.

“he looks like he’d eat crayons and still be the smartest one in the group,” you comment.

“that’s my spirit animal.”

he makes a tiny hammock for it out of string and hangs it in his room. whenever you come over, you have to “greet mini meguru” or he won’t let you in.

sometimes you’ll see him talking to it like a puppet show.

“hey hey, what should we have for dinner?” mini meguru: stares “ramen? good choice!”

you once caught him trying to tie a string around its hand to make it do a bicycle kick. it ended with him tangled in yarn and the plush on the ceiling fan.

itoshi sae

sae stares at the plush for a full ten seconds, silent. “… what is this slander.”

the chiikawa plush of him has half-lidded eyes, no smile just pursed lips, and arms that look like they gave up on life.

“this is how people see me? do i look like a depressed tamagotchi to you?”

“a little bit,” you admit, cackling.

he rolls his eyes and sets it down… gently. and later that night, it somehow ends up on his pillow.

“it’s not like i like it or anything,” he mutters when you catch him fixing its little plush bangs.

next day, you see it buckled in the passenger seat of his car.

“safety first,” he says, without making eye contact.

shidou ryusei

“OH HELL YEAH.”

he snatches it before you even finish unwrapping it. the chiikawa version of shidou looks like it’s ready to commit crimes. its smile is deranged. hair’s messy. eyes wide. you’re kind of afraid of it.

“look at him. pure chaos. i love him.”

he names it “murder bean.”

he uses it to prank people. leaves it in the fridge. hides it in rin’s locker. you once woke up with it sitting on your chest.

“he’s my son now,” he says proudly.

“he has your bloodthirsty aura,” you admit.

“exactly. little man’s already gotten a red card in my heart.”

he sews it a tiny tattoo sleeve out of sharpie and starts making plush goals so “murder bean” can practice his scissor kicks. someone help him.

mikage reo

“okay but… why is it so CUTE???”

he holds the plush like it’s a baby chick. the chiikawa version of reo is sparkly-eyed, grinning, and has a little plush wallet sewn onto it. it jingles.

“wait, it comes with fake money?”

you nod.

“i’m obsessed,” he declares immediately.

starts calling it “little boss.” keeps it in his blazer pocket like a mob boss with his heir.

“little boss says i should buy you something,” he tells you with a wink.

you roll your eyes, but “little boss” gets you a new phone case.

he makes plush! reo part of all his outfits. sometimes he even poses him next to his new shoes and captions it “we stay dripped.”

nagi seishiro

“eh… that’s too much energy for me.”

nagi squints at the plushie of himself like it just asked him to stand up. the plush is floppy, lazy-eyed, with its mouth in a small ‘o’ like it just yawned.

“… actually, never mind. that’s pretty accurate.”

he starts carrying it around because “if i’m tired, he can nap for me.”

you’ll find him using it as a phone stand. or resting it on his chest like a plush bro. “he gets me,” nagi says.

one time, you ask where it is and he points to the bed. “he’s sleeping in. said he didn’t wanna deal with reo today.”

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drfirefly08 · 7 months ago

Note

wind archer is trying to justify why he has his fellow legendaries' siblings in his hear me out cake

LMAOOOO, not crimson coral and wind archer watching it all happen in the bg 😭

#firefly ask box #firefly mootie things

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goobstars · 1 day ago

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𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

summary : in which jax tells pomni stories about you after ragatha mentions how he didn't have a friend anymore.

tags : angst, implied crushes, she/her pronouns, and censored profanity.

notes : first work on here, i hope you enjoy !!

"not anymore?"

pomi's repeat of what ragatha had said was met with silence as jax only continued to glare at the doll, and ragatha only let out a nervous laugh before hastily walking over to kinger.

"what was that about?"

the words rang out through the quiet hills—seemingly hanging around until an answer was given.

"it doesn't matter...who cares?" jax mumbled as he flopped down on the ground, and he only stared at the digital stares with a frown while pomni tilted her head. it was obvious he was irritated, yet the curiosity of knowing what was behind his annoyance was far too great to push back.

"did...who was your friend?" pomni's question was one jax scoffed at before he looked over at her, and once realizing she was serious, he only rolled his eyes. "[name]."

"huh?"

"that was my friend—[name]." jax's words were quiet while pomni only slightly nodded. something had happened to you, she assumed, for she had never heard that name around here. was it like the thing with kinger's wife? or kaufmo?

"what was [name] like?"

the question was one pomni regretted asking as jax partially glared at the star-filled sky, but after a few seconds, his gaze softened into one that looked like...sadness?

yet, when she blinked, it was like the despair had vanished. maybe she was seeing things.

"she was cool." jax spoke as he slightly itched his chest—his eyes narrowing in a way that made it appear like he was attempting to remember things. "not cooler than me, but she was better than those losers." he gestured to everyone over by the picnic spot, and pomni nodded.

"what made her cool?"

"you're just full of questions, aren't you?" jax sarcstically spoke, yet despite his words, there was no hostility in them, nor did he avoid her question. "[name] didn't just deal with my pranks—she would prank me back. it kept the circus fun, y'know? like one time..."

"F&$#!" the cartoonish sound echoed through the circus—along with your laughter as you heard footsteps erupt from behind you. the person chasing you only got closer as you tried to run quicker, yet you were only met with arms wrapping around your waist before you were picked up from the ground. "I'M SORRY!" "IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT!" you only laughed harder as jax poked your side, and you thrashed around in his grasp. "YOU-YOU STARTED IT! PUTTING CORN IN YOUR ROOM WAS MY REVENGE!" eventually, you squirmed around hard enough to make the both of you fall, and your body hit the floor. despite that, your laughter never stopped, and you could hear jax start to quietly chuckle. "i didn't do anything." "you poured a can of paint on me!" "me?" jax asked as he sat up beside you—placing a hand to his chest while acting offended. "i would never—S@*$!" he let out a scream as you held up a cob of corn in front of him, and you only wheezed as the corn dropped out of your hand.

"you're scared of corn?"

"no—" jax fibbed at pomni's question, and he only ignored her confused expression before continuing. "she also wasn't a crybaby, a lunatic, an a$$&)@%, or someone who always acted like everything was 'sunshine and rainbows'." jax peered over at gangle, ragatha, kinger, and zooble with a slight scowl.

the four were completely unaware of jax's words as they just continued to look at the fireflies around them, and pomni slightly narrowed her eyes as she looked at jax. "then what was [name]?"

jax's shoulders stiffened as his eyes dropped to the ground, and his pupils went wide while he fell silent.

what were you?

"okay, okay—" you spoke as you sat up from your bed, and jax only tilted his head at you as he rested beside you. "if caine ever used the suggestion box, what adventure would you want to go on?" "if you're going to ask me questions, give me a hard one." you only lightly smacked jax's arm at his attitude, and he only grinned at you before leaning against your pillows. "probably one with poaching. as long as i get to shoot stuff, i don't care." "of course you'd want to shoot stuff." your words only made jax place a hand against his chest, "what's that supposed to mean?" you only shrugged at him with a smile, and in result, he grasped your arm before forcing you back down. laughter rang out in your room as jax flipped you to be below him—one of his hands holding your wrists as he poked your side. "what do you mean by that, [name]?" "JAX!" you shifted around as your laughter only grew, and he stopped after a few seconds before resting both of his hands beside your head. he looked down at you with a grin, "anyways, what adventure would you want to go on? some lame library or something?" you went quiet for a moment as you hummed in thought, and a smile slowly started to cross your face. "i'd want to go stargazing." "LAME!" jax poked your side again, and you only smacked his shoulder before wrapping your legs around his waist. you flipped him over, to his surprise, and you teasingly smiled down at him. "says the one that just wants to shoot stuff. i bet you don't even know how to work a gun." as you talked, you were oblivious to the slight flush that appeared on jax's face, and the grin on his face never faltered. "oh, yeah? i'll prove you wrong." "i'd like to see that happen, jax."

your teasing words chimed in his head before pomni spoke up, "jax?"

"i don't know," jax answered before shrugging, "it doesn't matter."

"jax—" pomni attempted to continue the conversation, but jax only sat up from his spot on the grass before a lazy grin crossed his face. "anyways, let's forget ragatha even mentioned that because she's dumb and she looks weird."

a slight smile crossed pomni's face, "i think we all look weird..."

the conversation continued with jax informing pomni about how he was peak masculinity, but in the back of his mind, he kept her question in thought. what were you to him?

everything.

the grin on jax's face only grew at the thought.

that word worked for him.

#𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑��#the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #tadc #tadc x reader #jax #jax x reader #jax x you #x reader #x you #angst

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marvelwitchergilmore · 7 months ago

Text

Family Tree

Summary: Joel Miller x Fe!Reader -> Joel is there for you when you give birth. In more ways than one.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, descriptions of giving birth, swearing, Joel and Reader had a one night stand. Joel being a dad to Ellie and your baby. Shirtless Joel Miller. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the millionth time, you groaned.

Your knuckles had turned completely white as you gripped onto the door frame between your room and your bathroom.

Another contraction washed across your stomach and back once more. “Fuuuck.”

All you could do was breathe through it. And groan. How come nobody had told you childbirth would be this painful?

If Tommy didn’t hurry up soon, you might finally shoot him like you’d promised to do when you first met him.

Maybe you should have threatened to shoot Joel instead. Then you wouldn’t be in so much pain.

You could still remember when you met them, as if it was yesterday. You’d been working with the fireflies for a while. It was either them or Fedra, so…you took your chances. You’d been waiting in a building just outside of Boston waiting on two people Marlene had told you about over the radio. They’d pay you for your supplies.

Only, they got there a day late. So, as you were roaming the building for the fortieth time, you’d heard a noise. Then a male voice. One thing led to another and you ended up threatening them, stepping out as they passed you completely.

At the time, you hadn’t realised who they were. But they were definitely brothers. Same look. And you knew who was older. No man had that look in his eye if he wasn’t the asshole older brother, just trying to look out for his baby bro.

Of course, after the younger one with his hands up finally blurted out who they were, you fact checked them before lowering your weapon.

“Maybe ask us who we are before you put a gun on us.”

“Next time, don’t be late.” You told the older brother, Joel, before you walked away and picked up the supply box and dropped it at their feet.

And somewhere between then and now, you and Joel had had one too many drinks after a day of patrolling which led to a slightly regrettable, although never forgettable, one night stand.

And since that night, things had changed a lot more, too.

By the time you found out you were pregnant, you were too far along to even have a semi-safe abortion. So, you made a choice. One you never wanted to have to make because for you, no child should have to be forced into a world where they would never be safe. Even in Jackson, people could still get hurt.

And if anything happened to you, or Joel…they’d be left alone in a world without protection. At least, the kind of protection you and Joel would provide.

Joel had never run faster in his life. The moment Tommy had come running towards the back plot of land with a look on his face like he was about to pass out, Joel knew something was wrong.

“It’s Y/n…she’s…”

“Y/n? Is she okay? Tommy!” His little brother looked back at him. “Is she okay?!”

Joel couldn’t lie. Something had changed since that drunken night together. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what had changed but he’d consider going from still holding a grudge from when you nearly shot him and Tommy, to wanting to do the same to any other man who even dared to look in your direction, a change.

His nights had gone from being alone whilst his daughter slept, for the first time in her life, peacefully down the hallway to having you by his side, and Ellie having an actual family. Maybe you weren’t her mom, but you were the closest thing she had to one.

“She- she’s fine. It’s just-”

“Just what? Tommy! Tell me.”

“She’s in labour.”

One look towards the clear path and Joel took off like a shot. The hinges nearly came off the door as he burst inside, calling out your name. He heard you let out a deep groan of pain.

“Up here!”

Taking the stairs two at a time, he finally made his way into the bedroom. You’d made it from the door to the dresser by the wall, hunched over, a hand on your belly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Hey, hey, you okay? Y/n, look at me.”

You swatted his hands away and he stood still. “I’m fine, just pushing a watermelon out of my vagina.” Another contraction. They kept getting closer.

“I’ll go and get some towel-”

As Joel turned to leave down the hall, you shook your head quickly and reached out for him. “No, no, no. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

Holding onto his hand, you squeezed it tight. He smiled and stepped closer towards you.

“We need to get you to the bed. How far apart are your contractions?”

“Uhhh,” you kept your eyes shut and swayed on the spot. If you could have ran away from your contractions, you would have done. “Maybe, like, seven-ish minutes. I don’t know. Just as one stops, I feel like I can’t recover in time.”

Joel nodded. “Okay. Think you can walk?”

You hummed as you nodded. “But quickly.”

“Okay.”

Joel tried his best to get you over to the bed as quickly as he could and helped you sit down on the edge. “I’m just gonna get some extra towels and things. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

“Okay.” You nodded your head. He’d be less than 10 normal steps away. He wasn’t leaving. But you still called after him. “Joel…”

“Yeah?”

You looked up at him. “I’m really scared.”

Joel read your expression for a moment. A lot of the time you could be harsh, or stand off-ish. That was part of the reason you and him got placed together on the patrol team. Neither of you could really stomach the others. Plus, you knew each other. You had a history.

He leaned forward, a hand in your hair and his other in your own. He kissed your head. “I know, but you’re gonna be okay. I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”

“Okay.” You believed him. You trusted him.

“I’ll be back. Just right down there.” You looked behind you before nodding and squeezing his hand once more. Then some more sets of boots tramped through the house from downstairs. Tommy and Maria.

“Joel?!” Tommy called out for his brother. “Joel? Joel! Thank fuck. We brought what we could.”

“Have you called the doctor?”

“He’s on the other side of town but we’ve sent word.” Maria told him. Joel just nodded a thankyou. “Joel?”

He looked back at his sister-in-law.

“She’ll be okay. This happens to a lot of women. And Y/n is one of the strongest. And so are you. Just be with her and you’ll both be okay.”

For some reason, that eased Joel’s mind a little. The last time he’d been in this position was when Sarah was born, and that was in a hospital surrounded by midwives, doctors and nurses. Not in the middle of the world ending.

Entering back into the room, Tommy and Maria followed. “How are you feeling?”

You laughed. “Like I’m pushing a bowling ball out of my ass.”

Maria laughed. “It’ll be all worth it. You’ll have your baby in your arms before you know it.”

“I don’t know whether to be excited by that or not.” One thing that played on your mind a lot during the sleepless nights was how childbirth would go. The act of actually pushing a human out of your body seemed way more daunting the closer your contractions got.

But you also didn’t want the contractions to continue. They were fucking killing.

“Can I feel? Just to see where the baby’s head is at?” You nodded and Maria started to press around your stomach. “How far apart are your contractions?”

“Seven-ish, ow, minutes.”

“Six.” Joel corrected as he watched another one wash over you.

“Sounds like you’re still early.”

“Early?!”

Maria chuckled a little, remembering having the same reaction the first time she gave birth. “It can take a while, especially for a first time mom.”

You looked at Joel and groaned, “Oh, fuck you. You know, why can’t we just be like seahorses? Give all the pain to the men. We go through everything else.”

“We do. We really, really do. But they wouldn’t be able to handle it. Hell, they can barely handle a cold.”

Joel and Tommy just shared a look; scared and confused if they should be slightly offended.

“What was it like with yours?”

Maria took the time to explain as she crouched in front of you. “With my second, it was a little quicker. A lot more painful, but quicker. But my first? Thankfully I was able to have an epidural so it made it easier for me, but it took a while. I didn’t even know I was in labour for the first few days.”

“Days?!”

Maria chuckled. “Braxton hicks and labour pains kinda feel the same. I’d been so panicked when I had the first lot thinking I was going into early labour that I was too embarrassed to go in again when the second round came through. Turns out they were the real ones though. Have your waters broken?”

You nodded. Then unsure of yourself. “Yes. Well, I think so. In the bathroom.”

Maria stood for a moment and walked into the bathroom, seeing the puddle on the floor. “I kinda just sat on the toilet with the rest.”

Maria nodded and came back. “Yeah, they’ve broken so that should speed things up a little at least. All we can do now is wait. Hopefully the doc gets here before your baby does. You guys thought of a name yet?”

Joel shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I kept changing my mind,” you admitted.

“Well, you guys better hurry. She’ll be here soon.”

You looked from Joel to Maria. “How’d you know it’s gonna be a girl?”

She just shrugged with a content smile. “I’m good at these things.”

“Have you guys at least decided on a last name?” Tommy asked. “I know you guys aren’t exactly together but, maybe we can just go off that?”

Joel looked to you and you looked to Joel.

“Suppose Y/l/n-”

You shook your head and cut him off. “Miller. I want them to have Miller. If that’s alright with you, at least?”

You didn’t fail to notice the look in Joel’s eye as you stood your ground for your baby to take his name. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’d like that.”

You smiled and reached out for his hand just before another contraction shot up and around your back.

“Baby Miller it is, then.” Maria smiled. “We’ll give you two a minute. Get some things ready for you.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at Maria as Joel squatted down to the floor in front of you. Maria just nodded a kind smile before dragging her husband out with her. Finally, you looked back at Joel whose hand was tracing yours.

“If you’re just doing it for me, you don’t have to call her Miller. If you want to give her your last name-”

You shook your head. “I want her to have your name, Joel. Mine isn’t all that important to me anymore. But what is, is her, and Ellie, and you. You’re important to me, Joel. And I want her to know that, too.”

Joel gave a warm, teary-eyed smile before kissing your hand and enclosing it in his own. “Besides, if anything happens to me, at least she’ll have a family. She won’t be alone. I know what it’s like to be alone in this world Joel. I never want that for her.”

Joel shook his head. “Nothing is going to happen to you. And she would have a family anyway. God knows Ellie is gonna protect this kid something fierce.”

You chuckled and leaned forward a little towards him. “She is, isn’t she?”

“I know it’s uncertain between you and me, but I know you mean a lot to Ellie. You’re the first…” Joel swallowed thickly before finally looking at you. “You’re the first person, outside of me, that she’s trusted in the same way.”

“I don’t take it for granted, Joel.”

“No, I know. I know. I just…you’ve got a family with us, too, Y/n. I just wanted you to know that.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Joel.”

As Joel looked at you with that same smile you always seemed to find on his lips whenever he looked at you like that, you pulled at his hand to bring him closer. It was just a pity that as he kneeled in front of you, his hands settling on either side of your face, a set of heavy footsteps interrupted the moment.

“I’ve found some fresh towels and a hot cloth.” Maria didn’t seem to notice the moment she’d interpreted as, by the time she looked up, Joel was already on his feet.

Time just felt like it passed slowly after that. Your contractions got closer and closer, until they just didn’t seem to get any closer.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Not much should change in the meantime.” That was what the doctor had told you before he left. Maria ignored him.

“They all say that and then show back up after you’ve caught the baby in your hands. I’ll stay for a while if you’d like.”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be okay. I think he might actually be right on this one.”

“Okay, but if something happens just send Ellie over. And I’ll be over in a second.”

You nodded, gripping Joel’s hand again leaving him to answer for you. “Thank you, Maria.”

As Maria left, Ellie came back inside with another hot cloth and handed it to Joel.

“I never want to have kids.” Ellie said as she took in the sight before her. “It looks fucking painful.”

“Ellie.” Joel said.

“What? It does.”

Joel wrung out the cloth over the cold bowl of water beside him before he pressed it around your face and down the back of your neck. “You need to try and get some sleep.”

You nodded, already feeling exhausted. You doubted you’d be able to sleep through any of the pain you were experiencing at that moment. Maybe you’d just pass out finally.

“So should you.” Joel said, turning to Ellie.

“But I wanna stay.”

“Ellie, I’d only keep you up. You’ll know when I’m giving birth.”

Ellie groaned and eventually Joel got her into bed. “Are you sure Y/n will be okay? Aren’t there meant to be doctors and things at one of these?”

Joel nodded as he tucked her in. “Usually. But a lot of women, you know, have home births. Do it all naturally. No painkillers or anything.”

“Really?” Ellie grimaced. “Why?”

Joel shrugged. “Some just didn’t want them. Others believed it made them stronger, or made their baby healthier.”

Ellie thought about her next question before she asked it. “Did Sarah’s mom have painkillers?”

There was a question Joel never thought he’d be asked. Especially by Ellie.

But Joel answered honestly anyway. “I think she asked for them to give her all the drugs they had. I just remember the hospital calling me telling me to get there quickly.”

“Did you get there in time?”

Joel nodded, a distant smile on his face. “Yeah. Saw her come into the world. Then it finally hit me that I was a dad. Remember holdin’ her for the first time, too. She was so tiny. Had a pair of lungs on her, too. And when the nurse came in, she told me to take off my shirt. Something about skin to skin contact.”

Ellie chuckled. “Yeah, sure that was the only reason.”

Joel rolled his eyes and gave her the look, even if part of him agreed with her.

“But she’ll be okay?”

Joel nodded. “She’ll be okay.”

Ellie relaxed a little. “Okay.”

“Now get some sleep. You might not be getting any for a while with a newborn in the house.”

She nodded and Joel switched off her light before pressing a kiss to her head as he stood and tucked the covers around her some more. “G’night.”

“Night.”

By the time Joel made it back into your bedroom, he found you sat up against the headboard, your leg bent up as the other lay flat and your hands holding onto your belly as you breathed out.

“It took me since you went with Ellie but I’m a little comfortable.”

Joel smiled. “I’m glad. You need anything?”

You shook your head and breathed out. “No. Just sit with me?”

“I can do that.”

Kicking off his boots, Joel walked across the room and sat next to you, placing an arm around your shoulders and you leaned into him. Then you reached for his hand and placed it at the bottom of your belly.

“That’ ‘er head?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Joel smiled. Then he admitted something to you he hadn’t really said to himself out loud before.

“I never thought this would happen again. Having a kid.”

You looked at him, a slight sadness in your eyes. “Really?”

He shook his head and leaned back, your hand still over his on your belly. “After Sarah…hell, even before. I remember holding her and just never wanting to take her outside of the hospital. She was my whole world. And after her mom left us, I was her’s.”

You leaned back yourself and watched Joel as he talked about his daughter. It was rare he ever talked about her, rarer when you first met him.

“Guess I was happy with how things were for us, I never…never considered having a family bigger than me and her. And after she…” You could see him getting choked up. You held onto his hand.

“After she died, it never crossed my mind again. Guess I found a family in Tess but I could never bring myself to tell her as much. But…I dunno. I just never saw this happening.”

You chuckled a little. “What? Having a one night stand with a woman who once threatened to shoot you and it resulting in a child?”

Joel chuckled, too. “Yeah, guess so.”

Silence washed over you both for a minute and then you let a question fall from your lips that you’d been thinking about for a while.

“Do you regret it? What happened?”

“No.” Joel didn’t even have to think about his answer. “Not for a second. Do you?”

You answered honestly. “In the beginning, kinda. Not us. Just…I suppose not being careful. I never wanted to raise a baby in a world like this. Constantly on edge, fearful of leaving them alone and defenceless. But…I don’t know. I know the world won’t ever be cured but…I’m glad this is happening. For both of us.”

A contraction shot through you.

“Even if it means dealing with this shit.” You leaned forward and Joel’s hand came to your lower back, rubbing light circles.

“If only we were seahorses.”

You laughed but hit him on the arm. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts already.”

“Sorry,” Joel held back his own laugh.

The next few hours passed very much in the same way. Truthful conversation and contractions. Until you gripped onto Joel’s hand.

“Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel.”

“Hey, okay, take it easy? What is it?”

“I feel like I need to push.”

He shot up. “What?”

“I-I need to push. I – ahhh. Jesus, fuck.” Your hand slapped against his as you reached out to hold onto him. The contraction died away but you could already feel another one building. “You, fuck. You need to look.”

“I-”

“Just look.”

“Okay.”

Getting up, Joel rounded the bed and flicked the light on before helping you bend your knees. Pushing up the gown Maria had helped you into, he examined you as best as he could. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit? What ‘oh, shit’? Oh, shit. Is something wrong?”

Joel shook his head, trying his best to remain calm. “No- sorry, wrong…wrong words. But you’re crowing. She’s crowing? You’re in labour.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand.”

You did so and Joel guided it to touch where your baby’s head was already showing.

“Oh, shit,” you looked at Joel. “Oh, shit. Maria. Get Maria.”

“ELLIE!”

The teen came tumbling out of her bedroom instantly. “Go and get Maria!”

“Already there!” Ellie yelled as she tumbled down the stairs and towards the front door.

You cried out in pain as a contraction built up again. “Oww, Joel.”

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay.”

“Joel, you’re gonna have to deliver her.”

Joel didn’t know whether to beg you to cross your legs or agree. Thankfully he, in fear, went with the second option.

“Okay.”

“Hold my hand.”

It all seemed to happen in a matter of seconds. Joel held onto your hand as you gave the last couple of pushes before he helped pull your baby the rest of the way out of the birth canal. Reaching over and grabbing a fresh towel, he gently patted her dry whilst she cried out, clearing her lungs completely.

“Hey,” Joel was already crying. “Hey, I know. I know, baby girl. You can see your momma soon.”

Joel did everything he could from what Maria had told him a few hours prior. You just cried.

“Baby girl? It’s a girl? We have a girl?”

Joel looked up at you and nodded, a wide smile on his face. “We have a girl.”

You cried even more.

Tying off the umbilical cord before cutting it, Joel then carefully lifted his daughter in his hands before handing her over to you. Neither you or Joel could see clearly from the amount of happy tears.

“We have a daughter.” Joel told you as you finally held her in your arms for the first time. “I’m so proud of you.”

For as much as you wanted to look up at Joel, you couldn’t tear your eyes from her face. You always wondered how people could tell who a baby looked like more, so early after they were born. But you just saw Joel.

“Hello, you.” You pressed a gentle kiss to her head, hearing her cries settle as she listened to your voice. “I’m sorry if you heard a lot of swearing. Me and your dad are kinda new to this whole part of the process.”

Joel chuckles as he knelt by the bed, his arms around both of you before pressing a kiss to your temple. Then you had visitors. Ellie rushed in first, then Maria, then Tommy.

“Wait, we missed it?”

“Guess she just wanted to say hi to everybody.”

Maria walked slowly over before sitting by your legs. “Oh, she’s gorgeous, Y/n.”

Tommy came and clapped his brother on the back, tears in his own eyes. “Man, how’d you feel?”

Joel couldn’t find the words, then he saw Ellie. “It’s okay. You can come and sit down.”

“I…I don’t wanna hurt anybody.”

You and Joel shook your heads. “You won’t hurt anybody. Ellie, look at me. I promise.”

You gestured to the empty spot of the bed beside you. “Come and sit with me.”

She looked to Joel for final confirmation and he nodded, so, being extra careful as she did so, she joined you by your side.

“She’s so tiny. And red. Is that normal?”

All the adults nodded. “It’s the pressure, from being pushed.” Maria explained. “It’ll go down in a little bit.”

The next couple of hours was spent dealing with the shocks of afterbirth that nobody decided to tell you about, the doctor checking you over and giving you advice (Maria’s was better) before it was finally just you, Joel, Ellie and your little girl in your arms.

“How do you feel about being a big sister, Ellie?”

“Scary. She’s so small.”

Joel smiled, his hand reaching over your shoulders and stroking the back of her head. “Crazy to think you were that small once.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

A few more moments passed in silence before Ellie got up and asked you and Joel to stay in your room.

“What for?”

“I have a surprise, but it’s not ready yet. Just…don’t come out until I say, okay?”

You and Joel looked at each other and back to her. “Okay.”

And as the door shut, you eventually turned to Joel. “Wanna hold her? Maybe skin to skin? Maria said it helps with their happiness levels or something.”

Joel nodded before sitting up and removing his shirt. Carefully, you handed your daughter over to him and watched as he walked over towards the window with her laying on his chest.

It was the most wholesome and somehow the hottest sight you had ever seen.

Joel Miller, shirtless, rocking his newborn daughter into a peaceful calmness as she slept. Very carefully, you reached over and told Joel to stay put as you grabbed the camera from the bedside table and snapped a picture of them both.

“Do you think I’ll be okay at this?” You asked Joel after a moment or two. “You’ve got two daughters already, but I’ve never actually had to raise a baby before. Do you think-”

Joel walked back over to the bed before sitting down to face you. “I think you’re a great mom. You’ve just given birth without any help. It’s gonna take some time getting used to everything, but that’s what Ellie and I are here for.”

“What if I screw up? The world is bad enough as it is.”

Joel shook his head. “Not one person knows how to be a parent when they first become one. Each kid is different, each baby is different. Even with Sarah it took me months before I thought I was doing something right. Trust me, you’re already doing great.”

Holding onto Joel's hand, you smiled.

“Looks like we know who’s putting her down for a nap.”

Still on Joel’s chest, you saw the first little smile grace your daughter’s lips as her little lungs let out a content sigh against her dad’s chest.

“You’re like a walking, talking, human heater.” You added.

And for the next ten minutes, you just sat there, watching Joel hold onto his daughter as she slept soundly on his chest. An image that would never leave your mind for as long as you lived, but would also update as time went on.

By the time Ellie opened the door, she took one look at Joel and gave a small laugh. “Not just the nurses then, huh.”

You were a little confused but Joel just smiled. “You finished yet? Or do we still have to wait?”

She smiled. “No, you can come and see now.”

“I might be a while.”

Ellie rushed forward. “Let me help you.”

And she did.

It might have taken twenty minutes to get out of bed and down the hallway towards the baby’s nursery, but you all got there eventually.

Ellie kept the door shut and turned around before helping Joel fix the blanket draped over his shoulder and chest, keeping your daughter warm.

“If you don’t like it, I can take it down or redo it.”

“I’m sure we’ll all love it.” You smiled at her, and she smiled back as she looked across her family.

“Okay.” She went to open the door but closed it once more. “Close your eyes? I’ll guide you inside.”

Joel had to turn around as she guided you inside before he closed his eyes and let Ellie very carefully lead him to your side. You could both hear her shuffling around the place, making sure everything was tidy.

“Okay, now…open.”

Both you and Joel did so before taking in what was in front of you.

On a shelf that Joel had put up less than two days ago, sat a freshly carved and burnt family tree. Each root led from the bottom of the tree to its own branch with a name on it. Joel, Y/n, Sarah, Ellie and in the middle was your baby girl’s name.

“I-I know we’re not all blood but, I-I just wanted her to have something that showed she has a family.”

You were already crying, and when Ellie looked at Joel, she couldn’t gauge his reaction. “I…If you don’t like it-”

Joel was quick to shake his head. “I love it, Ellie. Thank you.”

Reaching over, you pulled Ellie into a hug that at first she was reluctant to return, she quickly melted into. “Sweetheart, it’s beautiful.”

“She’d love it, too.” Joel told Ellie and she awkwardly nodded with a smile. Neither father nor daughter had to exchange any more words than that. They both knew.

They also knew that, every time they walked into the nursery, that tree was more than proof that you were all a family. Maybe you weren’t all blood. Maybe you and Joel hadn’t gotten together in the most conventional way, but you were all a family.

And nothing would ever change that.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #tlou #x fe!reader #the last of us #fluff #falling in love #interrupted kiss #ellie is a big sister #giving birth #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff

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cursedcola · 1 year ago

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Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia( pt.1 Here!)(pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. Also, I went overboard. So much that I exceeded the character limit and need to post Diasomnia in 2 parts. I have favorites I guess :/

Malleus experienced more firsts over the course of three years than the duration of his life. His first board game session, his first group trip with peers, his first taste of carnival food, his first sleepover, his first true friend - so, so many firsts. All a byproduct of one person walking into his life and taking a genuine interest in him.

You were the first houseguest he personally invited over to Diasomnia. Not for a tour, not for business, not on behalf of another - no. You were Malleus' houseguest, there to visit Malleus and spend time with Malleus. The snacks prepared were for you both to share. The lounge seating reserved for your company. His first time hosting for fun.

You were the first person he ever got a present for outside of his family. How quick your birthday had come, and how startled he became to find he cared. You were older. Growing so quick and changing at an alarming pace. He could see it in your features and mannerisms. Malleus knew that humans aged at a much faster rate than fae. Silver sprouted like a beanstalk. Yet you were blossoming like a flower in spring. How long until you'd wither?

Malleus cared. Not out of curiosity, but something deeper. Malleus did not want a servant to pick your gift, not even his closest companions. He desired to adhere to human custom and do the task himself. He did not trust another to pick something meaningful and to your preference.

You were the first to make him laugh. Your humor being like none he had heard before. Others tend to correct themselves in Malleus' presence, or try to cater to 'his' taste. Even those closest to him, often sharing a joke that flies over his head without any explanation. You did no such thing. Your humor was curious, and perhaps a bit crude. The jokes did fail to land with him, but he still found them funny regardless.

You were the first to make him yearn. Malleus had felt loneliness before. He's been bound in it's searing clutches and taunted. Yet his rooted longing never compelled him to change. He never felt jealous. Until your smile became another's and he felt a hot pit in his stomach. One different than his fiery magic.

You were his first desire.

Malleus fumbled and panicked. He had finally found a friend, yet he wanted more. The realization striking him deep. The first want he had no guarantee of obtaining. Yet his need for you was strong. He could not lose you. Malleus begun to value your presence. Your joy. The new life you breathed into him. He held it as dear as his family. You became his fondest treasure.

Malleus needed to ensure that you would never be taken from him. That you would never change.

You were also his first failure. On the dawn of your second year and his graduation, Malleus proposed. He had forgone all customs and jumped straight to marriage. Love to the fae was a lifetime bond. No power could chain you to him stronger than matrimony. Which is why he demanded your presence in the gardens after the ending ceremony. He decorated according to your tastes, with colorful lanterns and firefly lights strewn across the plants.

He saw the hope in your eyes. The way they sparkled with affection and pride bloomed knowing that he was the cause.

“Malleus….It’s so beautiful. Did you prepare this just for me?” You ask, clutching your hands to your chest. He smiles, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a black velvet box in the shape of a rose.

“I’m happy to see you like it; however, I hope this offering pleases you more”

Malleus opens the box to reveal a ring. Your eyes widen owlishly and he interprets it as a good sign. Until you step back.

“Oh Malleus….I can’t accept this. We aren’t even dating!” You deny his unspoken proposal with a shaken tone Malleus’ is unfamiliar with. Not from you.

“Why not? I love you. Is that not enough? Do you not love me?”

He fails to understand why you declined. He spent countless hours studying human customs and expression. No. Studying you. He was confident you returned his affections. So why? Why not leave this place and join him?

You explain to him that you’re incapable of marrying someone you haven’t spent time with romantically. That you do care about him. That you liked him and did feel for him. That you could love him, but not so suddenly. You have friends at NRC and didn’t want to leave. Not to mention how him marrying a human, especially with no warning, would cause so many political problems.

Of course he had already taken all this into consideration. He didn’t care about all that, yet bit his tongue from speaking his mind. Another first for Malleus.

“What if I abide by your terms? Would you allow me to court you properly?” He cuts into your sea of reasons not to be together. They weren’t his concern. Only you.

This gets you. He clearly wasn’t listening. Love blinded the average person, and Malleus’ heart bled. You consider his offer, and agree to his courtship. It would be difficult to maintain considering your distance and his status. Yet they were fickle matters to Malleus.

You were his first failure, yet he didn’t mind. There was no true victory without a bit of labor.

The change that he so feared, it became something Malleus adored. Every time he would whisk you away from NRC, or return for a visit - you were different. You had a new story to share, or had changed your appearance. At first he began to panic once again at how quickly you seemed to evolve without him.

And one day he realized that you would keep changing. He’d see a new you forever. All these new versions. A constant spark and longing that made him realize how precious each one was. They would come whether he bid them to or not - so he had to cherish them. Every version of you was one he loved and lost. Yet the fact that another would emerge kept his heart complacent.

You were his first kiss on a dewy fall morning. You were his first heartfelt dance, dressed in shimmery black satin and pearls that he gifted. You were his first goodnight kiss, and first morning embrace. You were his first comfort after tragedy struck and his first sympathetic heartache. You were everything.

It was no longer about chaining you. He loved his firsts. He would forever remember them.

His first goodbye.

On the cusp of your 3rd year coming to a close, Malleus prepared the ring from two years prior. He would gift it to you after your graduation. It would be yours whether you accepted the meaning behind it or not - the ring could go to no one else.

An announcement arrives to him the week prior via pen and paper. Hand written by you and oh how he so loved your letters. Malleus opened it with calm delight, yet as his eyes traveled across the words he forgot how to control his strength. The paper alit in flames.

‘The Headmaster found a way to send me home. Would you come for a visit?’

The letter was not so blunt, but that’s all he could comprehend. Malleus was not ready to say goodbye. He once thought his greatest fear was to watch his flower wilt, yet now it must be cut to make a bouquet.

As much as it tore him apart, Malleus had to let you go. He couldn’t root you to soil forever. His hands unconsciously drift to the velvet rose box tucked safely in his breast pocket.

It’s only natural you’d be the source of some of Malleus’ lasts. He would never love another.

He joins you days before your ceremony. You explain to him the procedure to return, and he bites his tongue once again. He encourages you, and is happy that you’re happy. The ring burns a hole where his heart lies yet he continues on with grace, ignoring the cautious behavior of your peers whenever he’s around. The only opinion he cared for was yours, and he’d stay as long as you needed.

Malleus missed the way your heart sought his. The way you gave him chance after chance to ask you to stay. How you clung to him despite the roles normally being reversed.

“I guess this is goodbye. I’ll miss you,” you whisper, holding Malleus’ hand and glancing at the glowing portal behind him. Malleus smiles, his eyes softening as he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“I will never forget your heart,” he murmurs against your skin, and reaches into his breast pocket with fluid movements. Malleus places the velvet rose box in your hands, cradling them gently with both of his.

“This is yours. I had it made for your finger alone, and only you will be the one to wear it. My heart belongs to you. Let this be my final selfish wish, but I hope you will think of me when you look upon it”

Malleus doesn’t understand why you break down. The way you clutch the box to your chest and look at him with such pain. He thought you wanted to go home. Is it not what you waited so long for?

He cannot be strong when you’re crying. How can you be so cruel. He won’t be able to -

“I want to be with you. I love you,” you whisper yet he hears it perfectly clear.

Malleus’ heart stutters and he clutches your shoulders. With one hand he tilts your chin up to look at him. Your eyes splotched with red irritation and glassy with sorrow. He wipes at their edges with his thumbs, cupping your cheeks ans looking at you for any sign of doubt. Any insincerity or fear. Your expression from years prior still lives rent free in his mind…he would not risk your happiness for his selfishness.

He finds nothing and pulls you in his arms. For the first time, Malleus sheds tears born from love. From relief. He wraps his arms protectively around you, and tucks his chin over your head.

“If you love something, let it be free. If it was meant to be yours then it will come back willingly. This is a saying of humans, is it not? I could not have you at the cost of your happiness. You do not deserve such a tainted love…but if this is truly what you desire, then I will not cease my efforts. You are mine, and I will eternally be yours,”

{Malleus’ ring is hand crafted by the royal blacksmith. Some would assume that there is a ring passed down through generations of the Draconia bloodline. There is not. The fae do not follow such traditions, yet Malleus would not instill all his values onto you. If it is a ring you need, then it is a ring he will get. He decides to reforge a gem plucked from his mother’s staff. The ring is made especially for you, with a teardrop-cut of magic-infused emerald as the focus point. It’s enchanted to reject any hand other than your own, and morphs to the size of your finger. It is subtle, made of pure gold, and a symbol of union between fae and mankind.}

"One should never make a vow of eternal love lightly. Take it from someone with ample life experience"

Lilia often imposes advice without any prompting. The musings of an old man normally went in and out of people's ears anyways. Sometimes it takes experience to learn, and no matter how we try to warn our children - fate is fate. They will go through the motions just as the people before them. Especially when it comes to trials of the heart such as love and loss.

Lilia knows both intimately. They've forged the man he is.

Philia: Love of friendship and equals. His peers, his comrades in arms, his fellow fae. The friends he has lost through death and distance. Those he fought to protect.

Storge: Parental love. To raise the son of his closest friends, and the blood of his sworn enemy. Lilia has fought through loss to feel the gratification of fatherhood. Lilia loves his children.

Agape: Love of man. This one took work. It took losing all he had, and then losing more. Hundreds of years of healing and trying to be better. Even in his final stretch Lilia is still learning this love.

Eros: Passionate, unconditional love. Lilia has felt this once, and only once. The wound still fresh with a dribble of salt steadily halting the healing process. To feel eros is a beautiful thing, but to have it ripped away is enough to kill.

Lilia experienced his fair share, and now enjoys watching those in the prime of life seek out love. He doesn't engage in romantic gossip, but enjoys watching others live their lives. One of his biggest curiosities being you, oddly enough.

This is because you've shown no interest in feeling love of any kind. Being the nosy man he is, Lilia finds your dismissal of others a bit concerning. He's not the most open person himself, yet you're a young human. This is when you should be wild! Surely you must feel something, considering all the 'escapades' you've been on with other students. The best way to bond is over shared trauma - he's not endorsing it. Just stating a fact.

"It's nothing personal. I'd rather not get too attached considering my living circumstances, if you catch my drift" you say in response to his prying.

He indeed 'catches the drift' and sees a bit of himself reflected in you. You were not unkind, yet also not overzealous. You did not push others away, yet also made an effort to protect yourself. For all the kind deeds you've done, Lilia knew better than to think it a case of bleeding heart syndrome. You remind him of how he was when deciding to raise Silver - afraid and very good at hiding it for the sake of others.

He decides to step in against his better judgement. If anything to repay the kindness you've done Malleus and his two youngsters. He couldn't watch you waste the precious life you’ve been given huddled away in isolation. Lilia would become your confident, as he is the most equipped to endure inevitably bidding farewell. If anything he will encourage you to forge stronger bonds of your own accord without fear.

He does an outstanding job at being the extrovert adopting an introvert. His favorite hobby being to startle you - popping out from random places like trees, bushes, the ceiling, your closet, etc. So much that you grow accustomed to his antics and expect them. Going so far as to always carry hard candies in your coat pocket as a peace offering.

He invites you to play online video games, go shopping, and sometimes pops by your dorm with Malleus. However his visits soon become solo, sensing that his adopted son didn't enjoy his 'nightly stroll' with his best friend being invaded. Lilia didn't mind - it meant that he'd get your company all to himself! There was nothing like watching a few horror flicks and tormenting Grimm after them. You even had a guest room in case he felt too ‘lazy’ to fly home.

On your birthday, he bakes a cake and leaves it on your kitchen windowsill. You found it, and even thanked him 'happily' later that day. He never said he was the chef though....you must have quite a keen sense of taste! That or he must be so talented that you know his cooking by heart!

Lilia felt a sense of relief, seeing your mannerisms shift from neutral to happy as time passed. It was hard work ebbing away at those walls of yours. It's not good for humans to be stressed. It lessens their already short lifespan.

He really should step aside. Let you befriend more humans and people that will support your journey. Except he doesn't want to. Philia's taken root in his heart - you're now a friend. An actual one.

So...he doesn't let go.

You join the college's boardgame club, and Lilia feels honored that he's the first you ask to play with. Each time you sought his company made him feel young again. Thrills did tend to follow your wake after all.

You often spent many evenings teaching Malleus, Silver, and even Sebek about your world. Not something Lilia planned for, but seeing you open up about it put his mind at ease. The different cultures, history, trends - Lilia listens in happily as well. Going so far as to learn some of your favorite recipes. He wants to cook them right away, but agrees to wait for your company. You grew nervous when he brought the topic up, possibly because you didn't want to be left out? Surely, that must be why.

Soon comes another January 1st - Signifying a new year and also Lilia’s birthday. The night prior he was out on the prowl, flying free throughout campus, watching people party and celebrate. Normally he’d spend this evening having fun of his own, but being caged at a school left him little chances to be free. Jumping across rooftops and sneaking around doing parkour was a trip down memory lane. The fireworks and lively people made for an excellent atmosphere.

By chance he happened on your rooftop, and decided to pop in for a quick respite. Slipping in through an open window was child’s play, as was avoiding your paranormal houseguests and popping in and out of rooms.

His keen hearing picks up your voice coming from the main bedroom - and normally he wouldn’t invade a personal space but the door was open. So obviously it was an invitation. He sticks to the ceiling and crawls to a shrouded corner with a mischievous grin.

How unsuspecting you were - dressed up in fancy clothes and muttering to yourself while in front of a floor length mirror. Lilia thinks you’re going to a party and is prepping to tag along -

“Alright. I can do this,” you mutter and turn around to pace the floor. A neatly wrapped present is clutched tight in your hands - wrapped in ivory paper with a sparkly pink ribbon. Lilia freezes just when he’s about to jump down, and clings back to the wall. “Just give it to him. Give it and tell him how you feel,” you turn towards the mirror, holding the box out, “Hello there Lilia. Yes, this is a birthday present. Yes, you’re a year older, how exciting! By the way I really like you so would you want to go on a date?” You fall silent, cringing in disgust at your reflection before sitting on the bed, “Ah. That was such dogshit”

Lilia exits as swift as he entered. The night air whips against his skin as he transforms into a bat and is already on the way back home. The implications of what he just witnessed weighing heavily on his mind.

This would not be the first time someone has caught feelings for him. You don't go 700 years without any suitors - he'd always turn them down with careful consideration.

Except he doesn't want to this time. That's the major issue.

The flight home was long, with purposeful detours until he felt tired enough to retire. A familiar bitter ache stung his heart. He'd only felt this disappointment once prior, and swore off letting it bud again.

Eros.

Lilia was in love too. He recognized the passion growing long before this moment, and against his better judgement let it fester.

"Seems I'm not as equipped to handle this as I once believed" he says to no-one and moves to play some online games instead of sleeping.

Lilia once felt a love he couldn’t express through anything other than fealty and devotion. It was a darker time where there was no promise of future. He swore not to endure that pain again - yet this is similar yet also different. The love is blooming effortlessly. His devotion is growing. The desire is there and so is the fear. All the same feelings yet without the dire weight of external forces adding pressure. This time it’s his choice to follow through. There’s no bigger force at play stopping him. Not even your mortality, considering how his lifespan is almost at its close.

Yet for all his years of wisdom, the thought of putting his heart out was still as frightening as the first.

In truth, Lilia had ulterior reasons for pursuing your companionship other than worry or repaying a debt. Your behaviors did remind him of his past self. That was no lie. He simply felt affection blooming upon your first meeting and thought having your friendship would morph it into something more tame. He had a habit of drawing in lost souls - what was one more?

Now the affection is stronger, and you return it.

Heavens, was he being given another chance? After all these years.

You return it. It's requited. He needn't hide it for the sake of someone else's happiness. Lilia could be selfish, if only he let himself.

The next day, Lilia finds an ivory box with a sparkly pink ribbon outside his door. A neatly written letter is attached, with the words 'Happy Birthday' written on the front. His name is written on the tag in black ink, with your name signed as the sender.

Lilia picks it up and undoes the wrapping with nimble movements. Inside is an assortment of treats that he wanted to try from your home, and a neatly folded letter atop them. It details exactly what was expected, a perfect explanation of your feelings that's entirely different than the nervous display he intruded upon.

He looks around the hallway, checking to see if you’re nearby before disappearing without a trace. Nothing but an open door showing that he left.

Everything after is a blur. While doing the dishes back at your dorm and trying not to think of the present - Lilia appears out of nowhere, startling you for what was probably the first time in months. His typical cheeky grin and snicker were nowhere in sight.

He says one thing, “Are you certain?”. The words held a heavy meaning for the both of you.

Asking if he’s willing to go for one last chance. To take one final risk or simply be satisfied with all he’s accomplished thus far. It asks if you’re willing to do the same - to risk everything you’ve built in one fell swoop.

You nod, and Lilia smiles. Not an impish smirk or a snarky grin. A true, soft smile that is full of released tension. He happily hugs you from behind as you finish working in silence, gradually slipping back to his playful ways yet not entirely. He would remain the out of touch peepaw that you so loved to tease him as, but a bit of his youthful spirit was being revived. His inner self being healed, perhaps.

He loves you, and the world hasn’t split in two. It was his time.

Finally.

From then on he had no reservations in loving you. This was a new form of eros. A new passion filled with joy and living for the moment - versus the weight of time holding him back like it did when he was younger. Nothing changed in your dynamic other than he now had the strength to let himself love freely.

Which is exactly why he wastes no more time. Just as he told you off hand long ago, one should not make a vow of eternal love lightly. He’d take his own advice and seek his own happiness for the first time in hundreds of years.

On a random night with no inkling of warning, Lilia drags you out of bed to the Ramshackle rooftop in nothing but your nightclothes. It wasn’t the first time he’d ask for a midnight escapade - just for the thrill and surprise, most of the time. He loved to keep things exciting.

Except he was being far too gentle. Far too nostalgic. He sits you down on the edge of the roof and puts his cardigan over your shoulders. Not a word passes between you as he tucks it snug around your shoulders - his hand tracing the line of your cheekbones, down your arms and to your hands. He cradles them gently, never taking his eyes from yours.

Then something foreign glimmers against your finger. In an effortless motion, he slipped the ring on without pause. You can’t help but stare at the gem in thought, looking between it and Lilia’s thoughtful expression over and over.

Lilia nods, taking your hand in his and running his thumb over the ring - admiring it against your skin.

“I’ve lived many years. Lead many lives. I thought I had accepted my nearing end, yet I find myself wanting more. I want to grey with grace at your side. To enjoy mundane evenings - greet you come morning and kiss you to seal a day’s end. I want my last life to be at your side, if only you will have me”

{A blood red garnet placed inside a blossom frame. Lilia’s ring is made of silver, and gives the illusion of a red rose in a bed of vines. Red is the color of passion, devotion, and unconditional love. Red roses hold this very meaning in the language of flowers. Lilia has felt this before - but you are his fated. You have chosen him simply for the person he is - not who he needs to be. He can finally be free and at peace. Your love is something he can selfishly hoard and it gives him the desire to enjoy life. He feels full. Happy. He hopes that this ring shows that he wants to live for the moment by your side, eternally}

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #diasomnia #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines

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