#marcel x black!reader

[multiversalburnoutclub]

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘗𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘢

warnings?: just some fluff.

Klaus Mikaelson was not known for his softness.

He was known for daggers. For vengeance. For centuries of blood-soaked stories whispered about in corners of dark rooms.

But now?

He was best known — at least in certain circles — as the man walking around the French Quarter with a tiny toddler on his hip, a tiny sparkly purse over his shoulder (her idea), and glitter stuck in his curls.

She was three.

Big eyes. Ridiculous lashes. A pout that could crumble kingdoms. And she looked like a storybook character — the kind with a crown and a dragon and a happily ever after.

She spent more time at Klaus’s house than her dad’s. Not that Marcel minded. In fact, he swore she preferred him. Something about the art supplies. Or the endless snacks. Or the fact that Klaus once ripped a vampire’s arm clean off because he swore too loudly near her.

And she adored him.

Called him Poppa, in a wobbly little voice that destroyed him every single time.

Not grandpa. Not Nik. Not Klaus.

Poppa.

He never corrected her.

He just knelt every time, arms open, voice impossibly soft. “There’s my girl.”

She rode on his shoulders through the Quarter like she owned it. They had a standing date every Saturday for ice cream. One time the parlor was closed and Klaus nearly bought the entire building just to open it back up.

He bragged about her constantly.

To strangers.

To enemies.

To people he was about to kill.

“She painted this,” he’d say, holding up a glitter-drenched, questionably-shaped elephant. “Look at the detail. Brilliant, isn’t she? Only three.”

Or worse:

“She told me she wants to be a princess and a doctor. That’s ambition.”

Or the time he looked Elijah dead in the eye and said, completely serious, “She’s smarter than you were at her age.”

But nothing destroyed him more than the hair.

One morning, she padded into his room, dragging her little brush behind her, curls sticking up in every direction.

“Mommy said you can try today,” she said, yawning.

Klaus sat up like he’d been handed the Holy Grail.

He’d practiced.

He watched tutorials on his phone. Took notes. Asked her mom twice about leave-in conditioner.

And when he finally got that braid right — smooth, not too tight, tied with a purple ribbon she picked out herself — she looked in the mirror, clapped her little hands, and grinned at him like he’d just handed her the moon.

“I love it, Poppa.”

Klaus Mikaelson, feared hybrid, actual monster, nearly burst into tears.

He cleared his throat. “Well. Of course you do. I’m excellent at this.”

She made him do it again the next day.

And the next.

He would kill for her. He would burn down cities. But more than anything, he would live for her.

Because in a life full of chaos, she was his peace. His purpose.

And when she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and whispered, “I love you, Poppa,” against his cheek, all the centuries behind him faded.

He loved her back so loudly it echoed.

And always would.

[saintsir4n]

UNCOVER

in which malachai discovers the truth of his father and mother’s history.

WARNINGS: 21st century the mikaelsons. (malachai is a teenager in this)

___

“Malachai…” Klaus gulped, eyes wide like saucers when he saw his son stumble into the room that was a violent tip.

Another argument between his brothers was only made worse by the little home truths he wished to forget.

Adrienne turned away when she saw the sight of their teenage son dealing with a range of emotions.

The teenager gulped, as he stared at his father, “You didn’t think I was yours?”

Klaus rapidly shook his head, panicked, “That’s not…”

“You didn’t want me,” Malachai breathed out, daring to spare a glance at his paternal uncles who looked dishevelled.

But blood wasn’t the only thing splattered across their faces, their guilt of knowing the truth was evident.

“Of course I wanted you,” Klaus rushed out, honesty clinging to his tone.

Malachai gritted out, “Then why did Uncle Kol say that?”

Klaus' furious gaze narrowed onto his brother who stiffened, “You can’t trust a word that he says.”

“But I can trust Mom’s face," Malachai's voice cracked, making his mother's pained expression deepen, “It’s true, isn't it? What he did to you. What he did when you were pregnant with me.”

Adrienne couldn't lie to her son, not with the tears pooling in his eyes, driving a sharp pain towards her chest. She didn't dare look at her husband or her in-laws. Even after the shock of her pregnancy and the heartbreak of its reveal, it was a feeling that never left her. She knew that Klaus loved Malachai, just as much as he loved Marcel and it was only a matter of time before the truth of that destructive night came to light.

And one bad comment from Kol did just that.

So Adrienne tried, “I promise I’ll explain.”

Malachai sniffled, “But he just said —“

“Perhaps we should leave the room," Elijah suggested.

“You’d think you would’ve already done that," Klaus sneered, glaring at everyone who wasn't his wife or youngest son.

Elijah's face hardened, “I’m trying to help.”

“You did more than that," Kol remarked, removing glass shards from his chest.

Klaus shot back, “Oh you’re one to talk, you were just as much to blame as me.”

“Brothers, not now," Elijah exacerbated, missing how Adrienne tried grabbing her son's trembling hand.

“Stop with the secrets, just tell me," Malachai snapped.

Adrienne mumbled, seeing the rage forming in his cyan eyes, “Baby, maybe we should talk about this at a different time.”

“That would be best," Klaus hastily agreed.

Malachai argued, “No.”

“Malachai," Kol sighed.

"No.” Malachai's glare grew at his uncle.

Elijah tried, “Aesir maybe —“

“Shut up!” Malachai’s yell got the attention of Rebekah, Finn, Marcel and Hadeon who all rushed into the room, stunned by what was happening. “All of you, tell me what happened all those years ago, or I swear to God I’ll leave.”

Hadeon immediately jumped in when the ground trembled and his nephew's eyes flashed, “Malachai, please calm down.”

"You’re hurting yourself," Marcel and Klaus chorused, the latter's face appeared horrified.

“I’ll tell you,” Adrienne rushed out, placing her hands on Malachai's cheeks.

Klaus's eyes pooled with tears, “Adrienne.” Malachai would think of him differently, he was sure of it. "Please."

Adrienne's lip quivered, but to stop her from deliberating, her son said, “No lies.”

His tone was as serious as his father's, so she had no choice but to repeat, “No lies.”

“Tell me what Dad did to you, to us.”

And so she did and soon they'd all live to regret it.

_

[alexyskinnerstories]

Bella's Aunt Characters Information pt. 2

- Uncle-in-law Marcel Gerard ( Alive)

- Aunt-in-Law Davina Claire-Mikaelson ( Dead)

- Aunt-in-Law Keelin Neveah Malraux-Mikaelson ( Alive)

- Biological Uncle Henrik Mikaelson ( Dead)

Picture Here

( A picture will be put here or shown in future chapters when I bring him back to life in the story when I find my face claim for him.)

- Biological Sons Carson and Camron Swan

- Future Aunt-In-Law Hayley Marshall

More info

Sexuality: Lesbian (G!P)

Height Difference

Annabeth- " 6'5"

Esme- "5'6"

Quadbrid

(Upgrade Original Vampire, Werewolf , Witch and Succubus )

- Soulmate: Esme Cullen

- Best Friends : Sue Clearwater, Harry Clearwater, Charlie and Billy Black

[desiresiwant]

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌-𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

Book Three of Warm-Blooded :

(Season 5 of the originals)

Chapter 9 | The Hanging Man

~ 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 ~

[enticingmelanin]

The Reckoning: A Modern Stack x Black Reader Fanfic

The Reckoning || Elias "Stack" Moore x Black Reader (modern au)

Rating: E for Erotic.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, spit swap, and explicit language. No Mary love to be found here, babes. 🤣 18+ Only.

Word Count: 6k+

Summary: All you wanted was to celebrate your friend, but your past wouldn’t let you live in the moment. When old betrayals resurface, will you bury the pain and hold a grudge—or finally face it and allow the reckoning to commence?

════════════════════════════════════════════

You're enjoying the club atmosphere, letting it sink into your skin. Deep red lights throb through the space like a heartbeat, casting sultry shadows across velvet booths and glass tabletops. Fog hovers over the dancefloor, diffusing the light into something dreamlike. The bass is relentless—low, hypnotic, pulsing in your chest like a second heartbeat. Laughter rings out nearby, glasses clink, bodies move in sync with the music under the seductive pull of strobe lights. For a moment, the energy feels good. Alive. Freeing, even. You haven’t been out like this in a while, and it shows. Your body aches to loosen up, your shoulders to drop, your mind to stop spinning.

Tonight, though, is different. Special because it's Pearline’s birthday. You, Annie, and Sammie had planned every detail to a T—dinner at Marcel’s, one of your favorite spots in Atlanta, complete with warm lighting, shared appetizers, and belly-deep laughter. The food was incredible, the company even better, and the love? Tangible. When gifts were unwrapped and desserts devoured, Pearline had looked around the table and said, “I’m not ready to go home yet.” So, of course, you ended up here—VIP section of a club none of you could name, champagne flowing, the night still young. It was only right that she got what she wanted.

Still, something twisted in your stomach every few minutes. A quiet, persistent knowing that someone else was on their way. Someone you weren’t ready to see.

“Aye, cousins! Over here!” Sammie’s voice cut through the music, loud and sharp as he waved frantically at the entrance to your section. He was grinning, drawing attention from a pair of tall figures stepping into the dim light.

You drained the last sip of your cocktail, the ice clinking as you sat the glass down a little too hard. “That’s my cue to go,” you muttered, already gathering your things.

The protest was immediate from the group. Pearline’s bottom lip jutted out into a pout, arms folded. “Y/N, please stay. You can still have fun.”

“Not with him around I can’t,” you replied quietly, not trusting your voice to do more. Your expression faltered, and the group saw it. You didn’t need to say his name. The ache in your tone said it all.

Just then, the DJ shifted into Glorilla and Meg Thee Stallion’s Wanna Be. The beat hit hard, the crowd exploding in cheers. You should’ve known that song would play tonight. Should’ve known your resolve wouldn’t survive it.

“Oh hell no, now you really can’t leave!” Pearline yelled, tugging your hand like a child in a candy store. “You know this our song, girl! Just one more dance. Pleeeeeaaaaassssse?”

You tilted your head, lips twitching with a sigh. She wasn’t wrong. This track had seen you through makeup applications, glow-ups, and late-night drives screaming the lyrics with your girls. But your heart? It was still tethered to the past, the part of the club where he was now standing, watching. Breathing the same air as you again after seven damn years.

“Go on, y’all,” Annie chimed in, her tone calm, reassuring. “We’ll keep him occupied. Go have fun.”

Sammie nodded, his eyes kind. “We got you.”

“Fine,” you said, dragging the word out like it was being pulled from your soul. “But just this song. Then I’m out.”

It was perfect timing—or maybe fate playing its usual cruel game—because as Pearline led you to the dancefloor, your past and his twin strolled into the section like they owned the place. Of course he wore black. Of course his eyes found yours instantly. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a glance back.

You let Pearline pull you into the music, into the red haze and thrumming bass. You danced like your heart wasn’t shaking in your chest. Like your stomach wasn’t tying itself in knots. You moved with your girl, laughing, swaying, twerking, rapping along to every word like you were center stage.

"He don't wanna be saved, don't save him That is not my nigga, don't claim 'em 'Bout 20 missed calls, he faded White boy wasted, Channing Tatum"

You spit the lyrics with more heat than usual, like if you said them loud enough they might actually reign true. You wanted to embody the same cold confidence Meg was preaching. You wanted to be untouched, unbothered, immune. But the truth was, even after all this time, even after all the silence and distance, he still had the power to stir something inside you.

And that was the worst part.

Because deep down, you weren’t mad he was here.

You were mad you still felt something.

Why couldn’t he just let you forget?

The lighting, though dim and sultry, still kissed the golden brown of your skin and cast a low shimmer over your curves. Your dress—cowl-neck silk slip in rich copper—clung to you in all the right places and teased cleavage. Its delicate spaghetti straps showed off your shoulders, and the fabric danced with every movement, catching flashes of red light from the club’s lasers. A thigh-high slit teased with every step, giving just enough to draw attention without begging for it.

The room pulsed with bass and heat, the kind of beat that thumped through your body and into your bloodstream. Between the crimson haze, electric strobes, and the crowd of bodies swaying, grinding, laughing. Some women hyped y’all up, some gave side-eyes laced in envy. Hungry glances followed you, admiration and desire woven into each lingering look. But there was one gaze—hot, heavy, and razor-sharp—that pinned you to the ground.

You felt him before you saw him. That slow burn under your skin. Like being watched by a memory you never quite shook off. You didn’t need to look to know Stack was in a trance, getting an eye full of everything he let go.

The song faded into another anthem, but you were done. Staying any longer felt dangerous, like playing with fire and pretending you wouldn’t get scorched. You needed to get out before it all unraveled.

“Booo. Come on, party pooper,” Pearline teased, dragging you by the hand toward VIP so you could say your goodbyes.

“Bye, love. Get home safe. Don’t forget to text when you do,” Annie said, hugging you tight.

“I will,” you promised, then turned to Smoke as he stepped up.

“Good seein’ you, Y/N,” he said with a casual warm smile, embracing you in a quick side hug.

“It’s good seein’ you too,” you replied, meaning every word. No matter how complicated things got with his brother, you always had a soft spot for Smoke. He was good people. You were genuinely happy he and Annie found their way back to each other. She glowed differently these days.

Sammie pulled you into a tight hug next. “Sure you don’t want me to call you an Uber?”

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m good. That little cocktail barely did a thing. It was givin’ more juice than alcohol.”

Sammie chuckled, voice like the richest whiskey. “Say less.”

Then Pearline wrapped you up, squeezing you like she didn’t want to let go. “Thank you for everything, friend. We gotta do this again.”

“Of course, boo. We’ll definitely run it back. Happy birthday. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she beamed.

As you turned to grab your clutch from the couch, your breath caught—and time stilled. There he was.

Elias “Stack” Moore.

First time in a long time. And damn… he looked even better than memory allowed. Same outfit as his brother without a white top—black tank top stretched over a muscled chest, tailored slacks hugging narrow hips, black dress boots sharp enough to cut glass. But while Smoke kept it minimal, Stack stood out like always. Around his thick wrist were layered Cuban link bracelets in gold and platinum. Diamond studs glinted at each ear, and a heavy rope chain sat bold across his collarbone. A fashion statement. A walking temptation. A problem.

You blinked yourself out of it and grabbed your things with purpose, ready to ghost the moment before it swallowed you whole.

“No hug for me, huh?” His voice, slow and deep with that southern molasses drawl, rolled over you like smoke. It used to soothe you, make your knees weak, whisper your name in the dark while you shook under him. Now, it just pissed you off.

You sucked your teeth and strutted toward the exit, hips swinging with extra intent.

Kiss my ass.

Your heels clacked against the glossy floors as you crossed the final stretch. You pushed open the door and stepped out only to be met by a curtain of pouring rain. Of course. You’d completely forgotten about the storm the Weather Channel app had warned you about. No umbrella. No jacket. Just your dress, your heels, your clutch, and your skin about to be soaked.

Guess I’ll have to make a run for it...

But before you could take that first brave step into the parking lot, a black leather jacket appeared above your head like a shield.

The culprit?

None other than Stack himself... Of course.

“Let me walk you,” he said as your eyes met, the gold caps on his canines catching the glow of the streetlights.

Your brows furrowed in annoyance. “I don’t need your help,” you snapped, the sharpness in your tone slicing clean through the air.

He huffed, jaw tight, frustration flickering in his eyes. “You really wanna drive home soak n’ wet?”

Soak n' wet...

You remembered the days he caused you to be exactly that... and not from rain.

“Oh, now you give a fuck about what I want?” you shot back, your voice thick with venom. The words landed hard, making him visibly flinch.

His expression softened. Some of that pride faded as he took a step closer. “Y/N, please. Just let me walk you to your car and we can talk.”

“Talk about what?” you asked, your voice cracking as heat pooled behind your eyes. “About how you promised me you were gonna stop runnin’ the streets and go to school? How you said you loved me, fucked me ‘til the sun came up, and then disappeared without a word? Or… about how you somehow got wrapped up in Mary again when you got back to Clarksdale?” Your voice broke, each word a dagger. Tears slid down your cheeks. “Mind you, this is after that bitch did everything she could to manipulate you into doin’ her biddin’. And let's not forget how her proudly racist ex almost had you killed.”

His eyes closed. He took a deep breath, chest rising. “Baby, I’m—”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice trembling. “I don’t want your sorries or excuses. And I ain’t your baby… not anymore.” Your last words came out in a whisper, nearly drowned by the sound of your own heartbreak. The sobs were coming fast behind the lump in your throat, but you pushed through, determined to end this with what dignity you had left.

“Do me a favor, Elias. Leave me… the fuck alone. It’s the one thing you’re good at.”

Before he could respond, you turned and bolted into the rain, letting it soak your skin as you ran toward your sleek white Benz coupe.

When you finally slid into the driver’s seat and locked the doors, it all came crashing down. The tears, the ache, the truth you didn’t want to face. Sobs racked your body as you crumbled in your hands. You didn’t want to admit it, but the pain only cut this deep because the love you thought you’d buried was still alive. Still burning. You were still in love with the boy who’d become your first and only love… and the one who shattered your belief in fairytales.

At this point, it felt like God and your ancestors would have to come from the heavens and manually untether the two of you.

After pulling yourself together and carefully maneuvering through the drenched streets, you finally pulled into the garage of your townhome safely. You sighed as the familiar clatter of your keys hitting the gold tray on your entryway console filled your ears.

Home sweet home...

Your nerves slowly began to unravel now that the warmth of your home wrapped around you. The earthy tones, warm lighting, natural textures, and sweet, spicy scents delivered a calming peace to your spirit. You liked going out and having fun, but it was too easy to be a homebody in a space perfectly curated for your soul.

You took off your heels and padded barefoot up the stairs toward the kitchen. You needed something else to soothe the ache, something warm—comforting. You settled on a mug of hot chocolate, extra marshmallows. The creamy scent rose with the misty steam, following you as you climbed the last flight of stairs toward your bedroom. Your feet were thankful for the plush, fluffy beige carpet that welcomed them with every step.

You returned your heels to their rightful spot in your walk-in closet, then made your way into the bathroom. The ceramic mug clacked against the stone countertop of your double sink vanity as you set it down. A soft sigh escaped you as your gaze landed on your reflection. No amount of powder or setting spray could’ve saved your makeup after the night you had. Thankfully, your kinky tresses were still neatly secured in the hip-length goddess braids you’d spent hours getting done.

You quickly bent over and swept the braids into a messy bun atop your head. After a sip of your chocolatey comfort, you washed the day off your face, leaving your skin soft and fresh. The sound of fabric hitting the floor followed as you peeled yourself out of the tight dress. You turned toward your glass shower, ready to summon hot water to your rescue—when the sharp chime of your doorbell rang out, startling you.

Your brows furrowed.

Who the hell...

You grabbed your phone and checked the Ring camera.

Annie?

Relief hit first, but confusion quickly followed. You had no idea why she was at your doorstep. It looked like the rain had eased into a gentle sprinkle, and the porch overhang kept her dry. Still, you didn’t want to keep her waiting. You grabbed your white fluffy robe, tied it around your body, and jetted down the stairs.

The moment you opened the door, you were met with Annie’s signature scowl and the soft, familiar scent of her vanilla-based perfume.

“Didn’t I tell you to text me when you got home?” she asked, one hand on her hip.

Classic Annie, the protective “mom” of the friend group.

A soft laugh slipped from your lips as you covered your mouth. “Sorry, Annie bear,” you replied, lips pulling into a playful pout. Your nickname for her softened her expression just a little. She was as cute and sweet as a teddy bear—but when it came to her people, she turned into a full blown mama grizzly.

“I was gonna call you after I got out the shower.”

“So I could worry ‘bout you bein’ toppled over in a ditch somewhere in the storm?”

“I’m sorryyyy. You know if you called I would’ve answered,” you whined, dragging the last word.

“And you know if you’d called me as soon as you got in, like I asked, I wouldn’t’ve had to pull up,” she said, eyeing you up and down like a disappointed mother.

You nodded, lips pressed together. “Touché… But did you really come all the way here just for a wellness check?”

“Well… yes and no,” she said slowly, her tone hesitant. “There’s someone else that was worried about you too.” She stepped to the side and your heart dropped like a weight in your chest.

There he stood. Stack. Behind him, you spotted Smoke behind the wheel of his black Tahoe.

“Oh, hell no...” you muttered, your stomach twisting into a knot all over again.

“Look,” Annie began gently, trying to read your face. “He told me how upset you left, and that’s what really got me worried. I know he hurt you somethin’ fierce. And you and I both know I understand your pain more than anyone,” she said softly, alluding to Smoke ghosting her the same way. “I’m not sayin’ y’all gotta kiss and make up. I’m not even sayin’ you gotta forgive him, but…” she paused, exhaling. “At least let him apologize and leave nothin’ left unsaid. He owes you that at the very least. And believe it or not… he’s hurtin’ too.”

Your eyes dropped to the hardwood floor as her words sank in. Your chest tightened. Part of you wanted to slam the door in his face. But another part—God help you—still wanted to hear what he had to say.

“He’s got five minutes. That’s it,” you said firmly.

Annie nodded, offering a small smile before she turned and signaled him over. With every step he took toward you, your anxiety curled tighter around your ribs. You folded your arms and tapped your fingers against them, trying to keep it together.

When he finally stood beside Annie, she turned to him, but his dark brown eyes never left your face.

“Now Elias, you’ve got five minutes to say what you need to say, so you betta make it good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, flashing a subtle smirk before finally glancing at her.

“If he acts a fool, Smoke'll handle it,” she added, only half-joking.

You knew she wasn’t playin’. Smoke had always been the more grounded of the two, stepping into the role of a father figure where their own father had failed miserably.

You gave her a nod. She winked at you, then made her way back to the car. The slam of the car door echoed faintly in the distance.

Your attention shifted back to him.

His eyes flicked behind you, taking in the cozy aesthetic of your home before settling on you again. “Damn, girl,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I see Atlanta’s been good to you.”

His gaze dropped slightly, lingering just a second too long on the curve of your cleavage where your robe had shifted. Your eyes had slipped observing his muscular arms and the mist of rain glistening off his skin. Immediately, you crossed your legs and tightened your grip on the collar, pulling the fabric closed, snapping him out of his daze.

Stay on task.

“Five minutes, Elias,” you reminded him sharply.

He licked his lips and nodded, letting out a sigh. “I—I fucked up.”

“That’s an understatement,” you said, tilting your head as you looked up at him with a raised brow.

His jaw clenched. Hands disappeared into his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them. “What you want me to say, hm?” he asked, his deep Southern drawl gravelly with frustration. His eyes pierced through yours, searching, desperate. “That I’m in love with you? That I think 'bout ya eh'ry day?”

You turned your head away, blinking back the tears that had been threatening to fall since he showed up. But he reached out, fingers warm and steady as they gently cupped your chin, guiding you back to face him. You should’ve flinched. Should’ve pushed him away and slammed the door. But the weight of his hand, the way it steadied your trembling—felt too damn familiar, too comforting, to resist.

“Well, I am,” he said softly. “And I do.”

Your breath hitched.

“I just wanted to keep you safe. And that was never gon' be there… And it was neva gon' be with me, not with the man I was back then.” His voice cracked slightly as his thumb brushed along your jaw, slow and aching.

Your heart twisted at the confession.

“I meant what I promised you, I did,” he continued, eyes locked on yours. “But me and Smoke had one last job. One last scam, one last lie, one last robbery... and we’d be free.”

He shook his head, jaw tightening. “But I knew that shit came with consequences. I refused to let that touch you. If anyone ever laid a finger on you…” He paused, eyes darkening. “I’d kill ‘em dead myself.”

You shook your head, tears finally breaking free. “So, you’d kill for me,” you said bitterly, “but you couldn’t just stand by your word?”

He lowered his head, exhaling sharply before tilting his face to the ceiling like the answers might be written there. “Fuck,” he muttered.

When his eyes met yours again, they were glossy with tears. Haunted.

“The job… the money… Mary. All of it was to sabotage what we had. It was easy, and I was good at it. Mary knew that—hell, we grew up in the same house. She knew my mess, enabled it. But you…”

His voice softened.

“You saw me. Really saw me. The good, the bad… the ugly. You saw who I had the power to become. And that scared the shit outta' me, Y/N.”

Tears ran freely down both your faces now.

“I didn’t think I was worthy of your love,” he confessed. “My daddy wasn’t shit. And somewhere along the way, me and Smoke started believin’ we weren’t either. But you—” he paused, breath catching. “You made me want to be better. And I’ve been tryin’. Eh'ry day since.”

His voice cracked as he stepped just a little closer.

“Not just for you, but for me. Because I finally understand—I don’t have to keep payin’ for my father’s sins. I don’t have to repeat that cycle. I’m my own man. I know what I want. And I want you… and the life we always dreamed of havin’ here.”

A smile broke across your face even as your tears flowed, soft and tentative.

“There’s that smile I missed so much,” he whispered with a grin of his own, swiping a hand down his face to dry his tears.

“Boy, hush,” you said with a shaky laugh, nudging his chest. “You can’t just sweet talk me and think I’m gonna forgive you.”

But he had already cracked your armor. You both knew it.

He shook his head, his thumbs tenderly swiping your cheeks. “I ain’t just talkin’. If I gotta' prove it to you eh'ry day for the rest of my life, I will. If you’ll let me.”

You exhaled slowly, heart thudding loud in your chest as you looked into the eyes of the man who’d broken you—and who just might be ready to heal you too.

“If you hurt me again, Elias…” you said firmly, voice steel. “Consider yourself dead to me.”

He chuckled quietly, nodding. “I expect nothin’ less. I’d pick out my casket myself. But I swear to you… I’ll never do that shit again. I only wanna see you happy.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners. “Tell 'em you’ll see ‘em tomorrow.”

His eyes widened with a brow raised. “You sure?”

“You better go tell ‘em before I change my mind.”

Without another word, he took off down the walkway toward the car. You let out a much needed real, unguarded laugh, the kind you hadn’t felt this deep in awhile.

Smoke gave a quick honk as they pulled away. You waved, and Annie blew a kiss from the window. You caught it in the air, heart a little lighter than before.

As Stack made his way back up to the porch, you stepped aside, letting him in. He closed and locked the door behind him, turning to face you like the lost boy you used to know.

“I love you,” he blurted, shy again now that the moment had caught up to him.

“I love you, too,” you replied without pause.

He stepped closer, tucking a loose braid behind your ear with a gentleness that made your knees weak. “And I’m sorry.”

Your eyes welled up again, that single word hitting like a bomb. You wanted to be okay without hearing it—but hearing it now… brought you peace.

“I know,” you whispered.

His lips curled into a crooked smirk. “You gon' kick me out if I kiss you?”

You giggled, swatting at his chest. “I hope you plan on doin’ more than that. You got a whole lotta makin’ up to do.”

His gaze darkened with desire, voice dropping low. “Indeed I do.”

And just as thunder rolled across the sky and rain came pouring again, his lips captured yours in a kiss that was deep, soft, and long overdue. A moan slipped from your lips as he pulled you tight, your hands cradling his face, your body melting into his.

The storm raged outside.

But inside…

You were finally home... and so was he.

He sucked on your bottom lip in the midst of the kiss, slow and savoring. His fingers worked at the knot of your robe, but you stilled his hands, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "I was 'bout to take a shower before you got here. Wanna join me?" you whispered against his lips, that mischievous glint dancing in your eyes.

He smirked, eyes already dark with anticipation. "Lead the way, gorgeous."

You grinned, grabbing his hand and leading him up to your room. You put an extra sway in your hips, knowing damn well he was watching. Then, smack! A firm palm landed on your ass, followed by a possessive squeeze.

You gasped, turning over your shoulder. "Elias!"

His rich chuckle echoed through the stairwell. "Don't act like you ain't want it. Walkin’ like that, waggin’ that tail knowin’ I missed it." And truthfully... you couldn’t argue.

In the bathroom, you moved with fluid grace. You lit the jarred candles across the sink, their flickering flames casting golden shadows over your skin. Stack watched you like a man starved, eyes trailing each soft gesture as you flicked the light off, shifting the room’s energy with the warm, amber glow. You grabbed a clean washcloth for him, set it down, and opened the shower door to get the water running—perfectly warm, steam already rising.

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes gleaming with temptation. Your fingers found the knot of your robe again, this time undoing it slowly before letting the fabric fall from your body like silk. Without a word, you stepped into the shower, hips swaying as if daring him to follow.

He didn’t hesitate. You watched as he stripped, his gaze never leaving yours. Every inch of brown skin, every curve of hard-earned muscle made your pulse flutter. And when his boxers dropped—your mouth watered, your center ached. The steam wasn’t the only thing making the air heavy now.

You reached for your African bath net and poured tea tree soap onto it, letting the crisp, herbal scent fill the space. Then, with the damp washcloth in hand, you slowly began smoothing it over his chest and shoulders. He leaned in, catching your lips in a deep, sensual kiss as the two of you bathed one another—washing away regret, pain, silence. Wordlessly sharing the softest, rawest parts of yourselves.

Your kisses drifted from his mouth to his jaw, then down to the faded scars across his chest and arms left by his father. He tilted his head back, biting his lip, breath shallow. His dick pressed hard against your pelvis, and you sighed at the delicious friction. You kissed your way back up, nipped at his ear, then gently sucked on the lobe. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he dropped his head, planting a soft kiss on your temple.

His grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you under the waterfall stream. Milky suds slipped down your bodies, carrying the past down the drain. Your bun, heavy with water, finally gave way—your braids tumbling down your back. Stack took it as a sign. He turned you gently and pressed you against the cool glass, your back meeting it with a soft gasp. One hand fisted your braids, tugging just enough to tilt your head and expose your neck. A moan slipped from your lips as his mouth found your skin—kissing, then sucking hungrily at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His hand slid down to grip your thigh, hitching your leg up around his waist. The thick tip of his dick glided between your slick folds, teasing you, making your stomach flutter. "Fuck, I missed you," he breathed against your neck just before slowly easing inside—inch by thick, aching inch.

You gasped, head falling back against the glass as he stretched you open. It had been a while since you let a man touch you… too long, and the last time hadn’t been worth remembering. But this—this was different. Your walls gripped him, molded to him. He cursed low, his mouth falling open as he began to grind into you with slow, deliberate rolls. A small line of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth.

"Baby... mmm, you're droolin'," you muttered through soft moans, breath hitching.

He wiped it away with the back of his hand, blinking like he’d snapped out of a trance. Then his gaze locked on yours—hungry, unashamed.

"Want some?" he asked, voice low and dirty.

Your pussy clenched in response. You nodded, tilting your head back, mouth parted and waiting. Slowly, he let a thin stream of spit drip into your mouth, landing warm on your tongue. You moaned as you swallowed, and he groaned, crashing his lips into yours with a kiss soaked in years of longing.

His thrusts deepened, pace quickening as his hand gripped your ass, angling you just right. Your moans and his groans tangled between kisses until you tore your mouth from his.

"S—Stack," you moaned, voice breathless and trembling.

He lifted you off the slippery tile with ease, hoisting you up by your thighs. Your ass met the fogged-up glass as he began pounding into you, hips snapping with hunger. Your breasts pressed tight to his chest, arms locked around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Ooooh, shit," you gasped, eyes rolling back.

His lips trailed your chin, kissing sloppily through his grunts as your walls clenched around him. With every thrust, his groin nudged your clit just right, and the soft scrape of his low pubic hair only heightened the sensation. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parting in silent cries as your body trembled with need.

"Mm-mm. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby," he said, voice thick with desire. You blinked them open, brows pinching in pleasure. "There you go," he cooed with a cocky smirk, then rolled his hips deep, hitting your spot with brutal precision. Your breath hitched, lips trembling. Every stroke had your body unraveling.

"Breathe, sweetheart. Let me hear you," he panted, tightening his grip on your thighs. "I know I'm hittin' that spot only I can reach," he growled between groans.

You cried out, high and helpless, your pleasure echoing in the steamy room. He wasn’t wrong—no one ever fucked you like he did. No one worshipped you like this.

"I love you so much. Mmm... And I'm gon' prove it to you eh'ry day," he mumbled against your skin, hips never slowing. You whimpered back an I love you too, your voice barely audible between moans and shallow gasps.

Your body went stiff, toes curling as your climax crept up, relentless and hot.

"Fuck, Elias. Right there," you gasped.

Stack’s brow furrowed as he looked into your soul, his rhythm steady and ruthless. "Mhm. Cum for me, Y/N," he commanded, voice low and deep, and you couldn't fight it. The head of his dick kissed that sweet spot again and again, his thick, veined shaft stroking your walls perfectly.

You trembled in his arms as your orgasm crashed over you. Your cries mixed with his groans as he slowed his strokes and emptied inside you, heat flooding your core. His lips moved over your face, then down to your breasts, planting kisses before teasingly grinding into you again—still hard, still wanting.

"You got another one for me?" he asked, voice husky, before capturing your nipple in his mouth, sucking greedily.

You held the back of his head, biting your bottom lip, eyes still glassy. "Try me and find out," you dared.

His brow arched at your challenge. With effortless strength, he set you down and spun you around. Your chest met the glass this time, nipples pebbling against the cool surface. You whimpered at the contrast. Using his foot, he nudged your legs apart, exposing your dripping pussy to the warm, humid air.

The side of your face rested on the steamy glass, your breath fogging it further as you glanced back at him. Just as your eyes met his, he slid back inside—slow, thick, full. Your eyes fluttered shut again, lips parting as you melted into the moment, savoring the feel of him all over again.

His hands gripped your hips, guiding you back to meet each deliciously slow thrust. From this position, you could feel him deeply—so deep it felt like he was stroking your soul, caressing your stomach from the inside. You whimpered, palms flattening against the fogged-up glass.

“Uunh, that feels so go—”

Stack’s sudden, ruthless plunges cut off your sentence, replacing words with sharp cries of pleasure. Your hand shot back to press against his abs, trying to ease his depth, but he quickly caught both your wrists and pinned them above your head, palms splayed flat on the glass.

“You were doin’ so good, baby,” he teased, his voice low and amused. “Want me to stop?” he asked, slowing his strokes just enough to make you ache for more.

You shook your head fast, panic rising in your chest at the threat of that bliss ending. “N—No. Please... don’t stop,” you breathed, desperation coating your voice.

A smug grin played on his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

He picked up the pace again, his thrusts unrelenting. He watched your face, studied the way it twisted in pleasure, the way your ass rippled against his hips with every impact. The sight had him biting his lip. He pulled your braids to one side and leaned forward, kissing the curve of your back, slow and reverent.

Chills rippled up your spine. Your pussy clenched hard around him, dragging a grunt from his throat. He kissed his way up to your neck, then your cheek, his breath hot against your damp skin while the soft hairs of his beard tickled it.

“I’ll never stop, Y/N,” he groaned, voice thick with promise. “Never stop lovin’ you, never stop showin’ you... and never stop makin’ you cum.”

His words broke you open. Your walls squeezed him tighter, and all you could do was whimper, body teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“Fuck,” he groaned, snaking his hand around your waist. His fingers found your clit and rubbed tight, fast circles. That was it. Your knees buckled. You came hard, vision blurring, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids as you screamed his name into the steamy shower.

He swallowed your cries in a deep, consuming kiss, your moans mingling with his as his own rhythm faltered. A few more erratic strokes and he was right there with you—his hips pressed flush to yours as he emptied deep inside all over again.

You both slumped against the glass, panting, bodies heavy with the weight of release. He kissed along your shoulder and neck with soft devotion before slowly pulling out. Then he reached for the handheld showerhead, rinsing you both down with gentle care, washing away the evidence of your passion.

You whimpered when he turned to step out, your legs too shaky to move.

He chuckled low. “Come on, baby,” he murmured, turning to you. He scooped you up and carried you out, carefully setting you on the dry part of the counter, away from the flickering candlelight. He toweled himself off first, then turned to you, working the soft towel over your sensitive skin with soothingly.

Just when you started to relax with your eyes closed, your back arched with a gasp—his lips had found your sensitive clit, kissing it gently.

“Baby, pleassse... I can’t,” you whimpered, voice broken and breathless.

He chuckled, placing one last kiss to your puffy folds. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said, trailing kisses up your stomach, chest, neck—until he found your lips again. His eyes locked with yours. “But I make no promises for the morning.”

You giggled and gave him a soft peck. “You’re a damn menace.”

“I am,” he smirked, grabbing a fresh towel to dry your braids as best he could, “but I’m your menace.”

Once the candles were blown out, he lifted you effortlessly and carried you to the bed. The moment your back met the cool sheets, sleep started pulling at you. You yawned, and a matching one left his lips.

He slid in beside you, arm wrapped tight around your waist, head resting on your chest like it belonged there. Your fingers caressed the waves of his hair while your other hand rubbed slow circles on his back. Your breaths fell into rhythm, soft and steady—a perfect lullaby that pulled you both into a deep slumber.

And when the sun rose…

Elias gave into his craving and devoured you for breakfast.

He was there, just like he promised.

And every morning thereafter.

The End.

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I couldn’t leave Stack Daddy hangin. This is my first fic for him, but definitely not the last. Hope I made the “x reader” babes proud! Drop a comment and let me know what you think. If you want to be tagged in future stuff, just let me know. xoxo

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Taglist:

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[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (3)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.7k words

summary | calm before the storm. the queen forces you to go to the targaryen-hightower supper where you finally sit face to face with aemond, (whilst getting interrogated by prince daemon as well.)

tags | reader is just here for the targ drama tbh, fluff, small angst/but reader comforts,

note | I just realised that both rebekah and reader fall for boys that they technically watched grow up (not really, but really tho, also would you consider this pedophilic, since rebekah and reader had mere platonic feelings, while marcel and aemond were already obsessed)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

It had been a moon's turn since your return, and Aemond had taken to shadowing you through the sunlit halls of the Keep, his presence felt like a specter lurking just out of reach. Instead of confronting you directly, he observed, his violet gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, the currents of Targaryen drama began to stir anew, this time not over the succession of the Iron Throne, but over the shores of Driftmark and the title of the Lord of Tides.

Lord Vaemond Velaryon was set to make his case, summoned to the court to argue vehemently against Lucerys Velaryon’s claim to the ancestral seat, while the King deliberated on who would wear the mantle of the next successor.

Your mind, however, was torn asunder by the weight of the situation. It was as clear as the midday sun that Rhaenyra's three sons bore the mark of bastardy, the truth hanging in the air like a bitter fog. Yet, despite their dark hair and brown eyes, they were still Princess Rhaenrya's sons, making them true Targaryens, and as long as the crown acknowledged their legitimacy, they had every right to embrace their heritage.

Yet, the specter of justice loomed heavily. They bore no true Valaryon blood in their veins, a fact that rendered their claim to Driftmark similarly disquieting. If they were to inherit such a coveted title, it would be naught but a dagger to the heart of the Velaryon legacy, erasing centuries of honor and heritage in one fell swoop.

But who were you to cast judgment on the matter? You were, after all, a bastard yourself in your own right. With no discernible features from either your father or your mother, the only tether to the Mikaelson name was the multitude of witnesses who could attest to your mother birthing you into this world.

Soon enough, the matter erupted into a grand spectacle, as the Queen had relayed with a glint of grim madness in her eye. Viserys, frail and near death, had heaved himself from his sickbed, a ghost of his former self, to proclaim the legitimacy of his grandsons. That proclamation, laden with tension and bitter truths, secured their claim to Driftmark—an act of desperation that would surely echo through the halls of history. It was not long after this madness that the Prince, Daemon Targaryen, wielded his fury like a sword, severing Vaemond Velaryon's head from his shoulders for daring to call Rhaenyra a whore.

To your great displeasure, Queen Alicent had insisted your presence at the supper of Targaryen and Hightower—a feast destined to spiral into a night of revelry or ruin, most likely the latter. You preferred the shadows, where the light of their self-destructive feud would not touch you, allowing you to observe from afar rather than be ensnared in their political webs. Yet, refusal was a luxury you could not afford.

As the time of the supper approached, you dedicated a substantial time deliberating over your choice of attire. The vibrant hues of black and green were decidedly unfit, signifying discord and allegiances you wished to avoid at all costs. Instead, you selected a gown of soft pink silk, its flowing fabric draping elegantly over your form, a symbol of innocence amidst the clamor of tensions. You wove your hair into intricate braids interspersed with delicate pearls that caught the flickering candlelight, culminating your preparation with a cherished pendant—a family heirloom adorned with the Mikaelson crest.

Stepping into the grand dining hall, you were met with the scrutinizing gazes of the Blacks. Whispers and curious glances darted in your direction as you approached the long table, poised and unwavering, choosing to disregard Aegon's lecherous leers that felt all too familiar. A frown tightened your lips when you spied that both seats beside Helaena were occupied. Resigned yet resolute, you claimed the next available chair—seated close to Aemond.

"My prince," you intoned softly, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

Aemond's violet eye bore into you, a swirl of unspoken thoughts birthing an electric tension between you. Time seemed to stretch as he regarded you, his expression inscrutable, before he replied, "My Lady," his voice low and controlled, yet laden with something you couldn't discern.

With practiced grace, you settled into your seat, the heavy air thick with unspoken politics. You leaned slightly forward, attempting to listen as King Viserys, broken and weary beneath the weight of his crown, delivered a grand speech. He spoke of unity and the bonds of family, though in truth, all you wished for was the freedom to roll your eyes, a habit you had long restrained. His words felt hollow, a poignant irony given his role in fracturing his family as much as he sought to mend it

From what Queen Alicent had confided in you, you were painfully aware of the King's heart-wrenching choice—his decisions that saw his first wife deprived of her future and life, all in favor of the male heir he hoped for. That tragic episode echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, leading to not just his wife but both her and their son's death. And now, as King Viserys eagerly sought the son he so desperately desired, he had all but disregarded Aegon, neglecting the boy from the moment of his first cry.

As the King’s voice echoed in the hall, you caught sight of Helaena, Aegon, and Aemond—each face twisted in quiet agony, a poignant testament to the empty love their father bestowed upon them. In that moment, you felt a surge of empathy and support for them — even Aegon. With a discreet but deliberate motion, you slipped your hand beneath the table, gently covering Aemond’s tightly clenched fist.

He tensed at your touch, but after a heartbeat of hesitation, Aemond relaxed and opened his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. A small squeeze passed between you—a silent token of gratitude that spoke volumes in contrast to the empty words spilling from the King's lips.

As the evening wore on, the air thick with unwelcome tension, your mind began to drift, thoughts becoming a haze as the speeches droned on around you. It was only when Aemond's hand slipped from yours, his presence withdrawing as he rose to his feet, that your gaze sharpened. You found him casting a fierce glare at Jacaerys, who was regaling the gathering with yet another toast.

However, it was Helaena's gentle voice that truly broke through the fog enveloping you. She stood, her lovely countenance illuminated by a warm, sugary smile as she raised her glass high. "I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," she declared, her tone carrying a dreamy lightness, "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except when sometimes he's drunk."

Her words pierced your heart, the bittersweet truth laced within them shattering whatever sympathy you had harbored for Aegon. With a mixture of sorrow and indignation igniting within you, you cast a venomous glare towards Prince Daemon, who, aflame with mirth, laughed at Helaena’s toast. Yet you were not as discreet as you’d hoped; the piercing gaze of Prince Daemon met yours, a knowing smirk creeping upon his lips.

“I do believe I am yet to have the distinct pleasure of being introduced to our guest,” Prince Daemon declared, his voice tinged with the kind of arrogance that could curdle the blood of the unwary. The room fell silent; all attention was drawn to you, as if you were a curious creature caged among the dragons, and you suppressed the urge to sigh at the mischief brewing in his expression.

Queen Alicent cleared her throat—a notable attempt to extricate you from Daemon’s merciless gaze. “She is one of my esteemed ladies, Prince Daemon,” she interjected, her tone hinting at a subtle warning, though the sharpness of the prince’s wit remained unyielding.

“A lady, indeed?” Daemon’s voice was laced with mockery, his eyes flickering over you as if you were an intricate puzzle, “Yet here she sits, so comfortably, as if she belongs to the very blood of House Targaryen.” Daemon replied, the cunning glimmer in his eye only intensifying. He leaned forward, every inch the contemplative predator. “What is your name, my lady?”

The warmth of the hall contrasted sharply with the coolness of his gaze, yet you met it with unwavering resolve, the remnant courage of your lineage steeling your heart as you told him your name and lied about hailing from The Reach, your voice steady, resonating amidst the stillness.

"Mikaelson?" Daemon mused, his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. His silver hair framed a face both youthful and hardened by conflict, and his voice dripped with the playfulness of a cunning predator. "And yet you're no son."

A tight smile graced your lips, the playful banter igniting the spark of your short temper. "My father has enough sons, I assure you, Prince Daemon," you rebuffed, your tone dipped in irritation.

"How old are you? Six and ten?" he pressed, his gaze unwavering, while you caught sight of young Jacaerys approaching Helaena, asking her for a dance. If only irony were not woven into the very fabric of their fates—how you wished Queen Alicent had seen fit to unite them in a more harmonious bond than the betrothal she made with Helaena and Aegon.

But also at that moment, you recognized the precariousness of your own web of lies. Since your arrival at King's Landing, you had deceived the queen into believing you were six and ten, which in truth you were. Oh, how the centuries rolled by, yet your vampiric nature kept your visage untouched, a fragrant bloom eternally in its prime. It was a game of wit and veiled truths, and you knew well how to play.

You met Daemon’s piercing gaze anew, your expression turning steely, tinged with an edge of irritation. “No, your highness,” you replied, your voice as cool as ice. “I am three-and-twenty.”

Prince Daemon raised a silver eyebrow in surprise. “My, my, even older than Prince Aegon,” he drawled, the words rolled off his tongue like honey laced with venom, aimed to sting, "And unmarried, I presume?"

Though you longed to retort with the truth, that you were even older than him, a creature of darkness preserved by the very essence of your nature, you instead offered a demure smile, saying, “Yes. But I prefer it that way. Much more preferable than marrying whilst I was a girl." Your words, though soft-spoken, held a steel beneath their surface—a blade forged in the fires of countless unsaid anger at the world around you.

Daemon’s lips curled into an amused smirk, and he shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “And yet, that is the world we live in.” His tone was laced with the disillusionment of a man who had seen much—his own brand of charm wrapped in an air of indifference.

“Indeed, a world where old men prey upon young girls,” you countered, your voice steady and unwavering, “but I daresay you are no stranger to such tactics, your highness.” The look of amusement that had brightened Daemon’s features dimmed, his smirk wilting like a flower in winter, which you took great satisfaction in.

You jolted in your seat, when Aemond, seated beside you, suddenly slammed his fist onto the table. The cacophony of music and chatter in the hall fell silent as he rose, his goblet held aloft like a rallying cry. "Last Tribute!" he announced, a boldness in his voice that demanded attention.

You glanced around the room, and the unease reflected in the faces of his kin did not escape you. Aemond continued, "To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong."

A faint gasp escaped your lips as you caught the veiled insult aimed at the Velaryon boys' bastardy. The shocked expressions of the Targaryens around you were a clear indicator that Aemond’s words had struck a nerve. Queen Alicent, her composure straining against the affront to her family, attempted to intervene. "Aemond," she cautioned, her voice taut with concern.

But he paid her no heed, raising his goblet higher, a wicked gleam in his eye as he spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Come… let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys," he declared, the words echoing through the revelry like a distant thunderclap.

The hall fell silent, eyes turning to Jace Velaryon, whose face had flushed a deep crimson, betrayal etching lines into his young features. He advanced on Aemond with the fury of a dragon, fists clenched tight. "I dare you to say that again," he challenged, his words barely concealing the tempest of wrath within him.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond retorted with a smirk that could cut glass. "Do you not think yourself Strong?" The taunt flew from his lips like a well-bred serpent, and before the words had fully settled in the air, Jace's fist met Aemond’s cheek with a resounding smack.

Yet, to Aemond, it seemed naught but a gentle breeze, his expression barely shifting as he staggered back only a pace. His pale violet eye sparkled with mischief, unfazed by Jace's sudden fury.

In a swift motion, you rose from your place at the table, the wooden chair scraping against the stone floor as you moved to intervene. Aemond, with a dismissive shove, pushed Jace down, the young prince hitting the hard ground with a thud.

Without thinking, you stepped towards Helaena, and gently took her by the arm. “Come, boys are such immature creatures, yes,” you said softly, guiding her away from the escalating chaos that threatened to engulf them both. Her wide eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she leaned into your touch, casting a sorrowful glance back at the scene as you ushered her away.

You watched as Aemond stormed out the dining hall, his anger crackling in the air like the storm clouds that often loomed over King's Landing. As chaos settled around you, you felt an impulse, a momentary lapse in resolve, and left Helaena's side to pursue him.

He strode fiercely through the halls of the Red Keep, the glint of his silver hair catching the flickering torchlight. You hurried to match his pace, concern fluttering in your chest. "Aemond," you called out softly, "are you alright?"

The scent of his wrath surrounded him, palpable as the incense in the court. He did not glance your way, his voice a frigid whisper laced with venom. "Absolutely splendid."

Your brow furrowed at the sharpness of his words, and with a hint of naïveté, you responded, "I sense a trace of sarcasm in your tone."

Aemond exhaled sharply, quickening his steps in a feeble attempt to distance himself from your probing presence, but your determination was steady. "Did my mother send you to chastise me?" he snapped, the words like arrows loosed from a drawn bow.

"No," you responded gently, your eyes softening with empathy. "I am here of my own accord, wishing only to know if you are truly well."

His stormy glare wavered for the briefest moment, as if the floodgates within him were on the verge of breaking, as if realising it was you he was talking to. But just as swiftly, he clamped down on it, his demeanor hardening once more. Suddenly, he halted and turned to face you, the tension palpable in the air between you.

You lifted your chin defiantly, unwilling to cower beneath the intensity of his stare. "Knowing," he began, his voice low and resonant. "And yet I find I do not know you at all."

Your brow furrowed, a hint of confusion playing at the corners of your lips. "I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean."

He raised a hand, holding out three fingers as if counting off a point. "Three things," he affirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. "I now know three things about you: your name, your home, and that you have brothers."

You paused, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes, your voice a gentle whisper, "You seem troubled by this knowledge."

He exhaled heavily, pressing a knuckle to the jagged scar that marred his skin, perhaps seeking solace from its lingering pain. A part of you longed to ease his suffering. "It is only my frustration that weighs heavily upon me," he confessed, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and longing. "You hold the knowledge of my life in your hands, yet I know naught of your story."

You crossed your arms defiantly, donning a mask of indifference, "I do not understand the depth of your frustration."

Aemond's singular violet eye bore into your soul with an intensity that made your heart race. "I suspect you do. You are well aware of the affections I hold for you."

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you shook your head, dismissing the peculiar warmth blossoming within your chest. "Those were mere whims of a boy, your grace," you retorted, attempting to cloak your uncertainty in bravado.

His gaze remained unwavering, a storm of emotion swirling within that piercing eye. "Yet here I stand, no longer a boy, and the flames of my desire for you still burn fierce."

"You mustn't speak so," you urged, desperation threading through your voice like a fraying rope.

"Why ought I to remain silent?" Aemond shrugged, a hint of defiance lacing his words. "This is but the truth of my heart."

"Which is wholly improper," you retorted fiercely, the tension between you thickening in the wake of your words.

An awkward silence enveloped you both, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Aemond cleared his throat, shifting the fragile atmosphere. "You held your own remarkably well against my uncle's incessant probing," he remarked, seeking lighter ground.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as a tendril of chill from the nearby window touched your skin, though the coolness hardly bothered you. "There is only one man who may speak to me in such a manner," you replied with a touch of defiance, "and that is my brother."

“Mhm,” Aemond murmured, his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity in his violet eye that seemed to pierce through the very air between you. “Pray, tell me more.”

You stifled a roll of your eyes, at once annoyed and amused by his insatiable curiosity. "I am the youngest of six," you said, your tone now lighthearted yet elusive, "and my favorite color is pink. Might that suffice for your unquenchable thirst for knowledge about me?"

His lips curved in a smirk, his gaze unwavering. "No," he replied, his voice low and firm. "It shall never be enough."

With a genuine exasperation, you rolled your eyes this time, a small smile betraying your annoyance. "Well, if you must know—"

But your words were abruptly stolen by Aemond’s boldness. His strong hands cupped your face, his touch igniting a warmth that seeped through the layers of silk between you. In an instant, his warm, soft lips met yours, and time seemed to freeze. Your heart raced, an unexpected firework of emotion exploding within you as you instinctively leaned into him, responding to the kiss despite the whirlwind of confusion in your mind.

Yet reality came crashing back as your senses settled, and you hastily broke away from him, breathless and bewildered. The air in the room felt charged, and you glared at him, regaining your composure and a semblance of control

The fool wore a dopey grin, that infuriatingly charming smile that only deepened your ire. You shot him a withering look. “I was speaking,” you pointedly reminded him.

His brows knitted in confusion, a flicker of surprise on his face. “What?”

You planted your hands defiantly on your hips, your indignation brewing like a storm. “I was speaking, and you interrupted me! Not only that, but you did not seek my permission to claim my lips.”

Aemond’s laughter rang like the chiming of bells, an amused glimmer in his eye as he observed your vexation. “Very well, my lady. May I kiss you again?”

Your irritation flared, your cheeks warming with a blend of anger and embarrassment. You took a deliberate step back, confusion simmering just beneath your skin. “No, of course not. You have already stolen a kiss from me, but I shall not so easily grant you another.” You held back the childish urge to stomp your foot in frustration. With a petulant huff, you turned on your heel to storm away, your voice carrying a wisp of indignation. “This is most improper and indecent! Good night, your Highness.”

“Good night, my Lady Love,” Aemond murmured, his violet gaze lingering on you until you vanished around a distant corner. His heart swelled with an unexpected mix of hope and affection, the chaotic Targaryen supper and the impending shadows of war fading from his mind. With a tender gesture, he brushed his fingertip against the spot where your lips had just brushed against his, savoring the memory.

And as you stalked off into the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the weight of his gaze lingered, leaving you with a tumult of emotions swirling in your mind, an echo of the kiss that you could neither dismiss nor desire to forget.

[photmath]

NYE Kiss | Trent Alexander-Arnold

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Female Reader

Summary: At Trent's New Year's Eve party, he confesses to the reader, his childhood bestfriend, that he's lonely.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: mention of alcohol, angst, miscommuncation, childhood friends, kiss

Note: Happy New Year!

With twenty minutes left until the clock struck midnight, Trent’s brothers, Tyler and Marcel were already setting off fireworks. A couple of Trent’s teammates were also in attendance, and some of the friends you and he shared, but there were still a few valuable ones missing.

Despite Liverpool playing a match the next day, Trent still wanted to do something for New Year's Eve, even if it was a bit risky. But he promised Virgil he would kick everyone out by one in the morning so that they had time to be well-rested for the match, luckily it wasn’t a noon match. Even though he had his brothers, parents, and best mates surrounding him, the night still felt—empty. A bitter taste was left in his mouth as he took a swig of his drink, searching for a solution to his ache.

Trent makes his way over to you, a brown bottle pinched between his fingertips. It’s too dark for you to notice if he’s looking at you, but the pause in his step once his eyes land on you gives you everything you need to know. He stops at the pillar of the canopy, face lighting up with the blast of a firework, “Did the fireworks get too much for you already?”

You purse your lips, shaking your head, “No. I just keep having the recurring thought of one of the ashes falling on my hair and it going up in flames.”

The corner of his lip barely tugged up, “That’s quite an image.”

“It’s very rational,” you defend, tugging the sleeve of your knitted sweater over your hands. Trent was dressed way more casual than you, a black pair of sweatpants and a dark gray hoodie. Had you known him and his brothers would dress like that, then maybe you wouldn’t have nearly lost a finger trying to put yourself into your tight jeans tonight.

A beat of silence washes between the two of you as he decides to stay quiet. He wasn’t usually this quiet when the two of you were with his family, but when he was, he was thinking. So in his head that everything else was irrelevant. It could be a battle trying to ground him back to the present sometimes.

“So, how are you?” you break the silence, sparing a weary glance at him.

“Lonely,” he mumbles. He stays facing the alleyway of Tyler’s home where they light another firework and then scramble away from it.

“Lonely at the top,” you sing, referencing his team’s position at the top of the table. Trent gives you a hard look immediately and you quiet down, averting your eyes from his. “Sorry.” There’s a heavy plate of tension that fills the air between the two of you and despite you both being outside, it feels suffocating. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs, “Everyone is moving.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone moved, I feel like I’m the only one who stayed,” he says. His voice is soft but aloof, still not giving you a glance. “I just thought you would stay. Was a slap in the face to see that your house was for sale.”

It was your parent’s house, the one you grew up in. You lived on the same street where Trent grew up, only three houses separating your families. After riding your bike down the street and dramatically tripping over the rock that you saw at the last minute, Trent came running out of his house and helped you up. Him and his brothers were playing football in the street, the three of them had just gone inside, but he noticed your sparkling pink bike and got distracted looking back at you. Once he realized a kiss to your scarred knee wasn’t going to make the bleeding stop, he called out for his mom and the three of you walked you and your bike back to that house after she cleaned your knee. Trent had stayed by your side the entire time, assuring you that your knee would be okay in the next couple of days.

The sound of a firework exploding shutters you out of the past, forcing yourself to look at a sullen Trent. His bottom lip is tucked through his teeth as his eyes follow the firework’s path. 

“Trent, can you look at me?” Trent slowly looks in your direction and his eyes seem more hurt than he lets on. Much different than the bright eyes that welcomed you two hours ago. You swallow, “Did you think we would live here forever? I mean Jude, Alana, Kai….” You list off the friends and neighbors you both shared who had since then moved away. 

He shakes his head, “Obviously not, but you could’ve told me you were moving.”

“I know, we’ve just both been so busy. We barely put up the house for sale a couple of days ago.”

Trent blinks his eyes a couple of times and doesn’t speak immediately.

“I am lonely though,” he confesses and it stabs you right in the heart. “The season has felt really long, haven’t seen you or the lads that much. I know you go to some of my games, but we don’t speak afterward, and I miss you. I miss having people around that aren’t my family.”

“Trent,” you sigh. “I’m sorry for not being there.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve tried to be there for you either.”

“Trent—”

He cuts you off, “I haven’t had much time either but I dunno…the time I do have at home, it’s so quiet. I’ve been staying at my parents house actually, for the past couple of days because I’ve been sick of the silence. Sure, I could’ve walked to your house but I never did…”

He swallows another swig of his drink, the bitter taste in his mouth had yet to leave. And after chewing on the inside of his cheek for so long, he also tasted copper. He couldn’t blame you for being busy. He knew you had just landed the job you had been working so hard for, at a company that treated you well and respected your work, and with the way Liverpool’s hectic season has been going, he didn’t have much time off either.

You're left with your thoughts screaming at you to say something, but what could you say that would heal his loneliness? That you two could schedule a meet up soon? But it wasn’t concrete, ‘soon’ could be tomorrow, could be a week or before the month ended.

“We should hang out sometime,” you decide. “I’ve missed you too. My schedule is clear for whenever, just let me know.”

He downs the rest of his drink, before tossing it in the bin that Tyler usually has next to the side of the canopy but it’s not there. The bottle goes crashing to the ground but doesn’t break, it rolls off some steps away from him and he ignores it.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, eyebrows raised. You knew he shouldn’t have been drinking the day before his game, even if it was New Year’s Eve.

Trent looks back at you, a tsk leaves his lips, “I’ve only had one.”

“One case?”

“Funny,” he grits, any humor in his tone is gone. “I’m being honest.”

You cross your arms, not realizing you pointing out him drinking would upset him. Yeah, maybe you wouldn’t want to be caught doing something you shouldn't be doing, but Trent had been acting out of character the moment he admitted his loneliness. He was never one to talk about his feelings, always shoving it somewhere down deep that you had given up trying to pry out of him a long time ago because it always upset him more than helped.

“Tell me what’s really wrong,” you demand.

He looks away but you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he glances down to the pavement. The door to the house suddenly bursts open behind you, his mother weaving through you both as if you aren’t standing there.

“Fifteen minutes until midnight!” She announces, and then marches back inside but stops once she notices the two of you, “Oh, you two look so cute. Please, you both can stay in the upstairs bedroom if you get too tired to drive home. I’m sure Tyler won’t mind.”

Her presence seems to break off the tension because Trent lets out a low chuckle, “You know, she always thought it’d be us.”

“Us…what?” You bite the annoyance of him switching the topic away.

“It’d be us,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “That we’d be married and have a kid by now.”

Your eyes bulge at his words. He had to be drunk.

His voice rumbles as he kicks an imaginary rock, “What? Does the idea of starting a family with me repulse you that much?”

“No,” you shake your head frantically, hoping you didn't make him feel more bad than what he was already feeling. If Trent was going to be vulnerable for the last fifteen minutes of the year, then fine, you weren’t going to be petty and let your own feelings get in the way of him being open. You choose your words carefully, “I just—” Screw sparing his feelings. “You’re drunk.”

He rolls his eyes, words spitting out of his mouth in irritation, “It was one drink. One drink does nothing to me other than make me honest. Even then, it wasn’t a high percentage of alcohol.”

Your eyes dance between his dark brown ones. They seem more watery than before, the glow of the light from the inside of the house and fireworks glaring off of them. You look away briefly, “Honest? Like I can ask you any question and you’ll tell the truth?”

“Well,” he shrugs, “I don’t need a drink in me to be honest. I’m always honest to you.”

“That’s a lie,” you remark. “You lied to me when you said I could take your car for a drive.”

He rolls his eyes, “That’s because I value my life.”

You huff, “You didn’t have to be in the car with me, but fine, whatever.” You needed to control any impulsive comment you had. Trent was opening up, this was unchartered territory, and maybe he needed a clean conscience for the New Year more than you did. “I wasn’t repulsed by the idea of starting a family with you, I was just shocked to hear you say that.”

Nothing could’ve prepared you to hear him utter those words. Sure, the two of you shared your first kiss together and took each other’s virginities on the night of your twentieth birthday, but the two of you were never anything more. Never went on a date, never received flowers from him—minus the single daisy he plucked out of the grass one day as an apology for leaving the rock in the middle of the sidewalk—but nothing the two of you did was glaringly romantic. He held your hand for a total of two minutes and fifteen seconds one day underneath the table at a shared family dinner, but nothing came of it either.

He was off focusing on the academy, while you were busy studying in school. Once he did make his first team debut, you were in the stands cheering him on. He felt like the happiest man—boy—that day, having both of your families witness his debut. But still, the bone-crushing hug he pulled you into after you all met in the car park, it meant—nothing.

Even the night you lost your virginity, him as well, it was haste. He was in your bedroom, flipping through the birthday cards you received when you confessed to him that it was comical being a virgin at twenty, feeling the weight of society’s judgment on your shoulders for whatever reason, while he didn’t laugh at all. The liquor you both were sipping on gave you both the courage as you went on, sneakily closing your bedroom door and turning a page. After the both of you came down from your high, he cuddled you for an hour before slipping out of your bedroom window and going home.

Nothing was ever really mentioned after that, the both of you deciding it was best to scrape it under the rug so that it wasn’t awkward at combined family dinners, but there was a feeling. A tingling feeling that made your voice hitch whenever he looked at you or texted you. Any visit you made from uni, your heart did flips when he pulled you into a hug and welcomed you home for that weekend.

He snorts, making your eyes dart to him, “We’re being honest, yeah?”

“I’m telling you the truth,” you say.

He nods, “Okay, I believe you.”

Another moment of silence passes between the two of you and he sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Can I ask you another question?” you mumble and he nods. “Why did your mom think that?”

Trent shrugs for the hundredth time that night, leaning against the pillar as his head rests against it, “Because I told her that I liked you. She said to go for it, I told her I would, but I never did.”

Oh.

Oh.

“When was this?” you muster up the courage and power to ask, feeling breathless.

He blows a raspberry, “Maybe ten years ago?”

You're glad that Marcel misfires a firework that goes flying towards a tree to the left of the house, earning a commotion from Trent’s family and teammates, so that you have time to wipe off the shock before Trent looks at you.

Trent looks at the tree and holds his breath, hoping it erupts into flames. Perhaps he needed a break in the conversation as well. He felt exposed, too vulnerable at the expense of your curiosity and even though he said he would be honest, he wasn’t sure how much more truth he could give out when you weren’t exchanging much back.

“Why are you leaving?” he blurts out.

“You know I don’t live there right?” your eyebrow rises. Surely you told him you moved. “I moved out when I was twenty-two. I live almost ten minutes away, but my parents are moving because they need the money. After I left, they started spending on stuff that they shouldn’t have, putting us into a lot more debt than we should be. So, I say ‘we’ decided to sell because the only reason they were keeping the house was for me. For what it represented.”

Your childhood. A part of you was heartbroken for what it meant, but the other part of you knew it was the right thing to do. You knew it would serve you and your family well.

Trent eyebrows furrow, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you would’ve wanted to help.”

Trent averts his gaze, “I can. I can buy it.”

“Trent,” you gawk. “Seriously, I’m going to accuse you of being drunk again—”

“It’s your childhood home.”

“Yeah, and I made a choice. It was my choice to make.”

His shoulders deflate, “So you did want to leave?”

You nod, “It was time for a change. They lived there for the past twenty years. A home isn’t a single house anyway.”

“Do they have a place for after it sells?”

The quick glance at the floor reveals the almost lie you would’ve told him, but the two of you agreed to be honest, so you shake your head, “No. They haven’t left the house entirely. They still live there and whatever they make from the sale, they’ll use it to purchase their next.”

“I can buy it,” he states again and you shake your head.

“Trent, you aren’t going to buy my childhood home, drop it,” you spit, voice unwavering as he looks back at you. His jaw is clenched.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But if you have any doubts, I can buy it. I’ll give them whatever double the asking price is—”

“Trent.” You knew he wasn’t going to drop it, he’d most likely ask your parents first thing tomorrow and you didn’t even want to think about what their response would be.

He sighs, “Okay.”

Instead of letting the conversation simmer into silence, you take a deep breath and ask him another question. Here goes nothing: “Why didn’t you ever pursue your feelings?”

Trent rotates his body towards yours, leaning against the column with his shoulder. His hands are still stuffed into the pockets of his sweats. “I was fifteen, I was scared.”

At fifteen, the two of you would’ve already shared your first kiss and held hands underneath the table. You were so giddy, but you weren’t sure if you were giddy at the idea of getting caught or because you had a crush on Trent. The two of you spent so much time growing up together, playing footy, exploring the neighborhood, everything. Tyler would often tag along, and then Marcel as well once he got older, but still you knew you were closer to Trent more.

“And they’ve just gone away?” you ask without a second thought. Your heart lurches as he looks away. What a stupid thing to say!

He coughs, clearing out his throat and your cheeks burn. He looks down at the hem of your sweater, “Would my mother still be trying to play matchmaker if not?”

A squeezing feeling encompasses your chest that you wince. The shock was gone, you were upset now. It had been ten years, you could excuse the first five years because they were hectic with you at uni and him training, but the both of you had sex knowing the feelings were there.

Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you didn’t have feelings for Trent, they were always still going to be there. He was the first boy you were really exposed to. The boy you followed throughout the neighborhood despite not knowing anything about him. You wanted to be brave and follow him into the woods. Doing all sorts of things you would’ve never done had he not been by your side. The sweet boy who kissed your knee in hopes of getting you to stop crying held your heart the moment he ran to you.

He watches the way your eyes dart from the fireworks to his family members cheering as they drink a champagne flute. The crease in your eyebrow and nose, he knew you were in deep thought. On a night of too many truths, he was exhausted.

“Just say it,” he whispers. “We’re being honest.”

“You watched me,” you start, voice trembling but teeth grinding, “you watched me get my heartbroken not once, but twice. Gave me all this advice on boys, broke my heart in the process because I thought you didn’t like me back, and then I went on to have two relationships where they were both shit. And you just watched? Knowing you felt something?”

Trent can’t stand to hear the shake in your voice, it itching his ear in a way that makes him tilt his head away from you.

You continue, “I liked you too, a lot. So much that I would sometimes scare myself because I would see my exes as you, even though sometimes it would be months since we last talked. You were always on my mind, and had you said something earlier, all of it,” you wave your arms around to symbolize the time and heartache lapsed. “All of it could’ve been avoided.”

Trent glances down, “I was a coward.”

“No shit,” you yell. Trent abruptly looks at the crowd of people and hopes you don’t catch their attention.

“I wasn’t ready,” he says, truthfully. “I wasn’t ready to give you my all if we had gotten together. I was still finding my footing on the team, all of my focus was on that and wouldn’t have been on you if we were together. Okay,” he relents, “maybe I could’ve spared your heartache had you known, but it just—it wasn’t worth all the drama—”

“Drama?”

He shuts his eyes closed. Think! “It wouldn’t have been worth you getting hurt because I had training. Or I had a game and had to miss something important of yours. I would’ve been physically there but not emotionally present—”

“Do you think I would’ve cared, Trent?” you gape.

He shakes his head, “You wouldn’t, and that’s the problem. You wouldn’t have deserved that. You wouldn’t have deserved me not being present, it would’ve driven us both away. The only times I saw my family were because they came to my game and I met them at their suite. That would’ve been the only time you and I interacted, do you seriously think you would’ve been okay with that?”

No. But you would’ve been content knowing he felt the same. The small moments you saw him would’ve made up for any multi-hour-long day spent with him.

“Like you needed to find yourself at uni and focus on what you were passionate about, I did too,” he says. His voice is much softer and less urgent, knowing that you were understanding and on the same page as him. “But I’m ready now. I’m not saying you have to be ready right now—or maybe you won’t ever be because you don’t have the same feelings you once had—but, I’m here now. I’m as present as I’ll ever be. The season started off fast and will continue to be difficult, but I’ve learned how to be present at home. How to not focus on football and be with my family and pets during my spare time.”

On cue, the rest of Trent’s family—and yours—burst through the back door. There are only a couple of minutes until midnight, those fifteen minutes blew right past the both of you. Tyler and Marcel had stopped popping fireworks as they compiled a bunch together to be ignited exactly at twelve.

Trent looks at you, pulling your hand so that you’re closer to him near the pillar as your family members stampede outside, settling in lawn chairs and anywhere on the floor. Trent hasn’t dropped your hand yet. He caresses the backside of your hand with his thumb as his fingers squeeze tighter around yours.

“I know I was a coward, I know I could’ve said it anytime you were around, but it was never the right time,” he whispers in your ear. “We were busy, our lives never aligned perfectly, and maybe they don’t align right now either, but I’m willing to take the risk.”

A breathy sigh escapes you as you soak in his words. You close your eyes as you lean the side of your head against his chest. You needed to be grounded as you thought, and he was always someone stable. His hands don’t wrap you into a hug because he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“I still like you,” you acknowledge. “I’m a little upset you kept this a secret.” He snorts. “But, if I’m being honest, I’m not sure when I would’ve bursted and confessed the same thing. I wanted to tell you that we were moving, especially whenever we were thinking about it when it was first brought up, but I stopped myself. I was scared, because I knew my first instinct to reach out to you meant that it was something more, that I saw you as someone more than just my friend. That I always have. Every failed relationship was a reminder of it.”

Trent chuckles, finally being able to breathe. The tightening feeling in his chest had dissipated, replaced with jittery nerves as he restrained himself from pulling you into a hug.

You drop Trent’s hand and face him. If he was confused, he hid it well.

“I’m willing to take the risk too,” you state, the heavy weight on your shoulders dissolving. “I’m trusting you, just like I trusted you the day I followed you into the woods.”

“We ended up getting lost,” he recalls. He isn’t sure how much longer he can keep his hands off of you.

“I know,” you smile. “But I trusted you still, despite being so scared. I knew you would keep your promise and get us out of there before the moon rose. I’m willing to get lost with you, wherever you are, I want to be there.”

“You trust me?” he cheeses, his lips breaking out further into a grin. A chorus of a ten-second countdown breaks out in the background.

“Of course, stupid,” you smack his bicep and the brief contact makes the both of you hold a breath.

Trent knew he couldn’t get the smile off of his face no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t expect to have this conversation with you tonight, but after seeing you underneath the canopy, your clothes and figure lighting up from the colorful lights of the fireworks, he knew he couldn’t let you walk away from him again. You didn’t even hold his heart in the palm of your hands, you held it in your gaze. One look at him from you and he was floored, a weak and desperate man on his knees begging for your attention.

“…three, two, one, Happy New Year!”

Your blissful eyes combined with his gleeful ones don’t look away as you both lean closer. Your hands stay tucked by your side, his suddenly not wanting to move either as he leans down. The moment your nose grazes his, you close your eyes and let him kiss you. You press your lips further into his as the sound of fireworks go off behind you.

The kiss feels like the first one you shared together, tentative but passionate. It feels like a new promise, one full of commitment for the year to come. A promise from him that he’ll be there for every second of the day, and you a promise to be present as well. To not make him feel like he needs to bottle up his emotions and wait until the last minute to confess them.

His hands find your cheeks at the same time you wrap your arms around his waist. He pulls away and sighs against your lips, resting his forehead against yours. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

“Happy New Year,” you smile, pecking his lips one more time before burying your head into his chest. He pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug, squeezing your shoulders tightly against him and then resting his head on top of yours.

Instead of letting you close your eyes to soak in the feelings of him being this close in your arms, he shuffles the both of you and points up, “Look up.”

His careful gaze looks down at you as he double checks that you’re actually looking up at the fireworks, but he bursts into a nervous laugh when he sees you looking back at him. You can feel his heart quicken its pace as he stutters, “No, not me. The sky!”

“You’re so happy,” you whisper. Earlier his eyes were on the verge of breaking down, but now, they seem so full of light and hope.

“Yeah,” he slips his hand back around your waist. “I got the girl of my dreams in my arms, my girl.” He enunciates the last two words like they’re a testimony.

Your cheeks rush with heat that you’re glad he can’t feel them. He leaves a chaste kiss on your temple before looking back up at the fireworks. And then he glances down suddenly, “Do you remember when we made that fort in my living room?”

You burst into a laugh, pulling away from his chest, “What?”

“The fort,” he repeats, “it ended up crumbling because Marcel rolled too far and pulled the blankets down—you remember?”

You nod, bewildered by his sudden excitement.

“Well, the spare bedroom of Tyler’s only has a mattress on the floor, but there are some chairs and sofas we can combine to you know,” he lets his voice fade away.

“You have a game tomorrow, maybe you shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s a new mattress! That’s why it has nothing else,” he laughs. His laugh is intoxicating that all your logic and usual bickering dies out. He could build the fort, you’d be right there helping him either way.

Your heart swells as his eyes go wide, his face glowing red. He taps your waist, “Look, look look.”

The red firework that just popped erupts into the shape of a heart. You smile, standing on your tippy toes to give him a kiss. To think you’ve been missing this for the past twenty years that you’ve known him. What a fool the both of you were.

That night, Trent holds his promise as you help him build the fort around the mattress. You steal a lantern from Tyler’s shed outside while Trent found blankets to use and old moving boxes. It isn’t an exact replica like the two of you first shared, but it’s quite close, only this time you two are wrapped in each other’s arms.

[notapradagurl7]

In Your Dreams.

Pairing: Incubus! Tyler, The Creator x Black Fem Reader.

Summary: You were a royal queen in a passionless marriage, it seemed like these vivid wet dreams fueled your desire. until one night you had one of those vivid wet dreams of an incubus, little did you know that he was real and so was your dream.

Taglist: @henneseyhoe @soft-persephone @sageispunk @planetblaque @justhornyyme @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blackerthings @roeroe-world @playgurlxoxo @vile-harlot @siqueth @harmshake @westside-rot @megamindsecretlair

Warnings: profanity, piv, wet dream, cheating, biting, overstimulation, breeding.

——————

You were sitting across the table from your husband in the spacious dining room as the chandelier hovered over the two of you with your fork still absentmindedly poking at your chicken parmesan and spiced mashed potatoes, half of your plate was already gone as you stole a glance from your husband Marcel. The moonlight spilled through the large window, casting a soft glow on your brown skin.

All he did was attend to his duties as a king and peck your forehead absentmindedly as if it mended your relationship with him. It didn't help that the two of you barely had sex lately, this marriage was to only save your family from ruin, Marcel’s family was very wealthy from oil fields, He had earned riches through his profitable business endeavors, growing and selling agricultural products from his greenhouse throughout the country.

“Are you enjoying your meal honey?” he asked in a dull tone, his gaze shifted to you then back to his plate.

It all began with occasional wet dreams about an incubus with dark cocoa skin, full lips, and captivating red eyes that would return to their usual deep brown hue. His deep voice had a chilling effect on anyone who heard it. Mirroring your memory of him, he too remembered your name, and you discovered that his name was Tyler.

“Yeah, it's good.” you replied lowly, nodding your head. It was almost nine-thirty which meant it was your bedtime and you could dream of Tyler again.

As you and Marcel rose from your seats at the dining table, you handed your empty plates to the butler, Sebastian, expressing your gratitude in unison. As you and Marcel made your way around the table, you shared a brief but tender kiss, a gesture that had been absent between you two for quite some time.

Marcel's thumb swiped over your cheek, “Goodnight my love..” he said in a soothing tone, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. In that fleeting moment, your eyes met his, creating an unspoken connection.

“Goodnight, my love..” you replied in the same soothing tone, smiling briefly.

Marcel and you parted ways in the dining room. You and Marcel slept in different rooms; he had a room specifically for studying and working, while you had your own room solely for sleeping.

As it turns out, you discovered that you actually prefer sleeping alone in silence rather than hearing Marcel work throughout the night. You made your way through the hallway and turned right into your master bedroom.

As you turned the doorknob and stepped inside, you were greeted by the spaciousness of the room and the smell of warm vanilla, adorned with walls draped in red floral wallpaper. "Room, sweet room.." you sang playfully, smirking mischievously.

You were eager to escape in your dream and approached the dresser, switching on the lights to illuminate the bedroom. As you pulled the handle, the dresser moved closer to you, prompting you to remove your evening red gown and toss it into the hamper.

In the moonlight, your black box braids was tied up in a bun as you wore a cream silk nightgown with a hue resembling macaroons, which hugged you figure.

The queen-sized bed was adorned with light green blankets that matched the bedsheets, creating an inviting and comforting space.

You settled down at the edge of the bed, gradually inching towards the pillow. As you reached for the blanket, you wrapped it around yourself, creating a cozy cocoon. Finally, you reclined on the plush mattress, your back supported by its softness. Your eyelids gradually closed with a sense of anticipation, knowing that once you drift off to sleep, you will be transported to a realm of passion and desire.

As sleep began to wash over you, your mind started to drift to thoughts of Tyler, the incubus who had been haunting your dreams lately. His touch, his voice, and the way he made you feel ignited a fire within you that had been long extinguished in your marriage.

And just as your consciousness slipped away, you found yourself standing in front of a grand oak door, the very same door that always led you into the world of your dreams. Taking a deep breath, you turned the doorknob and stepped inside, your heart pounding with anticipation.

The room was bathed in a seductive red glow, the walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of passion and pleasure. And there, in the center of the spacious room, stood Tyler, his presence commanding and intoxicating.

He looked at you with those captivating red glowing eyes, smirking as he approached you slowly. "Well, well, well, look who decided to pay me another visit," he drawled, his voice laced with desire.

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt his warm breath ghost over your skin. "Tyler," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "I can't believe you're real."

He chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "I'm as real as the desires that burn within you," he said, his voice dripping with seduction. "And I'm here to fulfill every single one of them."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire deep within your core. You couldn't resist the temptation any longer. With a boldness you never knew you possessed, you pulled him closer, crashing your lips against his in a desperate kiss.

"i missed you so much..." he mumbled in the kiss, pecking your lips again.

The room seemed to spin and the walls changed back to the same red floral wallpaper in the bedroom. your bodies plopped onto your bed with the slight creak filling the room, the soft smack of your lips colliding with his urged you on. Tyler's hands roamed your body, He assisted in removing your nightgown, tossing it to the side as it dropped to the ground.

Additionally, he unhooked your black lace bra and lowered your panties to your ankles, throwing them alongside your bra and nightgown on the floor.

"Can I touch you baby?" he asked, his voice raised an octave. His eyes fixed on you.

"Yes please.." you whispered softly, your hands cradled his face.

He gently parted your legs, his desire evident in his eyes as he passionately kissed you. Tyler, known for his directness, wasted no time once he rolled

his tip around your clit, The pleasure overwhelmed you, causing your moans to be muffled by the intensity of the kiss. “So beautiful..” he spoke softly, He licked your neck and roughly suckled around it.

The sensation was so intense that you couldn't help but gasp, noticing the glistening precum that left a wet trail between your folds. Dazed with desire, you couldn't help but plead, "Tyler, please..." As his tip continued to tease your folds, a soft, squelching sound filled the air.

Tyler pushed his manhood between your moist folds, rolling his hips in a mix of roughness and speed. His low, husky moans filled the air while your head fell back onto the pillow. "This pussy is mine?" he asked softly, he rutted into you, his thick manhood filled up completely, Your nails sunk against the bedsheets, “Yes! It's all yours!” you chanted with no shame, you didn't want this to end if it happened to be a dream. Tyler shared the same sentiment, desiring the encounter to continue indefinitely.

Tyler adored every inch of your body, cherishing it with a tender touch. His hands caressed your curves, gently teasing and caressing your breasts. The room filled with passionate moans, resonating through the air. "I don't want this to end," he spoke softly, sinking his teeth into your neck. you glanced out the window, you watched the radiant sun gradually dimmed to the luminous white moon, accompanied by a tapestry of sparkling stars against the ink-black night sky.

You wondered if Tyler would join you in this reality. His fingers traced a path between your breasts, guiding your gaze to meet his own. The fiery red in his eyes gradually swirled into his usual deep brown, reflecting his return to the real world. "Please, don't ever leave me," he pleaded, showering your brown skin with tender kisses. After each rough thrust, he delved deeper, his love for you evident in every touch, his thick dick filled you up, each movement filled with unwavering tenderness.

As your husband Marcel's voice echoed through the air, was that really him? Your fingertips gently grazed against his warm, cocoa skin, his face hovering intimately close to yours.

Deeply captivated, he observed the sheer delight etched across your face, his heartache palpable in his tender words, "I dream to claim you as mine, why can't I be the one to hold you?" His voice quivered with emotion, on the brink of lovesickness as he witnessed the affection shared between you and your husband.

The fleeting kiss between you and Marcel threatened to shatter him completely.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine an incubus having such profound emotions for a mere mortal? Tyler occupied your thoughts far more than Marcel ever did. "Oh, fuck! fuck!" you wailed, feeling Tyler's relentless persistence as he envisioned Marcel tenderly kissing your forehead.

Rivulets of tears carved trails on your cheeks, while your voice grew hoarse, without any association to smoking or the like – it was simply naturally raspy. “Fuck me good..” you mumbled, Tyler cherished the subtle rasp that laced your voice, reveling in the ecstasy of hearing you passionately call out his name.

The bedroom morphed into yours around you and Tyler as the door swung open revealing Marcel standing there, his eyes wide with shock and anger. "What the hell is going on here?!" he shouted, his voice filled with betrayal.

In the heat of passion, “fucking your wife..”he let out a low, guttural sound through clenched teeth. His gaze shifted back towards you, and with a sudden burst of intensity, he threw his head back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as your essence enveloped him.

Tyler paid no attention to your husband, losing himself completely. His warm cum spilled into you, causing your scream to resemble a mix of pleasure and pain. “Tyler!!” Your body trembled uncontrollably beneath him, both of you lost in the depths of an intense connection.

Tyler withdrew from you slowly, his fingers snapping with a practiced grace. In an instant, thick tendrils of red energy swirled around him, transforming him back into his fully dressed self.

Before leaving, he leaned in and pecked your lips, a sly smirk playing on his face as he directed his gaze toward Marcel. With two sharp claps of his hands, the room reverted to its normal state and Tyler vanished.

Marcel blinked twice, rubbing his eyes in confusion before closing the door behind him. "Thank God it wasn't real," he muttered under his breath.

Your body curled up in a ball as you were in your nightgown, wrapped in the blankets, your gentle snores filling the room.

You found yourself no longer trapped in the dream, but still connected to reality through Tyler. Strangely, you could still feel him buried inside you, as if his essence filled you up. A faint bite mark on your neck served as a reminder of his claim on you. It was an unfamiliar sensation, yet you yearned for Tyler's presence by your side.

——————

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: black jack can mend a heart

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: PG

genre: angst / romance / fluff

pairing: husk x reader

summary: request:

Maybe Husk has been feeling insecure lately and feels that reader could do better than him. So she gifts him the cute "52 Reasons Why I Love You" personalized card pack? (I love those DYI gifts) 

“Well, hello there sugar.” A smooth voice came from your left side as you sipped on the drink Husk had kindly made you. 

“Hello! You must be new?” You ask, turning to look at the stranger fully. He was very attractive, and very tall, looking down at you due to his height. A smile that was more a smirk adorned his face. 

“I am.” He says, holding out his hand. “Names Marcel. What’s a pretty lady like you doing here?”

“Other than being redeemed, not sure much else.” You laugh.

“No, no, you got ya drink, why aren't ya mingling? Why’d I have to come over here to find a pretty thing like you?” He chuckles at the blush that appears on your cheeks and boldly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. For a moment you are glad that Husk had to step away from the bar. 

“I like to sit at the bar to keep my boyfriend company.” You mention, stepping back just a bit from the other demon.

“Oh, ya got a boyfriend? I’m so sorry then! I’ll be seeing ya around.” The other demon quickly steps back and walks away, the sigh leaving you is one of relief. You don’t see though, Husk standing in the doorway with a direct view of the bar, seeing the whole interaction. 

He always felt like you deserved someone better, someone more than him. He could see that this demon wasn’t owned by some overlord, and he came to the hotel for the same reason you did. He knew you had promised not to even attempt redemption until both you and Husk could do that together, but that seemed to be something that was in the far future. He sighed as he approached the bar, setting down the restocks that were needed and putting them away.

You could sense something was wrong. Husk was normally quiet but this was earrily off. Watching him closely as he paid not a bit of attention to you and was very focused on the glasses in front of him, you knew something was bothering him.

“Husk?” Voice gentle but loud enough to be heard by the bartender. His grunt of acknowledgement made your brow furrow and confirmed your suspisions that something was wrong. “What’s up, baby?” You said, coming around the bar and standing next to him, seeing his body freeze at the term of endearment. 

“Nothin’.” His grumble back was defensive yet, flippant, trying to get you off his back.

“Not going to happen this time, darling. You’re not shaking me so easy. What’s got you down?” You ask, wrapping an arm around him and looking at him, his eyes refusing to look at yours. 

“I-It’s nothin’.” His repeated answer gets a sigh from you and kiss on the cheek. “C’mon… tell me.” Your voice partially taunting.

“You’re ridiculous.” He pans, finally looking at you. 

“Yeah, but you’ve finally looked at me. So, I consider that progress. What’s going on?” Your hand reaching up to his face, gently smoothing his cheek, brushing up and smoothing the forehead crease he got when he was annoyed.

“That demon looked awfully comfortable with you.” 

“The one that was talking to me earlier?” His nod answers your question. “He wanted to know why I was over here and I told him I was keeping my lovely, handsome, sexy boyfriend company who just so ahppens to also be the bartender.” You smile at him as this gets the smallest smile on his face. It drops suddenly and you look behind you to see Alastor. A dark look passing over Husk’s face as he turns from you. 

“You deserve someone better than me. Like the demon talking you up.” He moves further away, his shoulders squaring as if he was preparing for an attack. “You should go find him, I wouldn’t blame ya.” You hum and quickly put two and two together. You slip away and don’t catch Husk’s eyes widen as you do, a quick mask pulled back over as his thoughts now went into overdrive.

_________________

Finally, the gathering was done. The bar was closed. Husk was free. At least for the next ten hours or so. He sighed, ascending the stairs and stopped when he heard Alastor’s voice, “Have a good night Husker! Tell your lady friend I said hello!” 

Husk growled under his breath and ignored the other Overlord, hearing his laughs as he got to his room.  He sighed, resigned to a night alone. That was until he opened his door and found you sitting there on his bed. His room tidied up, and a pack of cards in your hands. 

“You’re here.” His voice sounded rougher than usual. 

“Of course I am.” Your smile and tone making it seem like this outcome was obvious. “I missed you though. I wanted to get you something special, so I grabbed a pack of playing cards and figured we could play Blackjack. I’ll deal?” You say and his eyes gleam. 

“I’d love that.” His head nodding as he walked into his room and shut his door, taking off his shoes and suspenders. He sits across from you as you take out the cards and shuffle. 

“How was the rest of your shift?” You ask.

“It was fine. Alastor’s a prick.” Husk grumbled. “Where did you go?” He asks, almost hesitant, like he doesn’t truly want to know the answer. You look up with knowing eyes and smile. 

“You’ll see in a minute.” As you finish shuffling and nod down to the bed, starting to deal. He sees writing on the back of the cards and squints, looking up at you for any sign of you seeing the same. You continue to deal and he picks up his card reading it. “I love your laugh, and how I’ve been the only on who’s gotten to hear it.”

His cheeks go red as he sees writing on your card and as if he was in a trance, he picks it up too. “I love watching you Bartend, you make drinks so effortlessly, its like magic.” 

He picks up cards as you keep placing them down, reading them, realizing that each card had something written on it that you loved about him. 

“I love the way that you look out for people.” 

“I love how you hold me after I’ve had a bad day.” “I love that you are so knowledgeable and smart.” 

“I love that you continuously try to be a good person.” 

“I love your wings.”

“I love how I can just look at you and we can communicate.” 

With the last card saying, “I love you.”

He looks up, tears in his eyes. 

“Oh no, Husk, was this too much? I’m so-“ You don’t get to finish your sentence as Husk launches himself at you, his mouth on yours immediately. Desperate and clutching at you like you were more important than air at that moment. His tears mingling with the kiss and even falling on your cheeks as you tried to sooth him by dragging your hands down his back and back up.

“No one…” His voice rough as he parts from you finally. “No one has ever done anything like this for me. No one has ever loved me like this.” His hands cradle your face. “Thank you.”

You smile back at him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Of course. You love me just as fiercely.” Your hand brushes at his face, clearing the rogue tears. “I’ll be here to do so for forever.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

[witchygagirlwrites]

How Dare You-Part 7

Jay Halstead x Reader (nicknamed Deuce/ surname of Barlowe. No first name used)

When faced with his sins Jay makes a decision to stay and try to do something about them

Warnings: Talks of suicidal ideation, covering up crimes, disposing of bodies, killing people, I think thats it?

On day three of leave Jay found himself standing in front of the building your team used as an base of operations. It didn’t look like a fed building from the outside by far but then again that was the idea, wasn’t it? Your team was made to cross borders, work with different countries and do so seamlessly. 

Yet another thing he could add to the list that he had never appreciated properly about you, just how fucking amazing you were at your job. This was a bad idea, this could result in you punching Nolan again for giving him the address but he wanted to meet the rest of your team, the people who were there for you like he should have been.

 He wanted to talk to you, needed to say some things and knew you would be more likely to hear him out if you had home field advantage. He did still know you pretty well after all. Nolan also told him where the cameras were and where to stand when he knocked to keep from putting all of you on high alert because even though the squad had three days off your team had only taken two.

He knocked and a few minutes later a woman with dark blonde hair and dark blue eyes who was around yours and Samantha’s height opened the door, looked over his face and grinned “Damn, my husband and Deucey really did a number on you. Can I introduce myself here or should I just add to it from the start?” 

“Easy baby, I think he may be attempting to learn” he heard Travis’s voice right before the other man came into view, slipping his arm around the woman’s waist “Halstead, this is my wife Valarie” Jay nodded “Nice to meet you” she smirked at him “Don’t ever accuse Deuce and Travis again. Got me?” “Got it” she nodded then stepped back and waved him in “Well come on, she's in her office but we’ll introduce you to Roxie and Sirius”

He followed Valarie and Travis further into the building. Samantha looked up from a stack of paperwork on her desk “Look what the damn cat dragged in, how did you even find us? Not like we’re in the yellow pages” “I um i asked Nolan” he offered and Marcel shook his head “That fucking traitor”

Jay was starting to think this was the wrong move but then Marcel grinned at him “Why ya here anyways? Got bored on base?” He shrugged “Figured I’d check out the area”

Another man walked in with short black hair and bright blue eyes. He looked from Travis to Marcel then pointed at Jay “Isn’t that..” Samantha waved her hand between them “Sirius Grayson, Jay Halstead”  Jay shook his hand “Nice to meet you” Sirius raised an eyebrow “I’d say same but I know how you’ve treated our boss so I’ll hold the same until I see” 

Jay nodded “Fair enough” the last person to notice Jay was a woman taller than you, damn near his height. She had bright, fiery red hair and amber eyes. Tattoos on her arms that peeked out from under her sleeve had him curious where you even pulled this team from “Roxie Macloud” she told him with a nod.

“Heard a lot about you” he told her and she smiled “I’m sure you have. We’re the ones keeping eyes on all of you when you’re in the field” 

———————————

You’d heard the front alarm but knew the team would summon you if it was something you were needed for. You were trying to catch up on everything still. Samantha and Sirius had jumped in to help too. Give or take another hour or so of work and you should be up to date.

When you heard a lot of chattering coming from the main floor you finally stood and walked to the door about the time you heard Roxie say “We’re the ones keeping eyes on all of you when you’re in the field”  you stepped out and laughed “No one likes a bragger Rox”

Jay turned to face you and shrugged “I mean your team has kind of earned their bragging rights in my opinion” you tried to ignore the fact that this was the first time you’d seen him in civilian clothes since that night way back. Jeans and a black shirt. His dog tag chain peeking out from under it. You also tried to ignore how he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time, maybe it was a bad idea being completely honest with him. 

You didn’t want to think too hard about all the time you would have done just about anything to have him look at you like that, funny how things change.

You smirked at his words “So, we’re going off what your opinion means now?” “And Deuce comes out swinging” Sirius laughed from his desk and you winked at him before looking back at Jay “Why are you here anyways? It’s your last day of leave. You should be enjoying it”

“Offering to buy your team lunch?” He spoke and you crossed your arms, nodding slowly “Are you realizing just how much food Sirius and Rox intakes on their own? They both have overactive metabolisms”  he shrugged “Not like my checks have been doing anything but sitting for the most part” you looked around “Y’all want to let Halstead buy lunch?”  

“Hell yeah” “Hit his pockets” “Why not” came a few responses so you shrugged “Ok then, guess you’re buying us lunch”

Everyone was spread throughout the main floor of the building. You sat on the floor next to Valarie, both of you cross legged eating. Jay sat a little ways away, leaned against the wall and couldn’t help but smile at the fact that this was one of the best fed teams he’d ever seen and here you were lounging on the floor, desks and Samantha was currently flipped upside down on one of the office chairs spinning slowly.

He didn’t deserve to be let in the front door. No wonder they were so damn protective of you. You’d made a family here. 

He felt something hit his side and looked down to see it was a plastic fork and Travis was the one that had rocketed it into him “I know you didn’t come here just to feed us and see my pretty face so what’s really up Halstead?” He cut his eyes at you to see he now had your attention as well “I wanted to talk to you and knew you would be more likely to if you had home field advantage, your team at your back”

You nodded and handed Val your empty container when she stood to throw hers away “Ok, it’s just me, you and Trav at the moment. Talk”

Your eyes were locked onto his and he found himself forgetting what it was he wanted to say. Even as hard as your eyes were when you looked at him now, they were still the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. 

Why had he not been able to see what was right in front of him back when you were still his? Before all this, hell why had he allowed himself to treat you the way he had? He’d allowed himself to play the victim when you were still healing and taking care of your team the best you could.

He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he said “I’m not asking for another chance, I’m not that much of an idiot, hell I don’t deserve one. I’m just telling you that I’m going to follow you. Wherever this takes you to bring them down, I’m following. I took the extension. I’m staying as long as your team is on this then I’ll see where I end up” 

——————————

What the hell were you supposed to say to that? Your ex boyfriend, the man you’d loved for years and who’d put your heart through the shredder time and again swearing to follow you for however long it took to bring down Los Guerreros del Illimani. 

Where were those types of vows when you were with him? Where was the loyalty when he landed here and treated you the way he had? As if he hadn’t been in the wrong, as if your heart hadn’t been the one shredded over and over by loving him.

 “I don’t know what you want me to say to that Jay, hell I still don’t even know why you resigned from CPD. From what I gather you were on the track to take over intelligence. Why did you walk away from that?”

“I got in deep” he whispered so you raised an eyebrow “How deep?” He dropped his hands to his lap, eyes trailing over the scars on his knuckles. You called his name lightly and he looked up “How deep?” You repeated

He held your eyes for a moment, neither of you turning away from each other before he gave the slightest of nods then started in, telling you everything from cover ups to dumping bodies to how not even three days after everything happened between you and him that he stabbed a man to death in self defense and that resulted in yet another cover up.  “Well in Voight’s defense I would have made the same call for any of my team. It was you or him, Jay. You fought for your life. You weren’t in the wrong” 

He nodded slowly “I get that but it’s just…I got told how good of a job I did on the case….I was in the unit with my ex wife….I found myself keeping going back to that bar I saw you in.. I don’t know what I was looking for…I knew you were gone…i think I probably would’ve eaten a bullet if I had stayed in Chicago” “Been there” you laughed lightly and Travis growled “I’ll get Valarie” and you held both hands up “Joking! Joking!”

Jay smiled slightly at you and Travis teasing each other. It was good to see, nice to know that at least someone always had your back. Nice to know someone was there for you when he broke your heart, when life broke your heart. 

“I don’t want to intrude on the life you’ve built. I just want to help you, I want to be able to keep just a tiny bit of pain off of you for once instead of being the cause of it. I’m finally facing how much wrong I’ve done to you. I can’t ever make up for that but this? This I can do. I can stay. I can fight at your side or behind you, in front of you..wherever you tell me to be. I’m following your lead here SSA Barlowe”

You swallowed hard, cutting your eyes at Travis who gave you the smallest nod. “Either use my name or Deuce, Jay. No SSA Barlowe unless we’re in debriefings. Got it?” he nodded “Yes ma’am” you shook your head “And I swear if you keep incessantly yes ma’aming me, I may hit you again and not apologize for it this time”

He grinned that time, a shadow of one that once made your heart threaten to leap out of your chest but now made an ache blossom instead. “Sorry, habit” you nodded “Ok, then we’re at an understanding. We’ll be on the same team. For real from now on” and held your hand out. Jay slipped his hand into yours and shook it “Deal”

______________________

When Jay started to head back to base you offered to drive him but he shook his head “I’ll just take a cab” “If it’s me, I can get one of the fellas to take you” you offered and he shook his head “Not you, just don’t want to intrude on anyone”  you nodded slowly and he almost took it back just because you had offered. 

He just didn’t want you to feel like you owed him anything because that couldn’t be further from the truth. He started to walk out the door but when you spoke his name softly he froze. “Yeah?”

“Why did you marry her?” he swallowed hard, turning to face you before he said “I don’t know, I was alone and drowning. I keep hurting everyone..turns out that’s what I do best. I guess a part of me thought maybe if I put that big of a step towards moving on I would forget you” “Did it work?” you asked with a tiny smirk tugging at your lips. Just that smallest of gesture from you felt wrong, he didn’t deserve any niceties from you and yet here you were proving yet again just how strong you were. He shook his head “No, I should’ve known better. Took someone knocking sense into me. Now I just am left to try to piece together what’s left of my life and try not to hurt anyone else”

You nodded slowly, did a part of you hope he’d say it worked? That for a while he forgot you? That he stopped loving you? That he truly was head over heels with her at one point and the night with you was just him having a couple drinks and a bad time? Maybe.

It would hurt less than to think a fraction of him could love you and hurt you the way he had. You stared down on your hands, playing with the small silver ring that adorned your right hand. The only jewelry you wore and it was simply because the other women on your team wore one similar because Roxie had bought them the first Christmas you all realized you would be spending together.

You slowly raised your eyes to his and realized his had been glued to you. At one time you could read him well enough to damn near know what he was thinking but now? You were clueless.

You had to make sure he knew though that him coming to your office, spending time with your team, taking an extension that didn’t even have an end date? It didn’t change anything. “You do know, me accepting you staying and me being willing to work with you doesn’t mean anything. Right? Years of hurt, years of me begging you to love me the way I needed, it doesn’t change because you got a reality check” he nodded “I know, I don’t expect it to. You deserve someone who is a lot better of a man than me. I just want to help you and maybe just maybe one day I can be your friend again” 

“Jay you’re a good man when you let yourself be” it was the truth, he had it in him to be a good man. At his core he was.  The smallest of smiles slipped onto his face “Too bad I figured that out too late huh? See you at the base?” you nodded “See you at the base”

The next day you walked into the conference room to meet with the squad as to the next mission. Davidson stood at the front of the room with Jay “Morning everyone” you greeted as you walked in, Travis, Samantha and Marcel following you.

You looked around “I hope everyone enjoyed their leave. We have new targets and we’ll be traveling this time” they all nodded then Franklin raised her hand “Yeah?” you acknowledged and she ran a hand down Rex’s back “I just wanted to make you aware of the fact that Rex and I will be staying on for six more months” 

“You took an extension?” you asked and she nodded “Yes ma’am” you cut your eyes at Jay and knew from the look he gave you that he honestly didn’t know. “Did anyone else already make a decision?” you asked and one by one, the entire squad confirmed they had all taken extensions. Some were for six months, some ten, some a year and some had chosen just to stay on as long as they were needed.

“We could’ve gotten another team” you said and Davidson shrugged “We’re backing you. We’re taking dangers off the streets, we’re saving lives before they’re even endangered. Plus, you’re not one of those Agents that get a title and people are confused how you got it. You put in the work. You hit the field with us, you took a bullet for Franklin” “In the vest” you corrected and she laughed “Nonetheless!”

You shook your head “I don’t know what to say here. I’ll do my best to protect all of you and get you home at the end of your contracts. I’m honored you chose to stay on and I promise I will do everything in my power to not let you down. Let’s kick some ass” they all laughed as you went into the briefing on the most recent findings.

Part 8

@allisonargent144

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[cherub-berry]

*:..｡o○ CRAVING SMOKE | Porco Galliard x Reader

╰┈➤ Contents: fem! reader, both Porco and reader smokes cigarettes, reader wears glasses, reader is an eldian nurse, reader carrying an injured man, mention of injury, mention of war, the aftermath of war, guilt, survivor guilt, cigarette kisses, Porco opening up, mention of Marcel, teasing and banter, writer is not good with grammar

╰┈➤ Word count: 5.9k

╰┈➤ Note: this is inspired by my illustration of Porco. I also wanted to thank my friend Ari for co-writing this fic with me, with out their help I don't think I can finish this, so a big applause for Ari!

The smell of blood and fear lingered in the air, clinging like a vice. The war had ended or so they said. But for the war veteran and survivor, it was a never-ending cycle. He stood atop his titan, smoke rising from its neck as the giant's body slumped to the ground. Porco Galliard, or as most people knew him, the Jaw Titan. The sky, once a clear blue, now darkened to shades of purple and orange, a beautiful scene if he didn’t notice the endless bodies beneath him. Eldians and Marleyans alike lay caught in the crossfire, everyone is a victim of war, even if they never participated.

Porco wishes he were a simple man with a simple dream, but what he wants is anything but simple. Yet here he is, bloodied and brooding, weighed down by the weight of a wish he never truly understood. He got what he wanted, one of the Nine Titans, but at what cost? Marcel’s death? Bertholdt’s fate? Or even the betrayal that still hangs between him and Reiner? The power, the legacy—it all feels hollow now, a cruel reminder of the sacrifices made. Each Titan form, each battle, has only deepened his pain, leaving him to wonder if the price was ever worth it.

He watches as the Warrior candidates celebrate, hugging and cheering for Gabi Braun, elated by the success of her sacrifice. He can't help but smile, ruffling her head as if to say, "Good job." But as he watches them, a bitter knot tightens in his chest. Their troop is dwindling at a rapid pace. Every single day, the enemy's weapons grow deadlier, more advanced, more terrifying. Porco himself almost tasted death recently, saved only by the Armored Titan, Reiner Braun. Meanwhile, the Warriors’ tent is filled with the sounds of laughter, men drinking tasteless alcohol and eating MREs to their heart's content. They laugh as if they don't care about what awaits them when they return home or if they'll ever return at all.

The night drags on, and eventually, the lights in the tents fade to black. Everyone is deep asleep, like corpses, except for Porco. War Chief Zeke Yeager is awake too. Zeke is focused on a book—a children's book, of all things. How peculiar, Porco thought. But this is Zeke, no one can ever guess what he's really thinking. A metallic mug of coffee is clutched in Zeke's left hand, while his right flips through the pages of the book.

"Stop staring so much, you're going to make me blush," Zeke muttered, his eyes still transfixed on the pages.

Porco raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the book. "Is it interesting? I mean, it’s a children’s book."

Zeke glanced up briefly, taking a sip of his coffee. "It has its charms. You never know until you read it."

Porco smirked. "Charms? For a kid’s story?" He sat up on his cot. "You’re not getting soft on me, are you?"

Zeke chuckled, eyes back on the book. “Soft? Perhaps. We need more simple things in a chaotic world that's going to fall apart”

The Jaw Titan studied him for a moment, watching as the man in front of him tracing the book cover. He shrugged “can’t say I found comfort in kids’ stories. But hey, if it helps you sleep at night…”

After a long pause, Zeke smiled at him. Closing the book and finishing his coffee. “The world needs hope more that it needs war, even if it's for a brief moment”

The night hung heavy around them as Porco fell silent, he can't lie Zeke is a very interesting person, but also a dangerous one.

"Gonna go smoke for a bit," Porco said, breaking the silence.

"If I were you, I wouldn't," Zeke muttered. "The war is over for us, but not for the nurses. It’s chaos out there.”

Porco ignored Zeke’s warning and headed out into the night. The cold air hit him immediately, as a gust of wind tousled his hair. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, exhaling smoke into the crisp night. The silence outside was different—empty, almost suffocating. He stood there for a while, letting the chill sink in, his thoughts drifting as the smoke swirled upward. Zeke’s words echoed in his mind, but he pushed them aside.

He lights a cigarette and exhales a cloud of nicotine into the frigid air, the wind growing sharper and colder. He glances into the distance, where the medical tents stand far from the others. The muffled sounds of screaming and crying drift toward him. Unlike the warriors' tent—silent, warm, and inviting, the medical tents are bright, chaotic, and soaked in blood. Curiosity tugs at him, and he steps closer. The screams grow louder, and he sees nurses rushing about, covered in blood, their faces hidden behind masks and surgical gloves.

The head nurse stumbles by, her eyes wide with panic as she clutches the gruesome bandage “what are you doing here!? Stay back,” her voice strained. “We're losing him, quickly, morphine!”.

Porco watches in silence, in awe. Cigarette forgotten as the ashes drop down to the dirt floor. Another nurse passed him, not glancing at him. Her gaze never meeting his. Zeke was right, it's war here.

Your hands are shaking as you struggle to open the morphine bottle, the lid slipping from your trembling fingers. As you fumble, your glasses slide down your nose and nearly fall off, but you barely notice, too focused on the task at hand.

Getting a syringe you dipped the needle into the bottle giving it a light tap before injecting it into the dying man, preparing him for the pain that will follow.

Time seemed to slow down for Porco as he watched the nurses rushing to help the unconscious man. Every moment felt stretched, the hurried movements of the medical staff blending into a blur of urgency, while his own focus remained locked on the scene unfolding before him.

But one nurse stood out to Porco—the woman with glasses. She didn’t appear much older than he was, yet she was carrying a half-dead man alone, her movements steady and deliberate despite the heavy burden. The sight of her, focused and determined, carrying the unconscious man toward the operating tent, struck Porco deeply. To him the woman was not only carrying his life, but the hopes of a fallen soldier.

“It's going to be okay Mr. Charlie! You're going to go home soon,” You said, gently lowering him on the bed, reassuring him and also yourself.

Nurses swarmed around the man, preparing him for surgery, while your hand trembled, heavy with the responsibility of his life.Your chest tightens, the weight of the moment pressing down, and your breath catches in your throat. It's the sudden, overwhelming realization of how fragile life is, how much is at stake in this very moment.

“(Name), you did well today. You can take the rest of the night off,” One of the older nurses said, putting on her mask and surgical gloves.

You nod quietly, too exhausted to argue. In truth, you wanted to stay—to assist the nurses, to see the surgery through. But as you turn to leave the surgical tents, the weight of your fatigue pulls you away, each step heavy as you step out into the cool night air.

The breeze brushes against your skin, a soft, fleeting touch, like a kiss that might vanish at any moment. Adjusting your glasses you finally notice a young man staring outside one of the tents, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. You approach him and tap his shoulder once—did he not feel it? You tap again, then speak.

“Excuse me, sir, you're not allowed to smoke here.”

“Shit, sorry.” He drops the cigarette and crushes it under his boot. His voice sounds distant, almost detached, but there’s an unmistakable tension in his posture. Though his face remains calm, his eyes reveal a different story, one of turmoil and inner conflict that he’s trying hard to hide.

You look at him from head to toe. You know this man, the infamous Jaw Titan. His face carries the unmistakable feature that haunts Liberio. Nurses often fawn over the warriors, often calling the man in front of you “a handsome asshole with a good heart”. A certain charm behind those cold and rigid eyes that will make people swoon.

Porco’s eyes met yours. And for a moment, your breath catches. There's something undoubtedly intimate in his gaze—unacknowledged attraction. The connection feels so short yet so magnetic, it makes you want his gaze even more.

“You’ve got something on your cheek,” He says, pointing to his face to clarify.

Your eyes widen slightly as you quickly wipe your cheek, only to see the dark stain of blood smeared across your skin. Maybe he wasn’t looking at your eyes after all—maybe it was your cheek he was focused on. A wave of self-consciousness hits you as you glance down at your uniform, now caked in dirt and blood. The grime and the mess suddenly seem more obvious, and you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, like all the weight of the day’s chaos has left its mark on you.

"Thanks..." The words barely escape your throat, soft and barely audible.

"Mr. Galliard, if you're looking to smoke, I know a place." You clear your throat, hoping the sudden awkwardness doesn’t linger.

He glances at you, then back at the ground. "Oh—uh, sure. Lead the way." His tone is a mix of surprise and something else, almost like he wasn’t expecting an offer, but couldn’t refuse it either.

You lead him into the cool evening, the air carrying a sharp bite that makes the night feel even more isolated. As you walk side by side, the silence between you both is oddly comfortable. The faint crunch of gravel beneath your boots is the only sound, and you’re acutely aware of his presence beside you—his movements casual, but you can tell he’s paying attention to the surroundings.

You guide him to the back of an old, abandoned shed, though calling it a shed feels generous. It’s little more than a crumbling wooden wall with a rusted door, barely standing against the wind. The dim light from the nearby lanterns casts long shadows, adding a sense of quiet intimacy to the moment. It’s a place hidden from prying eyes, and as you both step into the shelter, the world outside feels just a little more distant, a little more forgotten.

“Here we are, enjoy your time Mr. Galliard. Goodnight,” You pivot on your heel and head back toward the nurses' tent, hoping to find some rest or at least a brief moment of peace away from the chaos.

A calloused hand reaches out, brushing against yours. You turn back, and for a split second, you catch the blonde man’s eyes. They flicker from yours to the ground, his brows furrowing in a quiet struggle, as if debating something he can’t quite put into words. He lowers his hand slowly, almost surprised by his own gesture.

“I—uh, forget it. Goodnight,” he mutters, the words awkward and heavy, like he’s wrestling with a thought he isn’t ready to share.

His eyes linger just a little longer than necessary, betraying the quiet curiosity that seems to hang in the air between you—an unspoken desire to know more, but uncertainty keeping him at arm’s length.

You know he wanted to know. The makeshift question barrelling in your head: how did you know this place? The question feels simple yet complicated.

You smile softly at him, feeling the weight of the moment shift. Sliding down the wall, you settle onto the ground, your posture casual but inviting. You pat the spot next to you, looking up at him with a quiet, unspoken request.

"Sit with me?"

For a moment, he hesitates, eyes flicking between the empty space beside you and your face, as if debating whether to break the distance or remain standing. After a beat, he lowers himself slowly, sitting beside you without a word. Shoulders almost brushing, his body heat radiating.

You slip your hand into the pocket of your uniform, pulling out a cigarette box, the edges worn from constant use. You shake it lightly, feeling the last few sticks inside, then retrieve an almost empty lighter, the flame flickering weakly at your fingertips.

“I didn't know nurses can smoke,” He says, you can hear faint hint of a smile in his voice.

“Well, we aren't supposed to,” you reply, taking a drag and letting the smoke curl up into the air, "But I still do anyway.”

He chuckles softly. "I guess some rules are meant to be bent."

You exhale slowly, watching the smoke dissipate in the cool evening air. "Maybe. But it's not exactly the healthiest habit, either way.”

“You should tell that to Zeke.” he says, a grin creeping in.

"The head nurse has," you reply with a dry laugh, "She told him to quit, but he just keeps on going. It’s like telling a cat to stop being a cat." You take a long drag, enjoying the bite of the smoke as you watch the haze swirl around you.

Porco watches you exhale another puff of smoke, his gaze following the way the smoke curls into the air. After a moment, he pulls out his own cigarette and a lighter from his jacket, biting the tip between his lips with a small grunt of concentration. He flicks the lighter, but the flame sputters out before it can catch, the tiny spark vanishing into the cool night. He shakes the lighter impatiently, then tries again, only for it to fail once more. With a frustrated sigh, he tosses the lighter aside with a muttered curse.

“Can I borrow yours?” He points toward your lighter with a half-embarrassed look.

You nod, handing it to him. He takes it and flicks the fuse multiple times, but again, the flame refuses to appear.

"Guess no cigarette for me tonight," he says, a hint of disappointment in his voice, as he hands it back to you. "Lucky you. You've got all the fire."

You chuckle softly, slipping the lighter back into your pocket. "Maybe it’s a sign you’re not meant to smoke tonight."

He smirks, rolling his eyes. "Could be.”

“Here, I'll share mine with you. Get close”

Porco raises an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. You bring the lit cigarette back up to your lips and position it so the glowing tip is almost exactly in line with his—just a hair's breath apart, the two cigarettes hovering close. He leans in slightly, and you both, without missing a beat, gently bring your lips together, the tips of your cigarettes now nearly touching.

For a brief, intense moment, you both exhale at the same time, the smoke mixing and swirling around you, the soft glow of the lit tips connecting in a silent, almost intimate dance. The flame transfers easily between the cigarettes, igniting his with a soft hiss. He takes a quick drag as you pull back, both of you now holding your cigarettes with your lips.

"Now that’s how you light a cigarette," you say with a grin, watching him as he exhales, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Porco chuckles, still holding the cigarette between his lips. "You’re full of surprises, huh?"

You shrug casually, the smoke trailing lazily in the air. "I like to keep things interesting."

For a moment, the world feels quieter, the shared action something unspoken, just a little closer than it probably should be. A little too intimate than it should be. You lower your hand to the ground, just a breath away from his, the space between your fingers humming with an unspoken promise. You linger there, so close that the air seems to tremble with the possibility of touch, but neither of you moves.

Porco raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing as he glances at your hand, hovering near his. "Careful," he says, voice low, a teasing edge to it. "You might be getting a little too close for comfort."

You hold his gaze, a small, knowing smile playing at the corner of your lips. "Comfort’s overrated," you reply, fingers barely brushing the edge of his.

His eyes flicked between you and your hand. “You're the type to make things complicated, aren't you?

You stretch your body, your spine arching gracefully as you move, the motion fluid and effortless. His gaze follows you, intent and focused, drawn to the curve of your back with an almost predatory intensity. You feel the weight of his eyes on you, but you don't falter. As you shift, your hand drifts even closer to his, the space between you shrinking with every deliberate inch. You hold his gaze, a quiet confidence in your eyes.

"Only when it's worth it," you say, your voice soft but clear, as if the words are as much a challenge as an invitation.

Porco's gaze sharpens, he takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the gray smoke to the cold night sky. “Is this one of those moments?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you shift your hand a fraction closer, just enough to send a jolt of tension through the air. "Maybe," you say softly. "Maybe not."

His lips quirk upward, the challenge in his eyes clear. "You’re a tease. I kind of like it.”

The air hangs heavy with tension, thick and almost suffocating. Neither of you dares to move, as if any shift would shatter the moment. The silence between you is electric, every heartbeat magnified, the space between you pulsing with something unspoken.

“You're not going to make this easy, aren't you?” He asked, voice husky and hushed.

“Where's the fun in easy?”

"I like seeing how far I can push before things... change," you murmur, your eyes locking with his, daring him to respond.

He leans in, just a fraction, closing the distance with a teasing, almost unreadable look. "Is that what you want? To see what happens when everything shifts?”

You challenge him with a quiet smile. “Maybe I do”

Porco’s gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, his breath catching ever so slightly. His pulse quickens, the subtle shift in his expression betraying the tension building between you both. There’s a brief hesitation, a quiet moment where it feels like time itself has paused, before his focus sharpens again, drawn in by something deeper, something he can’t quite pull away from.

“You're going to keep looking, or do something about it?” You challenged.

He chuckles softly, a low rumble vibrating between you two. “You sure you want me to?”

“You're the one getting closer.”

His hand shifts just slightly, brushing against yours, and for a split second, you think he might pull away. But then, his fingers curl around yours, slow and deliberate, the touch grounding in a way that feels more intimate than anything that’s come before.

"Guess you’re right" he murmurs, his voice barely above a breath. "Maybe I’ve already done something about it ”

You take his hand in yours, your fingers gently tracing the rough lines of his calloused skin. The touch is tender, lingering, as if you're mapping out the very contours of his hand, feeling the strength in every worn ridge.

His soft lips graze yours, a delicate touch that lingers in the air. The scent of cigarettes, faint and smoky, clings to him, but it fades as you close your eyes and melt into his kiss. In that moment, the world blurs—the chaos, the noise—everything softens, leaving just the rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his presence.

The touch of his warm hand feels like a warm lantern in the dark and cold of the night. It's a comfort, a reassurance that you never knew you needed until now. You wish for nothing more than his touch, his presence, to stay with you, to never let go. In this fleeting moment, everything else fades away, and all that matters is the warmth of his hand in yours. You never want to leave this small, perfect moment.

You pull apart first, your cheek flushed, the rush of blood making your head spin. You’ve kissed others before—men and women, but none of those kisses were like this. Not this urgent, not this brief. There’s something about it that stirs something deeper inside you. You feel shy, vulnerable, as if something sacred has just unfolded between you. His warm eyes meet yours, looking at you with such intensity that it threatens to overwhelm you. Something catches in your throat, and you blink rapidly, fighting back tears. It’s a moment you never want to forget, a fleeting piece of time you wish you could hold on to forever.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, hand caressing yours.

You swallow, steadying your breath. “I—yeah, just… I never felt like this. Its so different.”

“Different good, I hope?” He said softly, placing his forehead gently against yours.

You nodded, the closeness is making your heart race. “Yeah, different good”

He stays there for a heartbeat longer, unwilling to pull away, as if afraid the quiet connection between you might vanish the moment he does. The world around you is eerily still—too still for a soldier like him. It feels too gentle, too faint, a softness he's not accustomed to. His heart beats faster, the silence pressing in around you both.

You rest your head to his shoulder, looking at the cigarette in your hand so fondly. “It's so…quiet”

He shifts slightly, his warmth pressing against you, grounding you in the quiet. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice almost drowned by the peace surrounding you both. “Feels strange, doesn’t it?” He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curls upwards, disappearing into the night.

“I feel like a storm is about to happen” You whispered, voice certain. The words hang in the air, as if they were supposed to happen.

He turned towards you, his expression unreadable for a moment as he studied your face. "Ugh, I hate this," He muttered, a dry humor lacing his voice. "After this hell of a storm, there's another one waiting. What a drag." He let out a short, humorless chuckle, but his face remained unreadable, the tension in his eyes betraying the joke.

“A warrior can’t catch a break, huh?” You teased, a grin playing at the edges of your lips.

“Nope,” he shot back, the word blunt, almost with a hint of amusement, as if the irony of it all wasn’t lost on him.

“Honestly, if I were a Titan Shifter, there’s no way I’d have the guts to bite my hand or slice it open to transform,” You say, chuckling at the thought of it.

He takes a drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke with a grin. "You should try it, it’s a real rush." He taps the cigarette, letting the ashes fall to the ground.

You shake your head, smiling “Uh—huh, sure. ‘cause nothing says fun like turning into a giant nutcracker wrecking everything in sight.”

“It's oddly therapeutic, you should try it sometime. Nothing like the feeling of smashing stuff to really clear your head.”

The banter continues, but with each passing minute, the mood shifts. Your laughter fades, swallowed by the deeper currents of the conversation. You both sit there, the world moving around you, but the two of you remain anchored to the moment, surrounded by the haze of smoke and words that were meant to be light but now feel heavy.

Your cigarette, now little more than a smoldering nub, threatens to fall, but neither of you moves to snuff it out. It's one of those moments that doesn’t seem to need much attention, as if the world’s outside the bubble you’ve created. A bubble where jokes come easy and laughter rings free, even though neither of you could be further from truly being carefree.

You glance over at him—the man beside you, Porco Galliard. The man who has seen and done things you couldn’t even begin to imagine. The man whose hands have taken countless lives for the sake of his country, soldiers who never had a chance. The man who wears the burden of the Titan Shifters curse like a second skin. And yet, despite all of that, here he is, sitting beside you, casually flicking ash from his cigarette as if this were the most normal conversation in the world.

"You think smashing things is fun?" you ask again, this time with less sarcasm, more curiosity. A genuine question.

Porco pauses, his gaze shifting toward the horizon for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is steady but edged with something darker. "I'm smashing things because of orders. It's not fun at all. It's torture.”

“You ever get tired of it?" You ask, not sure what answer you're hoping for. You expect him to laugh, to brush it off, maybe even make another joke. But instead, he seems to sink deeper into his thoughts, his gaze fixed on something distant.

“Tired? You don't get tired. You just keep going, that's all you can do. You just keep moving and hope that you're not too far gone to realize you've lost everything.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and final, but you can see it in his eyes—he knows the truth. He’s lost everything. The weight of it settles around him like a shroud, suffocating, unspoken. He still has his parents, but that’s not enough. Not without Marcel. Without Marcel, what’s left for him? The bond they shared, the brotherhood, was the one thing that tethered him to something real, something that made the endless violence and sacrifice bearable. But now, in the aftermath, it’s all gone.

You listen to Porco’s words, and for a moment, the air between you feels thick, like there’s more than just the weight of the conversation in that space. There’s something you both share now, something you never thought you’d relate to.

Your fingers brush the cold metal of the lighter in your pocket, instinctively reaching for it. You’ve held it a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels heavier than it ever has. The two wings carved into the surface—delicate and intricate—are a reminder of a place you can never go back to, a memory that’s already fading at the edges. A gift from back home. A piece of something you’ve left behind, but it doesn’t feel like a gift anymore. It feels like a weight.

Guilt surges up from somewhere deep inside you, twisting your stomach. You close your eyes for a brief second, overwhelmed by the flood of memories that rush in. Home, warmth, faces you can’t recall without pain. The weight of responsibility that was thrust upon your shoulders—too young, too unprepared, yet here you are, carrying the same heavy burden that Porco now bears, the same impossible task of surviving a world that seems to demand too much.

Your hand tightens around the lighter, but the feeling of loss doesn’t ease. It only makes the ache sharper, a reminder that you can’t go back, and you can’t undo what’s already been done.

“I have also lost some important people in my life, the people that have shaped me to be who I am now.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a brief moment, you almost regret saying anything at all. But there's a truth in it, something raw and real that hangs in the air between you both. The people who helped mold you, who gave you purpose, who made you feel human—those are the ones that stick with you, long after they’re gone. And it’s their absence that leaves the deepest scars.

“It’s like they’re still with you, but not really,” you add, your voice distant. “You carry them with you, but sometimes it feels like they’re just ghosts. And all you can do is try to make sense of it all, even when it doesn’t make sense anymore.”

"You know," he says after a beat, the humor in his voice gone, replaced by something more subdued, "sometimes I wonder if I'd be less of a mess if he was still around. Maybe he could’ve talked me out of some of the shit I’ve done.”

You don’t respond right away. The shift in his tone isn’t lost on you. It’s not the playful jab you’d been expecting, but something rawer, something closer to the truth than either of you had expected to share.

"You don't need him to tell you what’s right or wrong, Porco," you say softly, trying to keep the conversation grounded. "You’ve been making your own choices for a long time now. Maybe it’s time you stop leaning on ghosts to figure out what you’re doing.”

Porco’s gaze flickers toward you, a wry smile tugging at his lips, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Guess you’re right. But it sure would’ve been nice to have someone who actually got it. Someone who didn't treat me like a fucking weapon.”

You feel the words hit you harder than expected. "You know, you’re not just a weapon, Porco. And you’re not the only one who's ever felt like one." The words spill out before you can stop them, the quiet vulnerability in your own voice surprising even you. You didn’t expect to be the one offering comfort here, but somehow, it feels right.

Porco takes a long moment to respond, staring at the cigarette between his fingers before flicking the ash off into the night. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to feel like one when that’s all anyone’s ever used you for.”

You don’t have an answer for that. Instead, you let the quiet settle in again, the space between you two filled with an understanding that doesn’t need words.The conversation, like everything else, eventually fades into something quieter, easier. But there’s still the lingering feeling that, despite the ghosts, despite the weight of everything that’s been said and done, you’re both still here. Still standing. Still breathing.

“Maybe one day we’ll stop letting the past haunt us so much,” you say, almost to yourself, more as a hope than a statement. "Maybe then we’ll figure out who we really are, without all the ghosts.”

Porco glances at you, that familiar smirk returning, though there’s something softer about it now. "Maybe. But I wouldn’t hold my breath."

You grin, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Yeah, well, we’ve been breathing this long, haven’t we?”

The two of you share a quiet laugh, and for a moment, the world feels a little lighter, the weight of the past suspended in the air around you. The sound of your laughter breaks the tension, and you take a deep breath, letting it all go for just a second.

You glance down at the short bud of your cigarette, finally snuffing it out on the ground, watching as the small amber glow fades.

"This has been one interesting conversation, don't you think?" you say, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Yeah, it has been," he says, his voice softening a bit. "I kinda enjoyed this..." He glances at you for a moment, his expression unexpectedly earnest, before looking down and snuffing out his own cigarette.

You yawn, the small droplets of tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. The conversation had been so engaging, so full of playful teasing and back-and-forth, that you hadn't even noticed how tired you were becoming. The words and laughter had kept you wide awake, but now, with the sudden stillness between you two, the exhaustion caught up to you all at once.

You rub your eyes, stifling another yawn, and glance at Porco. "Guess I didn’t realize how tired I was," you admit, your voice a bit slower now. "This conversation’s been so much fun, I almost forgot about sleep.”

Porco glances at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Didn’t think a conversation could wear you out," he says, his tone light but with a hint of amusement. "Guess I’m just that interesting, huh?"

You let out a soft laugh, rubbing your eyes. "I think it’s just a combination of you and how late it’s gotten.”

Feeling the drowsiness creeping in fully now. Porco watches you for a moment, his smirk replaced with something more genuine. "Take care of yourself, alright? Don’t keep your bed waiting.”

You flash him a tired smile, nodding.”I'll try, need a shower first though. See you around, Mr. Galliard.”

You pivot on your heel, heading toward the nurses' barrack, but suddenly stop, realizing you’ve forgotten something. Turning back, you casually call over your shoulder, “Oh, and if you ever need some tender, love, and care, just head to the Marley Military Hospital and ask for (Name) (Last name).” You drop your name nonchalantly, a playful glint in your eyes.

As you glance back, you catch Porco scratching the back of his neck, his ears tinged pink, a smirk tugging at his lips. He seems caught off guard, yet amused by your casual remark.

The man glanced at you one last time before walking back in the opposite direction, a strange warmth settling in his chest. There was a sense of closeness, an unspoken connection that lingered in the air. He knew he’d see you again.

As he entered the barrack and made his way to his cot, a giddy excitement bubbled up inside him, the feeling of anticipation and something more—something he couldn’t quite place, leaving him smiling to himself as he settled in for the night.

As he lay down on his cot, the blanket feeling unusually warm around him, a smile spread across his face. There was something about the way you had casually dropped your name, something about the playful teasing and the easy way you two had connected, that had stirred something inside him. It wasn’t just the usual flirtation, it felt like the start of something new, something exciting.

He turned onto his side, eyes closing, but his mind was far from the quiet darkness of the barracks. Instead, it was filled with the memory of your smile, the sound of your voice, and that small spark of warmth he couldn’t ignore.

His heart thudded with that familiar feeling like the glow of a new flame flickering to life. It was different from anything he’d felt before, but it was real. He could feel it deep in his chest, the flutter of excitement, the anticipation of what might come next.

He chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head as he finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep, his thoughts still lingering on you. He had a feeling that this new connection—this spark was only just the beginning.

Just like the cigarettes, the two of you had snuffed out the conversation, the words fading into silence. What had been a lively, playful exchange now rested quietly, the air still with the echoes of your teasing and laughter. As the both of you walked away, the moment came to an end, leaving behind a comfortable sense of finality, like the last ember of a cigarette dying out. The connection had been made, and now, it was simply a matter of waiting for the next time.

[1-800-local-slut]

Home Is Where The Heart Is (Or Where's There's No People)

Klaus Mikaelson x Black! Fem! Shy! Reader

Reader is Klaus's girl friend. In public, she's shy the moment they get behind closed doors there's no stopping her

I don't know if this counts as a collab, but I'm going to count it as such. I couldn't have written this without @sublimecatgalaxy writing this beautiful work. Go check it out, it's so good omg. I hope you guys like this one and thanks again to @sublimecatgalaxy for letting me write this based off your work!

Warnings: Drinking, sophisticated party, nude painting, reader is horny at the end, allusions to smut, reader is really shy in public, this is a bit short, reader is a bit questionable, smutty thoughts, reader is thick, not a warning but I don't specify what the reader is, make no mistake the reader is a black woman, even tho I lowkey bully Marcel in this make no mistake that is my man, reader teases Klaus and calls him a whore lol

(No srsly, go check out this story it was actually wonderful)

Request are also open if anyone wants to send anything!

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"I just wanted a burger." She frowned, staring at the mirror while Klaus helped slide her body into her dress. Deep sadness and exhaustion reflected in her eyeballs, the same sadness that had been ever-present since Klaus reminded her of their party.

A peace offering with Marcel, which she argued was pointless and declared she could miss. Klaus naturally needed to object! How could he show up to such an event and not bring the most gorgeous person in the world with him? That and he needed another person who could agree with (mostly) all his judgments

"Once we make our way through the riff-raff we can stop on the way home." The custom gown was slid onto her body now, and it highlighted all the best parts of her. All the parts Klaus loved.

"I won't want to stop on the way home, I don't want to go outside in the first place. I hate these parties and I don't want to see Miss Tagrot. Oh God, I can't stand that woman, why does Marcel invite her everywhere? Don't tell me he's sleeping with that thing."

He smirked, smugly, once he turned out of her line of sight to button his sleeves properly. She didn't want to be around anyone besides him and selfish as Klaus was he was overjoyed by this.

She stepped off the small platform she was on that was surrounded by mirrors after a quick look over herself. She looked stunning like she was straight out of history. The dress hugged her figure, and her wig was styled into a gorgeous updo with two pieces of hair framing her gorgeous features.

Klaus needed to call their driver. He stole a glance out of their large bedroom windows after leaving their walk-in closet. Ass hitting the sheets, he shut his eyes for a brief moment to inhale. He could still smell the mix of their scents. A mixture of sweetness and the forest. Once he grabbed his phone off the dresser he let his mind wander.

His ears focused on the sound of the cars outside in his city. The people going about their business, the vampires hunting for a meal. How many of those cars were driving to the very place he was soon to be? How many would be at Marcel's little gathering (which is certainly pointless knowing Marcel and Klaus) tonight?

Suddenly her arms wrapped around his broad chest, and she overtook him. The bed sunk as she crawled onto it, and he felt her soft, long gloves snake around him. Her scent, her feel, everything. She was whispering in his ear, pressing soft kisses to his neck.

How was a man to resist in the face of such beautiful temptation? Don't ask Klaus, he could hardly manage right now.

"Klaus, let's stay home. I'll let you paint me naked again." She whined in his ear, bringing her nails up to his head. Scratching the back of his ears, she wanted to stay home.

"You don't have to lie, I know you like it when I look at you naked." Turning his head, his eyes connected with hers. His eyes found their way to her full lips, and he knew what needed to be done. A soft kiss to her lips and the idea of missing all the possible chaos and creating issues was looking more and more enticing. Staying home and stripping that gown off her sounded so, so much better.

He wouldn't be Klaus Mikaelson if he didn't show up fashionably late, and make an entrance. Blue eyes met dark ones with a buzz of excitement. Klaus fixed their bodies onto the mattress, where she was now flat on her back and Klaus towered over her. The spark in her eyes and the smirk across her lips told Klaus that she won. She won and she knew it, the little minx.

When her arms wrapped around his neck, Klaus dipped down to kiss her again. She ghosted her fingers over the nape of his neck drawing a little pattern.

He couldn't help himself and took advantage of the slit in her dress. While he ran his hand up her thigh and gave a healthy squeeze, Klaus's mind and heart were racing. How could have even thought about going to this party when his girlfriend was here, looking like a gorgeous blast from the past? As if she came straight out of the 1920s with improvements made to the dress that suited her style.

Her hands took a small squeeze at his ass, and Klaus chuckled. Then he was lying down right on top of her, grinding his hips into hers. He could taste tongue as they continued their foreplay.

She overwhelmed his senses so well that Klaus didn't hear Elijah walking up the steps until he knocked on the door. At first, he thought he was having an auditory hallucination but then she cut her eyes sharply to the door.

"What?" She snipped. That just made his suit pants even tighter.

"Sorry to interrupt, but there's a driver here for you two." Elijah chuckled. Of course, Elijah probably heard their passionate kisses and shared shuddered breaths.

"Of all the bloody things, I can never just stay home. Tell him we'll be out in a moment." Klaus crawled off her, wiping the smears of lipgloss off his face. He certainly smears her colored lip makeup all over his face.

"What happened to just wanting to stay home?" Klaus chuckled while she tried to fix the back of her hair.

"We can't just be rude, the drivers already come. It would be different if Elijah never told us but now I feel bad. The poor man is just trying to do his job." She muttered and ran her fingers across his chest. Klaus was perched at the edge of their mattress, and she was sitting up against the pillows, pulling him in like a spider catching a fly. That wicked smirk came across her face again and she brought her face closer to his.

Her eyes met his while she admired the smeared makeup on his face.

"You look like a whore. My whore." She snickered in his ear, running a hand over his thighs just short of where he needed her. He smiled, knowing this was going to be a hard night. Pun intended.

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She gripped him like a bad habit that you couldn't shake no matter what you tried the moment they stepped out of the car. She was Klaus's girlfriend, his wild card who couldn't be tamed, a bear who was standing outside its cave. But once they got somewhere with too many people, the bear went into hibernation and slept until it was time to leave. Not from fear, but simply from sheer kindness.

And Klaus loved knowing she was only quiet for the sake of others. For the sake of not wanting to make enemies of the entire city. Sadly, that was one of Klaus's favorite things to do.

The party was a typical Marcel party. It was moderately loud, there were flashing lights, and crowds of the elite mingled. Live performers and tantalizing meals were off to the side, and Klaus glanced up at the ceiling, seeing people mingling on the upper balconies. Other vampires, of course, Marcel didn't just let anyone up there. Klaus himself finally arrived, so the party could start.

They pushed through the crowds of people. Hello's, compliments, and well wishes were exchanged though Klaus met none of them. Like always, everyone took notice of Klaus's stunning companion no matter how badly she wished they didn't.

She didn't want to be standing in the center of the room (ironic considering that she was dating the man himself, Klaus Mikaelson) but there she was.

"There's the man of the century," Marcel called, making his way down the steps. Stopping before the two, she bristled slightly.

"Marcel." She greeted him curtly. All that needed to be said was said to him. He smiled at her, his grin reminding Klaus of a hunter about to shoot his prey.

"Ma belle." He took the gloved hand that wasn't latching onto Klaus and pressed a soft kiss to it. Deep down inside, Klaus was thrilled to know that this disgusted her. How long did it take for her to allow Klaus to hold her?

"Hm." She smiled politely but took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter who she grabbed with such strength that it showed how badly she wanted to leave. The only time anyone would grab someone for a drink with such ferocity was when that person wanted to be anywhere else.

"Marcel, thank you for inviting us to dinner." Klaus joked as the three of them eyed a woman who walked past them. Klaus hadn't eaten before they left like he usually does so he could hear the thrumming of blood all around him. Marcel let out his usual hearty chuckle and she stuck closer to him.

"Speaking of dinner," Drawing the two's attention back to him. Marcel ran his hands down the front of his suit, Klaus couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. It seemed like the drama Klaus lived for was finally starting.

"Can I show you something, Klaus?" Marcel asked in a more hushed tone. It was that time of night when Klaus sadly had to leave her alone for a bit to handle business. If it were up to him, Klaus would have her superglued to his side.

But alas, sometimes even Klaus Mikaelson couldn't have everything go his way.

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Finding her again was like finding a beacon of light in a dark room. Like a blind man seeing for the first time, Klaus's heart instantly became lighter when he found his beacon again.

Marcel was still upstairs, sleeping off the punch Klaus decided he needed and Klaus happily skipped his way down the steps. His eyes cleared the room once he identified everything he needed.

A random person (or two) for dinner and his light at the end of the tunnel. Thankfully they just happened to be bunched together in one perfect little conversation circle for Klaus to wiggle into. With long steps, Klaus felt a thrill building at being close to her again.

She stood politely, sipping on her drink, and pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. He could hear her heartbeat jumping in her chest and heard an uncharacteristic giggle. Klaus could tell she'd been attempting to drink away her discomfort, the discomfort that followed with his absence.

A piece of chocolate (he made a mental at how it was the same color as her but he refrained from telling her this, as she often expressed annoyance at being compared to food) slipped into her mouth that she grabbed from the treats table, the white lights that shone around the room made her look even more like an angel.

A flash of light came over her brown eyes and Klaus felt his breath stop for just a second. She was too perfect and Klaus wanted to just grab her and go instantly.

The closer he got the happier he got to see her. Sure it was a bit odd how it made him want to jump for joy to know she didn't want to be around anyone else but who was about to say anything to him about it?

"Klaus! Oh, it's great to see you, I wasn't expecting you to come but once I saw this one I knew you couldn't be far behind." Miss Targot, the bane of his girlfriend's existence. She pulled Klaus into a friendly hug, the fur of her collar almost getting into his mouth.

Of course, that tight grip returned to Klaus's side the moment he was free. She was holding his arm once more, and Klaus shook his head slightly. Glancing down, he saw that she was on the verge of being tipsy but thankfully coherent enough to give Klaus little to no issue tonight.

But alcohol did make her more frisky than usual, so it was probably best they made their exit soon before they accidentally shamed themselves in front of all of New Orleans. Or before Klaus decided to pull her into a random room.

Either way, he heard the sound of furniture splintering, and to his left caught a view of some of Marcel's friends pointing down at him. Certainly time for an exit. After all, he still owed her that hamburger.

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"Every time I see that bitch she sounds more and more obnoxious. It's all 'Oh Paris was wonderful' and 'I just adored my trip to Dominican Republic' bitch why are you not home with your children?" Klaus barked out a laugh as she perched onto her vanity seat and slid two earrings into her ears.

She rubbed cocoa butter onto her dark skin, while Klaus placed his paint brushes into his mouth and pulled the curtains wide open to let in the sunlight.

It was the next day now, the two had slept well into the afternoon. They were only woken up by someone throwing a brick through their living room window and this turned out to be someone with some grievances with Rebekah. Now they were sitting in their bedroom, while Elijah and Hayley prepared for the cleaners Klaus sent for to come. Hiding bodies and whatnot while Rebekah dashed around the city, a woman on a mission.

It was finally time for that painting she offered Klaus last night.

In her natural form, he could see her confidence, the fire that resided within her. Barren of heavy makeup, only a touch of blush and lipgloss with some clear mascara for her lashes Klaus felt like he almost didn't deserve to be around her right now.

She was so beautiful and perfect that with all Klaus had done, he didn't deserve to have her posing for him let alone dating him.

"They're probably paying for those trips, the miserable trollop she is I doubt they want her home very often." Klaus joked as he went back to his easel and resumed setting up his paints. Red, browns, deep greens (for the fainting couch she would be lying on), and the color of her large fancy robe. Klaus thought it made her look like a really pretty bird. A really pretty bird that would take out one of your eyes without much hesitation.

After all, it would be rude to snatch someone's eye from their socket.

She snorted, as she slid seductively onto the couch.

"I wouldn't." Klaus watched her get comfortable, with her well-practiced pose (the one Klaus always envisioned in his mind) and prepare to be drawn.

"You wouldn't want to be anywhere with her." Adjusting his easel, it was almost time for him to truly focus.

"No, I don't want to be anywhere without you. You literally know I don't like people, you make them tolerable. I know I'll have an eyewitness to the absurdity I see. Now enough about her, draw me like one of your French girls." Her brows wiggled and they both took a pause. Silence and then laughter.

The line from that ridiculous movie that Klaus was really mad that he actually enjoyed (and that admittedly turned him on) made him and her cackle. His sides hurt and the sides of his eyes crinkled. She was trying not to roll off the couch from how hard she was laughing, cackling actually, so loud that it was probably heard down the street along with Klaus's loud bellows.

The sound that came from their bedroom so often, usually induced by her, eventually settled from Klaus's doubled-over form. She somehow rolled onto her stomach and they both calmed down.

Eventually, the silence settled and they fell back into their usual conversation. Things about the baby, when she would be born, how much she liked snacks, Klaus teasing her and her telling him to lick her ass, Klaus of course thrilled to do so.

His pencil ran over the easel, the first sketch being perfectly designed while his mind wandered. She began to sing (horribly off-key though intentional) and Klaus lightly scolded her to hold still.

She was Klaus's girlfriend. His girlfriend who, for the sake of others, held her tongue in public but when it was just the two of them she was a shining star. A force of unstoppable grace and nature. His girlfriend, whom Klaus could just be a regular guy with and just laugh as loud as he pleased at nothing in particular.

Above all though, she was Klaus's. And deep down inside nothing else mattered more to him than that.

[saintsir4n]

MIKAELSONS GO ABROAD

21st century one shot where the Mikaelsons are going on holiday.

PAIRINGS: MODERN DAY LUMIÉRES AND MIKAELSONS

WARNINGS: FLUFF

___

“Lovey you already packed one sketchbook why do you need another?” Adrienne approached her husband, curiously glancing between the items in his hand and the ones in his suitcase.

She’d been packed for hours now, which didn’t matter since they were taking the private jet, so time wasn’t an issue.

Lies.

Yes, it was. It really was. Arguments had begun the moment their quarterly trip had a destination. Mexico. The majority were pleased about visiting the country, some for the first time, whereas Hadeon and Kol wanted to go to Morocco and Rebekah needed to see Milan and all the fashion it had to offer. Adrienne thought when the day came for them to head off, everyone would be smooth sailing, but they were Mikaelsons… it wasn’t in their nature.

“Because of Kol. You know he will ruin it!” Klaus stressed, gritting his teeth at the thought.

“He won’t,” Adrienne winced at the vein popping in his neck, her reassurance wasn’t helping much.

“Yes I will,” They heard him yell making Klaus turn to her in irritation.

Klaus shrugged off her soothing touches and flashed out of the room before she would say anything and the next she heard was the sounds of groaning followed by shouting.

“Children!” She heard Elijah exclaim from her shared room, followed by the sounds of Hadeon’s laughter.

“Addy!” Rebekah strolled in, dressed in a towel and barely holding up two pairs of shoes. “Burgundy or crimson?”

“Crimson,” Adrienne sighed when she caught the water droplets trailing down the blonde's face. Hair hair was concealed by a towel and now doubt completely wet. “Bekah, we’re leaving in two hours.”

“Don’t be foolish,” the blonde scoffed, “Us Mikaelsons don’t care for time.”

“Oh I know,” Adrienne muttered, watching her analyse the crimson shoes, with a furrowed look, “are you even packed?”

“I wouldn’t be showing you these if I was, would I?”

Just as Adrienne went to respond she heard a big thump from the other room.

“For Goodness sake!” Kol screeched, running past the room with Elijah on his tail.

Rebekah giggled to herself and followed them, wondering what the fuss was about.

“We’re leaving in 2 hours!” Adrienne yelled, though no one took that warning seriously.

“No we aren’t!” She heard her brother laugh at the notion.

Her husband strolled back into the room with a bloodied fist, “Sweetheart, I haven’t packed my acrylic paints, bloody siblings prevented me from seeking them out.”

“Start packing then,” she rolled her eyes and chucked him a cloth, before sitting with her back against the headboard, “May I remind you that our son is already ready and waiting in the nursery.”

“And may I remind you that our son is barely 2,” he sassed, focusing all his attention on his art supplies that sat near his clothes. “You packed for him.”

“And yet he cried when I didn’t pack their dinosaurs and toy wolves.”

“Mikaelsons are a dramatic breed,” he muttered, turning to her, waiting for her to respond, “And this is the part where you disagree.”

“If only I did,” she mused, sending him a sarcastic smile, to which he feigned offence, “hurry up.”

He went to reply but the cry from his brother-in-law had him laughing.

“Adri, Marcel took my shorts!” Hadeon yelled, glaring at the grinning vampire.

“Because you took my whiskey!” Marcel was quick to run when he witnessed his eyes turn black.

From the other side of the balcony, Elijah was reprimanding his sister who was still to make progress on her packing. It seemed that only he and Adrienne were taking this trip seriously. Clementine wasn’t coming this time, since she and Valerie were meeting with investors in France. He missed his little witch and was starting to wish he joined them.

“Rebekah, would you please get dressed,” he stressed. “Like Adrienne has stated, we’re leaving and have not got a minute to spare.”

“If only I could find my good jeans,” she whined, letting her hair fall and air dry.

They heard Kol laugh from a distance, “I might’ve accidentally burnt them yesterday!”

“Kol, you bloody idiot!” She shouted.

“Nik helped!”

Klaus was quick to defend himself, “No I did not!”

“Stop shouting you’ll upset the —“The sound of a youthful cry made them all wince, “…baby,” Adrienne took a deep breathe, then turned to her husband who was already about to step out of the room, “you are going nowhere, finish packing. AND THE SAME GOES FOR THE REST OF YOU!”

“Jesus Christ,” Kol mumbled under his breath, as he walked passed their room.

“Oh shut it, Kol,” Klaus snapped, then immediately heard everyone return to their rooms whilst he helped his wife hush their son.

a/n:

Was thinking about making this a three parter.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Trust Me (Pt 4/4)

Rick Flag X Reader

Post Corto Maltese AU

Healing is painful. Rick knows this first hand but he also knows there's no way around it. He needs you to let the pain out so the two of you can heal and find your way back to how you were.

The quiet hum of the engine was the only noise filling the interior of Marcel's jeep. He'd offered to give you and Rick a ride to the house the team now shared considering what little belongings Rick had was at his house along with the medications he was on. Christ, you didn't even know what pain meds he needed or what other meds. You didn't even know the extent of what injuries he'd truly suffered. You sat staring out the windshield but could feel Rick's thumb gently rubbing circles on the top of your hand. He hadn't let go of your hand since the two of you had gotten back into the jeep after he grabbed what he needed from Marcel's. You turned your head just enough to make eye contact with him and gave him a small smile. "I love you" he all but whispered and you felt your heart flip. How many times had you sobbed, praying to whatever god was listening that you could hear him say those words to you just one more time?

He was here, he was alive and you had no clue how to wrap your head around it considering you'd never truly even been able to wrap your head around losing him. Your heart had gone through so much you were fairly certain at times it had remained beating simply to spite you up until the moment you'd walked into that PT room. "I love you too Rick. So damn much" you whispered back, swallowing the sob that wanted to escape you. You wouldn't do that to him, he'd gone through too much to get back to you for you to saddle him with the guilt of the emotions currently swirling through you. He leaned in as if he meant to kiss you but you shook your head with a small laugh "Baby i threw up and haven't brushed my teeth" "I don't care" he murmured and you stopped him with a hand on his chest, feeling what had to be a new scar under the soft material of the black t shirt he wore "I do"

Your fingers gently moved across the scar, the material of the shirt stopping you from truly examining it but he didn't stop you. He simply covered your hand with his, looking down at you until you finally raised your eyes to meet his "I'll show you when we get home, if you want" "Home?" you asked because you'd yet to even call the place you all would live that and damn him he still knew just how to make your heart ache because he raised your hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across your knuckles before saying "I'm with you. It's home"

Before you could reply Marcel cleared his throat "We're here" Rick shot you a wink before you both slid out of the jeep. Rick thanked Marcel for the ride and for the guest bedroom. After the two of them hugged you cut your eyes at Rick "Is it ok if I speak to him just one second?" Rick nodded "Of course. I'm gonna head in, see if anyone else is here" you smiled "Ok. Master is on the south end of the house by itself. My stuff is already in it" he kissed the top of your head then nodded to Marcel before walking away.

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Marcel watched you with a curious expression before you finally spoke "Thank you. I don't know the extent of what he's been through but I know you were there when I wasn't so thank you" he nodded and started to open his mouth but stopped so you waved your hand "Go ahead" he tilted his head "If you'd like to speak with Dr Vasquez without Rick around I could arrange that and Sol would take you. I don't want to overstep but I can tell from how hard he continues to push himself you mean everything to that man and one look in your eyes tells me he means just as much to you" "That wouldn't be some sort of confidentiality breach?" you asked and Marcel shrugged "The entire country had pretty much assumed you're his wife anyways"

You gave Marcel your number and asked him to arrange a time with Sol and Dr Vasquez before heading inside the house. You walked in the door and shut it behind you before whistling a tune you knew Cleo, Harley or Dubois would return. After a moment the only response was Rick walking around the corner from the kitchen with a bottle of water "Was that you sweetheart?" you nodded "Easy way to see if anyone is around" "Smart. Who came up with that?" you pushed off the door and shrugged "You're looking at her. There were a few days I didn't really feel like verbal responses so me and Harls figured something out"

"Darlin.." you could see a look pass through Rick's eyes and felt your stomach drop. You hadn't meant to let that slip. Fuck. Instead of focusing on what you'd said you grabbed his hand and tilted your head back towards the master bedroom "Let me go brush my teeth then let's lay down. I'm asleep on my feet and those pain meds you took are gonna wipe you out here in the next little while not to mention I'm fairly certain you probably over exhausted yourself by once again proving to be my hero"

He seemed like he wanted to ask further but when you gave his hand a gentle tug he fell in step behind you. "Couldn't let you fall without catching you. I promised you that years ago" your heart nearly stopped at the reminder of his promise to you when the two of you had first admitted your feelings. You'd been terrified, afraid to fall because everyone you'd ever trusted had always let you down and Rick had promised you "If you'll just trust me, just let yourself fall for me and let us happen..I'll be there to catch you every time"

--------------------

Rick sat on the edge of the bed watching as you brushed your teeth in the small bathroom that was joined to the bedroom. You glanced up once you laid your toothbrush down on the sink and he saw a smile tug at the corner of your lips. You turned the light off then walked out the bathroom, leaning down to untie your boots and slip them off. He'd already taken his own boots off but was waiting for you to lay down. You walked closer to the bed and he reached for your hips, pulling you closer until you were standing between his knees, hands braced on his shoulders and him with no option but to look up at you for once "Hi" he spoke with a small smile. "Hi," you replied.

He could feel the small tremor in your hands and see the hesitation in your eyes. Sol's, Robert's and Harley's words all hit him. All of their warnings about hiding from you. "Are you ok?" you nodded "Just tired and so damn happy" your lips quivered when you smiled but he knew pushing you would never work so he simply nodded "Can I kiss you now?" you laughed lightly "Please" he pulled you down into his lap, a light grunt escaping him but he would have cared less. The feeling of you being in his arms was worth any pain. You gasped at the sudden movement, hands flying to his chest. "Rick! You're hurt!"

He shrugged turning to plop you down on the bed next to him instead "Better?" you nodded. He wanted nothing more than for his body to be up to showing you how much he loved you, how much he missed you. Just being this close to you was throwing every damn sense he had into overdrive. You were everything, the reason he was still alive, what pulled him out that darkness and what made him fight to get back to where he was but you didn't deserve half of anything. He watched as one of your hands raised, pushing his hair back from his forehead before lightly trailing down the side of his face. His eyes closed at the feeling of your hand on his cheek, when he opened them you were staring at him like you were afraid you were going to wake up.

"I'm real. I promise" he breathed as he closed the space between you, finally capturing your lips with his own. You froze just for a moment before he felt you relax against him, lips opening further to invite him in. A soft sob escaped you and he swallowed it, rolling his tongue against yours as he felt your hands moving up his clothed chest, fingers hesitating over the new scars you'd yet to see.You broke away from his lips, both of your chest heaving and smiled softly "I've missed you" he buried his face in your neck, inhaling that body spray Harley had gotten you hooked on two christmases before that clung to your skin mixed with the sweet scent that was simply you and what he thought was his own cologne "I'd claw my way back from death a thousand times over for you" he mumbled and felt you tense slightly before you said "Can I see how bad?"

----------------

You wanted to keep kissing him, god you wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him but you had to see. You had to know. He nodded and sat up before reaching for the hem of his shirt but he must have pulled the wrong way because a slight grimace twisted his features so you leaned up, covering his hands with your own "Can I?" he gave you a smile "Never ask to take my shirt off. Just do it" you laughed lightly, knowing he was trying to take your attention off the fact that he was in pain.

You pulled his shirt up, having to shift up to your knees to pull it off of him completely. Once it was off you tossed it down to the foot of the bed and didn't try to hide the gasp that left your lips. A large pink jagged scar split his chest along with four smaller scars that appeared surgical. You'd always loved Rick's chest and he hadn't exactly been lacking in scars before but this was you didn't want to say horrific because he was still your Rick. Still the gorgeous, amazing man that owned your heart but the hell he'd gone through and not allowed you to be there for..

You reached a shaking hand out but stopped yourself before touching it "Does it still hurt, fuck what am I saying? Of course it does" Rick reached for your hand and wrapped his around your wrist in a gentle but firm grasp "You can touch it, if that's what you're asking. You won't hurt me" he raised your hand to his chest, guiding it to trace over the surgical scars first "This one was the longest. It took four hours" he went scar by scar telling you how long each surgery took until he got to the largest scar now gracing his chest, the one you were there for. His hand fell away and he allowed you to explore that one on your own "That was the worse moment of my life" you had hoped you whispered it low enough he wouldn't hear you but of course he did because he pulled you closer to him "I could hear you for a little while"

You looked up at him, your stomach dropping as you wondered if he heard you kill peacemaker. "What did you hear?" he smiled "The last thing I remember was your voice, begging me not to close my eyes" you swallowed hard, trying not to cry as a yawn escaped Rick "Those pain meds finally kicking in?" he nodded slowly "I think so" you were actually grateful for that so you nodded "Lets get some sleep. How do you need to lie to not hurt?"

He raised an eyebrow "I don't give a damn about hurting I need to have my arms wrapped around you. I need to feel you close to me and I'm fairly certain you need the same" you nodded because you really did but not to the extent of his pain. He laid back against the pillows then reached for you, when he pulled you down you couldn't help but laugh "You're still strong as hell baby" he laughed "Good to know sweetheart"

You laid your head down on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as your fingers traced over the older scars he bore. It was a little off but just as strong and achingly familiar. "I love you Rick" "I love you too" he replied before you finally allowed your eyes to close.

Rick woke up and rolled over, surprised to find the bed next to him empty yet again. There was a time not too long ago you never would've been awake before him let alone up and out of the bed. It seemed like more had changed than he'd like to admit. He glanced towards the side table where you'd gotten in a habit of leaving notes and saw one folded under the meds he had to take along with a bottle of water. He reached for the paper, unfolding it as he sat up "Sol needed my help with a few things. I would have woken you up but you looked so damn peaceful I didn't have it in me. Take your meds and get something to eat, Dubois will be home around eleven if I'm not back before. I love you"

He wished you would've gotten him up along with you, he was healed enough he could begin helping with some rebuild efforts. Hell truthfully he was going insane not helping, especially having you here and knowing you'd never sit still with people needing your help. You'd never seen yourself as a hero, citing that was why you'd been perfect as a lieutenant for the squad because they weren't heroes yet here all of you were in a country still standing because of your efforts. The stories he'd heard not only from Sol made him wish he could've seen that final fight, been a part of it. Apparently all of you had finally become that unit he'd always known you could be, working together to take down Starro then joining the ranks of the soldiers to take the country back from the former regime.

He wiped a hand down his face and reached for the meds and water. He needed to shower and grab some food before Dubois got there. He hadn't really had a chance to corner the other man without you around the last few days but he needed to talk to him, he needed someone who lacked the ability to sugarcoat how bad things had gotten for you. The first day he'd been at the house you'd hinted at it with the whistle but every time he'd tried to get you to open up and talk to him you'd sidestepped the questions in any way possible.

------------------

You followed Sol through the hospital to Dr Vasquez's office. She'd picked you up bright and early, as soon as Harley and Cleo had left as a matter of fact. "I'm sorry for the part I held in you not knowing about Rick. I understood your team's fear of telling you before he woke up, they didn't want you to lose him twice but I pleaded with them all to tell you as soon as he did. Please believe that"

When her words nearly made tears spring from your eyes it made you question just when exactly you started wearing your heart on your sleeve. Where was that woman who never let anyone in that Rick had first met in D.C.?

You reached out for her hand and gave it a small squeeze "I believe you Sol. I know you had no ill intentions and I know neither did my team or Rick. I'm just trying to process everything and I think knowing what injuries and surgeries he's endured may help some. Marcel has went into detail of the physical therapy he's underwent and how brutal it's been to get his body and muscles back to where they are" She nodded at your words "He's worked hard to be the man he believes you deserved to have waiting"

A watery laugh fell from your lips as you said "I just wish he'd realize he has always been that man.He was hurt fighting for what he believed was right then to find out I left him there?" you took a shaking breath then shook your head "I can't do that now. I won't be a mess when I meet Dr Vasquez" she laughed lightly and shrugged "He'd understand but I also understand"

The two of you started back walking and you had to admire the fact that when you first met her you'd nearly swung on her. What woman wouldn't get the wrong idea from your supposed kidnapped boyfriend actually being shirtless enjoying a laugh and tea with a gorgeous woman? Funny how time changes so much.

---------------------------

When you'd gotten back to the house around two you found Rick and Dubois laughing over the fact that Nanaue knew how to microwave fish sticks. "Who taught him that?" you heard Rick laugh as you walked in the door after thanking Sol and telling her to pick you up the following day to help with construction site deliveries. "It was me. I got tired of, on the rare occasion I'd be asleep getting woken up by a shark standing over me saying "friend cook?" "Told ya that's one helluva gal you got there Flag" Dubois laughed and you heard Rick say "I know that man, believe me"

You walked into the kitchen to find Dubois leaning on the counter and Rick sitting on one of the bar stools with one foot on the floor while the other was on the stool rail. Both men had mugs of coffee sitting in front of them and the scene looked so damn normal, it struck you that they hadn't missed much time communicating. That Dubois had seen you crumpled on his couch, sobbing your eyes out while Rick was here undergoing treatment.

The first few weeks, yeah you could get him protecting you from the possible pain of losing Rick twice but why not once Rick woke up? Because of some twisted sense of loyalty to Rick? You'd fought at his side too. You'd made sure his daughter was protected. Where was the loyalty to you?

You hadn't realized you'd been staring until you saw the men exchange a glance before Rick called your name. You blinked a few times then willed a smile onto your face "You ok baby?" you nodded "Of course. Was just running around with Sol all morning,,um anyone seen Harley and Cleo?" He nodded "Yeah, Harley wants a family dinner. Whatever that means so they went shopping" "With Sebastian?" you asked with a small laugh and Dubois winked at you "Don't worry love, your favorite fella will be back soon"

Rick's eyebrows shot up "Favorite fella? Have I been replaced?" you shook your head and walked over to him "Of course not" you stepped close to him with the intention to just give him a quick kiss but the moment your lips brushed against his, he gripped your hips, pulling you closer to him. A part of you was hesitant. Dubois was in the room, your mind was so chaotic for so many different reasons but the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh on your hips, one hand moving up to cup the side of your face and angle your head to give him better access to your mouth caused a light sigh left your lips and he used the moment to slip his tongue past your lips. Your hesitation melted away, fuck your anger. Hell you could deal with the pain later but right now? Rick was in your arms. He was kissing you in that way that made you forget everyone and everything.

Your hands roamed up from his thighs to his chest before snaking up his neck to tug gently at the hair that was now longer than you'd ever seen his hair, still short by any one else's standards. A groan rumbled in his chest and you pulled him closer to you, content to never break the kiss until a throat before cleared reminded you that the two of you very much had an audience. You pulled away from Rick hesitantly and shot Dubois a small smile before hiding your face in Rick's chest "Sorry man" he apologized but Dubois just laughed "Given the circumstances, I'll let it go this once"

----------------

The "family dinner" as Harley had coined it was her effort at street tacos. They'd gone horribly wrong so she'd ordered takeout instead. All of you were sitting around the living room, on whatever furniture you'd scraped up around town. You and Rick were sitting on the couch you turned with your back against the armrest and him laying back against your chest. Dubois was in the recliner chair he'd found somewhere for cheap while Cleo and Harley had beanbags and Nanaue had a legit clawfoot tub. You hadn't asked when he wanted it, it made him happy.

You absentmindedly played with Rick's hair while everyone else in the room talked. From the little you'd picked up they were talking about when you'd ended up getting your coffee paid for by redhood because the villain he'd been chasing had caught you on a bad day and you'd well you'd made his job a little easier. "I tell ya Flag, not much scares me but the idea of her getting pissed at me? Might make me sleep with an eye open" Dubois teased, trying to get a reaction out of you but when you didn't respond Rick turned to look over his shoulder at you "Sweetheart? You ok?"

You blinked a few times "Yeah um. I need to use the bathroom" "Oh ok. Hold on" Rick sat up so you quickly climbed to your feet and had to concentrate on not running from the room. Once the bathroom door was shut you leaned back against it and slid down to the floor before the tears started. You'd give yourself two minutes then pull it together for Rick. He'd gone through enough. He didn't need to shoulder this.

Rick was staring at the doorway where you'd disappeared. He didn't know if he should follow or not. "What do I do here?" he asked none of them in particular. Harley shrugged "Give her time Flag. She loves you" "I know but damn I fucked up so bad" "She's not mad Colonel Flag" Cleo offered and Rick cut his eyes at her "Rick, Cleo please" She nodded "Rick. She's hurting. She doesn't know how to tell you. She will in time"

Dubois shrugged "I say push her in a corner and make her come out swinging. Best way to get a response outta that one" everyone went quiet for a moment then nodded one by one "He ain't wrong" Harley finally said after a moment.

You were exhausted. Rebuild efforts were nearly done. Rick had gotten cleared by Dr Vasquez and Marcel to join them, you'd gone with him to both appointments. You'd been working with Sol, Cleo and Harley while he was working with Dubois, Nanaue, Samuel and a few other men. Things were getting back to normal but you could still feel the distance you were keeping between the two of you yet you had no clue how to change it.

He'd initiated sex the first night after he'd been cleared but when you'd side stepped it he hadn't tried since. You wanted him but at the same time you knew the damage his body had been dealt plus a part of your brain registered he thought you only wanted him when he was at his best, that you didn't love him enough to stand by him for the bad days and that fucked with your head severly.

---------------------

You stepped under the shower, damn near moaning when the hot water beat at your muscles. Everyone else was either eating, in the living room or already gone to bed. Rick had been talking with Dubois when you'd headed for the shower.

You heard the bathroom door crack open and closed your eyes before dipping your head under the water to wet your hair. You heard Rick call your name so you wiped the water from your eyes then stuck your head out with a smile "Yeah baby?" He looked so much better already. Those dark rings had faded and he had a lot less painful days. You weren't an idiot, his body would be forever changed from the trauma but you were proud of him seeing how hard he'd worked.

"Can we talk when you get out?" he'd showered while you'd been eating. It was one of the nights that reminded you of active task force days, where everyone was beat. You nodded "Yeah. I'll be out in a few"

You heard the door shut and turned back to showering. You weren't sure what he wanted to talk about but you'd rather not smell to do it.

--------------

Rick heard the hairdryer and knew you'd be out soon. He was sitting on the edge of the bed facing the bathroom, trying to get what he was going to say straight in his head. He didn't want to do this. He hated the times he had to push to get you to communicate with him, he hated even worse that Dubois was right but here he was. He needed you back fully and if it took pushing you in a corner so you'd come out swinging and finally lash out at him like he actually did deserve to a certain extent so be it.

The door opened and he nearly forgot what he was doing when you stepped out wearing one of his shirts, your hair down around your shoulders, clean and loose. A smile played on your face when you looked at him. You walked over to where he sat, stopping to be standing between his legs. Your hands slid up to rest on his bare shoulders and it took every ounce of control he had to not melt under the touch.

"What did we need to talk about Rick?" you asked quietly and he grimaced internally before saying "About how much things are different"

-------------

Your hands fell off of Rick's shoulders like he'd burnt you "What?" he nodded "This distance between us. Darlin, you'll kiss me..act like you want me then hit the brakes. What am I doing wrong?" you shook your head "Nothing" "Then why do I feel like you're still mourning me? Like at times you look at me like I'm still dead?" a humorless laugh fell from your lips as you walked across the room, giving him your back "I'm not doing this"

You heard the bed move before you felt his warmth at your back "I see it in your eyes. The way you pull away from me. How you look at our team. The nights you swear you were just getting water or using the bathroom. I've talked to them baby..I know what I did to you. I need you to get it out or we aren't gonna get past it" "Of course you talked to them" you whispered and felt his hand touch your back gently "What darlin?"

You spun around and for once didn't try to hide the tears in your eyes "I said of course you talked to them! You have no problem talking to them! Hell they were allowed to know you were alive! Everyone on this earth I love, everyone I trust lied to me! They lied to my face Rick! They stood there while I fell apart time and again! You were here while I was wanting to die, not caring if I did! I have no loyalty! None! The thing that hurts worse than the fact that I can't trust any of you is the fact that YOU DIDN'T TRUST ME! YOU DIDN'T TRUST THAT I WOULD TAKE YOU BROKEN OR WHOLE, I'D TAKE YOU WHEEL CHAIR BOUND IF IT MEANT I FUCKING HAD YOU YET YOU RATHER ME LiVE IN HELL THEN TRUST THAT!"

By the time you were through speaking tears were flowing freely and your knees were threatening to go out from under you but before they could even attempt to, Rick was catching you in his arms. You buried your face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you "I am so sorry baby" You pulled back to look up at him "Why didn't you believe in me? What if it was me Rick? If it was me you thought was dead? Me that you had to live with losing only to find out I wasn't gone I just didn't believe you'd want me when I truly needed you the most, when we needed each other the most? How would that make you feel?"

He swallowed hard twice before finally saying your name featherlight "I love you more than my own life. I know my decision to not tell you was wrong. They told me, Sol told me. I just...baby I couldn't take care of you like" "I would've taken care of you" you whispered, staring up at him. A moment passed of the two of you simply staring at each other before he growled "Fuck it" and crashed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss that drove any thought but him out of your mind. "Rick" you moaned as his hands moved to grip your thighs and when he easily lifted you into his arms you gasped lightly, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You pulled back from his lips and he shook his head "Baby I want to do this nice and slow but I swear one fucking word about asking me if I'm hurting and I will fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk right tomorrow" your thighs clenched tighter around him at his words and he grinned "Or do you wanna get fucked hard?" you grinned "I want you to take care of me baby. I want to know you trust that I would choose you no matter what" he leaned his forehead against yours "I'm gonna take care of you sweetheart. Don't you worry"

He walked over to the bed and climbed onto it with you wrapped around him, never breaking stride. He laid you down before crawling up your body, slowly dragging his shirt that you wore up as he moved. When he got to your shoulders you leaned up just enough to help him get it off. He looked down at you and licked his lips when he realized you hadn't had anything on but a pair of black panties under that shirt "Baby please tell me you've never dressed like that around Dubois?" You raised an eyebrow and the light hazel of his eyes darkened just slightly "Kill Robert later. Love on my woman now"

You laid across Rick, one of your bare legs tangled with his longer ones as his fingers played with your hair. He smiled when you shifted closer to him kissing over the scar on his chest "I love you" "I love you too darlin. I'm glad you finally got all that out" you moved one hand up to gently grip his chin "I know you pushed on purpose Mr Flag. Thank you for loving me enough to be willing to catch the brunt of my anger to help me heal" he smiled and tuned to kiss your hand "Always"

You kissed him again and he pulled you over on top of him. You gasped at the movement and he laughed "I was thinking the entire country here thinks you're my wife" you nodded before laying back down on his chest. He wrapped both arms around you before kissing the top of your head "Wanna make it official?" you were pretty sure your heart skipped several beats "You wanna marry me?" you whispered and he laughed in the quiet of the room "More than anything. Don't get me wrong, marriage ain't for you we don't gotta do it but darlin I want you for the rest of my life" You cut your eyes up at him and he was already watching you so you smiled "Of course I wanna marry you Rick"

The smile he gave you made your heart ache for all the right reasons that time "Good. Mrs Flag" you met his lips halfway before he pulled you back down against his chest.

@princesssunderworld

[twola]

im just wondering if you could do a short story with arthur getting ‘jealous’ of you at a bar for flirting with other men? 👀 and he later makes you regret pissing him off? *wink wink*

Learning The Hard Way

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

In which Arthur needs to teach you a lesson.

CW: There’s a bit of back and forth in this one… that devolves into physicality. Obviously, I do not condone any type of domestic violence. So we’re gonna go with that this type of play is consensual.

Many thanks to my meowdy pardners - @verai-marcel, @shootybangbang, and @redwritr - for helping me shine this one shot until it gleams!

Your voice rings out in the night through the camp, where Lemoyne’s heavy humidity hangs low. “You ain’t my husband, you ain’t my daddy, you ain’t anyone to tell me how to do my job!”

“You listen here- ”

You burst out of the tent and stomp toward the lakeshore, away from the orange firelight glowing toward the center of camp. Fortunately, the night is loud enough, and your voice doesn’t jar the entire camp, drowned out by cicadas and the rumble of men drinking after dinner.

Not that you’re particularly concerned about making a scene. No, you couldn’t give a shit about that. Your temper flares and your boots slap against the muddy grown as you clench your fists, skirts swishing at the speed of your gait.

But even with your artificially elongated stride, the loud footsteps that follow you eventually catch up to you as you reach the wood line away from the glen. 

You’re yanked back by your elbow and turned around to come face to face with an equally aggravated outlaw, wrinkles set deeply in his frown as his eyes narrow under the brim of his dark hat.

“I’ll damn well tell you when you’re bein’ stupid about a job. Coulda got yourself picked up by the law on that last stage,” he hisses, and you scowl in return as you yank back your arm from his grip, “Ain’t no way you’re doing this one.” 

“No, Arthur. Just because we’re sleepin’ together doesn’t mean you can order me around like some little housewife.”

Arthur Morgan’s scowl deepens. “You ain’t comin’ on this job and that’s final.” 

“Fuck you.” You seethe, turning on your heel before he grabs at your arm again, yanking you backward.

“Get your ass back in that tent, you little-”

He doesn’t see the whip-fast arc of your other hand before it connects with his cheek. It sends his hat flying to the ground and he immediately lets go of your arm, reeling from the blow.

“It’s over. I’ll get my things out of your tent and back to my own. You ain’t gonna treat me like I’m some prissy little thing. I don’t need this and I don’t need you.” You enunciate the last word with venom in your tone, spinning on your heel again to walk in the other direction, along the wood line, skirting the edge of the camp toward where the horses are hitched.

You needed some kind of outlet to quell the hotness of your blood after the fight, and stomping around camp wasn't doing it.

Hiking your skirts, you hurry toward your spry little gelding, dapple coated and one boy you know you could always count on. He neighs softly as you untie his rein frm the hitching post. You run your hand through his black mane.

“C’mon now boy. Let’s get outta camp to blow off some steam, sound good?” 

As if he can understand you, he nudges against your shoulder with his nose and you laugh as you move to pull yourself up into his saddle. You tighten the strap on the holster mounted on his saddle, your repeater at the ready should you need it.

Without a look back, you guide him into the freshly-borne night, at a gallop before you even hit the main road.

-

But alas, breathless riding through Scarlett Meadows can quell your aggravation but so much. As the moon rises in the sky, you slow your gelding down upon the red-dirt path leading into Rhodes - the Parlour House in the distance is lit up, beckoning visitors with its warm glow.

A drink or two. That would certainly help you unwind. 

Laughter and music waft into the warm night as you slide down from your horse, hitching him to the post right outside the main porch. You straighten your skirts before tucking back stray hairs along your temple as you step onto the porch and push your way through the door.

Indeed, the saloon is full of people tonight gaily drinking away their wages. You weave your way through the crowd to the bar, where you order yourself a whiskey from the bartender, tossing him a few coins when he slides the glass to you.

The drink goes down far too quickly to alleviate your frustration. Barely takes the edge off. It’s not the first time you and Arthur have gone at it - but you know, you know you were right. You were robbing stages before Arthur was your bedmate, before you joined the gang. He’s just going to have to learn to give you your space to do your work.

Hell, no one ever told him not to go on a job. Damn double standards.

Though… you can’t lie to yourself too much. There is a corner of your heart that is warmed by the fact he’s concerned for you - that he wants you safe. No one has wanted that for years.

No. You were an outlaw first. And damned if Arthur Morgan makes you some camp filly to warm his bed.

“Why, ma’am, you look like you could use another drink.”

You turn your head toward the man. His cheeks are flushed with drink and the starched collar of his shirt is unbuttoned at the neck. A silken waistcoat. Probably a Gray or a Braithwaite cousin. Pomaded dark hair and a clean-shaven face. All of the trappings of a feckless rich boy who had never seen a hard day’s work in his life. 

Completely the opposite of Arthur. 

You give a smile, leaning on your elbow, “Suppose I could…”

He nods to the bartender immediately, and a glass of whiskey appears in front of you at the bar.

You sip at it slowly as he steps closer, his elbows nearly touching yours. A subtle air of fancy cologne; of bergamot and southern jasmine, wafts off of him as he begins to engage you in conversation. 

One drink turns into two. Turns into three.

The man’s arm wraps around your waist, landing on your hip, pulling you to near sit in his lap on the barstool. “Pretty little thing like you - we don’t get that much here out in Rhodes.”

You lean into him. Who knows where this could lead. Maybe you could have a little fun tonight. Maybe you could rob him after. Maybe he was just what you need to get a certain brooding outlaw out of your system.

“What do you say about headin’ upstairs for the night?” You whisper as you toy with the lapel of his waistcoat. The golden chain of his pocket watch glints under the lanterns. A sly smile creeps across your face.

He can barely contain himself, grinning from ear to ear, and leans in to nip at your jaw. You giggle in response. He helps you slide off of his lap and presses his lips to your ear, whispering things he wants to do to you all night as he squeezes your hip.

“Just you wait here, sweet thing - I’ll get us a room and we can continue on.”

You smile a roguish, knowing grin that betrays your intent as you return to the barstool. The bartender pushes another glass of whiskey in front of you, which you down quickly, sucking air between your teeth as it burns on the way down.

You tense up as you feel a body moving too close behind you, a man with a large frame leaning into the bar behind you, crowding you in.

The tang of tobacco and whiskey wafts into your nose before you’re yanked from your seat.

-

By the time you’ve regained your bearings and your footing as you’ve been dragged out the side door of the Parlour House, you recognize what’s going on.

Just like you recognize that black hat.

“Get off me, Arthur.” You yell but are fairly helpless to do anything but be dragged along the path to the empty stable.

The outlaw gruffly snorts in your direction, his large hand clamped on your upper arm. As you reach the stable, your shoulders slam against the wooden wall of the workroom he had cornered you into.

“Your goddamn mouth - I need to remind you who you belong to.” Arthur hisses, groping roughly at your breast with one hand. The other grasps at your skirts and starts hiking them upward. You’re forced face down on the workbench, Arthur’s hand across your back to hold you down, your bucking unable to move against his strength. You squawk indignantly as your bloomers are yanked down your thighs and puddle near your ankles.

“Sure as fuck, ain’t you-”

The loud smack of skin on skin cuts you off, and you yelp in painful surprise at the sting of his palm on the bare, pale skin of your behind.

“Wanna try again?”

Your ass throbs as he removes his large hand from your skin, but with his other placed down hard against the small of your back, you’re unable to move from where he has you pinned to the table.

“I said, sure as fuck ain’t you-agh!”

You cry out, louder, as he swings again, hitting you square across your rear with a searing smack.

“Honey, ain’t making me happy to do this, but you gotta learn your lesson, and seems like this is the only way to get through that thick head o’ yours.”

You hiss at him, glaring daggers. 

Smack.

“Changed yer mind yet?”

“Fuck you.”

Smack.

After the fifth blow, tears start to leak from your eyes as you clench your fingers on the table. You aren’t going to be able to ride for a week at this rate - your ass is red and hot, but you also can’t deny the moisture accumulating just below, starting to trickle down your inner thigh. Goddamnit.

“You belong to that man you were battin’ your eyes at?” He seethes behind you, and you growl in response, unwilling to give him satisfaction.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

The eighth blow makes you cry out in pain, and Arthur falters. When he removes his hand from your rear, he slides his palm down to trail over your thigh for a moment. He pauses, pulling back up and rubbing his palm over your behind almost tenderly. But you know, you know, that he felt your slick as he swept his fingers across the backs of your thighs.

“Y’ready to stop all this nonsense?” Arthur drawls, softly, slowly, as if he were trying to calm a skittish horse. The circles he’s gently rubbing on your sore ass feel almost pleasant, and you don’t clench your fingers nearly as hard on the edge of the table. Your tears have stopped, leaving a drying trail down your cheeks.

You don’t respond - you can’t - because at that moment, he slips his hand down, down between your thighs to caress your glistening folds, and you gasp in surprised pleasure as he presses his knuckle against your clit. You widen your legs without thinking, giving him more access. 

“Think you are…” he rasps, and gently moves his fingers against you, placing one arm on the table next to you to lean over your frame. His large frame smothers yours, clothed hips brushing against yours gently.

You whine and shiver beneath him. You know you’ve already lost.

“What d’ya need, sweetheart?”

“I-I… agh- I need-” You stumble over your words, your knees shaking as he pushes that finger within your cunt, suckling on your earlobe as he leans further over you. You can feel his thickening cock against the back of your thigh as he gently presses his hips forward against you in time with the strokes of his finger.

Arthur presses a second finger inside you and a needy cry escapes your throat, your hand shooting forward to grab his, forcing your fingers through his free hand. His breath is warm against your ear and he chuckles, curling his fingers as you moan. God, his hands are so big, his fingers filling you so much better than your own.

“F -fuck …” you stutter out, pressing your hips back against his hand, “A-Arthur… I need you.”

The outlaw extricates his hand from between your legs and you whine in dismay at the loss. Strong hands encircle your waist and lift you from where you are laid out on the table, and through no small feat, he turns you and winds his hands under your thighs, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist, your arms wound around his neck. 

It’s then that you look at him, for maybe the first time all day, caught drowning in the pools of his blue eyes. You can barely feel him stepping forward, carrying you, his hands firm under your thighs, careful not to touch the inflamed skin of your rear.

Your back is pressed against the wooden wall of the barn, but he doesn’t crowd you in at all. He leans in, and uncontrollably, you do too. When your mouths meet, you give a little sigh, opening your lips and permitting him to enter, his tongue pressing against yours as a rumble bubbles up from his chest.

“Shouldn’ta yelled at you,” he breathes against your lips, and as much as you can, you shake your head at him.

“Shouldn’ta run off,” you whisper in between kisses, the wet sounds of lips meeting nearly drowning out your low reply.

“Shouldn’ta hit you.” 

“You know I liked it.” You whisper with the hint of a smile ghosting across your lips.

“Little spitfire, you are.”

Arthur presses his hips forward into yours, and the long, full column of his cock in his pants presses against your bare folds, and you moan and throw your head back, gyrating your hips against him. He swears under his breath, one hand leaving your leg and furiously working the buttons of his fly as he retracts his hips just enough to work his pants open.

It's only a moment more before you feel the hot head of his cock press against your weeping opening, and he presses his lips to yours desperately as he juts his hips forward, greedily swallowing your moan as he quickly pushes himself inside you.

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers interlaced with honeyed locks, and his hand returns to your thigh as he starts to retract his hips and thrusts them upward in a slow rhythm, the wet noise of skin joining loud and stark in the night.

“ ‘M yours, Arthur.” You breathe as your eyes flutter with the slow, languorous rhythm he’s set. He leans in and takes your lips in a passionate kiss as he presses himself deeper within you.

“Was never a question,” he replies with a smirk, as he draws back enough that his forehead still leans against yours as he rolls his hips upward.

You frown slightly, but Arthur leans in for another kiss that steals your breath away. He’s a natural, of course, in the art of stealing. Your breath, your heart. Everything.

“You’re mine, Darlin’,” Arthur whispers against your lips, “You’re mine, ‘nd I’m yours.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Birthday Celebration Bingo: Wildflower - Crockett Marcel x Reader

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @99-reasons-to-live @legit9thlunaticwarrior @telepathay

The Fire Still Burns - Crockett still loves you despite the fact he walked away.

Fuck & Run - It takes Crockett a minute to realise something's going on.

Bad Influence - You tell Crockett he's a bad influence.

The night before your birthday Crockett leaves a little black box on the kitchen counter alongside an envelope with your name written on it.

You’ve made it clear you don’t want him to stay after he fucks you and he complies with your request.  The arrangement is slowly evolving along with your grief. You don’t just turn up at his place anymore, you summon him to yours too. It’s not just the occasional fuck it’s becoming more and more often. You’ve started to crave intimacy instead of pain.

When you find the gift, you realise it’s another example of just how much Crockett cares for you.

The card is a simple affair, he’s chosen one with your favourite colours and flowers. It’s that attention to detail that you remember from before the split. He paid attention to your likes, your dislikes, attuned himself to your needs, he was the perfect boyfriend until Jace got sick and then he left.

He regrets that, he had told you one night after he had ruined you, the fact his history with his daughter made him run when you needed him the most.  

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” He had said, watching as you pulled your jeans up your thighs.

“I understand it now.” You’d told him as you collected your shirt from the floor and tugged it on over your head. “Noone wants to go back to that place. It would have killed you.”

“Yea.” He’d said quietly, the sheets pooling around your hips. “It would have.”

You both know you’re talking literally.

“Dari.” You say as you tilt your head towards him. It’s a play on his real name Darioush, it’s something private just between the two of you and he knows in that moment that you’re coming back to him, little by little, piece by piece. “I don’t blame you for leaving. If this is about guilt then you’re absolved.”

“It’s not about guilt.” He’d told you, his hand reaching across the bed and capturing yours. “It’s about love, darlin, it always has been.”

He’d pulled you back into bed then, made love to you for the first time in an age. Everything since Jace’s death has been about fucking through the numbness but this, this is something else. This is you and him locked in a moment of love, of passion and intimacy. You fall asleep in his arms that night, curled up against him and it reminds him of the old days, back when he was thinking about marrying you.

When you open that little black box on the counter, you feel something for the first time in six months that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the love Crockett has for you.

It’s a silver locket, there’s a wildflower engraved on the front because that’s what he used to call you in Farsi before the split. Your thumb traces over it before you open the locket and your heart, it just breaks.

There’s a picture of Jace inside, his gap toothed smile and wild blond hair. It’s from that weekend at the cabin before you found out Jace was sick. Crockett had taught your nephew how to fish, how to make a fire, you’d spent the evening roasting marshmallows and looking at the stars, making up new names for the constellations.

The tears come then. You haven’t cried since the night Jace slipped away, not at the funeral or the memorial his school had thrown for him a couple of weeks later. All of that anguish, all that grief, you’d swallowed it down, let the numbness overtake you. It’s only now that it’s starting to hit you, Jace is gone and you have to face the world without him.

When you turn up at Crockett’s apartment that night he knows that something’s changed. Normally by now you’d be half way to the bedroom, a trail of clothing left in your wake instead you sit down on his couch, your palms pressed between your knees.

“Can we talk?” You ask, your voice a little broken.

His gaze comes to rest on the locket around your neck and he knows that you’re ready to take the next step.

“Yea sugar.” He says quietly as he sits down alongside you. “We can talk about anything you want.”

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