#no one should be robbed of their place in the tent

[theoptimisticdaydreamer]

By making this year's batch of bakers such a pleasant group of people, I now care about all of them. I am rooting for literally everyone.

I don't know if Paul and Prue realize how much this becomes a double-edged sword.

Because I care about all of them, I am absolutely invested in the justice and fairness of it all. It outweighs my love for the individual baker. I can only bear seeing the bakers go home if everything went wrong for them. If their ducks were so far from being in a row, each duck was on a separate planet. I don't want to see any of them robbed of their place in the tent because of audacious bias and nonsensical judging.

So I shall not sit there and clap whenever injustice occurs. I will not be part of bake off's delusional self-praise in these circumstances.

Do better Bake Off. Be better. All of these bakers only deserve the absolute best.

[whimsyfinny]

Fix Your Attitude

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) is just like an other woman trying to function in this fucked up world - and she's starts her day with coffee. At least that was always the plan until Dean interfered.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, slightly Dom! Dean, and if you squint there's maybe possessive/jealous Dean

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 4470

A/N: So this is technically my first ever one shot! Woop! I've written this as part of my competition from a few weeks back, and this is for the wonderful winner @spookyysinsanity ! Hope you enjoyyy.

“Seriously, Dean? What the actual fuck!?” The audacity of the older Winchester brother had me throwing my hands up in frustration, my irritable tone bouncing off the walls in the kitchen and landing on ears that couldn’t possibly care any less.

“Should’ve got here sooner, sweetheart. You know how it is; first come first serve,” he tauntingly raised his coffee mug to my dishevelled figure standing over the empty coffee pot. The lack of caffeinated bean-water had brought a panic-sweat to my temples, knowing all too well how things would pan out if I didn’t get what I needed.

“How many cups have you had?”

“What?” He blinked frustratingly slowly - he knew what I’d asked.

“Jerk - I said ‘how many cups have you had’?”

“Hmmm…” he tapped his finger against the side of the mug, lips pursing over feigned thoughts.

“DEAN.”

“Maybe… three?” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly - although the nonchalant bubble popped when a sly smirk slipped through the cracks. My mouth opened and closed a few times, words forming and disappearing too rapidly through my mind to even make it past my lips as desperation sizzled into rage.

“You DICK!”

“Hey don’t yell at me - just make another pot,” he held his hands up defensively.

My eyes flitted over to the empty tin on the side - an empty tin left tauntingly in plain sight.

“You know damn well I can’t do that! We’re out of coffee, totally out. Zilch. Nothing. Empty.”

“Well,” he lifted his mug to his lips, “not totally empty.”

“What do you- oh…OH,” I felt my razor sharp glare zero in on the mug at his lips - there had to be at least half a cup in there with how little he had to tilt it up before taking a gulp. I took a step forward and jabbed my finger towards the prize.

“Give me that.”

He offered me nothing but raised eyebrows and a loud slurp.

“Dean.”

Again, silence only echoed back, however my frustration towards him started to buzz in my head as he slowly lowered the mug to unveil a slap-worthy grin.

“DEAN.”

He gently placed the mug on the table and turned to me, large arms crossing over his broad chest as he settled in his chair, thighs spreading wide for comfort.

“Wow, I thought I was grouchy in the mornings before coffee but damn, sweetheart you’re really claiming first place with that one.”

I took a step closer, my eyes practically burning a hole in the cup next to him on the table. His grin widened as he noticed me stalking forwards, like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. However my prey was incredibly suspecting and, in all honesty, not really prey at all. My bare feet padded quietly towards him, each tentative step raising more suspicion in Dean as my desperation for caffeine became all-consuming and my honed hunting skills became sloppy. I gave myself away when I tore my gaze from the mug and glanced over at Dean, catching his amused smirk and playful eyes before I lunged forward, hands grasping at air where the liquid-treasure should have been. Spinning on my heel after almost colliding with the table I turned to face Dean, now standing a few steps behind me with one hand wrapped around the ceramic and the other dipping lazily into the pocket of his jeans.

“Come on darlin’ you’re better than that.”

“Fuck you.”

A low whistle floated in the air between us before he tutted at me, shaking his head slowly.

“So mean.”

“Says you!”

“Hey I got here first - I'm the victim here. You're the one trying to rob me.”

“Don't play that game - you are not the victim here. All of your bullshit has been calculated,” I narrowed my eyes up at him as he traced his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Maybe it has been. Not much you can do about it now though is there?” His eyes glinted like the tricksters before he took another gulp of his coffee. I could feel my palms growing sweaty in apprehension, knowing all too well that the coffee level was dropping inside that cup.

Time to try a different approach. Something more… tactical.

“You know…” I pulled a lock of hair between my fingers, twirling it around, “you're my favourite Winchester.”

I paused and he raised his eyebrows, suspecting yet silently urging for more.

“Sam is just so nice and tall but…” I quietly stepped towards him, inwardly cheering when he made no attempt to move away.

“But?”

“But I mean look at you, so ruggedly handsome… and with that authentic ‘tough guy’ personality to make all the ladies swoon. And don't even get me started on these broad shoulders and big arms of yours…” I padded around him, tracing a single finger delicately up one arm, over the back of his shoulders and down the other arm. I almost missed the small shiver that ghosted over his skin and raised the hairs on his exposed forearms.

“Oh, so you like what you see?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice subtly dropping to a deeper tone.

I chewed my bottom lip slightly before stopping in front of him, a hair's breadth away. From here I could smell the masculine scent of his cologne - the same one I'd only ever known him to wear - and the subtle, intoxicating scent of leather and gunpowder. Combined, those three items were the very essence of Dean, the warmth of it all clinging to his clothes and practically seeping from his pores. I couldn't stop myself from taking a deep breath and letting the hypnotic scent travel straight to my brain. He’d always smelt divine, but I was never going to give him the satisfactory access to that information.

Upon tilting my head up to lock eyes with him, I could feel his coffee-scented breath fan over my face, the smell of what I wanted most almost making my mouth water. I couldn't let myself become enveloped in the addictive haze around him - I needed to remember what I was here for without letting myself become distracted.

Evergreen eyes flitted between mine, unsure of my next move. But the more I looked into them, the more dilated his pupils became. I couldn't help but grin a little to myself, relishing in his reaction.

“Come on Dean, just hand over the coffee. I know deep down that you really want to…”

He hummed, the sound a little gravelly as it emanated from his chest.

“You see sweetheart,” he smirked a little as he gripped the mug, lifting it to his lips. The action immediately caused me to take an urgent step forwards, a part of me truly believing that he would drain the cup right there and then. He must've seen the panic jolt through me as he released a small, breathy laugh.

“I see what?”

“You see… I don't think it's coffee that you need to stop being such a bitch in the morning.”

My eyes immediately narrowed towards him at his choice of words. He can make it so easy to look past his good looks when he acts like such an ass.

“What the actual fuck does that mean?”

“Oh I think you know what it means.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

“If you want.”

“Go to- wait what?” I felt my heart leap in my chest, my mind unsure if I wanted to have heard him correctly.

His smirk spread across his face as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his mossy green gaze dragging over my figure as though I were totally naked.

“You heard me,” he took a step forward, his boots heavy on the hard kitchen floor. My cheeks burned, and I wasn't sure if it was from whatever scandalous thoughts of him I'd pushed to the back of my mind that I never intended to humour, or the rage bubbling to the surface at the sheer audacity from him, thinking I'd just accept this sort of shitty attitude.

“You’re crazy if you think that I’d let you in my pants,” the bewilderment in my voice was evident, and so was the growing frustration. This conversation had taken a wild turn and it’s safe to say that I didn’t like the direction it was headed. It was a rocky path of buried desires and a cocky male ego - a male ego that somehow knew what buttons to press to get my temper sizzling.

“Oh but sweetheart I could make it so good…” his voice was like caramel, becoming harder to ignore as he took another step forward, backing me into the table. I swallowed the almost nervous lump that had started to form in my throat, my heart rate quickening with every second he looked at me with those darkening eyes.

“And why would you want to do that?” I did well at hiding the slight nervous wobble in my voice. He chuckled slightly before breaking eye contact and looking down at his boots, thinking for a moment before shooting his eyes back to me, his intense gaze burning into mine.

“Because for once, I’d love to see that smart mouth of yours moan my name.”

I couldn’t stop that small gasp that escaped between my parted lips at his sudden bold statement, and that small gasp seemed to be all that it took to invite Dean in. In one fluid movement he drained the remainder of the coffee into his mouth and took a final step forward, closing the gap between us and wrapped a single strong arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his body. His other hand quickly discarded the mug before grasping my face, his thumb pushing into my cheek and urging me to open my mouth. Before I was able to conjure a single thought he’d pulled my mouth to his, his plush lips covering mine before transferring that mouthful of coffee over to me. My eyes widened at the sudden appearance of warm liquid gliding over my tongue, the flavour of coffee, sweetened with sugar, would have soothed my senses if it wasn’t for the way it was administered. I hurriedly swallowed it down, not caring for the trickle that escaped the corner of my lips, now more preoccupied with Dean Winchesters mouth pressing onto mine. He allowed one… two… three heated kisses before pulling away, leaving me gasping and gripping the edge of the table for dear life. As he pulled away, he released his grip on my jaw, spotting the trickle of coffee and catching the droplets with his thumb. I didn’t intend to dwell on the action too much, at least not until he pushed his coffee-coated thumb past my lips and into my mouth, pressing lightly on my tongue. Still taken aback by the kiss, I stared up at him dumbly, my mind simultaneously racing whilst emptying itself of all logical thoughts. On instinct, I licked the coffee from his thumb, hearing a gruff hum of approval from him.

“Look at you - quiet for once.”

Before I could retaliate to his comment he pulled his thumb from my mouth and grasped my jaw again, a little softer this time as he guided my face to his. His lips grazed mine as he spoke.

“Have you finished acting like a bitch?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure? Because I think I should fuck you on this table here - just to be sure.”

The involuntary shiver that shimmied down my spine gave my innermost thoughts away when Dean noticed it; another smirk gracing his lips as he pulled himself between my knees and grasped under my thighs to lift me onto the table. I hissed slightly as the cold surface bit at my bare rear, the oversized Metallica t-shirt doing nothing to shield me as it rode up on my hips. There was a short moment, like a breath taken and held as we paused to look at each other. His eyes darkened like a forest at dusk, piercing into my own before studying my lips. I found myself doing the same to him, watching how his gaze darted up and down, frantic to find a focal point on my face whilst his lips parted, tongue poking out to wet them. We shared each other's hot coffee-scented breath, my heartbeat starting to echo in my ears as my blood began to run hot at the thought of him taking me right here on this table. He chewed slightly on his bottom lip, the fantasies of my own prurient mind running rampant at what that mouth was capable of doing to me. What I undeniably wanted it to do to me. Before another thought appeared he hastily leaned in and planted a searing kiss on my neck, his stubble tickling my ear whilst one large, strong hand planted itself just below my shoulder blades; his whole arm crushing me against him. Everything he did made me want to purr. His lips exceeded expectations as he kissed red-hot paths up and down my neck; my skin prickling when he pressed his lips below my ear and jaw, pulling pathetic whimpers from my lungs. He kneaded the silky-soft flesh of my thigh with his other hand, eventually causing me to gently hook my legs around him to ease the desperate need to writhe at his every touch.

“Dean…” his name left my lips as an airy gasp when the hand on my thigh travelled up, his thumb hooking under the waistband of my panties.

“What happened to that big, tough girl persona? Can’t really take it huh?” His taunting words went straight to my brain when he spoke them with his lips pressed right to my ear.

“Fuck, Dean… I hate you.”

He chuckled, placing a kiss on my cheek before uttering over my lips:

“Of course you do, sweetheart.”

As his sentence ceased as his mouth claimed mine, muffling the moan bubbling in my throat as his tongue pushed against my own. I reached one hand up to tug on his hair, dragging my nails across his scalp when the strands at the base of his skull were too short to grasp. He groaned into the kiss, lips moving faster at the sensation of my fingertips. His broad chest became a resting spot for my other hand, the taught muscle flexing beneath soft skin as I glided my delicate fingers up to clutch his shoulder. It was like being in a trance; the only thing I was capable of thinking about was him. Dean. The strength of his hand on my back contrasting the tenderness of the one on my thigh. The heat of his mouth, his tongue on mine, consuming my gasps and ragged breaths. His devouring reduced me to naught but lustful putty in his arms, especially when an assured hand slid from my hip to my ribs and a gentle thumb smoothed over the softness of the underside of my breast. The feather-light touch caused goosebumps to erupt on my skin, the warmth of his palm doing nothing to soothe them away. When a groan passed my lips at his actions, he gripped tighter, my legs instinctively pulling him closer. This time it was Dean that groaned, as pulling him towards me had pressed the ever-growing bulge in his jeans against the soft cotton of my panties. The sensation was electric, igniting the fiery ache between my legs as my thighs twitched when he didn't pull away - instead pushing himself against me harder. I sucked in a breath where I could, his lips refusing to leave mine, even to let me breathe. He was hungry. Animalistic. Dominating. I don't know what I'd been imagining when I was alone in my room in the depths of night, but this… this was something I'd never fantasised about. How commanding he was, how he pulled me in with stern words and an air of authority. Gone was the boyish charm and playful pickup lines - this was something that could easily suck me in and pull me under. He could drown me in sharp comments and tantalising games.

And I would let him.

“Look at you, twitching like a virgin,” he pulled away enough to huskily speak against the corner of my mouth. I moaned slightly, biting my lip when his thumb moved from the underside of my breast to my nipple, delicately toying with the perky skin.

“Who's to say I'm not?” My voice was more breathy than I'd anticipated, my head lolling back when he started to trail kisses down my neck again. My comment pulled a laugh from his chest, the sound almost cutting through the sexual haze.

“Oh darlin’, don't think I don't know about your motel room escapades - I was always in the room next to yours,” he finally pulled back slightly to look at me, the cool air flooding between us in his absence. As my eyes met his, my heart hammered in my chest at the raw blackness of his irises - pupils blown wide with hot arousal and leaving no soft greens in sight. I could feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment, realisation creeping in. Dean took it all in with a grin on his lips.

“That's right sweetheart - I heard it all. Every little noise you made when those jerk-offs touched you. When they tried to make you feel good,” his smile faltered slightly before he leaned in a little closer, “but you know, I never heard any of them make you cum. I only ever heard you finish when they were gone and you were all alone.”

He pressed more of those red-hot kisses just below my jaw, the hand on my breast descending, trailing a path down the soft skin of my abdomen before disappearing down the front of my panties. A moan tore from my throat when he slid his skilled fingers through my folds to gather my pooling wetness, his hum of approval ringing in my ears when my mind emptied at his fingers tracing circles around my clit. My grip on him was vice-like, whimpers already tumbling off my tongue.

“You know (Y/n), you should've just come to me. You should've told those useless bastards to fuck off and let me do everything you needed me to do,” his breath was hot against my neck as he spoke, and he finished his sentence off by finally pressing a rough finger against my clit. I whined like a bitch in heat as he went around and around and around, making me clench around nothing and crave him in his entirety.

“I would've done this to you every night - made you forget everything but my name.”

“Dean…”

“Thas’right sweetheart. Never would've left you unsatisfied.”

“Please, Dean… please… I need you to fuck me,” my words were desperate and I could tell he relished in that, suddenly plunging two thick digits inside me without so much as a word. My hands flew to his back, nails digging into broad muscle as I leaned into him, burying my flushed face into his neck and breathing in his intoxicating scent. He curled his fingers up and pushed against the pleasure-cushion inside me, knowing exactly what to look for and what to do with it. My legs tightened even more around him as I was unable to stop the euphoric twitches jolting through my limbs. He removed his hand that was pressed below my shoulder blades and lifted it to my hair, unclipping the claw-grip to let the unruliness tumble out. He practically chucked the plastic clip to the table before threading his fingers through my hair, grasping close to my scalp before tugging my head back to make me look at him.

“Now that you've dropped your attitude and asked nicely, I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk.”

He pressed his fingers inside me one final time, drawing another pathetic whimper from my lips before pulling his fingers out and lifting them to his lips. I watched, mouth agape and breaths ragged as he licked my slick from his digits, savouring the taste of me with a satisfied groan.

“That’s the best shit I’ve ever tasted,” his deep, gravelly tone had me reaching desperately for his belt buckle as Dean claimed my mouth again, his own eagerness starting to show. As I finished unzipping his jeans I pushed them down his hips just enough to dip my hand into his boxers and pull his cock free. A deep moan pushed its way into my mouth as I curled my fingers around his length, his size already intimidating as his cock rested hot and heavy in my palm. I wasted no time on gripping him tight, starting gentle motions going up and down again, and again, and again, causing Dean to move both hands to my thighs - his grip on me threatening to leave bruises. I dragged my thumb over his tip, urging a blissful shudder to surge through him as I smeared the gathering precum up and down his length. His lips never once left mine. I could feel him becoming breathless as I slowly increased the speed of my hand, so I caught his bottom lip between my teeth as a means to pull away for a moment. As I breathed in his contented groan, I pulled back slightly further to get a look at his face.

“Dean… Dean please - I need you inside me-”

“Stop fucking around then and c’mere.”

I squeaked a little at his harsh tone, unable to stop the next words from tumbling out.

“Yessir.”

I watched his brows knit together and his eyes almost roll before he dropped his head to my neck, grabbing the underside of my thighs and dragging me right to the edge of the table. With one hand he grabbed his cock and used it to move my underwear to one side before lining up and sinking in. The lascivious moans that spilled from our lips were almost harmonious, Dean pushing in to the hilt and forcing me to wrap one arm around his neck and the other to prop me up behind me - both stopping me from losing my balance under Deans intensity. Dean looked as though he was getting lost in a sexual haze as he crushed me against him again with one arm, having the decency to remain still for a few moments so I could adjust to his size as he eye-wateringly stretched out my insides - the sensation almost burning.

“Jesus- fuck-” his breath was slightly strained as he groaned into my neck, “now I’m mad that you decided to fuck lonely jerk-offs instead of me - with a pussy like this- shit- I would’ve been crawling back for more.”

He started to move slowly, pulling out gently before slipping back in - easing me into it with sexual expertise.

“Oh fuck- Dean- you don’t mean that-”

“(Y/n) you’d have to shoot me to stop me - you feel too fucking good.”

He started to up the tension - dropping every ounce of softness as he lost control of that part of him. He fucked the same way that he hunted monsters: raw, skilful and always in control - my mind racing with the knowledge of how dangerous this man actually was. He was Dean fucking Winchester, and here he was - fucking me over the breakfast table whilst I wore nothing but a band t-shirt. As he pounded into me and the intensity grew I was unable to stop the lewd noises tumbling from my lips. Such lewd noises however seemed to spur Dean on, the power of his thighs and hips inching the heavy wooden table across the floor.

“How are you still so fucking tight-” his words were almost slurred, his sexually inebriated mind seemingly becoming obsessed.

“Shit- Dean, I’m getting close already,” my eyes squeezed shut as I began to feel that familiar knot in the depths of my core. With every thrust he dragged over every over-sensitive nerve ending, unravelling me quicker than I’d even been unravelled before.

“Oh yeah? You wanna cum?”

I nodded my head vigorously, loose strands of hair falling around my face as tears started to well in my eyes. Dean glanced down at me without so much as a stutter in his hips, a slight grin playing on his lips even in a moment like this.

“Tears?”

“Fuck-fuck- you Dean, it's not my f-fault you're the first one to fuck me properly- oh God-”

“Well I'm glad it was me sweetheart,” he tried to keep up the slightly playful tone but I could see in his eyes that he was on the brink as well. Without another word he moved one hand to push lightly on my lower belly, his thumb dipping down to rub soft circles over that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasped at the contact, Dean taking the opportunity to plant uncharacteristically soft kisses on my parted lips before whispering:

“I need you to cum for me - I need you to let go. I've got you darlin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The circles drawn with his thumb increased in speed and as did the pounding of his hips against mine.

“Dean- Dean please-”

I could feel him winding that knot tighter, and tighter, and tighter; lifting the euphoria coursing through my veins to its highest peak before the white-hot heat of orgasmic bliss erupted inside me. Wave after wave after wave of pleasure cascaded down, drowning me in the most earth shattering climax I'd ever experienced. I could feel myself tightening repeatedly around Dean, his thrusts becoming frantic before his own release rolled through him.

“Oh Fuck- (Y/n)-”

His guttural groan into the crook of my neck sent a shiver down my spine and goosebumps across my skin, the sound of him cumming making me clench even tighter around him.

“You squeeze me any tighter darlin’ and you're gonna kill me,”

“I-I’m not- I mean- I'm sorry?”

He groaned again when I twitched slightly, this time he pulled back to look me in the eye, taking note of the drying tear-tracks and smudged mascara.

“You good?”

“Y-yeah, I'm good,” I huffed out a deep, contented sigh, "I am so, so good.”

He grinned, the assertiveness from earlier seeming to dissipate and the good ‘ol Dean was returning.

“Best you've ever had?” His green eyes twinkled mischievously.

I playfully slapped his shoulder, not impacting the smirk on his lips whatsoever.

“Easy there cowboy - if your ego gets any bigger there'll be no living with you.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

I chewed on my bottom lip slightly, making him wait a little for the answer before I replied with a grin of my own.

“Yeah, definitely the best I've ever had.”

————————————————————

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200

[unholyhelbig]

Part two of mafia nat???

Title: The Oversight [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3079

Warnings: Hostage situation, brusing, mentions of child abuse, horrible grammar, and Quiznos

[a/n: Thank you all for the great response to the first chapter! I'm making this a thing, for sure!] Let me know if you're interested in being added to the taglist for this story!

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

“The usual, sweet girl.” You set the plate of pancakes down in front of Veronica. A happy face was painted against the golden surface with whipped cream, with cherries and two slices of bacon divided perfectly for hair. Your daughter never seemed to grow tired of the meal and would swallow down a glass of milk with just a bit of strawberry syrup.

Despite having completed the maze on the back of the kid’s menu at least a dozen times, she remained infatuated, kicking her feet back and forth as the orange crayon made its way through the boldened lines.

You tentatively moved a lock of brunette hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “Eat your food, kiddo. Big day tomorrow.”

Veronica nodded and started to fork down the smiling face. She didn’t speak much, a few words here and there, and that worried you enough to take the day off from work. You had found a speech therapist right outside of the city that accepted your HMO plan with enough fervor that you made the soonest appointment you could.

While you worked hard to shield Veronica from the life that you were determined to break away from, you were distressed. Kids were smart, they didn’t’ get enough credit. You were sure that she noticed the only meals she ate was at this diner and at school. The way that you were here all the time, dressed in the same uniform stained with ketchup and coffee. The way you fell asleep on the second-hand sofa for a few hours at a time.

“She your kid?”

While your back was turned, mind rushing with intrepid thoughts, someone had sidled up against the counter with an empty white mug, its mouth flipped to the ceiling. The blonde looked innocent enough, if not in despite need of the coffee she was asking for. Her accent was thick. Russian or Ukrainian, nothing you could fully place. 

“She is a very good artist.” She tapped her finger against the orange drawing of a sunset in the corner of the placemat. “A lot of talent in this one.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, picking up the coffee pot. The blonde nodded and smiled back as you poured her a cup. “She gets it from her father.”

While you weren’t entirely sure that was true, you did know that the talent wasn’t from you. You never had the artistic eye. Veronica, on the other hand, was a quiet force to be recon with when it came to art. Even at a young age, you knew whole-heartedly that she had a future in it if she stuck with it.

“That so?” The woman took a long sip of her coffee, not flinching at the heat. “She should keep going. It’s important to have something to hold onto.”

The memory flickered in our mind as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It could have been a day, or a week, and your heart ached just as fiercely for your daughter as it always had. She would be in safe hands for now, you were sure. Your sitter knew about your devoted love, your resilience to make sure that Ronnie was okay. You were all she had, and being tied to a chair until your muscles felt like jelly was not a good sign.

You weren’t sure what had pulled you out of a fitful sleep for a few moments, but there was a light squeeze on your shoulder. Your head shot back and collided with something. There was a soft grunt, and your inhale burned your lungs. When you blinked awake, there wasn’t complete darkness. A less harsh light had been turned on.

The blonde from the diner was standing in front of you, robbing a tender spot on the center of her nose. “Ouch, that really hurt!”

“Sorry, I-“ you frowned, snapping your mouth shut. You weren’t going to apologize. You were the one that had been kidnapped, not the other way around. “What’s happening?”

Natasha had left you without another word, and you hated the way you missed her presence. You’d drifted off in the quiet and considered it a better punishment than Clints vicious blows to the face. The girl in front of you held a bottle of water up as a peace offering.

She cracked open the top, and even if you weren’t quite sure if something was in it, you didn’t care at the moment. She guided it to your lips, and a few drops dripped over your chin. It cooled the burning in your throat.

“Thank you,” this time you meant it. Natasha had made it clear that there was no good cop, but this was starting to look like your reprieve. You tested your luck. “If they’re going to kill me, why hold me?”

“They are not going to kill you. Natasha is a cautious woman. She did not get to where she was without crossing a few lines. You claim that you’re not on drugs and my sister wants to make sure that is truthful. Can you blame her?”

From a technical standpoint- no, you couldn’t. You searched for some type of resemblance in the woman and came up with nothing but a slight similarity in the slope of her nose. She smiled, crossing her legs, and sitting back against the chair.  

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

You lifted an eyebrow, and it sent a shooting pain to your temple. “If I get one wrong, do you shoot me?”

She laughed, “No wrong answers. Can you believe that I want to get to know you? I’ll go first. My name is Yelena, and my favorite color is green. Forest green if you would like to get specific, which I would.”

“Dark red.” You said “I’m y/n.”

“Oh, I know. How long have you lived in the city?”

You rolled your shoulders back again. They were stiff. You’ve never been this uncomfortable in your life, and not just socially. There was a cool calmness about Yelena that put you at ease. Though, she was one of your kidnappers, and most-likely a member of the secret underground organization that had inexplicitly frequented the diner.

“My whole life. Not this part of town, though. East lower with my mom and my dad until my mom died and my dad got himself killed when I was seventeen.”

“Foster care?”

“For a year until I was old enough to be out on my own. I’m not going to let my daughter end up the same way. That was the hardest year of my life and if she loses me then… Her father isn’t around, but I’m afraid that going into the system would be best case scenario.”

“She’s six?” Yelena asked.

“And a half, but yes.”

“Non-verbal?”

You nodded again. This felt like a shitty game of twenty questions. Yelena already knew all the answers and you could still taste blood and the aching in your jaw. She tapped her fingers against her knee, uncrossing them and leaning forward.

The ceiling still stretched above you. There were rafters that you could barely make out in the darkness. You blinked so you wouldn’t cry. Still, when you spoke next, your words came out pinched and you couldn’t help but feel weak.

“The world is a horrible place, and the odds are already stacked against her, you know?” You sniffed to keep snot that you couldn’t wipe away from dripping onto your shirt already soiled with blood. “She’s a good kid. She’s funny, and smart, and I want her to have a life where she thinks everything is okay, even if there’s a possibility that it never is. Ronnie doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t need to know.”

Yelena swallowed hard and nodded. She stood and closed the distance between you. Her hand was warm against you skin as she tentatively wiped away the moisture on your cheek. She gave you the rest of the water. “Okay. Drink.”

You were foolish to trust her. There was something in the water that was tasteless but rendered you unconscious all the same. You blinked awake, not sure how much time had passed. Your mind was swimming relentlessly, being forced in and out of lucidity had done nothing for your resolve.

Sunlight, something you thought you would never see again, flitted through an open window. A cooling summer breeze accompanied the sight. You’d been freed somewhere along the way, and your gratitude wasn’t lost on you.

Dark purple bruises encircled both of your wrists. Your whole body ached, and you let out a low moan at the sudden blinking movement. “Oh… fuck.”

“That’s a beautiful sound.”

Your back was pushed up against a dark oak bedframe, heels shoving you back. There was a lightheadedness swirling around you. A nice bedspread was underneath you, and the room itself was dripping in riches.

It was large with floor to ceiling windows, the walls slathered in deep maroon paint. There was a wall of bookshelves filled with expertly bound books. Two chairs and a small cocktail table was set up in a beam of sunlight.

Natasha held a crystal glass of unidentified alcohol in her hand. The ice floated within the deep brown liquid as if it were afraid to make a sound. She wore a suit, one that hugged her sides. Her lips were painted red to match the walls and she tapped her nail against the glass, observing you.

Her words sent a pang directly to your core, and that embarrassed you more than your exhaustion. Blood flooded into your cheeks and the very corner of Natasha’s lip twitched in response. She set her glass down on the table.

You recoiled as she rose and transplanted herself on the corner of the bed. She was gentle with her movements as if you were an animal that she was afraid to startle. Natasha had a tight hold on her operations. She was nothing more than a myth. Simply the boss.

Somehow, she scared you more now than she did before. When you were tied to the chair, you were certain that you were going to die. But now, in this royal-style room, you were filled with questions about why she let you live.

“I don’t make mistakes, but unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the people who work for me.” She was glaring at the design etched into the duvet, gold embroidery. Her perfectly manicured fingers thumbed the flower. “You were profiled, and you were profiled wrong. I don’t go after single mothers, especially ones that don’t keep certain… habits.”

There was a sinking feeling that you weren’t meant to speak. This was the delicate moment during a hostage situation where the robber has a gun pointed at your head, the finger on the trigger and a burlap sack of money in the opposite hand. Your words would do nothing but loosen the safety.

“This is being dealt with, believe me.” Natasha looked up at you, her eyes fierce, a beautiful fern color that bounded off the darkness of the walls. “But you must understand, y/n, I am not known for my kindness, and I am certainly not known for my mercy. You still took the money, and you still owe me.”   

You drew in a breath, opening your mouth to protest, but Natasha held up her hand and you snapped your jaw shut. There was a bit of amusement in her stare that you didn’t have the mental capacity to dissect.

“Yelena said that you know how to fight. Or, at the very least, take a hit. So, I’m not asking. I’m telling you that work for me until your debt is paid off.”

Natasha had gotten impossibly close to you. That same deep scent of mint filled your lungs. It wasn’t comforting, but it didn’t’ unsettle you anymore, and neither did her warmth. You winched when she reached up and grabbed your face, squeezing softer than Clint had, her nails still dug into soft bruising.

She whispered her words, breath hot on your lips. “You belong to me now, and I don’t always play nice.”

Natasha ‘not playing nice’ looked a lot like having a driver drop you off in front of your apartment without your shoes. The sidewalk was cold despite the hot day, and as you stared up at your unit, you swore that the curtains flickered. You blinked and squeezed the bridge of your nose immediately regretting it the second you felt the shooting pain reach your eardrums.

They had taken your keys, presumably to make copies, and the sweatpants that you were given were much too big around your waist. You had sinched them with a shoestring, just counting yourself lucky that they’d provided a change of clothes in the first place. Even the shirt was stained and had a logo on it for a defunct Quiznos in queens.

Your body threatened to give out as you took the stairs two at a time up to your apartment. You still didn’t’ have a grasp on how much time had passed, but it was evening when you left work, and the sun felt like a mid-day assault on your senses.

Frantically, you knocked on your neighbor’s door, wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Natasha’s pants. More than likely- Clints pants. It took a few moments for the door to swing open, but when it did, you were flooded with relief.

Darcy had an eyebrow lifted at you. “Holy shit,”

You didn’t let her get another word in edgewise before you engulfed her in a hug. She let out a breath at the impact and after a few seconds, pulled you in closer. Darcy was a friend, someone you trusted enough to watch your daughter. There was a soft spot in your heart for her. You didn’t let go when she backed the two of you into the living room and let the door fall shut behind you.

“I was three seconds from calling the police, y/n.” she pulled back, squeezing your shoulders. “What happened to you?”

You were instructed on what to say, word for word. You’d repeated it twice to Natasha and once to the driver. Lying to Darcy, someone who was the equivalent of a lie detector. Her eyes were hard, her voice hushed.

“I got jumped by a couple of guys on the way out of the restaurant. I was stranded on the other side of town, no phone. I tried to get here as soon as possible but I got a little banged up. I’m okay, a little shaken, but okay.” You frowned, “What day is it?”

Your eyes searched the room for a clock, for anything that would give you indication, but Darcy, while one of the sweetest people you had ever met, was a bit scatter-brained. You trusted her with your daughter, and with your own life, but there were spare computer parts strung out across her coffee table, on the couch, and the television stand.

“Y/n, you’ve been gone for two days.” She lifted your chin with a curled finger, making a hissing noise as she sucked in a breath “Oh they got you good. You’re sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“More trouble than it’s worth.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I would love an icepack, though. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ve got frozen peas and corn, dealers’ choice. Ronnie finally fell asleep; I kept telling her that nothing was wrong but she’s too preceptive for her own good sometimes.”

It was a bad move, but you gave Darcy a thankful squeeze on the shoulder and moved down the hall to the guest room.  It was the cleanest place in the house, reserved for visitors. Darcy still had zoomed in photos of computer chips. They were like little mazes without an escape, her personality shining through.

Veronica was laying on top of the duvet, curled up in a blanket that was typically strewn across the base of the bed. She wasn’t asleep, her tempered gray eyes flicking to the door and then lighting up when she realized that it was you. You leaned against the doorframe, warmth flooding you.

You wrapped her in a bone-crunching hug, squeezing her into you as if you never wanted to let her go. She smelled like Darcy’s shampoo, a light floral concoction that comforted you. Ronnie’s hand squeezing the fabric of your borrowed shirt.

“Hi, baby” you pulled back slightly, enough room for you to give her a kiss on the forehead, pushing back ringlets of curly hair. “I missed you.”

Her nose scrunched up and her little fingers ghosted so softly over the pulsing bruises on your face. You never wanted her to see you like this, for anyone to see you like this, but at the moment you didn’t care. Having her in your arms was enough to erase all of that doubt.

“It’s alright. I’m alright,” You assured, and she crunched her nose again. “Oh, you think I stink?”

You probably did. You’d been strapped to a chair for 48 hours, nearly vomiting up what little food you’d consumed the night of your abduction. You’d sweat through your clothes, and the borrowed ones weren’t much better in the scent department.

“Too bad, little one,” you poked at her sides, eliciting an infectious giggle. “You’re stuck with me, stink and all.”

You let yourself go slack against her, trapping her under one of your arms. Veronica playfully tried to shove you off and you let out a grunt at each attempt. Eventually her arms wrapped around yours and she settled into you.

Maybe some sleep wouldn’t do you bad. Your body was about to give out, and the only instructions you’d gotten from Natasha other than the white lie of your injuries, was to hang tight and heal until she contacted you, and she would contact you.

“I didn’t know which one you wanted, so I brought both.” Darcy said from the doorway. You mumbled into the pillow in response, nothing legible. “Oh, we’re cuddling, or is this a hostage situation?”

You winced internally at the words, but sighed contentedly when you felt the weight of the frozen vegetables against your shoulder blades. You melted into the pillows, the bed dipping down as Darcy laid on the other side of Ronnie, as you drifted off to sleep.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff]

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Seven | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Merle Dixon sucks, unedited (I will get to it later, I promise)

Word Count: 1.1K

Author’s Note: SO, your boy's a blue-collar worker currently struggling through increased heat and hours during the summer, but I love this fic and no matter how much time passes I will continue to come back to this guy. Let me know what y'all think of this one & let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist. And thank you for your continued support for this lil fic -- it means the world to me.

“Tonight’s the night, little brother.”

Merle’s voice tears through the silence in their makeshift camp. Daryl peers up at Merle from his crouched position -- the younger Dixon had been going through their food supply before Merle came storming in. Daryl rolls his eyes at the interruption. Although he’s known his brother his entire life, it always surprises him how different the two are. All he’s heard his entire life is: those Dixon brothers, two sides of the same coin. However, where Daryl is reserved, Merle is intrusive, and where Daryl is observant, Merle is careless. Although the two brothers are cut from the same backwoods cloth, they seem to have less in common than one would think.

Daryl ignores his brother’s outburst, returning his attention to their limited rations. He lets out a frustrated sigh before strategizing.

“We’re running low on food. I’ll go out hunting tomorrow. Rest of the group is headed out to scavenge the city; might wanna join ‘em.”

Merle brushes past Daryl, snatches the last bag of jerky from their pile of food, and begins chowing down in front of his younger brother. Daryl furrows his brow at his brother’s actions. Before he can lash out at him for being so irresponsible with their rations, Merle speaks up.

“Won’t have to worry ‘bout any of that after tonight.”

Daryl’s head cocks to the side as he tears his attention away from their inventory and now focuses intently on his brother.

“The hell are you on about?”

Merle rolls his eyes at Daryl’s question as if the younger Dixon should be able to read his mind. 

“We’ve been ‘er long enough. I say we wait til everyone’s asleep tonight and take everything we can.”

Daryl shrinks at the thought of just robbing the camp blind. Merle had mentioned the idea during their first night at the quarry; however, Daryl figured, as days passed, that the older Dixon brother had decided against the idea. Apparently, Daryl was wrong.

“I don’t know, man.”

Daryl’s apprehension seems to only rile his brother up more.

“C’mon little brother, everything they have is just sitting in that camper -- it’s like they’re begging us to take it!”

Daryl shakes his head at his brother’s words. They can’t -- he can’t. He doesn’t want that weighing on his guilty conscience for the rest of his numbered days. The world may have ended, but Daryl hasn’t lost his humanity yet. He can’t steal from children, or families, or you. He pushes himself off the floor before responding.

“Nah, man. Not now.”

Daryl attempts to brush past Merle, leaving the conversation there; however, Merle roughly pushes against Daryl’s chest. Daryl staggers for a second before regaining his balance. He looks incredulously at his brother, who seems to be champing at the bit. Merle’s always been impatient, and he’s never liked to stay in one place for too long, even before the end of the world. On the other hand, Daryl knows there’s safety in numbers nowadays -- who knows how long the two of them would be able to make it on their own? And what of the quarry camp -- would they just leave them to turn on themselves?

“This was always the plan, Daryl. What’s changed, huh?”

“Your plan sucks, man. We don’t even know what’s out there -- how many of ‘em are out there! At least here we’re safe.”

His reasoning does nothing to calm down Merle. Daryl is suddenly very glad that the two brothers were so far away from the rest of the camp -- the last thing he wants is for Merle to make scene, again.

“What you making friends while I’m gone? You going soft on me?”

“Fuck off, Merle.”

Merle doesn’t take the bait, instead, he studies his younger brother’s face for a second. Suddenly, it’s as if a switch has been flipped as Merle’s face breaks out into a shit eating grin. 

“You are going soft on me.”

It comes out as a statement, not a question. This only causes Daryl’s brow to furrow deeper. 

“What are you talking about?”

“This is all about that bitch, right?”

Daryl’s blood boils at Merle’s question. His jaw locks, and his fists clench as he attempts to stop himself from throwing himself at his older brother. Merle seems to be enjoying how his words make Daryl’s skin crawl. 

“Little brother, I never thought you’d be one to go after a taken woman.”

Daryl knows that Merle is just trying to get a rise out of him; he just wants a reaction. And as much as his words are pissing him off, Daryl knows that he simply has to act indifferent to his accusation.

“You could take her with us. Could use something fun on the road.”

Daryl grinds his teeth together at the thought, but he will not give Merle the satisfaction of causing an outburst from his younger brother.

“Shut up, Merle.”

“Can’t believe some bitch has already got you whipped.”

Finally, something in Daryl snaps as Merle sneers at him. He gets up in Merle’s face, attempting to intimidate his older brother, but he doesn’t back down.

“This ain’t got nothin’ to do with her. She don’t mean nothing to me!”

Daryl expects him to escalate the fight; however, Merle’s face shifts into that shit-eating grin once again as his eyes land on something behind Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl turns to face whatever has piqued Merle’s interest, his curiosity getting the better of him, and his stomach drops as his eyes land on you. Daryl’s face immediately softens as he notices the hurt etched into your features. Without a word, you turn and head back toward camp.

“Wait… damn it.” 

As much as Daryl wants to race after you and explain, he lets you go, knowing he’d just hurt you more -- he’s still seething from his confrontation with Merle, and you’re probably still processing what you just overheard.

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

Daryl ignores his brother’s question and moves to retire to their tent for the night, but Merle sidesteps, stopping him in his tracks. Before Daryl can question his motives, Merle speaks.

“I did you a favor, little brother.”

Daryl looks at his brother in disbelief. 

“All I did was show her who you truly are.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

Daryl pushes past him and enters their tent. He wants to blame Merle for what just happened, but he’s the one who lost his temper. And he only lost his temper because Merle was right. He can’t rob the camp and then sneak away in the middle of the night because that means he’d have to leave you behind -- and he just can't do it. Not after you opened up to him about Shane.  He lets out a frustrated sigh as he lays down his worn sleeping bag. What do you think of him now? Is he just another asshole to you, like Shane or Merle? He wants to think he’s better than that. 

But maybe Daryl is wrong. 

Maybe the Dixon brothers really are two sides of the same bad-tempered, jagged coin -- but that won’t stop him from trying to prove the opposite, as long as you let him.

Taglist: 

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

@youcantstandit

@ajlovesdilfs

@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

@strnqer

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@all-will-be-well-love

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@azanoni

@ritosparty

@vaniniweenie

[twit-ter-pa-ted]

Yes, ma'am.

pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x afab!Reader

warnings: nothing, just flirting!

overview: You're a sea merchant hoping to one day dine at Baratie. What you didn't account for was catching the sous chef's eye.

a/n: i wrote this during a power outage. also i may have gotten carried away with the plot so please bear with me on this

part two — final part

The Baratie was the name of a sea restaurant from the East Blue that you had heard uttered by multiple customers. Being a sea merchant, it wasn't difficult not to.

It hadn't been long since you first started in this line of business, since you reckoned you ought to learn how to defend yourself first before setting sail into a sea full of savage pirates.

And you were right. Multiple tried their luck to rob you of your merchandise, if not your Berry, and all failed.

As odd as it seemed, you had always dreamt of becoming a merchant at sea. Your father was the town's merchant, and that may have had some influence on your own dream. And now that you had achieved just that, a certain restaurant had slowly begun to pique your interest.

Despite roaming the sea for almost three years now, you had yet to run into this sea restaurant you had heard of countless times. The thought of Baratie was starting to irritate you, as was the unlikeliness that you still had yet to find it in the vast sea of the East Blue. You were beginning to think that, unlike for anyone else, you finding it would be like someone finally finding the One Piece.

"Hey, lady, I'm talkin' to ya!" The Z lister pirate's voice boomed. He had announced his name upon crashing through the doors – it might have been something like Guicha Rebel, but you couldn't be sure.

"Sorry. What were you saying?" You leaned on your forearms that rested on the counter in front of you. You swore to listen, but your eyes wandered towards the tent that extended from your cabin and into half of the main deck.

"This right here? Should only be for 500." He held up a sword that he had taken from one of the barrels.

Your eyes turned half-lidded with disinterest. "I know what my shit's worth, pirate."

"And I know this ain't worth 1,000."

"If you don't like it, feel free to leave."

"Hey! I have a 500,000 bounty, you better watch your mouth." You had begun laughing as he brought up his bounty. You pointed at the board behind you which held multiple wanted posters with bounties even twice as high as his.

"Please, I've been in these seas for three years. I've had worse."

You could see the way his eyes widened in fear and realization. There was no way you…

"You're not telling me that…" He had recognized at first glance that they were pirates whose bounties had been claimed. You didn't answer.

"Now, you either buy what you need and leave, or you leave with your bounty." That was always the choice you gave them and more often than not, they chose neither options.

He glared at you for a moment before letting the sword clatter onto the floor and turning around. What came next was something you just couldn't help.

"With a 500,000 bounty, you sure as hell are cheap," you remarked.

He groaned in frustration before he unsheathed his sword, turned around, and threw it your direction. You simply moved your head to avoid it, ignoring how it pierced through your bounty board and taking your pistol from below the counter.

Now, you specifically had your place designed so that you would be at an advantage during any battle despite how many people you were against. You knew how the bullets would ricochet to the blindspots you had behind the barrels when you hit a certain spot on the iron on the wall, specifically built into the wall for that reason.

You ducked behind the counter as the pirate took out his own pistol and aimed for your head. You leaned towards your left to shoot at an iron part of the wall. You heard a grunt come from him as his leg was shot. You straightened again and walked around the counter while the pirate clutched at his leg.

"What…What did you – " His breathing was ragged. He had been shot at before, but not like this.

You took a bullet out of your gun's cylinder, holding it between your index finger and thumb while he fell to his side in pain. You nonchalantly kneeled next to his head. "Burrow Bullets – doesn't exit the body once you shoot it, no matter the distance, which makes it hurt so much worse when you're shot at a short distance because it just burrows."

You grinned at your selfmade product with pride before sliding it back into the cylinder. "Costs 5,000 per pack. Not that you'd be able to buy 'em from me. But I do appreciate doing business with you." It was the last thing he heard from you before the butt of your gun met with his temple.

Predictably, he had a copy of his wanted poster in his pocket. Guicha Reuben. "Huh."

You looked between the unconscious man and the poster. "Rebel sounds better," you said before standing and pinning his poster to your board, pulling his sword out. You inspected it before placing it in the barrel with swords of the price of 500.

* * * * * *

It was your day off. You rarely took day offs, but you felt you had to after getting in a bar fight an island ago. You laid in a hammock that hung beside the main mast with your father's jacket over your face to shield it from the sun.

You froze as you heard something more than the sound of the ocean and the breeze, taking the jacket off your face and standing up.

You thought it was another pirate ship before you looked ahead. Your eyes widened.

Before you could react, you heard the transponder snail sound out in your cabin. You ran to grab it, taking the receiver.

"Yeah?"

The familiar voice of Garp sounded from the snail as he called your name. The Vice Admiral had sent you the snail as you were almost considered a regular at their bases. "How have you been, eh?"

"Get to the point, Garp." He simply chuckled at your straightforwardness.

"There're new pirates in our turf, broker." Garp was your father's old friend. He had been calling you broker for as long as you could remember. You stopped correcting him long ago. "A bugger with a straw hat, a redhead, a long-nose, and Roronoa Zoro."

You couldn't help but raise your brows in surprise. The Roronoa Zoro? Still, you replied nonchalantly – "I'm not a pirate hunter."

You could practically hear him shrug. "I'm just warning you in case you run into one of them."

It was rare for Garp to give you warnings. The last he had given was of Don Krieg, but now he warned you of nameless pirates? "And what makes this band of pirates different from the others?"

It was silent on the other end for a while.

"They defeated Axe-Hand Morgan and escaped his marine base."

* * * * * *

Once the exchange ended between you and Garp, you quickly ran outside and redirected the ship in a panic, as it had started to drift away from the sea restaurant in the distance.

You docked onto its small harbor and entered, greeted by a fishman who questioned you regarding reservations. You simply slipped him a few Berries and got yourself a table.

You had only entered the dining area when a fight ensued, only to be quickly resolved by a blonde waiter who kicked the fighting pair down.

"Great fighter," you heard someone from another booth mutter. You couldn't disagree as you watched the waiter approach a booth with a small bowl of complimentary bread.

You started looking over the menu when you heard someone turn the chair parallel from you in its place, their chest against the back side of the chair as they sat.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing at a shitty restaurant like this?"

Your brows raised in surprise as you dropped the menu. It was the waiter from earlier, a flirty grin now plastered on his lips.

"I thought this was one of the finest restaurants in East Blue?" You teased which caused him to let out a sultry chuckle.

"Oh, darling, it's only one of the finest because I'm here."

"Well…" You trailed off, silently asking for his name as you did.

"Sanji."

You recognized the name. "Sanji the sous chef."

"So you know me?" You nodded. He seemed surprised you did.

"I've heard of Baratie's sous chef. I just didn't know he was a part-time waiter," he remarked.

"Nothing but charity work, really," he retorted smoothly, as if he hadn't been kicked out of the line. "What would the beautiful madam like to have?"

You shrugged, looking at the menu again before dropping it onto the table. "None of these really interest me."

"Naturally, you're simply above anything being served here," he remarked in a heartbeat. He was completely wrapped around your finger despite the fact that he was flirting with a redhead a few tables away just moments ago.

"Think you could whip up something for me, sous chef?"

He nodded, not missing the way you had looked him up and down. "Anything, darling."

You smirked as if to challenge. "I'll leave it up to you. I'm not necessarily picky."

"And what drink would you like with that, my love?" His smile grew wider as he thought of the countless dishes he could possibly make for you, even with the limitations of the supplies in the pantry.

"I would love a strawberry milkshake."

"Coming right up." He began to stand up. You decided to test the waters to see the extent of what he would be willing to do for you despite only meeting you.

"I'm not finished." You started talking again before he could offer an alluring apology. "I want a thin coat of strawberry syrup in the glass, no seeds, whipped cream that's not too whipped, and a strawberry to top it off. I don't want it sour, I want it sweet."

Something about you was different – Sanji could tell. Maybe it was the way you showed him interest while keeping your composure, or maybe it was the way your eyes lit up at his obedience – how you seemed to get off on it. Or maybe it was just you.

He flashed another smile as he stood from his seat. "Yes, ma'am."

a/n: i may or may not already have a part two idea in mind

[munariplans]

cowboy like me | felicia hardy

synopsis: inspired by taylor swift’s 'cowboy like me', for the black cat, felicia hardy.

felicia hardy x reader

word count: 3.1k words

a/n: trying to branch out into new characters in the mcu, and black cat has always been one of my favourites. hope you guys enjoy x

and the tennis court was covered up, with some tent-like thing and you asked me to dance, but i said, "dancing is a dangerous game"

in the years you have orbited your life around taking from the rich, you knew that felicia hardy was never one to be trusted. she was a con artist, a professional thief, been in the game longer than you were. you could never take her words seriously. 

now, the both of you sitting in the wedding of a millionaire you had robbed dry several times before, 

overlooking the stunning views of the manhattan skyline and the contents of the fellow wedding guests’ wallets in your pockets, you were repeating the very same sentence you always told yourself whenever felicia tried distracting you. don’t let her even try. 

“come on, let’s dance,” she whined for the umpteenth time. she had taken her prized jewels, you took your fancy watches. the one-off agreement of the pact you had made to work together just a month ago had been occurring more frequently lately, and it was sending you a bit on edge, to be honest. 

“for what, felicia?” 

she pouted, rolling over to absentmindedly trace her hands along your suit. you pulled her away. “it’s sunset, it’s the asshole’s wedding, it’s romantic.”

“yeah, but we are not lovers,” you quipped, sitting straighter to get a better look at the sunset she mentioned. new york really had the best sunsets. “and dancing is a dangerous game for us to play.”

“scared of catching feelings for me?”

you flicked your nimble fingers on her forehead, as felicia yelped. “never, black cat.”

oh, i thought, this is gonna be one of those things now, i know, i'm never gonna love again

you never should have taken her hand. you never should have accepted the dance with her. you should have known it was not going to end well. 

yet, with felicia’s body flushed against yours, her lips dangerously travelling up and down your neck, hands roaming the lithe muscles on your body, you found it difficult to resist such advances from the woman. 

when her lips met yours that night, you knew the watches you had kept in the slit of your own dress was taken, along with your heart, too. 

that was years ago. now, you knew you were never going to love anyone like you loved her, ever again. 

i’ve got some tricks up my sleeve, takes one to know one you're a cowboy like me

“feliciaaaa!” you screamed after her, chasing her through midtown as her laughter rang in your ears and the jewels and watches she had taken dancing in her priceless designer bag. 

she had conned you once again. this time, she had tried out a new method; seduction.

yet, you found yourself still smiling as you caught up to her later, tying her down while you took off with her jewels this time. it was her turn to cuss you out for being able to spot when she was tired, and where her weaknesses were. 

never wanted love, just a fancy car

the jewels rested beautifully on the curve of your collarbones as you slung your arm around the new billionaire you had conned to take you home for the night. he was grinning stupidly, you were grinning in victory, as he took you in to his ferrari, carefully revving the engine and driving so fast you thought your heart was going to stop. 

you never needed anyone else. just the company of older, rich men, their riches, and yourself was enough. you could live forever like this. 

now I'm waiting by the phone, like i'm sitting in an airport bar you had some tricks up your sleeve, takes one to know one

“just dinner at her place. dinner. nothing more,” you nervously repeated to yourself, pacing around felicia’s apartment block. flowers in hand, waiting for her call, you hated how she suddenly made you feel anxious about your actions, and how you were going to act around her. 

“come up, will you?” you heard a voice from the balcony, and shot your head up in horror. “i’ve been watching you pace back and forth for the past ten minutes.” 

felicia stood by the door as you came, in a short dress that definitely was not usually worn for a simple dinner at her place. the black accentuated her features, one of the rare few times you had caught her without her hair tied in a ponytail, clear goggles around her eyes. 

“you look…pretty,” you breathed. she laughed, almost mockingly at you. 

“thanks,” she nodded towards the flowers, “those for me?” 

“of course.” 

you handed them over, and as felicia took one whiff of them, she spotted something just within. hidden in plain sight of the stalks of roses. 

the jewels you had stolen from her that one heist. returned to its “rightful” owner. 

felicia’s heart tugged with warmth, as she looked back up at you, before pulling you in for a kiss on your cheek. 

“thieves’ honour.” 

“takes one to know one.” 

you're a cowboy like me, perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

the black cat’s finger outstretched, she was pointing at the man trying to strike up conversation with the owner of the art gallery. you recognised him as a private investor you had swindled once before. 

“won’t work on him again,” you replied to her suggestion, turning your gaze to a woman standing by herself instead, overlooking the balcony. her hair was blonde like felicia’s, and she looked no older than you were by a few years. felicia also noticed that she was undeniably good-looking. 

“no,” she said sharply, fingers directing your chin back to face her, “you’re not doing her.”

a hint of a smirk made it’s way up to your lips. “jealous, hardy?”

“and if i say i am?”

“then i’ll know you’re lying,” you held her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckle, before making your way over to the woman, “i don’t mean enough for you to get jealous.”

felicia bit her lip at your comment. that wasn’t true. silently, under her breath she whispered, “you are all that, and more.”

like it could be love, it could be the way forward only if they pay for it

“and to what i owe the pleasure of your company tonight?” the very same woman said into the dark, her chest still heaving with heavy breaths and the marks of your teeth left on them. the room smelled of sex and deceit, as you began picking up your clothes, her jewellery and the details to the vault of her private art collection already slipped inside.

you smirked, sneaking back a look at the naked woman staring at you with lust-hooded eyes. she really did look a little like felicia. didn’t feel like her, though. you rarely ever slept with the people you swindle now, not since you had started seeing felicia casually. you wondered if felicia had begun making a deeper impact in your life than you thought she would. 

“...and what would be the price for more…company?” the woman had gotten up then, huskily whispering in your ear, her arms encircling your waist to try to bring you back to bed. 

but you had already gotten more than you needed. you were no longer interested in her anymore. 

“i’ll text you my bank details if you want more of this…anytime…anywhere.”

you called felicia later on that night, and you swore you enjoyed yourself more in the few hours the both of you spent plotting on the art vault’s robbery, than the whole night in the company of another woman. 

you're a bandit like me eyes full of stars, hustling for the good life never thought i'd meet you here

felicia had fallen asleep in your dining room, one knee lifted up on your dining chair to support the weight of her head and arms as it lolled forward, her soft snores filling the silence of the room. blueprints of the vault were carefully laid across your large dining table, the both of you had spent the better part of the week plotting and scrawling across plans on stealing the works inside. 

you were laid back in your own chair, taking a swig of the expensive wine she had bought to thank you for giving her the opportunity to join you in the heist, and swimming beyond the maroon that was sliding down your throat, you thought of her.

felicia hardy, the black cat. the daughter of the former black cat, who she told you taught her to never settle for second-best. who worked harder than anyone you knew to get what she wanted. who was slowly taking up a space in your heart that no one else ever had. 

all that she had been through, the hardships she had endured that mirrored your own, she knew you like no other. she understood, and she never judged. she was just as hungry as you were for success. you just never thought that you could get along, much less fall for her, in your stupid, stupid quest to hustle for a better life for yourself. 

she was trouble. but in that moment, she was nothing more than felicia hardy, not the black cat, not the thief she had proclaimed herself to be. felicia hardy was in your t-shirt that she had borrowed because she had volunteered to stay over, and hair tied up in a messy bun that framed the features of her face perfectly. she didn’t have her goggles on with her, didn’t have the skin-tight bodysuit to help her in heists and her criminal activities, and yet, she managed to look even more beautiful, if possible. 

you sighed, knowing this was not going to end well. yet, when you looked back at her, a hint of a smile appeared on her face. a good dream, perhaps. 

felicia looked cold. you stood up to fetch a blanket from your room, and draped it over her when you got back, tucking the ends under her chin so it wouldn’t slip off. 

when your back was turned, her smile grew even wider in appreciation. 

it could be love, we could be the way forward and i know i'll pay for it

“why didn’t you let me go?! why the fuck did you hold me back?!” felicia had practically screamed, shaking you as the rain beat down on the both of you, minutes right after you had tore her away from her chase of the guard running with the keys to the vault. 

in return, you were even angrier that she was so stupid, so naive. “because he was running straight to the police! you wouldn’t have been able to escape all of them, all at once! and the cops there were under fisk’s payroll, you know this. you would’ve died, felicia!”

“and why do you care so much if i did?!”

her question left you stunned. at a loss for words and your mouth agape, felicia felt your arms release their grip on her own body, as you stepped back. 

the rain beat down harder, if possible. somewhere, lightning had struck a nearby building that caused her to jump. but you were unphased.

you knew why, and so did she. only, the both of you were too afraid to admit the truth, because felicia knew she would have done the same if she were in your position. 

and the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

with the authorities now breathing down your necks due to the failed heist, felicia saw, and felt you slipping away like never before. 

you had disappeared from existence so many times before, it was what made your operation so successful each time, but this time, you being gone left a gaping hole in her heart that she knew none could fix. 

she was almost desperate enough to pick up the phone and beg you to come by her side. perhaps what spurred this desperation even further, was the next time that she saw you, it was at a socialite party and you were letting yet another desperate, creepy, old billionaire feeling you up and down and trying to bring you to bed with him. felicia almost had half a mind to tear his hand off, finger by finger. 

you made eye contact with her, but this time, as felicia approached, you shook your head slowly, telling her not to come any closer. that was before you walked off, leaving her feeling more isolated than she felt possible, in a room full of people. 

what felicia didn’t know, was that you had to walk off before you gave in to the compulsion of coming back to her arms and crying about how much you had missed her. 

and the old men that i've swindled really did believe i was the one

pockets full of rolexes, the trunk of your car filled with art pieces, the drawers in your wardrobe overfilling with stolen jewellery. even the zeroes being constantly added to your bank account was no longer giving you the dopamine high that the black cat could give you. 

your phone rang again. it was another one of your billionaire boys calling to ask when your next date would be; as if they still haven’t noticed you had picked them dry of any valuables they had during the date. 

presently, you looked back at the figure of the man laying in the hotel bed, the remnants of his touch still leaving an unpleasant sear on your skin. the lovesick look on his face as he snored was enough for you to gather your clothes and check out of the room as quickly as possible. 

for someone who was so powerful, the people you swindled were all so naive, you thought. little did you know, you were exactly just like them, when it came to felicia. 

and the ladies lunching have their stories about when you passed through town

don’t let her even try. don’t let her even try. don’t let her even try. you listened half-heartedly to the gossip of the wives of the group’s board members about the infamous black cat that had swindled their husbands of belongings before, not caring if you appeared disinterested. you already had what you came for. 

“i heard she’s a dangerous one, that girl.” sure is.

“probably has to be quite gorgeous, right? to get to so many men.” she’s more beautiful than anyone you could ever imagine. 

“still, doesn’t make sense why she would suddenly stop. i heard no one’s been robbed in almost two months.” oh. that one was new.

perhaps felicia had the same idea of leaving town and finding new ground to avoid you, as you had to avoid her. 

but that was all before I locked it down

“you’re really leaving?” you perched beside felicia one night, as she was scoping a new apartment to break into. 

she ignored how good it felt to hear your voice again, reaching out a hand to prevent you from perhaps getting the jump to the apartment before her. it was really to stop you from leaving again. 

“who told you that?”

“the ladies at tennis.”

“mm,” felicia smacked her lips, “so you keep up.”

you sighed, relaxing your stance and sitting down beside her instead. you removed your mask to look at her directly. she tried hard to avoid eye contact, in fear of what she would do if she was mesmerised by the sincerity in your eyes again. “i’ll go. you can stay here. new york is your home.”

“not anymore,” she said bitterly, but realising her tone and the vulnerability she was exposing, she playfully elbowed you, “not without you around.”

“felicia.”

she let down her guard, and frowned. at the solemn look on your face, felicia let her eyes drift away from the apartment for a bit, biting her lip nervously as she made the election to sit next to you. knees touching, hand still on your wrist. 

“we never would’ve worked, would we?”

“not with our lifestyles, we won’t.”

“but i’m not giving this up. not now, not ever.”

“me too.”

“so what do we do now?”

you both looked at each other, and it was the moment you knew. 

now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon

the feather-lightness of her kisses. her spare goggles and suit that had been next to yours in the short few weeks that she had spent in your home. the blanket you had draped around her shoulder the night she fell asleep on the dining chair. 

they now seemed impossible to admit that they were real. and so was your failed, almost-relationship with the black cat. nothing was real, the pact, the feelings, the love and concern you had for her. it amounted to nothing, because it stemmed from nothing. you and felicia had agreed upon that when you took her hand to dance in that wedding. 

you had known nothing about felicia, and she had known nothing about you either. she was your black cat, your partner in crime for a few break-ins and heists and robberies and everything in between. that was all. 

yet, the tears rolling down your cheeks that slowly dripped onto the oak floor of your apartment, the floor that you had danced with felicia on so many times before, were all too real to dismiss everything that the two of you had. 

nothing mattered, but everything did, all at once. 

with your boots beneath my bed forever is the sweetest con

you never returned the spare suit and goggles she had left behind. she never asked for them back either. you were sure she still had your own spare suit and mask at her place. 

perhaps it was the reminder of both of your presence in each other’s lives. a reality to keep you grounded, now that you were gone in another part of the planet, and felicia had nothing to live for, in new york. 

i've had some tricks up my sleeve takes one to know one, you're a cowboy like me

one day in spring, exactly five years after the wedding, you received a package in the mail. 

it had cat fur belonging to a suit you still kept somewhere in the depths of your closet. she had found you. you tore open the package. 

and inside, were the very same flowers you had gifted felicia at your first dinner at her place, dried and pressed and beautifully preserved. you had no idea she treasured them so much to do such a thing.

and hidden even deeper into the package, were the jewels you had given back to her. returned to its rightful owner with a note this time.

takes one to know one. but i’m past that life now. if you are ready to try again, i am always going to be in new york waiting for your return. 

[thepaperpanda]

A Morbid Jealousy || Low-honor Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Summary: A successful robbery has led to the gang celebrating at the camp, but Arthur gets very nasty when he sees you dancing with John

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v, low-honor Arthur)

Word count: 1442

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Everyone in the gang just sat together and had fun like one big family during this rare moment. A small bank was robbed successfully. Except for Arthur, everyone returned intact with bags full of money.

You were told by Charles that he had decided to return to camp alone. Arthur probably wandered around the town and got into trouble; that's what he does.

As you listened to Javier's guitar and the gang's happy voices singing a song, you had a still full bottle in your hand.

Your look of unhappiness caught John's attention. He patted your shoulder and said, "Hey." You were offered a hand by him. "Wanna dance? I can't dance, but seeing you sad like that is annoying."

Getting up and drinking your beer, you were glad someone was trying to cheer you up. Your arm wrapped around his neck as you rocked along with the rhythm of the music. You chuckled, "Abigail would be jealous."

John wrapped his arm around your waist. "Don't worry about her. I'll deal with her on my own," he spun you around.  Even though John didn't know how to dance, watching Dutch many times helped. "The only thing I want to do is cheer my friend up." he offered you a bright grin.

Taking a moment to let the rhythm control you, you whispered, "You're sweet." and kissed his cheek briefly. While nuzzling his neck, you giggled, saying, "You're a good dancer."

John shrugged and held you tightly as he laughed, "Me? No, I just watch old Dutch dancing all the time."

It was the worst time you could have chosen to dance with John - Arthur returned to camp just now; he hitched his horse and went to the campfire. The moment he saw you and John so close, he stopped in shock. A loud roar from Arthur brought everyone's attention to the direction he was pointing. "What the fuck?"

As you pushed away from John, you whispered, "Arthur..." Your face flushed with confusion as you noticed your boyfriend's consternation; you knew how jealous he could be.

Both of you were approached by him. 

Arture growled at you loudly and grabbed your arm tightly as he turned to John. "I know you are so desperate for every little touch, rabbit, but you could make some fucking standards." Arthur turned to Johna and added briefly, "Martson, you should be fucking happy you have a child, or I would kill you right here and now for even talking to her,"  Arthur said and dragged you away from everyone.

While Morgan dragged you away from the crew, you whispered, "John," as you wanted to apologize to him for Arthur's behavior. Your arm soon slipped from Arthur's strong grasp. "Arthur, you didn't have to be that mean to John. He did nothing wrong."

"He touched you," Morgan growled. "Undress," Arthur ordered as he closed your tent's flaps.

"Yes, because we were dancing!" You reminded him and cocked your brow at his order. "Why?"

Arthur yelled, "Undress, or I'll rip your clothes off myself! I don't care what you two were doing. You are mine!"

Unbuttoning your dress, you shook your head. You said firmly, "You overreacted, Morgan," as you let the dress fall to the floor. "Happy?"

As he put away the gun belt, he said, "On your knees."

Slowly getting down on your knees, your eyes on his face, you shivered but obeyed. He was clearly pissed off, so you decided not to argue with him anymore.

I'm so surprised you're so quiet. Suddenly, you are not defending John," he smiled. "You are in the right place now, rabbit," Arthur purred and ran his hand down your hand before grabbing it tightly. "You are mine and only mine. Do you understand?"

Liking your lips, you nodded eagerly. "I belong only to you, Mr Morgan," you agreed, closing your eyes for a while.

He quickly opened his pants and purred, "Now this is a good answer. You've got to show me how sorry you are."

As you looked at his face, you reached into his slightly worn jeans and pulled his half-erected cock out; you spat on its tip and pumped your hand over its shaft.

In his low grunt of approval, Arthur watched you like a hawk; he let go of your hair for now and placed his hand on your nape.

Trying to suck his dick at the same time, you bobbed your head back and forth and used your palm to pump over his cock. Your hand squeezed his shaft as you sucked on his balls.

Arthur purred, "That's right, girl. For once, you behave like you should."

You were suddenly picked up by him; he flipped you over to your stomach and put you on the cot. 

"Was touching that bag of bones even worth it, rabbit?" Arthur growled at you.

Apparently he was hot for you; you blinked and blushed as he pushed you onto the bed. Your butt was raised a bit and you shook it for him. "Fuck me," you begged.

He roared, "I asked you something!" You felt Arthur squeeze your throat.

"It wasn't," you whispered.

"Louder! I can't hear you!"

You growled loudly, slipping your hand beneath you so you could slip your finger into your aching pussy. "It wasn't!"

He sighed, getting up from his cot to search for his bag. "You really love to annoy me, woman. How can I even put up with you."

Arthur pulled out his rope and returned to you; he took both of your hands and tied them behind your back. "It might teach you how to behave," Arthur said proudly as he moved his hand along your spine as his free hand tugged his jeans fully off.

When he was doing things like this, you always shivered, but eventually, it turned you on even more; you simply loved to be mercilessly manhandled.

While his tip moved through your pussy lips, Arthur teased, "You got a problem with moving, darlin'?" He hummed and slammed into you, pushing as hard as he could. "Ain't so brave anymore, huh? You are always so smart until I get you into my hands.

You screamed, "Oh, God!" When pleasure hit you hard, you rolled your eyes and begged, "Untie me, Arthur! I need to touch you!" 

His member was immediately squeezed by your walls.

"Nah, I don't think so," he smiled and thrust deep into you.

His thrusts became deep and hard. "You won't play around with fucking Marston," Arthur growled the last part lowly.

Let out a long moan as you stick your bun up to him. You cried out through parted lips, "I love it when you fuck me well."

"Moan, I want everyone to know who you belong to, and I want that bag of bones to know how well I fucked you," Morgan whispered into your ear after leaning forward to you.

"I'll scream your name if you untie me!" You begged. His thrusts made you feel slick and wet, along with your juice pouring down your thighs.

Grabbing your hair, Arthur lifted your head. "Now, you ain't the one to make the conditions, so you better scream without any stupid ideas or I will fill you up with my cum and leave you here, all tied up for everyone to see."

You screamed, "Arthur! Oh, just fuck me, honey! Just like that!" You rolled your hips for him to meet his thrusts. "I belong to Arthur Morgan!"

After those words, he started moving fast and hard, trying to make you cum hard around his thick cock. "Now you're a good girl," Arthur purred, biting your neck. Choosing such a place, he knew you would have difficulty hiding it.

As soon as he bit into your neck, your walls tightened around his member so strongly that he was unable to back away. You dripped juices down your legs when you cum hard around him. "Fuck," you trembled.

"Such a good girl, I'm gonna enjoy watching you walk funny tomorrow, darlin'," Arthur whispered into your ear and filled you with his cum.

As your vision blurred, you moaned and waited for him to untie you.

Arthur let out a happy sigh and got up. Putting on his clothes, he said, "That was fun. What do ya think, darling?"

You smirked at him and asked, "Untie me. And it was fucking brilliant. You were amazing."

"I know I was," he giggled and tucked his gun belt into his waistband. The tent flaps were raised by Artur without a word, and he left to join the still-going party, leaving you tied up on his cot.

[twola]

Hi there! Saw your request for ideas, maybe smutty ones….what if Arthur and s/o have a bet or challenge for trying to entice the other into sex is a public place? The fear and/or embarrassment of getting caught? Doesn’t matter where-in camp, in an alley in town, in some random person’s barn….can’t keep their hands off each other, yet trying to see how far the other is wiling to go. You can make this a headcannon, one-shot story, or weave it into something else?

Just an idea. No pressure. 😉

Ohh - I kinda did a little twist on this, I hope you still like it!

Barely Hidden

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

There’s a certain thrill with getting away with it. Like robbing an idiot blind or sneaking away right from under the law’s nose. It should be no surprise that outlaws like to live on the edge, always on the verge of getting caught.

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Your nails dig into the bark of the tree as Arthur’s breath ghosts over your neck. His large hands encircle your hips, as he presses his up against yours, breathing heavily, gritting his teeth, trying to keep quiet.

He fists your skirts in one hand, the other spread wide over your back, as you’re bent halfway over, leaning on the tree, his large frame moving behind you.

A soft, quiet moan spills from your lips as he slides his cock in and out of your warmth. His hand moves from your back to cover your mouth.

“Swear, agh, yer tryin’ to get us caught.” He whispers, leaning to plaster his front against your back.

“You’re the one, oh, that couldn’t wait-” You hiss back at him, nudging his hand away from your mouth as you press your hips backward to meet his thrusts.

He rolls his hips against your rear, his breathing getting heavier as he increases the speed of his thrusts. You want to mewl aloud, he’s hitting that spot with every stroke.

“Who’s there?” John calls out into the night from his post of guard duty.

Arthur grunts, jutting hard into your hips in surprise, and before he can slow himself down or collect himself, he’s rapidly jerking his cock from your hips, spurting on the backs of your thighs seemingly without warning.

You gasp, pulling away from him, letting your skirts fall to your ankles as the uncomfortable dribble of his hot spend trails down your thighs. Leaning your back against the tree, you catch your breath, facing him.

“It’s just me, idiot.” Arthur calls into the night, very quickly collecting himself and tucking his still-hard cock into his pants and rebuttoning them. 

“You - you liked that.” You point at his chest, “We almost got caught and you…”

“Hush, woman. We’ve done enough tonight. Back to your tent before someone really catches us.” Arthur pushes you back toward the camp, and in the dark night, you cannot see how deeply he’s blushing.

But you have an idea. A terribly wonderful idea.

-

Several days pass before you have a chance to test your idea. Clemens Point was blessedly spread out along the shores of Flat Iron Lake, with a ridge just north of the camp that served as a place of refuge should someone from the gang want to be alone.

“Hey there, darlin’. What’re you doin out here?”

You squint against the setting sun in the west, placing your hand in front of your face looking up at your gunslinger, as he moseys toward where you sit, at the bottom of the small ridge where the dirt meets the sand.

“Waitin’ for you there, cowboy.” You smile as he stands several steps in front of you, blocking the sun from your eyes.

“Waitin’ for me to what?” Arthur asks, hands on his gunbelt.

You give him a sweet, overly saccharine smile. 

You pull your skirts up, baring your knees, then your thighs…

“What are you doin?” Arthur’s eyes widen as he jerks his head to see where people are mulling about, not fifty feet away in the evening sun, just over the ridge of rock along the shoreline.

“Mmm, nothin.” You sigh, your skirts flicking upward to show him that you forewent bloomers today. A devious smirk crosses your face as you expose your cunt to him, your folds glistening with moisture, already aroused thinking of him taking you in the daylight, just on the outskirts of camp, with everyone awake.

“You goddamn tease.” He grits, narrowing his eyes as he stalks closer to you. You would think he’s angry, but you don’t miss the growing bulge in his pants and how his hand nudges at it to adjust himself.

“Ain’t a tease if I put out for you, love,” You lay back against the stone, opening your legs wider, “Come and get me, Arthur.”

His gunbelt is on the ground in a single step as he starts unbuttoning his pants. Before he sinks to his knees, he gives one last look over the ridge, scanning the gang finishing their dinner and mulling about the campfire before the sun sets.

“Scared of gettin’ caught?”  You ask in a kittenish way, baring your neck as your knees swing open and closed, open and closed, as he gets on his knees a step away from you.

“I think you like that idea, woman.” With one hand, he pulls his cock from his trousers, the other, he grabs your thigh, pulling your body closer to his. 

“Mm, I think you-” You are cut off as you gasp, he presses the head of his cock within you with the practiced ease of being lovers, so intimately familiar with each other’s bodies.

He spreads himself over you, pressing his lips to yours, his days old beard scratching against your chin. You grab at his hat, tossing it to the side, and run your fingers through his short hair as you open your mouth and let his tongue press against yours as he slides completely within you. 

You cant your hips forward, taking him deeper, and a rumble moves up from his throat into your mouth as he starts to thrust his hips into yours, digging his hands into the sandy dirt beneath you.

You moan into his mouth as he moves above you, thrusting hard and fast, and the excitement of it all has you careen headlong into an orgasm that makes your back arch and him grunt in approval.

He retracts his hips just in time, shooting his spend on the ground between your legs, panting, his forehead pressed against yours.

You smirk against his lips as he pants, giggling softly.

“Yer a goddamn minx, woman.”

“Yeah, and you like it.”

-

Arthur knew what you were doing the second he saw that glimmer in your eye. Two could play at this game.

You should have known what this would turn into.

It was turning into a raging, burning fire between the two of you, reigniting passion and neediness like in the beginning of your relationship, when you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

Which is exactly the problem you have now. 

It was just a ride to Rhodes and back. Just to check the mail. But as the moon shone high above Scarlett Meadows, Arthur swings off his horse outside a work barn outside of town, dragging you down before handily hauling your body against him.

“You keep talking like that, woman, I swear, I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna what, cowboy?”

Arthur nearly growls, shoving his mouth against yours and near devouring you whole. He walks you backwards, taking only a moment to unlatch the door to the barn and pushing you inside before closing it behind him.

He grabs your shoulders, manhandling you into a shadowed, empty stall as he presses himself against you, the long line of him hard and ready.

“C’mon, little lady.” He rumbles and a shiver of delight rolls down your spine. 

“Get on the floor. Gonna ride you the way you deserve it.” You pant against him, your hands pressing against the hard muscles of his abdomen, in vain trying move the mountain of him.

Arthur grins like a damn Cheshire cat, moving himself next to a crate and sinking down to his knees as he undoes his gun belt, tossing it next to him as he lays out on the wooden floor. You hike up your skirts as you stand above his hips, to show him, again, that you forwent bloomers.

“Christ, woman.” Arthur’s eyes widen as he desperately shrugs his suspenders down his arms before unbuttoning his trousers and shoving them down his thighs, his heavy, engorged cock bobbing against his stomach.

You lower yourself to your knees, and without pretense or preamble, grasp his cock and guide yourself onto it, sliding down his hard inches until your rear meets his hips. He swears, blinking up to the roof, his hands flying to your waist as you place yours upon the planes of his hard chest, your fingers grasping at the black work shirt he was wearing.

You roll your hips forward, slowly at first, as you grow used to the stretch of him within you, but soon enough, your speed picks up, and he pants, his mouth falling open as you gyrate over his cock.

“Tha’s it, that’s it, come on, ride me-” Arthur groans, thrusting his hips upward against your movements, until, that is, the barn door swings open.

“Whoever’s in here, get the hell out before I shoot ya!” A voice calls out in the stillness, and you hear the racking of a shotgun and heavy footfalls as a man enters the space.

You slap a hand over Arthur’s mouth, as his eyes widen. You try to sit still, splayed over Arthur’s hips, but you can see his eyes flutter and feel his stomach muscles clench against your other hand.

You give him a warning look, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his fingers tightening almost painfully around your waist.

The farmer walks past the stall, the rifle in his hands as he scans the barn. All he would need to do is take one step in your direction and he would find you two behind the crate, Arthur laid out with you atop him, blessedly hidden by your skirts, but it would be obvious what you were doing.

Arthur’s hips jut up and your eyes shoot back to him, about to throttle the damn man, when you see it's a lost cause. With the farmer only a few steps away, Arthur’s eyes cross and you can feel his cock twitch within you, warmth flooding your hips as he spends himself buried in your cunt.

It's everything you are not to moan aloud, and with your free hand, you cover your own mouth as you watch the man unravel beneath you, breathing hard against your palm, his eyes rolling back into his head, his hips giving little pulses upward as he fills you, unable to hold back, utterly and completely wrecked. 

The farmer is still mulling about the barn, and you’re close to yanking one of the revolvers from Arthur’s discarded belt and shooting the man dead so you can continue to ride this man as his convulsing cock finally stills.

Arthur seems to regain some of his wits, but none of his caution, as one of his hands leaves your waist and burrows under your skirt, his thumb pressing right above where he’s buried within you. You jolt as he finds what he’s looking for, that nub of nerve endings that drives you wild.

Your eyes widen as your breathing gets shallow, the damn farmer is still in the barn, and Arthur is hell bent on making you come. If you two get out of this without getting shot, lord, is he going to get it from you.

You grind down on his hand as he feverishly rubs at you, throwing your head back, your hands still covering both of your mouths.

When you fall over that edge, it’s everything you are not to cry out, not to scream his name, not to gasp and moan and cry and tell him you love him as he works you through a shuddering release, his blue eyes locked on you and his head nodding back and forth to spur you on.

You basically collapse over him, his arms wrap tightly around your waist as you try to control your breathing.

The barn door shuts and you give a sigh of relief.

“I cannot believe you, Arthur Morgan.” You scold him, finally removing your hand from over his mouth. You press yourself up on his chest to sit above him.

Arthur pants, a smile crossing his features before he sits up and chases your lips. With him still nestled within your hips, he tangles his hands in your hair as he kisses you with a passion not nearly fazed by coming down from his orgasm. He pulls away only slightly, kissing the underside of your jaw.

“Maybe I do enjoy it.”

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Ngl I’m kinda REALLY excited for y’all to read this one, though I’m also slightly worried I bit off more than I can chew.

Part 1 | . . . | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22

Steve gets Joyce situated in a guest room then heads back downstairs. Just as he opens his mouth to address the group, the front door opens.

“Steve? Who’s here?” A semi-familiar voice calls. “There’s bikes and cars all over.”

She rounds the corner and Steve is faced with a younger version of his mother, who blinks at everyone gathered in the living room, then smiles at them. “Hi! I’m Alli.”

Steve feels like he’s going to fall over. All the blood’s drained from his head and his heart gives a painful lurch. “Robin,” he manages, reaching out to grab her without taking his eyes off Alli. “Robin. Now.”

“‘Scuse us, just a minute!” Robin says as she drags Steve upstairs and into the bathroom. He slides down the wall and digs his fingers into his hair as she shuts and locks the door.

“Okay,” she murmurs, placing gentle fingers on Steve’s forearms. “We’re alone. What’s going on?”

He swallows a hysterical sob. “Alli,” he manages to whisper. “Allison. M-my sister.” He gulps, feels like he’s going to throw up. “The last time I saw her, I was seven. She was sixteen. She’d left for a… a girls’ trip in Indy. We’d t-talked on the phone the night before she left to come back home. She was so excited… gonna go out to dinner, one last time. They walked.” He can’t swallow the sob in time and throws himself into Robin’s waiting arms. “S-she got hit,” he whispers. “Drunk driver.” She gasps. “Dead before she hit the ground, according to the paramedics.” He begins to shake. “How’s she alive, Robs? How? She- we- I-”

“I know,” Robin murmurs, holding him close. “Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry. But she’s here, she’s okay. And you’ll be okay, I promise. It’ll be okay.” She hugs him tighter, lets him scrabble at her back until he finds purchase, digging his fingers into her shoulder blades.

A tentative knock on the door. “Me again,” Eddie says. It’s enough to make Steve huff half a laugh. “I think everyone’s kinda wondering what’s happening. And, uh. I’m wondering if you’re okay.”

Robin smoothes a hand down his hair. “Want me to let him in?” She whispers. He nods against her neck. “M’kay. Want me to stay? Or should I go do damage control?”

He sits back and sniffs. “Should probably go,” he admits. “Sorry, Robbie.”

“Hey,” she murmurs, leaning their foreheads together. “You and me against the fuckin’ world, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers, managing a smile when she kisses his forehead.

She stands and opens the door, smiles wanly at Eddie. “I’ll let him explain.” She slips past him and down the stairs.

Eddie shakes his head as he watches her before turning to Steve, who clocks the exact moment Eddie realizes he’s crying. “Steve?”

Steve sniffs again, rubs at his face. “Yeah.”

“Um.” Eddie sits on the ground, back against the sink, mirroring Steve. “You alright?”

Steve laughs humorlessly. “Not in the least.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “With you… I knew. Right? I knew I was coming back, I knew I’d see you again. But her-”

Eddie blinks, frowns. “Your sister? Did you have a… a falling out, or something?”

Steve knocks his head back against the wall. “If only it were that easy,” he murmurs. “Last time I saw her, I was seven. She was sixteen, on a girls’ trip in Indy. Drunk driver hit her.” He swallows, tries to keep the tears in this time. “They were walking, it wasn’t that far from where they were staying. She was dead before she hit the ground.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie mutters.

Steve opens his eyes to regard Eddie. “Pretty much.”

Eddie opens his mouth, then shuts it with a frown. Finally he says, “I don’t know how to make it better, but I do have a joint.”

Steve laughs, only a little hysterically. “Maybe later. I want to, but…”

“You want to see your sister,” Eddie nods. “Do you have any idea how she’s here?”

Steve scoffs. “Not in the least. I’m sure Dustin’ll have at least one theory, though.”

Eddie chuckles. “He probably will.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Steve feels like he can face the world—face Alli— without immediately crying again. He sighs. “How do I look?”

Eddie regards him. “Better than I thought you would,” he says, then peers closer. “Damn, Harrington, the hell kinda genes you got to not look like a mess after sobbing?”

Steve chuckles at that. “Thanks,” he says, which he knows isn’t really an answer. “Still kinda feel gross, though.”

“Well, yeah, dude, you’re still covered in Upside Down shit.”

Steve grimaces. “Don’t remind me,” he says, and they both chuckle. He manages a small, genuine smile at Eddie. “Thanks, though. You’re kinda really great at making me feel better.”

Eddie blushes a little, but his gaze is steady when it locks on Steve’s. “I’m glad.”

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[askinkiskarma]

Illicit Affairs | Chapter IX: Seven

Pairing: Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Reader

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter X

Synopsis: As your life comes to an end, someone you never thought you'd see again helps both you and Neteyam navigate your past and future.

Warnings: pure angst, mentions of death, mental illness, addiction, self-injury, no mentions of Y/N, cursing, some fluff, a lot of crying, like too much crying honestly

Word Count: 9,3k words

A/N: The second to last chapter is here, and with it also comes the beginning of the end. I am honestly so sad at the thought of this series finishing, I have spent every minute of my life thinking and living in it, and I am not ready for it to end (wink wink). This chapter was the most emotionally draining piece of writing I have ever done, but I am so happy with the way it turned out. I hope you like it, and that you find some comfort in this story, the way I found comfort in writing it and sharing it with you. I am so so excited about the last chapter, and I will start writing it right away. As always, thank you so much for engaging with my work and for all the support, I loved reading your comments and asks so so much, they make my life honestly. (Pls listen to seven by TS when reading this, I think it will enhance the experience x also jake saying babygirl does things to me ok byee x )

“Please, picture me in the trees, I hit my peak at seven Feet, in the swing over the creek, I was too scared to jump in Please picture me in the weeds, before I learnt civility I used to scream ferociously any time I wanted ...Are there still beautiful things?”

Neteyam left the clearing with so much anger it could be mined as a new energy source. He couldn’t believe this, couldn’t believe you. He was losing you, over and over, and now will lose you permanently. His heart bled so much, he didn’t think he could make it back to the village in the state he was in. He spent the last month of his life, the last month of your life, training you, ignoring his feelings for you, having dinner with another woman, when he should have been loving you, helping you heal and checking in on your human form, that he spent his whole life with and then abandoned for your Avatar. You took everything from him by keeping this a secret. His whole life, his future, the chance at any happiness or hope or trust in loved ones. He would never forgive you for this. You robbed him of everything and your death will bring his own, maybe not physical, but spiritual and emotional. 

He didn’t want to go back to the village, couldn’t go back to the village. He couldn’t hear it, couldn’t hear them talking about you, about your death, he couldn’t see them cry and mourn, for the woman he will love as long as his beating heart was still pumping blood, and not die, not collapse due to the overbearing weight of his broken soul. There was only one place he thought to go, only one place he might find any semblance of peace: Vitraya Ramunong, the Tree of Souls.

Norm and the Sullys were still in the tent, discussing ways to get you to accept the consciousness transfer, brainstorming every possible idea, even thinking of literally tying you to a bed and pumping you with the drugs that they knew would buy you, buy them some more time to change your mind. They all jumped at the screech that came from just outside their tent, and Jake got his gun resting by his side and saw the rest of his family arming themselves with bows and knives at the ominous sound. When they made it outside, they were shocked to see your ikran, a beautiful beast, batting her wings aggressively and hissing in their direction. 

“What is it, girl?” Jake said, approaching her carefully and petting her head gently. The ikran opened her mouth and took Jake’s hand in hers, which elicited a furious reaction from Neytiri, to which Jake raised his other hand in a calming gesture.

“She’s not hurting me, she’s pulling me away, towards the lab. I think she’s trying to tell us something.” 

His heart dropped at the thought of what could your ikran be wanting to show them so ardently, so urgently. He has never seen such behaviour from a banshee, and he realises painfully how much of an imprint you have made on this world, on life all around you. He wishes this world would have made as much of an impact on you, maybe if it had, you wouldn’t want to leave it so soon. 

Jake got on the banshee without making the bond, and she immediately took off. 

“Take the Ikrans or Pa’li and hurry to the lab, I have a really bad feeling.”

The last thing he saw is his entire family calling for their animals, the hurry and desperation enveloping all of them like a warm, suffocating blanket. 

The banshee landed in a small clearing with a river source in the middle of it. It was a beautiful place that Jake has somehow never stumbled through before, but he couldn’t think about it too much when another, more urgent matter caught his eye. A small and fragile frame, motionless on the ground. 

“KID!” He jumped from the back of the ikran like it was lava, and ran as quickly as he possibly could, kneeling on the ground next to you. His face immediately went to your masked one, trying to see if he could spot breathing. Two fingers rushed to your throat, looking for a pulse he couldn’t feel. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, don’t do this to me, baby girl. Come on, please.” 

He removed your mask and starting giving you CPR, his two hands wrapped around each other in firsts as he rhythmically compressed your chest in the spot right on top of your heart. Thirty compressions, two breaths, thirty compressions, two breaths. He was trying so hard to remain calm and collected, but his mind was screaming with the image of you on the ground, dead or dying, he still didn’t know, alone, and he felt tears pool in his eyes. You have been alone for such a long time, and he was right: he never tried to understand what you must have been going through, how hard this life must have been for you on this planet your body didn’t belong on, with a soul so bright and wild that was continuously tamed by the fury of your own destiny, with which you battled your whole existence. Losing your mum changed you, finding your dad in the woods broke your spirit, and losing Neteyam took away the last shred of happiness you had, and they watched. He watched, unknowing and ignorant. He will never forgive himself if you died here, in his arms. 

He was continuing the CPR when his eyes snapped at something moving above his head. Jake stopped the chest compressions at the sight. Atokirina, dozens of them, floating down gently and peacefully until they reached your body, where they settled for a few seconds, before they all took flight again concomitantly. Jake thought that was a good sign, and, in a desperate attempt to add on to Eywa’s efforts, he brought up his fingers together in a fist, and with all his might, hit your unmoving chest, saying a silent prayer in his mind as he did so. 

With wide eyes and laboured breaths, Jake saw the small girl he’s known since she was born come back to life with a violent gasp. You immediately started coughing breathlessly, and Jake put your mask back over your face. He pressed a button and allowed you to take a few short, pained breaths. He felt relief wash all over him, but he knew he needed to go; you weren’t breathing properly, and he saw your face slowly turning purple. 

“It’s okay, baby girl. You’re going to be okay.”

With very little effort, Jake lifted you from the ground and carried you in his arms, running as fast as he could do without disturbing you even further. He couldn’t help wince as he was looking at your body, so weak and feeble, so different than the one he remembered. How did this happen? How did Norm and Max allow this? 

He made it to the lab shortly, and saw the whole family waiting for him there. Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk all let out a shocked gasp at your lifeless form residing in Jake’s arms, but he couldn’t think about that now, he couldn’t worry about anything other than making sure you will survive this. 

Norm and Max let him in with their keycards and motioned hurriedly in the direction of the medical ward. He knew where to go, having been there a few times with soldiers who were sick, as well with his own kids when they got illnesses the Tsahik couldn’t cure. He hurried past all the hallways and entered and put you down as gently as he possibly could. Norm and Max burst through the door, getting all sorts of instruments and machines ready that Jake couldn’t name with a gun to his head. He silently got out of the way, and let them do what they did best. 

He got out of the room and grabbed Tuk in his arms, holding her tightly when she nuzzled her head in his neck and started silently sobbing. 

“What is going on?” Kiri, one of your best friends in the whole world, your sister, asked through shaky breaths and hushed cries. 

“Ma 'ite…” Neytiri said softly, hugging her kids close to her chest. 

“She’s sick, isn’t she? Like the people in the village?” 

“Yes, my sweet child.”

“But those people died.” Tuk said in between high pitched whimpers. 

Jake and Neytiri exchanged a knowing, sorrowful look, and tightened their grip on their children. 

Neteyam found the Tree of Souls to be deserted, as most Na’vi would be gone hunting or preparing for the upcoming war this time of day, or just taking shelter from the rain that has been pouring for days with no seeming intention of stopping. He knelt on the ground and peered up at the bright pink and purple tendrils of the sacred willow, taking in the beauty that he is yet to get over, even after coming here his whole entire life. A pained cry escaped his lips at the realisation he will never be able to show this to you. From the second he saw your Avatar body, dreams invaded his subconscious mind, dreams of when you would finally become one of the people, dreams of your soft hair bouncing on your beautiful back while you ran beneath the tree, dreams of his finally being able to make you his, the way he has wanted for so long. You were supposed to become one of the people, you were supposed to be his, his mate and the mother of his children, his Tsahik, the best Tsahik this clan had ever seen. How the fuck was he supposed to come to terms with this heartbreak, how was he ever supposed to be the same person again? You were in his life from the moment you were born. You were born just a couple of months apart, as if Eywa couldn’t wait any longer to join two souls who were meant to be. He couldn’t remember a day in his life when you weren’t there - even if not physically, you were always in his life, in his mind, your light forever permeated through every cell in his body. You were the only fact of life he was sure of, how was he supposed to live without you?

“I have another quote that reminds me of you, though.” 

Patting the spot next to you, you signalled for him to lie down. He did, although his legs were completely off the bed, the tiny contraption barely able to accommodate his torso. You let out a small laugh, but seemed happy to have him so close. 

You placed your head on his chest, and he prayed you couldn’t hear the way his heart felt like it was trying to escape his chest at your proximity and warmth. You opened the book and looked for the quote. 

“Ah, there is it.” You cleared your throat, then continued. “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” 

“I like that.” He felt bashful at your admission of how you viewed him. You were always braver than him when it comes to your feelings. You never said them out right, but you always gave enough proof through moments like these, when you would sing a song, or read him a section of a book you thought resonated with you.

“Read more. Is there anything else in that book that reminds you of us?” 

You blushed, but flipped through more pages. You have him a knowing look, and read from the book you gripped on so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”

He couldn’t help think of that quote, and how deeply you both felt for each other, how this world is dull and senseless, meaningless and bleak without the other. “If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger”. He never quite understood the magnitude of this quote until today, when he stared at your dying body, until he was here, kneeling under the Tree of Souls, knowing soon you might not be part of his universe anymore, willing to beg Eywa until his knees bleed for another chance, for one more try. 

“Great Mother,” he starts as he reaches for the queue and brings it to one of the tendrils he was softly grasping in his hand, “I need your help. I’m begging you for help.” 

His queue wraps around the mauve willow branch and he inhales faintly at the bond, as he is transported across dimensions, to another plane of being, higher than any living thing had access to except in this way.

He woke up in the last place he thought he would, the lab. The damn lab, with its white, too-white walls and a smell that always burned his nostrils and a coldness that he would never get used to, no matter how many days he has spent here in his life. Without you in it, it was unnatural and unwelcoming, and he didn’t want to be here a second longer than he needed to.

“Ma 'itan.” he heard a voice call out to him from inside one of the rooms, and he made his way slowly towards it, feet hurting from the biting temperature of the smooth tiles. He passed a mirror that was hung on one of the walls, and was startled to see himself in it, only it appeared more like a window to the past, as the face looking back at him was young, no older than 10. 

He continued on, and eventually reached it. It was dark, except the light from a computer screen and one desk lamp gently illuminating the room. Sat on a chair was a woman, beautiful and elegant, with light curly hair that reached her torso and kind features, that reminded him so much of her daughter, so much so that it made his heart constrict in pain. 

“Neteyam, my boy, it’s so good to see you!”

“Auntie Jo?” 

“You’ve grown so much, ma 'itan. You’ve become a handsome young man.”

“Auntie Jo, what’s going on? Why am I here?” 

“You’ve come to ask for help from the Great Mother. The Great Mother doesn’t take sides, son, you know that. She protects only the balance of life.”

“Yes, and her life hangs in the balance. I need Eywa to help, I need Eywa to save her, because her life has never been balanced. There’s never been anything fair about her life, and this second chance is the balance. It’s what she deserves, a lifetime of happiness to make up for all the hurt the Universe has put her through.”

“I see you are still my daughter’s angel, even after all this time. You always took care of her, from when you were both babies. We used to put you in the same crib and you would go to sleep holding hands. You both used to cry whenever it was time for us to return to the lab. Eventually, we had to give you a piece of clothing of the other, so you could sleep peacefully through the night. I always knew you were supposed to end up together. It’s part of the reason I worked so hard to decode the Avatar for her.” 

“She’s dying. She’s dying and there’s nothing I can do! I need you to help me save her, I need to do something, I need something to stop the way it feels like I’m being ripped apart at every seam in my body. I have never known such pain, I never knew it was possible for a body to hurt so badly from a wound that doesn’t even exist.” 

The woman rose from the chair and took Neteyam in her arms, allowing him to place his head on her shoulders and cry. Neteyam tightened his arms around her and held her, crying, releasing all the grief he was feeling for his love, for his future, for her.

“If you feel it, son, then it exists. If you feel her, then she exists, and she will exist forever. In truth, there is nothing any of us can do, except love her and be there for her. My daughter has grown so much, and so much grief grew along with her. And she learnt how to let grief grow until it is so big it cannot be contained within her body from me. But there’s still time for her to grow, too. Grow bigger than the grief. She needs you, Neteyam. She needs you to be her light one last time. She needs you right now. You should go before it’s too late.”

Neteyam woke up like from a dream and removed his queue from the tree so quickly it hurt him and he felt the pain travel all the way to the tip of his toes. It didn’t matter, he thought. He could be scalped right now and he would still be calling his ikran with enough might to wake up the entire forest. As soon as she arrived at the foot of the tree, he got on her and motioned for her to take off, no other thoughts than the words your mother uttered echoing in his ears. I need to get to the lab, fuck, I hope I’m not too late. I can’t be too late. It can’t be too late.

He completely spaced out until he reached the lab, so it was like he blinked and he was there. He saw your ikran next to the entrance of the lab and felt his pulse quicken so fast he almost fell off his own with how faint it made him. He knocked on the door forcefully and incessantly until Lo’ak came and opened it. His baby brother’s eyes were red and damp and he looked sick and tired; Neteyam couldn’t remember the last time he has ever seen Lo’ak in this state - he didn’t think he ever had. The lump that formed in Neteyam’s throat stopped him from speaking, and he looked at his brother with desperation laced on every feature, silently pleading to be put out of his misery.

“She collapsed outside the lab. She was in a clearing a few minutes from here. Her ikran came to the village and took dad to where she was, and he brought her here.”

Lo’ak started crying again, bringing a hand to his face to hide himself, and Neteyam took him in his arms and hugged him. 

“She was dead, bro. Dad said she was dead. Her heart stopped and he managed to start it back up again, but she has been in the room with Norm and Max for a while, she won’t wake up. She’s been sick for a month and we didn’t know. I didn’t know!”

Neteyam let Lo’ak cry it out, feeling his own hurt being pushed aside at the sight of his baby brother needing a shoulder to cry on. He couldn’t be weak when his family needed him. 

Eventually they made their way down the corridor until they reached the rest of their family, and he saw it, saw you, and it immediately made his sick. He’s struggled to keep down whatever food he still had in his system at the terrorising sight - you, lying on a white framed bed, unconscious, with tubes coming in and out of you, so many tubes he was losing count. He saw the tubes coming out of machines that were beeping, and one of them was removing blood from your body and then pushing it back in, and Neteyam felt weak in the knees taking it all in. 

FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF STAGE IV: BARGAINING

You woke up in a daze, feeling heavy and numb, like that one time you were 16 and you took one too many sleeping pills and you needed 3 days to ride out the consequences. You frowned deeply at the bright artificial lights that were bearing down on you, and you realised you were in the medical ward of the hub. You faintly heard the ECG machine beeping, and you knew at least you weren’t dead yet. You don’t know how much time it’s been, the last thing you remember is Neteyam turning his back on you in the clearing.

“You’re a coward…”

You felt your heart hurt, although the pain was not physical, it wasn’t an arrhythmia or fibrillation or asystole, it was worse. It was a kind of pain you can’t fix with some pills or a defibrillator or some epinephrine to restart the heart. It didn’t work that way. This pain you would have to ride out, have to hope it will pass in time. 

He was right. You were a coward, have been your whole life. There was no point denying it any longer, no point hiding behind a facade of eye rolls and straight faces. You killed yourself slowly and painfully, for years - taking pills, taking too many pills, ignoring the pleas from your mind that told you it was slowly losing focus, that couldn’t handle pain as well anymore, that couldn’t sleep unless it was practically mush by the time your head hit the pillow. You told yourself it was unfortunate that you got the virus, that you hated it and that you were working for cure, but in reality you were kind of relieved when it happened. Because now you had an excuse, and you didn’t have to do any of the heavy lifting yourself. 

You were a coward, refusing to get help or let yourself be loved, let yourself be mourned, because you didn’t want to deal with it. You refused to tell Neteyam, the man who has loved you and been your rock your whole life, who, despite everything that went on between you, would always be yours, and who you knew would suffer immensely because of your passing, because you didn’t want to suffer with him. You didn’t tell Norm and Max, because you knew they would make you get help, and try to get you to heal and stay alive longer, and you didn’t want that. You didn’t tell Jake or Neytiri, or the kids, because no parent or sibling should have to watch their kid, their sister die, and you thought by pushing them away and blaming them for Neteyam’s indiscretion, you would be able to soften the blow. But most of all, you didn’t tell them because you didn’t want to know that people do love you, would suffer because of you, that your death impacted lives around you. You didn’t need the guilt. 

Nobody was paying attention to you, you realised. You briefly saw Norm and Max hurrying around you out of the corner of your eye, and saw a dialysis machine retrieving your blood through a tube coming from your neck. You were going into multiple organ failure, you deduced. Your heart and lungs were shot, your kidneys were shot, you didn’t have much time left.

You wanted to speak, you wanted to scream for Neteyam, for all of them, and apologise. You knew what it meant to lose people, better than most. You were sorry for knowing you will put these people you loved so much through so much pain. You were sorry things turned out like this, that you weren’t stronger, that your heart was so broken it found comfort in the pain and was too scared to heal. The tube coming out of your mouth didn’t allow for that. You felt tears falling from your eyes and then slowly the heaviness taking over, pushing your eyelids shut, and the last thing you heard was the unmistakable sound of a flatline, and screams all around you. 

You woke up dazed, needing a few second to take in your surroundings. You had no idea where you were, it isn’t a place you have ever seen before. You looked, trying to accommodate to the light shining brightly from an orb in the sky, and when you couldn’t see Polyphemus and its moons in the sky, you knew you were no longer on Pandora. It took a while, but you eventually realised you were on Earth. You turned around, taking in all of your surroundings, and felt amazed at the unfamiliar new sights. In front of you stood a house. On the smaller side (you thought, based on all the Hollywood movies you’ve seen), with a blue paintcoat and surrounded by a short brown fence, it had flowers you were fascinated by and shrubbery surrounding it, giving it an unkept look - you loved it. It was not like the houses you have seen in the movies, perfect and artificial, with human precision to ruin what Mother Earth put there for a reason. Behind you were paved roads, but nobody was around. There were no other houses, the one in front of you solitary and quiet, except for a rhythmic sound you could hear from somewhere behind it, although you could not place it, as the house was on a little hill. 

You made your way towards the entrance quietly, and were pleasantly surprised when the little fence opened at your slightest push, so you continued through the cobblestone path, until you were standing face to face with a white door. You felt yourself curiously knocking on it, hoping someone could let you in and explain to you what was going on, why were you here, what was this place? Was this the afterlife? Were you in heaven? 

After waiting a few minutes at the door with no answer, you touched the handle and pressed gently, surprised again when it opened to you. You felt a strange smell envelop you, it was a completely new olfactory experience than you have ever had, and you realised you loved it -  it was a rich and warm smell, and you had to swallow as it seemed to trigger hunger in your system. The room you were in was a little claustrophobic, but you couldn’t help thinking if was homely and snug and felt a strange familiarity as you walked through the dimly lit narrow hallway. Right by the entrance to the right was a brighter, doorless room that probably served as a library once - the walls were covered in thick mahogany shelves filled to the brim with colourful books, and a beautiful dark brown desk was placed in the middle of it, with a fuzzy looking carpet adorning the wooden floors. Further in the hallway, frames with photos of people you couldn’t really place were decorating the blue walls and you smiled taking them all in. A photo of 3 people at the beach, a family, you noted, a photo in a beautiful location somewhere in the mountains, a photo of a dad carrying a small girl on his back, both of them laughing widely - all so beautiful, so intimate. On one of the images was scribbled something that caught your attention. It was an image of a girl, young and beautiful, with light and wavy hair and holding what you knew from movies to be a graduation gown, throwing her cap in the air. The handwritten note on it said “Our little Marj graduating summa cum laude at only 18! - Johns Hopkins, June 2123.” 

Shocked, you removed the frame from the wall and looked at it closer. Your mum. This was your mum’s house, the house she grew up in as a child. What were you doing here? What was happening to you? You held on to the picture as you moved through the house that eventually opened into a big and brightly lit room, that served as both the kitchen and the living room. In the corner of the room lay a beautiful grand piano and a few guitars, all on stands. Through the big windows and the door that opened to the backyard, you saw a large body of water, and you realised the noises you were hearing earlier were waves, crashing on the sandy beach. You have never seen anything like it and couldn’t help stare for a while, just taking in the beauty of this world you never thought you would be able to experience for yourself. You found yourself picking up one of the guitars on the stand that you knew was your mum’s, since it was the same one you have…. had on Pandora, and opened the door to the outside, slowly walking towards the open sea. 

You frowned as you made your way through the fine warm sand at all these new experiences and sensations you have never had before, and the frown deepened at a blanket on the ground, almost inviting you to sit down, almost as if it was laid out for you. Feeling safe and blissful in this new world you now inhabited, you allowed yourself to do as you were silently bid. 

You loved the malleable feeling of the sand as you stretched your legs and noticed it moved to accommodate your body. The blanket was soft, and you felt inspired to pick up the guitar and tune it, strumming it gently. You couldn’t believe what was happening to you, the fact that you were here, on Earth, in your mum’s childhood home. You didn’t know what to think, but you thought that if this is death, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. 

“My love.” 

That voice. Your breathing and hands both stopped to bring you to a dead still. Your eyes immediately filled with tears that spilled like effortless waterfalls, a visceral reaction to a voice you never thought you’d ever hear again. Your head snapped in the direction of the voice so quickly it gave you whiplash, but you didn’t care. Nothing else mattered in this life but this voice. 

“Mum??” You got up to your feet as rapidly as your human body could handle and ran in the arms of the woman you loved more than anything in this world, more than life itself. You were sobbing as you removed yourself form her arms, touching her face with your hands, touching her arms, making sure she was real, that she was here. 

“Oh my God, baby, it’s ok, I’m right here.” 

She was trying to calm you down enough so you could utter a word, but you couldn’t, you couldn’t stop wailing, couldn’t stop your body expelling so many tears you completely soaked the top of her t-shirt. 

Slowly, she moved you to where you were sat just a few minutes ago, and you were a blubbering mess, unable to utter a single syllable to this woman you have spoken enough to fill out novels in your dreams, in your thoughts, in your soul. 

“You’re alright, my love. Everything’s alright.” She was removing tears as they fell from your eyes with her palm, gently cupping your face and smiling at you, with enough warmth you knew it could power up this whole world if she let it. 

Eventually, you found your voice. “Mum, what is this? How are you here? Am I dead?”

She laughed at your barrage of questioning, remembering fondly how you have always been such a curious cat, always had so many questions for her, relentless in your quest for knowledge. 

“You’re with Eywa, my love. We’re with Eywa. And no, you are not dead yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yes, baby. It seems Eywa is not quite done with you yet.”

“What does the Great Mother want from me?”

“I think she wants you to make a choice, baby.”

“I’ve already made my choice.” 

“I don’t think you have, my love.” 

You thought about her words for a while. You thought you made your choice. I mean, you were here, weren’t you? Dead. Or in purgatory, one of the two, but still, not alive. You thought about your life. About your beautiful mother sitting in front of you, and the moment she gave her last breath to the world. Her funeral, rain pouring over you like the endless sorrow that hasn’t left you since. You thought about how hard it was to sleep at night, how the nightmares never stopped, how the sadness became a confidant you knew you could never shake - you knew you didn’t want to shake. You thought about your dad - the guilt you felt because of him, his actions, his murders, how they haunted you in dark corridors, how the Na’vi people cursed you in your dreams and told you you were a demon, just like he was. You thought about his body in the woods, his exo-suit that he left a few steps behind, and how you couldn’t walk barefoot after that. You thought about the pills, your only friends, the only cure for your debilitating insomnia. You thought about your sleep paralysis demons, crawling on top of you and sitting on your chest until you couldn’t breathe anymore, watching you scream and laughing at you mockingly, how they always looked like you, how they were just a dark, cursed version of yourself, the you you knew you looked like in your soul. You thought about Neteyam leaving - the last straw, the one that left you irreparably broken, the one that skinned you alive and left you for dead. 

You thought you made your choice. 

“I miss you, ma. So much.” The crying never stopped, but you held her hand and tried to revel in the feeling, in knowing she was here and you were with her. Even if you weren’t sure about your choice before, you were when you looked into her bright and caring eyes. “I just found you, I can’t lose you again.”

“I miss you, too, bunny. I have kept an eye on you for almost 9 years, everyday regretting not fighting harder to be in your life.”

You frowned at her words. “You fought hard, ma. Your death was a tragedy, but it was unavoidable.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe?”

“I mean I fell in the same bad patterns as you did, bunny. I could have asked Mo’at for the transfer, but I didn’t. Just like you didn’t. It hurts me so much to see you make the same mistakes as I did. I love you so much, and I wish I could have healed enough in life to not bestow on you this grief. I wish I could have been braver and stronger, I wish I could have asked for help when I felt like the world was caving in on itself on top of me. Maybe if I did, then you wouldn’t be here.

When your dad died, most of me died along with him. Having to have and raise you by myself was the toughest thing I have ever had to brave. And I’d like to think I did a good job, and it was easy enough, because you were the best baby anyone’s ever had, but inside I was screaming. Every night was hell and I struggled with surviving for the rest of my life. When the cancer came, I was terrified to leave you, I was terrified of knowing you would have to be in this world alone, but selfishly, I was relieved. Because the hurt would finally stop. Mo’at, Jake, Neytiri, Norm, Max, everyone tried to get me to accept the consciousness transfer, but I didn’t. Because it was my consciousness that was killing me slowly. A new body wasn’t going to change that.”

You were reeling at the confession, finding it hard to keep breathing, hard to keep going, even in death. Was there no peace? Were you never going to be at peace? You felt so sad at her words, so angry at her admitting she didn’t let you in, that she abandoned you without fighting as hard as she possibly could to heal, to stay alive for you. She lied about being happy, about you being everything she ever needed, she died without even trying the consciousness transfer. How could she ever d-

You gasped in shock at the realisation. 

“What, was I supposed to find you dead one day and that was it? That was what I deserved from you, after all the blood, sweat and tears I gave you? You said I took your choice away. You wouldn’t have even given me a choice to say goodbye to the love of my life before you fucking died!”

“You had a choice. You could have come to the many people who love you, love you unconditionally, and told us, and let us in, and let us help you. You could have gotten help, taken the pills, fight your damn hardest to make this work, to find a cure, for the life your mum gave you, the life she would have to watch you throw away. You have a choice now. To want to live, to want to fight through this and come out the other side a new, better person. To let me love you, let people love you. To do the consciousness transfer and be with me, and be happy, forever. And you’re choosing this.“

“Baby, are you still with me?”

All of a sudden, all new thoughts entered your mind from the ones before. You thought you made your choice. But then you thought about Pandora, the beautiful world you loved so much, that despite not being born for, you climbed its trees and ran its grounds like you had. You thought about how happy laying on the grass made you, just feeling how each blade tickled your skin and brought a laughter that was so pure, so unassuming - so real. You thought about your guitar, and the guitar Neteyam gave you, and the peace you felt when you played them, when you sang your feelings, like a litany to cleanse your soul.

You thought about Kiri - your beautiful sister who you scoured the woods with, finding rocks and flowers and watching her crafting necklaces while the light shone brightly on your faces. You thought about Lo’ak. Your movie marathons, the endless laughter and the warmth he brought to your soul, that felt forever childlike when around him. You thought about Spider, the monkey boy who was the only one who could truly understand what you were going through as a human child growing on a different planet.

You thought about Norm and Max, how they raised you without ever asking for anything in return, how they kept you in their lab and bestowed upon you all of their knowledge and skill and the look they gave you whenever you put anything they taught you to good use. You thought about Jake and Neytiri, your surrogate parents that you always pushed away, and they always came back, loving you unconditionally despite all your emotional shortcomings. You thought about Tuk, how she looked at you like you were the most amazing sister she had, how you used to be the only one who could put her to sleep when she was a fussy infant, how she loved your voice and clung to your every word.

You thought about your mum, who despite being gone for almost a decade, you still felt in you every day, whenever you touched a book you know she loved, whenever you were in the lab, whenever you looked in the mirror and the eyes that greeted you might as well be hers. Finally, you thought about Neteyam. The person you loved more than life itself, more than the sun and the moon, more than every star in the sky. The person who has been here all your life, who stood by you no matter what, who only left so you didn’t have to suffer further. You thought about his smile, his eyes which were like the lighthouse that would always guide you home, his touch that brought life back into you, his love for you, that shone bright and eternal. 

You realised then you weren’t ready to say goodbye to all of those things, you wanted more, needed more. You wanted to know what it was like to live, fully live, you wanted to know what it felt like to have a proper family, you wanted to give yourself fully to the man you loved, you wanted to know if your kids would have your mum’s eyes and their dad’s kindness and patience. You wanted to experience Pandora’s sky with Neyn, and you wanted to find a cure for the virus that killed you. You wanted to help the Na’vi fight the Sky People, and you wanted to show them there are good humans out there, and you come from one, and are one. You needed more time. 

You were crying so hard you felt your hand going and grasping at your heart, trying to somehow claw through your chest and grasp it in your palms and hold it, trying to stop it from hurting. “I need to go back. I have to go back, I need more time.”  

As soon as you said that, you heard a sound coming from the sky, almost like far away thunder. You didn’t know what it was, but you didn’t have time to think about it. 

“Ma, I have to go back. I have to make it right. I’m not ready, mum. I’m not ready to go yet.” 

“I know, baby. It seems you finally made your choice.” 

You saw far into the distance, and saw the edges of the world dissipate slowly, leaving behind a white glow in their wake. You knew what was coming, you knew the one thing you still had to do before it happened.

“Mum, I forgive you. I’m so sorry life took so much from you and I am sorry I couldn’t help more. I’m sorry you had to hurt alone. I love you so much, I will always love you. You will always be a part of me. I forgive you.” 

You saw your beautiful mum take a deep breath in, and her body started glowing with the same glow that was gently overtaking the world. 

“I have roamed this world for almost 10 years, unable to move on. I am finally free, my love. I can rest now. Thank you.” 

Before she would inevitably leave you again, you needed to know one more thing.

“Mum, was my dad evil?”

“Oh, baby. Your dad was a beautiful soul, and although he had many flaws, he was not evil. When you are ready to open your bottom desk drawer, make sure you look around you as well. All will be revealed in time, my love. And listen to Kiri more when she talks to you about plants, you might be surprised what could come of it.” She smiled kindly and gave you a mischievous wink, and with that, she vanished. 

“MUM!” You screamed, anguished at losing her again. 

You heard her voice echo in the sky. 

“Do not go gentle into that good night, 

Old age should burn and rave at close of day

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

You smiled through tears at the poem she used to read you at least once a week when you were a baby. Once it was done, her voice was replaced with another, and you realised what the previous sounds in the sky were. The only voice in the world that mattered.

“Atan! Please come back, please come back. You can’t leave me, please!”

I’m coming, my light. 

“Push another round of Epi.” 

Neteyam watched as the two humans were working tirelessly to try to bring you back to life. He thought he knew what pain was, what grief and sorrow were, but realised he didn’t - not until the last 30 minutes, as he saw you die in front of him, not until he saw your body being electrocuted and needles going in your heart, not until not any of this torture worked, not until you were still dead, not until his worst fear in life materialised like a bad magic trick. 

“We’ve been doing this for too long, Norm. Even if she comes back now, her brain was without oxygen for 30 minutes and I-“

“Just fucking do it, Max!” 

Neteyam saw Norm get the machine with the two pads that shocked your body ready again, and he felt himself hope, just a little hope, for the last time. He heard himself talk over the noise, over the constant flat tone of the machine that was connected to your heart.

“Atan! Please come back, please come back. You can’t leave me, please!”

Norm put the pads on your body as soon as Max injected you with what they called Epi. 

“CLEAR!” He screamed and pressed the handles of the pads, and your body convulsed violently at the shock they administered. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.  

The room went completely quiet. He saw Norm and Max look at you with mouths agape and then look at each other. Then they started crying. 

“We have sinus rhythm.”

Neteyam felt his heartbeat thump in his chest, felt dizzy and confused. The beeping was different than the tone he heard before. Why were they crying? He turned around to face his family and noticed them hugging, and laughing wildly, screaming and crying at the sight, and he let himself believe, for a second, that this was not bad news.

“What is sinus rhythm?” He said, voice hoarse from the amount of crying he had lived through. 

“She’s alive.” Norm says through panted breaths and muted tears. 

She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. 

It felt like Neteyam took his first breath, like he was born again. They say every Na’vi is born twice, and although the second one was technically when he became a man, he would argue the second time was right now. Those words brought him back to life, in an instant and he felt like he could finally breathe. He could finally live.

“Neteyam”, Max puts a hand on his shoulder, “She’s been dead for 30 minutes. She is alive, but we don’t know what state she will be in when and if she wakes.”

No, you will be fine. He had no doubt in his mind anymore. Eywa has spoken. Eywa brought you back for a reason. 

Hours passed, and you didn’t wake. The two scientists gave you pills and liquids that were going in you through various tubes in your body. Neteyam was tortured at the sight, but was consoled with knowing these were keeping you alive. Eventually, they left you to rest, not being able to do anything more until you would wake up… if you woke up. His parents and siblings, and Spider also left, not too far, as they decided to sleep in the hub. Neteyam stood by your side the whole time. He held your hand which felt so small in his much bigger one, and found himself tracing every hair, blemish and vein on your arm. His gaze then shifted onto your face, which looked peaceful, a deep contrast to the one he saw just half a day ago, although it felt like a different life ago. Your beautiful lips were slightly parted as you were breathing with the help with a transparent mask that covered half your face. Your cheeks had a rosy tint to it, and were marked by shadows given by your eyelashes that were resting on them. Your forehead was finally free of the scowl or frown that seemed to plague it most days, giving you a serene look about you. Angel.

Neteyam’s gaze fell around the room, taking in all the equipment that was required to keep you alive. He learned that the beeping machine was called an electrocardiogram, and through the little sensors on your chest, it could feel your heartbeat. He learned that the machine that was pumping your blood was called a dialysis machine, and it was helping you clear your blood of waste since your body couldn’t do that by itself anymore. He learned the mask was helping you breathe, since you body couldn’t that by itself either. He was eternally grateful to these machines, and the men wielding them, for the part they were playing in you not being taken away from him. He has never liked humans, but more and more, he could understand their beauty, and that, in their own way, they were just doing their best - isn’t that the only thing one can hope for? 

Neteyam was pulled out of his musings by the tiniest movement of your hand that was rested in his. He immediately snapped his eyes to your hand, and gasped loudly when you moved again - just a small twitch, nothing more, but it was enough to electrify his entire body, deep shockwaves running through him from where you touched him to each extremity. His gaze shifted on to your face, and his breath stopped when his eyes met yours. You looked tired, so tired, but alive. Your eyes crinkled at the sides as you gave him a smile, and his world shifted on its axis, never to be the same again. Your hand slowly and shakily made its way to the mask rested on your face, and you pulled on it until it came off, looking like the movement hurt, like it took all the effort you had. He could see your smile properly now, the most beautiful sight he has ever laid his eyes on - this world, the sky, this entire universe could not hold a candle to this smile. 

“Hi.” You said through shallow panted breaths. 

Neteyam cried, his tears flowing freely, the weight of this day bearing down on him heavily, even as he was watching you, feeling you, seeing you alive. He smiled as he brought his big hand to your face, and cupped it as gently as he knew how. You put your hand over his slowly and deliberately, and continued smiling even with the tears that were making their way down your cheeks and into your smile. 

“Hi.” That’s all he could say, and he knew it was enough. 

It was insane - the thought of having to leave your side for even the split of a second, but he knew his family would never forgive him if he didn’t tell them you were awake. So he went, running through the corridors of the labs and hub, trying to find his way, screaming for them at the top of his lungs, hoping he wouldn’t have to waste time searching. Eventually, they came out panicked, praying they won’t have to hear the worst. They were exalted when that wasn’t the case, and Neteyam saw his three younger siblings, as well as his honorary brother, run as fast as the lab allowed towards the room you were in. He followed suit, sending a glowing, relieved, happy smile towards their parents, which they returned with the same enthusiasm. Norm and Max were already in the room when they arrived, alerted by all the commotion. They were checking in on you, adjusted medicines and slowly removing the mask from around your face. 

You were in a lot of pain, that you could feel even with the morphine you knew was supposed to keep your body nice and numb, although you suspected you were the reason it wasn’t working as well as it should. You felt every breath, every heartbeat, like it was a shot to the chest, but you didn’t complain, and stood there as your two favourite humans were working hard trying to make sure you were going to be alive for longer than a few minutes this time. You felt an immense sense of gratitude at their help and their incessant need to keep you safe and healthy, despite how horribly you treated both of them. You hoped you can earn their forgiveness in time. In time… you smiled softly at the thought. You had time. 

FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF STAGE V: ACCEPTANCE

You were startled at all the sounds and voices coming from the corridors, and you jumped out of your skin when you saw four figures rushing towards you smiling and crying, laughing at you and approaching your body and the bed without concern for all the equipment or the tubes, or Norm and Max. You tried laughing at the endearing sight, but could only manage a forced exhale.

“You’re alive!” Tuk’s soft sobs brought you to tears again, all the events of the last few days quickly taking a toll on your already jagged body.

You nodded softly at her, giving her the biggest smile you could muster. You looked up at Lo’ak and Kiri and felt them taking each of your hand in theirs and tugging at them, holding you with whatever they could without inconveniencing you too much. Lo’ak was tugging at the IV going in your vein, making it hurt, but you couldn’t care less. You were so happy to see him, see them, so happy they found it in their infinite hearts to forgive you. You didn’t know how you still had enough fluid in you to produce even more tears, but there they were, falling again. 

Neteyam walked into the room with his parents, who both brought their hands to their face at the sight of you, and looked at you with so much love your heart tugged painfully. You couldn’t speak, there were no words to convey the love and appreciation you had for them, for this family you gained, the family you would never leave again. Instead, you weakly, with all the power you had, brought your curled finger to your forehead and motioned towards them. I see you, I’m sorry. I see you. 

Neytiri let out a cry and approach your legs, which she grabbed with her hands and held them softly, giving you a small squeeze. 

Neteyam made his way to your side again, and pushed Lo’ak out of the way so he could be close to you, and took your hand in his again, holding to you tightly. You have never seen him like this, so possessive, so desperate to hold you, and you thought you would probably be the same if you watched him die in front of you. You brought his hand to your lips slowly and kissed it. Thank you.

You would have a lifetime to catch up and tell them everything you have wanted to say out loud your whole life but were too afraid to, but in order to do that, you had one thing to do first. You turned your attention to Kiri, who was still holding on to the arm Neteyam wasn’t. 

Finally, you found your voice. It was raw and guttural, and cracked every other word, but it was there. You would learn to use it again in time. 

“What do you say you and me kill this virus, forever?” 

Passed down like folk songs, Our love lasts so long

Tag list (thank you thank you thank you x): @nuhteyam @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @mashiromochi @puffb4ll @sassy-persona @simp4ff @mommyneytiri @inomoikawa @jackiehollanderr @jaysarchiv3 @meivap @dakotali @hlhl99 @eskamybeloved @erenjaegerwifee @winchestertitties @mommyneytiri @ultimatebluff @elizarikaallen @yeosxxx @ssc7514 @lolcaca @jackiehollanderr @bunnyrose01 @therealbloom @neteyams-queue @ @r1dd1kulus

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 62

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

The previous chapter art was removed 4/30/2024, but as of 9/2/2024, Mikey thinks it's pretty cool that we got a new one by @unknownfanartist

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: cast removal, crutches, muscle weakness, general injury recovery

Getting your cast off should have made you happy.

It should have come with a sense of relief. The thing had yellowed with age and stunk to high heaven, but you were numb as the many little saws buzzed around you. You only watched listlessly as bits of fiberglass shattered and nicked the doctor’s mask. You should have some anxiety, you thought. You should be worried that their hand might not be as steady as you’d hoped and they might dip and slice your skin.

You felt nothing.

You only stared on as you were helped out and you saw your legs for the first time.

Pruned from trapped moisture, somehow flaking, and a sickly color, they did not look like your own.

Words pelted you next and you heard them vaguely.

There was a new schedule.

New aftercare.

More healing.

You would never be done healing.

Your body would always be different.

These legs were not your own.

You couldn’t stand without an aid.

Donnie was everything.

After the incident with Leo, he went above and beyond where he’d already stepped up. He cut the others out of the support system. They were still there, the backup they needed to be for him, but Donnie decided in seeing your tears that he was the only one made to aid you. He moved around attentively, pampering you and getting everything you needed. He shifted his focus away from himself and helped however he could with your physical therapy.

You hadn’t told him what happened to Leo.

A piece of you had been extinguished in the exchange, not that you completely understood why.

Something was fundamentally wrong with the picture and the only element out of place was you.

Leo was right, you’d come in and changed something about their dynamic. You had tentatively seen it as good, but in practice you weren’t as sure anymore. You’d been reassured from countless sources, but it all seemed for not after being told point blank that you had upset the status quo and nothing could be put back. You had two happy years with the man you loved, but there was irreparable damage. 

It manifested in your mate in a very real way.

He could no longer act.

The feelings he once pushed away as unnecessary were now a threat to him and everyone around.

You’d robbed him of his joy.

The one he’d found after such an agonizing journey.

You hated it.

You hated every moment he came near.

You hated every little look he gave you, checking in to see if it had been the right one.

You hated how every time, he’d smother even that reaction.

He was a shell. 

He was unsure. 

You were the same.

Then, there was Leo.

After the incident, he had taken a five day sabbatical where on rotation you learned from both Raph and Mikey that he only left the gym when it wasn’t open. He worked himself out until his body gave out and the tiny owner had called Raph away on day three to pick up the passed out husk of his brother. They had their own med bay you learned. Leo slept the last two days and drained multiple IV bags.

When he returned, he was a shadow of his former self.

There were no words left to barb and he parted no attention. Lucinda even greeted him and he only looked away. She’d wanted to ask, you saw it in her eyes, but you held the same empty look.

She’d said nothing and for the last week and a half in your cast, the apartment was trapped in haunting silence.

“It’ll be a wheelchair ride to the car.” A nurse told you.

You only nodded.

Donnie was beside you and you leaned against him.

Despite everything, he was still a comfort.

His hand settled on your shoulder and eventually your chariot approached.

Both in the form of Donnie’s car and a mobilized chair, you stared at your legs all the way.

They moved around you as you were helped into the car.

They sat uselessly in front of you.

You didn’t dare touch them in the ride over.

Crutches took your attention and you headed for the elevator.

You could hear Donnie thinking about getting another apartment.

Stairs got in the way. 

Raph was somewhere.

You vaguely saw him already on your floor when you exited the metal box.

A coordinated clinking took you to your door.

You entered and made it far enough to the partition between the living and bedroom before you stopped.

Donnie and Raph spoke something paltry to each other.

You needed to wash up.

You still stank.

You assumed that’s why the other two had kept their distance.

Raph exceeded the elevator weight limit.

You knew that.

You didn’t care about facts.

Donnie appeared in what you figured was a creep.

You only passed him a glance before finally heading towards the bathroom.

He wandered after.

Had you snapped at him?

You could barely recall.

You thought you should have.

He was around too much, wasn’t he?

He was always there.

He was your blight like the other turtles were to him.

A hovering avatar of your failings.

You felt a few tears loose down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that.

You were free of your cast.

You should have been happy.

Not bitter.

You quaked to a halt just in the bathroom’s entrance.

Donnie was behind you.

“Stay with me…?” You begged him through a sob.

He said nothing and only appeared nodding in your vision.

A bath.

You were supposed to take a bath.

You needed to ease into these legs.

Muscle loss.

Breakdown.

Physical therapy.

Endless.

A spray turned on and you collapsed onto the seat of the toilet, letting your crutches go. Donnie caught them and shut the door properly before kneeling down in front of you. Words would need to be spared now, you thought, but you could only stare at him with what you could feel were soulless eyes.

He took them in with a glance that might have broken into sadness if this were any other world. In your current reality, his own shifted to a similar empty state as that was what was required. As the water warmed up, you were stripped. Not speaking made it more difficult, but you relied on your memory of how to move together.

The movement of Donnie’s beak said a lot.

Now in an especially enclosed space he was trapped with your wretched scent. You smelled it too, but you’d been locked into it for so long it lingered like the rot of your soul. The sink and wash cloths had only ever done so much.

You wanted to be boiled.

You wanted to scrub until there was nothing left.

You’d swirl and go straight down the drain and out of sight.

Your ass hit the cold porcelain and for the first time in over two months you felt something other than musty gauze there. It knocked you out of your stupor where Donnie was stripping without pretense. You didn’t watch him and instead reached through the curtain to touch the stream. It was sufficiently hot and you made a grab for the sink to pull yourself up. Donnie caught your wrist before you could and you sent the barest form of ire up at him.

He took it with the faintest crack of affection in his gaze.

It was something and your heart clenched.

How long had it been since he let something leak?

Not long, you knew.

A week or so at most.

You’d been downplaying them.

Each time he tried a little harder you’d lumped it into an anomaly pile.

You were in a constant state of twisting what you saw to your own view.

You were the numb one and Donnie was curtailing himself to you. 

There was more there, in the way Donnie led you to the curtain. He had your weight, but at the same time you had full control. He was there if you fell, but otherwise you were the dancer that instructed. He, your studious partner, waited as you pulled back the shower curtain and he hopped you up the little step. The warm water splashed your toes and you yearned to bury into the spray. A stepwise process still necessary, you waited for Donnie to follow behind and close the curtain before you moved.

Showers washed away so much. 

You felt not just the grime slipping away, but the sludge attached to your soul. It schlepped off in layers and you watched it metaphorically spin out and disappear down the hole that you thought you might too. Looking now, it was too small and nowhere near enough to encapsulate you. You felt your partner’s grip switch. 

With one hand firm on your waist, the other ghosted over your arm. A move he’d done dozens of times, it was both your ways of recuperating with your partner. He drew strength from you in swipes and soon the lopsided display rotated you like a boat with one oar. Turned to face him with the spray at your back, you thought this was a sign. You started with flat hands over his wet plastron. A smooth glide, you withheld your features as you drifted up to his shoulders. You found him there, watching you with metered affection that you spied as more cracks. Wary of them, you had enough wherewithal to send him a worried look which he took in kind as a palm cascaded down to your hip.

His veneer split. Stroking along his shoulder blades, you grabbed the bulb of his shoulder just in time for a gooey expression to form on his face. Tinged with longing, it swirled as he opened up and you saw a gleam in his pupil. All looks reserved for his precious mate, you leaned into him though you couldn’t safely arch your back. It meant mostly a tip of your body without joints, but it still drew you closer to him.

“I love you.” He spoke without holding back.

Your entire being squeezed.

“I love you so much.” He cast the spell anew and brushed dripping water from your chin.

“Donnie…” You murmured and wanted to wrap him up.

You had the leverage, but there were so many threats. One slip would spell more injuries, but you wanted to launch yourself at him. You wanted to drape around him and tell him you alone could keep his ninpo from spawning. A theory already proven to be ineffective, you didn’t care. You would try harder. You had further mobility now and your mate needed you. You decided you could find a way; you could always find a way.

“Y/N.” He nosed over your shoulder as he reached behind you.

Washing, you were supposed to be washing up, but you could only choke on a sob. “I missed you so much.”

When he reappeared as a gelatinized version of himself, you could still see the upturned corners of his lips. “Tell me?”

You heard a cap pop and could mentally see him applying soap to a loofa in a silky drove. “Tell you what?”

“How much…?” He stalled with a press of suds to your shoulder and a wet look.

You knew his suffering was equal to yours, only different.

In that moment, in its current presentation, it seemed new.

He looked youthful and lonely.

He looked as though he’d been punished unjustly.

He was sat in a corner for a crime he didn’t commit. 

He needed care.

He needed reassurance.

You drifted up his neck and to his jaw. “I miss you constantly. I’ve been miserable. You’re right there, but you’re not. I get pieces of you and that’s never going to be enough. Not when I’ve had the whole thing…”

“Whole thing…” He scolded and his lips warbled as he tried to divert attention into scrubbing your back. “Watching you deepen into your withdrawal has been…”

You shuffled a little closer to him and he slid his steadying hand more securely around you.

“It’s torture.” He rotated you out of the spray so he could reach more of you. “You need so much more of me than I can offer. I attend to all your physicalities, but the emotional aspect…!” He choked and shifted away to wash your arms. “To know that I no longer have the facilities to be a proper partner…”

“You’re wrong.” You pulled his chin so he was forced to look at you. “You’ve done so much. Do you know how many people can’t step up when their significant other gets sick? Truly sick, truly injured!”

He scoffed. “I would attend to you for multiple lifetimes.”

You helped move his hand so he could wash your chest. “Not even want, I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

Donnie slowed as if that was a revelation and looked at you with tempered hope.

“Silly.” You moved to wipe his eyes and he delicately closed his lids so you could brush over them. “You know that.”

“Time and time again my warning that grievous harm will come to you as long as you stay by my side comes to fruition, you should not-”

You pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him.

He searched you in an attempt to break your resolve.

You brushed your digit side by side until he pressed a slight kiss into it. “Do you think what happened is actually your fault?”

You moved your finger away and he spoke immediately. “No.”

“Not that you allowed us to get drugged and taken?” You squeezed the words for what they were worth to translate your own feelings on the matter.

“I had every precaution in place, but there are gaps that cannot be accounted for-”

“Do you blame yourself for that?”

His pupils slowed and he dove into yours to scrounge up every bit of your meaning. “No…”

“Do you know how much growth that is?” You couldn’t help but smile.

He sneered lightly, but there was an obvious raise to his spirits.

You hugged into him and felt the little bubbles of soap pop between you.

He stood still as if to immortalize your affection before he moved to return it. “Do you hear yourself? You are celebrating that I am not performing self-flagellation over nearly losing you.”

“You see it too though, don’t you?” You turned your head and rested it against his plastron.

He squeezed you tighter instead of responding.

“I’m still here.”

“Don’t go.” He forced out.

“I’m right here.” You pulled away to look at him.

He came right down and his arm dipped, holding you upright around your thighs. “Y/N, please, there cannot be a repeat of this.”

“There won’t.”

“We’ll never go to the Hidden City again.”

“We won’t.”

“You’ll stay.”

“Donnie.”

“Stay with me.” You saw obvious tears prick the corner of his eyes. “Please, please, please… Don’t… Don’t ever…!”

“I won’t go.” It took a little too much movement, but you finally slotted your arms around his head. “You’re stuck with me.”

He tried to squeeze in another ‘please,’ but he interrupted himself as he kissed you.

You returned it, but felt the distinct lack of heat.

It was a reassurance and you poured all of yourself into it.

He broke it out of a smile that burst forth between you.

“L-let’s…”

You pecked across him as an encouragement.

“Get you cleaned up.” He decided and swallowed thickly.

You moved away as much as his hold allowed and he was methodically washing you. Running between foam and rinses, you had enough strength to scrub his plastron, but anything further that required a bend proved to be too difficult. He cared little and openly ate up the attention. You leaned into it, feeling slight guilt over denying him more, but you reminded yourself that this was unavoidable on both your parts. Donnie had to keep his emotions in check and you had to recover which was annoyingly no alive person’s fault.

Finishing your proper shower under Donnie’s steady grip, you then languished in letting the spray run directly over your face when you felt your boyfriend nose your mating mark playfully. You turned slightly, moving out of the shower’s line and he followed with pressed kisses there.

 “Donnie…?” As far as you knew, this was part of the unspoken territory that couldn’t be crossed.

“Won’t break skin. No more injuries of any kind.” He let the water rinse the spot before mouthing over. “Still… Want to renew so badly.”

“Please…” You folded an arm around you to reach him.

He slid his fingers into yours with his free hand and the other supporting you shifted so he could give one of your butt cheeks a quick squeeze.

“Donnie!”

“Part of you kept from me.” He gave a testy little growl.

You leaned away in a turn to kiss him.

He ignored you and instead put on a show of opening up his mouth. His teeth gleamed a ferocious row and he angled them with a panting desire to sink them into your shoulder.

“Please…” You repeated much quieter.

“You’re mine.” A heat lingered against him and he lost sharp will as his maw came down.

His sharpened canines pricked the most, but he bit without breaking skin. “All yours.”

His hold shifted to wrap around your belly and he metered different pressures.

While there was a certain sexual edge to the move, it spoke more of a hunger.

Of things he’d been denied.

Things he couldn’t have.

All that he wanted.

He wrapped it in a nibble as his starvation would go on.

He could only have a taste and he released with a few little licks over the reddened skin.

“I love you.” You told him.

“I love you.” He nuzzled into the side of your head and reached past you to shut the water off.

Before the cold could set in, you were hoisted up just like you were and protested with little bubbles of laughter as he swung you up and out of the tub. Landing on a soft mat, he pulled down a towel to wrap you up in and you were soon sat on the toilet again. Both to be dried and while he toweled himself off, he eventually came around with several bottles.

From getting your cast off you were told to moisturize heavily and Donnie started with a cream for that. Knelt in front of your legs like your knight, you saw he took pleasure in rubbing the lotion into your skin. Taking particular care both for its purpose and because your legs had been locked away for so long, your stems soon took on a shine both from the cream and from the worked up blood flow.

You twisted your toes through the shaking weakness from having been upright for so long, but for the first time since the cast removal, your lower body felt like your own.

Donnie procured another bottle, a new formulation of his muscle cream and added that on next. He’d concocted a slew of new products with computer screens alone and sent them off to be formulated and tested. All done with rush orders, you were soon inundated with all sorts of medicinal ointments. From salves to heal scars to potent oils that stimulated cell regeneration, you noticed there was some labeling that had Old Lady Nagami’s flare, but you didn’t bring attention to it.

You had mostly applied them yourself, but now you wished you’d deferred to Donnie. This could have been stolen moments of intimacy you both craved all along and you berated yourself for not allowing him that much. You only felt you’d taken enough so any little thing you could do yourself felt like a load off of him. He’d also stepped aside whenever possible to not subvert your independence. You adored him and as he finished up with a smile saying he had a job well done, he turned that up to you and all of that must have been plastered on your face.

From his knees he rose up to kiss you reassurances.

You lingered in them before mumbling against his lips. “Let me.”

“What? Anything.” He nosed you slightly.

You giggled at how quickly he complied. “You must be sore too.”

He came away with a furrowed brow ridge.

“Switch with me in your lap.”

He gave the idea a once over before a quick nod and lifted you right up. He then dutifully switched, sitting on the toilet lid and dropping you onto his thighs where he then fetched his cream from a drawer. He passed it over and you scooped a good handful out before pulling one of his arms close to work it into his aged scars.

Within a few strokes he immediately wilted around you like a drapery. You staved off laughing by chewing your lip and the faintest little churr cropped up that startled both of you.

Having both shot away, you shared a surprise stare before you were both tentatively slow moving back into place for fear you wouldn’t be able to replicate it. Taking much longer than the first as awareness was difficult to offset, the tiny vibration eventually picked up as you trended down to his forearms. Music to your ears, you languished in it and rubbed his wrist even though the cream was soaked into his muscles.

He was the one who grew tired of the imbalance and eventually broke to turn you around to reach his other arm. You cuddled close to him, repeating the process and eventually the churr he met you with was one you considered his norm. Overjoyed with his comfort, you felt lulled and your rub lost cohesion as he slid down to his hands.

“Sleep…” He managed around the rumble.

“You too?” You teased lightly.

“Who’s on duty…?”

You had to think about it. “Raph.”

“Yes.” It almost sounded like a cheer and he nuzzled into your neck.

“Why’s it okay with him?” Though you knew Raph distanced himself as best he could, he and Donnie interacted so little that you weren’t sure what their dynamic was like, even with all the weeks of him being around.

“He hesitates.” Donnie reluctantly lifted his head. “Avoids. If I had to take my pick…”

You nodded, not wanting to push the subject when you were both so comfortable.

Lifted back on jittery legs, your towel was adjusted and the door opened with a shift in humidity. Chilled by it, Donnie quickly wiped your crutches down and passed them off before you thunked over to get some pajamas in a perilous game of not letting your covers fall in the process.

“Raphael.” Donnie peered around the partition.

“I didn’t hear nothing!” Raph called from somewhere distant.

Grabbing comfy clothes, you thought you could place him squished right by the door. Of the three, he was the one that seemed the most out of place in your apartment. He tried to minimize himself as best he could and you often had to tell him to sit on the couch even though he long should have known it was available to him.

“Guilt over nothing.” Donnie let a certain disdain fill his voice. “Y/N is going to nap.”

There was a beat of silence as Raph parsed the meaning there. “Understood.”

“And sit down.” Donnie gave an annoyed command and then followed after where you waved a pair of sweats for him.

He took them with a kiss to your cheek and you could tell he was just fatigued enough to not put on his emotional block.

You sat on the bed to get dressed and once you were clad you fell back into the covers letting the many balms on your body swallow you up until Donnie’s voice broke through. “Get under.”

“Throw a blanket on top of me.” You groaned, not wanting to move.

He clicked his tongue, scolding, at you before hoisting you up to pull you under the blankets with him.

You wiggled as much as you could on weary hips to get close.

He tucked you both in and you watched each other until lids grew heavy enough to fall.

-

You weren’t totally sure, but it seemed like Donnie was trying to meditate. It was never particularly obvious, but he would clearly drift when his attention wasn’t on you. Different from his usual trains of thought, it left his features empty in a way that you thought illustrated his thoughts. When he was on the path of mental conquest, that fortitude showed up with a furrowed brow and narrowed gaze. Now, however, you often found him with loose features and a slightly unfocused gaze.

You’d meant to ask, but the first time you roused him from the state, he’d surfaced with a knife-sharp gaze that said it was not to be discussed in company.

Such company was thankfully Mikey at the time who hadn’t even noticed anything was off.

You imagined that was probably why Donnie chanced it. You were left to mull things over which meant you ran various simulations the best you could. It helped you place a few things in perspective since it wasn’t something up for debate. The first of which regarded the level of vulnerability. Donnie never chanced the lowered guard that came with meditating around Leo. He also rarely breached his emotional moat which made you think this had to do with his ninpo. All of which made sense when you thought of Raph.

The eldest had told you point blank that he honed in on ninpo frequencies by meditating and you had filled Donnie in on everything that had happened on your last unwilling trip to the lair. You might have been surprised your genius hadn’t thought of it sooner, but you imagined it had a lot to do with you. Meditation took time, as far as you understood, and a certain level of calm that you bet Donnie wasn’t capable of considering the circumstances you were both currently stuck with.

From your healing to the brothers constant vigil, Donnie had to hold tight to his sanity by any means. Now that the entire set of turtles had settled into this new sort of treaty they were forced into and you were out of your cast and nearing the end of your obvious healing, that meant Donnie could practice more sensitive exercises to get his ninpo under control. He didn’t chance it often, but you had seen him trying to drift in every way except for folding his legs up and assuming a Siddhasana.

The logistics were something you were ruminating when Leo stood up from where he was pretending not to monitor your sitting leg exercises.

The tenuous relationship between the two of you had stretched on, but in the last few weeks you could at least manage being in the same room together.

Donnie hovered closer regardless and it pained you that you still hadn’t been able to tell your boyfriend what had transpired.

Glancing first at Leo and then at a clock, it was two minutes until the hour which meant it was time for a change over. Leo passed Donnie a single nod to translate this before stepping away to make space for a portal behind the couch. The schedule dictated Mikey was next, so Leo sliced through and you expected the orange brother to pop out with his usual buoyant energy.

Instead Leo walked out only for Mikey to emerge with an angry figure that stomped all the way around to you.

With his hands folded on his hips, he held a height over you and a face that begged you to ask.

“You… okay?” You set your weight down and tried not to laugh at how silly he was being.

“No!” Mikey took his opening and was only careful in dropping down into the couch beside you so as not to jostle you. “I’m mad!”

“I can see that.” Your smile was only dimmed by a minor wince as you pulled your legs up onto the couch so you could turn to him. “Want to rant?”

“Finally! Yes!” Mikey threw his limbs out before he turned toward you to tuck into the details. “So I’m trying to do my daily meditation, right?”

You blinked to attention.

That was almost too apropos.

It was clear it struck your partner similarly as Donnie was still nearby and had lifted his head where he was once casually looking through something on his phone.

“What?” Mikey noticed your distraction with a crouch of his brow ridge. “Don’t tell me I don’t look like I meditate because that stereotype’s been beaten to death!”

“No, no… I was…” You waffled and tried not to look around the room. “Meditation helps… healing. You caught me off guard because I was thinking about it, but wasn’t sure if that was real or not.”

All of Mikey’s suspicions evaporated. “Oh-me-gosh! Yes! I’m not going to lie to you, there’s a bunch of misconceptions and finding actual thought out studies is both impossible and annoying, but there is good evidence for it, I swear!”

“Thought out… studies…?” You mouthed, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

“Yes! You can prove anything with a survey as long as you control who you ask! I immediately dump a study if I can’t find out-” He held up both hands ready to count. “-who ran it, what’s the goal, the poll, how many people were involved, and a breakdown of the demographics!”

You pressed your lip to a thin line and did everything in your power not to look at Donnie.

“Trust me, it’s a whole thing.” Mikey dropped his hands and shook his head.

“I guess… I didn’t realize you’d be so thorough.” You admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Yeah, well…” Mikey shrugged. “I’m on my own healing journey. You’re on yours and I’ve been long trying to stop pushing my beliefs on others if I can help it, but I am here if you have any questions.”

“Yeah… Maybe, but you were mad about something, weren’t you?”

“Yes!” Mikey threw his head up as if he could spout fire. “No matter what I did there was something! First, there was a gnat that kept trying to go up my nose, then Raph had this fuzzy thing stuck to his shell, but he was being such a pain about holding still because it tickled, then Dad thought, I don’t know, freaking 3pm smoothies during the same time I always meditate is a thing now!”

You watched Mikey’s rant fondly.

“Like that’s when his show is! He hasn’t drinken a smoothie in months and I’m supposed to believe that’s not a personal attack!?” Mikey looked at you as if you could sympathize.

Your life had been pretty planned out as of late and you didn’t.

“Doesn’t matter.” Mikey sighed deeply. “I never got to and now we’re here. What are you doing there?”

“Strengthening the legs.” You glanced down to the weights on the ground.

“I know a version of those bad boys all too well. They’re so small.” He nodded with a weight of knowledge.

“Yeah…” There were so many things you hadn’t been able to discuss and it seemed silly you’d never tried. “Leo said you did physical therapy?”

“Still do.” Mikey stretched out his arms for you to see. “Though they call it occupational therapy after a certain point. Don’t know the difference, but it feels pretty much the same.”

He did nothing to cover the golden cracks that split his skin and you chanced following a fissure with a finger.

Along the line there was no texture to it, almost as if the glow was an illusion.

“It’s mystic scarring.” Mikey explained. 

“Ah…” He’d offered so you thought you shouldn’t feel bad, but part of you wanted to apologize.

“Got it saving Leo.” He thought for a moment. “Not Donatello related.” He looked over his shoulder at Donnie. “No offense.”

Donnie barely bobbed with a shrug. “I’ll take only my appropriate credit.”

Mikey rolled his eyes back to you. “Almost got ripped to stardust, but Raph helped stabilize me. He’s got some scars too, but he never shows ‘em. I think he thinks I’ll think…” He had to stop and go over what he’d said and punctuated counting with wags of his fingers. “He doesn’t want me to feel guilty!”

You nodded lightly.

“Everyone lived.” Mikey nodded. “That’s what was important. Then it was all healing, kinda like you, but it’s always a thing which is its own thing and then the other injuries…” This time Mikey pointedly looked at Donnie. “Full offense.”

Donnie gave a malicious sweeping bow with an arm.

Mikey sneered his cut lip before returning to you. “So my healing’s always ongoing.”

You tapped your leg.

“Ask.” He urged you with a knowing cock of his brow ridge.

“What?” You hadn’t thought of anything in particular.

“You were on the receiving end. Someone-!” Mikey didn’t look this time, but it was obvious he was again directing his attention toward Donnie. “-is in a less hateful mood so I think we’re safe to touch on more sensitive stuff: don’t you want to ask about the healing spell?”

You watched him before the nebulous thoughts converged for you. “Why… haven’t you healed yourself?”

Mikey gave a single sharp nod that said that was what he was looking for before he sank back into the couch. “I’m not schooled like Lee. He’s got human medical training where mine is mystic, but let’s say that was schooling and I got heavy into self teaching after having my face split open.”

You saw Donnie move slightly out of the corner of your eye, but this time Mikey let him be.

“It’s called Anosmia: the whole no taste, no smell thing. The attack severed not only my brain nerves attached to the old nose bulb, but also different nerves in my brain for other stuff. I’m not big on getting into it because it’s all kind of boring.” He flapped a dismissive hand. “Leo mentioned he explained the healing I did to you?”

You gave a single nod, not wanting to interrupt.

Mikey passed you an appreciative smile for it. “The smaller the parts, the harder they are to connect and you can imagine how small neurons are. That meant trying to reconnect the brain bits was not only the toughest, but also had the highest chance of something going wrong. You miss a connection or hook up the wrong parts? You might not be able to wiggle your toes ever again or forget you even had them to begin with!” He grew quiet and narrowed his gaze. “Thing is, I’d already been there, done that with the whole life changing injury so when I had to do it a second time around…”

You waited.

“I knew more.” Mikey tipped with an anticlimactic lean to his body. “I knew there was a lot that medicine or mysticism couldn’t obviously do and I’d already gone down the rabbit hole of self improvement. If it exists, I’ve tried it. If it can help, you can bet I’m into it. I’ve got opinions on everything!”

You always admired how steadfast Mikey was, even if it came as a detriment to him and those around.

Mikey leaned in even though you knew it wouldn’t offset Donnie’s hearing. “Wanna know my goal?”

“Of course.”

“I think I can fix it.” He bobbed his brow ridge before tossing himself back into the couch.

“Fix…?”

“Regain my sense of smell and taste.” Mikey gestured lazily to his face.

“Is that… possible?”

Mikey smiled out to the living room. “Weirder things have happened and you can train neurons. Everyone else in my family has written it off, but I don’t know… I’ll keep trying. I’ll take the health nut whacko label and own it and one day I’ll be able to smell freshly baked cookies again.”

He was so staunch you believed he could do it and shared that with a smile.

Mikey returned it. “Wanna meditate? It’s pretty quiet here. You can see how it makes you feel and I can give you tips if you wanna keep going.”

That was almost too easy.

For a moment, you felt like Mikey did know about Donnie.

He’d noticed and all this was a farce.

Except, Mikey was still looking at you with nothing but patient eyes.

You also felt as though those eyes held a nefarious purpose.

“Yeah…” He spoke a little too knowingly.

You bristled ever so slightly.

“It’s boring so I get if not. I kinda just wanted to get my dang session in though!” He chuckled with obvious guilt. “Plus it’ll help me with being bugged out and all.”

He had the terrible power of disarming those around him too quickly. “You seem alright now.”

“I’m chill, but that doesn’t mean I’m cool, you know?”

You stared for a moment. “I really don’t.”

“Huh…” His pupils darted as he thought back over what he said. “Yeah, I have no idea what I meant.”

You shook your head.

Between the similarities to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. to this evil edge every single turtle man had, your perception of all of them was always warped and compared to Donnie.

“Fuck it.” You came away needing very much to stop judging this lot and treat them like the new individuals they really were to you. “Let’s meditate.”

“Yeah!” Mikey held out a high five that you took.

You wiggled in preparation of sitting cross legged.

“No, no, no.” Mikey laughed and held out a hand to stop you. “None of that… Or I mean, unless you want to.”

“I don’t think I can…” You admitted.

“Right, beginner…” He obviously put himself into a new mindset as if swapping clothes. “Okay, here’s the deal: forget everything you know about meditation. There’s no talking; I’m not into guided meditation because the voices get so annoying when I’m trying to chill. There’s no real pose to get into it; just vibe however you want. It’s boring; it’s so freaking boring. When I started, way, way back when dad taught us as kids, I felt like I would explode. Meditation and ADHD are a nightmare combo, but I’ve learned to make it work, but what works for me isn’t necessarily going to work for you, make sense?”

You took a moment to sift through everything he’d said. “Not… really…?”

“Yeah…” Mikey had a look that said he agreed.

You gave him a more abysmal stare.

“Never was good at explaining!!” Mikey tittered before he thought hard. “I guess what I’m trying to say is: use this first session to just… relax.”

You watched as he looked at you with mirth.

“Your biggest goal is to not fall asleep at first, but basically don’t punish yourself. This is all about calming down and getting in touch with your body. For me, my mind always wanders so I have to focus. I do a whole thing where I check in with myself. I start with the top of my head and “feel” down each part of my body slowly to help keep myself focused. You might think of things you need to do or… anything, and that’s fine, but it can stress some people out. You mostly just want to be… okay with being with yourself. The calm comes with that.”

Again taking a moment to think, this time you were slow to nod your head. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He perked up a bit.

“How do you sit?”

“Up!” Mikey shifted until his posture was straight and he relaxed. “I also do eyes closed, but some people start eyes open and then drift close.”

“There’s no wrong way I’m hearing.” You jeered lightly, getting into a similar position as him.

He started to close his eyes, but craned one open to watch you. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

You giggled.

“I’ll count us down and then just… float.”

You settled and took a deep breath before a thought caught you. “Do you ever…float away? For real?”

“Yes.” In his profile you saw his grin split his face. “I’ve come to many times having left the ground.”

“ Sounds like enlightenment.” You pretended to be in awe.

A laugh caught him and he had to sigh back into position. “Not a chance. I also sometimes wake up from just sleeping flying which is such a pain.”

You wanted to ask more about that, but you resigned yourself to the exercise.

“Alright.” Mikey’s voice took on a calm. “There’s no time limit so just whenever you’re feeling over it, we can stop. I think like ten to fifteen is good, but hey, do you.” He inhaled long and slow. “Return to yourself.”

You unconsciously breathed in time.

“And be.” He exhaled slowly and you followed suit.

For a moment, you waited for something to happen even though you knew nothing would.

Then something about having to sit in silence struck you. You wondered if there was space for music or if the guided meditation was something you’d prefer. Currently, you felt like you were in a sort of limbo and wished he had started a timer.

Then you thought about what Mikey did.

Starting from the top of your head, you focused all your energy there and something about it reminded you of Donnie’s battle shell. Finding purpose in that idea, you slid down your head, shifting through your brows and eyes and thought of the shell’s arms gently tapping each zone. The metallic arms whirled in your ears as a memory and you let them drift along your lobes and through to your neck. There the pair split apart and cascaded down each shoulder.

One gave a little extra squeeze to where the tissue had healed on your left side. It was slightly numb to the touch, but always felt dense when you tried to lift the limb. Now, instead, the arms locked around your arms and gently rolled their grip down. Testing your flesh in little squeezes, it got to your fingertips and switched to your legs.

Those appendages were ones that you had been in a steady process of getting back under your control. It translated to your imaginary mech caressing you gently in a way that reminded you of Donnie’s massages. You were on a nightly rotation of receiving them and if you could manage, you returned the favor. It was exactly the little buoyancy you had thought the two of you needed and could easily be done in the privacy of the bathroom with only the faintest judgment from whatever turtle on duty.

Donnie.

Reaching your toes, you realized you’d forgotten about him.

Having momentarily gotten lost in your imagination, you cracked your eyes to find your vision blurry.

Something like coming out of sleep, you felt subdued and lingered in focus returning.

It came like a gentle current and with it you remembered that part of you had meant to use this time to siphon information so Donnie could get help in his meditation. If that were what he was doing, you also realized that he could just listen along meaning you had already done your part. Blinking off the last vestiges of peace, you turned your head slowly to first glimpse Mikey’s calm face. The picture of zen, you no longer saw the flecks of irritation that were now obviously gone from the man’s expression. Happy he’d gotten his, you looked past him and felt awe wash over you as you saw Donnie over by his computer.

Standing, but just seated on the edge of his computer desk, Donnie’s eyes were closed. His posture was closed off, but there was an air to him that was accentuated by the sleepy monitor glow behind him. With his arms folded in a loose hold, the tip of his body said one of his legs was kicked over the other which made him reclined. There were then his features, a similar slack to how you’d been catching them except there was a honed edge to it. Nothing that wrinkled the muscles in his face, you instead watched his pupils dart under his closed lids as if he was watching something get typed out. Staring in order to catch the exact movement, you found it wasn’t a side to side, but instead an indistinct roll as if many parts were being put in place.

Building.

You weren’t sure why, but you had the distinct thought that he was building something in there.

One little piece at a time, you imagined he’d taken care in laying out even the smallest screw before beginning the construction process.

This could work.

Another patently intrusive thought, you were sure that if Donnie kept this up then he’d find some relief from his ninpo.

You were flooded with pride.

Almost as soothing as the meditation itself, you took another dreamy stance, but this time in watching your partner. Curling up against the back of the sofa, you stared as he continued to run through his schematics. They detailed out like your feelings for him and all you could think of was how lucky you were to have him in your life. No matter how much strife it had come with, every moment with him was a precious one and it was in that headspace that Mikey came to.

His tongue darted in a roll of his jaw as if he too had awoken from a nap. Sucking saliva and rinsing with a swallow, Mikey stayed mostly silent as he adjusted his vision for your apartment. He looked straight in front of him, remembering where he was before he took great care in sneaking a look at you, an obvious case of not wanting to disturb you if you were still meditating.

He found you awake, but you held a finger to your lips.

The wrinkling of his gaze said he knew exactly what you were referring to and you pursed your lips with accusation.

He fluttered his lashes, similarly tucking his cheek against the couch while facing your direction.

You narrowed your gaze to translate your displeasure.

Mikey looked up roguishly before shooting you a wink.

You gave him one last sneer before you exhaled sharply to say you accepted that he was being sneaky since it helped Donnie.

Donnie’s prosthetic hit the floor a little heavy as he seemed jarred out of his meditation.

“So…?” Mikey led for you, even though there was a double entendre for your boyfriend.

“It was… interesting…” You spoke honestly. “I’m not sure I’d do it all the time, but I can see the use.”

“What’d you do?” Mikey wondered.

You thought of the best way to phrase it. “Thought about moving something with my mind.”

“Oh!” Mikey crooned. “That’s a cool way to start!”

“Well!” You pretended to take praise. “How was your body?”

“I’m all here.” He grinned brightly. “I did have a revelation!”

“I thought you weren’t going to reach enlightenment.” You teased, still curious.

Mikey held an impish hand to his chest before dropping it and the act. “I want to cook.”

You snorted. “Is that new?”

“Kinda…” He took on some level of nerves. “A potluck for one.”

“Huh?”

“I want to celebrate you.”

You stared at him. “What?”

Mikey smiled, his cheek squished against the couch. “No rotation. All of us at once. We break bread to say ‘you made it.’”

Your eyes widened.

He wanted to throw what was essentially a family meal, but fold you and Donnie in.

He wanted an excuse.

“Next week is three months since the day you were taken in.”

Had it been that long already?

“There’s been huge progress all around.” Mikey was getting a little too close to naming Donnie.

You had a complaint on your lips.

In fact, you had thousands of them.

Of all the ways this could go badly.

Then you saw breakfast.

You saw four uncomfortable men under one roof.

And you.

Unintentionally.

And yet again.

You’d brought them together.

Wasn’t that what you were trying to avoid?

It all came back to Leo. 

Was he the only one?

You weren’t sure. 

“We’ve all been busting our butts, you most of all. I think we all could use a meal that’s way too big that says we’re moving to the next step.”

“Which is…?”

“Us heading back out.” Mikey’s crow’s feet looked particularly joyous. “We keep going.”

Your new normal.

“I’m thinking I’ll whip up a bunch of stuff, cook and finish some here. The place will smell so good.”

That did sound nice.

Your gaze lowered and you tried to picture all four together.

It had been so long and everything so tenuous it was hard to imagine.

You mostly saw Leo.

Distant Leo, doing his best to not fall apart again.

Your chest tightened.

Mikey lightly touched your leg. “No pressure.”

“That’s not…” You sent him a half sure grin before you looked at Donnie.

You weren’t going to sway him this time.

This decision was his alone.

You translated this to your partner where he seemed to be waiting.

He took you in with a tilted chin that had many reservations.

You softened your gaze saying you knew them all too well.

He looked one step away from chuffing before his body loosened with a relaxation you also felt.

The meditation had worked.

Donnie gave a slow singular nod and you bowed your head slightly to show you deferred to him.

He took a seat in his chair as if it was a great effort and slumped with his own sigh.

Returning to Mikey found the younger man watching with an interested twinkle in his eye.

“Okay.” You gave a tentative grin. “Let’s do it.”

“Yes!” Mikey hopped up and right back down so he was plopped closer to you with his phone manifesting in his hand. “Now tell me all your favorite foods, don’t hold back, go!”

You giggled and spent the rest of Mikey’s shift going on and on about food. From planning the menu to simply ranting about nearby restaurants, the time flew by. You soon had a menu laid out along with a detailed grocery list that Donnie had stepped in to say he would purchase. Even though you knew the action had an edge of fear to it, you took his participation as a good sign and Mikey offered to send you over the recipe list so you could send it to Donnie. You agreed and after lobbing way too many messages around your phone, Mikey soon shot upright. “Alrighty!”

You looked at him in confusion before going to check the time.

“Don’t wanna keep Raph waiting!” Mikey took a big step in front of you before rounding to where Leo’s portals usually appeared. “Oh, one more thing…”

“Yeah?” You did your best to look over the back of the couch.

You found Mikey staring at Donnie.

Your mate returned the gaze with growing concern.

“Think of this as thanks for your shitty bow!” Mikey split a manic grin.

Both you and Donnie tensed.

Mikey’s head snapped in your direction with a sickly tilt. “This bastard relapsed when you were in your coma.”

Donnie reared with the first bits of a snarl.

A blue portal appeared the second he tried and Mikey gave double peace signs while biting his tongue for a crazed expression as he fell backward through it.

You stared after.

Donnie made it several steps forward and you could feel the fumes coming off of him.

Raph then hurtled through the portal. “W-what happened?!”

You watched purple flicker and sputter in Donnie’s eye.

Raph’s own caught fire. “H-hey now…!”

“Relapsed…” You spoke fearfully.

“Y/N…” Donnie didn’t look at you and was instead locked onto the center of Raph’s plastron to where Mikey had been.

“Like… the drugs?” Against your leg’s weakness, you rose to better look over the couch. “You did drugs again…?” 

“Ah…” Raph didn’t drop his attention, but what was happening fell into place for him. “Yeah… You shot up a few times, didn’t you?”

Raph knew. 

Mikey knew. 

You didn’t know.

“I needed to stay awake!” Donnie roared, taking another step forward.

You saw a ghost of Raph in red slip from his form.

“Awake and numb!!!” Spittle flecked as Donnie panted through his teeth.

Flickers of purple shimmered in the air.

Raph’s projection grew the slightest amount. “Donatello…”

Donnie’s heavy breathing filled the space.

Diffuse.

It would be better to diffuse the situation.

You weren’t even mad.

You were more haunted by the knowledge.

Donnie had been candid about making and taking drugs, but it had also seemed like he left them behind in the mania of his 20s.

You weren’t sure how to feel about them now.

They made sense to an extent, which placed you with a single question.

“Ha… have you since…?”

Donnie didn’t seem to be able to move, but his lips momentarily closed. “No…”

“Are you…?” He clearly wasn’t alright.

Not now.

Not in all the time since the attack.

There was something more.

Though there was glitter in the air and Donnie seemed to be close to hyperventilating, nothing had actually manifested.

No artillery. 

No guns. 

“Okay.” You finally spoke, a single note drop in the bucket.

It plopped and did nothing to change the amount held in the receptacle.

Things were different.

The lack of weaponry was a sign of that.

As Mikey had said: It was time to keep going.

“Okay.” You repeated, this time enforcing the syllables.

It wasn’t an immediate disengagement, but Donnie garnered enough strength from the sound to look at you.

His gaze pained with a broken blinker of purple and he continued to strain with his body.

The purple in the air flittered away and Raph’s projection slowly melded back with his body until Donnie slumped a certain amount.

A collective breath was released and only when Donnie collapsed back into his chair did Raph throw his hands up to claw them down his face. “Mikey! He’s such a little shit, I swear!”

You gave a puff of what wasn’t laughter and sank down into the couch.

“I did not want to get shot again!” Raph complained and had to take a step to anchor himself to the couch. “Not a way to start my shift.”

You sympathetically patted Raph’s hand where you could reach it. “Good news.”

“What’s that?” Raph’s face said he wanted more than the obvious.

You would exalt Donnie for successfully disengaging his ninpo for the first time later.

For now, there was something else to pass along.

“We’re having a dinner party.” You told him, feeling exhausted. “We’re what?” Raph deadpanned.

💜NEXT💜

I'm so sleepy, but i love my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[thehistoriccemetery]

Karlach’s First Night in Avernus

Karlach’s story is, obviously, one of the most devastating in BG3 when you look at it in its entirety: trapped in the hells for ten years. But the more you break her story into the little moments, the sadder it gets.

What must it have been like that first night in Avernus? Even before Zariel strapped her down and tore out her heart, shoving an engine in its place.

How long could she cry before the tears stopped coming? Was she even given a decent tent or bedroll to cry in, or was she forced to do it surrounded by unfamiliar strangers? I know she would have given anything to be crying in her own bed. Oh gods, if she had to embrace such terror why couldn’t she do it surrounded by the smell of clean linens, the smell that had always reminded her of her mother? She missed her mother. She missed her friends. She missed everyone who wasn’t here with here with her. Alone.

She was hardly an adult. She hadn’t quite learned to navigate on her own yet. Was it that she was young, or was this just an impossible situation to navigate? Both. It was the most horrible combination of both. No one should have ever been forced to navigate this situation Alone.

Did she even speak infernal when she arrived, or were the unfamiliar people around her also speaking in an unfamiliar tongue? Did people try to speak to her only to be met with a fragile “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” Did they offer her a sympathetic smile or did they just walk away? Even a stranger could have been a comfort to her then. But who was she to speak to? Alone.

Did she have Clive with her that first night? Did she hold him tight to her chest and quietly whisper all the comforts to him she so desperately needed someone to offer to her? It’s okay, buddy. I know everything feels really really scary right now and like things might not ever be okay again, but they will be, okay? I’ve got you, I promise. He couldn’t provide half the comforts of a living companion, but he could, at least, make her feel a little less Alone.

Were there blissful moments of distraction? Simple things that could make her forget, for a fleeting moment, where she was? Oh, but that sinking feeling that set in her stomach each time she was drawn back to reality. The more she thought about it the more details she found to terrify her. The only “water” sources down here were full of blood. How was she going to bathe? She doubted Zariel was going to cook her supper and baked imp hardly sounded appetizing. What was she going to eat? She was in hell, and home was so so far away. And worse yet she was robbed of all the people she left behind. You can’t even send a sending spell from Avernus. She needed someone, anyone. But there was no such thing as good company in hell.

Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone.

[sharenadraculea]

Primarchs at the festival (tent-edition)

The primarchs have arrived at the festival after their roadtrip and are setting up their tents (Disclaimer, I have zero experience with festivals):

Lion: He just doesn‘t have one. He would be totally fine sleeping in the mud for days. Rob drags him into his tent. It‘s acceptable. Fulgrim: His tent is just… a mansion. How did he build this? Don‘t ask. He is covered in glitter before even entering the bus. The mansion is very sparkly too. Has a huge stash of drugs with him. Perty: Rogal builds a fortress, so he build a bigger one. In the end Magnus‘ whole harem sleeps there. Very proud of himself. Jagh: He had a proper Chogorian Jurt with him. Including a primarch-sized doublebed. Then Magnus‘ fireball happend and he had to switch over to sleeping in Pertys fortress. Leman: First slept in the mud, got cold, snuck into Jaghs jurt. He was supposed to sleep on the floor. He didn‘t. His cold feet are the reason for the fireball. Also ends up in Pertys fortress. Rogal: He builds a proper fortress, with noisecancelling walls. Sleeps there alone. It‘a very nice. Konrad: Straight up refuses to leave the trunk. He sleeps there for the whole festival. Didn‘t even think about bringing his own tent. Sang: He also sleeps in Robs tent. Helps with decorating. Has a great time, brought all his artsupplies. Ferrus: Obviously he sleeps in Fukgrims Mansion. It‘s very nice, he won‘t complain. Angron: surprisingly he builds a decent tent from basically nothing. Not the greatest one around but he has slept in worse places. Really enjoys the music. Rob: Back on Macragge he was in the scouts. He obviously knows how to build a great tent. He forgot nothing, has preplanned for every possible situation. Continous to work through the whole festival. Morty: Well, he planned to sleep in his own tiny tent but Vulkan asks him if they should be tentmates. He bluescreens. Then agrees. Magnus: his tent is attrocious, so Jagh „forces“ him to sleep in his jurt. Then Leman sneaks into their bed, his cold feet annoy Magnus and he casts fireball. Perty is there to safe him. Sleeps in his fortress. Horus: He theoretically has his own tent but never sleeps there. Get‘s at least five people pregnant. Lorgar: Get‘s used as Angrons teddybear. It‘s very nice. Wonders if that‘s heresy. Vulkan: He brought a old tent he has from campingtrips back on Nocturne. It‘s a little small. He and Morty barely fit into the tent. Has a whole forge next to it. Corvus: They found a nice tree and sleep now there. Befriend some crows and ravens. Become fully nocturnal. Alpharius Omegon: They step of the bus and aren‘t seen again until they are halfway back to the palace. Where were they? No idea. Did they have a good time? Absolutly.

[sixgunluvr]

A Love To Protect

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Mature Age 18+ Readers ONLY.

Pairing Arthur with a female reader.

There may be errors. I read through these a couple times but I still may miss things.

The next morning you are awakened by the voice of men discussing plans to rob the bank in Valentine.

You stretch your limbs as you awaken, the events from last night still fresh in your mind. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring the remaining scent of Arthur clinging to your hair and pillow. You can't help but smile, feeling content and happy.

Arthur had already risen long before you and was joined in on the discussion outside.

The crisp morning air filled with boisterous laughter and animated gestures floated in as you sit up in bed.  

Arthur had already brought you fresh water to wash your face. You smiled to yourself when you saw it.

He is always thinking of you.

You feel a sense of warmth in your heart knowing that he hasn't forgotten about you, even in the midst of his gang's planning and strategizing. 

You splash your face with the crisp cool water and it awakens your senses.

After checking your reflection in the mirror you decide that you are ready to leave the tent.

You step outside and take a few moments to admire Arthur from afar, taking in the way his muscles ripple beneath his shirt as he moves-and oh, those eyes. They light up wherever they go, and it's no different now as he talks animatedly with his comrades. It's impossible not to get lost in them.

But even as you stare, the weight of last night's fears creep back in. You glance around the camp, and your stomach drops. Where is he?

Micah.

His presence lingers like a dark cloud over the group, and without him physically present, you can't shake off the feeling that he's watching you. Waiting for his moment to strike.

Arthur notices your unease, and he immediately comes over to you. "What's wrong, darlin'?" he asks, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You can see the concern in his eyes, and you feel guilty for burdening him with your worries.

"Nothing, I'm just a little on edge," you admit, forcing a smile.

Arthur frowns and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. "I won't let anything happen to you," he says with quiet intensity. "I promise."

His words make you feel safe and loved, and you lean into his embrace, breathing in his comforting scent.

"The guys and I were discussing our plan to rob the bank in Valentine," Arthur explains, breaking the silence. "I know it's dangerous, but I couldn't say no to the offer. It's a huge job, and it could set us up for a while."

You nod, understanding his predicament. Despite the risks, you couldn't deny Arthur the chance to secure a better future for himself and his gang.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," you say, looking up at him with worried eyes.

"Always, sweetheart," he replies, kissing you softly on the lips.

"That job won't happen for a few days though. Today, Charles, Lenny and I have another quick job to do. I'll be gone for most of the day but I should be back by suppertime," he adds, his hand trailing down to yours, entwining your fingers together.

As he speaks, the group of men around you both nod in agreement. They're all excited about the job, their voices hushed but filled with anticipation. You can sense the tension in the air but you push it aside, focusing on Arthur and his words.

"I don't like leaving you here alone, without me," he continues, a frown creasing his brow. "You'll have to stay with the others while we're gone."

At that moment, Micah approaches you.

You can feel Arthur's hand tightening around yours, readying himself for whatever Micah has planned next. The tension between the two of them is palpable, and you start to worry about what this day holds for all of you.

"Morning, Micah," Arthur says, his voice strained but polite.

"Arthur," Micah replies with a smarmy smile.

"I see you're leaving today. Try to make it back in one piece. You wouldn't want to leave this lovely lady alone, would you?"

His words are laced with sarcasm, and Arthur's hand tightens around yours even more. You can feel the waves of anger and disgust rolling off of him in waves, and you're grateful for his possessiveness over you.

As Micah saunters away, Arthur turns to you with a warm smile. "Don't worry about him, sweetheart.

He's just trying to get under my skin," Arthur says, brushing off Micah's earlier remark with a wave of his hand.

"I can take care of myself while you're gone," you assure him, not wanting him to worry about you.

"I know you can, but I still don't like leaving you here."

His concern for you is sweet, and you lean in to give him a reassuring kiss.

"I'll be fine, I promise. Besides, Dutch and the other guys are here.  Just come back to me in one piece," you whispered against Arthur's lips, your fingers tracing the outline of his strong jawline.

He nodded solemnly, his green eyes filled with determination and passion.

"I'll always come back to you, sweetheart," he said, before capturing your lips once more in a deep and passionate kiss.

As the day wore on, you kept busy around the camp, helping with tasks and chatting with the other women.

But your thoughts were never far from Arthur and the danger of his mission.

"Hey there, beautiful," a deep voice says behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turn around to see Dutch, one of Arthur's closest friends and the leader of gang. "What's got you so lost in thought over there?"

You smile at him and shrug. "Just thinking about Arthur and the job he's on today."

Dutch nods, his expression serious. "He's a smart guy, and he'll be careful.

Besides, I'm sure it's just a quick snatch-and-grab job. He won't be gone for long," Dutch reassures you, his voice smooth and steady.

You want to believe him, but you can't shake off the feeling of unease that's been plaguing you since this morning. You nod hesitantly and turn your attention back to the task at hand, trying to busy yourself with work.

To take your mind off of things you decide to go pick some fresh raspberries so the gang has a nice dessert for supper tonight. Pearson brought some fresh cream back to the camp this morning and that will be perfect with the raspberries.

You grab a basket and tell Dutch what you're off to do.

"Don't wander too far," he warns, "Arthur would never forgive me if anything happened to you."

"I won't!" you shout over your shoulder as you saunter off into the woods.

The wind catches your hair as you disappear among the trees, creating a trail of rippling leaves in your wake.

Your heart races as you move further and further away from the camp, making sure to keep an eye out for any juicy raspberries. You breathe in the smell of wildflowers and damp earth, letting it cleanse your mind. The sun warms your skin as it seeps through the thick canopy of leaves above, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

You breathe deeply, savoring the fresh air that fills your lungs with every inhale and exhale. You've always loved the wilderness, and this was just what you needed to calm your nerves.

As you wander deeper into the woods, you begin to lose yourself in its serenity. The only sounds audible are those of nature: the rustling leaves beneath your feet, the sound of chirping birds, and the gentle babble of a nearby brook. Your mind is clear, and you feel at peace with the world around you.

The only thing that's been weighing heavily on your mind is Arthur's safety. But you push those thoughts aside, determined to enjoy this breather from the chaotic camp life.

You continue to gather raspberries in your basket, the juicy fruit staining your fingers a deep red. As you lean down to pick some more, you feel a sudden presence behind you. Your heart skips a beat, and your senses go on high alert. You slowly turn around, and your eyes meet Micah's.

He stands there, a sly smile playing on his lips. Your heart races as you realize that you are alone with him, far away from the safety of the camp. You try to keep your voice steady as you greet him, but you can't shake off the feeling of unease that's now taken over your body.

"Hello, Micah," you say, trying to keep your composure and sound casual. "What brings you here?"

He shrugs, still smiling. "Just thought I'd see if I could find some wild raspberries too.

I have to admit, you're a pro at finding the ripest ones."

Micah steps closer to you, and your heart starts racing. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he speaks, and you take a step back. But there's nowhere for you to go; you're trapped between Micah and a tree.

He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers trailing against your cheek. You shiver involuntarily, and you curse yourself for it. Don't let him see that he's affecting you.

You swallow hard, pulling your face away from his grasp. "I-I think I've gathered enough raspberries," you stammer, holding up your basket as evidence. "I should get back to camp. Dutch is gonna wonder where I am."

But Micah doesn't budge. Instead, he steps even closer to you, invading your personal space and making you feel cornered. You can feel the heat radiating off of him in waves, and your heart races as you try to come up with a way to escape.

The wind rustles through the trees, causing his scent to envelop you. It's a mix of sweat, whiskey, and musk, and it's making your stomach churn.

Micah's hand slides down your arm, and he grabs onto your wrist. "Don't be like that," he purrs. "We both know you want this."

Panic rises in your throat as you try to wriggle out of his grip, but he's too strong. "Let go of me," you stammer, your voice trembling.

But Micah just laughs and pulls you closer, his other hand sneaking around to cup your ass. "Come on, sweetheart. You know you want it just as much as I do."

The revulsion fills every inch of your body as he grinds himself against you, his erection obvious through his pants.

"Get off me!" You hiss through gritted teeth, trying to push him away, but he's like a damn animal, wild and untamed.

With a sneer, Micah tightens his grip on your wrists, forcing you to drop your basket of raspberries. They scatter on the ground, staining the earth with their juices as the wind howls through the trees.

"Come on, baby. You know you want it," he says huskily, pressing his lips against your ear as he nibbles on your lobe.

"I can make you feel so good."

His hot breath sends shivers down your spine, and you feel a lump form in your throat. "Please," you whimper, hating how pathetic you sound but unable to help the desperation in your voice. "Just let me go."

But instead of releasing you, Micah's grip on you tightens, and he pushes you harder against the tree. His erection digs into your hip, making bile rise in your throat. You can't believe this is happening. Not here, not with him. 

The thought of his hands on you, his mouth, made you nauseous. You struggled in his grip but he was too strong.

Micah slammed you against the tree, pressing his body against yours so you couldn't escape. His other hand grabbed your breast and squeezed it hard, making you cry out in pain.

"Shut up, you little whore," he snarled, grinding his hips against you. "I knew you wanted this. You've always wanted it."

His words were like a slap in the face. No, no, no. You didn't want this.

You tried to push him away with every fiber of your being, but he was too strong.

Micah's lips pressed hard against yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips and teeth, invading your mouth in the most disgusting and invasive way possible.

You felt his hand roughly shoving its way up your skirt, fingernails scratching down your thighs as he forced your legs apart. 

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your legs were weak with fear.

You did the only thing you could think of, and bit his tongue hard.

He snapped back, "You bitch," he shouted cupping his mouth, spitting out blood.

Before you even had time to brace yourself his backhand connected with your cheek sending you to the ground where the side of your head connects with a rock.

You immediately feel a pounding in your head and your surroundings are spinning. 

Trying to shake it off you look up and see an out of focus Micah stalking towards you. You try to scramble to your feet, but he grabs onto your hair and yanks you back down. The pain is sharp and immediate, causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes.

"You stupid little bitch," he hisses, his spittle hitting your face. "You think you can reject me like that?"

Fear coils in your stomach as he leans down, his breath hot on your face.

His fist connects with the side of your head.

The force of the punch sends another wave of pain crashing through your skull, and you feel yourself start to see stars. You cry out in pain but that just seems to give him fuel for his assault.

Micah tightens his grip on your hair, pulling your head back so that you're forced to look up at him. His face is twisted in rage, and his eyes are wild.

You can feel the anger rolling off of him in waves, and you know that you are in grave danger.

But even in the midst of your terror, a newfound strength rises up within you. You refuse to let yourself be a victim, and so with all of your might, you sink your teeth deep into his forearm. Releasing your hair, Micah yells in pain and recoils, giving you just enough time to scramble to your feet.  You take off running, your heart pounding in your chest as you dart through the trees. Your lungs burn, and your legs tremble, but you don't dare slow down.

Behind you, you can hear Micah cursing and crashing through the underbrush. He sounds closer than you'd like, and panic surges through you once more. But then, ahead of you, you see a glimmer of hope: the edge of the woods is just up ahead. If you can make it to the clearing where the camp is set up, maybe you'll be safe.

It's a long shot, but it's all you've got. You push yourself harder, your legs screaming in protest as you race toward the open field. You can hear Micah closing in behind you, his angry roars spurring you on.

Suddenly, you burst out of the tree line and onto the open grassy area near the camp. Your chest heaving with exertion, you scan frantically for help.

In the distance, you can see Dutch and Javier sitting by the fire, unaware of your predicament. Desperation courses through you as you attempt to gain their attention.

Micah finally emerges from the trees, pausing to catch his breath before a sinister smile spreads across his face. He slowly starts to walk towards you, relishing in your fear.

"Boss!" Micah shouts approaching me. "We need help here!"

Dutch and Javier jump to their feet and look in our direction. 

Micah grabs your shoulders as if to help you stay upright and shield you from danger. You're heaving to catch your breath as adrenaline courses through you. You could taste the blood in your mouth and your vision was blurry, your head feels like its about to explode.

Micah starts to say something, but Dutch cuts him off mid-sentence. "What the hell is going on here?" He demands, running towards you, eyes narrowed at Micah who still has hold of you. You're trembling with fear, but the sight of Dutch and Javier gives you hope that you'll be alright.

"She was attacked," Micah starts to explain, but his words barely register in your ears as everything around you becomes muffled. You can't believe what just happened, and your mind reels from the trauma.

Dutch and Javier rush over to you, taking in your disheveled appearance, the blood running from your cheek, and the fear etched onto your face.

"What the hell happened?" Dutch demands, his eyes blazing with anger as they dart between you and Micah.

Micah lets go of you as if suddenly realizing the weight of the situation.

Your legs give way, and you collapse onto the grass, your body shaking uncontrollably. Dutch reaches you first and gathers you in his arms, holding you close as he whispers soothing words into your ear. Javier stands guard, eyeing Micah warily as he tries to explain himself.

"She was out to picking raspberries," Micah begins, but Dutch cuts him off with a growl. "Shut up, Micah. Don't say another word until we get this sorted out." Dutch turns his attention back to you, his eyes filled with concern.

You couldn't make out anything else being said, everything was muffled, your head was pounding. Slowly everything went black.

The world around you faded away, and the last thing you remembered before losing consciousness was the warmth of Dutch's embrace.

[thedreamlessnights]

Someone to shed some light - pt. 6

Astarion x gn!reader

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: You learn your place in Calthir and what that means for your future. An unexpected conversation is overheard, and it changes everything.

Warnings: Threats of suicide/self-harm, very brief suicidal ideation, mentions of blood and death.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading, you have no idea how much I appreciate you! Your comments on each chapter are so inspiring and I've been having so much fun working on this fic. There sadly isn't as much Astarion interaction in this chapter, but there'll be plenty of that to come. I hope you enjoy! And thank you once again to @aerynwrites for brainstorming over this chapter with me and making the lovely header image!

It’s the harsh light of the morning sun that pulls you from a lovely dream, scalding into the sensitive skin of your eyelids and searing at your skin. Even through the tent, it’s unbearable. Or, perhaps, it’s the memories that accompany it that you can’t stand. 

Within seconds, the dream is gone - a sweet, fleeting picture lost to a bitter reality - and you’re left laying on your side, aching in every part of yourself. Mind, body, and soul.

All your anger at Cal has seeped out of you and left something else entirely: numbness. Gods, you feel absolutely nothing. Or - no, that’s not quite right. You feel hollowed out. It’s as though every muscle of yours has been filled with lead. You can’t find it in yourself to get up.

Astarion isn’t at your side, but when you force yourself to shift a little, you see he’s still in the tent - very clearly eavesdropping on a conversation taking place outside. His head is tilted toward the sound and his shoulders are tensed: ready to leap out of the way should he hear someone coming. He’s nimble enough, surely.

For a moment, you stare at him, the half-view of his form that you’re able to see from your bedroll. Pinched brows, a deep frown, dark eyelashes that meet his cheek when he looks down, lost in whatever he’s listening to. 

What is he thinking? What’s caught his interest so keenly? And, gods, there’s something softened about his features that you’ve never really seen. It takes you a moment to connect why.

This is Astarion as he really is. No show to put on. No royal mask, no seductive charm. Just himself, almost alone in this tent, sitting under the sun and listening to something he shouldn’t. The only thing comparable to this is when you’d caught him sunbathing at the palace, lost in the feeling of the warmth of his skin. 

Even after last night, it’s clear he still hasn’t let his guard down around you. Given everything that’s happened, it’s not difficult to guess why. With time, perhaps. But, for now, you need to stop staring at him. 

Sit up, you instruct yourself. You need to sit up. 

Your body doesn’t budge at first, but you’ll be damned if one measly betrayal is going to rob you of your motivation. You force yourself up, wincing at the stiffness of your joints, shaking away the fog that’s overtaken your head.

Upright as you are, the anger slowly returns. You like it. You thrive on it. It’s something to feed off of, something to fuel you. The numbness hadn’t worked like that. It had been so - empty. You’ll take anger any day.

Astarion still hasn’t moved.

“Hearing anything interesting?” you ask softly, and though he doesn’t turn to look at you, his head tilts ever so slightly in your direction, letting you know he’d heard you.

“That Aris has just arrived,” he says. “I’m sure it won’t be long before they all darken our door.”

“Lovely.” You fold your arms around your knees, stomach suddenly churning. “Freedom was nice while it lasted, I suppose.”

“It was,” he agrees. “A shame. Just when I was almost enjoying it, too.”

Your smile falls weak on your lips, but he can’t see it. You know you should eat, but you doubt that you’d be able to stomach anything. Instead, you pull out one of the bottles of water in your pack and take a tentative sip, praying that it won’t disturb your stomach.

After a moment, Astarion finally moves to get dressed for the day, and you catch a brief flash of the scar on his neck before it’s covered up. Two puncture wounds. The mark of the bite that turned him, marred into his flesh. It doesn’t pass your notice that he chooses a high-collared shirt. 

You wonder if he knows that you’ll die before exposing him to these people.

Maybe, if Cal hadn’t betrayed you, Calthir would feel like an extension of you. Your kingdom. Your people. Instead, it’s just another prison. These soldiers mulling the camp are strangers, and you have no loyalty to them. You certainly won’t be what they’d expected of you.

What the hells did they do to you, Cal had asked. Are you the one who is different, or is he? You don’t feel different. Yes, you care about Astarion now. Yes, you’re on the run - or, you had been. But had that shifted you so much? Are you so changed? 

It occurs to you that Cal may not have ever known you at all. 

You scramble into a change of clothes before the leader can arrive, and when you hear the approach of footsteps, your throat tightens. The tent is pulled open without warning, and the sun that streams in burns your eyes. You hold your arm to your face, attempting to block some of it out, but you still can barely see the figures standing before you.

“Come on,” a voice says. “Out.”

You make your way to your feet, keeping your shoulders squared and your back straight. They won’t break you. Your fists are gearing for a fight. Your teeth are ready to draw blood.

Astarion follows after you without so much as a word, and the two of you find yourself in front of a group of armored soldiers. Aris is clear from the moment you see her: her composure says enough, and so does the anxious way her men stand behind her. A high elf. Long, dark hair, braided into a neat updo. Piercing green eyes. 

“My, my,” she says. “It’s not every day that the ruler of Calthir walks straight into my camp.” 

Is that what Cal had told her? He’s nowhere to be seen.

Her glance skates next to you, and when it lands on Astarion, she frowns. “And who is this?”

She really doesn’t know? 

“This is Lirien,” you answer quickly, subtly shifting your right hand over your left to hide your wedding ring. “He helped me escape.”

Aris quirks a brow, cocking her head and folding her arms across her chest. “How interesting,” she says. “You see, I got a report last night that one of Queen Erelin’s carriages was attacked not two days ago. The two occupants inside are now missing, but presumably still alive. Occupants who happen to match your description.” She pauses, keeping her eyes locked on you. “One of whom was her son.”

The blood slowly drains from your face, but you hold her gaze. “That’s strange,” you reply, pasting on a smile. “I’d love to meet these doppelgängers.”

Behind you, Astarion lets out a loud sigh. 

You turn to look at him, staring in sheer disbelief. “Really? You could try to play along!”

“Er - yes,” Astarion says flatly. “I’m Lirien.”

Aris shakes her head, clearly unimpressed. “Had enough?” she asks, framing her hands on her hips. “You brought an Ancunín with you. The heir to our enemy kingdom. I… I’m appalled. I really am. I don’t know whether to call you a fool or thank you for delivering him to us. In any case…” She turns toward Astarion, eyes scanning over him, and something like admiration forms in her gaze. “My deepest apologies, pretty boy. Your death is a necessary sacrifice for Calthir. ”

She makes a gesture toward her guards, crooking two of her fingers, but you act before they can. Your hand flashes out to the side - or more precisely, toward the dagger you know is in Astarion’s belt. It’s removed and pressed to your neck in an instant, the chill of the blade kissing the delicate skin of your throat.

Aris jumps, holding out her hand. “Wait-!”

“What in the hells?” Astarion exclaims, staring at you as though you’re crazy. And, well, maybe you are. But you’ve played your fair share of card games. This isn’t much different.

“Let’s be honest with each other, shall we?” you ask, facing Aris. “I admit it: this is Astarion Ancunín. But you’re not going to lay a hand on him, or I’ll cut my throat here and now, and you’ll be without your precious ruler.”

Aris stares at you, raising a brow. She’s disturbingly calm. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” you ask, pressing the blade further in. It stings, but doesn’t quite pierce the skin. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly have much to live for. If I stay, I’m either a pawn for you, or a pawn for Erelin. Astarion is the only thing I have going for me. Leave him alive, let him stay with me, and I’ll go with you. Do so much as lay a finger on him, and I’ll become very intimate with this blade very quickly.”

“Go ahead, then,” Aris urges, her voice steely. “We don’t need you.”

“Oh, really?” you ask. “So that’s why you’ve spent so long looking for me, wasting - what was it - hundreds of men?”

Her jaw clenches almost imperceptibly. “And who the hells told you that?” she bites out.

“Cal,” you answer. “He raised me, remember? He rubs his neck when he lies. I know he was telling the truth.”

“I can’t do what you’re asking,” Aris tells you, her tone almost pleading. “I can’t let him live.”

“In that case,” you sigh, pressing even deeper. The stinging sensation increases. A drop or two of warm blood streams down your neck, and fear finally enters her eyes. At your side, Astarion goes tense.

“Fine!” Aris says. “Bloody hells. Fine! Just put the fucking blade down!”

You keep it where it is. “Give me your word.”

“What?”

“Give me your word that he’ll go unharmed. Mentally, emotionally, physically.”

“Hells, I’ll put it in fucking writing!” she exclaims. “Just put the knife down, will you?”

You don’t remotely trust her, but you don’t have much other choice. You gently remove the dagger from your neck, reaching over to slide it back into Astarion’s sheath. He just scowls at you, looking shaken. His eyes linger on the blood on your neck for a moment, then snap back to face.

In response to his expression, you flash a smile at him. You’ve just saved his life, after all. He could at least be a little grateful. 

“Can we agree that you’ll never do that again?” he hisses, leaning in close so his voice spills into your ear. He pulls a loose rag out from his shirt pocket, hastily wiping the blood away from your skin. His hands are shaking.

“Astarion,” you say softly, teasingly. “Was that concern I heard in your voice?”

He scoffs. “Just - warn me next time, will you?”

“If there is a next time,” you start, “I promise I’ll warn you in advance.”

Aris is watching you with no small amount of distaste. “If you’ll come with me,” she says stiffly, “I’ll lay down the terms of this… agreement.”

You follow after her, keeping Astarion close to you. He wraps an arm around your waist, and you wonder if it’s part of the little display the two of you are setting up. You know how this must look to them: that you’d fallen for Astarion, and brought him to this camp like a fool. That Astarion is a spy for Erelin.

And - well, one part of that thought is true. You’ve fallen for Astarion. His touch, though cold, seems to scald you even through your clothes. You’re no fool, though. You certainly hadn’t come here of your own accord, waltzing into camp. And, if Astarion is a spy, he’s doing a terrible job of it. He’d wanted to leave the moment the two of you laid eyes on this place. 

You follow Aris into a tent that’s clearly used for planning. There’s a large, sprawling map of Faerûn spread over a table. Lanceboard pieces are being used to showcase all of Erelin’s forces, as well as some Calthirian outposts. There’s more of Calthir than you’d thought - some along the mountain pass, some along the borders of the city. The battle plans are scribbled hastily along the side, and it looks like there’s some disagreement about them, given how much of the text has been crossed out. It’s illegible, for the most part.

“Here,” Aris announces, scrawling down some words on the parchment in front of her. “I, Aris Alderfate, swear on my life that Astarion Anucnin will come to no harm: whether it be mentally, physically, or emotionally, by myself or anyone under my command. Satisfied?”

“How do I know that your soldiers won’t harm him?”

She clicks her tongue. “Disobeying orders is a death sentence. He’ll not suffer a scratch.”

You stare at her, trying to find any sense of deceit in her eyes, but there’s none. Her gaze is bright, and her face is open - inquisitive. “Alright,” you finally agree. Fear stirs in your stomach, thinking about how trapped you are. How cornered in, with only your life to barter. “What now?”

“Now,” she says, “your handsome prince leaves us. This is private business.”

You shake your head. “He stays.”

“You are asking me to trust the son of our enemy,” Aris hisses, placing her hands flat on the table set in front of her. “The only child of the woman who dethroned your parents. I cannot and will not trust him. I’ve spared his life, as you’ve asked, but he will not be a part of this. Do you understand?”

You can tell that she won’t budge, but it unsettles you to have Astarion out of sight. Out of sight, they can do anything to him. She may have signed that document, but you’re desperately outnumbered, and you don’t have a dagger in your hand as a bargaining chip anymore.

Seeing your face, Aris lets out a quick rush of air. “If any of this is going to work, you’ll need to trust me. This entire operation is built off of intelligence and trust.” She reaches forward, placing a hand on yours. “Trust me when I say that I have your best interests at heart. And, when this discussion is over, you’ll return to your tent and find Astarion just as he is now.”

You glance at him. He gives a light shrug, but you can see the tension etched into the crease of his brow, the squaring of his shoulders. After a long moment of internal debate, you nod. 

Two guards step forward, lining themselves on either side of Astarion. “Come with us,” they instruct. 

He’s led out of the tent, and a pit digs into your stomach.

“Relax,” Aris says. “I’ve given you my word. I’ll hand it to you - you’re stubborn. An idiot, maybe, but stubborn.”

You give her a half-hearted smile. “Is this how you address all your rulers?”

She straightens, letting out a sigh as she walks along the table, trailing her fingers over the map. “No,” she says. “But I don’t sugarcoat my words. Whatever you think he is to you, it’s not true. He’s trying to get you on his side. Cal was adamant you’d be too smart for that, but here we are.”

You lean forward, observing the sight in front of you. “Agree to disagree, I suppose.”

Frustration flashes over her face. “Well,” she says. “You’re a mascot, Highness. An image for the people, and that is all you’ll be. We have the forces. I have the plans. You have the royal blood. None will work without the other.”

“Alright,” you agree. “What, then?”

“We take the throne,” Aris says. “Erelin dies. This is non-negotiable. You take your rightful place as heir, and the kingdom of Calthir returns to her former glory.”

“And?” you ask. “Will I actually have a say in how I lead, or will I just be another pawn to you?”

Her expression tightens. “You’ll have a council that assists you in your decision-making,” she says, but it’s clear enough what she means. You’re nothing more than a face, a sack of precious blood. “Your marriage will be dissolved, and you’ll be settled with someone else.”

Your spine runs cold. “What?”

Her eyes pierce into you like a knife. “You’re married to the enemy’s son. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that’s a problem. Having Astarion in any position of power is a problem. You can keep him around if you like, have your fun with him, but the marriage cannot stay.”

She really does think you’re an idiot, fooling around with a handsome prince. “And who would be replacing him?” you ask. 

“Duke Ravengard has proposed his son,” Aris says. “Wyll is a good man. He’ll be kind to you.”

You flinch at the suggestion. “I know Wyll,” you answer. “He’s an old friend.”

“Then you know he’d treat you with the utmost respect.”

“I do. And I also know he’d hate to be a pawn in your game,” you snap back. 

Aris sighs. “If he refuses, then we have other options. First, we need to take the kingdom. Your suitors are less of a priority.”

“Then tell me how you’re planning to do it!” you exclaim. “What am I here for?”

Gods, you’re tired of her, and it hasn’t even been five minutes. If it’s going to be a lifetime of her breathing down your neck, maybe you really should run that dagger through your throat.

“That’s easy,” she replies evenly. “For you, at least. We’ll write you speeches. You’ll rally the soldiers. For the most part, you’ll sit pretty.”

“Sit pretty?” you ask, unable to hide the disgust in your voice. “I’m your ruler, and you want me to sit pretty?”

“Yes,” she says, “I do. Like I said, you have the royal blood. You’re the symbol - important only because of your image, nothing else. I’ve worked all my life to get to where I am, and I won’t let anything compromise that. So you are going to live a life of luxury, be the face of our revolution, and be fucking grateful for it!”

She takes in a deep breath, collecting herself. “You can go,” she says. “We’ll retrieve you when you’re needed. The guards will lead you back to your tent.”

Just like they had with Astarion, they cage themselves around you. It’s suffocating. The cool breeze in the air does nothing to stop the feeling.

They lead you to the same tent the two of you had been in last night, and when you crawl through the flap, you find Astarion in one piece. Unharmed, just as she’d said. The guards all leave, and you know exactly why. Cal’s spell is still there. You can almost feel it, still hot on your skin.

You pull the flap shut, absurdly angry, planting yourself at Astarion’s side. You need to hit something. Or scream, maybe.

“That bad, darling?” he asks. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

“Will she find us here?”

He blinks in surprise. “What?”

“Erelin. You said she’d never stop looking for us. Will she come for us, if she finds out the two of us are in this place?”

“Yes,” Astarion answers. “She’ll stop at nothing.” He tilts his head. “Betraying your own people?” he asks softly, though admiration lights his eyes. “That’s low, darling, even for you.”

“I’m not betraying them,” you answer. “But if she is what you say, then she’s going to find us sooner or later, isn’t she?” You pick at the edge of your shirt, hesitating. “Who do you think will win? Be honest. Just between you and me - who will win?”

He inhales sharply. “My mother’s no fool,” he says. “She married you off for a reason. She knew that Calthir was a threat. But…” He shakes his head. “Even if all of their camps are as impressive as this one, I’d place my bets on her. These Calthirian ‘recruits’ are untrained. I doubt they’ve ever seen battle. Even if they do have more men, our experience would overrule the numbers.”

You’re silent for a moment, not knowing how to respond. Which is worse - being under Erelin’s thumb again, never given the opportunity for freedom? Being nothing more than an image, married off to Wyll? 

Gods, something isn’t right. If they’re having you marry Wyll, then they’d never let you keep Astarion at your side, even if they dissolved the marriage. No - something here is rotten. Unfortunately, since you can’t do a thing about it, that knowledge is pointless.

“Then I suppose we’d better wait for her,” you finally say. “And see what happens.”

There’s not much else of a choice.

The tent falls silent as you think, that pit of anger rising and ebbing as your thoughts pull at you one by one. You need them to go away; you need some peace, for once.

“Did you know your father?” you suddenly ask. “I know he died when you were young, but… do you remember him?”

“No,” Astarion answers. “I… don’t remember much of my past. Before Cazador.” He leans back, propping an arm behind himself to support him. “And you? Your real parents, I mean.”

You shake your head. “They died just after I was born. They fell ill, apparently. Cal is all I’ve ever known.” A bitter smile twists itself on your lips. “I used to think… I didn’t need anything else. He loved me, cared for me. He was as much my father as the one dead in the ground, his blood running through my veins.”

Your voice hitches, and you swallow hard. “All a lie, though.”

Astarion stares at you, his brows pinching. When he speaks, his voice is hushed. “When my mother - rescued me,” he starts, shifting, “I was… different than before. She kept trying to get me back - to normal,” he says. He smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. “She didn’t want a vampire for a son. Most days, she could barely stand to look at me. I…”

He pauses, giving a light, loose gesture, then turns his gaze to an empty spot of the tent. “I really thought she cared about me until then. How kind of her to open my eyes.”

Your hands clench into the pillow under you. You force them to relax. “It sounds like she wanted a trophy rather than a son,” you tell him. “You deserve better than that.”

He tuts. “Bleeding heart, spouse of mine,” he responds, leaning toward you. “Come here, darling.”

He pulls you in for a kiss, and the outside world melts away.

When you finally gather the strength to emerge from your tent that evening, Cal is waiting for you. 

The sight of him carves a fresh, bleeding stab of pain into your chest. You keep your eyes very pointedly on the empty space in front of you, and he sighs.

“So this is it, then?” he asks. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

You whirl around on him, hands clenching into fists. “And what would you have me do, Cal? Jump for joy at the sight of you, after what you did? I’ve just heard your kingdom’s wonderful plans for me, and I’m supposed to - what? Be thankful that you’re imprisoning me? You lot are worse than Erelin!”

He flinches at the mention of the queen, but his shoulders square. “Gods below,” he says. “I know you’re upset, but if you’d just listen-”

“-Listen to what?” you ask. “To you, somehow making this better?”

“To reason!” Cal snaps. “For the sake of the gods. Listen to reason, child.”

When you don’t respond, trying to keep yourself from losing it all, he steps closer and lays his hands on your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “I know how Aris can be,” he says gently. “I know how you must feel. She is our leader, yes, but only out of necessity. She knows what must be done and is willing to do it. She’s not your parents, or their legacy.”

He shakes his head, continuing softly. “She wants to feel in control, you understand. But it’s you - you’re the one the soldiers are here for. Not her. If she loses you, she’ll have nothing. We’ve worked so hard - and the gods know I’ve tried my best with you. Keeping you safe, keeping you shielded from what you are: it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

He steps a little closer, and the familiar scent of him, cinnamon and sandalwood, is making you want to fling yourself in his arms. When you were small, he used to wrap those arms around you and squeeze, claiming he was squeezing away all your sadness. What you wouldn’t give to feel such comfort again.

“Don’t confuse Aris with Calthir,” he says. “She’s intense, but she alone does not signify what this kingdom stands for.”

“And what does it stand for?” you ask. “Holding a ruler against their will? Sham marriages? Fake governments?”

“It stands for goodness,” Cal says. “How many times have you felt dissatisfied with this world? How many times has an unfair ruling been laid down by the queen?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you bite out. “I won’t even be laying down the new rulings. You’re using me for power, and I’m not getting even a taste of it.”

“Or so you’ve been told,” Cal replies. “Aris doesn’t trust you. How can she, when you brought an Ancunín with you? Gods, even I was wary, and I raised you! I - I still don’t understand your attachment to him!” 

You just stare at him, giving a slight shrug. “Erelin makes him suffer as much as the rest of us, Cal,” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, choked. “You don’t understand.”

He takes in a long inhale. “You have a good head on your shoulders,” he says. “I want to trust you on that. It’s not like you to be swayed by a pretty face, but… gods, I don’t know.”

“Try to trust me, then?” you ask. “I’d appreciate that, considering that no one will even be trusting me to rule. I won’t even have a say in my own kingdom.”

His brows pinch. “That’s not true. You’ll be on a council of ruling. Multiple people in power. And, no matter what Aris says, you’d have your vote on that.”

He takes another step forward, and his hands seem to scorch through your clothes, warming you from the outside in. “You could do so much good,” he says. “Give it time. Aris will soften. She’ll see who you are, just like I see you.”

“And what do you see?” you ask weakly.

He smiles. “Someone strong. Who does the right thing, when it comes down to it. Someone fit to rule.”

You look in his clear, grey eyes and wonder when exactly it was that he stopped actually seeing you. 

You gently ease out of his grip, heading toward the edge of the camp, but you can feel him watching you. You can feel that damned spell of his still present on your skin. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, no doubt. It’s the complex so many have: that in order to succeed, things must be compromised, precious things sacrificed. 

You’d just never thought that it would be you on the table, a lamb up for slaughter. 

The next few weeks consist of the same progression of events, over and over again, played like a hellish retelling of the same story. You and Astarion are escorted around, but given no real freedom. Even the woods seem like an upgrade - at least you’d been able to choose the direction you were walking in. Such a brief taste of it, before it had been robbed from you. 

You’re taken to and from meetings. You’re provided with books to keep yourself entertained. You’re provided with decent rations, clean clothes, and the occasional bath. These are the luxuries your life consists of. 

You and Astarion lightly chat at night, but there’s nothing more than the occasional kiss, a brief touch of his thumb over your cheek. A shared bedroll. The circumstances of your situation are off putting enough, but it’s the soldiers and their constant, loud conversations through the night that ruin the mood for anything else.

As for the camp, there’s something unmistakably brewing in the air. 

You hadn’t been able to feel it at first, but as you and Astarion spend more and more time in this place, it’s immediately clear that something is happening. You hear whispers, bits and pieces of things you can’t make out, but something is clear: there’s a restlessness to the place, like something held in chains but waiting to break free.

You may hate Erelin, but you at least admire her intelligence, her cunning. Aris, you despise through and through. 

She treats you like a puppet. For the few, brief meetings you’re permitted to attend, she speaks over you, ignoring you when you chip in, not even looking you in the eye. It’s very clear that you are nothing more than your title to her, and at night, you dream of setting fire to her precious battle plans and watching the smug look on her face fall flat.

Astarion plays more bored than anything else, but you see the occasional slip of anxiety in his shoulders, the restless way he paces about. Wherever Erelin is, how will she know you’re here? Will she really use your blood to track you, like he’d told you in the carriage all that time ago? 

Cal, meanwhile, has taken to following you around. It seems that he thinks, with enough time, you’ll forgive him. You don’t even look at him. If he’d ever agreed to you living like this, then he really couldn’t give a shit about you. You’re determined to mirror that feeling back to him.

Three weeks in, the camp begins its march. From what you’re hearing, Aris is joining forces with another post outside the city, but what it means for you is that you and Astarion are dragged along with the soldiers, forced by day to endure the burning sun, and given a barren tent to rest in at night.

It’s a long journey, consisting of aching feet and sweat-stained clothing and the faint brushes of relief under the shade. There must be a thousand times your eyes flit to the trees, aching to break free from this hell, but you know it’s useless. Cal puts a new tracking spell on you each morning to ensure it doesn’t expire. You shoot daggers at him through your eyes and hope he knows you hate him.

When the group finally, mercifully arrives, there’s so much chaos that you can barely think. You can’t even rest. There are so many soldiers milling around that you can’t possibly imagine how the city doesn’t realize they’re there - or maybe they do, and just don’t care.

Baldur’s Gate in of itself has no resources for war. Erelin might, and she has control over the city, but it’s not so simple. War means planning and resources and death. War means defending your actions to your people. If Calthir hasn’t attacked any major sections, then any preventative action Erelin might take will come off as dealing the first blow. 

Even with the spell on you, you’re tempted to run. You’re not sure how accurate the tracking is, but in the city, you could blend in with the crowd. It’s hectic enough here to get away without anyone noticing, likely not for hours. You could hide with someone you trust. Someone who knows magic well.

But you don’t dare to risk it. If they catch you and Astarion, who knows what will happen to him. Instead, you stick by his side for the most part, wandering about long after the sun has set and the night has brought in her velvet skies. He retreats to your assigned tent once it’s dark, but you don’t follow him.

As you stroll along your new boundaries, passing by a small, inconspicuous tent, a raised voice catches your attention. Cal’s raised voice. It stops you in your tracks. You’ve seen him devastated, frustrated, determined. This is none of those. This is pure rage like you’ve never seen, bellowed anger that you’re not supposed to overhear.

“-cannot stand for this,” he’s saying. “I know you hate the boy, but this? This is not who we are!”

“This is who we must be,” comes a voice that can only be Aris. “We don’t stand a chance by ourselves. Alliances must be formed, and we cannot be stingy about our choices. Rebellions require sacrifices, Cal! If we let every moral dilemma stop us, we’d be nowhere!”

“Morals are the entire gods damned reason we’re doing this!” Cal protests. “Or have you lost sight of why we’re truly here? What we’re fighting for?”

“We’re fighting to win,” Aris replies. “Everything else is secondary. I thought you understood that.”

There’s a long, cutting silence. Your heart pounds erratically in your chest.

“They’ll never trust you after this,” Cal says. His voice sounds thick, strangled. “I hope you know that. You’ll ruin every chance of them cooperating.”

“If that’s the price that must be paid, so be it,” Aris replies.

You hear footsteps approaching and instantly duck behind the tent, waiting for the sound to fade until you’re sure they’re both gone. Alliances, she’d said. The word itches at your mind, burying itself within your distrust. Alliances with whom? What are they planning?

As carefully as you can, you sneak into the tent they’d been in. It’s small and dark, with only the barest bit of light from a torch outside spilling inside. It takes a bit of digging to find anything behind basic battle plans and lists of stations, but when you do, your heart sinks down to your stomach. Something sick and nauseating flows under your skin.

It’s simply a letter, accepting an unspecified plan. Bring what I ask for, it says, and I will fight at your side. What’s most important, though - what’s sickeningly relevant - is not the contents, but rather, the person it’s from.

In a neat, cursive scrawl at the bottom of the page is the undeniable signature of Lord Cazador Szarr.

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash

[allzelemonz]

Red Dead Redemption Scenarios: Kissing an injury

Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: M/Injury, references to sex Warnings: Violence, injury, fluff, kissing

Abe: 

He slipped, hit his head against a post as he fell and you found him groaning on the ground.

“Are you alright, Abe?”

He sits up a little as your hands hold him steady. “Just hit my head, I’m alright, hon’.”

You push his hand aside and press a kiss to his head. His face turns pink as you pull him back to his feet.

“We should get back to.” He says, smiling to himself. “Thank you.”

You return his smile and he takes an extra second to press a quick kiss to your lips before he returns to moving the hay bales. He thinks about that until he sees you later in the day and you give him a proper kiss before fussing over his head.

Bill Williamson: 

“It ain’t that bad.” Bill grumbles.

You have a rag held to his shoulder, trying to stop the cut from bleeding. Some savage man in the forest swiped him with a knife while you were trying to rob their camp. It started as a first fight between him and Bill, then he cheated and pulled out a knife. Bill still won, but he got this deep cut that he insists doesn't hurt.

“It’ll hurt if it keeps bleeding.” You say, pressing the rag a little harder against him. “Or if it gets infected.”

“I’m fine.”

Despite his protests, he makes no move to leave or stop you from helping him. He raised his shirt so you could fuss over him to begin with. You’re starting to think he likes when you fuss over him like this. As if you don’t dote on him enough without him getting hurt in the process. You lean down and press a kiss to his skin, just above the cut.

“That supposed to help er something’?” Bill mutters.

“Yes.” You say, pressing another kiss to the same spot.

Bill stills as you do. “Oh.”

“Sit still, quit complaining, and I’ll kiss you somewhere more interesting.”

You can see Bill’s ears turn red as he lets your words settle in. He doesn’t say another word as you attend to him, relaxing more and more as you press gentle kisses to his skin as you wait for the bleeding to stop.

Charles Smith: 

He winces as the whiskey hits the cut, a low groan filling his chest.

“Sorry.” You mutter, focusing on ripping a spare shirt from your saddle bag to make a bandage.

“Not like you cut me.”

“No.” You tie the fabric around his arm. “Just shot the man that did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“He hurt you, Charles.” You say, leaning down to press a kiss to his bare skin above the bandage. “I’d do it again a hundred times.”

He catches your arm, pulling you down to kiss you properly. “I can handle myself.”

“Tell that to the gash in your arm, Mister Smith.” You push him back and he smiles as you do.

“I didn’t know you were so protective.”

You cup his cheek. “Of you, of course I am.”

Colm O’Driscoll: 

He only lets you patch him up anymore. The bigger camps have medics but Colm doesn’t trust anyone more than you. So you’ve learned a lot of first aid and a few standard things that outlaws need. This one is easy, a bullet graze. At least it’s not a bullet hole. It barely got him, but he still winces as you give him tonic and look him over. You press a kiss to his arm, just above the wound in an unconventional attempt to get that look of pain off of his face.

He hums. “Come here, sugar.”

You follow as he beckons, leaning over him as he presses his lips to yours. His good arm lifts so his hand can grip your hair and hold you in place. You happily kiss him back, holding his face and relishing as he bites at your lip.

“Yer too good to me, sweetheart.” He muses against your lips.

“Stop getting shot, please, Colm.”

He smiles, his hand smoothing out your hair from where he messed it up. “Ain’t makin’ no promises.”

You press another kiss to his lips, a short one, before you return to dealing with his wound. He watches you, eyes half lidded as he imagines what he’ll do once you’re done.

Kieran Duffy: 

He tries to hide it when he comes into your tent, but when he tries to sit down the pain shows. He winces as he holds his ribs and you look at him with confusion.

“Are you hurt, Kieran?”

He shakes his head as he settles on the ground. “No, no. I’m, uh, I’m fine.”

“Kieran.”

“Really, I’m fine.” He gives you a small smile. “It ain’t nothing ya gotta worry about.”

You make your way over to him and sit down. He doesn’t stop you from resting your hand against his cheek, he smiles at you and leans into the touch.

“Don’t lie to me, Kieran.” You say, trying to seem gentle. “Please.”

He looks away from you as he thinks. Then he slowly lifts his shirt to show a heavy bruise on his torso.

“What happened?” You ask gently.

He shakes his head. “It weren’t nothin’. One a’ the horses got spooked. It was my fault, I shouldn’t a’ came up to ‘em so fast.”

You kiss his cheek and he quiets down, taking a deep breath. Then you lean down and press a soft kiss to the outer edge of the bruise.

“What’re ya doin’?” He asks with a smile on his face.

“Sometimes it feels better if you kiss it.” You explain, coming back up to kiss his cheek again. “And tonics, you need tonics too.”

Kieran leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. You happily return it before getting up to see Strauss about the medicine.

Micah Bell: 

Micah tries hard not to wince as you dab a clean rag over the cut by his hairline. He focuses on glaring at Baylock, who threw him right into a thorny bush. Being injured in such a way is unbecoming of the hardened outlaw.

“Quit looking at him like that.”

Micah huffs. “Stupid horse.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Suppose not.” He mumbles, looking over the now calm horse.

You press a kiss to the edge of the cut as you finish with the rag. “You love that horse, Micah. Quit glaring at him.”

He grabs you by the waist and tilts his head slightly. You take his signal and press another kiss to the edge of his cut.

“A proper one now.” He mumbles.

You oblige, pressing your lips together. He pulls you closer and deepens it as your hand finds his hair. A distressed noise from Baylock makes Micah pull away. The horse trots away from the area he was in, nervous.

“I got a yella horse now?” He mutters to himself.

You playfully push him. “Go see what’s wrong.”

Micah presses a quick kiss to your lips before he wanders over to Baylock and calms him. Based on the affections he gives the poor horse he’s not upset with him anymore, if he ever really was at all.

Sean MacGuire: 

“You didn’t have to punch him.” You mutter as you dab a wet rag over Sean’s knuckles.

“Course I did.” Sean says, his leg bouncing from the energy left of the fight. “Turd was talkin’ bad about Dutch.”

You stare at him for a minute as he chews the inside of his cheek, still irritated. Slowly, you bring his hand up and press a gentle kiss to his battered skin. Sean looks over at you quickly a smile forming on his face.

“Gonna make it better, are ya, love?” He lifts his hand back up. “Go on then.”

You press another kiss to the injury and Sean grins. He leans in and kisses you properly, his high energy still very apparent as his hands wander lower and lower until they find what he wants.