#just your painfully ordinary me

[twi-liight]

Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE THINGS YOU DO FOR LOVE... ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru begs you to wear the frilly maid dress he bought. against your better judgement, you indulge him.

word count; 7.0k (this was supposed to be short but i miss him terribly)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly sweet, literally just satoru being down horrendous, lots and lots of petnames (he is embarrassing), he’s ur biggest hypeman, entirely sfw!! (i feel like i have to specify that…), reader is a lil grumpy, satoru gojo is the most insufferable man on earth <3

a/n; this is just a silly lil wip i found in my drafts…. i dont remember what possessed me to write this i just think satoru would cry and fall to his knees and throw up blood if he saw u in a frilly dress

”— no.”

the word rolls off your tongue, instantaneous, with a decisive kind of sterness. leaving no room for hesitation, doubt or indecision; not a single gap for his argument to fit through, no loophole he could take advantage of to persuade you into giving in.

but despite all that, satoru just won’t back down.

”come on, baby, please?�� he pleads, voice coaxing and sugary sweet. you can almost see those puppy dog eyes of his from behind the black glass of his shades. ”i already bought it and everything!”

”i don’t care,” you spit. a halfhearted attempt at appearing annoyed, in hopes it’ll distract him from the strawberry flush of your cheeks. ”i’m not wearing it. you shouldn’t have bought it, in the first place.”

”but sweetheart,” he drawls, tinged with a sadness he knows tugs at your heartstrings. ”it’s so cute. you’ll look so adorable.”

”not happening.”

”but —”

”— no. i’m seriously not wearing it, satoru.”

it’s harsh, the flow of your words, sharp and firm; but that’s your only option when he gets like this. your only slim chance at survival, being almost painfully direct. that doesn’t stop your resolve from weakening pitifully when satoru’s posture wilts, though, obviously exaggerated but still somehow effective. you debase yourself for being so weak for him. 

but giving in just isn’t an option, this time. 

under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t take too long for him to persuade you. satoru can be annoying, extremely so — but when he’s being so stubborn about something, there’s usually a good reason for it, even if it’s just that whatever he wants you to do will make him happy. to you, it’ll do.

(his happiness is your priority, after all.)

but in this case, there’s just no way. absolutely no way in hell.

he’s still holding that thing up, like he genuinely thinks it’ll support his argument, swaying it lightly side to side. it really, really doesn’t. it does the complete opposite, in fact.

”but angel,” he tries, again. you wonder if he’s eventually going to run out of petnames, or if he’ll just keep cycling through them until he runs out of air to breathe. ”don’t you wanna see how it’ll look on you?”

a sharp scoff flows from your lips. 

he can’t be serious. 

you really, really, really don’t. if anything, you want everything in the world except for that. you’d rather smash a glass bottle into little pieces and eat them one by one. you’d rather sit on satoru’s lap in a room full of other people. you’d rather jump in front of a moving train with explosives tied to your back.

— it’s so frilly. 

you almost couldn’t believe it, yourself. when he barged into the room, cardboard box in hand, fresh from the mail; all while wearing an excited grin, foreboding, but you were too mesmerized by it to even notice. 

it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so you didn’t think much of it. satoru buying you gifts is not in any way unusual, even and especially if you tell him not to — and usually, it’d be a sweet occasion. the kind of moment you can soak in, drink up, and then recall fondly for the rest of the week. 

every single detail is worth cherishing. how excitedly he always opens it up, eager for your reaction, and how you always thank him, no matter what it is. sincerely, because satoru can be awkward with his affection, but his love bleeds through in moments like these.

from expensive, well-kept bouquets to little flowers on the side of the road; from thought-out gifts to little trinkets; no matter what it is, the sentiment remains the same.

(this made me think of you. i want you to have it. 

i remembered you mentioning this brand. i love you.)

a way for satoru to show his love, without overwhelming himself or you. a way of easing him into it, when everything is still just so new to him. 

buying you whatever catches his eye is the perfect solution, according to satoru. and it exasperates you, sometimes, when you come home to five amazon packages right outside your doorstep — but deep down you know it’s more for him than you. because it makes him happy, to be able to, allowed to show his love for you in ways like this. in normal ways, easy ways, that say more than his words ever could. 

(being granted the luxury of making you happy. of loving you, even if satoru doesn’t think he’s very good at that, just yet. but he is good at impulse buying things he knows you’d like; so that’ll have to do, for now.)

which is why you couldn’t help but let his infectious joy seep into your bloodstream, trickling its way through your veins with a sweet kind of fervour. couldn’t help but smile, a tender curl of your lips, in tandem with his cute little grin. couldn’t help but grow a little bit excited, as he opened the package — 

to reveal a cutesy, frilly, maid outfit.

— and then your mind screeched to a halt. 

the look on your face must have been something special, horrified and flustered in equal measure. almost in disbelief, as he immediately began to gush about the outfit in his hands. look at the bows, isn’t it cute? god, you’re going to look so pretty. i mean, you always do, obviously, but —

you weren’t really listening. all your mind could do was spin in circles, trying to get some read on the situation, but it was just no good. he genuinely, thoroughly, truly and sincerely expected you to put on a goddamn maid outfit. 

if he had bought it for himself, then maybe you would've been at least a little bit excited. you’re sure he'd look good in it; with those big blue eyes of his, that cute, happy grin. so good that your heart would probably combust, a little. melt through the floorboards. 

but no — he wanted you to wear it. 

and despite your instant, firm protests, he just will not give it up. your boyfriend is a stubborn man, so it’s no surprise, but it’s still enough to irk you.

”satoru, for real. no! i’m not wearing it!”

”but you’d look so good,” he whines, loud and grating as he inches closer to you. still holding the dress up like a prize; you back away, instinctively, like it’ll burn if you touch it.

”i don’t care! it’s a maid outfit! why the hell would i ever wear it?” 

sunglasses seated at the bridge of his nose, satoru allows you to catch a glimmer of his eyes — an effective method of persuasion. he definitely knows their power, and he’s definitely flaunting them for the sole purpose of making you falter. that manipulative scumbag.

the fact that it actually works makes you even angrier, though.

a sharp turn of your head, and your gaze falls on the windowpane, lingering there as you grumble under your breath. he’s so annoying. you’re growing more and more flustered by the minute, too. 

”— because you love me?” 

satoru tilts his head, white locks of hair following the movement. soft and silky, nice to run your fingers through, but you chase the thought away as soon as it enters your subconscious. he looks almost hypnotizing under the sunlight, with the golden rays illuminating his features, smoothing over the contours of his face — as if the sun was made solely to shine on his skin.

and ah, you think, there we go. satoru’s classic tactic; using your love for him as a bargaining chip, pouting down at you like a kicked puppy. you like to picture his eyes all watery and glassy, everytime he tries it, as if he’s some rejected cartoon-mascot. so silly. 

valiantly, you fight off the temptation to smile, gracing him with another little scoff instead. shooting him an unimpressed look, a tiny raise of your eyebrow. ”that won’t work on me.”

”aww, come on,” he almost coos, inching closer still. ”don’t you love me? my sweetiepie? my cute lil’ mochi?” 

(he’s getting bolder with the petnames, you note. as if that’d change anything. they’re so cheesy it makes you recoil.)

”obviously.” you deadpan, trying your best not to let affection seep into the words. but you see satoru’s lips curl up, anyway. ”i’m still not wearing it, though. sorry.”

satoru sighs. heavy, exasperated — dare you say defeated? for a second, you delude yourself into thinking he might actually give in, for once, spare you both the trouble — 

until he falls to the floor, knees hitting the soft flooring with a loud thud. awfully dramatic. he clasps his hands together as if to beg and plead, a starved dog at your feet, and gazes up at you with newfound determination.

”please, baby — i’m begging you,” he groans, voice sad and pained, agonized, like you just threatened to break up with him. silly, silly man.

”don’t grovel.” a sigh drops from your lips as the pads of your fingers go to massage your temples. soothing what you’re almost sure is an incoming headache.

and he makes a certain noise, almost a whimper, like you just kicked him in the gut. you glance down at him as if to signal really? with your eyes, lips parting to speak — 

but your breath only hitches in your throat, and no sound comes out.

satoru’s eyes are almost teary. peeking out from behind his shades, big and glassy, eyelashes dewy with what you know are just crocodile tears. he’s far too skilled at it for his own good, though — maybe you should be supporting his acting career, instead of the weird teacher-slash-sorcerer thing he’s got going on.

and you’re weak, you realize, terribly so. because something deep within your chest constricts, at those sad eyes, heart squeezed painfully, and when you speak you note that your voice sounds a lot softer. 

”satoru,” you sigh, again; more resigned this time, a little fatigued. missing the way his eyes glint at the sound, as if sensing an opportunity. ”really. i’m sorry i wasted your money, but it’s just… not happening. okay?” 

attempting to sound delicate, your voice settles on a soothing tilt, like an adult speaking to a tantrum-throwing child. hoping it’ll be enough to make him falter even slightly. 

it isn’t, of course; if anything, his determination only grows. 

”even just for a short while?” he tries, voice sweet and pliant. all daisies and sunbeams, tailormade to tug at your heartstrings. ”just an hour or so! then i’ll be satisfied.”

”an hour? no way!” you scoff.

and this time, you don’t miss it. from behind those shades, a certain glimmer of something flickers through his irises — something keen and observant. a certain dread crawls its way down your spine.

”so it’s fine if it’s less?” he grins, changing tactics, smooth and decisive. ”half an hour. that’s as low as i’ll go.”

”oh my god.” an exhale, drawn out and exhausted, from the very depths of your chest. ”satoru. toru. no. i’m not wearing it at all. this isn’t an auction.”

”but it could be,” he purrs, still on his knees. it makes him look a little bit disturbed. ”c’mon. why are you getting so shy? guess what — i’ll even settle for twenty minutes. just for you.”

oh, he’s just awful. you want so badly to be mad at him, and that teasing, smug, shit-eating little smirk of his — but you can’t. 

not when he looks so effortlessly pretty, bathed in the light of the sun, surrounded by a mellow glow so tender it makes him look something like an angel. not when he’s acting so characteristically himself, so stubborn and infuriating and entirely impossible not to love. 

another sigh. you’re a little surprised you have enough air left in your lungs to breathe it out, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re beginning to grow just a bit tired of the back and forth. ”i’m not shy,” you huff. ”i just don’t want to. it won’t look good on me, anyway.”

satoru blinks. genuine surprise shines in his eyes, for a second, like you caught him off guard. ”huh? of course it will. why wouldn’t it?”

a pause. gnawing at your bottom lip, you avert your gaze, trying to find the words. ”it’s just… tacky,” you settle on. ”it’ll look weird.”

”it won’t! you’ll look so cute!”

another huff, as your dispassionate, bored gaze meets his. ”and how do you know that?”

satoru's answer is instantaneous. ”you always look cute. just wanna see how you look in this,” he chirps, brandishing the outfit with barely contained excitement. thoroughly giddy. ”when i saw it, i knew it’d look adorable on you. and i’m never wrong!”

a soft pout plays at your lips, in the wake of his eager sincerity. barely noticeable, just a little embarrassed, but it’s there. and satoru’s seen it, finally — the road to victory. he knows he can win this, if he’s smart about it.

”i just wanna see you in it. just for a second. please? pretty please?” he tilts his head, tantalizing, showing off the blue of his eyes and the curl of his lips. ”then i’ll never ask you for anything again. promise!”

”okay, that’s a lie and we both know it.”

the grin that blooms on your lips is a mistake, you quickly realize, because satoru interprets any sign of joy on your face as positive approval. his determination grows.

”yeah, yeah… but i mean it! i won’t bother you if you just wear it once. just once!” he puts a single finger up, to emphasize the point. ”just wanna see my precious baby all frilly and cute. won’t you indulge me, oh my dearest?”

he’s grinning, now, all soft and teasing. it’s more breathtaking than he’ll ever understand. he’ll never even come close to understanding how gorgeous he is, like this — when there’s no one around to perform for, when he can just be himself. when it’s just you, and satoru, and the feeling of having all the time in the world.

(even if you don’t.)

and you know your face must be flushed, a soft cherry red, as your gaze falls to the floor. the heat on your cheeks and neck, the pitter patter of your heartbeat; you feel it all. 

and it’s embarrassing, to find yourself so fervently twisted around someone’s finger — to find that you don’t even really mind. being wrapped around satoru’s finger isn’t so awful, all things considered. it’s a scary thought, for sure, but he’d never abuse the privilege. probably.

— a sigh. 

you still don’t want to wear it. you really don’t. it’s just awful. tacky, and embarrassing, and overall unpleasant. 

… but if it’ll get him to stop nagging you like this… 

and if it’s just for a short while…

silence, only silence, spilling into the sunkissed air. outside your apartment, the sky melts into a buttery orange hue. an intense contemplation is etched into your eyes, and satoru takes note of it; opting to put the final nail in the coffin. his very last bid.

”fifteen minutes. then you’re —”

”ten minutes,” you cut him off. sounding just a tad exhausted — resigned to your fate. 

and satoru doesn’t even bother trying to hide his excitement. suddenly beaming, he shoots up to his feet, and it causes you to jolt. ”perfect,” he grins, holding the dress out toward you. a little too eager for your liking.

”— but seriously. i’m only wearing it once. never again,” you tilt your head. ”got it?” satoru just nods, happily, so excited he’s practically jumping up and down — and despite everything, you still can’t find it in you to be angry. 

he looks so earnestly giddy.

eyes brimming with suspicion and weariness, your hands reach out to take it into your arms; the puffy dress, the frilly headwear, and the black thigh highs. you’re surprised he didn’t invest in a pair of shoes, while he was at it. just to complete the set.

(you decide not to comment on it, knowing he’d have some poor, overworked shoemaker on the phone within seconds.)

”need my help putting it on?” he purrs, face suddenly very close to yours — and the sudden stutter of your heartbeat sparks a hitch of your throat. desperate to cover it up, you shoot him a hefty glare.

”oh, shut up,” you hiss, but satoru only grins wider. soft little giggles flowing from his lips, like a schoolgirl teasing her upperclassman. silly.

a heavy hesitance rests on your features, as you give the outfit another chance. judgemental eyes trailing over the bows and frills, giving it a thorough look, until your lips curl down into a soft frown. it’s not that bad, but…

”it’s kinda ugly,” you lie, decisively.

”really? i think it’s cute, though.” 

”yeah, ’cause you have no taste.” a click of your tongue. ”what’s so great about maid outfits, anyway? i don’t see the appeal.”

satoru smiles. carefree, amused — still very much teasing. ”well, we’re about to find out,” he chirps.

you give him a look, eventually giving way to a soft exhale. ”fine — but only ten minutes. at most.” a pause, as you stop to think. what else? ”oh, and no taking pictures.”

”— i’m taking pictures.”

…

the exasperated look you send his way doesn’t seem to phase satoru even in the slightest. he continues to smile at you, unbothered, soft around the edges, and you know you’re not winning this one either.

”… fine,” you sigh. ”but — not too many, okay? and you aren’t allowed to show anyone, either.”

”of course not,” he scoffs, almost offended. ”as if i’d let anyone else see you like that.”

stuck between feeling relieved and put off, you settle on simply letting it go. and satoru continues to speak, reassuringly, glossy lips shining in the sunlight as they part.

”rest assured, baby,” he hums, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. ”this stays between us. i swear on my honour.”

you snort. ”like you’ve got any of that.”

”mean. anyway — c’mon. i can’t wait any longer.” before you can think to protest, he’s ushering you away in the direction of the bathroom, big hands heavy on your shoulders as they push you. still hesitant, you make no move to resist.

(what have you gotten yourself into?)

with one final sigh, your fingers curl around the doorknob, outfit hanging off your arm. not before sending one final glance back at satoru, reinstating your conditions. ”just this once. then you’re selling it. or burning it.”

”yes, yes — you have my word,” he promises. before you can narrow your eyes, he pushes you forward, gently; bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. ”go on, i’m waiting!”

”yeah, yeah…”

the door closes behind you with a soft thud, and the reality of the situation begins to finally dawn on you. the maid outfit weighs heavy on your heart, but light in your arms — you gaze down at it with pure contempt. it’s not like you have a choice, though. satoru won’t let you wriggle away from this one. and maybe, just maybe, a part of you wants to indulge him, after all.

(his smile shone so brightly, in the light of the sun.)

and it’s almost cautious, the way you begin to dress yourself; first the thigh highs, black and silky, then the outfit itself. pulling it over your head, your arms sneaking through the openings. 

it’s a perfect fit. 

a second passes. you stop to think, brows furrowing in suspicion — did the little bastard measure you? just to make sure he got it exactly right? he has been rummaging through your closet more than usual, recently, but you didn’t think much of it. over the years, you’ve conditioned yourself not to question the things that he does. that sneaky, sneaky man.

after putting on the headwear, you finally lift your gaze, tentative and slow — to take a peek at your own reflection. the flush on your face stands out, a contrast to the black and white colour scheme of the outfit. 

and you can’t help but exhale, a little exasperated.

it’s so… frilly. there are frills on the sleeves, on the shoulderpads, on the skirt, on the hems… everywhere. little bows litter the surface of the smooth fabric, a big one attached to the collar, and several smaller ones across the sleeves. 

and as much as you loath to admit it — it is kind of cute. 

still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re only embarrassing yourself. it’s hard not to think, when a maid outfit is staring into your soul through the mirror — and you just so happen to be wearing it.

(what the hell are you even doing?)

a low groan slips from your lips, and you crouch down, to bury your face in your knees. the flush of your cheeks is beginning to spread towards the tips of your ears, growing hotter by the minute. satoru’s about to see you like this, of all people. how on earth will he react?

(what if he thinks it looks weird, too?) 

”i’m still waiting!” a voice suddenly exclaims, sing-songy and sweet, and closer than you realized. has he just been standing there and waiting in silence, this whole time? of course he has.

”just —” you croak out, words a little strangled. ”just… give me a minute.”

satoru lets out a high-pitched whine, cheek pressed against the cold wood of the door. ”but i’ve been waiting so long already!” he complains, pouting, the urge to see you growing unbearable. impatience tugging at his heart, so excited he can barely pull himself together.

(all he can think of is you, you, you.)

curling up into a little ball, you attempt to swallow the bundle of nerves in the back of your throat — but that jittery, feather-light feeling of your heartbeat just won’t go away. it makes you feel a little paralyzed.

you're actually, genuinely, sincerely about to go show off a goddamn maid outfit. what the hell.

when you finally grasp control over your vocal cords and part your lips to speak, the voice that spills out into the air sounds more than a little meek. but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, overcome by a heart-tingling nervosity and the heat of your skin.

 ”… i don’t want to.”

satoru pauses. 

he can picture you, in his mind’s eye; the way you must look, right now. clad in frills and a cute little skirt, face flushed red and embarrassed, as you shift from foot to foot. and it takes concentrated effort, to bite back the coo that threatens to crawl up his throat — but he knows it’s still not too late for you to change your mind. if he wants to see you, he needs to be careful. so he tactfully opts not to tease you.

”come on, angel,” he soothes, instead. voice smooth like honey, like coffee with cream and too much sweetener. ”don’t be embarrassed.”

you stay silent, still attempting to suffocate the tinge of humiliation in the depths of your chest. so satoru continues. ”just come on out, hm? might as well get it over with. then you won’t have to think of it again.”

a moment passes.

”… do i have to?”

the corners of his lips curl up.

ah, you’re so cute. all embarrassed, almost childish, in the way you’re still trying to be difficult; and satoru just indulges you, all too eager to get you to show yourself to him. ”yes, you do,” he coos. ”be good f' me and come on out, okay?”

a couple moments pass. eerily silent, growing second by second. the only sound that fills the air is that of satoru’s soft breathing, the distant whirring of the ceiling fan.

until finally, he hears the squeak of the bathroom floor. you stand up, turning to glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before hesitantly reaching for the doorknob.

it’s slow, the way you open the door, agonizingly so — pushing at it slightly and dragging the movement out. and you can feel satoru’s presence, right behind it, as he takes a step back to give you space. when you finally step over the threshold, you adamantly refuse to meet his gaze.

(satoru’s breath hitches in his throat.)

there you stand, gaze stubbornly averted, expression flustered and mildly annoyed. cheeks dusted a dark cherry-red, that crawls towards the tips of your ears as you fidget with your frilly, oversized sleeves. they’re dressed in little bows, awfully cute, and so is the skirt — short, but not enough to expose the skin of your thighs above the thigh highs. you still squirm a little, thighs pressed together. 

and then, of course, the big bow on your collar to complete the look. pink in colour, a stark contrast to the whites and blacks of the remaining outfit.

after a moment passes with nothing but pure silence, your lips part to speak. doing anything you can to stop yourself from looking over at the man in front of you, afraid of what you’ll see. ”i don’t think it suits me,” is muttered, a tiny huff. ”… and i still don’t see the appeal, by the way.”

— but satoru doesn’t answer. 

he just stares. uncharacteristically silent, in a way you’re wholly unaccustomed to. enough so that you find yourself gnawing at your bottom lip, fidgeting with the hem of the skirt, hoping the smooth texture will soothe your nerves a little. the beating of your heart resounds in your ears, sending blood flowing through your veins with excited pumps.

the silence festers, and all you can do is let it grow, your nervosity thickening with it — until it’s just too much to bear. 

(ahh, you knew it. it really does look weird, doesn’t it? that’s to be expected. 

still, you can’t help but feel just slightly dejected.) 

”… why aren’t you saying anything?” 

the little mumble comes out sounding embarrassed, and maybe just a little defeated, too. but satoru doesn’t hear it. as your gaze falls on the man in question, slowly, you take in his expression with a frown on your face — and realize that he isn’t just keeping quiet. 

he’s completely stunned. 

no matter how hard you stare, you can’t seem to get a good read on his expression. he’s just standing there, face completely blank, eyes entirely obscured by the black of his shades. the light streaming in through the glass of the windows has shifted its course, falling away from the two of you — but you still see the vague, red tinge crawling up his neck. 

and as soon as you spot it, satoru begins his descent.

crouching down to the floor, silently, he brings his hands up to cover his face. feet against the ground with his knees folded, pressed against his chest, stilling as he inhales sharply. shades seated on top of his head, pushed up by his hands when he buried his face in them. a groan drops from his lips, muffled by the skin of his palms — but you can hear it clear as day.

”hold on, just… give me a minute…” he finally croaks out, words somehow tiny. almost shy. 

upon closer inspection, you realize your eyes weren’t deceiving you — there really is a red hue to his neck, one you aren’t used to seeing on him. strawberry-tinged dust, staining his smooth skin, the tips of his burning ears. satoru actually looks flustered, for once. and your heart can’t help but flutter.

— he thinks he might actually, genuinely die.

it’s a wonder, he thinks, that he managed not to fall to his knees the very moment he laid eyes on you. all dolled up; frilly and cute, in his own words, though they don’t come even close to properly describing how adorable you look right now. with your flushed face, shy eyes, and all those little frills and bows adorning your dress. rendering him speechless, clogging up his throat with pure unbridled love. a mouthful of honey, too sweet for even him to swallow.

god. god. he really, really needs to pull himself together.

crouched down like this, face hidden behind his hands, he can physically feel himself grow more and more flustered. senses invaded by the sound of his heartbeat, deep and visceral, until it’s all he can hear — he knew you were going to look cute, obviously, but he was seriously underestimating you. your cuteness is lethal. 

even just the sight makes him weak in the knees. even just the thought of you makes him feel a little like his heart is attempting to break out of his chest. hurling itself at his ribcage with ferocious resolve, like he could keel over and die of heart failure at any given moment. he’s pleasantly surprised that he’s managed to suppress the loud squeal his body keeps trying to let out, honestly.

and while satoru struggles with his deep, internal turmoil, all you can do is watch. looking down at him with wide eyes, as his skin flushes a bright pink, like little chrysanthemums blooming from his neck up to his ears. 

yeah, you think, there’s no doubt about it. satoru is flustered. it’s not a side of him you get to see very often, so you can’t help but be just slightly caught off guard. staring at him silently, until you snap out of it, eyes simmering with something soft and delighted.

he’s so cute.

(and maybe, just maybe — it makes you want to tease him, a little bit.)

so you crouch down, facing him with your knees against your chest, jaw resting on your crossed forearms as you gaze at him. he’s still not looking at you, face hidden behind his palms, shying away from your view.

and then you sigh. the sound catches his attention, soft — and just a little bit dejected.

”… you’re the one who wanted me to wear it,” your lips curl down into a pout, ”and now you won’t even look at me?”

satoru stiffens. 

(you sound sad. you sound disappointed.)

slowly, he parts his fingers, desperate to soothe you — blue eyes peeking out through the gaps, as if the sight of you could blind him. he then proceeds to move his hands, tentative, laboured, like he’s dragging heavy weights off his body. like it’s a struggle. 

with his face finally exposed, all flushed and pretty, bright azure eyes stare at you; brimming with pure adoration. 

satoru exhales, almost shaky. he has to take another moment to simply look at you, as if drinking in every inch of your expression. memorizing every corner of the face he’s grown to love so much.

a moment passes. then two.

then, he practically pounces on you — engulfing you like a tidal wave, trapping you in his big arms as they go to curl around your waist. shades falling off at the impact, hitting the floor with a soft thunk.

”you’re killing me,” he whines, loud and right by your ear. nuzzling into you, squeezing you like he’s a puppy with a chew toy. ”you’re so, so, so cute. d’you want me to have a heart attack?”

a hitch of your breath. that’s all you can manage, utterly failing to keep up with him as he presses you up against his chest. rocking you back and forth in his embrace, smearing open mouthed kisses across your skin; whining and murmuring about how adorable you look. 

a flurry of warmth, of love, of something a little too precious for words. something distinctly satoru, that makes you forget about everything else — as if the world stops spinning somewhere outside of his arms. as if that’s where you belong.

all you can do is indulge him. maybe you’re spoiling him a little too much, but it feels nice; letting him drown you in his overwhelming affection. the thought of creasing the dress doesn’t even seem to cross his mind, as he squeezes the life out of you.

evidently, satoru suffers from an acute case of cuteness aggression. 

”so adorable,” he murmurs, leaving wet kisses on your cheeks. his exaggerated mwahs make you feel just a tad shy. ”my little sweetheart. all dressed up for me.” 

squirming in his hold, he only brings you closer, smothering you in his warm embrace. the slightly erratic beating of his heart is all you can hear, with your cheek squished against his chest. arms keeping you nice and still, lips lingering over that one ticklish spot behind your ear. 

a little giggle slips from your lips, and satoru feels himself smile; wide and giddy, boyish and adoring. nuzzling into the comfort of your chest, soft fabric brushing against his skin, a low whine escapes his throat. ”can't take it. wanna put you in my pocket.”

”your pocket?” a grin blooms on your lips, words dripping with honeyed amusement. satoru grins right back.

”my pocket,” he hums, approvingly. ”you’re just so cute and small. gotta keep you close, so i don’t lose you.”

a huff, lighthearted. 

suddenly, the grip around your midriff tightens — and you’re hoisted up, stumbling a little as satoru lets go of you. still holding onto you by your wrists, softly, delicately, as if you’re made of glass. when you lift your head, all you can see is his satisfied little grin, and the twinkle of his eyes.

your heart flutters. 

satoru gazes at you, silently, still drinking you in. every second spent staring into the brightness of your eyes fills his heart up just a little more; colourful, heart-shaped candies, scooped up and poured into the hole in his chest. patching it right back up, so effortlessly sweet that it makes him want to pluck every star from the sky and offer them at your feet. 

”alright,” he breathes, taking a step back. breaking the delicate silence, a little dance between him and time. fingers still curled around your wrist. ”do a twirl for me.”

a humoured scoff. ”hell no.”

”aw, come on! you gotta pose for the photo, baby.”

before you know it, satoru’s got his phone out — and it’s aimed right at you. by the time you notice it, you’re fairly certain he’s already managed to snap a couple pictures. so all you can do is sigh, in faux exasperation.

”c’mon, c’mon,” he coos. ”give me a smile, pretty.”

a roll of your eyes, as you bite your lip to muffle a soft bout of laughter. it doesn’t really work. ”i’m good.”

satoru seems unaffected by your words, pulling back from your touch reluctantly; just so he can make a show out of playing the cameraman, switching between elaborate positions and taking pictures from angle after angle. somehow, you get the feeling he’s forgotten your request to keep the pictures to a minimum.

(he looks like he’s having fun, though. so you let it slide. just this once.)

”god. you’re way too cute for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, leaning down to take another picture. and it flusters you, how smoothly the words slip from his lips, how it seems like he barely even has to think about them at all. 

it’s a little embarrassing, in a heart-fluttering kind of way. but you do your best to hide it.

”you’re a sap,” is all you say, soft smile playing at your lips. 

”and you’re adorable,” satoru grins. 

then he slips his phone into his back pocket, satisfied with the collection, and grabs your hand.

his fingers curl around yours, softly — and then he lifts it up. bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin. 

(as if he’s whispering psalms under his breath. as if he’s worshipping you.)

then he tilts his head, eyes gazing at you sweetly. sweeter than fresh mandarin slices, splotches of marmalade, his favorite caramel fudge. and his eyes crinkle, crow’s feet and dimples peeking out as he smiles, an easygoing kind of joy blooming on that pretty face of his — youthful, boyish. it suits him more than anything.

his voice comes out smooth, awfully coaxing. so very easy to give in to, paired with that breathtaking grin. 

”one tiny twirl?” he asks, politely.

he’s so annoying. 

(but you’re far too in love to say no.)

so with a single roll of your eyes, and a soft little scoff, you relent. indulging him once more, just one more time. just one little twirl.

satoru feels his heart squeeze painfully, deep within his chest, as he watches you spin around. skirt and frills ruffled by the movement. just once, a soft little twirl with your fingers intertwined. far too precious for his heart to take.

when you stop, just a tiny bit dizzy, he leans in, and the kiss he leaves on your forehead is soft. chaste, but it still pulls a blissful sigh from the back of your throat. satoru’s lips curl up against your skin, before he pulls back — eyes almost overflowing with affection.

”cutie.”

you blink. 

averting your gaze, flustering a little under the weight of his love-filled eyes, all you can do is emit a soft little huff. embarrassed, as it flows from your lips. but it only makes satoru’s smile grow further.

”okay, okay. you’ve had your fun.” you clear your throat. ”time’s up.”

suddenly, satoru’s eyes fill with something akin to dread — nose crinkling, just barely, a sign of his displeasure. ”noooo,” he whines, draping his arms around you. tugging you close. ”just a little more? please? pretty please?”

”nope! we said ten minutes. no take backs.”

”can’t i have an extension? since i’m your favorite?” satoru pouts, puppy dog eyes in full force. only this time, they don’t work as well as he’d hoped.

”nope,” you repeat, popping the p. ”sorry.” another whine buzzes right by your ear, and you smile. 

”and then we’re burning it.”

”noooo!” 

”sorry, but it’s gotta go.” you bite back a soft grin. satoru sounds agonized, voice dripping with grief, and it makes your heart dance with barely contained laughter.

”but then you can’t wear it anymore, baby…”

”that’s kinda the point, toru.”

”but you’re so cute in it,” he pouts, bringing you closer still. squeezing at your waist and rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. ”it’d be such a waste if you never wore it again, don’tcha think?”

he’s trying his best, you can tell — attempting to make you falter, coax you into wearing it just a little longer. but for today, you’re done indulging him.

”well, too bad.” nuzzling into his neck, your tone settles on a firm tilt; decisive, as you nip at his skin. just a little teasing. ”i said i’d never wear it again, and i meant it.”

a moment passes. maybe it’s the warmth of your lips on his skin, or maybe he can tell you aren’t budging — whatever the case, satoru finally seems to relent. an exhale tumbles from his tongue, deep and drawn out. ”fineee,” he drawls. ”i’ll just buy you a new one.”

”i won’t wear it. i’ll just get angry.”

”at lil’ old me? really?”

”really really,” you click your tongue. ”if you love maid outfits so much, why don’t you wear one yourself?” a beat. ”it’d look good on you.”

satoru perks up, suddenly. pulling away so his eyes can meet yours, bright and teasing, glazed over with something excited. ”oh?” he purrs. ”you wanna see me in one, huh? so bold, baby.”

a scoff slips from your lips, sharp but tinged with laughter. ”well, it’s only fair, right?” grinning up at him, your hand reaches out to smooth away his bangs. fingertips trailing across the expanse of skin, touch so very tender that his eyes flutter shut. ”i think you’d pull it off better than i ever could, anyway.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly; a dance with him and time. an attempt to prolong the softness of the moment.

”hmm… well, i’ll consider it.” just barely holding back a smile, he leans into your touch. ”you gotta wear it with me, though. we can buy a matching set!”

”that makes no sense,” you huff, with a raise of your brow. ”i’ve already worn it once, so next time, it’s gotta be all you.”

”sorry, baby, but you need to do it too.” he cradles you close, smoothing a palm down your spine, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. chest rumbling with the smooth timbre of his voice, words rich with teasing fondness. ”i’m too shy to do it by myself.”

and you really, really wish you could be angry with him — but it’s just impossible. 

satoru is just way too lovable, smile far too sunny and warm for you not to melt under. and his caress says more than words ever could, light and doting, careful and loving; like how a believer cups a handful of holy water. as if you could slip from his grasp at any moment, so he has to keep you extra close.

in the end, all protests and complaints die on your tongue. you only laugh, soft and breathy, filling the air with a fondness so palpable you can almost taste it. bordering on something close to a scoff, but never quite getting there. 

eventually, satoru does — begrudgingly — let you change out of the outfit. whining a little, sulking a tad, before brightening right back up again. like clockwork, the sun peeking out after a rain shower, the calm after the storm. always that same happy smile, wrapping you around his little finger.

satoru, in all his glory; your very own pocket of sunshine. annoying, stubborn, thoughtful — 

and yours, wholly and thoroughly.

(while you’re busy gazing at him adoringly, satoru grumbles under his breath. contemplation painted on his features, as his mind spins in circles. frills, bows, lace…

what kind of design would make him look the prettiest for you?)

[court-of-starss]

Comfort of Family

Summary: Your cycle leaves you pining for your mate.

Warnings: Periods, a whole bunch of fluff, Rhys being the best older brother ever.

a/n: Honestly I just wanted an excuse to write Rhys as an older brother. Enjoy my migraine induced drabble!

Masterlist

Feyre had never seen Rhys look as nervous as he did now, standing in front of the wooden door of his little sister. He was tense as he lifted his hand to knock, hesitating as he took in a nervous breath.

“I think you’re being a bit dramatic.” Feyre mumbled, raising a hand to gently rub his tense back, biting her lip to hide her amusement as he shot her an accusatory look over his shoulder.

“You don’t understand, she’s not my little star during her cycle” His voice trailed into a whisper, “she’s a chocolate hoarding dragon.” Feyre couldn’t hold back her laugh at his dramatics, so scared of his closest family member, his baby sister.

“I assume she’s going to be even worse as you’ve sent her mate off to gods know where.” Feyre giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand when Rhys narrowed his eyes at her and huffed. He took a deep breath before turning back around and finally raising his hand to gently knock on the door, turning the doorknob and entering at the soft ‘come in’ that emerged from the room.

The curtains were drawn, leaving the room in darkness hiding the mass under the heavy black sheets of the bed. Feyre rolled her eyes at Rhys’ hesitation to enter, giving him a gentle shove forward before closing the door behind him, leaving him to face his sister alone.

‘Traitor.’ He shot down the bond, his lips curving up slightly at her soft laugh that he felt through his chest. He cautiously approached the bed, eyebrows crunching together at the small sniffle that leaked from her. He felt guilt swarm him at her pain, her cycles much more painful than the ordinary fae.

“You better have chocolate Rhys.” You growled, your eyes peaking out from under the blankets to glare at your older brother who was now crouching down in front of you. He looked so much like your mother like this, his eyes soft as he examined the scrunch of your brows. He raised his hand, revealing a pouch from your favorite sweet shop in town. He grinned and set them on the night stand, next to your mates’ dagger, the one he always left by your side.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, cringing when another wave of pain travelled through you, your back and abdomen cramping painfully. Rhys frowned and gentle wiped the sweat from your brow, cupping your cheek softly as his talons slipped into your mind to ease some of the pain coursing through you.

“I’m still mad at you, for sending him away.” He sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, making himself comfortable, ignoring your glare as he rested his head on your mates pillow.

“It was urgent and I assure you he will be back soon little star.” He had a teasing grin on his face as he bumped your foot with his. “Besides I’m sure he’ll give me enough of a beating when he gets home.” He snickered, he never turned down an opportunity to roll around the training mat with the shadowsinger.

A soft sniffle left you as you rested your temple on his shoulder, taking a few deep breaths. His scent easing your mind slightly, knowing you were safe with your best friend by your side. You could never truly be mad at your brother, a fact he knew and took advantage of often. While most compared him to your father, you always saw your mother in him. In his gentle eyes, in his caring actions, in his selfless actions, in his court.

“I miss him.” You mumbled, tears dripping down your cheeks as Rhys rested his cheek against your hair, humming softly.

“What can I do?” He asked gently, his heart aching at your pain and tears. A sight that he couldn’t stand.

“I just want Azriel.” You sniffled, wiping your cheek on his shirt, not even feeling guilty at the damp spot on his shirt. He sighed and sat up, pulling your head onto his lap as he ran his fingers through your hair soothingly. Humming softly as your eyelids started to droop.

“He’ll be home soon I promise little star.” Rhys said softly, his words sending you into a blissful sleep full of shadows and gleaming hazel eyes full of love and laughter.

-

You grumbled when you felt something caressing your cheek, a soft cool touch that drew you from the sweet dream you were having of your other half. You peeled your eyes open, blinking a few times to clear the fog of sleep. Your gaze snapped to a soft hazel gaze, kneeling next to the bed with a gentle smile was your mate. Your Azriel.

Your lip wobbled as you processed that he was here, your hand lifting from the blankets to hold the back of his caressing your cheek.

“Hey baby.” He mumbled, his eyes tracking the fresh tears now gathering in your waterline.

“Az.” You whined, tugging his hand. He complied, sliding under the blankets and huffing a laugh when you immediately curled into his body, leg draping over his hips as his arm slid over your shoulders to tug you into chest. You buried your face into his neck, taking long breaths of his scent, the smell of home. His palm slid down until it pressed against your lower back, the spot he knew always gave you the worst pains.

“Never leave me again.” You mumbled into his throat, smiling when he made a noise of agreement, the sound rumbling down to his chest. His other hand lifting to stroke through your hair, his nose pressed into your temple taking deep breaths of his beloved mate.

It could have been hours, perhaps days that you spent in this position with him, your body finally fully relaxed. But alas the moment was ruined, by your traitorous stomach letting out a deep grumble of protest. Az let out a puffed laugh, pressing a soft kiss to your hair before sliding you up onto his chest and rising from the bed.

You grumbled unhappily at the loss of the soft sheets and buried your head in his neck as he carried you out into the dining room, full of your loud and nosy family. Nose scrunching at Rhys and Mor loudly arguing over whom had the better hair in the family, you scoffed softly knowing it was neither of them.

“Oh, Az what do I have to do to get you to carry me around like that?” Cassian drawled, waving you off when you raised your head to snarl at him. You glared at his cheeky smile, softening slightly when he winked at you.

“For the last time Cassian, you are not my type.” Azriel groaned in fake annoyance, his lips tipping up slightly. You giggled when Cas held his hand to his heart and groaned dramatically, his own mate rolling her eyes, shooting you a soft smile before turning back to her conversation with Feyre.

Your heart warmed at the picture of your family, all cozied up on the comfy couches in front of the roaring fireplace, laughter ringing through the room as each member of your family relaxed with each other. A sight you had thought wouldn’t ever happen again 50 years ago, the joy and care radiating from everyone in the room was enough to tip your lips up, your pain from your cycle almost completely forgotten as your mate tipped his back with a roaring laugh as his brother continued his teasing.

Your eyes met Rhys’ as he smiled at you, his arm wrapped around his mate as she laughed at something Nesta was explaining, probably an embarrassing fact about poor Cassian. You smiled back, your eyes filling with happy tears as you finally witnessed the love and happiness on his face, after a long life of suffering, the pair of you were finally happy.

I love you Rhys.

I love you too, little star.

Azriel carried you into the kitchen, setting you on the counter as he turned to rifle through the cupboards, he always made you food when you were on your cycle, knowing you loved his cooking.

You sent a pulse of love down the golden string attaching your souls together, smiling widely when he shot a cheeky wink over his shoulder at you.

With the laughter flowing into the room from your family, and the sound of Azriel humming softly to himself as he started cooking, you felt your body relax. You had faced darkness head on and you knew at this moment that you would face it again if it meant that this life was waiting for you at the end.

“What do you mean Helion is hotter than me?! That is bullshit!” Cassian exclaimed from the other room, causing a loud laugh to leave your lips as your mate turned to grin at you, his own laugh leaving him as his eyes twinkled.

Watching you giggle and turn to shout back at Cassian, Azriel knew he would face death itself to keep the glittering smile on your face for eternity.

[froggibus]

Stamina - Wally West

Pairing: Wally West x f! reader (reader has a pussy + uses female pronouns)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: as a speedster, your boyfriend has near unlimited stamina. unfortunately for you, your stamina is very much finite

CW: overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies, unprotected sex (be smart), mentions of oral (f! receiving), lots of praise, mating press, Wally is an absolute madman

hi I wrote this in 45 minutes after waiting in line for 10minutes at 7/11 for hot chocolate because the guy in front of my didn’t know how to use Apple Pay. anyway I am absolutely here for Wally accidentally overstimulating you because he just has so much energy

Kinktober Masterlist

The best thing about having a speedster for a boyfriend? He has nearly unmatched stamina. The worst thing about having a speedster for a boyfriend? He has nearly unmatched stamina.

Wally looks up at you with a smirk, green eyes glinting with mischief. His lips, along with the entire lower half of his face, are coated in your slick. Your juices drip down his chin and roll down his muscled chest.

“Cumming already?” He teases, “we haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.”

Your boyfriend barely seems phased by the fifteen minutes he just spent between your legs, but that’s not out of the ordinary. Most days, Wally could spend hours eating you out if you’d let him. 

You roll your eyes, legs trembling as you attempt to close them around his shoulders. “You’re just too good, Walls.”

“Hey, I didn’t say we were done yet.” Wally pulls your legs apart, an ankle thrown over each shoulder.

He tugs down his boxers, letting his cock spring free. As usual, he’s eagerly dripping precum. Wally keeps his eyes on yours as he rubs his cock between your lips, letting the mixture of your juices and his spit act as lube. He lines his tip up with your entrance and lets it slip inside.

He almost whimpers as he bottoms out, the sheer heat and tightness of your pussy overwhelming for him. No matter how many times he’s been in this position, no matter how many times he’s fucked you, it always amazes him how well you take him. How well your pussy just molds to his cock. 

“God,” he groans, cock filling you completely, “you take me so well.”

You’re practically folded in half with your legs over his shoulders and his body leaning over yours. He’s so deep inside of you that you feel him with every breath.

Wally starts moving, taking up that familiar fast pace you’re so used to. He bottoms out with every thrust, pulling out just as you register how the head of his cock hits that spot inside of you. You reach out desperately, gripping at his hair to give yourself a sense of control as he drills your poor pussy.

He presses a hand down on your stomach, his other arm keeping him propped up. His muscles flex with every thrust, abs clenching and biceps bending. His green eyes have darkened, that familiar shade of jade being drowned out by his desire. 

He slows down, opting for harder and deeper thrusts that have the headboard slamming against the wall each time. Your body moves with the bed, his cock bullying into your walls. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the waves of pleasure roll over you. You cum at the same time as Wally, his hips stuttering as he tries to bury himself as deep as possible within your walls.

You desperately grip at his forearms, nails digging into the soft skin. Wally whines as he cums, painting your walls white in thick, long bursts. 

He smiles down at you, attempting to catch his breath. “Still hanging in there?”

You nod, though your pussy is starting to tingle from all the pleasure it's received and that dull pressure has filled your stomach. 

“Good,” he kisses you and starts to move again, his cock still painfully hard. “Cause I’m not done either.”

Wally’s stamina hasn’t seemed to take a hit as he resumes his earlier pace, slamming his hips into yours almost hard enough to bruise. His cock is still sensitive from cumming, but your walls clenching around him feels so good that he never wants to stop. He has his eyes closed as he fucks into you, focused only on trying to get himself as deep inside of you as possible. 

You keep your fingers wrapped around his biceps and let yourself get lost in the overwhelming pleasure. It’s not unusual for Wally to want to go multiple rounds, overstimulating both of you in the process. Still, you never quite get used to the extreme highs he gives you in the heat of the moment.

Wally’s pace increases, balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. He’s brutal in his speed, sweat beading down his temples as he pushes you even further. The bed shakes and you can barely catch your breath.

You look up at him desperately, pleading at him with your eyes. Wally looks down at you and you can see that he’s somewhere else, focused only on the heat of your puffy pussy. 

You tighten your grip on him in an attempt to ground him, opening your mouth to speak. No words come out, though, drowned out by your pathetic whines as another orgasm rolls over you. It’s so intense that your senses fade away from you, the lewd sounds of Wally fucking you drifting somewhere far away.

Wally cums a minute after you, bringing you back to your senses when you feel his hot cum filling you up once more. He lets himself collapse on you, keeping his cock still inside of you.

He rubs a hand across your cheek, “still with me?”

You nod weakly, your head spinning with the aftershocks of your last orgasm. The black spots that filled your vision still haven’t gone away.

Wally grabs your hands, pushing them further into the bed and using them as leverage as he starts to fuck you once more. You shiver with every movement, the pleasure almost painful at this point. 

Wally kisses your forehead. “Give me one more, okay? Just one more.”

He’s much lazier this time, much more gentle. He keeps a steady pace, trying to give you time to recover while also chasing his own high. Any sensitivity he’s feeling is drowned out by how fucking good you feel around him, how fucking pretty you look when you’re all fucked out like this.

He holds your hands the whole time, whispering praises into your ear with every thrust. “My good girl,” he mumbles, “‘m almost done.”

You squeeze his hands almost painfully tight, blinking back the tears that form in your eyes. It feels so good, but it’s too much. Too hot, too wet, too much pressure. Wally is your only grip on reality, the only thing keeping you from succumbing to the exhaustion that hangs over you.

His hips stutter and he buries himself deep inside of you as he finishes. The heat of his cum fills you and though it feels good, it overwhelms you. You whimper while he pumps his cum inside of you, letting the tears start to roll down your cheeks.

Wally wipes them away, kissing your wet cheeks. “Did so good for me,” he slurs, “so fucking good.”

He doesn’t pull out, still lazily moving inside of you. He kisses all around your face, petting your sweaty hair out of your eyes. Your pussy aches, twitching around him tiredly, as if begging for a break. Wally looks at you with hearts in his eyes. You look so cute and used up, he swears he’ll melt.

He finally pulls out, letting his cum run out of you and coat your thighs and bedsheets. “Let’s give your pussy a break, hm?”

“Yes, please,” you mumble out, finally succumbing to your exhaustion.

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: woozi

grumpy x sunshine trope

'how can a heart like yours even love a heart like mine?'

'will it kill you to smile a little?'

jihoon's eyebrow twitches but that's all reaction he gives. whenever people try to get a rise out of him, the most they receive is an annoyed huff or dramatic eye roll, so eyebrow twitch is something new; i'm widening my arsenal, jihoon thinks, watching his classmates walk away. he almost opens his mouth to retort something sarcastic and beat his personal record, when he hears it. the only sound that instantly soothes his anger and makes him melt into a puddle as jeonghan says - sound of your laughter.

it rings in his ears as the most perfect melody and jihoon can get so easily embarrassed about many things, but his utter devotion and love towards you is not one of them. corners of his lips stretch to the sides on their own, his body moves like he's not the one possessing it - one second and he's already up, moving to the door, wanting to see you. with each step he takes, the louder your laughter gets and he wants to see it, wants to witness the most beautiful picture you paint with your head thrown back, eyes shut and hands somewhere in the air, gestucilating wildly. one step, two - he reaches hallway just in time to see you wiping away tears from your eyes, still smiling brightly. happiness surrounds you like a halo, its glow soft and bright at the same time, calling for jihoon to come closer.

'i can't believe it! and what did she- oh, jihoon! hi!'

it shouldn't be possible, but your smile grows even wider at the sight of him and his heart does this really not funny thing in his chest when it stops and does stupid somersault of some sort. it's all a bit hard to believe if he's being honest; the way you immediately focus your attention on him, how you choose him over other people, him. jihoon is not a fan of putting himself down, but he knows himself very well, is very aware of where he stands on social staircase especially in comparison to other cool kids. he knows he's grumpy, knows that many find him antisocial or unfriendly, knows he's not someone who can hold attention of others very well, he knows. those are all facts, plain truths along with him being closed off, shy, painfully ordinary. that's why it's hard to believe that someone like you - a sunshine in human form - prefers his company the most.

'where have you been?' you ask him and then jokingly push at his shoulder. 'i was looking everywhere for you.'

you should know. you should know what these words do to him because how can you not? jihoon thinks he's bad at hiding his feelings, is pretty sure that hearts in his eyes when he looks at you are too big for anyone not to notice. 'i didn't want to go, so i was waiting here.'

you frown and your frown only deepens, when passing by guy shouts: 'he's a party pooper, what did you expect?'. it doesn't really hurt jihoon, weirdly enough. he understands general confusion of others regarding him and you. how can such a sunshine be with such a grumpy guy? what do they have in common?

'ignore,' jihoon says, knowing that you're about to snap back. your attention is a gift and he wants it on himself, not on some irrelevant guys. 'how did everything go? you're happy?'

you smile, nodding. 'it was so nice, i have so much to tell you!'

'that's great,' jihoon gently takes your bag away from your hands and with even more gentleness takes your hand in his. 'tell me all about it during lunch? my treat.'

your smile softens and you get this bashful look on your face that he adores. 'it's always your treat.'

'mhm,' jihoon hums noncommittally. 'and it's always going to be. let's go?'

your hand grips his a bit tighter and jihoon sighs in satisfaction, when you sway closer to him so your shoulders are brushing. 'let's go!'

this is what matters in the end - your hand in his, your smile directed to him, your quiet 'i missed you' whispered somewhere between his neck and shoulder. not what others say or think, but your sparkling eyes and loud 'you're the best, jihoonie'. jihoon doesn't mind being grumpy if he has sunshine like you by his side.

a/n: offf, this is kinda rough, isn't it? coming back from hiatus is hard, people, but hopefully this is not very disappointing. anyways, i'm starting new series, hoping for support from you :') - nini

all my other works can be found here

[eowynstwin]

a wake-up call

previous - neighbors - next

You deal with the aftermath of the previous night. cw: masturbation reference

Three knocks on your front door wake you up.

The sound feels at first like the thump of your own throbbing brain against the inside of your skull. Awareness comes back to you slowly, in gradiated shades of stiff joints and greasy skin. You shift, and find you’re still on your couch, still in your clothes from last night. Your eyes are filmy, sticky with dehydration—you blink several times to clear them, to little effect.

The knocking, a three-beat staccato, comes again.

“One second,” you croak irritably, cupping your forehead with your hand. Your skull might come apart, you think, if you move too much.

Your entire body feels like it is suspended from loose, tangled marionette strings as you struggle to sit up on the couch, and you wobble to that effect as you stand. Somehow, your flat has tilted at thirty degree angle, likely sometime in your sleep. You make it to the door at an oblique, having to lean on the jamb as you open it, and to add insult to injury John is standing on your doorstep like a clean, shining beacon of sobriety.

He’s in a dark shirt and jeans. His hair is casually neat, as if he’d styled it with his fingers. He looks fresh-faced, as if he’s been awake for hours already.

“That’s not fair,” you groan. 

His brows draw together over cool blue eyes. “Jesus, love,” he says, looking you up and down.

You think you should say something back. But your head is too full of ache and interrupted sleep—and the bright shock of his presence—to produce anything intelligent.

“John,” is all you say, and you sound absolutely pathetic.

“Was gonna accuse you of standing me up,” he says ruefully, “but I see that’s not the case.”

“No,” you say dumbly. The fact that he’s come to seek you out gets tangled up in the strings. “Um.”

It is so far out of the ordinary as to be dreamlike. John’s knocking belongs on the other side of your wall, not your door. His boots belong on his own doorstep, making room for your house slippers at the time of your choosing, not his.

“Am I still drunk?” you wonder aloud.

John gives that little huff-laugh of his. “I doubt it.”

You rub your face. “Have I overslept?”

“Just a bit,” he replies. “I’ll admit, when I didn’t hear you move around this morning, I got worried.”

“I fell asleep on the couch,” you confess. You put a hand to your forehead as your brain throbs again. “Oh, I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Love,” says John, gentle and soft, “why don’t you let me in, and I’ll make you some breakfast?”

You blink, and you’re sure now that you’re still drunk. 

John. In your flat. Cooking?

“I’m not fancy in the kitchen, but I manage alright,” he suggests further. His gaze is warm on yours, brows lifted encouragingly.

“…Sure,” you say, and shuffle to the side to let him in. If this morning is determined to be strange, you might as well not get in its way.

He gives you a small smile and crosses the threshold. 

Your flat shifts again; as he enters your living room, it seems to shrink, or maybe it’s just that John fills your home in a way no one ever has. His body, his presence, casts new light on the interior that throws its existence into unfamiliar repose. Details—the softness of your furniture, the cozy clutter of books and knickknacks spread across every available flat surface—offer unmeasured insight into who you are, more than you might ever have intended to reveal to John.

It’s only when he’s halfway to your kitchen that you realize one detail—the bright fucking pink of your vibrator, still on your coffee table—is glowing like a neon sign.

And your previous night’s activities come flooding back. 

Your body, draped over his. The scrape of his beard on your hand, your face. 

The furious grind of your mons against that toy as you pictured him taking you, drenched in hot shower water and pressed bare to the tile wall.

You are fully, painfully awake now. You stare, frozen in shocked terror, waiting for him to catch sight of it, but his head does not turn in its direction. He passes by it with no indication that he even noticed.

You dart over and snatch it behind his back, shoving it deep into your dress pocket, and grab up the empty water glass for an excuse. Then you have to put a hand to your head as your vision swims from the sudden movement.

“Have eggs?” John asks over his shoulder. He enters your kitchen. “I can make ‘em any way you like. Fried, over easy, sunny side…”

“Um,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, “scrambled.”

You follow after him, and lean against the wall to watch as he opens your fridge. His hand engulfs more of its handle than yours ever has; the musculature of his powerful body visibly shifts beneath his clothes as he has to bend down to root around the shelves.

He is broad in your kitchen. As broad as he’d been between your legs, in memory and in fantasy.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he straightens and puts the eggs, butter, and milk on the counter. Your breath hangs suspended in the shallows of your lungs when he catches your gaze.

His brows crease again. “You look like you’re about to fall over.” 

“Um,” you say, again, because it’s the only sound your brain will reliably supply.

To your horror, he comes to you, and—oh, god—takes your face in both hands.

“You’re warm,” he says. “Do you feel sick, love?”

Your brain supplies nothing now. It is so unfair, how good he looks the morning after drinking nearly half a bottle of scotch. His features are velvet-soft, so easy and wonderful to look at that you stop feeling your headache entirely.

“I really think I might still be drunk,” you admit, sounding pathetic.

His thumbs rub into your temples as he smiles at you. “Hell of a hangover, then.”

The pressure of his fingers is an incredible relief, and you close your eyes as you give into it. You feel, if your knees suddenly gave out, that he would easily be able to hold you up like this, as if you weighed nothing. His hands are a little cool from rooting around in your fridge, and the rest of him is warm, standing close enough that his body heat reaches out to you with the freshness of a recent shower. You want to fall into that warmth, bury your face in his chest…

Your eyes fly open. You hear your own voice again—I wanted to touch you, and I wanted you to hold me. You feel, again, the echo of his body between your thighs. Your heart starts beating wildly in your chest as embarrassment, hot and acidic, pumps through you.

“I think I need to sit down,” you whisper.

He strokes your temples, and surveys your face with a gentle gaze. “Sure, love. Go ahead.”

And then he releases you, and you try to remember how to walk as you return to your living room. There is no relief to be found as you sit down on your couch, which is indented by the dissatisfied night.

“How’d you sleep?” John asks from the counter. You hear him crack a few eggs into a bowl. This is the first time cooking has happened in your kitchen with you outside of it, and the cognitive dissonance of it does not help to steady you.

“Like the dead,” you say, rubbing your sore neck. Then, you decide to lie to him. “I—I think I passed out before the door even closed last night.”

John looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles. The vibrator sits cold in your pocket. Are you imagining that glimmer in his eyes? “Wouldn’t be surprised. You were pretty out of it.”

“I didn’t end up drinking the whole bottle, did I?”

A chuckle. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t you drink as much as me?” You try to recall, and think you can remember him matching you glass for glass. “Why aren’t you out of commission?”

“The army never cares if you’re hungover, I’ve found,” says John. “Guess I learned to stop caring too.”

You hear the sizzle of whisked eggs spreading over a hot pan, and for a while there’s only the sound of John moving a spatula around.

You watch him in your kitchen, his back to you as he stands at the stove. His long-sleeved shirt clings to the breadth of his shoulders, planes of shifting muscle underneath casting shadows through the soft cotton. The collar hangs a little low down his neck, leaving enough room for the dark hair at his nape to curl as it dries.

It makes something in your stomach twist, twinning your nervous hunger with unstable desire. It’s something that wants to walk back into the kitchen and wrap your arms around his trim waist, press your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Want anything else?” John asks. “Could make some toast.”

“Eggs are fine!” you say too quickly.

The spatula scrapes softly against the pan again. As he turns to open your fridge, you swear you see him grinning. 

Heat blooms across your face. SAS. Of course he could feel you looking at him.

It does not take him very long to finish cooking. Space bends once again as he leaves your kitchen, as he comes to you with a plate balanced on one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. You feel smaller than you ever have as he approaches, and sets the meal in front of you on the coffee table. 

“Hope it tastes alright,” he says, sitting down beside you. He sinks into your couch cushions, far more dense than you are, and looks quite comfortable doing so. “I made ‘em how I like ‘em, but no guarantee you’ll feel the same.”

You look from him to the eggs, which are golden yellow and steaming pleasantly. “You didn’t make yourself anything?”

There is a softness in his eyes when you look back to him. You’ve seen it before—it’s there every time you hand him a new book. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just eat.”

You can’t protest when he’s looking at you like that, so you obey, suddenly ravenous once a forkful is between your teeth. The eggs are whipped to a wonderfully soft fluff, salted perfectly, and you think you can taste the barest hint of butter. You can’t help shutting your eyes to savor the taste.

“Good?” John asks. “I’ll admit, I’m not much of a cook, but I think I’m all right at eggs.”

Usually you like to add things when you make the same dish—potato chips, broken up into little crumbs, or a dollop of sour cream and salsa. For once though, right now you’d be disappointed by all that. 

They wouldn’t be the eggs John made for you.

The thought makes your stomach twist again. “Delicious,” you say. “Thank you.”

He watches you eat, and you try not to feel self-conscious. He seems almost—satisfied by this, by feeding you, more than you would expect him to be. But then, this has always been the case with John. You have never understood why the smallest of things you do have such an impact on him, but they do nonetheless.

“John,” you say. “About last night…I wanted to apologize.”

Dark brows crease as you set the empty plate down. “What for?”

“I got so drunk,” you say. You won’t look at him, face heating, strangling your own fingers in your lap. “You—you had to carry me home, and I’m so embarrassed by the things I said, I was so inconsiderate.”

“That’s not—”

“You must have felt so uncomfortable,” you continue, “you were so nice to take me out, and there I was acting like a lush with no self-control—”

“Darling, it’s fine—”

“And then after, the way I—I pawed at you—”

He says your name—fully and clearly, firmly—and it catches you so off guard that your words halt in your throat. You finally meet his gaze.

John’s eyes have always been windows. Portals into the truth of him, freely offered, without hesitance or fear. You think John knows himself in ways few men do—knows every corner, every crack and crevice, and refuses to hide any of it from himself or anyone else. As if he is not afraid of being seen for what and who he is; as if he has seen it all already, and cannot be daunted by it.

What you see now is undisguised. Untempered. John Price wants you. And he has no fear that you can see it.

“Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest.

The question catches you off guard, throwing you with its directness. The only thing keeping you upright is his gaze, the steady certainty of its own intention. Strong even under the weight of suspense. 

You swallow, and take a shaky breath. “John,” you say, “I was so drunk...”

His eyes flash. John moves, leans forward, and you are speared, held in place much the same way you had been at dinner, by his presence alone. “I know. But did you mean it?”

The breath trapped in your lungs calcifies, solidifies into hard, pressing nodules of catalyzed fear and desire that trap the seeds of any response in your chest. You tear your gaze away from him, finally, stare at the empty plate on your table. He does not touch you, but you feel the phantom weight of his hand on your knee. The warmth of his body against yours.

“We hardly know each other,” you whisper shakily. It is a flimsy scrap of an excuse, even to you. “We—we barely know each other at all.”

“Love,” John says, low and soft. You turn to look at him again. His lips part—

Your phone rings.

You exhale hard, strings suddenly cut. John closes his eyes, breathes out, and then leans back again.

You retrieve your phone from where you’d flung your purse last night, off the couch and to the opposite wall where it lays on the floor. When you see the caller ID, you want to throw the phone back across the room, but you take a deep breath and answer anyway.

“Ben,” you sigh, and to your furious embarrassment it comes out as a croak.

“Hey, sweets, Liv is—wait. You sound awful,” comes your coworker—and ex-boyfriend’s—voice through the earpiece.

“Rough night,” you say, closing your eyes against sweets. You then look at John. His gaze is fixed on you.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben says. “Anything I can do?”

He could have not called. “Tell me about Liv,” you prompt him.

“Right! She’s out. Flu.”

“Oh.” You blink, and watch John retrieve your plate and glass. He takes them to the kitchen and runs the faucet low, so the sound won’t interfere with your call. 

You’re not sure how you know that that’s his intention, but you do. 

“That’s awful.”

“And inconvenient. We need another instructor for the trip.”

Can John hear what Ben is saying? He looks up from the sink, lifts one brow when you meet his eyes. There’s humor there, a kind of rueful empathy for dealing with the nonsense of coworkers.

You want to hang up. You want to answer his question right then and there. 

“When?” you ask.

“Two hours. I know! I know it’s short notice,” he says, animatedly contrite. “Sorry. But we’d love to have you, it’ll be fun! I can even pick you up, if you like.”

“No, that’s alright,” you sigh. “But okay, I’ll start packing. Just send me the details, yeah?”

“Sure, sweets,” Ben replies, “can’t wait to see you! I’ve missed hanging out, you know? Even after…everything.”

The gravitational force of John’s presence—the shift and bend of your flat around him—snaps in half. Reality asserts itself like a recurring headache. 

Suddenly you’re in your flat, phone to your ear, unshowered from last night and coated in a layer of grease. The vibrator is a useless weight in your pocket. You are a useless girl hungover in day-old clothes.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say noncommittally, and hang up.

John gazes at you expectantly from over the sink.

“Work trip,” you say, and you wonder if you sound as dazed as you feel. “Last minute, I…I need to get ready.”

John blinks, and then grins, amused. Crow’s feet gather in the corners of his eyes. “You know, I’m usually the one in that situation.”

Suddenly he is too much to look at. You tear your gaze away, look at your phone in your hands. You feel very exposed, ashamed somehow. “I’m sorry,” you say.

You hear the easy drum of John’s boots out of your kitchen, across the room, and then he’s in front of you. His hands are in his pockets, arms slung loose at his sides. “What for?”

“For…”

He steps closer to you. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you have to look up at him, unable to resist the pull he has on you.

The line of his mouth is gentle, and you stare too long at the divot of his Cupid’s bow. Beneath the soft lines of his brows, his gaze is soft, fond. More so than you deserve.

“I don’t really know.”

The long muscle in his neck shifts as he tilts his head. You swallow, unconsciously mirroring the gesture.

“John…I…”

His gaze drops—rests on your lips, and returns to yours.

“Love,” he murmurs, low and humming. “Did you mean it?”

His voice slides across you like physical touch, and every hair feels like it’s standing on end.

Yes. Yes, of course you meant it, every word. It feels so obvious to you, so blatant, and the shame of it holds you by the throat. You are not important enough to inflict upon John Price. You are trembling, meek, afraid of stepping outside your own door sometimes. What is that in comparison to him? Him, who comes home shaking off the dust of places you’ve only ever heard of. Him, who you’ve learned can swear in six different languages. Him, who has stuffed more life than you thought possible into only a handful more years of living than yours.

Of course you want him. Moths are always drawn toward flame. How could you not?

“John,” you say in your smallest voice. You hate the way it sounds—like an admission of guilt. “What if I did?”

He doesn’t move, but you see the shift in him anyway. A coiling, almost,  energy banking as he studies you, searches your face. His hands remain in his pockets. He watches you for a long moment, and you can’t possibly imagine what he might like in what he sees.

“Ball’s in your court, then,” he finally says, soft and low in his chest. “Whatever you want from me, love, you can have.”

You want too much. You can’t give enough back.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you say on a shallow breath. “Our—us. What we already have.”

He steps closer to you. Close enough that his shirt brushes the front of your dress. Close enough that his clean, soft warmth near-envelops you, the exact same way you’d been wishing for earlier. He does not reach out, like he did when he thought you were sick. You cannot decide if this disappoints you or not. You feel shaky without his hands on you, feverish and embarrassed, and you fear desperately that he can see that as he holds your gaze, that you are completely open to him in a way that leaves no space for the truth to hide. 

“You won’t,” he says, steady and solid.  

You take a trembling breath, swallow to clear your throat. “I…”

He withdraws one hand from his pocket, slowly, and brings it upward. Feather-light, he curls his index finger under your chin, caressing his thumb so terribly gently beneath your bottom lip. You cannot help flinching, anticipatory want recoiling from the very thing it was aching for in surprise, and for a split second you are newly scared that he’ll take his touch away.

But he doesn’t. The windows of John’s eyes stay open, and there is nothing but intent behind them. You realize he knows. He knows that you’re reluctant, that you’re unsure, that you are pulled to him like a falling star to earth and also terrified of burning up in the process. 

He understands.

“I’m a patient man, love,” he purrs, and you realize too that he is excited by this, by you. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: An unlikely encounter brings you and Cassian together, resulting in a decade - long obsession born out of lust and hatred. tw: female reader, hinted non-con, abuse/violence, obsession, jealousy, misogyny, degradation, slut-shaming, bullying, threats, choking, religious trauma, religious imagery, religious inaccuracy My ko - fi <3

Cassian still remembered the day you first met, the one he dreaded the most - the early spring warmth mixing with the smell of frost-hidden snowdrops. The earth being cleansed and reborn after a long, sluggish winter filled with challenges for the sinners' burning souls. Back then he was still working at the altar, freshly out of high school - barely nineteen, somewhere between a confused boy and a man of Christ.

He was called to fetch water from the well - it was nothing out of the ordinary, this was the sole reason he was part of the church, to help the elders with baptising and burying the dead. He was coming back with a rushed step when he saw you - bumped into you, to be exact. You were wearing a light white dress that covered just above the middle of your thighs, your ankles and feet fully exposed with just a pair of brown flowery sandals to go along with. You looked a bit older than the boy - maybe two or three years, he decided, as there was something mature in your beauty, an air of influence most girls his age didn't possess yet.

It all happened so fast - Cassian gasped in surprise as the water spilt all over you, sticking to each and every little crack and hem of your thin cotton dress. The wet fabric hugged all your curves, as if damp just to tempt him. He immediately looked down, covering his face with one hand as he tried to collect the fallen jug with the other, cheeks beet red. You, in turn, smiled playfully, reaching for the small pot before the man could grab it. You wiggled it in the air, laughing with your teeth out - glowing in the soft sunlight. He mumbled something incoherent, perhaps begging you to return it - but you were quick on your feet, running towards the river with the tool in hand, your soft giggles bursting like bubbles.

The boy hesitated for a second before eventually following after you, innocent brown eyes widening with a mix of fear and surprise, heart beating violently against his chest - this was the first time he was so close to a woman. After chasing you around the forest for a while, he stopped to catch his breath just to realise he had lost you somewhere along the way. He looked around, already panicking - too frightened to even begin imagining how the elders would react once they knew he had lost the ceremonial canna. 

“Looking for this?” You suddenly called out to him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your pink lips. He quickly turned to face you, blushing once again as he spotted you sitting among the rocks surrounding the stream with the sun caught in your loosened locks - and his jug in your soft palms. You looked just like the nymphs his mentor had warned him about - cruel, whimsical creatures, yet painfully, breathtakingly beautiful. They liked to trick lost travellers and lonely shepherds, taking their soul for all eternity. 

Cassian took a deep breath and mouthed a quick prayer to his patron, bringing his hands together. He could do this. He wouldn’t be swayed by you no matter how cunning you may be - for his soul belonged to Christ and Christ alone.

“Stealing is a g-grave sin, Miss.” The boy exclaimed, voice shaky yet unrelenting as he took a step towards you. “So please return the can to me at once!” This time he sounded almost breathless, whiny like a mere child. You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your parted lips. “Aww, no need to get mad. I am simply borrowing it.” You cooed at the disciple with slight mockery, pretending to eye the item in your hands with great interest. 

“I am n-not mad!” Cassian swiftly contested, crossing his arms to appear more intimidating, if that was even possible. “I am just frustrated - righteously so, since y-you took something that belongs to me, and refuse to give it back.” He continued, puffing his chest out towards you in annoyance. You found his attempts to convince you utterly adorable - but the only thing they accomplished was making you want to pick on him even more. “If you want it so bad, come and get it!” You egged him on, dingling it just above his head once again.

Then suddenly, just for a split second, something in his eyes changed. The brown turned dark and muddy, almost glowing with fury, his teeth grazing his cheek until he could taste the blood on his tongue - and next thing you knew, he had pushed you into the stream, soaked up to your chin. You started coughing, desperate to keep the water out of your lungs, but his hand pressed heavy against your chest, shoving you towards the very bottom of the river.

It was your turn to panic, cheeks heating up with uncertainty. You looked up at Cassian with soft, pleading eyes - begging him to let go. It was all too much for the sheltered boy - your prior teasing, your pitiful gaze, your warm skin shivering against the drenched, transparent clothing, leaving little to the imagination… He subconsciously began tugging at his tight golden collar, feeling the cold sweat creep upon his neck - then he slowly released you, letting your body rise up to the top without any added weight on it.

The disciple stared at your trembling form for what felt like eternity, unable to look away. Soon enough you came to your senses, scurrying to cover your breasts - but despite your best attempts at hiding, his fervent gaze kept threatening to burn a hole into your flesh. You opened your mouth to say something, perhaps an apology of sorts, or even an accusation - yet no sound came out. 

And just like that the boy was gone.

***

Cassian cried the whole night, he cried his little heart out, hugging the Mary Magdalen icon close to his chest - hoping, praying that he could be redeemed. He was sick, utterly sick. The way he had felt, the way his body had reacted to you - it was sinister, devilish, unholy. Something completely unbecoming of the sacred figure he aspired to become once his altar duties were finished. He was supposed to be different, a beam of light in a crowd of darkness and misery, and now he was filthy, reeking of sin - of you.

His racing thoughts left him restless, unable to close his eyes. He had no other option left - he had to confide in his mentor, it was the right thing to do. It was going to be alright, he tried to rationalise. Repent, and you will be saved. A sin admitted is a sin resolved and punished from within, from your very core. That’s what the elders always said - sin was human, but deceit was intentional, it meant that your soul was purposely straying away from God’s love and protection. The ones who were truthful and eager to accept their faults could still ascend to Heaven.

And Cassian was lucky - so, so lucky, because his mentor proved understanding to the troubles of his soul. He reassured him, taking him into his arms, the smell of incense and wax and home enough to soothe any heartache. The old man smiled gently, petting his hair - telling him that beauty was a Godly virtue, and there was nothing wrong with admiring it for his body itself was a fruit of desire and love. Then once the boy had stopped sobbing, his breathing finally even, the priest pulled him to the side and reminded him that he was one of his best students, and as such he simply could not be tempted and swayed by the weakness of the flesh. The deacon had seen him - had felt the cleaness in his eyes, and that’s precisely why he had chosen him; for his unyielding chastity and goodness. And he was never wrong about his pupils - so it was obviously the woman’s fault. 

Cassian could understand it now, clear as day. You had tempted him. You had stolen his sleep and his tears like a siren, like a Jezebel. But that was fine, completely fine. It was all part of the big plan. Temptation was good - faith always had its challenges, and he’d be damned if he let someone as wretched as you lure him into severing his ties to God. This was his future. This church was his home, and so it would remain. He would become the next deacon of Holy Agnes, and you would be no obstacle. Just an underwater stone - a bug he had to crush so he could be free and whole again.

***

Several years passed by with a snap of a finger. Cassian slowly matured, soft cheeks and bright eyes turning sharp and mundane with his newfound restraint. He had adapted some level of unconscious stoicism, set on raising above the lowly human needs. And yet he kept seeing you everywhere he went, like a ghost of the past.

Sometimes you were in the garden by his church, laughing and smiling with avid colours covering your body. Countless dingley pearly bracelets stacked one on top of the other heaving on your little wrists like a fire circle. You were loud, never one to suppress your silvery ringing voice. Other times you were sitting by the nearby lake, sewing or knitting, writing in a worn out notebook with fleeting papers all over your lap. You were in the bakery he walked by after Mass, on the opposite side of the farmer alley he frequented on the Sabbath. Always just a breath away, but never quite close enough. 

He wanted to touch you. He wanted to drag you in by your hair and yell in your ear until it bled - you, who so innocently strolled left and right with your pretty twirly dresses and skirts that never covered your knees, you with your naked hands parading around the park with nothing on your mind, but rainbows and sunshine. As if you didn’t know you had ruined his youth with aching sickness over you - as if you didn’t care he had spent countless hours agonising, wondering whether he’d see you again. Wondering whether he’ll be able to hold back from reaching out and completely devouring you. 

Were you looking for attention, looking so bubbly and careless, bright shouting colours on display? Were you hoping to tempt him again by showing all this vulnerable, ripe skin? Had you completely forgotten about that unlikely encounter that was permanently engraved into his memory with the burning mark of hellfire itself? 

Because it certainly seemed so when the whole village was whispering about you and your countless misdeeds. People were saying that you were pursuing a crafting clerkship in the nearby town - that you were travelling alone, or in the company of strange men, sleeping in unknown taverns on the road for days. Drinking and drowning in debauchery. Rumours had it that you would give yourself away to the highest bidder, thus being able to fund all those adventurous trips across the land. 

Cassian didn’t want to believe them, and he refused to partake in the tired, painfully repetitive conversations of the common folk who flocked to the church for warmth and food like a herd of sheep to a master. To him tattle was a sin of itself, a needless effort to drop the Lord’s name in vain just to curse a harlot or to mock an innocent, unsuspecting widow - but from day to day their words became harsher, crueller, ungodly. You were made to look like Lilith herself, and he couldn’t help believing what he could feel with his own heart.

It was a simple fact, really. You were just a whore, and nothing more - because he could clearly see you clinging to another man’s shoulder through the small glazed window of his, pushing your chest towards the dark stranger - laughing unabashedly at his jokes, gazing into his eyes, prompting him to claim your sweet lips. You were a whore, because you let them all have you, yet you belonged to neither. Not even to him - not even when you appeared in his dreams, tormenting him even in the comfort of his own psyche. 

You would share your warmth with him then, caressing him - letting him rest against your soft breasts, letting him inhale your tantalising aroma. Teasing him endlessly, just to disappear at dawn, just before he had his final fill of you. And just like that the cycle repeated, driving him crazy.

***

It was another warm spring day when you two met again face to face. When he saw you, hair dishevelled and clothes torn apart, he thought he was still dreaming - but you were even more beautiful, even more radiant now. That’s how he knew you were real. He could finally touch you, he could smell the salt and morning dew on your skin, could lick the tears off your puffy, swollen eyes.

You had been dragged to the church early in the morning by the wife of the mayor, kicking and screaming. The older woman had been furiously gripping your wrist, forcing you to trip after her in a desperate attempt to keep up. Once inside the ceremonial hall, she had pushed you down at the deacon’s feet like a sacrificial lamb before a pagan god’s altar.

“Martha, dear, what’s wrong?” Cassian was quick to intervene before the woman could mess you up even more. “You know it’s unbecoming of a lady of such wise age to engage in this ungodly behaviour.” He explained calmly - it was obvious that he held no wrath for her, and this was all just a performance. The mayoress was very influential in the village, so he had to be careful with his words, lest you’d both be in trouble.

“Oh, Cassian, Cassian!” The wife all but crumbled against the man, heavy, accusatory sobs strangling her speech. “This harlot has done it again! She tried to destroy another family.” Martha kept wailing in a theatrical way, hanging off the deacon’s white collar. “My family, Reverend! I saw her talking to my husband, oh, it was utterly despicable! I might faint just thinking about it.” She rambled on and on, cheeks turning comically red. “She must be possessed by the Devil - I see no other explanation behind her constant sinful endeavours.” She fluttered her lashes as if attempting to persuade the deacon, going as far as to use the title only given to priests. “I beg you, Father, do something. Teach her the right way, make her repent. Our village can’t keep tolerating these… these outrageous conducts!”

You looked up at him just as he lowered his head to you, your eyes meeting. Your orbs were wide and filled with fright just like that day in the forest when he had pushed you into the river. You were gripping the end of his robes pitifully, tearfully shaking your head as if trying to deny all those ugly lies, mouthing off little sounds he couldn’t quite understand - and just like that he was nineteen again, sweating and mad all over you, lost in your sweet pleas for help. And help you’d receive.

“Calm your senses, Martha. I will deal with this.” Cassian patted the wife’s shoulder reassuringly, nodding at the big gate leading to the garden. “You must not worry anymore, you know you have a weak heart. Just - just go home for the day.” He looked at you one last time, and the sheer black burning intensity of his gaze made you shiver. “I know what to do from here.” He made an airy gesture at the older woman, smiling benevolently. “You’re right. Enough is enough.” 

With that she finally left, satisfied that some order would be restored ultimately. The hall remained silent for a while; massive, dim-lit, over-decorated with various gorgons, demons and monsters - designed specifically to scare those who wouldn’t give in to salvation. “Leave us alone.” The man mumbled at last, snapping his fingers at the altar servants and nuns, who in turn hurriedly flocked to the back rooms, nowhere to be seen. You could feel the tears drying on your skin from the freezing cold air, leaving trails all over your scorching hot cheeks. He was observing you carefully, scared to miss even the slightest of reactions - your pain was so expressive he wanted to seal the memory forever in his brain. After all, he had dreamt of this for years. The day when he finally has you at his mercy with nowhere to go. 

“I see that you’ve decided to succumb to a life of sin.” Cassian started off haughtily, moving just a bit closer - you were still kneeling on the floor as if you had assumed an eternal repenting pose. His fingertips grazed against your chin, his touch radiating pure ice - cold frost as his head tilted down in rehearsed condescension. “It’s quite unfortunate to see someone so beautiful give up on Christ.” He continued, eyes practically glued to your quivering form from above. It was intoxicating to have you in this position, quivering below him. He wanted to see you like this all the time, he decided. It suited you to be underneath him - you were a filthy, wicked adulterer and he was your saviour. He deserved your worship. He deserved your pain, and everything that would come with it. 

“But then again, you’ve always been a temptress.” The man crouched next to you, quick as a snake - gripping your chin between his two fingers. “It must be oh-so difficult for you to act like an honest woman.” His grip got tighter. “Especially when you possess such a dirty, sinful bod–

“S-shut up!” You cried out, pushing yourself to stand on your knees. “Shut up, you know nothing of me, Reverend. You look at me with those eyes… Don’t think I don’t remember.” You hissed, suddenly gaining back the courage the woman had knocked out of you earlier, adrenaline pumping through your veins. “I’ve seen you follow me, I’ve seen you in my nightmares… You want me! You want me, and it’s driving you insane.” You gave him the cruellest look you could muster.

“The dirty one, the sinful one is you - you, and every single bastard in this goddamn village that seems to think they own me.” You spat it out, everything that had been building up over the past few months. The hurtful rumours, the nasty remarks on the streets, the way everyone was measuring you up, touching you without permission… This was your breaking point. “You don’t own me. You never will.”

Cassian was seeing red. Before he could even begin to summon any reason, his hands had tangled into your hair, pulling on it with malice he had never experienced before in his life. He was a being of love and kindness - yet any time he faced you, he turned to this gruesome, unholy beast of a man. It was all your fault. You had ruined him, since the moment you first met him you had been ruining him. You made him like this and there was no going back now. No amount of tears or pretty pleads could save you from the horrors that inevitably awaited you in Hell - the one on Earth. The one he was going to create just for you. Anything for you.

“Do not sully me with this blasphemous tongue of yours, wench. Don’t you dare utter a single word to me, lest you want to lose it.” The man hissed, venom dripping off every over pronounced syllable. His whole body was shaking with fury, skin red and painful as if on fire. One wrong movement could set him off into a flame that would kill you both. “I don’t want to hear a sound from those tainted lips of yours. Who knows how many have kissed them, hmm?” His face got dangerously close to yours - so close you could feel his warm breath across your cheek. Your heart was pounding violently against your chest in a fruitless attempt to escape the rib cage. You tried to push the deacon off you, but he didn’t bulge an inch. 

“Aww, you’re going to hurt me with the same hands you caress your lovers with?” He grinned manically - you had never seen a man so unhinged. You had always known he was dangerously unstable as the forest incident had proven - which was the reason you kept your distance over the years, but you could never imagine he’d be so… bloodthirsty. “Have you got no shame?” Cassian was spiralling, going in mental circles. 

He finally had you in his arms again, your skin warm and malleable against his - yet the only thing he could think of was all those men you had allowed by your side over the years. It was like he could see their fingerprints all over you, red and scorching on your body as if to mock him. As if to laugh at him for ever trying to fight the temptation in the first place. Your lips were wet and pink, so perfect and vulnerable trembling before him, just begging to be bitten. He reached in to kiss you - just like he had done so many times in his dreams, but he was met with your equally wet, cold cheek instead. You had turned your head away.

“Anyone, but me, huh?” The man screamed at the top of his lungs, beyond wild as he shoved you to the ground, crawling over your body in quick succession. You felt the blood drain from your face - could this be your final moment? “You are willing to give yourself to anyone, but the one who actually deserves you…” His hands travelled to your neck as if they had a mind of their own, voice suddenly dropping to a desperate, shaky whisper. “The one who craves you more than anything.” His fingers danced over your throat, holding your life in one tight grasp.

“What do you mea–”

“All my life I’ve been a good man.” Cassian interrupted you once again, tone back to its initial biting spite. “An honest man, goddammit! And I am not going to lose everything because of… because of some fucking whore!” His words aimed at your heart just like daggers, and your eyes watered. You squirmed like an injured animal, praying to whoever was up in the sky that he would release you, but God wasn’t so merciful to sinners, apparently. “So you’re going to kiss me, right here, right now.” He was holding your wrists over your chest as he positioned himself between your legs. This couldn’t be happening right now, but it was. You were doomed, you had been doomed from the start. 

“You’re going to kiss me like you kiss your lovers.” The deacon paused to lick the tear running down your chin, groaning at the heavenly taste. You wanted to drop dead. “Like you love me.” He pressed down on your neck, squeezing tighter just so your eyes would fill up with hundreds of tiny little tears - it made you look so glossy and cute. “Did you hear me? You are going to kiss me like you fucking love me, you damned slut.” Your face was turning blue from the lack of oxygen. 

“And then I am going to fuck the Devil out of you.”

[chuusmuts]

imagine having a little concert with friend!xiao

smut. afab reader, fingering, tit play, body worship, handjob, reader hates her boobs, public(?) sex, maybe friends with benefit ?? idk. not proofread.

so i ditched kabukimono's fic and decided to make xiao's 🥱🥱 this isn't completed btw there's a part two (bcs writing blowjob alone is tiring i literally gave up) and i'll continue some times later (in which i'll probably post it in about two months later.)

as an indoor person, concerts sure could be exhausting and weary. you let your legs dragged you wherever they wanted without a thought until they reached in front of a quiet classroom. but we what you didn't expect was to see xiao with a guitar on his lap once you slid the door open. "tired already? let me sing for you and have our own concert instead." he smirked while saying.

"xiao!" you beamed happily as you jumped into his embrace, feeling the exhaustion slowly leaving your body. you two grew up together and to say that you were close was an understatement. sometimes, you'd even kissed each other, or daily. of course, as friends. you didn't know and remember how it started, it just happened naturally. your lips, your soft lips that reserved only for him. a light kiss was placed on his lips, your cheeks turning pink by seconds, your lips lingering there longer than they should as you said, "please do." your eyes were fluttered close and there was this cute smile on your face, a smile that only appeared when he's around. even if you had thousands of friends, he's the only one that could make you smile this big.

as soon as you touched your lips to his, xiao's eyes widened slightly in surprise before melting into a warm, affectionate smile. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as he returned your soft kiss with a deeper one, his tongue slipping past your lips to dance with yours. his free hand came up to cradle the back of your head and his fingers threaded through your hair gently "mmm... welcome home, y/n," he murmured against your lips, voice low and husky. breaking the kiss after a moment, he rested his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes with tender adoration. "i've missed you so much."

kisses on the lips were nothing out of the ordinary for the two of you, although they felt a lot more exciting than a kiss on the cheek. this time, a shy and flustered smile formed on your adorable face as your noses touched, your hands cupping his face," i've missed you too, xiao. i've missed you, your painfully handsome face, and i've missed your voice." your eyes finally opened again, landing on his alluring ones. that cute smile of yours always worked like magic for him, causing his heart to race faster.

his chest swelled with pride at your compliment, a pleased smirk curling his lips as he leaned in to capture another kiss, slower and deeper this time. his fingers tightened in your hair as he savored the taste of you, tongue stroking along yours languidly. "you're not so bad yourself, beauty," he teased between kisses, his free hand sliding down to grip your ass firmly before giving it a gentle squeeze. the hard length of his arousal pressed insistently against your hip, betraying his growing desire. "and i've definitely missed those lips on mine."

xiao broke away to trail open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down the side of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. his breath hitched as he nipped at your sensitive skin causing you to giggle. your hand gently ran through his hair as you tilted your head, "what do you mean by that? i thought we just kissed this morning?" having a kiss with him meaning that when you gave him a kiss, even if it was just a peck, he would always make sure to kiss you back. the same went for you, if he ever kisses you, even if it an open-mouthed kiss, you would always make sure to kiss him back, even if it flustered you.

xiao loved the little game you both had to play when it came to kisses. it was like a secret language that only the two of you knew, a language full of affection and intimacy. he loved how your lips always found their way to his, and how his own lips yearned for yours in return. xiao loved the way you would always make sure to return the affection he gave you. the way you would playfully steal a kiss whenever you can. the way you're always so eager to receive his attention, his touch.

with a chuckle, he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his own sparkling with mischief. "well, i guess that means i've been missing those kisses for half the day already." he teased, leaning in once more to claim your mouth in another heated kiss in which you couldn't help but moan lowly. his hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves and contours of your form as he explored every inch of you and eventually, his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the smooth skin of your abdomen before dipping lower to tease at the waistband of your skirt.

"and who knows what else I've been craving for..." he whispered against your lips, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur as he began to undo the buttons of your shirt, revealing the sight of your black bra which he's so familiar with to his hungry gaze. you were left breathless once he pulled away and you glanced at your upper half now almost naked, "i thought you were going to sing for me..? what happened to our little concert?" with a timid smile, you brought his face closer to your perky boobs, pressing his face against them as you hugged his head.

he muffled a groan as you continued to smush his face against your ample bosom, his lips brushing over the swell of your breasts accidentally. "mm, i did want to serenade you," he mumbled, nuzzling into your cleavage and inhaling your sweet scent. "but I think i'd rather worship these gorgeous tits, we can make this as our own little concert instead." pushing your shirt off and unhooking your bra, he dipped his head to take one stiff nipple into his hot mouth, suckling greedily as his hand kneaded and squeezed the other mound. he licked and nibbled at the sensitive peak until it glistened with saliva, then switched to its twin, lavishing it with the same devoted attention. "I fucking love your perfect tits, y/n." he growled appreciatively, his voice vibrating against your skin.

some times ago, you had confessed to him that you hated your boobs because they made you insecure, but xiao insisted that they were gorgeous and perfect for you. seeing you didn't believe him, he showed you how gorgeous your boobs were and how much he loved them by kissing and sucking your tits off. since then, it'd became a habit for him to show you how much he loved your boobs and you didn't stop him because it made you feel better about them. "mmm nghh..." his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. "ah, xiao..." his hand kneaded and squeezed the other mound causing you to arch your back and in a flustered state, you closed your eyes and pressed his head further into your tits.

encouraged by your reactions, he continued his ministrations, alternating between sucking and licking your nipples while his hands roamed freely over your body, squeezing and groping your breasts, thighs, and ass. he could feel your heat radiating from within, and it only fueled his desire to make you squirm and moan. "oh, I'm going to enjoy this." he purred, his voice dripping with lust as he buried his face deeper into your cleavage. "your tits are so damn perfect. i could feast on them forever..." xiao's hands slid down to the hem of your skirt, pushing it up around your waist as he hooked his fingers into your panties and slowly peeled them down your legs.

your panties were black just to match with your black bra. you're always so cute like that matching everything and all, you're literally his favourite. you didn't resist much as he peeled your soaked panties down, wet with your arousal and instead, you just gave him a cute smile off yours. you always did. but before he could even cup your pussy and continue his assault on your delicious tits, he gasped when your hand suddenly reached out to his zipper and tremblingly unzipped it, pulling out his cock from his boxer. "i heard men like this." you said between heavy breaths before wrapping your hand around the head of his penis and slid it up and down repeatedly, your hand barely able to wrap around it.

"i'm not good at it, but i want to at least try." it was apparent that you were nervous, but you wanted to do it as a form of thank you for always making you feel better about yourself. the sensation of your soft skin against his hardness made him twitch involuntarily and a low groan rumbled in his throat as you began to stroke him, your touch surprisingly skillful despite your nerves. "that's... fuck, that feels amazing." he breathed out, his hips bucking into your grasp instinctively. "keep going, sweetheart. just like that..."

he lifted himself off you momentarily, allowing your bra and shirt to fall away completely before returning to lavish attention on your breasts again. with one hand still massaging and pinching your nipples, the other drifted down towards your slick folds, fingers parting them gently to reveal your glistening entrance. "just relax." he coaxed as he heard your heavy breaths and felt your fingers digging against his shoulder, slipping a finger inside you slowly and savoring the clenching warmth that greeted him.

your hand unintentionally squeezed his cock a little hard and he flinched, biting back a groan when his finger reached that spongy spot inside you. he's always gentle with you, even in this moment, he didn't want to cause you any pain and wanted to make sure you're fine. "x- xiao..." you mumbled his name as you tried your hard to touch his tip and slowly trace your fingertip around the head of his penis, spreading his precum across it before adding a gentle twisting motion while still stroking his shaft.

his amber eyes darkened with desire as he watched you explore him, your touch tentative yet eager. "oh, god, y/n..." he moaned, the pleasure spiraling up from where your fingers worked him. he matched your rhythm, his hips undulating in sync with your strokes, seeking friction and pressure. "that's it... just like that..." you forced yourself to release your hand from his shoulder and instead reach for his balls. cupping them in your hands, you played with them using your fingers lightly. your other hand continued to massage his testicles while you squeezed his balls softly until he added another finger and a loud moan left your mouth.

the sound of your slickness coating his digits filled the room along with the lewd squelches of his fingers thrusting in and out of you as he scissored your walls, and you began to get more desperate as you grinded on his lap with no shame, your eyes glossy with pleasure. your thighs spread wider instinctively while you did so, giving him more access to abuse your walls. xiao intensified his pace as he sensed your desperation, curling his fingers to hit that sweet spot deep within your snug heat. your slick sounds mixed with the wet squelches of his fingers drove into you, mingled with the lewd noises coming from your throat - an arousing symphony of carnal hunger.

"that's right... just like that." he growled, watching as you rode his hand eagerly. he bent down slightly, taking a swollen nipple into his mouth once more, lashing it with his tongue while he relentlessly pumped into your clinging pussy. "fuck, your tits are incredible." he murmured between licks, his free hand leaving your hip to slip around and fondle your other breast, thumb flicking across your hardened peaks. sweet moans were keened from your tasty lips and a firm suck on your tit finally brought you to your orgasm as you let out a broken scream, your hand fastening its pace on stroking his cock at the same time, wanting to bring him to an edge as well.

feeling your climax rip through you, his own need spiked, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. he sucked harder on your nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth as he felt your walls clamp down tightly around his fingers. "shit, I'm gonna—!" his words cut off into a strangled groan as your tight grip around his cock dragged him over the edge. with a few more pumps, he came undone, hot spurts of cum shooting onto your belly as he grounded his hips upwards, chasing every last drop. panting heavily, he slowly pulled his fingers free, watching as his seed trickled down your stomach in thick ropes. he brushed his thumb across your quivering lips, smearing some of the creamy liquid there.

he glanced down, drinking the enticing sight before him, the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, breasts heaving with each labored breath, the way your tongue darted out to lick his seed, the way your cunt dripped with juices, some even smeared on your inner thighs, and the way you looked at him with your sexy eyes, your face flushed, and hair messy. just the sight of it made him want to make you ride him, fill you up with his cock, fill you up with his seed. "are we done yet?" you innocently asked as you flashed him a meek smile. a low chuckle rumbled in his chest at your question as his fingers trailed down to gently caress your dripping slit. "not even close, darling." he purred, his voice husky with renewed desire. "i think we've just gotten started."

[thebunnednun]

If you really love me, let me go PII

Parings: Red Haired Shanks x Vice Admiral! Reader

Prompt: Hey Mami! Soo I've been thinking about our beloved Shanks x Vice admiral!Reader. Cuz why not? He's so carefree, so it would be nice to see him with someone who is the opposite of him.

This is Part 2 and the final installment of this story.

For, @orange-milky who gave me the prompt for this story. Always making me flustered with their nicknames for me.

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~~

“y/n…” 

Shanks’ voice is quieter now, a question lingering on his lips, one you’ve dreaded for years.

At first, Shanks couldn’t quite make sense of the scene unfolding in front of him. He had sensed the girl playing in the backyard the moment he stepped closer to your house—the faint sound of laughter drifting in the breeze as she swung from a tree, her flowy green dress catching in the sunlight. 

He had even seen you from the window, bending down to pick something up, but he hadn’t expected that "something" to be a someone.

For a brief second, Shanks’ mind flashed to another time—a memory of you with Luffy. The way you had scooped the small boy up and perched him on your hip, kissing the scar on his cheek with such natural, motherly tenderness.

It had been then, in that moment, that he had first imagined what it might be like to  be a dad and have children with you. The thought had come so effortlessly, like it had always been there in the back of his mind, waiting for a reason to surface.

That wasn’t all. 

Shanks remembered the day he knew you were the one he wanted to call his girl—the day he saw you hurl a needle into the eye of an opposing Marine admiral in the middle of a hurricane without missing. The sheer precision, the raw confidence, and the way the storm made your wild hair cling to your face... it was breathtaking.

And when you had smiled at him for the first time, after being stoic in the beginning, he knew in his heart that he wanted you to be his wife.

But this... this was something different entirely.

At first, he thought maybe you had company. You always did draw people to you like moths to a flame, your natural charm pulling in anyone who crossed your path. He figured some friends had dropped by—people with children. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you.

But when the little boy nestled in your arms turned to look at you and said, “Mama,” Shanks felt like the world stopped spinning.

“Mama.” 

That one simple word felt like a cannonball straight to his chest. It knocked the wind out of him, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. His heart clenched painfully, a tightness in his throat he hadn’t felt in years. You had always been able to surprise him, but this... this was something he couldn’t have anticipated, not even in his wildest dreams or worst fears.

Shanks stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move, unable to think. His mouth felt dry, and all the air in the room seemed to vanish. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he had just heard, trying to replay the moment in his head to confirm it wasn’t the rum still coursing through his system. 

His eyes darted between you and the boy, searching for any explanation, any reason that could make sense of this. But it was undeniable—the boy had your face, your eyes, and his hair... God, his hair was red, just like his own! Shanks’ heart pounded harder.

Was this real?

Had you... had you really kept this from him?

For how long? 

‘Why?’

You could see the shift in his expression, the flicker of realization sparking behind his eyes as his gaze grew darker, more confused. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His hand, the one that always held so much power and steadiness, trembled just a little at his side.

He clenched his fist, swallowing hard as he tried to ground himself, but the weight of it all was crashing down faster than he could process.

The little boy—Luca, you’d said his name was, hadn’t you?—squirmed in your arms, oblivious to the tension hanging thick in the air. He giggled again, reaching up to touch your cheek, his tiny hand brushing your skin with such innocence, completely unaware of the storm brewing just behind him.

“y/n… ” Shanks finally managed to say, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. The words cracked as they left his throat, laden with confusion and hurt, though he fought to keep his composure. “Who... who is this?”

The question was simple, but the emotion behind it was anything but. You could see it—feel it—in the way his eyes searched yours, desperate for an answer, desperate to understand why the woman he loved had hidden something so monumental from him.

You held Luca a little closer, your heart racing as you met Shanks' gaze, knowing there was no more running from the truth.

"Mom! Are we leaving soon? Oh."

Mariana had raced back into the house, her sandals clutched in one hand as she ran. Her face was flushed with excitement, eager to get back to town and discuss the details of her latest adventure with her friends. But as soon as she stepped into the living room, her excitement faltered, her gaze quickly shifting from you to the tall red-haired man standing in the doorway.

She saw you standing protectively over Luca, your arms encircling him as if to shield him from harm. Your face, usually so composed and unflappable, was now clouded with a mix of fear and uncertainty. The sight was enough to make Mariana’s heart race with alarm.

You, her vice admiral mother? The legendary figure who sailed through storms as if they were mere playgrounds, her ship slicing through turbulent waves with a thrill that bordered on defiance?

The daring woman who preferred to dive into the abyssal depths of the ocean, where most would fear to venture, embracing the dark and enigmatic waters with an insatiable curiosity? 

Her mother, who commanded duel pistols with such precision and flair that she could have dazzled the world with a thousand breathtaking gun tricks?

The same mother who governed as a Vice admiral, her name whispered with awe and reverence across the seven seas, known throughout the nearby islands for her serene and steadfast duty of nurturing Kehlani Village? Her mother was–

afraid?

In an instant, her instincts kicked in. She didn’t fully understand what was happening, but she knew she had to act. Her small frame tensed, and her eyes narrowed as a protective rage bubbled up inside her.

Without a second thought, she activated her Haki, her aura flaring with a palpable intensity that filled the room.

The air seemed to thicken around Shanks as the powerful force of her Haki enveloped him. The change was immediate and unmistakable—his relaxed posture stiffened, and his eyes widened in surprise as he felt the weight of her presence pressing down on him.

Mariana’s anger surged through the room like a tangible wave, her emotions channeled into a commanding presence that left no room for argument.

“Get out!” Mariana’s voice was sharp and authoritative, imbued with a strength far beyond her years. Her small hand pointed decisively towards the door, her gaze locked onto Shanks with a steely resolve that belied her age. She was not just a child; she was a protector, and she was determined to keep her family safe from whatever threat this stranger posed.

Shanks stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the sheer force of the young girl’s command. His usually confident demeanor was now replaced with confusion and a hint of fear. He had always known children could be special, but seeing her wielding her Haki with such raw power was a revelation that left him momentarily speechless.

You, too, were taken aback by the sudden turn of events. The sight of Mariana standing up so fiercely, her small frame radiating an aura that demanded respect, was both impressive and heartbreaking. You could see the determination in her eyes, a mirror of the strength you had hoped to instill in her.

“Mariana, stop!” you finally managed to call out, your voice tinged with both urgency and desperation. You reached out to her, but she didn’t waver. Her focus remained solely on Shanks, her Haki still directed at him, making it clear she wouldn’t back down until he left.

“Mom, who is he?” Mariana’s voice trembled slightly, the authority in her tone giving way to the confusion of a child who had just discovered that the world wasn’t as simple as she once thought. 

“Why is he here?”

Your heart ached at her words, the protective instincts of a mother clashing with the need to protect your children from the harsh truths of the world. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you faced both Shanks and your daughter.

“Mariana, please,” you said softly, trying to deescalate the situation.

“He’s someone from my past. It’s complicated.”

Shanks, still grappling with the intensity of Mariana’s Haki, took a step back.

The standoff in your living room was charged with palpable tension. Mariana’s Haki shimmered with fierce determination, her small figure standing defiantly as she directed her raw power at Shanks. Shanks, in turn, squared his shoulders and met her gaze with an intensity that matched her own.

The air crackled with their combined aura, a silent battle of wills as they locked eyes in a high-stakes staring contest.

Luca, his wide eyes reflecting the chaos around him, clung to you tightly, his small body pressed against your side. He looked up at you with a mix of fear and confusion, his tiny hands gripping your jacket as he sensed the seriousness of the situation. His gaze flicked between Shanks and his sister, caught in the whirlwind of emotions and unspoken words.

Desperation gripped you. Your voice was swallowed by the overwhelming presence of the Haki clash. “Mariana, Shanks, please!” you pleaded, but your voice fell on deaf ears. 

Behind Shanks, the rest of the red-haired crew stood in the doorway, their expressions a blend of curiosity and concern. They shifted uneasily, exchanging glances but staying silent, unsure of how to intervene.

They looked on with a mixture of curiosity and concern, their eyes flickering from Shanks to you and back again. It was clear that they were unsure whether to intervene or stay out of it, their loyalty to you both keeping them rooted but alert.

The commotion had attracted attention from outside, and you saw the imposing figure of Garp bounding up the steps to your house. His heavy footsteps thudded loudly, the sound of his approach adding an additional layer of urgency to the already tense scene.

You knew that words alone wouldn’t bridge the gap between Mariana’s unyielding resolve and Shanks’s own formidable aura. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on you, your thoughts racing as you desperately sought a way to defuse the standoff.

With a steely resolve, you reached for your pistols, pulling them from their holsters with practiced ease. The metallic clink of the guns echoed through the room as you aimed carefully.

Without hesitation, you fired two warning shots into the ceiling. The sharp cracks of the gunfire reverberated through the room, and the sound of plaster and dust raining down punctuated the noise. The sudden, jarring interruption shattered the intense focus between Mariana and Shanks.

The force of the shots broke the spell, causing both of them to flinch and turn their attention towards the source of the commotion.

Mariana’s Haki wavered, her concentration broken by the startling sound. She blinked rapidly, her stance faltering as she took in the sight of you with your pistols drawn. Her fierce expression softened slightly as she realized the gravity of the situation.

Shanks, too, broke his intense gaze, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to look at you. His eyes held a mixture of surprise and understanding, his own aura dissipating as he took in the scene before him.

Luca’s grip around your middle tightened, his small frame trembling slightly as he looked up at you with wide, worried eyes. You reached down to reassure him, placing a calming hand on his head as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself amidst the chaos.

Garp’s booming voice echoed through the open door as he arrived, his presence adding to the already fraught atmosphere. “What’s going on here?” he bellowed, his gaze shifting from the tense standoff to you, then to Shanks and his crew.

You lowered your pistols, holstering them with a resigned sigh. The weight of the situation had become almost too much to bear. “Garp,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “There’s a lot to explain.”

Shanks took a step back, his expression conflicted as he glanced between you and Mariana. He seemed to be weighing his next move, his own emotions turbulent as he struggled to process the revelations of the past few minutes.

Mariana, still standing her ground, looked to you for guidance, her eyes searching yours for answers. The fierce protectiveness in her gaze had not completely faded, but it was now tempered with a growing confusion.

The room was a mix of tension and relief, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and emotional turmoil. As Garp stepped inside, his stern face softened slightly as he took in the scene, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Garp said firmly, his gaze shifting between you and Shanks. His tone was authoritative but not unkind, as if he understood the complexities of the situation and was prepared to offer support.

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion of the night catch up with you. “I know,” you said softly, taking a deep breath. “I’ll explain everything. Just…give me a moment.”

With the immediate tension broken, you focused on calming your children, your heart heavy with the weight of the secrets that had been exposed. 

Mariana’s voice sliced through the silence, her tone sharp and demanding. "Who are you?" Her dark eyes bore into Shanks with a ferocity that matched the weight of the moment. Shanks blinked, the intensity of her gaze catching him off guard.

He had faced storms fiercer than this, fought battles against some of the most dangerous foes in the world, but nothing quite compared to the piercing challenge of his daughter’s question—the daughter he never knew he had.

"I'm Shanks," he said, his voice steady but low, as though the weight of his own name carried a burden he hadn’t anticipated. The truth. It wasn’t an explanation, but a declaration. He glanced toward you, hoping for some guidance, some sign that this was all a misunderstanding, but you stood frozen, your face a whirlwind of emotions—guilt, fear, protectiveness, and something deeper.

Shanks’ mind raced, the events of the previous night replaying in fragments—your shared laughter, the warmth of your embrace, the way you looked at him like nothing had changed. But now? Now there were children, your children, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened in the years since you left the crew.

His heart pounded as memories of your departure flooded back. The day you chose to leave, to stay behind in Kehlani Village, had always felt bittersweet. He respected your decision, even if he didn’t fully understand it. You were a force of nature—his vice admiral, the woman who kept his crew in line, the one who understood his restless spirit.

You had a no-nonsense attitude that made him laugh and kept him in check, but you also had a hidden tenderness, a softness that only he was allowed to see.

Could you have left him for another man? The thought twisted inside him like a knife, cutting deeper with every moment of uncertainty. No, it couldn’t be. The fierce, protective way you held Luca, the way you looked at Shanks now, terrified yet determined—there was no betrayal here. Not you. Never you.

His mind flashed back to the times you'd playfully shoot glares at any woman who dared come too close to him. There was a fire in you that would never tolerate sharing what was yours. And he was yours—he always had been.

But these children, Mariana and Luca, the spitting images of you with traces of him in their features, left him breathless. 

The truth was staring him in the face, but he couldn't comprehend it.

His eyes softened as they fell on Mariana’s auburn curls, so much like his own, and then Luca, with the same stubborn streak Shanks could see reflected in his gaze. These were his children. He knew it now, deep down in his bones.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at him. "Did you stay behind… for someone else?" he finally asked, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. His voice was laced with pain and disbelief, the confusion of a man who felt his world had shifted beneath his feet. 

"Were the past few years all a lie?"

Your heart clenched as you met his gaze. You could see the pain behind his eyes, the cracks in his usually unshakeable demeanor. This was Shanks, your Shanks, the one who always knew you, who could read you better than anyone.

But this—your children—was a secret you had kept for too long, and now it was all unraveling before him. Luca’s small voice cut through the tension like a blade. 

"Is this a friend of Dad’s?" 

He looked up at you, wide-eyed and oblivious to the storm swirling around him. His words hit like a punch to the gut. You hesitated, the silence in the room thickening as you grappled for an answer. 

"Not exactly," you finally managed, though the weight of the truth was heavy in your throat.

That simple phrase seemed to unravel something deep within Shanks. His face, already strained with emotion, fell. The flowers he had been holding slipped from his grasp, petals scattering across the floor in soft, colorful disarray.

The rest of the Red-Haired crew, standing just outside the door, exchanged glances, unsure of how to react to this heart-wrenching scene. Garp stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he took in the children, the shattered expressions on both you and Shanks, and the unspoken reality hanging in the air.

You swallowed hard, your grip on Luca tightening as the words you had dreaded for so long fought to reach your lips. "Shanks… I never betrayed you. I swear. But… there’s more you need to know."

The weight of the truth was suffocating, and you could see the battle raging within him—wanting to trust you, yet needing answers. Shanks stepped closer, his hand reaching out toward you, his expression softening as he said, "Then tell me. Tell me everything."

Mariana’s eyes darted between you and Shanks, her young mind trying to piece together a truth she hadn’t been prepared for. The tension was building to a boiling point, and you could see the fire igniting in her, just as stubborn and quick to react as you’d always been. She finally demanded, "What’s going on? Who is he? I want an answer, now!"

The words tore from your throat before you could think. "Yes. This man… Shanks… Red-Haired Shanks… is your father."

The room froze. For a heartbeat, everything stood still as the words reverberated through the air like a gunshot. Shanks, still standing near the threshold, looked like he’d been struck. His face paled again, only to flush with a rush of overwhelming emotion. 

His eyes flickered from you to Mariana, then to Luca—his children. His children. It was like he was being squeezed by a sea beast, caught between joy and devastation. His hands trembled slightly as he ran one through his hair, disbelief warring with the knowledge that everything he had ever dreamed of with you had been real… and hidden from him.

Mariana couldn’t believe it. Her eyes widened, and she took a step back, staring at Shanks like he had grown another head. "You lied to me!" she screamed, the betrayal and hurt evident in her voice. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Before you could reach for her, to explain, to comfort, she spun on her heel, bolting from the room with a speed that caught you off guard.

"Mariana!" You shouted after her, lunging forward, but she was already gone—racing through the dining room, her bare feet slapping against the floorboards, past the kitchen, and out the back door. The screen door slammed shut with a loud bang, leaving you frozen mid-motion, your outstretched hand hovering uselessly in the air.

Luca stood in the center of it all, looking up at you with confusion and fear written across his young face. "Mom?" His voice was small, uncertain, and it broke something inside you.

Benn Beckman, watching the chaos unfold with the calm understanding that only a seasoned pirate could muster, gave a subtle nod. "Alright, boys, back to the beach for now," he said quietly, his deep voice carrying authority as he motioned for the rest of the crew to fall back. One by one, they complied, stepping away from the house and leaving the scene to unravel without their presence.

Shanks, still standing in the entryway, finally seemed to break free of the shock that had held him in place. His legs moved, slow and heavy, as if every step toward you carried the weight of the years you had been apart. He entered the house, his eyes fixed on you, but his face was a tangled mess of emotion. 

Hurt. Anger. Fear. Joy.

 He was trying to make sense of it all, and failing. Garp followed behind him, uncharacteristically quiet, his large hands resting on his hips as he assessed the situation. Shanks swallowed hard, his voice rough as he tried to find the words. 

"Why didn’t you tell me?" 

His question wasn’t an accusation—it was a plea, a desperate attempt to understand how things had come to this, how you had kept such a monumental secret from him.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the weight of your decision pressing down on you as you held Luca close. His small hands gripped the fabric of your shirt as he clung to you, confused and scared by the sudden explosion of emotions around him. You could barely look at Shanks, your throat tight with unshed tears as you whispered, 

"I thought I was protecting them… protecting you."

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with unsaid words and painful truths, as Shanks stood just a few feet away, his gaze piercing but gentle, like he couldn’t decide whether to embrace you or collapse under the weight of everything you had just revealed.

Shanks' question hung in the air between you both, heavy with meaning. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge, as though he was trying to understand the impossible weight behind your words.

You shifted, your arms tightening protectively around Luca as you spoke. "I can't have my children go through what Ace and Luffy do just for being alive," you said softly, the memories of what those boys endured flashing in your mind. The fear. The danger. The constant threat simply because of who they were.

Shanks’ jaw clenched. "Our children." He corrected you, his voice firm. His hand twitched at his side, as if he were holding himself back from reaching out, from pulling you both to him.

You took a breath, your gaze flicking to the open door where sunlight spilled into the room, a glaring contrast to the weight of your conversation. "You have a home at the sea, Shanks," you continued, your voice steady but filled with the pain of the truth you were revealing.

"You're a fish, always moving, always searching. Who would be there to keep order in the world’s oceans if not you?"

He looked at you, his eyes searching your face for answers, for understanding. "And you?" His voice was rough now, the emotion threatening to spill over.

"What about you?"

"I created a life here," you replied, your gaze dropping to Luca, who was still clinging to your side, confused and scared by the tension between the adults he looked up to.

"For them. A life where they’re safe. Where they don’t have to be in the crossfire of your world."

"I can gather that," Shanks said, his tone softening slightly, his eyes following yours to Luca. His son.

You gently cupped Luca’s cheek, your thumb brushing over his soft skin. "Luca, sweetheart, please go to your room and play with your toys," you said quietly, trying to keep your voice calm for his sake. But Luca, being your son, stubbornly held his ground.

"But mama—" he began, his small voice filled with the conflict of wanting to stay and protect you, though he didn't understand what was happening.

Garp, standing in the corner with his arms crossed, decided to step in, his voice gruff but filled with a firm gentleness only a grandpa could manage. "Better do as you're told, lad." His tone left no room for argument, and Luca glanced between you and Garp, caught between his loyalty to you and his desire to obey.

He took two reluctant steps back, his small shoulders slumping as he realized he had to leave you behind. His mother—the one who woke him early to watch meteor showers, who was always there to pick him up after school. His heart ached, but he wanted to respect you, just as you'd taught him.

Before he could turn to go, Shanks spoke again, his voice suddenly soft. "Wait." He held his arm out to Luca, a silent plea for just a moment longer.

Luca hesitated, then stepped forward and placed his tiny hand in Shanks’ much larger one. He looked up at his father with wide, innocent eyes, and whispered, "You have hair like mine."

His little fingers touched his own fiery red locks, and Shanks felt his breath catch in his throat, unable to respond for a moment.

He gazed down at Luca, taking in every detail of the boy's face—the round cheeks, the curious eyes, the soft red hair that mirrored his own. His son. He felt an overwhelming rush of emotions he hadn’t expected to feel, and for a brief moment, everything else melted away.

Shanks’ gaze drifted from Luca to the open door, where Mariana had fled moments before. Sunlight streamed through the entryway, casting long shadows across the floor.

He could almost see her stubborn silhouette in his mind—her fierce temper, her bold spirit. His daughter, with her mother’s lovely face and fire in her heart, but his eyes, his stare. A perfect blend of both of you.

He returned his gaze to Luca, who was still studying Shanks' face intently, trying to make sense of the man standing before him. And then, he looked back at you—kneeling before your son, still dressed in your Vice Admiral uniform, the red sash he had given you tied snugly around your waist.

The hat and jacket you’d discarded were forgotten on the sofa, your combat boots by the door. The delicate earrings, little ship helm’s, adorned your ears. His heart swelled with pride and sadness all at once. 

You were every bit the woman he had fallen in love with—and more.

Shanks moved carefully, almost as if he were afraid to break the moment, and gently pulled Luca into a one-armed hug. Luca looked to you for reassurance, and you gave him a soft nod, granting your silent permission.

The boy hesitated only for a second before wrapping his little arms around his father's neck, burying his face in Shanks' shoulder.

Shanks closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to the top of Luca's head, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. He wanted to thank you for this—for giving him these perfect children, for creating a life even when he hadn't been there to share it.

His heart ached with the bittersweet realization that he had missed so much, but also with a deep, unshakeable love for the family standing before him.

After a few seconds, Shanks gently released Luca, his hand resting on the boy's shoulder as he whispered, "Mind your mama and go upstairs, Luca."

Luca nodded obediently, his eyes still wide as he took a few cautious steps backward, watching his father with a mix of awe and curiosity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his small feet carried him up the stairs, and the soft click of his door echoed through the now quiet room.

Shanks let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his gaze shifting to you once more. The weight of everything between you was still there, but now, there was something else—something unspoken but undeniable. Shanks knelt frozen at your side, his brow furrowed as he processed everything. 

"And the lassie?" he asked softly, his voice quieter now, almost fragile.

You closed your eyes, not ready for the next wave of emotions that were bound to crash through him. "Yours too, you drunken rat," you bit out, more out of frustration with yourself than with him. The truth, now laid bare, felt like a slow burning fire spreading through the room.

A brief, stunned silence followed before Shanks tried to regain some semblance of control, his smile strained as he retorted, "Hey now, I'm not the one who kept a secret family from you!"

His words were meant to be light, but there was a deeper hurt in them.

"Oh really?" you shot back, unable to keep the edge from your voice. You glared at him, pushing yourself to sit straighter as your frustration swirled to the surface.

"You're the only woman I've ever been with!" Shanks nearly shouted, his face flushing with emotion, his fist clenching at his pants as he shifted toward you.

Before either of you could escalate any further, Garp interjected with a heavy sigh, his patience clearly worn thin. "Now, don’t the two of you start," he rumbled, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension.

He pointed at Shanks, then at you, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. 

"Look, you lied, and it was wrong," Garp said, turning to you with a firm but oddly gentle tone. "And you should say your apologies, lass."

You opened your mouth to argue, but Garp continued before you could. "But," he added, now looking at Shanks, "she has a few good points. And you," he jabbed a finger at Shanks, "still act incredibly immature at times for your long-in-the-tooth age."

Shanks raised an eyebrow, momentarily stunned into silence as Garp scolded him like a misbehaving child.

"Now," Garp grunted, standing to his full height as he stretched, "I’m going outside to cover for you at the base." He adjusted his cap and shot you both a knowing look.

"Go find Mari before she decides to invoke revenge. I hope the two of you can kiss and make up," he finished, a wicked glint in his eye.

As Garp began to move toward the door, he tossed one final, cheeky comment over his shoulder.

"And maybe give me just one more grandchild."

"GARP!" you and Shanks shouted in unison, completely flustered and caught off guard.

Garp grinned, fully enjoying your reactions. "Oh, don’t be shy now. There’s already two of ’em!" he called out, tipping his cap before stepping out the door, leaving you and Shanks alone in the wake of his words.

The room seemed to still after that, the only sound the soft creak of the door shutting behind Garp. The weight of everything that had been said, combined with the reality of the situation, caused you to slump to the floor, your legs finally giving out beneath you.

Your pencil skirt rode up as you landed in a heap, too exhausted and too overwhelmed to care. You let out a groan, covering your face with your hands in a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and exhaustion.

Shanks stood for a moment, watching you from above. Even after all these years, after the chaos and the misunderstandings, the sight of you—disheveled, vulnerable, and bathed in sunlight from the large open windows—made his heart race.

You were still so beautiful, even now, maybe especially now, with your guard down, raw and real before him.

Without a word, Shanks scooted over and gently dropped his sword onto the coffee table with a soft thud. He crouched beside you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid of spooking you.

Then, with a tenderness that betrayed his rough exterior, he lay down beside you, his broad body stretched out next to yours on the floor.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was your steady breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric as the two of you settled into the silence. The warmth of the sun kissed your skin, making everything feel surreal, almost dreamlike.

Shanks turned his head to look at you, his gaze soft and filled with something you hadn’t seen in a long time—an old love, deep and steady.

"I never stop thinking about you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the admission was almost too heavy for him to bear aloud. His fingers twitched at his side, aching to touch you, but he held back.

You peeked through your fingers, still hiding your face but catching his eyes from the side. "I... never stop thinking about you either," you admitted, your voice muffled by your hands. But the bitterness, the pain of all the lost years, lingered like a shadow.

Shanks’ lips curved into a sad, knowing smile. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your forearm, testing the waters, seeking your permission. The touch was so simple, so gentle, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you, grounding you in that moment.

For now, in this sun-dappled room, with the weight of the world just outside the door, the two of you lay in the silence, your bodies close, the years of distance slowly shrinking, if only for a little while.

Shanks raised an eyebrow at your question, his face softening with curiosity. "Do you still not desire marriage?" he asked, his voice gentle, though there was a hint of playfulness in his tone.

You smiled, leaning your head slightly against his shoulder before whispering, “Can I tell you a secret?”

He grinned. “Is it that we have two kids—ouch!” Shanks rubbed his side where you smacked him, still chuckling. “No, not that,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

His laughter faded into a warm smile as he caught your gaze, sensing the seriousness in your tone. "What is it, love?"

You hesitated for a second, watching his expression carefully before saying, "We already are."

There was a long pause as he blinked at you. “...”

“...”

“...WHAT?!”

You tried not to laugh at his reaction, your hand already halfway covering your face as you continued. "We already got married the night I became a vice admiral. We all got so drunk that you proposed to me with those anchor earrings—the ones you said you’d been carrying with you—and I said yes because I always wanted you to be mine officially as my husband."

Shanks' mouth dropped open, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you watched the disbelief wash over him.

“And Benn,” you continued, fighting a grin, “he was the one who technically married us. He had the power to do so, and since the rest of the bar staff, some Marine personnel, your crew, and a few locals saw us in the church... it's official."

There was another beat of stunned silence, and then Shanks groaned dramatically, dropping his head into his hands. “You know,” he mumbled into his palms, “lobbing off my remaining arm, ripping out my eyes, or just carving out my heart would be a lot faster than this little game you've got going on where you don't tell me wonderful things."

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, maybe you should’ve remembered," you teased back, but the smile on your face betrayed any real annoyance.

Shanks tutted at you playfully, and before you could protest, he gently cupped your cheeks with his large, calloused hands. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, forcing you to look up at him.

“There she is,” he said softly, his voice low and affectionate. "There's my beautiful vice admiral."

His eyes held that mischievous glint again as he continued, "My little rule enforcer. The mother of my children. My wife." His voice dropped an octave lower, deep and filled with longing. "God, I’ve waited to say all of that for so long."

You wanted to cave and give him another baby right there. 

Your breath caught as he drew you close, his strong arms wrapping around you like a fortress. Instinctively, you curled into his embrace, your body fitting against his as it always had. The weight of his presence was familiar, comforting, and for a moment, you forgot the years of separation, the missed moments.

It was just you, him, and this warm bubble of intimacy.

"I wish I was there," he whispered into your hair, his voice laced with regret. "I’m so sorry, too."

You shook your head, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Don’t be," you said softly. "I had no right to bar you from your children. They belong to you as well, and... you belong to them."

Shanks’ eyes softened further, and for a moment, you saw the man beneath the pirate, the man who had once only dreamed of having a family, of being yours. He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "I do wonder how it is you're so good at keeping secrets."

You smirked, your lips brushing against his as you replied, "I work for the world government. You pick up a thing or two."

"And you talk about pirates," he shot back with a teasing grin, pinching you on the rear.

You squealed in surprise, smacking his side before grabbing a handful of his own behind in retaliation. "Ah ah ah," Shanks teased, his voice rich with amusement. "I think this is what led to making the first one."

“Mariana,” you murmured, the name of your daughter heavy on your tongue, filled with both love and the weight of everything that had happened.

Shanks’ grin softened into something more tender, his eyes glowing with pride. "My daughter, Mariana," he repeated, his voice reverent. He looked so happy in that moment, lying beneath you, his face bathed in the warm sunlight that streamed through the large windows.

The golden rays danced in his crimson hair, highlighting the deep lines of his face that had come from years at sea. His eyes, though, were as bright and vibrant as the first time you met him—full of life, mischief, and something even deeper now. Love.

With you now on top of him, straddling his hips, the world seemed to slow down. His hands settled on your waist, fingers tracing small circles on your hips as he gazed up at you with that boyish smile, one that melted your heart every time.

“You look beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his thumb brushed over the red sash you still wore.

His eyes were half-lidded with contentment, utterly lost in the moment, in you, in everything you had built together.

While that was happening downstairs, Luca had managed to lower himself from his window with the makeshift rope of bedsheets, his small hands gripping tightly as he carefully descended. When he hit the ground with a soft thud, he rubbed his sore bottom and glanced around with a mix of curiosity and concern. 

The sun was bright now, casting long shadows across the yard as he set off towards the woods. He was determined, despite his groggy state, to find his sister and make sure she was okay. His tiny feet crunched softly over the grass as he walked, pausing occasionally to glance back at the house and the open back door that seemed to sway gently in the evening breeze. 

The sight of the door left a chill of unease, but his worry for Mariana pushed him forward. The path markers you had placed to guide their way through the forest, with their vibrant colors and gentle sway in the wind, gave him a sense of direction and reassurance. 

He moved cautiously, his small, determined steps echoing with the faint rustle of leaves. The forest, which had always been a place of adventure and fun during the day, now felt different in the encroaching twilight. Shadows seemed to stretch longer, and the occasional hoot of an owl made him jump.

Eventually, Luca came upon the frog pond you had always adored. Its surface was still, the only movement coming from the occasional ripple as a frog leapt away from the edge.

There, near the pond, he saw the silver sandals discarded carelessly at the base of a large tree. His heart skipped a beat, and he hurried over, finding the small, worn slingshot and marbles hidden in the trunk alongside a butterfly knife.

As he was examining the items, a sharp, sudden pain hit the top of his head. Luca yelped and stumbled, rubbing the spot where something had struck him.

Looking up, he saw a small, bare foot sticking out among the tangled mess of green foliage above him. It seemed that the nut that had hit him had fallen from the tree where someone—likely Mariana—was perched.

He peered up into the branches, spotting a hint of a familiar green dress tangled among the leaves. With a determined gulp, he started to climb the tree, his tiny hands grasping at the rough bark.

The climb was challenging for his small frame, but he was driven by a deep concern for his sister. His movements were slow but steady, his feet finding purchase as he climbed higher.

He finally reached a sturdy branch where he could see his sister more clearly. Mariana was sitting cross-legged, her face set in a scowl as she looked out over the pond. Her peach basket lay beside her on the branch, her earlier distress evident in her frown.

"Luca!" 

Mariana’s eyes widened in surprise as she spotted her brother clambering onto the branch. Her anger seemed to dissolve into confusion and concern as she saw him. "What are you doing here?"

Luca, still catching his breath, looked at her with wide eyes. "I was worried about you. I didn’t know where you went and I... I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Mariana's face softened, a mixture of guilt and relief washing over her. She shifted closer to him on the branch, her usual stubbornness giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability. "I’m sorry, Luca. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just... upset."

Luca, still holding onto the branch for support, reached out to her. “It’s okay. Let’s just go back home. Mama and Papa are looking for us.”

Mariana’s face was a mixture of stubborn defiance and lingering hurt as she sat perched on the tree branch. “I don’t want to come down,” she said firmly, her voice echoing with a blend of frustration and sadness. “I feel like I’ve been lied to, and I can’t just trust a man I’ve only just met.”

Luca, his small face crumpled in thought, nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” he said softly, sitting beside her. The sky above was painted with vibrant hues, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of ripe peaches. Mariana’s basket, left behind in her hasty climb, contained a few juicy fruits. She offered one to Luca, and they began to eat in companionable silence, the warmth of the peaches contrasting with the cool afternoon air.

They sat together, their quiet conversation and the occasional rustle of leaves were the only sounds. Suddenly, a deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the calm, calling out their names. The voice was deeper and carried a hesitant note, far different from their mother’s familiar, comforting tone.

Mariana’s eyes widened with alarm. “Luca, stay quiet and don’t move,” she whispered urgently, her eyes scanning their surroundings. The rustling of leaves indicated that someone was approaching, their steps growing closer.

Luca nodded, his small body tensing with nervousness as he kept his gaze fixed on his sister. Mariana carefully maneuvered up the tree, her movements cautious yet determined. She reached a higher branch, peering down through the dense foliage to get a better view of their uninvited guest.

As she settled into a more secure position, she spotted Shanks moving with purpose toward the tree. His tall figure was unmistakable even through the green shrubbery, and she could see the concern etched on his face. He had noticed the sandals at the trunk and was now inching closer, his gaze darting around as he tried to locate her.

“Damn it,” Mariana heard Shanks mutter under his breath as he drew nearer. She quickly covered her mouth, her eyes wide as she remembered the rule about cursing. Luca tsked, “That’s 1 berrie in the swear jar!”

“Shh!” Mariana whispered urgently, her eyes locking with Luca’s. He gave a small, frightened nod, trying to remain as still as possible.

They watched in tense silence as Shanks approached the trunk, his footsteps growing nearer. His movements were deliberate, yet he seemed uncertain of his surroundings, his usual confident demeanor momentarily shaken.

Shanks crouched by the base of the tree, looking up with a mixture of concern and desperation. His eyes scanned the branches, searching for any sign of the children. Mariana could see the strain on his face, the worry etched deeply into his features.

She held her breath, her heart racing as she tried to stay as silent as possible. Luca, too, was frozen beside her, his little fingers gripping the branch for support. The quiet of the forest seemed to intensify the situation, every rustle and whisper magnifying the tension of the moment.

Shanks, crouched at the base of the tree, caught the murmur of conversation coming from the branches above. He tilted his head, a wry smile curling his lips as he heard the whispered exchange between his children.

"He’s got one arm; I don’t think he can do much damage,” Luca said quietly.

“You know I can hear you both, right?” Shanks called out, his voice tinged with amusement. The children’s startled faces appeared through the foliage, their hands flying to cover their mouths in surprise.

“Also, it's quite hurtful to mock your father, don’t you think?” he continued, trying to keep the tone light.

Mariana’s eyes narrowed as she peered down at him. “We don’t know you!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the quiet woods. Shanks’s heart ached at the sound of her. The resemblance to you was undeniable—her hair was the same length and texture, though the auburn hue hinted at his own blood. 

She wore a necklace of small sea shells, a gift he had given you long ago. His daughter, fierce and lovely, carrying both your fire and his own mischievous glint.

Shanks’s gaze softened as he looked at Mariana. “Please, come down,” he requested gently. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m here to prove myself. I’m your father, and I care deeply about both of you.”

Mariana shook her head firmly. “I don’t talk to strangers,” she said, her voice resolute.

Luca, sitting quietly beside her, finally spoke up in a hushed whisper. “Mariana, I do want to go home to Mama soon.”

The mention of their mother made Mariana’s face soften just a fraction, but she remained resolute in her decision. Shanks could see the internal conflict in her eyes as she turned her gaze back to him.

"So, you are up there, Luca?" Shanks called up, a hint of humor in his voice. "Your mother is quite displeased with what you did to your bedding."

Luca’s cheeks flushed a deep red, matching his hair as he shifted uncomfortably. Mariana shot him a questioning look, her eyes wide with surprise.

Shanks’s smile widened as he continued to speak to them, trying to ease the tension. “I assure you, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to be part of your lives and to make things right. I understand it’s a lot to take in, but I promise you I’m here with good intentions.”

Mariana’s eyes flared with anger again as she looked down at Shanks. “Get lost,” she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

Shanks’s expression turned serious, though his eyes remained warm and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere until I can prove to you that I’m not just some stranger. I want to show you that I’m your father and that I’m here to make things right. It’s not just about me; it’s about us.”

Luca, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and concern, looked up at Shanks and then to his sister. He knew how much their mother meant to them, and he could see the pain in Mariana’s eyes. He wished he could help bridge the gap between them, but for now, he could only stay silent and hope that Shanks’s words would eventually reach her.

Mariana took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the branch she was perched on. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he was sincere, but the shock of the revelation and the hurt of feeling deceived were still fresh. She glanced at Luca, who was now sitting quietly, his small face full of uncertainty.

Shanks stood at the base of the tree, his eyes never leaving Mariana’s. He knew he had to be patient and earn their trust, one step at a time. 

Mariana’s emotions churned like a storm inside her as she watched Shanks stand below her. Her mind raced through the snapshots of her life: the vibrant memories of her grandfather Garp, with his dog-eared hat and tales of adventure; her secret dreams of sailing the world with Luca as her loyal first mate; and most importantly, the unwavering love and dedication you had poured into raising her and Luca alone. 

You, her mother, who had never faltered in her devotion or patience, even when faced with countless questions about a father she had never met.

As these thoughts swirled, Mariana felt hot tears sting her eyes. She squeezed her hands into tight fists, a gesture she had learned from you during moments of frustration. With a deep breath, she let go of her palms, her resolve hardening like the iron will she had seen in you so many times before.

Luca’s gentle touch on her hand broke through her turmoil. She opened her eyes to see him looking up at her with a mix of concern and hope. His small, comforting presence anchored her thoughts, and she took a moment to adjust his ponytail so it fell neatly around his face. The sight of her little brother’s earnest expression gave her the strength to make a decision.

“You may go with him if you wish,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “But I will stay here until Mom comes to get me.”

Luca’s eyes lit up with a grateful, albeit anxious, smile. He nodded, his small hand giving hers a final squeeze before he turned to descend the tree. As he made his way down, he passed by Shanks, who watched the interaction with a mixture of hope and sadness.

Luca paused briefly to pat Shanks’s knee, a gesture both encouraging and endearing. “Good luck,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before hurrying back down the path and disappearing from sight.

Shanks’s heart ached as he watched his son run off. The warmth in Luca’s small touch was a balm to his troubled heart, but it only served to deepen the ache of the gap between him and Mariana. With a deep breath, he turned his gaze back to Mariana, who was now perched high in the tree, her silhouette framed by the setting sun.

Mariana took one last look at her father before turning her gaze back to the forest. The tension in her shoulders began to ease as she considered the possibility of embracing this new chapter in her life, yet the fear of change and the longing for her mother’s presence kept her rooted in place.

Shanks stood at the base of the tree, his red hair glowing under the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. His one arm rested casually at his side, while the other, with its practiced grace, caught the peach Mariana had thrown at him. He gave her a warm, reassuring smile and a friendly wave, trying to bridge the chasm of uncertainty between them.

“Can I come up?” he asked, his voice carrying the warmth of a father who was eager to reconnect.

Mariana, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed, responded skeptically. “How are you going to do that with just one arm?”

Shanks shrugged, his smile never fading. “I’ve learned to live with it. It’s not the easiest thing, but I manage.”

Mariana’s eyes remained cautious. “No, you can’t come up. Just have Mom come get me.”

Shanks shook his head gently. “No, I’m going to stay right here until you come down or let me come up.”

Determined, Mariana tossed another peach, aiming for his head. This time, Shanks sidestepped with a fluid motion and caught the fruit effortlessly with his one hand. He held it up, examining it with a grin before looking back at Mariana.

“Nice try,” he said. “But I’ve had a lot of practice with dodging things.”

‘Your mothers bullets, Buggy’s knives. Mihawk's stare.’

Mariana huffed in response but couldn’t hide a small, hesitant smile. Shanks took this as a sign of progress and began to speak, his tone sincere and gentle.

“So, how’s your day been?” he asked, trying to draw her out with friendly conversation.

Mariana shrugged. “It’s been weird.”

Shanks nodded, understandingly. “I can imagine. And I know there’s been a lot of confusion and hurt. Your mother, she had her reasons for keeping me a secret. It wasn’t right, but she did it to protect you and Luca from the dangers of the world.”

Mariana’s eyes softened a bit, though skepticism still lingered. “Why is the world so cruel then?”

Shanks sighed, looking up through the branches as if seeking an answer from the sky. “I’m not too sure. The world can be harsh and unforgiving. But I believe there’s still hope. I’ve met some very good people in my lifetime, people who’ve shown me that there’s kindness and love to be found even in the darkest places.”

Mariana’s voice wavered slightly. “Is Mom one of those good people?”

Shanks’s eyes softened even more, his heart swelling with affection.

“Yes, she is. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. I remember when she was a young marine cadet, separated from her ship during a storm. My crew and I picked her up. We sailed around the world together for three years.”

Mariana’s curiosity piqued. “What was she like?”

Shanks’s face lit up with nostalgia. “She had this incredible light about her. Everywhere we went, she brought joy to the people we helped. Rebuilding bridges, repairing docks, fixing windows, finding lost livestock, and even helping with laundry—she never stopped. She had this unwavering spirit and kindness that drew me to her.”

Mariana listened intently, a mixture of fascination and sadness in her eyes. “Why did you let her go?”

Shanks’s smile grew bittersweet. “I’ve always secretly hoped she’d return. She had a calling, and I understood that. But I’ve never stopped hoping.”

Mariana furrowed her brow. “If she’s a vice admiral, why hasn’t she arrested you or Uncle Luffy or Mr. Mihawk?”

Shanks chuckled softly. “Your mother believes in justice, but she doesn’t agree with everything the Marines say they believe in. She has her own sense of right and wrong, which often aligns more with what her heart says.”

Mariana tilted her head, her curiosity growing. “That sounds like piracy.”

Shanks laughed heartily. “It does, doesn’t it? But she always refuses to admit it.”

Mariana’s sniffles became more audible, and Shanks’s heart ached seeing her distress. He glanced around and spotted her sandals lying by the tree. With a gentle smile, he picked them up and tucked them into his belt.

“I think it’s time I make my way up to you,” he said, determination in his voice.

Shanks began climbing the tree with careful, deliberate movements, his one arm working in tandem with his strong legs. The branches creaked slightly under his weight, but he moved with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to navigating tricky terrains.

As he neared Mariana, he could see her expression shifting from wary to curious. He took his time, ensuring every movement was gentle, to avoid startling her further. Finally, he reached her, settling on a sturdy branch beside her.

Mariana looked at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of emotions. Shanks extended his hand to her, his gaze steady and kind.

“Let’s talk,” he said softly, “and I promise, I’ll be here for as long as it takes to make things right.”

Mariana sat in the tree, silent at first, her breath shaky as she tried to steady herself. Shanks, now beside her, remained still, allowing her the space she needed. He watched her, marveling at the uncanny resemblance she shared with you.

Her auburn hair, a mix of yours and his, caught the light, while her eyes—those wide, vast, star-like eyes—glistened with unshed tears. A delicate seashell necklace that hung from her neck, the one he’d given you years ago, was an instant thought of the bond that he had unknowingly shared with her all this time.

His chest tightened at the thought. This was his daughter. His daughter, the one he'd imagined countless times but never truly believed he’d have.

Mariana’s lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. Instead, her face crumpled, and soft, quiet sobs escaped her as she hid her face in her hands. Shanks’s heart clenched at the sight—he remembers how you do the same when you were overwhelmed, hiding your emotions behind your hands. 

It was like looking at a part of you, vulnerable and raw, and it pulled at him in a way that he hadn’t expected.

"Now, now," he murmured softly, his voice gentle but carrying a sense of reassurance, "we can’t have this."

Shanks shifted slightly, reaching across the branches to move the basket of peaches higher up to ensure it wouldn’t fall. His movements were slow and deliberate as he scooted over to the base of Mariana’s branch.

With a careful, practiced ease, he held out his arm, the only one he had left, offering it to her like an anchor.

Mariana’s tear-filled gaze met his, her expression hesitant. She looked at him like a wary stray cat, unsure whether to trust him or bolt. Her eyes flitted between his outstretched arm and his face, weighing her options, her small body tense with uncertainty. Shanks could feel his own heart beating harder, but he kept his gaze soft, patient. He didn’t rush her, didn’t demand anything. 

He just waited.

Finally, with a quiet resolve, Mariana slowly, almost tentatively, shifted toward him. She crawled carefully into the crook of his arm, her small frame pressing into his chest as if testing the waters of this unfamiliar embrace. As soon as she settled against him, Shanks propped his leg up to provide her with more stability, creating a makeshift seat for her as they sat among the branches.

He wrapped his arm around her securely, his hand resting gently on her back as he felt her small body tremble with the weight of her emotions. She slumped against him, her tears quiet but present, and Shanks held her close, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness he hadn’t felt in years. He pressed his cheek gently to the crown of her head, feeling the soft strands of her hair against his skin, and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Mariana’s quiet sobs gradually slowed, though she didn’t pull away. Shanks simply held her, rocking her slightly as they sat nestled in the tree, surrounded by the whispering leaves and the distant sound of the wind through the branches.

The world around them seemed to fade as the moment stretched, the silence broken only by the occasional rustling of the tree and the soft sniffles from Mariana.

“It’s alright, love,” Shanks whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here now.”

For the first time in a long while, Shanks allowed himself to believe that things could be different—that maybe, just maybe, they could start anew.

Shanks shifted slightly on the branch, feeling the rough bark press against his back as he gathered his thoughts. His one arm tightened around Mariana protectively, and he tilted his head down to meet her eyes. She was still slumped against his chest, picking at a leaf, her little hands shaking slightly. He could feel the tension in her body, the conflict of emotions swirling inside her like a storm.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said quietly, her eyes distant as if replaying the scene in her mind.

Shanks watched Mariana carefully as she spoke, her voice soft and tentative, as though she was still piecing together memories from the past. His heart ached with every word, but he kept his expression calm and gentle, letting her guide the conversation at her own pace.

“Really?” Shanks asked, keeping his voice low, curious but patient.

Mariana nodded. “Yes, in her photos.”

“Tell me,” he said softly, encouraging her to continue.

Mariana shifted in his lap, sitting up a little straighter, though she still picked nervously at the leaf in her hands. "I was small, about five," she began, her fingers tearing small pieces of the leaf as she spoke. 

"When I was playing in her room. Mama was cleaning out her closet, and she set a box of photos down on the bed. She began to match faces to the people from her stories, but she had a large picture of you and her together."

Shanks felt a flicker of surprise, but he didn’t interrupt. His mind raced back to those days, trying to recall the moment she was describing.

"You had a funny jacket on," she continued, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "And both arms, and they were wrapped around her. She was wearing her earrings and vice admiral cap. It looked like it was taken in a church."

Shanks chuckled softly, his gaze softening as he remembered that day. "I think I remember that photo," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

"Is that when you asked about me?" he asked gently, watching her closely.

"Yeah," Mariana replied, her eyes flickering up to meet his for a brief second before looking away again. "She was really emotional when she found that. Said she didn’t even remember taking it."

Shanks frowned slightly, the weight of her words settling in. He could imagine you finding that photo, the flood of memories and emotions that must have come with it. He wished he could have been there to see your reaction, to share that moment.

"What happened after that?" he asked quietly, wanting to know more.

Mariana hesitated for a moment, her fingers still picking at the leaf until it was nothing more than tiny shreds in her hands. "I found more photos of you," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "And an old bounty poster."

Shanks’ breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t realized you had kept those. His bounty posters had always been a point of pride for him—proof of his reputation, his strength—but knowing his daughter had seen them, knowing what they represented, made his chest tighten.

"When I asked about it," Mariana continued, her voice trembling slightly, "she couldn’t tell me the full truth. And when she picked me up after school, all the wanted posters with your face were gone."

Shanks sighed deeply, reaching out to tilt her face toward him gently, his calloused thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down her cheek.

"I knew I had a father," she whispered, her voice breaking, "but I didn’t know who my father was."

Her words struck him like a dagger. He had always prided himself on being free, a pirate without chains or obligations, but now, seeing the pain in his daughter’s eyes, he realized how much he had lost—how much they both had lost.

"You’re mother was scared," Shanks said after a long moment, his voice thick with emotion but steady. "In the eyes of the world government, we could all be separated and killed."

Mariana slumped against his chest again, her small body trembling slightly as she processed his words. Shanks ran a soothing hand through her hair, letting her feel his warmth, his presence.

"She may have a personality opposite of mine," Shanks continued, his voice soft yet firm, "but let me make one thing perfectly clear."

Mariana tilted her head up slightly, her tear-streaked face still filled with uncertainty.

"What’s that?" she asked, her voice fragile.

Shanks met her gaze, his eyes burning with sincerity. "She wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t love you. Now, did she make a mistake?" He paused, nodding as if to affirm his own words.

"Yes, yes she did. I myself didn’t know of you and Luca until I walked through that door. But…" He leaned down slightly, bringing their foreheads close, his voice barely above a whisper.

"She wants to apologize. She wants to make things right."

Mariana’s lip quivered, and she looked down, her fingers tracing absent shapes on the bark of the tree branch they sat on. "What if the danger does come?" she asked, her voice so small it was almost lost in the wind.

Shanks sighed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I’ll handle it," he promised, his voice low but filled with unwavering resolve.

Mariana blinked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of hope and fear. "How?" she asked, her voice breaking.

He sighed softly, the sound barely audible over the rustle of leaves. He leaned his head back, glancing up at the patches of sky visible through the thick canopy, searching for words that would reassure her, though none came easily. Mariana shifted slightly in his lap, her small fingers still picking at the leaf she’d plucked, her emotions evident in every fidget. 

She waited, eyes on the horizon, the soft remnants of tears drying on her cheeks.

Shanks exhaled softly, brushing a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. The wind rustled through the leaves above them, casting dappled sunlight across their faces. Shanks stared into the canopy, watching the light dance for a moment, then lowered his gaze to his daughter.

"How?" she repeated, her voice a fragile whisper, as though she didn’t really expect an answer. Her eyes, so much like yours, flickered up to him briefly before darting hardening again, unsure, lost.

"By any means necessary," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made Mariana look up at him again. This time, he held her gaze. "I’ve made a life out of protecting what’s important to me, and right now, there’s nothing more important than you, your brother, and your mother."

Gently, he placed his large hand over hers, stilling her restless movements. "How will I handle it?" he repeated her question, his voice quiet yet steady, trying to find a balance between fatherly wisdom and the raw honesty his daughter deserved. 

"Well, I’ve been through a lot. Fought more battles than I care to remember, and I've had to protect people I love. Your mother, she was no exception." He tilted his head, peering down at her.

Mariana kept her face angled away from him, biting her lower lip, clearly caught between anger and the need for comfort. Shanks knew that look—he’d seen it in the mirror on countless occasions.

"I’ll tell you a secret," he continued, offering a small, warm smile despite the seriousness in his voice.

"I wasn’t always the most… reliable man. But when it comes to family, when it comes to protecting the people I love, I don’t run away from the fight. I face it head-on." Mariana finally looked up at him, her eyes still red but full of curiosity.

"But what if you can’t win?"

Shanks chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of self-deprecating humor. "That’s a good question. Your mother asked me that once, too. And I gave her the same answer I’ll give you." He gently took her chin between his fingers, guiding her gaze to his, soft yet firm.

"It doesn’t matter if I win or lose, Mariana. What matters is that I don’t stop fighting. Not for her, not for you, and not for Luca."

She blinked, processing his words, before glancing away again. "Why didn't you find out before?...."

Her question hung heavy between them, and Shanks let out another long breath, his eyes darkening with regret.

"That’s something I’ve asked myself every second since I found out about you and Luca. I could give you a thousand excuses, but the truth is... I didn’t know. I should’ve been there, and for that, I’m sorry. Truly."

Mariana paused, her fingers curling around his hand for just a moment, as if testing whether she could trust this man who had appeared so suddenly in her life. She dropped her gaze again. "I don’t know if I can forgive you yet."

"And you don’t have to," Shanks said, his voice as gentle as his touch. "But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere unless you ask me to."

The weight of his promise settled in the air, a quiet but sincere offering. Mariana glanced at his hand, seeing the missing limb and the scars etched into his skin, living proof of the life he’d led without them.

She could feel the genuine warmth in his words, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected from someone she thought of as distant and unattainable.

A soft breeze passed through the branches above them, carrying with it the faint scent of saltwater, a reminder of the world beyond the tree they sat in. Mariana wiped her face with the back of her hand, the quiet calm finally starting to settle over her. "If the danger does come," she whispered, her voice wavering, 

"I want to fight too. I want to be strong, like Mama."

Shanks smiled, a proud gleam in his eyes. "You already are, Mariana. You’re just like her—brave, fierce, and full of love. And if you want to fight, I’ll teach you. But remember, strength isn’t just about battle. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to ask for help, when to protect the ones you love without raising a fist."

She mulled over his words, leaning into the solid comfort of his chest. "And Luca?" she murmured after a while, her voice small.

"Luca's got a good heart," Shanks said, his arm tightening around her. "Just like you. He’ll grow up to be strong too, in his own way. And we'll make sure he knows he’s got people who’ll protect him, no matter what."

Mariana’s lip trembled, and she bit down on it to stop the quiver. She tried to speak, but her voice broke, so instead, she dropped the leaf she had been fiddling with and pressed her small hands into his chest, leaning into him fully. Shanks rubbed her back gently, letting her take her time, waiting for her to continue when she was ready.

"I just… I don’t know if I can trust you," she whispered after a long moment, her voice barely audible.

Shanks nodded, the motion slow and deliberate. "That’s fair," he replied, his tone soft but firm. "I haven’t been here. I haven’t been the father you deserve. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere."

Mariana sniffled, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. She shifted slightly in his lap, her fingers tracing the worn fabric of his shirt, her mind clearly still wrestling with everything.

"You know…" Shanks began, his voice lightening just a touch, "your mother threw a peach at me the first time we argued too." He gave her a crooked smile, hoping to coax one from her.

Mariana blinked up at him, her lips twitching faintly, but the sadness still lingered in her eyes. "Did she miss too?" she asked, her voice catching slightly as she tried to play along.

Shanks chuckled, a deep, warm sound that rumbled through his chest. "Nope, she hit me square in the face." He tapped his nose with a playful grin. "And it hurt."

A small giggle escaped Mariana before she could stop it, and Shanks felt a flicker of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He kept his arm secure around her as she wiped at her face again, the tension in her body slowly loosening.

"But why did Mama lie?" she asked, her voice small again as the weight of her thoughts came rushing back. "Why couldn’t she just tell me the truth?"

Shanks sighed, his smile fading as he looked out at the horizon. "Because, sometimes," he began, "the truth is scarier than the lie. Your mother… she did everything to keep you safe, to protect you from a world that’s not always kind."

His voice softened even more as he turned back to her. "She thought keeping the truth from you would protect you from that pain. She didn’t want you to grow up too fast, to worry about things children shouldn’t have to worry about."

Mariana mulled over his words, her fingers idly playing with the shells on her necklace, the ones that had once belonged to you. "But now I know," she murmured. "And it hurts."

Shanks pressed his forehead gently to hers, closing his eyes. "I know," he whispered. "And I’m sorry. But the truth doesn’t have to hurt forever, Mariana. It can help us grow, help us understand each other better."

She took a shaky breath, then nodded slightly, though her uncertainty still hung in the air between them. Shanks could feel it—her hesitation, her reluctance to fully trust him, but he didn’t push. He wouldn’t force her to feel something she wasn’t ready to.

Instead, he pulled her closer, cradling her as if she were still the small child he’d only just learned about, the one whose life he had missed so much of.

"And if danger comes," Shanks added, his voice steady and sure, "I’ll be here. Every step of the way. You’ll never face it alone."

Mariana looked up at him, her wet eyes reflecting the sky. "Promise?"

Shanks smiled softly, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "I promise."

Mariana nodded, the fight slowly leaving her tense posture. She leaned her head against Shanks' chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She still had doubts, still held onto her hurt, but for the first time, she felt something else too—a sliver of hope.

They stayed like that for a while, the world around them quiet, save for the wind and the distant sounds of the village. Shanks didn’t push her for more, content to let her process everything at her own pace.

Finally, Mariana broke the silence. "Okay," she whispered. "You can stay... for now."

Shanks smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "That’s all I ask."

They stayed there like that for a long moment. Happy to just exist together and silently enjoy each other's company. Mariana had taken to holding Shank’s hand and he was watching her with a soft smile of his own. 

Until they heard a loud crunch at the bottom of their tree. 

Shanks tensed at the rustling sound, his instincts taking over, and he quickly pulled Mariana closer to his chest, shielding her with one arm before reaching up. His fingers wrapped around the first object he found—a ripe peach from the basket above them.

Without hesitation, he hurled it in the direction of the noise, a practiced flick of his wrist sending the fruit flying. A familiar, irritated voice broke through the tension. 

"Ow!"

Shanks grinned despite himself, recognizing the voice immediately. The peach was returned with surprising speed, and he only barely ducked in time, catching the fruit’s impact against the back of his shoulder instead. Mariana giggled, steadying him as Shanks rubbed his shoulder.

Before he could protest further, your head poked through the thick canopy of leaves, Luca perched in one arm. Shanks’ face softened immediately, his previous tension melting away into a look of affectionate guilt.

“You’ve got some nerve,” you said, your tone teasing but sharp, though the corner of your mouth twitched like you were fighting a smile.

“It was an accident, my love!” Shanks quickly replied, raising his hands in mock surrender, flashing you that irresistible, crooked grin he always wore when he was trying to get out of trouble.

"Uh-huh," you shot back, not letting him off that easily.

Your gaze shifted, assessing Mariana carefully. Her nose was a bit red, and the drying streaks of tears lined her face, but she looked more settled, calmer now.

Climbing onto the branch beside them, you allowed Luca to squirm out of your hold and into his sister’s lap fully, giving them space. He sat there happily, his tiny fingers curling into Mariana’s dress, unaware of the emotional storm that had just passed between her and Shanks.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat down, finally realizing what was in front of you—the sight of your children, together with their father for the first time, side by side.

It was surreal. The way the mid-afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting warm, golden patches of light over them, made the moment feel frozen in time. Mariana’s tear-streaked face looked so much like Shanks’ right now, her features carrying his softness and strength, while Luca’s wide eyes gleamed with the same mischievous spark that you had seen in Shanks a thousand times.

Funny how you both saw the other in your children. 

You could feel your ears burning as the emotions swirled in your chest. Shanks, always perceptive, didn’t miss a thing. His eyes flicked to you, and his grin softened into something more knowing, more tender. He raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the look on your face.

"Feeling a bit strange, huh?" Shanks teased gently, though there was a deeper understanding in his gaze. He reached over and brushed his fingers lightly against your arm, the touch both comforting and familiar, as if reminding you that you weren’t alone in this moment of overwhelming realization.

You bit your lip, your eyes darting between him and your children, finally meeting his gaze again. The teasing sparkle in his eyes had faded into something softer, something that mirrored the way you were feeling—an acknowledgment of just how much this moment meant.

“Yeah,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "A bit."

Shanks chuckled, low and affectionate, before leaning over to press a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual. His arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer to him on the branch, his warmth grounding you.

You sighed, leaning into him just a little, your eyes still locked on your children. Luca had reached up to tug at one of Mariana’s curls, laughing as it bounced back. Mariana smiled softly, her eyes still red but clearer now, her hand gently holding her brother's.

Finally, you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. Here they were, together. And so were you. The people who held your heart were finally connected in a way that seemed almost impossible not so long ago.

Shanks, sensing the shift, whispered just loud enough for you to hear, "We’ve got a lot to figure out, but for now… let’s just enjoy this."

You nodded, unable to speak, your throat too tight with emotion, but you managed a smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. In this moment, the future and all its uncertainties didn’t seem so daunting. You had them. You had each other. 

And that was all you ever wanted. 

Luca began to tug at your sleeve, grumbling about his rumbling stomach, you gave him a reassuring smile before looking toward Shanks.

"Alright, you two, go on down and get some food," you instructed, waving them off. "I'll be down in a bit."

Shanks, ever the tease, flashed a grin as he hoisted Luca up onto his shoulders. "You girls be nice to each other, now," he called over his shoulder as they began their descent from the tree.

You and Mariana exchanged a look, both of you narrowing your eyes at him in a glare before simultaneously huffing out a small laugh. Shanks glanced back, winking, before continuing down the path, Luca’s hands playfully tousling his hair. You watched as they disappeared, Luca’s joyous giggles mixing with the crunch of leaves beneath Shanks’ boots. The sight of your son perched high on his father’s shoulders, laughing freely, tugged at your heartstrings. 

They looked so natural together—in fact, as if this moment had always been meant to be.

You barely had a chance to turn back toward Mariana before you felt the weight of her body suddenly collapse into yours, her arms thrown around your waist. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as you both sank into the tree, rocking gently back and forth. The quiet creaking of the branch and the distant birdsong surrounded you as you cradled her.

You buried your face in her thick hair, whispering, “I’m so sorry, Mariana.”

For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you, and it was as if she was little again, the same way she used to cling to you after a bad dream or when the world had been too much for her. You felt her grip tighten, her breath coming in uneven bursts as she fought back tears. Her body trembled slightly, and you rocked her gently, like you used to, as if swaying could soothe the storm inside her.

"I’m sorry too," she mumbled into your shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. "For running off. I just… I didn’t know what to do."

Pulling back just enough to look at her face, you saw the way she was trying so hard to hold it together, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. It almost broke you. You wanted to put on your vice admiral face, the one that held everything in line, but not here. Not with her. Mariana didn’t need that façade—she needed you, her mom, raw and honest.

“Your feelings are valid,” you whispered, cupping her face in your hands. “You have every right to be upset, sweetheart. I wasn’t honest with you, and that’s on me.”

Her lips quivered as she met your gaze, and you could see the inner battle she was waging against her tears. You could feel it in your own chest too, that deep ache that came with the vulnerability of motherhood. You pulled her close again, resting your chin on top of her head as you fought your own tears.

After a moment, you spoke, your voice low and gentle. "Your father and I… we live in very different worlds. We’re on opposite sides of the same coin. But, Mariana, none of that matters when it comes to how we feel about each other. We love each other—deeply—and I don’t care what anyone has to say about it. I’m proud of our family. I’m honored to be your mother and Luca’s."

There was a pause, and then Mariana pulled back slightly, her eyes wide with surprise. "What about the Marines?" she asked, her voice small but curious.

You let out a short, amused laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "They can kiss my ass if they know what’s good for them."

“MOM!”

“IT’S TRUE!”

Mariana blinked, taken aback, before bursting into laughter. The sound of her joy filled the air, and it was like a weight had lifted. The tension, the confusion, it all seemed to dissipate in that moment.

"I forgive you, Mama," she said softly, her smile breaking through the remnants of her tears. Then her expression turned mischievous as she teased, "But seriously, I mean, Dad must’ve been a real looker back in the day, huh?"

You shot her a playful glare, swatting her arm lightly. “Hush. He still is.”

Before you could say more, a familiar voice called out from behind you. “That’s good to know!”

You whipped your head around to hear Shanks’ voice echoing through the trees. Both you and Mariana immediately yelled in unison, "Were you eavesdropping?"

Shanks’ loud, hearty laugh echoed in the clearing. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide your smile as you offered your hand to Mariana, who took it gladly. You helped her carefully down from the tree, the peach basket swinging lightly in her other hand.

The moment you both reached the ground, you barely had time to catch your breath before a strong arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly into the air.

“Shanks!” 

You yelped, half in surprise, half in laughter, as you were spun around. Behind you, you heard his grunt of effort as he hoisted you and Mariana both off the ground.

“I’ve got my family, don’t I?” he said with a wide grin, spinning you around with playful ease.

‘Family.’

Before you could protest, all three of you tumbled—laughing, kicking, and squealing—into the nearby frog pond. The cool water splashed up around you as you landed in a heap, Shanks' arms still wrapped protectively around you and Mariana. The frogs let out startled croaks, hopping away in every direction as you all landed with an ungraceful splash.

Water droplets clung to your hair and clothes as you gasped, momentarily stunned, before the laughter bubbled up again. Shanks’ deep, rumbling laugh mixed with Mariana’s bright giggles as she kicked her legs in the shallow water, and even you couldn’t help but join in.

In that moment, soaked and tangled together in the pond, with your children and Shanks all around you, everything felt just right. It didn’t matter how complicated life was or how many challenges lay ahead—right here, right now, you have everything you ever wanted. 

The three of you stumbled out of the pond, laughing and soaked to the bone, water dripping from your hair and clothes. Shanks shook his head like a dog, sending a fresh spray of droplets everywhere as Mariana shrieked and tried to dodge. Luca, ever the quick one, scooped up her sandals before grinning at you with  his mischievous eyes.

"Race you home!" he shouted before taking off down the path, his little feet splashing in the mud as he ran ahead.

Without missing a beat, you broke into a sprint after him, your wet clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Shanks was right behind you, his deep voice calling out, “Not fair! I’m at a disadvantage!” He exaggerated a limp, clutching at his missing arm in mock despair.

You threw a glance over your shoulder, smirking as you shoved him playfully. “You’ve still got one arm to brandish a sword or a gun, so you’re doing just fine!” Shanks, ever the dramatic, stumbled back into a large pumpkin, shouting about abuse of the disabled.

Laughter rang out between you as the kids raced ahead, disappearing toward the familiar path leading to the home you shared. Home. The word felt right, a warmth spreading through your chest. It wasn’t just a place—it was where the four of you belonged, together.

Once inside, everyone scrambled to get out of their soaking clothes. Shanks made a great show of peeling off his shirt, wringing it out theatrically, earning a giggle from Mariana and a groan from Luca as he darted into his room. You quickly ushered the children to their respective rooms, helping them into dry clothes before heading to your own.

You exchanged a quick glance with Shanks as you changed, his grin warm and teasing as usual. “Better hurry,” he said. “The crew’s waiting.”

After everyone had dried off and dressed, you led the children down to the beach, where the Red-Haired Pirates were gathered, laughing and drinking. The sight brought a familiar comfort, but today, something was different. 

Today, they weren’t just Shanks’ crew—they were your crew too.

As you approached, you noticed the unexpected sight of another crew mingling with Shanks’ men. Straw Hats and... was that Mihawk? Your brows lifted slightly at the irony of such a gathering. Luffy’s wide grin was unmistakable as he spotted you first, with Ace right behind him, their gazes lighting up with recognition. But then your eyes landed on someone else—a figure with blue hair and a ridiculous red nose, hunched over in laughter.

“Oh, not the blue-haired freak…” you muttered under your breath, sighing as Buggy doubled over, cackling so hard you thought he might actually pee himself. Alvida shot him a death glare, threatening to splash him with her drink if he didn’t rein it in.

But before you could react to the odd combination of characters, the questions started flying. “Who are these children?” “Shanks has kids?! THE Vice admiral has kids?!” Voices swirled around as everyone pointed between you, Mariana, and Luca.

Shanks, always one to command a crowd, raised his one hand, grinning wide. “I’m actually a married man,” he announced proudly, his arm coming around your waist to pull you close. “This is my family.”

The declaration caused an immediate stir. Luffy looked like his mind had been blown, and Ace—sweet Ace—seemed momentarily hurt before you locked eyes with him, mouthing a soft apology. He gave you a brief nod, his lips curling into a small, understanding smile before he walked over and picked up Mariana and Luca, spinning them around with joy.

Mihawk, always composed, looked at you intently for a moment, his piercing gaze softened by something like respect. He offered a small, approving nod. “Congratulations,” he said coolly, turning to your children. 

“Obey your parents and grow strong.”

You barely had time to respond before Buggy’s voice cut through the din. “You got married without telling me?!” His face was red, not from anger but from sheer disbelief, as he jabbed an accusatory finger at Shanks. 

“Kids?! You didn’t even tell me you had kids!”

The two men were soon bickering like old friends, the insults flying fast as Buggy flailed dramatically, still laughing as if the whole situation was some cosmic joke. Alvida threatened to dump her drink on his head again, rolling her eyes at his antics.

Your eyes drifted across the crowd and landed on Luffy and Ace, with Uta and Sabo not far behind. A wave of affection hit you as you looked at them—your other “children,” the ones you had loved and cared for in their own way. Luffy was still grinning like a madman, and Uta waved excitedly, while Sabo flashed you his warm smile.

You crossed the short distance to Benn, who had been standing off to the side, a quiet observer to the chaos. He met your gaze with a knowing smile. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” you whispered, the words filled with years of unspoken gratitude. “For everything.”

Benn chuckled softly, patting your back as he returned the embrace. “You’re a fine lady,” he said gently. “And a wonderful mother. It was my honor to serve you all these years.”

You smirked, pulling back just enough to smack his arm lightly.

"Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Benn.”

Before he could respond, Shanks’ voice rang out over the celebrating crowd.

“Benn! No more hiding secrets with my wife!”

You and Benn exchanged a glance, rolling your eyes as Shanks’ playful accusation echoed across the clearing. You stuck your tongue out at your husband, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Well,” you said, looking around at the gathered pirates and your family, “I think it’s time for a proper celebration.” The excitement in the air was palpable as you made the decision. “How about a bonfire tonight? To celebrate our wedding and our family?”

The cheer that went up was loud and boisterous, filled with the warmth of your crew and friends. As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, the thought of the upcoming night filled you with joy.

Tonight, you’d celebrate—not just your marriage, but the long-awaited union of your family. 

'Finally, you thought, as you glanced over at Shanks, who was watching you with that same, familiar grin. 

‘Finally, we're together.’

‘Finally, we're together!’

Officially.

Years have passed and Luffy had found the One Piece and claimed the title of Pirate King, but the world hadn’t stopped moving. It kept spinning, adventures blooming on every horizon. True to his nature, Luffy refused to settle down, his hunger for excitement never dulled.

With his crew by his side, he continued sailing the world, chasing whatever wild dream came next. 

Mihawk, the stoic swordsman, had found his own happiness, his once-lonely island now filled with the laughter of his wife and their growing family. Buggy—who would've thought—was a sensation, performing for adoring fans around the world. His wife was expecting their first child, and he never missed a chance to boast about it to anyone who would listen.

As for the others, many had paired off, found their own partners, and were off on adventures, whether on the seas or on land. The world, freed from the tyranny of the Celestial Dragons, felt a little bit brighter, a little bit freer.

But you? 

You found your peace in a new home tucked away on a hill in a clearing, surrounded by swaying trees and soft breezes, just near enough to the beach that you could always hear the gentle lapping of the waves. 

The house itself had been built by many hands—your friends, your family, all coming together to create a place that felt like home, solid and warm. The ship docked nearby was always ready for the next spontaneous stargazing adventure, a reminder of the sea that would always call to you. But for now, you were content to stay grounded.

Today, you were wearing a flowing white dress that draped over your swollen belly, the fabric glowing softly in the warm light of the setting sun. Your usual combat boots were long forgotten, traded in favor of your husband's larger boots, which provided some relief for your aching feet.

The gentle breeze fluttered the edges of your dress as you sat outside on the porch, basking in the fading warmth of the day.

The house hummed with life. Your children, Mariana and Luca, were down at the beach, their laughter carrying over the waves as they played, waiting for their father to return with dinner. It was the kind of peaceful moment you’d come to treasure, a slice of simple joy in a life that had been anything but simple.

Mariana had taken to sailing with her father and his crew when she could. She was often torn between her love for the sea and her desire to accompany her “other siblings”—Luffy, Uta, Ace, Sabo—on their wild escapades. She had her father’s spirit, free and bold, and you couldn’t help but feel proud every time she set sail.

Luca, on the other hand, had found his calling elsewhere. At his own request, he’d been enrolled in a Marine academy, determined to follow a different path from his father, one of order and law. Shanks, to your surprise, had never been prouder. He spoke of his son’s choices with nothing but admiration, loving that Luca was forging his own way.

And Garp—oh, Garp was positively thrilled at the news of receiving another grandchild to dote over.

Your home had become the heart of every gathering, a place where pirates, marines, and in-between friends could come together, raid your kitchen, and fill the nights with laughter and stories.

Midnight sleepovers were common, and everyone was more than a little protective of you now that you were pregnant again. 

The marines had tried to fire you after your marriage to Shanks, but Luffy—backed by several other influential voices—had quickly put an end to that nonsense. The threats of violence, though well-meaning, had been more than enough to convince the higher-ups to back down.

Your village, the one that had accepted you with open arms all those years ago, remained fiercely loyal. When you revealed the truth about your family—about Shanks, the children, the title of pirate—they hadn’t turned their backs on you. Instead, they accepted your life, standing by your side regardless of titles.

They had outgrown the island and decided to relocate to a larger nearby continent, where they continued to thrive under your guidance.

Now, you sat quietly on the shore, your hands resting on your belly, which felt impossibly large. The white dress you wore caught the last of the sun’s light, giving you an almost ethereal glow as your belly rose like a round, warm balloon.

You smiled softly, watching the way the waves sparkled in the distance.

And right on cue, there he was—Shanks, strolling up from the beach, his signature red hair a mess from the wind. Mariana and Luca spotted him immediately, shrieking with excitement as they raced across the sand to tackle him. He let out a hearty laugh, stumbling back under their enthusiastic hugs, but he didn’t drop the fish he was carrying for dinner.

“Alright, alright!” he chuckled, ruffling Luca’s hair and lifting Mariana into his one arm with ease. “Help me get these fish inside, will you?” The children eagerly took the catch from his hands, dashing toward the house to begin cleaning them for the meal.

Shanks’ eyes followed them for a moment, a smile playing on his lips, before he turned his gaze to you.

He approached slowly, kneeling down beside you. The look he gave you was full of warmth, the kind of love that had only deepened over the years. His hand found yours first, giving it a gentle squeeze before he pressed a kiss to your lips. Then, with the kind of tenderness only he possessed, he placed his warm hand on your belly.

A flood of comfort washed over you as you felt the weight of his palm, grounding you in the moment.

Shanks grinned, his fingers splayed wide over your stomach. “I missed you,” he whispered before leaning down further, pressing a kiss to the top of your belly.

The movement inside you was immediate—your shared child stirring in response to the attention. The warmth that bloomed through you was indescribable, like a slow, happy glow spreading from your core.

Shanks straightened, but his forehead remained pressed to yours, your breaths mingling in the close space between you. “Admiral,” he teased softly, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

“Pirate,” you shot back with a grin, leaning your head against his.

“Wife.”

“Husband.”

He kissed your nose. “Mine.”

You leaned into him, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Yours,” you whispered back, feeling the deep truth in the word.

“Forever,” he murmured, sealing the moment with a kiss to your lips, slow and sweet.

From the house, you could hear Mariana’s voice rising in playful exasperation. “They’re kissing again!”

Luca’s reply came next, louder and full of disgust. “BLAH!”

The two of you broke into laughter, pulling back just enough to glance toward the house, where your children were peeking out from the kitchen window. You could see their exaggerated grimaces from here, and it only made you smile more.

Shanks shook his head, chuckling as he stood up, offering his hand to you. “Come on, let’s go before they start a mutiny.”

You took his hand, rising slowly, your belly heavy but your heart light.

Together, you walked toward the house, where the laughter of your children and the warmth of your home awaited. 

You are happy. 

You are loved. 

You are home.

That wraps it up! Link to part 1 is right here.

I own none of the images or art!!!

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[sexsylexi]

HEEY LEX I JUST WANT TO SAY THAT I LOOOVEEE YOUR WRITING 💗and sooo I was wondering if you could do a jason fic about him and y/n walking in a crowd and jason sees someone with green hair like the joker and starting to having a panic attac … yeah very angsty…

Awe thankss! 💗 and yes of course I can!

Ghosts of Gotham

Jason todd x reader

The summer night was alive with the sounds of Gotham City, a cacophony of car horns, distant sirens, and the low hum of chatter from the bustling crowd. The city was celebrating some kind of festival, one of those rare nights when people felt safe enough to flood the streets and enjoy the warm air without constantly looking over their shoulders. Vendors were set up along the sidewalks, selling everything from greasy street food to delicate trinkets, while street performers drew clusters of spectators with their impressive acts.

Jason Todd, known to the night as the Red Hood, walked through the throng of people, his hand securely wrapped around yours. His grip was firm but gentle, a silent reassurance amidst the chaos around you. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his eyes constantly scanned the crowd, a soldier always on alert even during a rare night off.

You squeezed his hand, trying to offer some comfort. "Hey, Jason, relax a bit. It's just a festival," you said, smiling up at him.

Jason's lips twitched into a small smile, but the tension didn't leave his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Old habits die hard, I guess."

You understood. Jason's past had carved deep scars into his psyche, scars that you could see just by looking into his eyes. Nights like this, where the city's usual threat level seemed dialed down, were supposed to be a reprieve, but they often brought their own kind of stress for him.

"Let's get something to eat," you suggested, nodding towards a food truck that was drawing a crowd with its promise of gourmet tacos.

Jason nodded, his grip on your hand tightening for a moment before he started leading you towards the truck. The smell of seasoned meat and freshly made tortillas made your stomach rumble, and you could see Jason's mouth watering too. For a moment, it seemed like the simple pleasure of good food might be enough to ease his worries.

As you waited in line, you tried to engage Jason in light conversation, talking about the performances you had seen, the colorful decorations, anything to keep his mind occupied. He responded, but his eyes were still scanning, always scanning.

Then, in a heartbeat, everything changed.

Jason stiffened beside you, his grip on your hand turning almost painfully tight. You followed his gaze, trying to see what had caught his attention. At first, you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, just more people milling about, laughing and enjoying the night. But then you saw it: a flash of green hair in the crowd, just for a moment.

Jason's breath hitched, his eyes wide and unblinking. "No," he whispered, barely audible over the noise of the festival.

"Jason, what is it?" you asked, worry creeping into your voice.

But he didn't respond. His entire body had gone rigid, his face pale as a sheet. You looked back at the crowd, trying to see what he was seeing. The green hair appeared again, closer this time, and you caught a glimpse of a pale face and a red-lipped grin.

It couldn't be. You knew it couldn't be. The Joker was gone. But logic didn't matter in that moment. Jason's mind had already spiralled into a dark place, a place filled with pain and terror.

"Jason, look at me," you said, turning to face him, placing a hand on his cheek. "It's not him. It can't be."

But Jason's eyes were unfocused, his breathing rapid and shallow. You recognized the signs of a panic attack, something you had seen before but never this intense. He was trapped in his own mind, reliving the worst moments of his life.

The crowd seemed to close in around you, the noise becoming a deafening roar. You needed to get him out of here, away from the triggers, away from the crowd.

"Come on, Jason, we need to move," you said, trying to lead him away, but he was frozen in place, his eyes locked onto the spot where he had seen the green hair.

You tried again, more forcefully this time. "Jason, we need to go now."

He didn't respond, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps. Panic rose in your chest. You couldn't lose him, not to this. You wrapped your arms around him, trying to ground him, to bring him back to you.

"Jason, it's me. It's Y/N. You're safe. You're not there, you're here with me," you said, your voice firm but gentle.

Slowly, painfully slowly, his eyes began to focus on you. The wild panic in them started to recede, replaced by a dawning awareness. He was still breathing hard, but he was seeing you now, not the ghosts of his past.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Yes, Jason, it's me. You're okay. You're safe," you repeated, holding his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall.

He swallowed hard, his breathing gradually slowing. "I saw him," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I know, but it wasn't him. It was just someone with green hair," you said, keeping your voice calm and soothing.

He nodded slowly, but the fear hadn't completely left his eyes. "I… I couldn't breathe. I thought… I thought he was back."

"I know," you said softly. "But he's not. He's gone, and you're here with me. You're safe."

Jason took a deep, shaky breath, his grip on your hand easing slightly. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"Don't be. It's okay," you said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Let's get out of here, okay? Somewhere quiet."

He nodded, and you began to lead him away from the crowd, your arm wrapped around his waist, his arm draped over your shoulders. You found a quiet alleyway a few blocks away, far from the noise and the people. You sat down on a bench, pulling Jason down beside you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just sat there, holding him, letting him calm down at his own pace. His breathing gradually returned to normal, the tension in his body slowly easing.

"Thank you," he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Always," you replied, resting your head on his shoulder. "I'm here, Jason. I'm always here."

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

"You don't have to worry about that," you said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

You stayed like that for a long time, the sounds of the city a distant murmur. The panic attack had left Jason drained, but he seemed calmer now, more present. You knew this wouldn't be the last time he'd have to face his demons, but you also knew he didn't have to face them alone.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked gently, knowing he might not be ready.

Jason was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "Not now. Maybe later."

"Okay," you said, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Whenever you're ready."

He nodded, and for the first time that night, he seemed to relax a little. "Let's just sit here for a while," he said quietly.

"Sounds good to me," you replied, snuggling closer to him.

As the minutes passed, you felt Jason's breathing even out, the last of the tension leaving his body. You knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but as long as you had each other, you could face anything.

The city around you continued its celebration, unaware of the small, quiet victory taking place in a secluded alleyway. For Jason, every day was a battle, but tonight, with you by his side, he had won. And that was enough.

You stayed there for a long time, just holding each other, finding comfort in the silence and in each other. Eventually, Jason pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a small, grateful smile.

"Let's go home," he said softly.

You nodded, standing up and taking his hand once more. As you walked back through the city, the noise and the crowd seemed a little less overwhelming, the night a little less dark. And for the first time in a long time, Jason felt like he could breathe again.

[tomblythismyhusband]

bodyguard [billy the kid x fem!reader]

[summary]: billy the kid x fem!reader |anon request|Your father hired a bodyguard for you due to the increasing danger out west. You weren’t too fond of the idea but little did you know you’d be so drawn to your bodyguard…

[warnings]: 18+, MDNI, language, pnv, gagging kinda?, tension, keeping quiet

[wc]: 4.1k

[note]: thank you for requesting anon!!! this took me so long to finish for what reason???? idk.

You didn’t understand why your father wanted to hire a bodyguard for you, you thought you were fine on your own. Or at least that’s the lie you constantly told yourself.

Your father was John Tunstall, a wealthy rancher and merchant so he was a target for most outlaws. No one could ignore that the times were changing. Outlaws and bad men were more prominent in the West than ever before. Just last week you had overheard the news that a young girl had been kidnapped. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, picturing the tear splotched face of a young girl begging to be freed.

Deep down you understood why your father was so persistent with the whole body guard thing. You were his only daughter so the abundance of his protectiveness was fair.

“Y/N!”

You heard your father yell your name from downstairs. He probably had breakfast ready. You sat up from the bed you’d been so comfortably pondering in, fluffing the pillows before striding out of the bedroom. You were still in your night slip, you felt too groggy with morning tiredness to change. Coming down in your night clothes wasn’t out of the ordinary for breakfast anyways. Who were you trying to impress?

The sound of your fathers voice could be heard talking in the kitchen and you made your way towards it, but then you froze. Unexpectedly you heard another voice in reply. Your chest seized and you pressed yourself up against the wall next to the enterance of the kitchen.

It was another man’s voice, low, full of self assurance, smooth as whiskey. His voice washed over your senses, singing sweetly in your ears, making your heart thump a little faster. You didn’t know why the hell you were reacting like this but you did know that you’d probably need to change before meeting whoever this man was. Some might deem wearing just a nightdress was indecent.

You turned to leave quietly when your foot landed on a creaky floor board, which emitted a loud squeak that was painfully noticeable. You froze, foot still on the board as you listened intently to see if the man and your father had heard the noise.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Your fathers voice made you curse under your breath. Caught.

You moved shyly away from the wall and into the kitchen. Your father was standing, tall and stern, but something else caught your attention. Your eyes landed on the gorgeous man who sat at your breakfast table, leaning back lazily in his chair, hat set in front of him. His voice definitely matched his appearance. You only looked at him for a moment, eyes darting away as quickly as they met him. You knew staring was rude anyways.

“Hello father.” You said sweetly, moving over to him to plant a kiss on his cheek. You met his eyes and widened your own, almost like you were signaling to him that you wanted answers for why this mystery man was in your home at seven in the morning.

Your father cleared his throat, motioning an open palm towards the man who still sat at the table. “Y/N, I want you to meet Billy.”

Billy extended a hand out as he still lounged on a wooden kitchen chair. You moved a bit closer to reach his hand, shaking it gently.

“Pleasure to meet you sir. I apologize, I’m a bit underdressed.” You said shyly, looking into his eyes. You were amazed at how blue they were.

Billy’s lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “No worries ma’am.” His hand slid out of yours, the roughness of his hands leaving an empty feeling in their wake. His hand had felt so comfortable in yours. So warm, so inviting. You felt colder now, with your hands clasped in front of your torso.

“Your Pa here, Tunstall, has offered me the position to protect ya.” Billy said, sitting up straighter now. Your eyes widened and you turned to look at your father.

“Pa- What? I thought-“ Your father closed his eyes for a brief moment and waved a hand dismissively.

“We’ve talked about this Y/N. I wasn’t changing my mind.”

You opened your mouth to protest but knowing Billy’s eyes were on you, you decided to not fight it. Not now at least. Instead you nodded, mouth pulled into a frown.

“You won’t even know he’s there. Now, there’s something else I have to discuss so sit.” Your father went on, giving Billy a warm smile.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, causing Billy to let out a quiet chuckle at your attitude.

Tunstall pulled out a chair and sat down, placing clasped hands on the wooden table. You did the same, trying to ignore the way your night slip’s thin straps kept falling off your shoulders. You felt Billy’s eyes on you as you adjusted it, your fingers dragging up your bare shoulder.

“Now.” Your father started. “I called you down Y/n so we could go over the rules that will be set in place with this arrangement.”

Your curiosity piqued. “Rules?”

Your father nodded, looking over at Billy. Billy was looking back at him so you took this opportunity to really study him.

His curly brown hair was rumpled on his forehead, probably from the hat he had been wearing. Faint freckles dotted his face, and his lips… so pink, so soft looking. You noticed how his lashes brushed the planes of his cheeks when he blinked, how his brows furrowed when he was thinking. He was art. Art that was rare to find out here in the west. God how you just wanted to run your hands all over his…. You were then broken out of your trance when your father spoke again.

“I want to make one thing clear. You should be professional. I don’t want.. any complications.” Billy nodded, seemingly understanding what he meant but you sat there slightly puzzled.

“Pa- What do you mean “complications”?”

Tunstall shifted in his seat, now turning his gaze to you.

“I mean- no funny business.” His eyes went between Billy and I. “No touching, no romantic involvement, none of it.”

Billy nodded immediately. “Yes sir. You can trust me. Not a finger will be laid on your daughter.”

Tunstall smiled. “Good. If I hear about any shenanigans, no matter who starts it,” He looked at you briefly as if reminding you that you're being held accountable as well..

“There will be consequences.”

Billy started working a few days later. It was awkward at first. You didn’t know what to say, what to do. I mean- how does one get used to someone following them around whenever they go out?

Going to the market? Billy’s there. Going to the salon? Billy. Stroll? Billy. The saloon? You know damn well Billy was there.

Sooner or later you began to feel more comfortable. Billy was actually very nice for a gunslinging cowboy with the potential to kill.

Two weeks had passed now and you both were sitting out under a tree on the ranch. You wanted some sun, it was beautiful out. Your back pressed up against the rough trunk as you fiddled with a book in your hands, flipping through the pages trying to find where you had left off. Billy was next to you, a chasm of space between you two, but still there.

You became engulfed in your book, reading silently for a few minutes until you heard the faint sound of snoring. Your eyes flicked up to look at the source of the sound, Billy.

You smiled softly to yourself at the sight. He looked peaceful. His arms were being his head, his body relaxed. Taking your foot, you nudged his leg with your boot.

He immediately jolted awake, blue eyes springing open looking for a possible danger. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Some body guard you are.. I should tell my Pa you’ve been slackin’.”

Billy’s lips pulled into a smirk at your teasing.

“Come on.. you know I could protect you even in my sleep.” He chuckled.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Right..”

Billy propped himself on his side and you did everything you could not to look at his strong shoulders.

“You don’t think I could huh?” He said, cocking his head slightly.

You shook your head, closing your book. “Nope. I think you’d sleep right through whatever danger.”

Billy raised an eyebrow, warmth swelled in your chest. You liked his cute little facial expressions, though you shouldn’t find them cute.

“I’m quick. Fast reflexes.”

You laughed. “Okay righ-“

Just then your book was snatched from your fingers, now in Billy’s as he looked at you with a mix of pride and amusement.

“Hey-!” You laughed, lunging forward to swipe at the book. At each attempted grab you made, Billy moved his arm at just the right moment.

“When are you going to start trying? Come on- get the book.” Billy taunted.

You giggled as you lunged forward again, except this time, you lost your balance and fell. Fell on top of him.

Your bodies were pressed up against each other. A warm blush flushed across your cheeks. Your arms were on either side of Billy’s head, chest heaving due to the effort of trying to get your book back. You could smell him now you were close. Hints of whiskey and smoke filled your nose.

Billy had froze, book still held up in mid air. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening at the sight of you over him like this.

You stumbled off of him and moved away, lowering yourself onto the grass.

“Sorry-“

Billy sat up, handing the book back to you. You took it back and noticed the rigidness of his motions. He looked pale, out of breath.

“You should go back inside.” He said finally. Your heart squeezed at the words. You didn’t want to. Though it was selfish, you wanted to spend more time with him.

“Billy what’s wrong?” You tried asking but he brushed you off, a faint blush spreading on his cheeks.

“Come on.. it’s getting close to supper anyways. Your father will be expecting you.” He murmured.

The tenseness in his voice was evident so you decided it probably wasn’t best to argue. Instead you stood up and brushed the grass of your dress, still shaken by how close you’d just been to him. Billy stayed seated.

“Aren’t you comin’?” You asked, looking down at him.

He shook his head, waving a hand. “I’ll be there later. I just want to sit for a bit.”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth and nodded, not saying another word before turning to walk off towards the ranch house.

You didn’t know what had shifted the mood. He was fine, until your body pressed up against his, faces close. You felt a bit guilty. Billy probably just took his job seriously.

You tried to shake the thoughts of him out of your head as you walked, but you swore that you could feel his eyes boring holes into your back as you walked. Full of desire. Hunger.

A few days passed since that moment. The tension was undeniable. Your heart pounded each time he spoke to you. You just couldn't help the feeling. It was automatic.

The biggest problem is that you knew the rules. You knew what your father expected. The scary part was that you were starting to not care. Billy was so tempting. He was dangling in front of you but just out of your grasp. You knew it was supposed to be that way, but the way Billy’s eyes traveled down your body made you think differently.

One night, you’d gotten up for a drink of water. You’d stumbled around the kitchen in the dark, knocking something over in the process. It was quiet enough for your father to not hear but not for Billy who lived on the bottom story of the ranch house.

Billy was right. He was quick. You didn’t even know he was there until you felt his hands grasp your waist from behind, steadying you in the dark. You’d felt his warm breath feather over your neck as he stood behind you.

“You should really use a light when you're down here.” He had whispered in your ear. His breath caressed the side of your face causing you to shutter.

His hands on you had felt so right. Wrong according to your father, but he didn’t have to know.

That night was one of the many moments that kept you up. You wondered if Billy laid in bed and thought of the same things too. If he secretly wanted the same things. Everyday it was getting harder to not make a fool of yourself in front of him.

Your eyes always searched for his now, holding his gaze until either one of you gave up, or if your father walked in. The sexual tension was palpable.

“Night.” You said to Billy. It had been a day since the kitchen encounter and you still felt breathless just thinking about it.

Billy looked up from where he sat, sipping whiskey at the kitchen table. “Night Y/n.”

You leaned on the table running a hand through your hair. “Oh- Did Pa tell you when he’d be back from town?” You tilted your head, looking at Billy, awaiting his response.

Billy downed his drink and shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe another hour.”

You hummed and nodded, letting quiet lay upon the kitchen for a moment. The silence was suffocating. You noticed how he had finished his whiskey, the glass now empty, Billy’s lip print faint on the rim.

He began to stand up, presumably to wash it. You immediately took the glass from his hand, your fingers skimming his briefly. Billy’s eyes widened.

“I can wash it. You do too much around here.” You said shuffling over to the sink. You started to pump water when you felt Billy’s mouth near your ear.

His voice was low, smooth, and you didn’t mind the sweet smell of whiskey either. “I don’t mind helping out… especially when it comes to you.”

Your breath hitched. Billy’s lips gently skimmed the nape of your neck. This was new. He’s never placed his lips on you, but you were sure as hell not complaining. Heat rose in your stomach as you turned to face him, forgetting entirely about the dirty whiskey glass that currently sat in a sink of sudsy water.

Billy’s gaze flicked from your lips back to your eyes. The look was fleeting but you caught it, you knew what he was thinking.

“We shouldn’t.” You whispered softly.

“Do what darlin’? Your goin’ to have to be more specific.” Billy drawled.

Butterflies fluttered painfully in your stomach. “Don’t play dumb..” You replied, voice shaking a bit due to the anticipation.

Billy then raised up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Alright then. Goodnight Y/n”

He turned to leave when something snapped inside you. Was it desire? Were you losing your mind? Who the hell cares at this point. Your body was screaming for his attention, so you reached out a hand and grabbed one of his suspenders, pulling him flush up against you. You quickly mashed your lips against his in a quick, but passionate kiss.

When you pulled back Billy looked pleasantly surprised. He then smirked down at you, lips parting to speak. “I’m not one to follow rules anyways.”

Before you could give a witty response in reply his lips were back onto yours, tasting and savoring the feeling. His lips were soft against yours, but you could feel the intensity. Billy’s hands slid around your hips, pushing you against the sink. Your own hands found their place on his shoulders, the shoulders you had once fantasized about, now in your grasp.

Your mouth worked more frantically now, the heat building inside your core at every swipe of his tongue. You nipped at Billy’s bottom lip, causing him to emit a low groan that made your insides flutter.

“Darlin’ I don’t know how I was able to stay away from you for so long..” Billy mumbled against your lips. You gasped for air as he bowed his head, peppering soft kisses on your jaw.

“When I first saw you…. I knew I wanted this.” You breathed, head tilting back slightly to let Billy gain better access to your throat.

Billy’s cock grew painfully hard in his pants, but he wanted to savor this. Savor you.

“You sure you want to do this darlin? Don’t want to get you in trouble…” Billy murmured.

“I’m tired of playing it safe.” You responded quickly, sliding up one of your hands to dig it into his curls as he kissed down your neck.

“Oh?” Billy said in an amused tone. “I hope your feeling brave because I want to fuck you right here.”

You moaned at his words. “Fuck it. I need you.” You whined.

Billy released your hips and cupped your ass lifting you with ease before moving slightly away from the sink to set you down on the counter. Billy began to move down, obviously heading down towards your cunt when the sound of boots walking up to the front door could be heard from the porch. You both looked at each other for a moment, frozen.

You then scrambled away from Billy, fixing your hair and turning yourself back to the dirty dishes. Billy as well made himself look busy as Tunstall strode through the front door making his way into the kitchen.

His eyes widened when he walked into the kitchen, then he relaxed. “Oh, I’m surprised y’all are still up.” He said groggily, obviously tired from the horse ride back from town.

“Hello Pa.” You said sweetly, silently glad that the intense moment of passion before didn’t affect your voice. You turned away from the sink walking over to hug him, ignoring Billy who was leaned up against one of the kitchen counters, nonchalantly looking at his hands.

You embraced your father, though you were mildly annoyed with the interruption. When you pulled back you tilted your head at him. “You look exhausted.”

Tunstall chuckled dryly. “I was just plannin’ on going to bed.” You smiled at him.

“We’ll go ahead.. Goodnight.” You hugged him once again before letting go. Your father gave you a thankful look and gave an acknowledging “hello” to Billy before making his way upstairs. You held your breath until you heard his bedroom door close.

A puff of air escaped your lips and you pinched the bridge of your nose. “God- that was close.” You muttered thinking about the rage your father would’ve felt if he’d seen Billy with his hands and lips on your body like that. You looked up and Billy’s eyes were trained on you. He pushed away from the counter and stepped closer.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him as his mouth skimmed the shell of your ear.

“There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to go to sleep after that..” He murmured.

You sucked in a breath, butterflies fluttering painfully in your stomach. You wanted him so bad, but you knew the risk.

“But- My Pa-“ You reminded him, your voice breathy and quiet.

Billy smirked, taking one of his hands and cupping your cheek. His hand was calloused and warm- you loved it.

“You know how to be a good girl and keep quiet don’t you?” He said in a low, raspy voice. Billy seemed to be struggling to not to tear your clothes off right here- right now.

You were hesitant, but your desires were bigger.

“Follow me.” You finally whispered. This earned you a squeeze from Billy's hands on your waist and a lopsided grin. You took his giant hand in your own and led him quietly up the stairs. You felt Billy’s lips press against your arm as you walked, kissing you slowly.

When you finally made it into your bedroom you made sure to lock the door quietly. The only sound to be heard was the distant drone of your father’s snoring.

“You have to be quiet- ok?” You whispered to Billy as he led you to the bed.

“Darlin’ I should be telling you that.” He grinned as you laid down on your back, arms stretching above your head. Billy climbed on top of you, thighs on either side of your hips as he smirked down at you.

You tilted your head slightly down, giving him what some would call “bedroom eyes”. Billy chuckled and bent down, meeting your lips. He liked the taste of you, if he could get drunk off your lips he would. Every night.

Soon you were both a frenzy of kisses and fingers. Your hand was dug into Billy’s curls as he kissed you, tongue swiping over your mouth. You let out breathy moans into his mouth that made Billy feel intoxicated.

“I like it when you make cute little sounds like that.” He murmured, kissing up and down your neck leaving bites and marks as he went.

You arched into him as he kissed, in utter bliss. Eventually your dress was off and so were his garments. Billy’s hands traced the slope of your waist. You felt his hands, so calloused from his pistol.

“You're perfect.” He mumbled against your neck, breath tickling your skin.

“Billy I need you..” You choked out, squeezing your thighs together.

“Let me take care of you darlin’.” He drawled, taking one of his hands down your navel towards your cunt. You spread your legs, surrendering yourself to him.

Soon his hand was rubbing firm circles on your clit, his mouth on yours. He swallowed each of your choked moans. You tried your hardest to keep quiet, but Billy wasn’t making it easy.

You felt needy and impatient, you wanted his cock buried inside of you. As Billy massaged his fingers on your cunt you sat up slightly, still kissing him, and reached down and took his cock in your hand. Billy froze, eyes fluttering as you slowly ran your thumb over the tip.

“Darlin’ I haven’t finished with you yet.” He murmured, keeping his groans hushed by your lips while you slowly dragged your hand up and down his length.

“I can’t wait any longer.” You whispered. Billy nodded and gave you a lopsided smirk, taking his cock in his hands and running it up and down your folds. He was fine with getting right to it, he waited long enough for this moment already. He finally sunk into you, causing a hiss to escape your lips.

Billy immediately started snapping his hips, pounding into you. Noises kept escaping your lips, Billy slowed. You reached for Billy’s wadded up shirt that laid on the bed next to you. You put it in your mouth to keep your moans muffled. Billy, almost like he was more turned on by this, kissed your forehead before slamming into you again.

“F-fuck.” Billy groaned into your shoulder, sliding out of you for a moment. He then leaned back and flipped you over, your back arched and pretty pussy displayed for him. You gripped the bed sheets as you pressed your face into the mattress. Billy sheathed himself into you again and grabbed your hips. In this position he was able to go deeper than before. Tears pricked at your eyes as he fucked you, cock stretching out your walls, knot building in your belly.

You felt your orgasm approaching, your body trembling with pleasure. Billy’s hands squeezed your hips harder as he trailed kisses down the slope of your back. You whimpered as his thrusts became sloppier. You were both panting at this point, the shirt in your mouth becoming damp.

“S’good. Just like that…” Billy murmured.

Finally your orgasm hit you, legs threatening to give out. Billy groaned as you squeezed around him, pushing him to his own orgasm. Billy came, spurting into your cunt, cum dripping down your thighs.

You relaxed your naked body, crumpling onto the mattress. Billy did the same, raking his hand through his messy curls. He turned his head to look at you and chuckled when he saw his shirt in your mouth. He gently reached over and took it from your mouth before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. You fluttered your eyes and looked at him.

“Good girl..” He murmured slowly, tracing hearts on your face. You blushed, nuzzling closer to him. You felt content now, knowing you finally got what you wanted. Him.

How your father would handle it would be another day's problem. The only thing you could think about now was how his arms wrapped around you as you both laid exhausted.

[unreliablesnake]

Stay (Vincent de Gramont x reader)

Summary: Vincent would go to great lenghts to keep you by his side.

Note: Previously on... / I can't get enough of this dude. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button. I don't have a taglist.

You gave Vincent the silent treatment for the rest of the day, even refusing to breathe the same air as him. You locked yourself in your room, although all you could do was lie in bed and stare at the ceiling since he had taken away your phone back in New York. It was hard to be all alone here, especially knowing that your friends were in the very same city at the moment.

He tried to come in. He kept his manners in check and knocked instead of barging in, but since you refused to answer, he eventually gave up and left. Then later there was a soft knock again, one which was followed by a letter being slipped into the room under the door.

With a sigh, you picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed to read it. He invited you for dinner, and he wanted you to wear a dress he had left in front of your room. It wasn't a long letter, but you could feel his adoration through every single handwritten word. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to be so nice to you?

After opening the door a little to make sure no one was nearby, you brought in the box with the dress to take a closer look at it. You hated to admit it, but Vincent's taste was impeccable. This was the perfect color for you, the perfect silhouette, the perfect fabric. And the matching nude shoes were heavenly too. Everything was great, and you hated that you loved it.

Two hours later you walked down to the hall where Vincent was waiting for you, wearing another phenomenal suit and looking as dashing as always. And when his eyes landed on you, you could tell his breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, probably a compliment, but when you shot a warning look at him, he changed his mind.

He took you to a fancy restaurant, but instead of going to a table far from the rest of the guests, they led you to a private room in the back. Well, what were you expecting, really? That he would spend the evening among ordinary people? Vincent talked to a waiter in French once you settled down across from each other, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling.

Silence ruled the room when you were finally left alone, but you didn't feel like breaking it. You wanted him to suffer. You wanted him to understand that he couldn't always get what he wanted. And he got the message. As those beautiful green eyes were glued to you, you noticed the change in his expression.

“Marry me,” he said out of nowhere while he pulled out a ring from his pocket.

You almost fell off your chair. This must have been a mistake. Something was definitely wrong with your hearing. “I'm sorry?” you asked hesitantly, even though you saw the ring that proved it was way too real.

Vincent flashed a charming smile at you. “You heard me.” He stood up and walked around the table to stop right in front of you. “Marry me.”

“No,” you gave him the only reasonable answer.

“Why?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused. “I would give you everything your heart desires.”

You couldn't help but laugh at him. Did he just try to buy your love? “I don't want to stay here, I already told you.”

“You would seriously leave me for your life in New York?” he asked, a hand finding its way to your cheek as he spoke.

“Yes.”

Suddenly he crouched down and steadied himself by putting his hands on your thighs. “Wouldn't you miss me? Be honest with yourself. Wouldn't you wish I was there with you whenever you felt lonely?”

“Don't,” you warned him.

“You want me, mon amour, why are you trying to deny it?”

“Stop projecting.”

His fingers dug into your skin through the fabric of your dress, moving towards your core painfully slowly. “You kissed me several times on your own free will. You slept with me because you wanted to. Why are you acting like you didn't feel anything?” he asked.

It was terrible and wrong and damn it, he was right. You had given in too many times for your liking in the past few days. Winston was right, he knew how to charm a woman. When his hands reached your inner thigh, you put your hand on his to stop him.

But he didn't react the way you expected, because he was quick to lace his fingers with yours, raising your hand to his lips. “Stay with me,” he whispered against your skin.

“John will win, and when he does, I'm going home,” you told him plainly, hoping he would finally accept it.

Vincent let out a sigh, clearly trying hard to keep his composure, and stood up. He didn't say anything, instead he sat down and pushed a button on the little device the waiter had given him. Soon the wine and the food began to arrive, and the two of you focused on that instead of talking about his ridiculous idea.

The next day you were livid. This son of a bitch appointed Caine to be his representative in the duel because he didn't even care enough to do it himself. Or he was just sure John would easily kill him so he chose a way that ensured he would stay alive.

“You're nothing more but a spineless cockroach, Vincent,” you growled at him when you returned to his home.

For a moment he looked surprised to hear you talk to him like that, but it didn't seem to bother him. If anything, he looked calm and sure of himself, as if he had made the right decision by getting someone to do the job for him. “Darling, you don't seem to understand,” was all he said.

But before he could give you a speech to defend himself, you raised your hand to stop him. “I don't care. I don't want to hear your excuses. I'll be in my room,” you told him before turning on your heels and marching in that direction.

Before you could leave the room, you felt his arm sneak around your waist and pull you against his chest. “Don't go,” he whispered into your ear. “Stay with me until the end.”

Inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm yourself, you thought about what to say. You didn't want to be near him, yet you wanted to be by his side. Your brain and your heart wanted entirely different things, and it confused you. Feeling his body heat made you melt into his arms, but your brain kept reminding you that he was a monster.

“Let go of me,” you told him threateningly, expecting to feel him move away from you. But his grip only tightened, and he rested his chin on top of your head. “Vincent, don't do this. Please,” you said, trying a different approach.

“Stay,” he asked you quietly.

Gulping, you put your hand on his and stayed like that for a minute or two. It was nice to feel this way, knowing he cared so much about you, but this feeling didn't last long because you soon pried his arm off of yourself.

When you turned around to look at him, you were met by his disappointed gaze. “Don't give me this look,” you told him as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Vincent only watched you in silence, clearly trying to come up with a plan to convince you. But then he nodded and walked away with his phone already in his hand, giving you space as you wished. A part of you, a small, quiet part of you felt disappointed that he left, but once you shook your head and went in the other direction to your room, you felt a lot better.

Just a few more hours and you will be free. You will go back to New York with Winston and John, continuing your life as if this didn't even happen. Sure, Charon's death would always remind you of it, but the pain will fade away with time.

As the day passed by, you eventually crawled out of your room, but Vincent was nowhere to be found. One of his men said he was working, and when he led you to him, you found him standing by a table with an angry look on his face.

“Is everything okay?” you asked cautiously.

He finally noticed you when you spoke up, but he didn't say anything at first. Just when you thought he would shut you out, he reached out to signal you to come closer. With a sigh, you did as he wanted, and once you stopped next to him, he leaned down to kiss you.

You weren't expecting this. It took you by surprise and you wrapped your arms around his neck without realizing you were doing it. “No. No, no, no, stop,” you mumbled once you came to your senses and pushed him away. “What's going on?”

He told you everything. He told you about his plan to get John killed before sunrise. You shouted, you pushed him, you told him what you thought of this stupid idea. It wasn't fair, and you thought he was better than this. He wasn't a good person, but you believed he had standards.

This time he didn't even try to make you stay. He let you leave so he could focus on the ongoing manhunt.

Hours later you went to the location of the duel, patiently waiting for John and Caine to arrive. You and Winston exchanged worried looks when you heard gunfire nearby, only minutes before the deadline. If he didn't make it, you would have to stay here. This wasn't good. No. This was nerve-racking.

But he arrived and you felt like you could finally breathe again. That's until John ended up on the ground, slowly bleeding out. You glanced over at your boss, but the corners of his lips curled into a barely visible smile. Before you could understand what was happening, Vincent jumped up and took the gun from Caine.

Did he really wait until John was vulnerable? This was a low you weren't expecting, but apparently he felt like ending the duel himself. But there was a catch, as Winston was quick to inform him–John hadn't shot in the last round yet.

“I'm giving you a chance here,” John suddenly said. “I let you go if you give us everything we want and promise never to come after us.”

“John,” Winston warned him.

You couldn't decide whether or not it would be a good idea to let him go. After everything he had done, it wasn't guaranteed that he wouldn't go after John anyway.

Vincent looked over at you, and you could see that he was still shocked. “Will you stay with me?” he asked you quietly. “Or at least will you visit me?”

John didn't seem to understand, and even Winston raised an eyebrow. But by now you were quite used to him asking you to stay with him, although this was different. This time it felt like he would rather choose death if you said you wouldn't meet again.

“I won't stay here. But,” you added before he could say anything, “I like this place, so I might come back for a few days. That is if you keep your word.”

He nodded. “All right. Anything you want, my love.”

[calmcoldevening]

Slashers x reader who had a nightmare

Characters: Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mention of blood, maybe a little murder, Brahms calls you 'Mommy', Bo is not a dickhead here

Ps: English is not my native language, so sorry for misspells

Michael Myers

• Michael spent most of the night on the street looking for random victims. It was Halloween only recently, so Haddenfield's Boogeyman was still wandering the lonely streets of the city, scaring all the residents.

• When he returned, he was already ready to be asleep. Although you often stayed late to meet Michael and give him another awkward hug and offer him a late dinner, this was not the case today. But he wasn't too surprised. After all, you are an ordinary person with a normal life and work, you need to get some sleep before the morning shift. Michael does not need sleep so much, his stamina is greater than that of ordinary people. Although he won't mind getting into your bed right now.

• Michael took off his shoes and overalls in the hallway. He knows how much you dislike traces of blood all over the house. Perhaps in the morning you will throw his things in the washing machine.

• After going into your bedroom, Michael was a little surprised. You were lying on the bed, wrapping your limbs around the blanket, as if it were a person, and crying softly. You were whispering something in your sleep, clutching a piece of cloth more tightly in your hands.

• Not that Michael cared about other people's feelings, but when it came to you... It was something else. He usually liked to see expressions of pain and sorrow in his victims, when tears prevent them from breathing and they choke in their own blood. But it was different with you. Your tears made Michael's heart ache. It made me feel disgusting. And yet Michael just sat on the edge of the bed so he could see your face and gently touched your cheek. Wet burning skin. The man passed over your forehead, sliding into your hair and starting to gently stroke your wet tangled curls. Don't cry, he wanted to say.

• Finally you wake up, wince and reluctantly open your eyes. You jump slightly when you notice Michael in front of you. "Oh, I'm sorry," you whisper, propping yourself up on your elbows and wiping your face with the end of the blanket.

• Michael doesn't answer, but just looks at you with his head tilted to the side. You read it as a dumb question. "Just a nightmare... Huh, I'm not at my best right now, am I?"

• Do you literally live in the same house with a maniac, with a Haddenfield Uniform, with a Boogeyman, but are you afraid of some fake nightmare? Michael searches for the answer in his own head for a few moments. Sometimes he also has nightmares, but he understands that this is just a game of his imagination, not a real picture. But you look so scared and broken...

• Michael grabs your wrist, squeezing it gently, and pulls you onto his lap. You obediently obey, having no strength to resist. The man picks you up under your knees and back and starts slowly rocking you from side to side like a child. Your head is on his chest and you can hear his deep breathing. Still arriving at the border of sleep and wakefulness, you unconsciously cling to his big body, clutching the fabric of his black T-shirt in your hand. You can hear a muffled mumbling coming from his chest. Lullaby.

• My soul is so calm at once. Your eyes are getting heavy, blinking is getting harder. Michael is so wonderfully soft and gentle. He gently strokes your back. It seems that falling asleep again is not so scary anymore. Now you're sure there won't be any more nightmares. Not now, with Michael Myers guarding your sleep.

Bo Sinclair

• Bo woke up from your prolonged sobs. He did not immediately understand what was happening, only hissed painfully and covered his face with a pillow, trying to get rid of unnecessary sounds and fall asleep again.

• When he realized that this crying was coming from your side of the bed, he quickly assumed a sitting position, swaying slightly due to the abrupt change of position. You were lying facing him, completely wrapped in a blanket, like in a cocoon, as if you were incredibly cold.

• Bo gently touched your forehead, checking for the presence of temperature, but found it quite cool, which could not be said about your cheeks. Tears literally burned my skin.

• "Hey, baby," Bo whispered, gently shaking you by the shoulders. A real anxiety crept inside him, which was not there even when he was killing people in this abandoned city.

• When you opened your eyes, widened with fear, the man's heart missed a beat. Apparently, you haven't fully woken up yet, and your eyes were looking at Bo with the most real animal fear. That's how the victim looks at him.

• Bo sighed heavily, touching your face and gently brushing away your tears with his thumb. "Come here.." he whispered and gently pulled you into his arms, so that you buried your face in his broad chest.

• A man slowly stroking your tense back, muttering something like a lullaby. As you calm down, it becomes easier for him. Bo's mouth twists into a slight smile. He looks down at you and briefly kisses you on the forehead.

• "It's okay, Princess. Everything is fine now. You have nothing to be afraid of with me.."

• In the morning Bo wanted to talk to you about your nightmare, but you have already forgotten it. But there was a satisfied smile on your face after a dose of night hugs with your boyfriend.

Brahms Heelshire

• He was usually the one complaining about the nightmares. Brahms is a naughty boy. But when he wakes up from your anxiety, he literally won't know what to do.

• Brahms looks up at you (he fell asleep with his face buried in your chest) and burns you with his gaze through his porcelain mask. Your face is a little pale, and your cheeks are red and swollen.

• "Mommy?" A quiet child's voice will call him.

• When you don't answer, but continue to frown and whimper from the nightmare, Brahms will really start to worry.

• The man gently puts his hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly. "Mommy, please wake up..." When you finally open your leaden eyes, Brahms' face lights up with a smile.

• You are breathing heavily, and your eyes are running around the objects in the room in fear, while your heart is beating furiously in your chest. Brahms doesn't know what to do. You usually calm him down, not the other way around. But he remembers what you do after his nightmares.

• Brahms crawls higher and awkwardly hugs you, putting his chin on the top of your head. He hugs you to him, as if his life depends on it. At that moment, something in him clicks, and his mind becomes.. an adult?

• The man gently shushes, burying his fingers in your hair and gently massaging the scalp. His movements are rough and a little awkward, but he tries. The child's voice is replaced by a low and hoarse voice, rough from long disuse. "It's okay."

• Brahms hugs you to him, so that your mind is filled with his scent. The man takes a sitting position, hoping that it will be more effective, and pulls you to his lap.

• He starts gently rocking you from side to side, stroking your back and whispering soothing things. Brahms tenderly whispers your name, giving you a sense of calm and security.

[synnamonroll666]

(Hello hi, I love your work, first of all). For NSFW headcanons... maybe sneaking a semi-public quickie with our resident lizard man?

Hi! Thank you so much! 💚 I originally intended on this being shorter but I got very carried away with this. It was so fun to write! 🤭 I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And let me know if you have any other head-canon or fic ideas! 💚 NSFW below!

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Usually, Syzoth was pretty good at keeping his feelings in order. Whenever he was out and felt the room getting hotter and his pants getting tighter, he would always be quick to put his mind to something else and forget about the feeling until he could deal with it later.

But this wasn't any ordinary day for Syzoth; it was mating season. Usually, during this difficult time, Syzoth could still manage to hide his feelings. Sure, he would be a bit more moody and short-tempered than usual, but he could still keep himself from pouncing on the first girl he laid his eyes on. He's not an animal, after all. (Actually— 👀😂)

But that all changed when he met you. Even when you began dating, he would heavily avoid you during these times because he never knew if he could control himself around you. And that theory turned out to be true when he accidentally ran into you in the streets of Outworld during on one of his most feral days.

He was supposed to be delivering a message for the empress, but that mission was replaced with a much more lewd one when he saw you.

You were surprised when he grabbed you by the wrist and forcefully dragged you behind one of the barren shopping stalls set up in the streets. And you were even more surprised when he slammed you up against the wall and collided his beautiful lips to yours. You figured that the owner of the stall must have been out to lunch, but you didn't know for sure when they would be back. The thought alone made your knees weak from nerves and arousal.

Teaching Syzoth how to kiss was definitely rewarding, and you smiled wickedly into the kiss as you thanked the Elder Gods that you decided to do so that day. He had been so nervous to do such a thing that he didn't think he was ready for. But you slowly eased him into it and found that he was quite a skilled learner.

He pried your lips apart with his spade tongue, and you let out a soft moan as it caressed yours passionately, all while his hands were slowly travelling up your body to intensely squeeze your breasts. When you got too loud, Syzoth pulled away and pressed his hand to your mouth before firmly shushing and scolding you.

Something was different in his eyes that day. They didn't have the usual light and softness that you were used to within them. Instead, they looked hungry and gazed upon you as if you were his prey.

It didn't take long for him to have your pants around your ankles. You tried not to cringe when you heard thread snap as he tore them down, but the burning arousal within your core told you not to worry about it for now. Luckily, the stall you hid behind did sell clothing. How convenient!

Any other day, Syzoth would look up at you apologetically if he did anything destructive like this, but today it was clear that he couldn't care less.

And as soon as his cock was freed from the confines of his pants, he buried it to the brim within you as he let out a hiss of satisfaction. You almost didn't get a chance to see how painfully hard he was—how his tip leaked pre-cum like a facet for you. But that didn't matter because you could feel it deep within your tight walls.

Your head lolled back as you let out a heavenly sigh, but just as you began to get lost in that daydreamy cloud of pleasurable bliss, you heard something that made you go pale. Suddenly, there were more voices than just the usual amount on the busy streets of Outworld. In fact, it sounded as if people were gathering around.

Syzoth let something in Zaterran—which you assumed to be a curse word—slip off his forked tongue. You both clued in at the same time that it was the day for the annual parade the royals would throw. Syzoth's mind must have been so fogged by the heat of his rut that he forgot it was on this very date.

But instead of pulling out—like you expected him to—Syzoth gripped your shoulders firmly and began quickly pumping himself in and out of your hole. You let out startled gasps as he abused your pussy, bruising your cervix more each time he thrusted himself into you.

One of his hands moved from your shoulder to press against your lips and seal your moans within again as he picked up his pace, moving at a speed that was humanly impossible.

Between your walls getting filled perfectly by his thick length over and over, the sounds of your mate's feral growls in your ear, and the thrill of the small chance of getting caught in your naughty situation, it didn't take long for that coil of pleasure within to snap and have you seeing stars as you met your climax. And Syzoth followed shortly after, digging his nails deep into your flesh as he growled like a rabid dog while filling your walls with thick ropes of his hot cum.

You ignored the sting of overstimulation in your core and the angry crescents engraved in your shoulders as you let him ride out his high. The way your walls fluttered around him as you reached your climax must have been the last straw for your poor Ninja, knocking him into one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

After his high came to an end, he rested his forehead against yours while letting his eyes flutter shut. There was a moment of peace and the two of you listened to the people enjoying the festival around you while you could feel his cooling seed drip down your thighs and legs, reminding you that you'd have to get a pregnancy test soon.

After coming to and noticing that your blood had been welling up under his nails from how hard they dug into your flesh, Syzoth pulled away and began showering you with praises and compliments. He asked if you were okay and if you could walk, which you told him you would manage.

After taking some pants from the stall you hid behind and leaving some money on the counter, you and Syzoth shared one final kiss and said your goodbyes before parting ways so he could finish his mission to deliver the empress' message. After being left behind, you decided to enjoy the rest of the parade before going home to prepare for a long night of round two. ♡

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[obeythebutler]

Could you write the Dateables protecting MC? :)

Dateables Protecting MC

WARNING: Violence, Spoilers for all the characters.

DIAVOLO

You're supposed to be safe here, Diavolo affirms.

He had R.A.D. established right in his domain, in his capital, so that demons could be civilised (at least according to human rules of morality) and some familiarity could be achieved.

Every professor in this institution had been nitpicked, each student noted on paper. Appropriate measures taken to ensure safety—no fighting, no ragging, no running around unnecessarily—but what can you expect from demons.

It's hard to keep nature bound in chains.

What Diavolo didn't fathom was that some demons would have the temerity to lay a hand on the human exchange student.

His eyebrows furrow as he stops, a reticent smile still on his face. The students in front of him freeze; in the middle of having their academic documents signed by him.

"Please excuse me," He says, looking down at the demons. "I have a meeting to attend right now. Give the documents to Barbatos, and I'll stamp them by tomorrow." The students nod, bowing before leaving the room.

Although he should wait at least long enough so that they are out of sight to avoid suspicion, Diavolo can't wait, won't wait—

The safety perimeters around the campus have been breached.

Normally Barbatos or Lucifer would have taken care of such a situation, but Lucifer is back home and his butler is currently torturing a painfully arrogant noble in the Underground Labyrinth.

And it's Diavolo's magic which had formed the protective barriers, so that the Prince would know the affairs going around his academy. If it were ordinary demons he would have ignored the warnings and let the Council Members handle it, but it's a human which has breached the boundaries.

And there's only one mortal human in the Devildom. Solomon would have teleported, not blatantly ignored the infernal magic in the air.

The students lingering in the hallway step aside when they see their Prince walking with a sense of urgency to him. Diavolo knows they will gossip about him later, rumours will spread, but when they have not?

He only hopes you are unharmed.

He rushes past the gardens, disturbing the soil and the plants there. Devildom canaries, which normally would have produced the melody that the President of the Student Council loved to listen to are absent.

From what he's taught and what he knows, silence is ominous.

The forest behind the academy constricts on itself, as if wanting to hide away itself from outsiders. Still, Diavolo ignores, and forces the branches to wring away from each other and for the dense foliage to give way.

Or else he will burn the place to the ground.

You stumble on the the uneven ground, finding that the wind isn't enough to protect you against fire. Damn those demon, you grit your teeth and resume enforcing your boundary, careful to not any of the flames singe your clothes, so flammable.

The being in front of you sneers before breaking the boundaries that you had just enforced.

Fuck.

Hastily you deflect the demon's attack, but the spell drains much of your human energy, and you fall on the stones below.

"I'd suggest you go back from whichever came you crept out from," You mutter, noticing the soil that clings to the demon's hands and legs. "Besides, things might not end well for you."

"Says the pathetic human dragging themselves on the earth."

He advances further, and your heartbeat quickens when you realise just how sharp his nails are. It reminds you of talons, like that one time you watched a human-world documentary with your demons about an eagle tearing into the flesh of a fish with their talons.

He swipes at you, and you manage to get up and turn in time to avoid a lethal blow, but you underestimate his agility.

The demon's foot collides into your back, and the force of it makes you fall flat on the ground. You groan, the pain intensified with your head banging on one of the rocks.

"Weak, pathetic human," He hums above you, and when you open your mouth to cast an incantation that will make your attacker be thrown two-hundred leagues into the vast forest, he steps on your leg.

Fuck. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts—

There's a weight above you, and the fiend has now placed himself above you, and unfortunately for you demon biology dictates that demons be faster, stronger and heavier.

"Should have known better than to wander into the forest all alone," He mutters, and you feel his breath on your neck. "Lost, little lamb. Foolish human."

He sits up, his weight constricting your chest, rendering you unable to breathe properly.

"Where did your pacts go now, huh?" The demon taunts, scraping his nails against your back, and it draws blood. You hiss. "Where did the Avatars go now?"

Your hands come in contact with rocks. Small, jagged pieces, and you don't waste a moment further before throwing it above you.

From what you can deduce, one of the pieces has hit him right in an eye, given the way he spits and curses. "Insolent human!" A curse, and the sound of a snarl makes your blood run cold.

All words leave you in that moment. You freeze, expecting teeth to tear into your throat, but instead you feel the demon being hauled off your back.

"And to think one of my nobles would betray me this way."

A familiar voice, and when you are able to turn and be grateful to be able to breathe properly once again, you look up and see the fiend hanging in the air.

Diavolo, you can't help but mumble.

The demon's face is starting to turn pale, given the way the Prince is gripping him by his neck effortlessly. He struggles and kicks, but it's futile.

You've never seen Diavolo so angry before. The calm veneer he usually had has disappeared, replaced by furrowed brows and an anger that makes you tremble in fear.

Even the forest, which had seemed so constricting and so secretive earlier has opened up, as if for the rightful heir of the Devildom. Or maybe that's just his magic.

"You dare harm them?" A threat and a question, and you think you hear bones cracking.

But then Diavolo throws him down, rendering such a blow that the demon is rendered unconscious, lying haphazardly on the forest floor.

The Prince breathes in deeply, as if trying to contain his anger, and then he turns to you.

"Did he hurt you?"

"Was about to," You say, getting up with Diavolo's help. "Thanks," You say, as if it's a normal day in your life to be attacked by demons, but hey, that's what your life was in the House of Lamentation when you first came here.

You can't be blamed for being indifferent to some violence and threats on your life.

"How did you find me?" You ask as he checks you over for any injuries that may have gone unnoticed by you. "I thought I was sneaky."

"At the wrong time and at the wrong place." Diavolo breathes out, and you notice how his shoulders sag. "Certainly, a forest of all places to cause mischief? You could have been injured or killed."

"I know, Dia, I know," You say, dusting off dirt from your clothes. "I thought I was safe here."

"Well, a forest is not exactly a safe place to be in," He chastises, but places a hand on your shoulder all the same. "Why didn't you call for the brothers?"

You turn away, embarassed.

"Didn't want to appear weak," You pout, not quite able to meet his eyes. "But I think I should have—"

"What could have happened to you if I hadn't come on time?" Diavolo questions, and his tone is serious. Gone is the friendliness you're accustomed to from him. "Why did you sneak away?"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted a moment to myself, and there are so many restrictions as to where I can go about in the Devildom, I just wanted some peace." You apologise, hugging the demon. "I'll be more careful next time."

Diavolo breathes out, and then there are his own arms enveloping you, until you're pressed against him.

"I apologise too," A sincere apology, squeezing you softly.

There's only so much Diavolo can do too. He can enforce rules, regulations, punishments, but in the end, you can't change the perceptions of others so easily now, can you?

And Diavolo wants to be a just ruler. Unlike his father, who spurred by grief and hatred made his son what he is today, but Diavolo did not turn out like his father. The Prince doesn't want to repeat the sins of his predecessors.

He will work towards unifying the three realms, he affirms. He will work towards a world where you can roam around safe, where he and you can exist peacefully.

Diavolo vows as he holds you close.

And blame it on nature, but the demon can't help but drift his gaze towards the unconscious demon on the floor. Given lex talionis in Devildom law, it is only fair that a special chamber in the Underground Labyrinth be prepared for the perpetrator of such a grave offence.

BARBATOS

When the butler had embarked upon another pilgrimage to the port market, he was expecting to purchase some fresh tapir for dinner.

The Young Master has expressed a desire for it, and so went Barbatos to the market. And again, it gives him an excuse to procure more goods. The demon walks and walks, past Majolish with its alluring glitter and R.A.D. with its elaborate pillars. Students would be having their clubs around this time, and night shops being set up. He navigates past them with the ease of a man who has traversed these routes since millennia, and he would know them blind.

He knows he has reach the market when the scent of the sea greets him.

And like a man on a mission, the demon buys fresh tapir first. Freshly cut and stored, and takes care to avoid bumping into the other demons around. They know better than to anger their Prince's butler, with his enigmatic smile and polite mannerisms.

There's a special side devoted to human-world spices. Cinnamon, star anise, cumin, mustard, bay leaves.....and the list goes on.

Barbatos expects a crowd consisting of demons from various layers. He doesn't expect you.

You'd almost blend in, if not for the malice radiating from the lessor demon that is gripping your wrist with such tenacity that it is sure to leave bruises. Your expression is one of panic, brows furrowed and eyes widened, and the demon's a leer.

"What the hell," You hiss, attempting to pry yourself out of the iron grip the demon has you in. "Can't anyone in the Devildom just let me live in peace?!"

"Can't ever catch the human alone with those Avatars around. Always thought your soul would be delicious, and the fear radiating from you makes it even more delectable."

"I think you've had enough for today."

The demon turns their head in surprise, not having anticipated being called out in a crowd. And the smug expression on their face disappears when they realise that they've been caught by none other than Barbatos. The expression on their face changes briefly before being replaced by a calm veneer.

"Ah, Barbatos, should have known you were found of human goods so much."

"It would be in your interest to let go of them right now." A threat, spoken with a smile.

The being in front of him wanes briefly; but doesn't let go. You focus your gaze on Barbatos instead, and watch the man for any signal to act.

"And what if I don't?" The demon scowls, baring their canines. "What if I want to feast upon the human's soul?"

The butler smiles. "I'd like to see you try."

You realise that the market has now turned silent—the usual cacophony of vendors and customers bargaining has disappeared—replaced by an eerie silence. Demons are watching, and this situation puts more pressure on Barbatos and the demon to act. There's a circle separating you three from the crowd, and you think you hear a camera shutter going off somewhere.

It would be all over Devilgram by now.

When you catch the butler's eye, he nods, and you get the signal to act. You utter the words under your breath, and by the demon hears them, its too late.

".....spirit of wind, protect me."

They fall flat on the ground, an invisible barrier now separating you both.

"Fucking hell," They groan, getting up. "The human's more bold than I thought, huh?"

A clawed hand reveals itself, and the demon pounces.

You flinch, but find that the attack is not meant for you, but Barbatos.

....He's as cool as ever.

"Cat got your tongue?" He asks, having successfully thrown the demon on the ground with a swipe of his hand. "You were so arrogant before."

They attempt to stand, but they aren't able to. Their legs won't support their weight, and they're trembling so much—was that a paralysing spell?

The crowd watches, and no doubt that the demon is being recorded, or going live on the net right now, for everyone to see them humiliated. And it provides solid evidence of their crimes.

Demons know to stay out of the way of those more powerful. But some are foolish, undoubtedly so, and hence must learn their place.

It sometimes entails choking on bitter medicine.

There's a crackle of magic in the air, you recognise, after having been through countless lessons with Solomon. Something powerful yet subtle.

Barbatos.

Ah, so that is a result of his transformation into his demon form.

"You will be punished suitably, as your Lord deems fitting," He declares, letting his tail whip around in the air. "And the consequences will be severe."

His demon form is meant to bring his point home. No threats against you will be taken lightly. They will be met with the gravest of punishments, and sanctioned by the de-facto ruler of the Devildom.

"But I'll leave you here for a while—to ponder on your transgressions."

The demon can only protest, scream, cry, beg, but Barbatos will not budge. And even before they fear Barbatos, they fear public humiliation and punishment by the Avatars. They've heard of the time when the seven lords had strangled a group of incubi at the academy effortlessly, and it his perhaps his bad luck that they happen to be near Ristorante Six. Which is reserved for an event for the members of the student council today. How unfortunate.

"Did they hurt you?" Barbatos asks, expression neutral.

"I'm just a little shaken-up, that's all." You smile, attempting to convince the demon. "Couldn't help but feel a bit bad for the demon. Isn't leaving them like that too harsh?"

"Oh, not at all," He chuckles. "We demons are quite resilient, you see. What a fall from an eight floor building may do to a human body will only result in a few scratches or bruises at worst."

So that explains Lucifer's punishments...

"I think we can leave them, in that case," You declare, massaging your forehead. "They were being creepy."

"And it shall happen no more."

"I know, Barb, because of you." You say, and he only smiles. "Now, I think you should continue with your shopping. It's getting late—what are you looking at? Go away and leave us alone!" You address the crowd which gapes at you both, and they reluctantly disperse, a murmur passing through the demons.

"Would you like to help me with some of the groceries?" Barbatos asks.

There has already been one timeline where they all lost you—to hatred and anger. Quickly replaced by another you. But that doesn't help the nightmares that sometimes plague them all, even Barbatos is not spared.

And if there is even a single possibility where you are happy and safe in the Devildom, the demon will give all he has to make it into a reality.

Because he has grown to love you.

SIMEON

When you don't turn up for your promised sleepover, Simeon begins to get worried.

He thinks you're late, at first, having your time jeopardised by one of the brothers. Maybe Mammon roped you into one of his schemes again, and now Lucifer would be chasing after you both. The thought makes him giggle, for that is quite possible.

Or maybe you would have been tired and have fallen asleep.

Simeon begins to fret when the clock strikes nine, and he's just finished making himself a cup of hellfire rose tea. The beverage is supposed to soothe his nerves, but it does little to calm the growing restless in his mind.

He sends you a message, but you don't reply.

And when even Lucifer, the one demon that is the most level-headed out of all his brothers denies having seen you at home, stating that you had left an hour earlier, Simeon begins to grow panicked.

But he forces himself to calm down, and then the two brothers no more set out to search for you.

He picks up his cape and sets out, asking Solomon to take care of Luke for the time being, and keep an eye out if you come home in his absence.

"Don't tell Luke yet," He mutters, and Solomon nods. Simeon knows the sorcerer will search for you through his own unconventional methods.

His mind retraces the way to the House of Lamentation, the cobblestone slippery due to the recent rains. There's a slight chill in the air, and so the angel wraps his cape around himself tighter.

Living in the Devildom means that his eyes have grown accustomed to the perpetual darkness, so unlike that of the Celestial Realm. Even now so, Simeon is aware that he's far too bright for demon's eyes. It makes him more vulnerable to dangers in this realm, but Simeon doesn't care.

He's got no time to waste. One hand still clutches his D.D.D. in hopes of you calling him.

Flitting through these streets aimlessly makes him restless.

And that is a feeling that Simeon already had enough of.

A twig breaks nearby, and the angel's eyes dart towards the dense foliage, towards the forest that leads to the other levels in the Devildom. It's a foreign place for him, and he doesn't know whether he'll be even to able get inside.

But he walks in anyways.

Just like he did millennia ago, when the ground seemed to shake and Michael stormed the hallways, demanding to know who had freed Lilith from the dungeon.

And he'd refused to participate in the war which had led to their sister's demise.

Why must it be a sin to love.

Even now, when Simeon steals a glance at Celestial weapons, it seems to him that they reek of sin, stained with the blood of their kin.

He forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat and continue on the unfamiliar path, and stops abruptly. The earth, dampened by rain, has fresh footprints.

Simeon narrows his eyes.

You open your eyes groggily.

It was a bad idea to let yourself go to Purgatory hall alone, but you had managed to convince Lucifer after half an hour of bribing him with vinyl records and Demonus that the demon had finally agreed to let you go, but on the condition that you would keep sending him texts to assure him that you were safe.

Ugh, after this he won't even let you step one foot out of the house without himself or his brothers.

Bless their hearts, but a human also needs alone time.

You'd managed to make it halfway to Purgatory Hall, but then you'd inhaled something in the air. It made you light-headed, and the last thing you remember was footsteps rapidly advancing before you blanked out.

You let your eyes wander. It's a forest, but its not the one you're familiar with in the Devildom. The environment is strange, and it leaves an unsettling feeling churning in the pit of your stomach.

You can fend off any animals here, that's for sure. But again, the most dangerous beings in a forest are those that walk on two feet.

"Whosoever kidnapped me, it was a bad idea."

You say out loud, hoping they hear. When no reply comes, you continue. "I was supposed to be warm and comfortable right now, but you've succeeded in hindering my plans. Loser."

"Shut your whining."

The voice sounds like the rumble of stones falling down a cliff, and it hurts your ears. You finally let yourself get up, dusting your clothes from the soil that clings to them.

Something tilts your chin upwards, and you shriek.

"What the fuck?!" You exclaim, trying to push off what seems like an invisible wall from you. You can't see the offending demon, they seem to have some special sort of abilities—being invisible—and it does not have good intentions in mind.

And, to make matters worse, your cheek is bleeding, from where it had clawed at you.

"First time I'm seeing a human here," It croaks, from somewhere around you, and you can't find out where the voice is coming from. "Knew the Prince had a programme, but he never included the other layers of the Devildom in it."

It almost sounds like the demon is fuming.

"Are we not his subjects?" He seethes, and something lunges at you. It grabs your throat, and you're grateful for the spell you had from Satan to defend yourself.

You hastily mutter the words, as much as they allow you, until the demon is sent flying back, or what you presume, given there's no longer invisible hands around your throat. A shudder escapes your body, and it brings back memories you would not want to relive again.

"Whatever vendetta you have against your Prince, sort it out with him. Not me." You cough, your voice hoarse. "Otherwise I'll be forced to attack you."

"You?" It drawls on, seemingly amused, and you prepare yourself for another attempt. "A human?"

Then they're awfully silent again.

You hate it.

You can't tell where the demon is, and there are no streetlights here, and the forest is so unfamiliar, and with the adrenaline running through your veins, it does little to help you.

A twig breaks somewhere, and you whip your head towards the source.

There's a guttural roar, and then your surroundings seem to brighten up all of a sudden, so much that it forces you to shut your eyes. You hear leaves rustling, a shuffle taking place, and you think you hear arcane murmurings—

You force yourself to open your eyes.

And your conscience did not prepare you for this sight.

There's a demon on the floor. Finally visible, you sigh in relief, but you can't make out their features. And Simeon stands over it.

His back is turned towards you, so you can't see his expression.

"You dared to harm them?" Simeon utters, and the words have a menacing tone to it. "I will not tolerate this."

The demon shrinks backwards, as much as their hands and legs let them ago, trying to back away and away and away from an angel that radiates wrath.

"You deserve to be punished."

Angels were created to do God's bidding. Protect the righteous, execute judgement and serve.

Justice is blind.

And so is anger sometimes.

Maybe other angels would have been forgiving, you think. Perhaps Raphael would have let a rain of spears rain down on the fool and present them to Diavolo, or maybe Michael would serve Divine Judgement.

But you are a human amongst demons.

And there is an angel in front of you.

An angel who has eons of wrath bottled up in him.

But he's not all-forgiving.

You can't see what happening, but Simeon bends down to whisper something into the demon's ear, and you can hear the fellow whimpering at his words.

He stands up again, and turns his gaze towards you.

"Close your eyes, please," Simeon says, and you hear him snarl, but you choose to ignore it all the same.

He's never going to be the same after this, you conclude, as the demon's screams reach a crescendo. You know the angel is on the precipice of falling.

Seraphim to archangel. Archangel to an ordinary human. Human to demon?

Is it love that will lead Simeon to fall, or the very ground on which he had established his angel-hood?

Wrath chokes you, makes the air thick and foreboding. It's alike Satan's rage, which spills over, and results in destruction. But the fear radiating from Simeon is something else, ancient anger which has been left to simmer for too long and has turned poisonous.

You had closed your eyes. Like a good lamb.

But you opened them too soon.

"Little lamb," He whispers, helping you stand. "Are you alright? There's blood on your cheek."

You think its guilt on Simeon's face. He's refusing to look at you now, choosing to instead stare at the moon which paints you both monochrome.

"I'm sorry," You say, trying your best to lighten the mood. "But thank you. I'm okay, it doesn't hurt."

"Still....you don't mind seeing me like this?" He hesitates, words trailing off in a whisper. Doubt fills Simeon's heart, but when you hold his hand so gently he caves in.

"Let's go home."

You don't tell Simeon that you saw white feathers turn black. You'll love him all the same—angel, demon or human.

SOLOMON

Maybe Solomon has a penchant for sensing danger.

Blame it on being protective, but he knew he could not stand back and watch you venture into Siren beach alone. He knows it is an important assignment, a vital part of your training to become a renowned sorcerer under his tutelage. Solomon knows you are worthy, knows you are formidable, but you're still learning.

And he would hate to see you hurt.

So when the protective charm he had placed on you secretly breaks, Solomon drops the vial of hellfire mushroom essence on the floor and stains his carpet.

He curses in a language that human ears have not heard in a very long time, mutters a spell under his breath and creates a portal.

Long ago, he would have checked twice before entering any newly-manifested portal. But he learnt and learnt and made mistakes, and now, Solomon can recite the incantation in his sleep.

His room blurs and disappears and the very air seems to change, and then the sorcerer lands on sand.

Solomon dislikes the ocean.

It brings up memories he'd rather forget, and the smell of sand and salt in the air stirs something foreign inside of him. It twists his heart into knots, but he brushes off the feeling and continues towards where your magic is the strongest.

A siren's song echoes in the distance, and Solomon takes caution and blocks that noise from his ears.

It makes humans mad.

Your scream is the first thing that reaches his ears, and he teleports.

"Make it stop!" You garble out, barely managing to cover your ears while the sirens crowd around you. They all have leers on their faces, and their lips keep moving, singing songs which will drive you to insanity.

Thankfully he can't hear, but oh fuck, he didn't teach you any spells that would keep the worst of the chorus out.

A pang of guilt strikes him. How could he be this negligent?

You look at him so scared, so helpless, so defeated—

Eons ago, he was like you too. Scared and doubtful, until he made himself a king and earned wisdom which granted him everything else, everything but death.

"Get away from them!" He shouts, eyebrows furrowed.

The sirens steal a look at him, and freeze, confused at a human which is not affected by their voice.

"Strange," One says, with seaweed in her hair. "A mortal who is not maddened yet."

He strides towards them, until he's managed to be close enough to whisper the words in your ear that will protect you against their songs, and watches as you mutter the words he says and then sigh.

"Let us be, we are no ordinary humans."

"That makes the hunt irresistible." They reply, and Solomon smiles, and shares a look with you.

"They think we'll fall in no time," He chuckles, hand under his chin. "Want to show them who we are, MC?"

You grin. "Gladly."

Then one lunges, nails and teeth far sharper than on any siren he's seen before. He recites a chant under his breath, and she falls back, into the sea.

"Warned you."

The others hiss.

You ignore the adrenaline running through your veins and focus on the remaining sirens, reciting a hex that you learnt with the sorcerer a month ago.

"......let them be singed."

There's a shriek, and it seems to be coming from all directions—the sirens all retreat into the water, your spell having done its job.

You stare until the surface calms, still not trusting yourself to face Solomon. You're trembling slightly, and you were so scared that you were going to die—

"It's okay." Solomon whispers, voice weak. You turn around to gaze at him, the sound of waves hitting rocks a background melody. He's smiling, but there's desperation in his eyes. He's hiding his true emotions right now, and aren't you doing the same?

The sorcerer hides his face into the crook of your neck, and you feel him press his lips to the skin there. He shudders, and you don't comment on it.

"I should have taught you the spell before letting you come here," He whispers, his voice breaking off at the end. "I had almost lost you there. Forgive me."

You wrap your arms around him. "It's okay," You a press a kiss to his head. "I'm safe, you're safe, we are safe." You hope Solomon is comforted by your words, given he's never let himself be so vulnerable with you before.

"You'll grow to be as powerful as me." The man chuckles, breathing deeply. Relief floods his body, and now that the adrenaline has worn off it leaves Solomon lethargic. "My sorcerer..."

He just want to be with you.

"We should go home," You suggest, noticing the chill in the air. "It's getting late. The sirens may return.."

"You can take care of them just fine now, can't you?"

"Now now, don't get too chummy with me."

BONUS: LUKE

Sorry Luke—

[writeriguess]

Hi, could you do bakugou x reader (couple) where he forgets the reader's birthday? For work reasons I request that it be fluff ;3. ty.

It had been a long day, and you found yourself lounging on the couch, staring at the phone screen. The notification center remained painfully silent—no texts, no missed calls, nothing. Today was supposed to be special. Today was your birthday, and yet… nothing.

Your chest ached with a familiar, bitter feeling. Katsuki had been swamped with hero work lately. You understood—he was always busy saving lives, training, and striving to be the best. But you couldn't help the little sting of disappointment as the hours passed without a single word from him.

"Maybe he's planning something," you whispered to yourself, hugging a pillow close to your chest. Yet, deep down, you weren’t so sure.

The sun was already beginning to set when you heard the front door creak open. Bakugou entered, his usual scowl in place, his hair messy from the long day. He kicked off his boots and slung his hero jacket over a nearby chair.

"Hey," you greeted, voice quieter than usual.

He grunted in response, walking over to grab a glass of water. You watched him closely, waiting—hoping—for some sign that he remembered. But he just stood there, chugging the water, then rubbing the back of his neck like nothing was out of the ordinary.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.

"You okay?" he finally asked, noticing the way you were staring at him.

You blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Liar," he muttered, narrowing his eyes.

You bit your lip, unsure if you should bring it up. You knew he didn’t mean to hurt you, but the disappointment was hard to shake. Finally, you sighed, setting the pillow aside.

"It's my birthday today, Katsuki."

His reaction was immediate—he froze, the glass in his hand clattering down onto the counter, spilling some water. His crimson eyes widened in shock, a look so rare on him that it would’ve been funny under different circumstances.

"Shit," he whispered, and the way his voice dropped sent a pang through your heart. "I… I forgot."

You nodded slightly, trying to shrug it off. "It's fine. I know you've been busy."

But Bakugou wasn’t having it. He cursed under his breath again, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself. "No, it’s not fine. I—damn it—I can’t believe I forgot."

His fists clenched at his sides, eyes filled with regret. "I’m sorry, okay? I’m… I’m an idiot."

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden vulnerability. Bakugou wasn’t one to apologize easily. He was too proud, too stubborn. But there he was, standing in front of you, looking guilty, looking like he genuinely wanted to make things right.

Before you could respond, he crossed the room in three large strides and pulled you into his arms. The sudden warmth of his embrace made you melt, all the frustration you had felt dissolving at the way he held you close.

"I’ll make it up to you," he mumbled into your hair, his grip tightening. "I swear."

You chuckled softly, resting your head against his chest. "You don’t have to, Katsuki. I get it. You’re busy, and—"

"Shut up," he interrupted, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was intense but soft, the way only Bakugou could be. "I’m making it up to you."

You couldn’t help but smile at his determination. "Fine. What do you have in mind, then?"

He grinned, that familiar cocky smirk that always made your heart skip a beat. "You’ll see. Just… give me a second."

With that, Bakugou moved quickly, grabbing his phone and disappearing into the bedroom. You heard him muttering on a call, probably making some last-minute arrangements. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly to yourself. Typical Katsuki—stubborn, but always determined to do things his way.

Less than an hour later, Bakugou reemerged, this time looking much more composed. He had changed into something more casual, and in his hands were two takeout bags—your favorite food, from your favorite restaurant.

"I know it’s not fancy or anything," he began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "But I thought we could just… stay in, eat, and I dunno, maybe watch some stupid movie together."

You stared at him, your heart swelling at the effort he was making. "Katsuki… this is perfect."

He scoffed, cheeks tinged with pink. "Damn right it is."

You spent the evening eating, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company. And when the night grew late, Katsuki pulled you into his lap on the couch, holding you tightly as you watched the movie. His hand absentmindedly ran through your hair, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

"I really am sorry," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"I know," you whispered, smiling softly. "But you made up for it."

He chuckled, low and warm, before tightening his arms around you. "Damn right I did."

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.