#this one was a bit emotional but the next ones are going to be more upbeat and i’m really exciteddd

[uncookedfeeler]

CITRUS I🍋

Yuna x Reader

Tags : 4k, light smut, incest,

Part 2??

Parenting is one of life's most transformative experiences. It is a journey filled with joy, growth, challenges and the commitment to raise and guide another human being. From the moment a child is born into the world, parents find themselves on a rollercoaster ride of endless new experiences, emotional highs and lows, and unwavering love.

Parents are caregivers, teachers and coaches, constantly trying to decipher their child's needs and feelings. While the joys of parenting are many, the challenges can be daunting. From sleepless nights with a newborn to the complexities of teenage rebellion, each stage of a child's development brings its own set of hurdles.

After more than fifty years on this planet, half of them with your wife, you're lucky enough to have a 20-year-old girl as your child. From day one she has been the ray of sunshine that lights up your life. She is the person you love most and will remain your most precious treasure until your last breath. But your relationship has changed a lot over the years. Your little princess has gone from being Daddy's little girl to a gorgeous woman who has been driving a wedge between you since she was a teenager. 

This distance has increased since she became a famous idol and now lives between the dormitory and your house, although she only stays when she wants to. 

As usual, you come home from work late in the evening and enter the lock code to get into your house. Unlike before, the lights are still out and the house is deserted. You leave your keys on the hall stand and walk into the living room, closing the SAS door behind you.

You sigh as you walk through the living room to your bedroom, the room a bit messy with some of your dirty clothes from the night before still on the tripod, you sit down on your bed to remove your tie and finally free your neck, your suit disappears and you put on more relaxed clothes. At the same time, your phone rings and you see the name of one of your colleagues on the display:

"Sorry to call so late, hope I'm not disturbing you?" says a soft voice at the other end of the line.

"Not at all, Mrs Bae, I just got home, what can I do for you?" you reply, laughing.

"The CEO wants to see you in his office tomorrow, he came by earlier but you already left, he said he wants to talk about the last contract you secured". 

"Ahahah, the old man already knows it seems, ok ok, noted I'll meet him tomorrow, have a good night Ms.Bae".

"You too, Director"

You put your phone on the bed before returning to the kitchen to prepare your meal and pour yourself a well-deserved beer. With your face still in the fridge, you hear the front door open and a familiar voice echo through the room with a simple "I'm home, I'm tired! "

You immediately know who it is and reply, "Welcome my darling, good to see you home, how was your day, are you hungry?"

Without answering, you see a young woman with red hair jumping onto the sofa. 

"Yuna, please take off your shoes before entering the house, and at least take off your jacket, it's quite warm in the house," you begin to reproach your only child.

"Daddy, please don't start, I've already lost my mind today with the girls, leave me alone!" the young woman cries in obvious annoyance.

The routine is back and you make the effort to take off her shoes while she is lying on her stomach on the sofa, you notice her outfit for the day, a black leather jacket hiding a nice white t-shirt and beige trousers, so you take the opportunity to complicate your princess. 

"That's a nice outfit, darling."

"Thank you," she replies, blushing.

You put the shoes down in the hallway next to yours and see her already absorbed in her phone, so you try to get the conversation going again:

"What happened to make my little Yuna so upset?" you say.

"I'm not 13 anymore, Dad, you can call me by my first name".

"Ah ah, sorry, Yuna".

"Those bitches stole my concept for the shoot, we had to choose a fruit and we had matching colour outfits, during the pre-shoot meeting we agreed and as luck would have it today they used their "maknae shoot last" rule and took my fruit!!! "

"Please don't shout, so what happened after that?" you try to calm her down.

"What do you think, I got to the shoot and all that was left were shitty concepts, seriously, who the fuck thinks it's sexy to have a lemon in the middle of a t-shirt, they're going to laugh so hard at me for the pictures, I'm so ashamed, I left right after the shoot," she says as she stands up and faces you.

You can see the sadness in her eyes and you want to hug her and tell her that everything will be fine, but now that she's looking at you, you realise that she probably forgot to take off the famous shirt and with great regret you put a big smile on your face, almost on the verge of tears.

"No, darling, I'm sure it's a great shirt," you reply with difficulty.

"PAPA!!!, WHY ARE YOU SNIGGERING?" the young idol cries before following your eyes to her T-shirt, her face falling as she finally realises the reason, you're so sorry, but the situation is really too funny.

As you wipe your eyes you see your princess's blood red eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks and she slaps you hard in the face "I FUCKING HATE YOU, JUST FUCKING DIE YOU AND MOM" before running into her room, 

For the second time in your life you feel that pain, the pain you feel when you hurt someone you love, just like your wife did 7 years ago. 

The pain on your cheek is almost non-existent, unlike the pain in your heart. You admit that Yuna has become very withdrawn since your wife's departure, and that your clumsiness with her has hurt her before, but never to this extent.

On the one hand, your authority has been challenged once again, and for the first time she's dared to raise a hand to you. On the other hand, there is a deep sadness that hurts you, but also makes you deeply regret your actions.

You hear your daughter's cries through the door and, with a feeble step, you knock on the door before entering.

"Baby....i'm so sorry" you see her lying on her bed, her head in her pillow, her crying stops when she raises her head and looks at you, her face is turned upside down, her make-up has run down her face. Seeing your child like that tears your heart out, even though you're responsible.

"Just go, just go like Mum, you don't even like me, do you? I'm ashamed of you, go and die," she said in a cold, mean tone.

"Baby... "Hearing these words from your little princess hurts and brings tears to your eyes, so you get down on your knees to continue your apology.

"Forgive me," you tell her as your tears begin to fall, Yuna continues to reject you and her words only drive nails into your feelings, you've surely done the irreparable and you decide to get up and leave her room.

You have ruined your last family relationship with the person who meant the most to you. 

"I'll bring you dinner later, just rest," you say in an emotionless tone as you grab the door handle to leave.

Your steps towards the living room are slow and your body heavy, only to suddenly hear someone running behind you, the door slamming against the wall, and feel your sweet daughter's body against your back as she tries to wrap her arms around you.

"PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME SORRY," the red one cries with all her hot tears.

You drop to your knees and take your only child in your arms and hold her close, her head is under your chin as she buries herself in your neck, you stroke her head with one hand while the other pats her back, her arms struggle to wrap around your waist but she clings tightly to you.

"I'm sorry darling, I'm sorry for everything, just let it go now, Daddy's here, I won't leave you, ever"

"Daddy, I'm sorry, I love you"

"I love you too, sweetheart"

You stay like this for many minutes before you plant a loving kiss on her forehead, a sign of your unconditional love for her. She's your treasure and the most important woman in your life.

Yuna's red eyes shine into yours and the young idol plants her lips on yours, the sensation is sweet and pleasant, you are morally in a dilemma, never in a million years would you have imagined kissing your daughter like this, but on the other hand you tell yourself that she's probably had too much rejection for today and is just trying to express her love for me. 

You allow your daughter to express her desires and she wraps her arms around your neck as you hold her kiss, her tongue meets yours in a first dance, the heat in the corridor rises as her body crashes against yours, you feel her small breasts against your chest and her perfume floods your nostrils.

"Yu..na," you try to stop her, tapping her shoulder as she literally tries to eat your lips.

The young idol slowly pulls back, leaving a trickle of drool between your two mouths. You see an incredibly sexy woman, her hair a mess, her breathing heavy and hot, her hands on your chest burning and her eyes devouring you like a hungry tigress.

"The redhead doesn't know what to say when she realises what she's done, her face turning scarlet as she rests her forehead on your shoulder.

"Don't worry, it's not your fault, are you tired?

She nods as you carry her to her room and tuck her into bed, one last kiss before sending your little princess off to dreamland.

"Good night, baby," you say to her as she seems to have gone far away.

.

.

.

The night was harder than expected, and after a light dinner you went to bed with your head still full of the events of the evening, a flurry of emotions running through your body and mind, and faster than you could have imagined, the morning light appeared through your window.

It's almost 7am and you're getting ready for a long day. As soon as you wake up, your body starts to show its age and it takes you a long time to get dressed and get out of your room and into the kitchen. You decide on a quick, simple breakfast of fried egg and rice, and with this morning's appointment, you'll be ready to go in no time, having filled up on vitamins for the day despite your fatigue. As you prepare this, you hear Yuna's bedroom door open and see your daughter come into the kitchen, still wearing her white T-shirt, but her beige trousers have been replaced by blue shorts.

"Morning dad," she says shyly.

"Hi honey, no schedule today?"

"Not this morning," she replies quickly, shaking her head.

Neither of you seem comfortable with the conversation and you do your best to avoid meeting her gaze and vice versa. You discreetly exchange glances and smiles, the redhead in front of you is beautiful and you find yourself ogling her.

You continue to prepare breakfast, making sure you have enough for your daughter. The only exchange you've had since is asking her if she wants a coffee, which she refuses. You see her hovering around the table as if she wants to talk, then she finally gets up and goes behind your back to the fridge.

Then you look back over your shoulder, feel Yuna's embrace around your waist as she buries her face in your back, feel the warmth of her breath again and put your hands on hers.

"Are you all right, darling?"

"I'm sorry dad, my head has been on fire since yesterday, my body has been on fire since I saw you this morning, I just wanted to tell you that I love you very much," she answers as she places kisses on your spine.

You feel the tenderness of her lips on your skin as Yuna gently lifts your work shirt, you say nothing, letting your daughter express her feelings as Yuna's gentle attacks send electric shocks down your back.

"Please look at me," she says as she forces you to turn around, pulling you by your hips until your bottom is resting on the edge of the kitchen counter, face to face with your daughter, who is staring at you for the first time this morning.

Her eyes were trembling and she asked you in a soft, frightened voice: "Tell me you love me, Daddy", while she pressed her body against yours. You felt her soft breasts against your chest and she put her hands on the back of your neck. Your daughter brings her lips to yours, her eyes closed, waiting for you to confirm your feelings.

At this point your morality as a father is the only obstacle standing in the way of this relationship, your daughter may not realise it but it is an immoral relationship waiting to happen, your daughter is still looking for a way to fill the hole in her heart, the love of her members doesn't seem to be working for her and now she is relying on you, her father, to give her what she needs, it is a difficult choice but you are letting yourself be swallowed by the devil, your daughter's happiness is what matters.

You cupped her cheek with one hand before pressing your lips to hers as Yuna melted under the pressure of her emotions, you rediscovered the sensation of love and laid your daughter on the counter while maintaining the kiss.

Your daughter is now sitting on the worktop, the difference in height bringing her face level with yours, she grabs the back of your hair to pull you towards her, her legs wrapped around your hips, your lips still locked as your tongues meet again.

When the seal is finally broken, both your breaths are heavy and noisy, each under the hypnosis of its own pleasure, while your eyes are full of sparkles and plunge into each other's. Your princess's eyes shed small tears, which you hastily wipe away with your finger before giving her a long kiss on the forehead.

Daddy, my heart is going to explode,' she says as she takes your hand to her breast with her t-shirt, the feeling is even better than you had imagined, her small breasts are firm and pleasant to touch, as you gently knead her breasts, the young woman makes little moans that express the pleasure she is receiving.

"Yuna... do you like what Daddy is doing?"

She nods "I want to feel your hand on my skin," she replies as she takes both your hands and places them under her t-shirt, right on her breasts.

"Do you like my lemons daddy? squeeze them hard please" Yuna's sexy face and her words echo in your brain as your hands work on her juicy fruit.

The tension in the room rises and you place your mouth on her little lemon, which you have been kneading for a few minutes, you attack her nipple with your tongue while you suck, hoping to suck something, you alternate your hands, now covered with little red spots, your daughter moans with pleasure and prevents you from withdrawing.

"Daddy, suck on them, play with my little lemons that you love so much, they're yours".

All this excitement had made you hot and a knot had formed in your trousers. Your lips left her two Susson-marked mounds and now attacked her defenceless neck, licking it from bottom to top, following her carotid artery and planting long kisses under her jaw, making her tremble before she gently pushed you away.

"Dad, let me take care of you too, I've been feeling your lump on my leg for a while now".

Your daughter begins to unbuckle your belt, then your trousers, until she can finally see your underpants and cock. Then your daughter puts her hand on the front of your briefs to rub your cock, and you see her other hand go down her shorts, probably to check the state of her briefs.

"I'm soaking wet, keep playing with my tits and come and touch me down there while I take care of you".

Your daughter's hand reaches through your shorts and grabs your cock to stroke it gently, on your side you slide one of your hands up her thigh to her panties and rub her slit directly against her skin, she's wet and you can feel a small bush above her entrance, you wiggle your fingers up and down, taking the opportunity to go back and kiss your princess who moans at your actions.

Yuna's technique isn't the best, but who can blame her, the poor thing is fighting against her own body and the way she arched her back as you delicately knocked on her pussy door, freeing her lips from your kiss, the young idol expressed with volume what she was feeling,

♥Hmm....♥Ah....Papa, continue ♥Hmm, ah....♥

Your daughter's moans are like music to your ears and she quickly lets you know that her orgasm is coming as your fingers begin to penetrate her pussy from the inside, you feel little spasms running down her body and her pussy dripping with wetness, as you pull your fingers out you see the deception in her eyes before devouring her with your mouth, forcing her to let go of your cock in the process. 

Your cock is extremely hard after Yuna's work but your pleasure is not your priority as your tongue slides up and down your daughter's slit, her juices are delicious and you suck them in to capture the taste of her naughty hole in your memory. Her grip on your thin hair is powerful and she blocks your head with her legs as you finally hear the release.

"Daddy, I'm going to come, it's happening, da..." before she can finish her own sentence, stopped by her pleasure, Yuna comes all over your now wet face and falls onto her back on the worktop.

"Are you OK, sweetie?" you ask her, a little worried as she suddenly falls backwards, the pressure of her legs freeing you and you see a close-up of your daughter lying on her back in front of you, her face red and wrung out, her hair falling in the air on the other side of the table, her breasts exposed and marked by your many hickeys and her pretty pink pussy that you've just finished devouring.

You grab both her hands and pull her towards you so that she's at your full height, then you take her in your arms as if you were comforting a small child.

"You're so hard daddy, you can do it if you want to," she says with a little hesitation and tired eyes, then you notice that your cock is at the same height as her pussy.

The choice seems obvious but at the same time you don't want to take it lightly and spoil the moment, the lack of time and place is not what you want to give your princess who is offering herself to you so you shake your head in refusal then plant a long kiss on her lips.

"Not now baby, another time," you reply as you start to pull away from her, only to feel her hand holding you back.

"At least let me make you feel better, I want to make you feel better too," she says as she grabs your cock and starts to jerk it like before.

"Do you like it when I rub your naughty cock? Why does a father turn on his daughter so much?" Yuna tries to be provocative to arouse you, but the tone is off and her lack of experience is glaring, you just smile under your daughter's true words.

Your orgasm builds as Yuna experiments with your cock, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible. You put your hands on her tits again and play with them, which doesn't seem to bother her, far from it.

.

.

"Daddy?"

.

.

"Yes, sweetie?

.

.

"You know ... if you want my lemons to give you their juice, you'll have to give me yours first," she said, pointing to her pussy.

The image crosses your mind, the image of a father and daughter kissing the fruit of their forbidden love, a father giving his love to his daughter and a daughter giving birth to that love, your excitement and shame explode as your cock comes to paint the lower part of your daughter's body, her pussy and thighs marked by your essence.

I'm sorry, I'll clean you up,' you say, looking for something to wipe your cum-filled daughter with.

"It's OK, I'll do it myself,' she says as she scoops up the white liquid and brings it to her mouth.

Any young man would have been revitalised to see such a beautiful woman collecting cum on her body, but your cock is now in a less than glorious state and you pull up your trousers, taking care to get dressed.

"It's almost time darling, I have to go," you tell her as you haven't eaten or slept well, it's going to be a long day.

"Wait," she replies as she approaches you, still naked, "don't forget my goodbye kiss," as she presses her lips hard against yours, then whispers, "we'll continue tonight, I love you.

Your body and mind may be in bad shape, but knowing your princess will be there for you tonight fills your heart with a feeling you've been missing.

Later, in your car on the way to work, you get a notification that someone you're following has just started a live stream, obviously it's Yuna, she's the only one you follow, you pick up the stream on the way, but enough to hear your daughter say

My favourite fruit? mhhhhhhhhhh that's a good question, I'll go with lemon, it's a sweet fruit like me and TMI, but my dad loves lemons'.

______________________________________________________________

[luveline]

anything with roan and eddie pls 🙏🙏 whatever you want to write about them!! i miss them 🥺🥺

thanks for requesting!! fem

Baking tray, beef cuts laid out flat. Eddie works in silence, dressing the beef with garlic honey, sesame seeds, and a big pinch of salt. He’d like to add some ginger, some paprika, but Roan doesn’t like when things taste smoky. 

He saran wraps the tray and puts it in the fridge. He makes everyone’s veggies —you like different stuff to Eddie, who likes different stuff to Roan, so he makes a garden’s worth of greens and douses them in olive oil, flaky salt, and a little dash of lemon and pepper. He puts that atop the beef in the fridge and tries to think of a side. He was planning on making pasta tonight, before he realised the beef was gonna go bad soon. Maybe he’ll make a pan of crispy mac and cheese to go with it. 

Yeah. He smiles to himself. That looks good on his head, two roasted ribs, a fist of mac and cheese, and a half a plate of roasted veggies. 

He cuts a little cilantro ‘cos Roan loves it, adds some lemon juice to that too, and sets it aside in the fridge. He makes a quick mac and cheese on the stove and tips it into a baking tray, covers a third of it in bacon bits for the youngster, and puts that in the oven. 

Then he sits at the table and sighs. Scratches two hands through his hair, lets the tight achy small of his back decompress as he leans forward. 

When Eddie started working at the shop with Wayne, he figured it would get easier over time. Part time table-bussing wasn’t going to pay for a trailer or his brand new baby, and for months it’s not like he could work anyhow. He lived solely off of his Uncle Wayne as he learned to change diapers, and calm colic, and be a new dad. It was depressing and frustrating all of the time. He felt like shit because he’d just fucking landed Wayne with another mouth to feed and diapers were so, so expensive, and so was formula, and baby clothes, and the guilt worsened when he realised he loved her. Loved Roan. He loved her pretty much the moment he laid eyes on her, but he had no idea if he could be a father, just knew he couldn’t let his kid fall into the system. 

But loving her had been second to panic for weeks. Then one day he was washing her tummy in the bath and he swore blind that she smiled at him, whether babies her age could smile or not. He tumbled out of the bathroom with her in a towel poncho to brag, and that night at dinner, Wayne gave a frowny Eddie the option: start working alternate shifts at the shop. Wayne would have her in the evenings while Eddie worked, they’d sorted everything out, he could start next week. It wasn’t half as scary as being a new dad, so Eddie said yes. 

Anyways, he expected it to get easier. He knows more about parenting and cars than he ever imagined at twenty, but it’s still hard. He’s exhausted. 

Good thing he knows exactly why he does it. 

The door to the living room opens with a creak. Small feet pad around the stair bannister and down the hallway that leads to the kitchen. Roan stops walking when she notices him behind the table. She smiles. She looks like him, less as she gets older, but enough to have given an appreciation for his own features. What’s more beautiful than seeing your smile on someone else’s lips?

“Hey, daddy.” 

“Hi, munchkin.” 

Truthfully, Roan has been his best friend for years. There’s something intangibly close about a single parent and their only child, especially when they’d lived alone. Day after day together, seeing all the gross bits and all the love. It’s given her a vast depth of emotional intelligence. She’s smarter now as a kid than Eddie was at 18. 

“You okay?” she asks, holding her hands up. He picks her up, plonking her on the table in front of him. “You look tired, daddy. And you smell like pepper.” 

“I just finished making ribs, babe.” 

“Yum!” Her nose moves when she talks, “For dinner?” 

“Mm-hm.” He finds her hand. Holds it gently. “Mac and cheese and roasted broccoli, too.” 

Roan smiles again. “Dad, you’re a good chef.” 

“I know I am! But it took so much practice. When you were born, you know what I was eating for dinner every night? I was eating chicken pot pie you put in the microwave.” She wrinkles her nose. “I know. I didn’t care about being good to my body. I definitely didn’t listen to my tummy.”

He likes this part about being a dad. He’s never found it awkward. He just drops his voice into softness and talks to her on her level. 

“But you learned.” 

“I did learn. I wanted to make sure you were eating everything you need. That’s why we eat all that broccoli.” 

She pokes him in the torso with her socked foot. “Maybe less broccoli for my tummy.” 

“I got potatoes and stuff too, don’t worry.” Eddie reaches for her hair in its after school mess, raking it away from her face. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Well, duh.” 

“I know, but really. I love you more than anything.” 

“More than Y/N?” 

“No,” he says quickly, then laughs. “Yeah, but just a little bit. It’s a different kind of love, okay? I love you both like crazy, but you’re my baby. Even though you’re not a baby anymore.” 

“I could be a baby,” she whispers, grinning, “I can be small again, and you can carry me everywhere, and give me a bottle.” 

He laughs roughly. “Yeah? You want a bottle? You barely like milk.” 

“Well, you can still carry me.” 

“I do carry you. I’m surprised these feet work,” he says, squeezing her toes in both hands. 

“Dad, don’t!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he presses his thumb between her foot and her toes and then drops them altogether. “I remember when your foot was the size of my thumb.” 

“I don’t.” 

He laughs more loudly than he means to and scoops her up for a rough and tumble hug. “God, I love you. I really do, bubby.” He presses his nose to her head and blames how tired he is for what he says next. “You are everything to me, you know that? You’re my everything.” 

“You’re my everything.” 

He tips her back to see her. Beams at her, touches his nose to hers. “You and Y/N, you make my life perfect.” 

“I’m glad,” she says, which has him laughing all over again, a childish giggle. 

When you get home a half hour later, you find them in weird places. Eddie’s sitting on the kitchen floor watching the ribs cook in the oven, and Roan’s under the table building a marble run with his approval. “Here?” she asks. 

“And the orange piece. We need more pieces, it’s not long enough.” Eddie smiles at you as you enter, but leans back, opening the cupboard under the sink to grab a saucepan, the sieve, and plastic jug. “We can use these.” 

“What’s up, my Munsons?” you ask. 

Roan smacks her forehead against the edge of the table in her excitement. “Ouch!” she says, crawling from under it to crowd your legs. 

“Ouch!” you echo, face morphed with concern as your handbag slides down your arm. You drop it to the floor and take her cheeks into your hands. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry, I feel like that was all my fault.” 

She shakes her head, curls bouncing this way and that. “It was an accident.” 

“I know, I know, but I didn’t mean to startle you.” You brush her hair back gently and hover. “Can I kiss it better?” 

“Don’t kiss it, it stings!” Roan says, veering away from you with a frown. 

“Sorry!” 

Roan twists away from you to fall into Eddie’s lap. 

“Sorry,” Eddie mouths. 

You pout. It’s with extreme beautifulness —is that a word? Eddie’s pretty sure it’s a word— you slip out of your little heels and sit down on your knees, stockings dark and perfect on legs he adores. You don’t question why they’re on the floor. That’s how you all fit, his smart working girl and your shared grumpy daughter, because nobody asked Eddie why he sat down by the oven. 

“Sorry, baby,” you say softly.

Roan’s frown worsens, but she says, “No, I’m sorry. My head hurts. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, big girl.” 

“Big girl?” she asks. 

“You sounded very grown up, is all.” 

Eddie has to agree. “You’re just that smart.” 

You hold his ankle. “So, how was work? How was school? Fill me in.” 

“How was your day?” Eddie asks. 

“Super usual and boring. We had some people from the Brussels branch come to visit and Jess kept telling me to stop being so awkward, and I asked her what she meant and she said I was smiling like somebody was holding me hostage.” 

Eddie loves when you smile like that. When you’d first met, you used to smile that way all the time. He loves all your smiles, obviously, but your excited–scared combo isn’t one he sees much anymore. 

You shrug. “But work paid for lunch, and I had this amazing mango passionfruit cake roll, I snook you some.” 

“You did?” Roan asks eagerly.

“I did! It’s in my purse, but it has a price.” 

“What’s the price?” Roan asks. 

You put your head in your hand. “I wanna know what you guys have been up to today.” 

When Eddie plates dinner that evening, it’s with a distinct sense of pride and content mashed together. It’s a damn good-looking meal, dense with nutrition and flavour alike, and you and Roan both seem similarly awed. Eddie wanted ribs and he got them, but almost as pleasurable as eating them is the way you both tuck in. You compliment his roasted veggies, telling him you could eat them for every meal, and Roan’s face is plastered in sticky honey garlic in minutes, a macaroni elbow in her hair. 

“Know what dad told me earlier?” she asks you. 

You snort and rescue her hair. “What did he tell you, baby?” 

“That we make his life perfect.” 

Eddie chokes on his coke. “That was a secret,” he says, throat burning, “between you and me?” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Roan says.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Eds.” Your eyes turn to hearts, staring at him over the steaming tray of macaroni and cheese. “You guys make my life perfect, too. My babe and my personal chef.” 

He dodges your cheek pinch, grabbing your hand to hold instead. 

“Just wish somebody would make me dinner every once in a while,” he says.

“Whatever,” you say. 

“Dad, I can make you dinner.” 

“I don’t trust you ‘round the kitchen.” 

Roan guides a forkful of cheesy macaroni to her lips. “Okay, good. I can’t make pasta like you,” she says. Eddie won’t mind making dinner again tomorrow. 

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Best Laid Plans

(Chapter 18 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Doflamingo x Caesar Clown (implied), Smoker x Reader (referenced)

Chapter Warnings: language, reader is still going through it, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, breeding kink, Doflamingo is a freak (as always)

Chapter Synopsis: The morning after your and Doflamingo’s public engagement and actual marriage, he’s already working towards what he wants from you next. And you begin learning a bit more about the family you’ve now been chained to. All while this news of your union begins affecting even those who want nothing to do with you.

A/N: Not fully proofread! I will buzz back through later to clean up mistakes. I had a personal goal to post an update by this weekend, and I wanted to stick to it. 🫡

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

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“I have to say…this is unusual, Caesar. Am I to feel like the pay I’ve already wired was insufficient this time? Or have you just had higher priorities this week outside of me?”

Caesar Clown was staring at that snail on the lab table in front of him, and the wholly disappointed edge behind every additional word.

Simply not answering Joker’s phone calls at any hour they might come had never been an option. Punk Hazard was far too close to Dressrosa for one thing. And Doflamingo’s warlord status allowed him impromptu visits whenever he’d wished on this otherwise restricted government island.

But even more important than that constant threat of his proximity, was the fact that Caesar wanted to answer when this man called for him.

Everything about Doflamingo intrigued him really. Every new test of his scientific skills that the pirate could offer him, every new payday, and every thrill of power by association that came along with it all.

Joker had a way about him that just couldn’t be refused, an equally dangerous and charismatic provider like no other.

And this conflict of emotion was only further proven in the way Caesar’s stomach twisted with fear, simultaneous to his face flushing with embarrassment as he tried to lie. “I just wanted this to be perfect for you, Joker. That’s all.” 

The truth and real reason for Caesar’s unexpected delay was something far different of course. A setback that the scientist had no idea how to yet articulate when it involved his favorite client so personally as this.

Because the flaw wasn’t in the new concoction itself that Caesar had already created. It was in the biology of the man who had commissioned it.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just needs to work as I instructed.” The other responded so flatly though, still unaware of what new knowledge Caesar was now hiding. “Did the news coos come by Punk Hazard yet this morning?” He asked almost conversationally next though.

“No.” Caesar was quick to answer a bit louder then, eager to divert to another subject if even briefly. “Why? Did something happen?”

The snail finally smiled a little there.

“I’m calling because I moved the timetable up again yesterday. At the colosseum in front of everyone actually. I can’t help it I guess. When I want something, I just take it.” Doflamingo answered far more smugly at that.

“Oh?” Caesar was twirling the phone cord between his fingers nervously now. He remembered well the urgency of their last conversation. Because Joker had obviously selected you as his broodmare of choice well before taking this public. 

And why not? 

The sheer vanity of the idea was appealing to Caesar as well. Taking a fiery, desirable woman and riding her into submission until she ultimately bore fruit. It sounded like a good time to him as well.

“It’s an official betrothal then?” Caesar could guess as much then.

The snail smirked again. “Yes, it went well. You should have heard the roaring of that crowd.”

But just when Caesar had started to feel the smallest bit of calm when Doflamingo had begun to further gloat, those words turned sharp again in an instant.

“So I want that serum in my hands by tomorrow night at latest, Caesar. I can’t wait any longer. Can you make that happen for me or not?”

Even when posed as a question, there was only ever one possible answer of course.

“Yes, Joker.”

The drug was already ready by Caesar’s standards. It’d force ovulation regardless of any contraceptive previously in your system. And it’d grant resilience in the fetus to the most common toxins, preventing either accidental or purposeful chemical abortion in at least the timeframe until it could be old enough to survive outside of your body anyway. Also with some other chemicals added to further the thickening of the uterine wall and amniotic sac for a bit more physical protection too.

Forced reproduction is what this plan truly was. But the devil always remained in the details.

Though confident as always in his own work, Caesar had still snuck what should have only been an uneventful peek into Vegapunk’s data from the currently unnamed warlord project as well.

All the warlords’ genomes and lineage factors had already been mapped out by Vegapunk. Made from clandestine samples taken from each warlord at the time of the signing of their government contracts in Mariejois.

So in only a single afternoon, Caesar had scoured through Doflamingo’s file. Just double checking for anything obvious. Any potentially debilitating mutations that could interfere in successful fertilization and healthy fetal development regardless of Caesar’s drug’s limited protections.

The scientist did not want to be blamed for a wild card like that after all.

But there, deep into those genetic markers, he had found something that was indeed a hard stop. Nothing that uncommon he guessed, but the absolute opposite of what this plan needed to be successful.

“Will…you be arriving here to pick up the product yourself then?” Caesar felt like those next words were coming out of his mouth on their own now. 

Joker was exponentially faster in the sky than any ship could hope to be on the water. It’d grant Caesar nearly a whole additional day of lab time if Doflamingo came here himself instead of having the drug shipped to Dressrosa.

It’d also give Caesar a chance to dose the pirate with something complimentary to that formula being given to you. Perhaps Doflamingo’s one breeding fault Caesar had found could be temporarily corrected here as well.

The snail paused. 

“You really need the extra time then…don’t you?” And there was a bit of new incredulousness in that tone that may have made Caesar proud in different circumstances.

Because he had never let Joker down prior to this moment. Thus the other’s natural surprise.

“It will be ready by then. I promise.” Caesar still tried to steady his voice.

He would do whatever he had to, to keep in the good graces of those beautifully deep pockets of course. Even if it meant degrading himself to finally ask for help from the last person he’d ever wish to as soon as this call would end.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Doflamingo’s voice eventually conceded to the new terms.

A rare mercy that further reinforced just how badly the Heavenly Demon must want this to happen with you.

“But no more extensions after this, Caesar.” He warned none the less.

“I understand, Joker. And it will be very good to see you again.” Caesar tried to throw on that additional subservience at the end at least, to finish on a good note so to speak.

Doflamingo did notice that difference in tone too. Because flattery was always appreciated, and a brief hint of flirtation even better. “Heh. I’ll be in a hurry. I can’t leave her alone for long. She just gets into trouble every time I do.”

“She does sound fun.” Caesar mused then, gladly sensing that returning deescalation which came with this bit of parting indulgence. 

“She is. But I’m not sharing this one.” The snail grinned fully then. “So fantasize in private. And don’t miss a deadline with me again, dear Caesar.”

The snail disconnected with a click at that as the scientist was left still recovering, here alone in his lab.

He shivered, this new stress so very real as it ate through him.

Caesar knew what he had to do. It was the only way to fix this in the remaining time window available now.

And Vegapunk would be all the more insufferable after this impromptu request for collaboration he was sure.

But sacrifices had to be made, with Caesar’s own ego included in those losses for just this once.

Because Joker would have what he wanted.

Always.

——————————

This meeting had been scheduled ages before now.

Crocodile’s request for official residency in Alabasta was to either be approved or denied today.

But his initial months of planning that should have had him walking into this room as the vessel of vengeance in the young princess’s tragic ransom attempt gone wrong, had been derailed in a single evening. 

Simply because you had to be in the wrong place at the right time.

Crocodile had always intended for his agents to kill Vivi. And then he would have killed them, dealing false justice and earning the full attention of Alabasta’s people.

King Cobra would then have had no choice, unable to publicly spurn the man who had captured and disposed of his precious daughter’s murderers.

And later, when the timing was fully right, Crocodile would have further pressed into that man’s paternal grief.

After getting all the information he’d need about the ancient weapon from the broken royal, it’d have been far too easy to then stage a suicide for Alabasta’s noble leader.

He’d have sewn the story of a father who just could never overcome the loss of his only child. 

And with the people’s favor by then, and Vivi already gone to leave no Nefertari heir to contend with, Crocodile would have been poised to take over this country in the power vacuum which would have followed.

But no.

Because of you, that little blue haired girl whose corpse should have long been sealed away in the Nefertari tomb was now standing before him and actually smiling instead.

She had apologized profusely to the king for not being able to wait a moment longer to share her news as she’d entered the palace dining area where Crocodile and her father had still been talking business.

The royal family’s guard zoans, Chaka and Pell stayed close, but also were losing their air of professionalism as they tried to look over the girl’s shoulder while she presented that brand new news coo delivery to the table.

“Father! Please, may I call and congratulate her!?” The girl was practically vibrating in this new excitement.

But Crocodile’s teeth were already clenching against his cigar.

Because even from across the table, of course he’d recognized that fucking bird’s high cheek bones and dark glasses on the front page.

Every last bit of his restraint was being tested as the tip of his hook punctured the smallest hole into the tabletop now. Catching there in that new imperfection as his jaw tightened further.

And Nefertari, a literal king, was sitting there all the while, marveling at these images and the hyperbolic words of Morgans’ that accompanied them while he turned through those pages.

“My, it says they have been courting one another for years even. How unusual…a pirate and a marine.” Cobra said aloud with some added incredulousness. But only then seeming to remember his own pirate guest at all. 

The almost sheepish look on the king’s face at that realization silently infuriated Crocodile all the more, before Cobra had the audacity to ask something even worse afterward.

“Besides being the ruler of Dressrosa, Doflamingo is also your colleague though. Are you close with him? Is this a surprise to you as well, Sir Crocodile?”

And it was also in the way that little girl’s bright eyes looked up to Crocodile with such anticipation for more details then. This insanity was beyond what the warlord could take.

Because it now surpassed all natural reason and probability the way that pink demon just kept ruining his life.

“Doflamingo does as he pleases. So I’m not surprised.” Crocodile’s deep voice somehow still managed rather noncommittally. His hand removing his cigar from his mouth then.

A tell they wouldn’t recognize. He was utterly seething. 

Because that fucking, feathered whore could never stop being this ridiculous and over the top in every single thing that he did.

And for what reasoning this time? There was always a play, a scheme, or a manipulation when it came to Doflamingo.

Nothing was ever genuine, nothing ever truly real.

That creature was a narcissist, a sociopath, a nymphomaniac, and any other random assortment of mental conditions he chose from his grab bag of collected neuroses on any given day.

“Father, please may I call her?” Yet Vivi started once more, not dissuaded in the least by Crocodile’s lackluster response.

“Yes, of course. But with Igaram to assist you. A call from you is an official contact from Alabasta and the Nefertari family after all…and this would essentially be us reaching out to the Donquixote royals as well now if you speak directly to her.”

And this realization somehow delighted the girl even further. “Oh…yes, you’re right! She’ll be a queen soon. Maybe we can even go to the next Reverie together!”

Cobra chuckled at this. “It’s certainly possible now, isn’t it?”

The girl wasted no time however, having now received her father’s permission as she hurried back out of the room to no doubt find Igaram and make that call.

Which did remind Crocodile of his own brief interaction with you too of course. When you rather rudely rejected his flowers and their very efficient poison.

But now he knew why Doflamingo had not immediately struck back in retaliation for that.

This public exhibitionism was that idiot’s response.

“My apologies for that interruption, Sir Crocodile.” Cobra had turned his head back to look at him again then once Vivi had left. “My daughter doesn’t have many friends outside of this palace any longer, now that her prior playmates have moved on to Yuba. And after that incident in Scylla, I believe she’s found quite a female role model in that marine captain.”

Cobra glanced at that print one more time and your pictures there with his sentiment, smiling warmly before he closed the newspaper.

“You know…” He started again not long after. “I think times are beginning to change in this world. I have to admit, when you first asked months ago for my public blessing to transition your Rain Dinners casino into a more permanent residence here in our country, it didn’t seem wise to me given your nature of remaining a pirate.”

Crocodile was still holding his cigar between his fingers then, outwardly concealing his full disgust as he did at least listen.

“But, the warlord program has clearly been working well for Dressrosa. By all accounts, they are thriving under your peer Doflamingo. He protects them. And now, I’d say they’re on their way to having a rather selfless queen as well. What she did for us in Scylla, I will never be able to fully repay her for.”

And even Crocodile’s expression shifted slightly there. Because he felt that change coming in Cobra with these next words.

“But I’m going to try to. So yes, I wasn’t going to approve your official residency and citizenship request at first. Even with you being a warlord, I suppose I still had learned misgivings about what powerful pirates can do to weaker targets. Yet, I’ve thought about these prior prejudices so much in the days since our experience in Scylla. And the way that captain has obviously deemed Doflamingo at least, as worthy of a second chance in life.”

Cobra even sighed a little there, taking a brief sip of the still warm tea that his servants had prepared earlier. “And you and I both know she will face some ridicule and shame for this choice regardless, being that her partner is also still a pirate. This wasn’t the only reason for my change of heart, mind you. But, I can’t deny that my desire to help her, especially now, will be a large part of my decision.”

The king smiled again there, but with a seriousness that still showed his understanding of the gravity of what he was conceding. “So I do grant your request to stay in Alabasta, Sir Crocodile. Partly for your agreed protection of our coasts of course, as I realize more than ever, the enemies we still have in this world. But also because I want to show that men even with histories like yours and Doflamingo’s can be offered these mercies later in life if earned. We will stand with Dressrosa in this regard. I will publicly support her choice of allying with a warlord, by doing much the same here in Alabasta.”

Crocodile’s stare was wider then. His breathing had paused.

Nothing was ever supposed to truly surprise him. And his hand returned that cigar to his mouth as he forced a smile.

The fucking audacity of this all still had his blood running so hot. His heart was pounding with hidden rage. But even Crocodile’s pride couldn’t surpass his sheer ambition any longer. He knew goddamn well what this meant for him in the end.

This new way into Nefertari Cobra’s confidence and the secrets of this kingdom now came with the ungodly price tag of warming back up to the Donquixote family.

“A sound decision, your highness.” Crocodile drawled through an exhale of cigar smoke though. “I can certainly protect this kingdom just as well as Dressrosa has been taken care of as you said. But even more so, this feels a bit like providence doesn’t it? Why, with your daughter being saved by such dear friends of mine…”

Vomit would have been far more pleasant to roll out over his tongue than those words.

But Doflamingo could be baited and used in a heartbeat. He’d come here with you in tow without question if invited. Crocodile knew this. Just like the card games at his casino, as soon as one hand had folded, another had been dealt to him.

His false smile remained. “In fact, if you truly wish to put your support for that soon to be Dressrosan queen front and center in the public eye, why not ask her to visit here? An engagement party of sorts? As further reward for her sacrifices to your family of course...”

And now it was Cobra’s turn to look surprised, though not at all unwilling for this new idea. “Oh, Vivi would love that.”

“As would your subjects.” Crocodile agreed.

And he did see Cobra glance briefly back up to Chaka and Pell who were still observing this conversation hesitantly as his bodyguards.

“It has been ages since we’ve had a proper ball…” Cobra mused.

The two zoan users looked at one another, but their king didn’t give them any real chance to respond.

It was clear that this thought had rooted in his mind. “Notify Igaram please. We’ll go over the details together, and I’ll let Vivi offer the official invitation once decided.”

Yet it already was decided, wasn’t it? Crocodile saw that. Just as clearly as he dreaded what a reversal of his own word this would be. He had sworn to never work with that bird again.

But using someone wasn’t the same as working with them. Or even denying the full blown hatred that remained for them, now was it?

Crocodile would still tear through each and every one of you without a second’s hesitation if Pluton could finally be his. And then, all these days in hell would be but a distant memory.

Temporary tortures endured by him for the achievement of his broader goals.

And torture would be the proper word for what would be coming. Because he could envision that freakishly long tongue slipping out from behind those bright white teeth even now.

Doflamingo would be elated. 

And Crocodile only had you to blame.

—————————— 

There’d been another note on the nightstand when you’d woken in Doflamingo’s bed in the morning sun. Just like that time on his ship on the way here from Scylla.

That beautiful handwriting that still seemed so disconnected from the ruthless individual who had penned it now stared up at you once more from clean, white paper. 

The curves and flourishes almost looked like they could move, flowing as your eyes narrowed with your now splitting headache, sitting up alone in the bed to read it.

“Good morning, my drunken wife. Though if you can read this, then congratulations. You’ve rejoined the living.

I doubt you’d be in the mood for more pain medication after the last time. But all you need do is ask and I’ll still provide. There’s no reason for you to suffer needlessly. Unless you just enjoy it of course.

I tasked Baby 5 with watching the door out in my suite for you. No unexpected visitors this time. I had some very time sensitive calls to make however, or else I’d still gladly be tangled up beside you. But I’ll check in on you soon.

Yours,

-D.D.”

You closed your eyes briefly then, trying to focus enough to not want to scream.

The haze of yesterday and last night could have been easily dismissed as only a fever dream.

If not for the reality of the diamond ring still around your finger. The only thing you were wearing actually besides a pained scowl as you opened your eyes again and left the bed. Dehydrated as usual and wishing for any semblance of relief.

Even now, you had the instinct that you weren’t supposed to be exploring Doflamingo’s private chambers without him.

Probably why he’d given you your own room to begin with. A safer holding cell for when he was away, before you and Trebol had immediately destroyed it anyway.

But fuck it. 

You were thirsty and still such a mess from last night as you crossed the bedroom.

And soon enough you found yourself standing alone in Doflamingo’s massive bathroom. With the centuries old mosaics and stonework that conflicted with his far brighter, modern tastes. 

It wasn’t your first time being here. But without him even lurking just beyond the door to wait for you, it felt entirely different.

You did your business, relieving yourself and flushing the toilet before standing again. Your bare feet then met his tacky pink rug as you pressed up against the marble sink. The floral scents of his cologne bottles lined up on the counter only messed with your overtaxed senses further.

You turned on the water, washing your hands with one of his fancy soaps, and rinsing them well before cupping your hands under that stream to bring the cool relief to your face.

And you drank it afterward as well. Because to hell with his weird freakout about this very thing back at the villa. You drank that water several times in fact, refilling the makeshift bowl that was then your cupped hands pressed together.

But as you did turn the water off and straightened back up, you caught your own movement out the corner of your eye.

In that floor to ceiling mirror that was well big enough for even Doflamingo to fully admire himself in the nude.

And you’d seen him do it. One too many lingering glances towards his own image in that reflective glass after showering.

But all you saw now was nothing near as flawless as him as you made that same mistake of also looking for too long. 

Into your tired, pained eyes. And over all the bruises now transitioning through every sequence of unnatural colors, while the trapped blood tried to dissolve for days at a time beneath your skin.

The shape of Doflamingo’s foot sole was still centered prominently over your sternum from that battle in the other bathroom as well. His love bites also along your shoulders and one deep enough to actually have thickly scabbed over on one of your hips.

You weren’t always quick enough with your armament when you were supposed to be experiencing pleasure. He’d kiss and lick you, bringing you nearly to orgasm, and then nail you with a real bite sometimes. 

It furthered his arousal at the complete loss of your own in moments like that.

And you didn’t want to see this anymore. 

Not right now.

You turned and stalked out of the bathroom before that disgust in yourself could fully take hold again. Before you could shatter that mirror and even the ancient stone behind it with your clenched fist.

Your luggage was just set against a wall in his bedroom when you came back to it. Like it didn’t belong here at all as you spitefully dug through it.

You put on your usual underwear, but with sweatpants over them this time. That and an old, long sleeve shirt as a top.

It was throw away shit, only fit for laying alone in a ship’s bunk late at night. But you were purposefully covering everything but your face, feet, and hands with it now.

You didn’t know what your plan even was anymore. You didn’t have one as you cracked open that tall bedroom door to exit into the hallway that led to the rest of the king’s suite.

And even with the warning of Doflamingo’s letter, you’d still paused at seeing Baby 5’s back while she stood silently at the window she’d apparently opened in the main sitting room.

She was staring out, not yet noticing you at all.

You’d considered still making a purposeful sound though. To spare you both the inevitable bad reaction of surprising her. You weren’t in the mood of dealing with that. But then you’d noticed the small cloud which rose up as she exhaled.

And something else still inside of you immediately reacted instead.

You didn’t know why. Because it wasn’t as if she was anyone you could actually help.

You couldn’t even help yourself in this place.

“And just how old are you to be doing that!?” You snapped at her regardless.

The girl made a frightened noise of course, eyes wide as she looked back over her shoulder with that lit cigarette still sticking out from between her lips.

Her hands went together in a begging gesture almost simultaneously too as her whole body then turned to face you in the realization of being caught. “He said you’d still be asleep! Please! Please don’t tell the Young Master!”

And her higher pitched plea was like a knife through your still throbbing head.

But you just couldn’t imagine why Doflamingo would care either. He’d thrown his child soldiers out into battle without hesitation for years. Why would any additional lung damage ever matter?

“What would he care?” You asked along with that thought as you approached. But your displeasure must have still been clear even as she didn’t answer.

One more look at you and she’d tossed that still lit cigarette right out of the open window rather than argue.

But that still wasn’t enough. Not for you. “Give it to me.” Your eyes narrowed at her anyway as you held your hand out tiredly, so close to her then.

“What?” She asked defensively, starting to back away.

“The pack, kid. Because you never answered me. What are you, fifteen?”

“Sixteen.” She looked at you with such indignity there, her defiance trying to return.

“Yeah, no damn difference.” But you saw the top of that small box sticking out of a pocket on the apron you hoped they didn’t make her wear. And you snatched the pack right from her, then and there.

“Hey!” She protested, exacerbating your headache yet again with the shrillness of her upset voice. 

Your head was hurting enough that you made your own choice next. You were already over this hangover pain. You needed to feel, taste, or do something different. Anything.

Baby 5 had paused as you opened the confiscated box just as smoothly and removed a single cigarette from it. 

It’s not like you’d ever said you were entirely fair either.

“Chill out. You owe me one for all your yelling anyway.” You sighed. “So give me a light, and I’ll at least let you keep the lighter.” You told her as you brought that fresh cigarette up to your own lips.

“You smoke?” She asked incredulously.

“No. Well, not cigarettes. Cigars…sometimes. I just-” But you realized that was far too honest for this moment. And you walked that comment back quickly. “No. I don’t smoke. Just light it already.“

It was not at all your desire to remind yourself of Smoker or anyone else right now. Of course he’d taught you how. Of course he’d let you try his, and thought it hot whenever you’d held one cigar between your fingers and the other between your teeth, breathing deeply for him while his own mouth had went to work much farther down your body.

You’d had your fun together. And it had meant something, at least to you. Those memories wouldn’t be erased just because Doflamingo said they should.

Yesterday, he’d told the papers you had no exes.

That it had always been him for as long as you’d been old enough to be with a man. That’s what that new timeframe meant, and you were sure he knew that.

He’d told them you’d been fucking a pirate since you’d even known how to fuck.

Baby 5 still stared at you, but she listened to your command regardless as she got the lighter from her other pocket. Likely just in that habit of her always being told what to do around here. 

You bent down enough for her to light the cigarette as you inhaled slightly to get the burn going.

And you did cough a couple of times, that shitty taste one you probably should have long forgotten when you’d first tried and ultimately rejected these years ago as a chore girl.

Baby 5 watched that too, almost entranced for a moment before your hand suddenly moved and you tossed that nearly full pack of her remaining cigarettes right out of the window as well.

“Ah! Why!?” She yelled again, as if you’d wounded her physically that time. While her gaze followed the tumble of the box and its fall multiple stories down until it was out of sight. 

“Because you don’t need it.” You grumbled, even with the utmost hypocrisy of taking yet another drag as you said so. 

“And neither do you.”

Both you and the girl straightened up then, looking to the open archway that connected back to the rest of the royal suite. 

Doflamingo’s long frame darkened it, slouched in that odd way of his with his hands in his pockets as he surveyed this new scene.

Yes, you were also starting to lose count of just how many times he’d now silently entered his own rooms to catch you off guard.

He must do it on purpose.

“Young Master! I didn’t do anything! I didn’t-” The teen tried.

“Out, Baby 5.” The warlord answered. Oddly calm, but non negotiable to his subordinate all the same.

And she didn’t have to be told twice. She slinked past him immediately, head down and fully submissive as she quickly exited.

Leaving you and Doflamingo then staring at one another with that burning cigarette still between your lips.

Your senses were still jumbled. You couldn’t yet feel his intent. And that worried you.

But it was a somewhat good sign when he did take off his glasses, propping them into his hair as usual when the two of you were alone. Though he still watched you sharply through his good eye.

“You love to test me…don’t you?” He said, straightening his tall posture as he moved closer. 

And you held your ground, even when seeing his focus move critically back to that burning cigarette. “I’m having a rough morning. I just wanted a distraction.” You exhaled as you spoke.

But he was so close already then, bending down to grin at you as he inhaled that smoky exhale of yours right into his own lungs.

“And I hate the smell of your ‘distraction’, love…because it lingers. I’ve told them all so many times. Anywhere else they want, just not in my private rooms.”

Yet you remained still as Doflamingo’s hand exited his pocket to so purposefully come up towards your face. His long fingers ran along your cheek softly, just before he plucked that cigarette right from your unsuspecting mouth in one harsh motion. 

Like yanking a weed out of a garden.

At least that’s what his brief glare seemed to say. That he was correcting you, just before his hungry lips covered where that cigarette had been. 

And you didn’t stop him. He’d even made a wanting noise soon enough, one that sounded fully involuntary with his tongue seeking deeper entrance as you parted your lips for him. 

His legs were bent as he tasted you and the remnants of that smoke, again and again actually.

And when he was done, you heard his harsher breathing just from that bit of intimacy. There was a reluctance in him even then as you saw that needful look briefly flicker through his eyes.

His other hand had now taken yours though while he began to lead you away from the window.

But not before he put that cigarette he’d abruptly taken from you into his own mouth.

“We are not making a habit of this. Do you understand?” He chided you again.

And of course you were staring, watching him smoke for the first time you’d ever seen.

He noticed your bit of awe too.

That taunting air of his resurfaced easily. “What? I’ve tried it all. Everything at least once. And many things several times more.” He didn’t even cough as you had, like he was proving that point. His lungs clearly didn’t care about this fresh assault.

“But like I said…” His lips downturned then as the humor left as quick as it had come. “I’ll never tolerate this specific smell on my things again.”

And you were now one of those “things” to him you were sure. With the further squeezing of his large hand around your smaller one just reiterating this idea, before he took and tossed that last cigarette out of the window as well to walk on with you.

“It actually takes years to fade you know.” He added even more seriously, not looking back at you anymore then.

He was pulling you now.

“Doffy…” It was obvious you didn’t have the will to resist him today. But he was already leading you both back towards the bedroom, which felt fully ridiculous and unwanted for you in this moment

Because he’d had all he wanted last night. You’d been a little drunk doll for hours, positioned this way and that to do whatever he pleased.

And Kizaru had caught you redhanded only to worsen it exponentially.

That pain of true humiliation went through you again as you did force yourself to speak, even when Doflamingo hadn’t acknowledged your prior plea of his name. 

You at least wanted some kind of update on the real status of your life before he’d just toss you on that bed again.

“Did anyone call from the marines yet this morning? Did the news coos come?” You knew it sounded like begging. Were you demoted? Discharged? Were you being called a traitor? How bad was it?

But he still didn’t look at you. And his voice sounded so odd when it did finally come.

“Your priorities need rearranging, little bird.”

His hand loosened slightly. But just enough for his fingers to move against that engagement ring you’d still never taken off.

You glanced down, feeling him briefly turning that band.

And then the two of you had passed the bed. You were standing before another large door as he pushed it open and pulled you through it. 

You went quiet, confused and surprised again as Doflamingo drug you into his closet without any further explanation.

Of course the simple description of “closet” was not near good enough either. Because it was a whole room of its own. Much bigger than even the one that was still supposedly yours in the other bedroom.

And Doflamingo did finally let go of your hand as he walked to the back of this space. 

He was looking for something while you stayed near the front, staring at the racks of clothing rather helplessly. His coats, suits, shirts, and more in just row after expensive row. 

Some garments were embroidered, some had real gold adornments and other precious stones. Everything was here. All the way from the gaudiest, neon colored capris pants you’d ever seen, to floor length furs and ceremonial uniforms truly befitting a Dressrosan king.

Your head tilted back a little too, then looking up as the glimmer of a literal crown and scepter sitting on a shelf above you caught your eye. They looked carelessly set aside, as if they were as unremarkable as an old pair of shoes to him before you heard him speak again.

“Come here.”

He’d been digging in the back corner, pushing away more of his suits that you’d never seen him wear in order to get to something.

And you had to trek across this  “closet” just to reach him.

But you stood there once you had, already uncomfortable before he shoved something large and black right in front of you. 

Your body reacted as if it were some sort of animal carcass, you taking a reflexive step back when those feathers shook all at once from his movement.

Doflamingo was holding the coat at the level of his waist then, and only had to extend his arms to follow you with it as you tried to move away.

“No. Smell it. And then tell me if you still think I’m full of shit.” He sounded irritated again for a moment there, as if he didn’t want to be holding this either for any longer than he had to be.

Of course the reasoning of this harsh new order made no sense to you at all. You just wanted to tell him to fuck off actually when this new weirdness began.

Yet you still felt like the biggest freak too as you were forced to let those black feathers graze your face anyway when he pressed it even closer instead and you finally inhaled.

It wasn’t strong, but it was definitely there.

“Cigarette smoke.” You confirmed, but still looking at him as if he was being insane again.

As usual.

But Doflamingo scoffed at your expression, just before doing the same to strangely smell that coat as well when he briefly brought it up to his face.

“This raggedy thing is almost six years old.” He said, somewhat quieter then. And he lowered it again after. But was still clutching the coat in one hand, as he watched you intently once more.

His glasses were still perched in his hair. And you saw a different look in that moment, just the slightest warning before he swept that black coat around to hang it over your shoulders. 

You tensed. And it was awkward and heavy, but no real difference to the pink ones he wore every day that you could tell.

But you said nothing in your obvious confusion. You only stood there, uncomfortably silent and waiting for the next touch, the next nonsensical action from him.

Yet Doflamingo was only staring at you for a few more moments, taking this all in like it meant something far different for him. 

Your eyes flitted to his hand, cautious of everything again now as he’d moved it to once more touch your face.

“He’d really hate this.” Doflamingo muttered as he grazed his knuckles softly down your cheek. “He was always so adamant about me letting you go.”

Your head was still aching horribly, surely interfering with your own powers of reasoning. But your heart only began to beat faster as his hand then moved down onto your shoulder next.

He was neatening the feathers there. But some were missing. As if they’d been singed and burnt away actually, you finally realized.

“Marine code zero, one, seven, four, six…” Doflamingo added from nowhere as your breath did stop.

“That’s not my code.” Your mouth and brain shot off reflexively then. All of you were trained to give your marine identification number when captured. To say it over and over if you had to under potential torture, rather than giving anything sensitive away that could hurt your crewmates. “My code is-”

“I know.” Doflamingo’s face was tense. His eyes met yours again.

And that all new dread sank into your chest as he did.

“That was his code. My baby brother…my Corazon.”

Your eyes widened as the full adrenaline began. 

In so many instances already there’d been these strange moments and the offhand comments about his blood family. All dead, all so seemingly triggering to him to ever speak of.

And you weren’t stupid. You were perceptive. But when every day and every night had you always still racing through the gauntlet of your own survival, it never allowed you the time to put any of these pieces together.

So he’d just thrown it right on top of you instead.

A dead man’s coat, now heavy in every meaning of the word as it hung across your already vulnerable frame.

“Rosinante…was a marine?” Your quiet voice both asked and confirmed at once. Because the silence was worse. And you didn’t dare look away from this pirate now.

“Yes.” Doflamingo answered directly that time. His long fingers still moving idly though, now nearer your breast, separating the individual feathers where this garment had evidently been crumpled against other things for years now.

He was actually preening you.

“This is just one of the coats he burned and left behind. I was always wasting money buying him new clothes. He could never take care of anything for long.”

Even with the almost neutral expression on Doflamingo’s face then, you still picked up on that real distaste in his tone. A true danger that made you try to force all of your energy away from your hangover and back to your very limited observation haki now.

You needed to focus.

This was no game anymore.

“I didn’t know.” You said in full honesty.

Doflamingo’s fingers paused too, his eyes moving back to your face with renewed skepticism that would have made a lesser soul cower.

“You really never met him?” He asked so plainly though.

“No.” You told the truth again.

The warlord scowled a bit.

“Well, I always talked to him about you.”

And you knew he saw that hint of surprise on your face again there that you couldn’t hide.

His eyes narrowed a little more in response to it. “You think I lie about everything, don’t you? I was telling the truth when I told the crowd I always wanted you. You had my attention years ago.”

That hand that had been neatening the feathers at your chest now moved all the way down to your hip as Doflamingo abruptly squatted onto his haunches in front of you.

His touch slipped so easily beneath the bottom of your shirt as he began to rub the skin of your waist. 

“I told my brother that you’d be mine. But he was too weak to last long enough to see it.” Doflamingo’s grip tightened a little more, holding you firmly by your waistline now, skin to skin. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, (Y/N)? He hid from me. He lied to me. He hurt me.”

“He was undercover.” You said in something not far above a whisper then. Acknowledging the true scope of what was now being revealed to you.

And Doflamingo’s eyes finally looked bothered. He was watching that growing upset in your own.

“You were there that night too. With Tsuru…weren’t you?” Doflamingo asked you. And you felt the warmth of his body as he moved in even closer, still squatted down before you.

“Minion Island? Yes…I was there.” You responded as he leaned his head against you so unexpectedly.

He wanted you to touch him in return as he still held your waist.

And you did reach up, the black coat shifting as your hand moved softly around the back of Doflamingo’s neck.

It took everything in you to keep your hand from trembling.

“He left me no choice.” Doflamingo breathed just as your grip met his skin.

The primal chill that went through to your very bones was linked only to the way his eyes had changed again then. No trace of remorse as he said these words to you.

And Doflamingo simply shifted, wanting you to rub him further.

So you began stroking the back of his neck as you felt his face briefly nuzzle you. Partly against your own clothes, partly against those black feathers of his dead brother as he now chuckled.

A sickening sound.

“He took everything I had left. My heart…my trust.”

But it wasn’t sad or mournful. That tone felt like loathing even as Doflamingo’s hand moved again beneath your shirt, his large palm splaying low onto your abdomen.

“And I want it back.” He reaffirmed.

He thought he was the only victim here.

He thought he was owed whatever he wished to take because of the things he’d already lost.

You felt his fingernails beginning to press soon after. Like a claw digging into you with that renewed show of possession.

His teeth were bared again.

“I want it from you.” His voice was so low then, this demon of a man practically sitting on the floor now as he pushed your shirt further up.

“Give it back to me.”

You felt his lips against your stomach next, just before he whispered once more.

“Bear me my new Corazon.” 

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

[softieyume]

"Never Yours."

✿ Sylus x fem!reader (non mc)

✿ He loves you. But you know his heart belongs to another.

✿ angst. no comfort.

"Stop it." Your voice carried no anger, no resentment, nothing - other than complete numbness as you stared up at the crimson eyed man in front of your apartment door. Your eyes were devoid of the love and warmth that once shone for him, it showed only exhaustion and.. sorrow.

Sylus shook his head, opening his mouth to argue once more but you held one finger up, a signal to shut him up. "I said stop, Mr. Qin."

Not love. Not Sylus.

But Mr. Qin.

The eventual realization that you were truly giving up on him and really, how could he blame you?

After taking your love for granted? After purposely neglecting you the past months? After abandoning you despite the years you two have been together?

After she came into their lives?

"I want nothing to do with you.. neither with her." You sighed quietly, trying your best not to breakdown in front of him after weeks of avoiding him like a plague. And like the notorious man he is, he finally tracked down your new whereabouts in Chansia City, miles away from Linkon, away from N109 Zone.

Away from him.

And now that he's found you, Sylus wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms again, even attempting to bring you back to him but stopped at your next words. "You said you loved me, but you still need her. You said you wanted me, but she's your everything- your real true love, your other half and I.. I will never be yours. Never was. Never will be."

Every words you spoke felt a sharp stab to your heart, your fist clenched so tightly that your knuckles turned white from struggling to keep your emotions in check - and Sylus noticed it. He noticed every single bit of it and the regret and guilt only gnawed on him further.

You let out a shaky breath, moved your hand to clutch the door handle as you continued to speak in a defeated tone. "So I'm begging you, please. Please leave me alone. I'm not supposed to be with you."

"I'm not supposed to be a part of the story in your life." 

Sylus swallowed a lump in his throat, heart ached at the sinking reality of losing you forever, desperate for a slither of hope to mend the broken bond between you two despite the undeniable truth that he can't let go of his other beloved either. Unwilling to give up, Sylus slowly reached out to you. "Angel.."

At the endearment, you finally snapped, unable to take it anymore. Tears stung your eyes as you lifted your hand, bright green swirls trailed between your fingertips, using your Evol as a strong gush of wind threw Sylus off balanced, causing his back to slam against the wall outside your apartment door behind him.

"Don't ever show your face here ever again." Your voice solemn and pained, a final glimpse of your cold yet gentle features caught his eyes before you finally slammed the door in front of him.

Your final words haunting him from that day onwards. "I despise you.”

[dreamescapeswriting]

Blood and Affection ~ LMH

☪WORD COUNT: 1.6K

☪GENRE: established relationships, minho worried about his girlfriend, cute, fluffy, worried minho, mafia au,

☪PAIRING: Mafia!Minhox Fem!Reader

☪Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - September 2024

☪MASTERLIST

You are in a relationship with Minho, one of the most powerful and feared mafia leaders in Seoul, someone everyone knew never to mess with or lie to which was why you hadn't been surprised when your nurse who was treated you told him where you were.

"Traitor." You whispered to her as you saw his car pulling up in the parking lot. She smirked over at you and shook her head. She, along with everyone else who worked for Minho, had known you a long time.

Your history with Minho ran deep—you were once his top operative, known for your flawless execution of missions and unmatched skill in the field. You'd trained every single day alongside some of the best of the best in the business and you were incredible. Not to toot your own horn anything but you were.

There wasn’t a single task you couldn’t handle, earning you a reputation that made even the most hardened criminals wary of crossing paths with you.

"You knew he was going to find out anyway. I did you a favour." The nurse teased as you rolled your eyes at her playfully. It wasn't anything major. In fact, you felt stupid for it to have even happened in the first place.

You'd been caught completely off guard and left exposed to something that shouldn't have even happened. 

"It's stupid, I wasn't even paying attention." You grumbled more at yourself than the nurse who was with you. But you hated it. How could you have missed something like this? Minho trusted you to be alone without a guard and now you knew that was never going to happen again.

You'd been out in town all morning, taking a rare moment to unwind in town, deciding to treat yourself at the spa and then at the local stores to some new clothes or some books if you'd seen any. But you'd only just left the spar when out of nowhere, you were ambushed by an assailant with a clear intent to kill. 

Though you fought - and incredibly might you add - and managed to eliminate your attacker, you weren’t unscathed. A deep stab wound in your side left you bleeding profusely. The pain had been nearly overwhelming as you'd struggled to stay conscious on the way to the hospital, it was wishful thinking that you could hide it from Minho. The man saw you naked every single night, if you'd somehow managed to hide it from him while your scar healed you'd have a hell of a lot of explaining to do for the new scar when you eventually got naked in front of him again. 

"Everyone has an off day," The nurse reminded you as she applied some cream to your stitches, eventually covering it with a bandage as you sighed a little. All you wanted was to go home and pretend the day hadn't even happened.

"But not everyone's off day is going to lead to them needing an armed guard at all times," You smiled at her and she bit her lip softly and nodded in understanding. As you lay back on the bed, trying to process everything that happened, the door burst open with a loud bang and you watched it vibrate off the wall. Minho, your stoic and usually composed former boss and now current boyfriend, storms in with a frantic look on his face. His eyes, usually so cold and calculating, are now wide with panic.

“Are you okay?! I heard what happened...” His voice cracks slightly as he hurries to your bedside, his usual air of control slipping away. Normally he was well put together and didn't show any kind of emotion since they were usually held against him but with you, he always let them out. 

"Minho, don't make this a big thing." You laugh weakly but he shakes his head at you. You knew asking him not to make a big deal with a lost cause but you'd figured you'd try anyway. Within a second he was on his knees next to you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for yours, his gaze scanning your bandaged wound with a mixture of fear and fury. The thought of losing you had him on edge, his usual cold demeanour shattered by the raw emotion he feels for you.

Minho glances up at the nurse, his voice laced with tension. The whole way over he'd been panicking about what he was supposed to do now, he'd already called his guys to arrange protection for you.

“What’s her condition? How long until she’s fully recovered? Are you sure she’s getting the best care?” He peppers the nurse with questions, his usual calm replaced with a sense of urgency. Your nurse opened her mouth to speak but was quickly cut off as he pointed to the IV that was inserted into your arm,

“And those painkillers—are they strong enough? I don’t want her in any more pain. Is she going to need to stay overnight?” You stroked his hand gently, the small act calming him down within seconds but you could still see just how on edge he was with this whole thing and you nodded at your nurse.

“She’s stable now, sir. The wound was deep, but she was strong. With rest and proper care, she’ll be okay, she should be able to go home as soon as this round of painkillers is done with.” Minho’s gaze flickers back to you, his expression softening as he takes your hand and squeezes it softly. 

“You hear that? You’re going to be okay,” he says, more to himself than to you, as if he needs the reassurance just as much. He placed his lips on top of your hand and kissed softly before shaking his head at you,

"Minho-" You tried to warn but you were quickly cut off,

“But this… this can’t happen again.” He pointed at your wound before leaning in closer, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand and smiling weakly. There was no way he was going to ever let anything happen to you for as long as he lived. 

“From now on, you’re getting extra protection every time you step out. I don’t care if it’s just for a walk or to grab a coffee—you’ll have backup, no exceptions.” His tone leaves no room for argument, the fear of losing you still evident in his eyes. It was going to be pointless arguing with a man who was set in his ways as much as Minho was when it came to your safety,

“I can’t risk anything happening to you again. Not when you mean this much to me.” He whispered, the nurse excused herself once his men began to gather in the room. All of them watched Minho with a smile on their faces. You were the only one that had ever been able to pull any kind of emotions out of their scary boss,

"Is the hospital floor secure?"

"You did not kick anyone out, right?!" You screech at your boyfriend who looks at you with a nervous smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

"If I say no, it won't be a lie...technically

"Minho-" You hiss at him but he shakes his head at you, it wasn't as if he'd thrown them out of the hospital. He'd merely paid everyone to be moved quickly.

"I moved them to different floors," he shrugged at you before you scoffed and nudged his shoulder. You'd have been perfectly fine without him moving anybody.

"I don't need protection from a bunch of old people."

"I don't care," He mumbles, looking at you and then kissing your cheek softly as you playfully scolded him for being so damn overprotective.

"I can't lose you, Yn...I just can't." He finally whispered as you pulled him to sit on the bed with you, your head resting on his shoulder. His men quickly filtered out of the room leaving you alone again.

He’s quiet for a moment, just resting his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your arm as he tries to think of something to say to you. 

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low and heavy with emotion. It had been hard for him when he'd heard the news of the attack, he'd gone into overprotective mode within seconds,

“I can’t lose you. I just… I can’t,” he whispers, the words almost a confession. 

“When I heard what happened, it felt like the ground was ripped out from under me. I’ve always been in control, always knew how to handle things… but when it comes to you…” He trails off, his grip on you tightening slightly as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him. You can feel the tremor in his voice, the raw vulnerability he rarely shows. 

“I’ve lost people before, but you… losing you would destroy me. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” You lift your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. The depth of his fear is written all over his face, the tough exterior he usually wears stripped away in this moment. You reach up, cupping his cheek in your hand, your thumb brushing away a tear he didn’t even realize had fallen.

“You won’t lose me, Minho,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise you, you’ll never lose me.”

His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to believe it, trying to let your words sink in. Finally, he exhales a shaky breath and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I’m holding you to that,” he murmurs, his voice a little steadier now, but still tinged with the lingering fear of what could have been. 

“Because I can’t… I won’t let you go.” He promised you as you nodded at him, cuddling into him softly.

"I'm not going anywhere," You whispered to him, closing your eyes as you laid your head on his chest.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @s3ungm1nxxl0ve

[luludeluluramblings]

Hi so I was having some brainrot regarding your small-town-neglected-meta reader and I wanted to share them with you!

One thing I've been thinking about alot is the way readers powers work and what kinds of weather they're likely to create, etc. One thing I specifically thought about is that readers powers definitely have to come from her mom's side. Bruce and no else in Bruce's biological line have powers so readers mom has to have the meta gene. I was thinking that maybe readers mom also controlled the weather a bit, maybe not as strong as reader can but still had some powers.

Like creating little drizzles, maybe some dustdevils, and little snow storms. Because her powers were so weak she never really used them for much, maybe to help out her own parents on the farm but that's about it(using her rain powers to easily water the crops)

In that same line of thinking I also wondered if readers little brother also has superpowers. Maybe the way his powers work or appear are bit different than readers because of they have different dads(I imagine Bruce has really strong genetics. If Damian is any proof of that lol)

One little crank in this little headcanon though is that Nana and Gramps would also have to have superpowers. But then I reread the first chapter and thought about One of the phrases you used to describe how reader got in Bruce's hands.

"but blood is thicker than water in the eyes of the court."

That specifically makes me think that Nana and Gramps are actually readers little brother biological grandparents and not theirs.(what happened to their bio grandparents 🤔)

But anyway, one last thing I wanted mention is how badly I want to see reader using their powers more freely when they're back in small town. Like they aren't afraid to use their powers to make it super windy and have fun with their little brother up on the sky. Or causing a blizzard just so they can have a snowball fight and make snow-men with their little brother. Or even accidently cause a power outage because someone pissed them off! No more suppressed emotions just freedom. (Also reader crying in the middle of the rain they made in front of their parents graves(they wanted to be buried in their hometown) would be so tragically fantasic.)

Anyway I know this is a lot to read and I'm sorry if I seem a bit scrambled but I wanted to send this to you just cause I had so many ideas floating up in my brain I couldn't stop thinking about it all. Thank you for listening to me ramble, I hope your doing amazing🩷

Your call this bain-rot, Imma call it fertilizer. This is long as mess, but I think I addressed everything. Lots of Smalltown!Reader lore and I made a Family Tree to help explain if needed.

☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎

Smalltown!Reader's Family Tree:

Complicated little bugger, ain't it? I didn't add Stephanie or Barbara because Bruce technically never adopted them or fostered them. This isn't an official thing, I made this and it was composed of little bits of information I found online. So some of this stuff might not be lore accurate.

Also, while I was researching I found out that Bruce's middle name was apparently Patrick, after his grandfather at one point.

Now, time for the pseudo science.

I consider the meta gene to be a genetic trait carried down by a parent. That would be Momma/Adeline, in this case. She carries the gene. Now, the meta gene does not always activate even if one has it. So, no, Momma was not making mini storms for us. She was, however, very encouraging of Reader using their abilities. It takes an event, usually a traumatic one, to activate the gene. (Little Brother could be getting power's in the next chapter, though.)

As for Nana and Grand Daddy we have this:

They don't have the gene, so they don't have abilities. (Which doesn't me their harmless.) They are Reader's Step-Grandparents, but they've grown to love them all the same. Now, in court, it is preferred for a child to go to the nearest blood relative after their parents die. Or, at least, that's what I roughly know from what the court in my state is like. I'm not from Louisiana or New Jersey, where Gotham's located, so maybe it's different. But, this is fiction. This is why Nana and Grand Daddy didn't get custody of Reader, though. Plus Bruce is rich with a bunch of adopted kids, on paper he looks like the best option.

☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎

I really love the thought of Reader using their abilities for silly little things while back in Smalltown, at least before things absolutely go to hell in a hand basket. So I'll probably include a bit. (They used to do things like that before moving to Gotham, definitely.) Something I want to mention is that Reader likes to make it rain when their happy. It's their favorite weather, they love it. So a grave scene might be a bit different. (I have to include that now. Thank you for that idea! Frick, Part Eight about to be long af.)

☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎☁︎

If your curious about Reader's other grandparents, they just died from old age and health problems. I like to think that Reader had a close relationship with them. Calling them MawMaw and Gab for their nicknames and having spent a lot of time with Reader and their Little Brother before they died. (I'm sorely tempted to just commit to rewriting this with the OC I based Reader off of so I can include all this backstory to highlight how different their life in Gotham is compared to what it used to be, but I best finish what I started first.)

(Side Note: It's very common in the American south for people to give their grandparents nicknames. I have some for my southern grandparents, while I call my northern grandparents just plain Grandma and Grandpa. The nickname can vary and is usually what ever the first grandchild comes up with.)

Thank you for sending me this ask! Stuff like this actually inspires me so this was wonderful. Hopefully this helps. (Now to get back to work on my writing, I've been draggin' my feet again.)

[sceletaflores]

come on and show me a little bit of spine!

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader

wc: 5.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, drinking, smoking, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, public sex (bar bathroom hehe), biting, blood but not blood play, pain kink, scent kink, a special guest (!!!), jealous logan muahahaha, emotional constipation but like wtf is new, nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, probably ooc logan and friends sorry i'm just a girl, porn w/ plot (a little???), no use of y/n.

author’s note: HAHA BACK ON MY LOGAN BULLSHIT! who’s laughing? not me. i can’t stop writing for him it’s insane and selfish i know i know i’m sorry. bee tee dubs this is part two to all’s fair in love and viscera cus i couldn't get them out of my head so...kisses!

five x-men walk into a bar, only three walk out…

All men are the same. X-gene or no x-gene, they're all immature pigs.

You've come to find that it's more than just skin deep. If you took a knife to every man in this bar, you'd surely find the exact same little metaphorical mass of arrogance ingrained in every single one of them once all the layers are peeled back far enough.

And that's what Logan is, a man.

A stubborn, arrogant, mind-numbingly frustrating man who's convinced he could never be wrong just because he's had a little more time than normal to perfect the art of being completely insufferable.

No adamantium skeleton or foot long claws of death can change that.

You could set him on fire, drown him, watch him regenerate from a single cell, and nothing would change.

So, in hindsight, you really should have seen this coming.

It was Ororo's idea to go out, insisting the team needed it. A casual night at the bar across town to raise bravado after a few close call missions.

It sounded fun at the time, and for the first thirty minutes it was.

Getting to shed your hero skin for a few hours every so often is always nice, and you love your team. Love getting to just sit and live with them. You hardly get nights like this anymore, filled with playing pool and darts like people do.

That being said, you were reaching the top of your limit. Fast.

It started at the bartop, with Logan sauntering up next to you for the first time tonight. 

He slid into the empty seat to your left, leaned against the bar casually, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. His lips tugged into that half-smirk he wore that night in the training room.

“You avoiding me?” he asks, voice low, bent down just enough to speak directly into your ear. "Haven't seen you all night."

You almost scoffed, almost turned to face him so he could see the look of irate disbelief on your face. Almost, but you didn't want to give him the extra attention.

"I could ask you the same thing."

You didn't miss how things had changed between the two of you after your night in the training room. Something shifted, and not in the romantic 'so...what are we now?' territory.

It shifted into Logan disappearing, closing himself off. He didn't go out of his way to avoid you, didn't even go as far as ignoring your existence entirely. He didn't need to, you knew it was different.

He refused to talk about it, refused to even acknowledge it, completely shutting you down the one time you tried bringing it up.

It stung. The feeling of rejection, especially after that night. You felt like you bared a part of your soul to Logan on that dark blue training mat. You swore you saw something different in his eyes too, a subtle shift, something that said this ran deeper than just a messy fuck between friends.

It played on your mind like a loop, every detail. You nitpicked almost every single thing you did, searched your mind for what you could have done that scared him off.

It has to be you, it always is.

It took a week to get over it. A week to wash away the feeling of Logan's hands on your body, of his lips on yours, of his cock carving a space for itself in your cunt, of his blood sliding down your throat and slicking the palms of your hands.

Eventually, that sadness gave way to self-reflection. Self-reflection gave way to anger, and now you're just plain pissed.

This has nothing to do with you.

Logan is a grown man, not a goddamn baby. He should know how to communicate by now, should take the stick out of his ass and drop the whole 'I'm no good for you baby' martyr cross he's carried around for over a century and talk to you.

But if he wants to be alone to sulk in self pity and sorrow for two hundred more years, you'll let him.

Logan's smirk falters, his expression falling with a heavy sigh. He leans back, one boot moving to rest on the rung of your stool. "You really want to do this here?"

"You came up to me," you shrug, finally turning to face him. The warm glow of the bar lights catch the edges of your frustration. "If you’re here to talk, then talk."

Logan doesn't respond, just meets your gaze with a raised brow. His eyes scan over your face slowly, taking in the pinch between your brows and the stern look in your eyes.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Scott's voice pierces through the tense air between you. His tone is casual in a way that's undermined by the smug smile turning the corner of his mouth up. It's too knowing, like he'd been listening in before.

Logan's brows pinch together in irritation the same way they always do when Scott talks, but he holds your gaze. His silence is infuriating because it's the same old routine—he just stares, brooding, like he’s waiting for the problem to magically solve itself without ever opening his damn mouth.

It makes your blood simmer just under the surface, the tips of your fingers burning with it.

You grind your teeth, balling your hands into fists where they sit on the bar. "Scott," you say, not breaking eye contact with Logan, "go play fetch or something."

Scott raises his hands in mock surrender, but you know he won’t leave without a parting shot. “Just looking out for you, you know. Can’t afford you two tearing each other apart over a little lovers spat before the night’s even over.”

As he saunters off, you turn your full attention back to Logan, who’s still studying you with that infuriating intensity. It’s as if he’s trying to decode some secret language written across your face.

You almost want to laugh at how predictable he is, how he thinks he can just sit there, unbothered, while you’re ready to explode.

“Are you really just going to sit there?” you challenge, leaning closer, daring him to respond. “You can’t keep dodging this forever, Logan. You think I’m the only one feeling this? We were both there that night."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think you see the flicker of vulnerability beneath the gruff exterior. But then it’s gone, replaced by that stubborn wall he always puts up.

“I don’t need to talk about it,” he mutters, his voice low, but there’s an edge of desperation that catches your attention. “What’s done is done.”

“‘What’s done is done’?” You can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes you. “Is that your new catch phrase? They gonna start printing that on the front of your action figure's box?"

Logan's brows furrow deeper, his mouth turning down in a hard frown. "Watch it," he warns tersely, the edge of a snarl on his lips.

You lean forward, desperate to get anything out of him. "Or what?"

The bar buzzes around you, laughter and music blending into a distant hum, but all you can focus on is him—the way his eyes flare with that familiar spark of rebellion, how handsome he looks under the bar's dim lights, the way his smell is starting to warm your insides despite how mad you are.

You raise your brow, waiting, hoping. He stays silent.

That's it.

You stand abruptly, causing your stool to scrape against the floor loudly. Logan straightens, eyes narrowing as he watches you, but you’re more than done with all of this. You've had enough.

"I'm going for some air." you say evenly, slipping your jacket off the back of your chair. "Don't follow me."

You turn and walk away before Logan can answer, heading in the direction of the bar's alley door.

You try your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, the first tendrils of dread wrapping themselves around you tighter with every step. Your eyes burn embarrassingly each time you blink, but you refuse to cry.

You’re emotionally spiraling a couple feet from the door when someone suddenly steps in front of you, and you crash into them.

“So sorry, ma’am,” A familiar voice says from somewhere in front of you as two strong hands grip your waist to steady you. “Completely my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

You crane your head up, eyes dragging from the blue gingham button down stretched over impressive muscle until they land on a pair of blue eyes and blonde head of hair you recognize.

“Steve?” 

Steve Rogers smiles down at you, his hands still lightly resting on your waist. His expression is soft, apologetic, and a little surprised. Your name falls from his lips in a warm greeting, his hands lingering for a second longer before he drops them and takes a small step back.

“I’m surprised you still remember me. It’s been a while,” he says with the same boyish charm you remember, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly barge through the door like it owed you money. “How’ve you been?”

You blink up at Steve, the frustration from your situation with Logan still fresh, swirling through your system like a storm.

How’ve you been?

What a loaded question.

“Better,” you answer with a tight smile, barely convincing yourself. “Just tired. We’ve been so busy recently, you know how it is.”

Steve gives you a searching look, his eyes skimming your face with the kind of care that makes you want to shrink into yourself. His brow furrows slightly, concern flickering in those crystal-clear eyes of his as he studies your face. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, genuinely, like he’s already picked up on the fact that something’s off. 

How could you forget, he’s got the emotional radar of a saint. Lucky you.

"Yeah, sure," you lie, adjusting your jacket and pointedly avoiding the obvious upset that’s probably plastered across your face. You force a smile, hoping he buys it. "Just needed some air. This place is packed."

The furrow of Steve’s brows deepen, his lips pressing into a thin line like he doesn’t believe you. You feel worse under the intense pressure of his knowing stare, like a bug trapped under a magnifying glass.

You’re about to say something—anything—to fill the awkward silence, but then you feel it. That heavy, unmistakable presence at your back.

Of course he didn’t listen.

Steve’s eyes flick over your shoulder, and you don’t even have to turn around to know Logan’s right there, brooding like a dark cloud about to burst. You can practically feel the tension rolling off him in waves as one strong arm slides underneath the thick denim of your jacket and around your waist.

“Cap,” Logan’s clipped voice greets from somewhere behind you, laced with barely concealed irritation as his fingers dig into the cotton of your shirt, staking some sort of unspoken claim.

Steve gives Logan a respectful nod, though his expression remains calm, measured, the same quiet authority he always carries. “Logan,” he greets, smile faltering for the second it takes him to drop his eyes to Logan’s arm. “Nice to see you doing well.”

Logan hums noncommittally, you feel the rumble of it against your back. “Didn’t think this was your scene,” he says to Steve, brow cocked in suspicion.

Steve shakes his head, a small laugh falling from his lips. “It’s not, usually. I got strong armed into joining a few friends.”

“Right,” Logan replies, tone flat like Steve would have a reason to lie.

You can almost see the tension thickening in the air, an electric pulse that shoots straight through you. Logan’s grip tightens subtly, an instinctive reaction to Steve’s presence, but you can feel the subtle heat rising, the way your heart races under his touch despite yourself.

It’s infuriating, and for a second, you’re tempted to dive right into it, to unearth the chaos lurking beneath that chiseled exterior. But then you remember where you are, why you walked away from Logan in the first place—how public it is, how many eyes are on you.

“Steve and I worked together, a base infiltration in Albany a few years ago.” You cut in, shooting Logan a look over your shoulder, like a sharp glare alone could get him to calm down, if only for a second. But he just meets your gaze with that familiar stubbornness, eyes dark and unyielding. 

It’s infuriating, and for a moment, you’re tempted to dive right into it, to unearth the chaos lurking beneath that chiseled exterior. But then you remember where you are—how public it is, how many eyes are on you.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” Steve says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

And it does. 

You think of Kevlar squeezed around your ribs, of explosions and buildings falling and the smell of gunpowder.

"Yeah, it does," you reply, ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach and forcing a smile.

“God, you look…” His gaze rakes over you like he can’t help it, the bright blue of his eyes trailing from your face down your legs and back up all over again. You can feel Logan bristle next to you. 

”You look amazing,” Steve finishes with a small shake of his head, million dollar smile still pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Buy you a drink?”

“We were just leavin’, Cap,” Logan cuts in tersely, his arm tightening around your waist even more. His grip is possessive, but it’s not affectionate—it’s an unsaid challenge, a warning. “Calling it an early night.”

You whip your head around, confusion evident on your face. "We?" you parrot back, the word hanging in the air like a challenge of its own. “We haven’t decided anything.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, that familiar stubbornness rearing its head again. His hand splays flat over the span of your lower back, pushing just enough for you to feel the power behind it but not enough to really move you. “Let’s go.”

You look at Steve, then Logan, then the crowded bar, then the door to the alley, and repeat. 

It should be an easy answer, an easy way out of going in circles with Logan even more than you already have.

But you find yourself stuck, feet rooted to the floor as your mind races with a hundred different thoughts in the span of a second.

Your lips part, and you’re not even sure what you’re going to say, when Steve beats you to the punch. 

"She can decide for herself," he says evenly, though there's a subtle shift in his tone. It’s calm, but there’s a steely edge to it, like a well-honed blade concealed beneath all the politeness. He’s still smiling, but it’s less soft now, more hardened around the edges.

Logan’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging in like he's daring Steve to push the envelope any further. “Yeah? Don’t think she needs you speakin’ for her, either.”

"Enough," you snap, stepping out of Logan’s hold with a sharp turn, your voice cutting through the growing storm between them. You turn to him with a hard look, brows pinched in anger. "Fine, let's go."

Your smile feels strained, the edges sharp and jagged as you face Steve, the weight of Logan’s presence at your back heavy and suffocating. “It was great seeing you, Steve. Really.”

Your voice sounds strained even to your own ears.

“We’ll have to catch up some other time,” you add, though the words taste bittersweet on your tongue. 

You can tell he wants to say something, his smile completely dropping as his eyes flit between you and Logan a few times. You give him a pleading look, a reassuring nod that you’ve got this. 

Steve hesitates, you can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing the situation and trying to gauge the tension in the air. But ultimately, he nods, offering you one last smile that’s laced with concern.

“Absolutely,” he says, his voice warm despite the tension hanging in the air. “I’d love to. Just let me know when.”

With one last nod to Logan, he turns and walks away to meld into the crowd until you can’t make out the blue of his shirt anymore.

You don’t turn to Logan as you finally walk out the door. The clunk of his boots follow you the whole way out.

As soon as you’re outside, all the anger sets in at once, burning hot in your stomach as you spin around to face him. The fresh air hits your face like a slap, cool and bracing, but it does nothing to quell the fire simmering inside you.

"You really can't leave well enough alone, can you?" You snap, folding your arms defensively. “You just had to go and stake your territory?”

Logan’s face hardens, his eyes dark under the dim streetlight. “What do you expect me to do? Let you walk away and get buttered up Rogers while I sit at the bar with my dick in my hand?”

“Steve wasn’t doing anything!” You exclaim, frustration seeping into your every word. “He was just being nice, we’re friends.”

Logan lets out a disbelieving snort, shaking his head hard enough that his hair sways with it. “Nothin’ about that was friendly, kid. You’d have to be fuckin’ blind to not see that.”

You huff, turning your eyes to the sky in exasperation. “Why do you care?” you fire back, heart racing at the challenge. “We’re not together! You’ve made that more than clear!”

Now that the seal is broken, it’s like you can’t stop. Words fall out of your mouth faster than your mind can keep up, all the pent up frustration you’ve felt over the past few weeks boiling over.

“You’re the one that’s acting like nothing happened!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, your voice rising with every word. “You’re the one who disappeared, who’s been avoiding this whole thing like it didn’t mean anything!”

He growls, stepping closer, his presence looming. "You think I don’t know that, kid? You think I haven’t been dealing with this shit—with us?"

"Well, you sure as hell don’t act like it! You don’t talk about it. You don’t even try! You just stand there and expect me to what? Read your mind?”

For a split second, Logan’s expression falters, his shoulders stiffening as if your words struck a nerve. But just as quickly, the mask falls back into place. "I’m no good for you, kid. And you know it. I’m doing you a favor."

"There it is again!" You bark out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "The martyr complex. You’ve been alive for over a century, Logan. You’ve got time on your side, and you still can’t figure out how to be a decent human being in a relationship?”

He flinches slightly, but his eyes remain locked on yours, anger and frustration swirling behind them. "It’s not that simple."

“Of course it is!" You step forward, closing the gap between you. "You just don’t want to do the hard work. You don’t want to open up, to be vulnerable, because then you’d actually have to face yourself. And God forbid Wolverine confronts something he can’t claw his way out of.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his eyes blazing, and for a long beat, the two of you stand in a tense, electrified silence. The world around you seems to fall away—no bar, no missions, no X-Men—just the two of you, standing in the alley, raw and exposed.

You don’t know who moves first, you or Logan, before you can register it, the distance between you disappears, swallowed by the pull of all that unresolved tension.

His lips claim yours, fierce and urgent, as if this was the only language he’s fluent in—raw emotion, violent passion. His hands find your waist again, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him.

The kiss is messy, desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues, but it’s exactly what you expected. It’s how you and Logan have always been—no finesse, just fire and stubborn intensity. It’s the only way he knows how to communicate, the only way he can let go, even for a second.

Your hands slide up into his hair, yanking roughly as a guttural growl vibrates from his chest into your mouth. You feel the heat of his skin, the coiled tension in his muscles, and it ignites something wild inside you.

The anger hasn’t left—it’s just morphed into something darker, something hungrier.

The kiss is nothing like the ones from that night in the training room. This one is full of anger and frustration, all the emotions that have been simmering between you two finally bubbling over in an explosive release. His lips are hard, demanding, and the taste of whiskey lingers faintly on his breath, mixing with the metallic scent of the alley.

You push back just as fiercely, your hands tangled in his hair as you try to pour all of your hurt, your confusion, and your pent-up rage into that single kiss. For a moment, it’s all- consuming—hot, reckless, like trying to catch fire in your hands.

“You’re such a fuckin’ punk,” he grates against your lips, kneading the meat of your hips roughly like he’s trying to anchor himself to you. His teeth scrape your bottom lip, his growl vibrating through you like a warning shot, but it only spurs you on.

"You’re one to talk,” you bite back, the heat between you both as volatile as ever.

You drop your hands to his chest, gripping the leather of his jacket in your fists and yanking him closer until there's no space left, until it's hard to tell where the anger ends and the need begins.

Logan growls, the sound reverberating deep in his chest, as his hands move up your back, possessive and rough. “You keep pushin' me, kid. You really wanna see how far I’ll go?"

"Maybe I do," you shoot back, biting down lightly on his lower lip. You taste the blood—his blood—and something primal stirs in you. His healing factor kicks in almost instantly, but the heat between you spikes with the sharp tang of it. It always does.

Logan hisses sharply, tongue swiping over the blood still dotted along his lip before he’s pushing you backwards.

You have no choice but to move with him, blindly stumbling back a few steps until your shoulders hit the wall of the bar. His lips attached to your neck the whole way, teeth nipping at the rapid flutter of your pulse.

It’s like a wildfire spreading between you, all heat and destruction, and the alley around you seems to fade into the background, leaving nothing but the chaotic mess of you and Logan.

You consider the risks of fucking Logan in an alleyway for all of two seconds, every single warning bell in your mind going silent when his hands tighten their hold on your hips to spin your around, pushing you up against the brick roughly.

“Fine,” he concedes, yanking the fabric of your skirt up hard enough you hear a tiny rip. “I’ll give you what you want, princess.”

The sound of his zipper being tugged down might as well be a gunshot with how loudly it reverberates through your mind. Your thighs slide together slickly, aching cunt clenching in anticipation.

The soft sound of Logan pushing his jeans down is the only warning you get before the thick head of his cock is sliding over the wetness staining the fabric of your panties.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the lace to tug it aside and slip the length of himself through your slick folds. “You need a cock in your hungry pussy to feel better?” He lines himself up with your fluttering entrance, pushing gently until the very tip slips in.

Your lips fall open, brow furrowing as he starts feeding you his length one infuriating inch at a time.

Anger still warms your gut, but you find yourself nodding wordlessly. Tiny, desperate sounds escaping your throat the deeper he sinks in.

The stretch of him is almost too much, like he’s splitting you in two. It’s the kind of sting that just barely toes the line of pain and pleasure in the best way. It has you crying out when he finally bottoms out, pressing your forehead against the brick to try and ground yourself.

Logan’s considerate enough to keep still, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips as you adjust.

“God,” you groan, shifting your hips enough to feel the way his cock rubs along your walls. The burn starts to melt away into pure pleasure with every grind.

“That’s it, baby,” Logan goads, hands still planted on your hips as you start to bounce on his cock in earnest. “Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

His words just spur you on, a high whine falling from your lips as you set a steady rhythm. The slap of skin on skin getting louder, echoing around you lewdly. 

“Mm, feels good huh?” he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder.

You barely choke out a garbled ‘yes’, thighs starting to shake with the effort of thrusting yourself back. 

“Sorry,” he says, gripping the meat of your hips to pull you back against his cock roughly. “What was that?”

“Yes!” you mewl, cheeks burning. The anger steadily drains from your body the closer you get to come, until it's an afterthought just present enough in your mind to still matter. “Feels so good, please Logan…”

Logan groans under his breath, pulling his hips back back back until he’s reaming forward. He thrusts once, twice, three times before he’s taking over. Big hands anchored to your hips to drag you back on every snap of his hips. 

Your entire body lights up, the pathetic noises passing through slack your lips barely register over the white noise rushing through your ears. Logan’s fucking you like he wants to break you, heavy hips pounding into the meat of your ass like an animal. The slap of it stinging your skin only for him to pull out and leave you empty before filling you again.

You go pliant in his grip, a high moan escaping you as he expertly hits that spongy spot inside of you that has heat pooling in your gut.

“God, I missed this,” he admits into your hair, one hand sliding around to press against your lower stomach. Logan’s hand is massive and blisteringly hot over your skin, cupping and feeling where he punches up into you with every thrust from the outside.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, pressing his forehead to your back desperately. “Do you feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, stuff you so full you’ll be leaking for weeks.”

“Logan,” you gasp, heat coiling in your belly. 

“I know,” he breathes, hips speeding up impossibly faster. “I got you, honey.”

You turn your head, the skin of your cheek scraping over the rough bring with every hard snap of his hips. The thick muscle of his forearm fills your eye line, strong and tan where it cages you to the bar. You swear you can see the blood pumping through his veins. Your stomach jerks with need, your mind buzzing.

Without thinking, you lean forward and bury your teeth in the muscle there. The coppery tang of blood on your tongue sends you reeling, a deep groan rumbling through your chest.

“Fuck!” Logan exclaims, giving one last thrust before he’s burying himself as far as he can. His cock throbs, pulsing as he unloads inside you. Rope after rope of come paints the shaking walls of your cunt, slicking the thrust of his that much more.

Pleasure goes off in sparks all up your spine, lighting up every vertebrae until the fireworks go off in your brain. Your hands claw at the wall desperately, eyes screwing shut as you fly over the edge.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you come, hands digging into the brick hard enough that it cracks and crumbles beneath them, falling to your feet in little rock’s.

Everything around you fizzles out into nothing, just a dull hum cocooning you in this moment, and for just a second it’s like you're floating. 

The heave of Logan’s chest against your back and his lips on your neck only add to that far away feeling, nice enough that has you leaning into the warmth of his body. 

A car horn blaring somewhere in the distance jerks you out of any warm, fuzzy feelings and deposits you back in the real world. Your eyes refocus on the building in front of you, and a displeased groan rips from your chest.

“I made a mess,” you murmur quietly, looking at the two matching dents in the bar's wall and the same red powder staining your hands.

Logan huffs into the sweaty skin of your neck, an amused noise. “That’s alright,” he says, barely out of breath. He pulls out just enough to let his come start leaking out around his dick, sliding down the length of him in thick rivers of white. “So I did.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disgust as he steps away with a snort. Your voice is breathy and small when you speak, “You’re disgusting.”

It's quiet for a long time, both you and Logan dressing yourselves in silence. The thrum of traffic around you mixed with the muffled music bleeding through the wall is the only noise filling the space.

You drag your eyes to him, watching as he yanks up his jean’s zipper while you smooth your skirt down.

“I told you not to follow me. When we were back inside,” you say, voice steadier than before but just as breathless.

Logan meets your eyes, and there’s a pause. For a second, you think maybe he’ll turn around and leave, run away to try and forget this too. Instead, you hear his boots scrape against the gravel as he steps closer.

"I don't take orders well, remember?" His voice is gravelly, like he’s chewing on the words before spitting them out.

"Obviously," you huff under your breath, a humorless laugh shaking your shoulders slightly.

Logan’s lips quirk into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile, but it fades just as quickly.

He takes another step closer, close enough now that you can feel the warmth radiating off him again, his presence as heavy as ever. But this time, there’s something different.

He looks drained. Not physically, but emotionally. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits quietly, his voice tired. “You know that.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck in that rare, almost vulnerable way he does when he’s out of his element. Finally, he meets your gaze.

“I’m…" he trails off, mouth pulling into a wince like it physically pains him to apologize. "I’m sorry…”

“Wow,” you say slowly, head tilting to the side as you study him. “That was the worst apology I’ve ever gotten.”

Logan narrows his eyes at you, a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement flickering across his face. “You gonna let me talk?” he asks curtly, but there’s no real bite to it.

You sigh, nodding your head for him to continue.

He shifts his weight, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. “I know I’ve been a stubborn ass. I’m used to keeping everyone at arm’s length. It’s safer that way. I’ve lost too many people to just let someone in without a fight.”

His voice drops, laced with a vulnerability you rarely see. “I thought if I just stayed away, it would make things easier for you. I’m not relationship material, kid. I can’t be that guy for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

He shakes his head, his shoulders slumping in more as he talks. “I’m a damn mess, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I do. A lot. It just scares the hell out of me.”

For a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. Part of you wants to lash out more, to keep the anger burning because it feels safer than the vulnerability you’re feeling now.

On the other hand, for the first time tonight, you see the man behind the adamantium, behind the claws and the gruff exterior. The man behind the Wolverine.

You only see Logan, who’s lived through centuries of loss and pain, who’s learned to build walls so thick even he can’t break through them sometimes.

And damn it, you hate how much you still care. You hate that, even after everything, Logan is the one person who can make you feel like this—angry, frustrated, and vulnerable all at once. But you can’t deny the truth any longer.

Because underneath all the anger and hurt, there’s still that spark. That stupid, stubborn spark that refuses to go out.

You take a step closer, your hand gently reaching for his. “You don’t have to be anything, Logan. You just have to try. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He nods, a slow, deliberate movement. Taking a slow set closer to you, he takes your cheek in his hand. The bright red rawness of your skin is slowly draining, tiny cuts knitting themselves together. “I can do that.”

He slides his thumb across your cheekbone and somehow, you believe him.

It’s not perfect. It’s not a promise that everything’s going to magically be okay. But it’s a start.

Maybe that’s enough.

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[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Twenty-One: Performers @rowaelinscourt

Month Masterlist // Hey Neighbor Masterlist // Ao3 Link

It fits the performers prompt because they’re putting on a show of lunacy.  <3

Warnings: just minor medical talk and references to bad hospital experiences right at the beginning, ~2.9k words

Hey, Lucky

Aelin could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in a hospital. 

Two when a grandparent passed away and one when she’d broken her arm.  She hated each and every experience.  Her grandparents’ passing had been traumatic to say the least.  All she could remember was seeing her Papa hooked up to an assortment of tubes and wires to the point that she couldn’t even see his face.  Gran was supposed to come right back out after a surgery to fix her heart…only she never had.  And when Aelin had broken her arm, she’d had to have surgery to resent the limb properly, the meds had made her sick and she couldn’t leave the hospital for over a week. None of the doctors had been nice, either. 

So, yes.  Aelin hated the hospital.

But here she was, sitting in an uncomfortable vinyl chair in a stuffy waiting room and nerves keyed up.  Her knee wouldn’t stop bouncing and she’d already destroyed a paper pamphlet citing the signs of diabetes and the importance of knowing preventative measures.  She’d found it on the side table beside her and, needing something to do with her hands, had folded and refolded the thick cardstock.  It was the only thing keeping her sane.

“You’ve got to eat some real food,” Elide said softly from next to her. 

The pamphlet was plucked from her fingers replaced with a sandwich.

Aelin looked at the sandwich.  It was a simple peanut butter and jelly, but it wasn’t hospital food.  Her stomach roiled.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Elide didn’t look impressed by that statement, but she said nothing else and settled in her seat.

Setting the sandwich aside, Aelin grabbed her phone instead.  She looked at the text thread she’d started with Iona after the news thread of the avalanche.  With the weather and the Whitethorns living one town over, Aelin insisted that she go to the hospital at least until the roads cleared up more.

<<Aelin: No update yet, but the rest of the crew is here now.

She couldn’t help but send the message.  Maybe it would have been better if she had actual news.  It was the nerves, the need to do something.  And she supposed if she were a mother separated from her child she would want to know anything and everything going on.

She leaned back in her seat and took inventory of the waiting room.  It had calmed down quite a bit over the last few hours.  There were other family’s waiting for news, the bad weather brought in many other injuries and messes.  The rest of Rowan’s search and rescue team had also come now that the missing hiker was found.

Fenrys had also been injured, but not as extensive as what happened with Rowan.  He hadn’t been caught in the torrent of snow and ice, only enough to cut off his retreat back down the mountain.  After everything settled, Fenrys had gone in search of Rowan and the lost hiker.  He’d found them and even managed to get a signal for a rescue.  He was being treated for dehydration and a dislocated shoulder.

“Aelin,” Elide insisted, grabbing the phone from her fingers, “I am your emotional support human right now and I need you to eat.”

“You sure you’re not just here for a certain ranger?” Aelin quipped.

Elide glared. “Moral support.”

“Right.”

“I will force that sandwich down your throat,” Elide said.  For such a tiny unassuming woman, she was a bit feral.

Aelin took a savage bite.  It was a tasty sandwich; raspberry jam, creamy peanut butter, and fresh white bread.  Perfection.  She wouldn’t let Elide know though.

After forcing half the sandwich down, Aelin couldn’t stomach any more.  Elide seemed satisfied with her efforts and didn’t say anything when Aelin tucked the remains back in its baggie.

It was another few minutes until a doctor stepped through a pair of double doors that led to the operating rooms.  Aelin leapt from her seat, just as she’d done for every doctor or nurse that stepped through the doors.

“Whitethorn and Moonbeam?” The doctor asked, already walking towards the assembled rangers.

The captain, Gavriel, stepped forward. “How are my men?”

“Fenrys is on an IV and doing fine, he just needs rest,” the doctor said, she smiled reassuringly, “already asking to be released.”

Only a little bit of tension eased out of the rangers.

“And Rowan?” Gavriel pressed.

The doctor, Yrene Towers by her nametag, offered a strained smile that made Aelin’s stomach clench.

“He’s out of surgery,” Dr. Towers said slowly. “His left leg was broken in two different places and needed some titanium screws.  He’s got three broken ribs, a concussion, and severely sprained wrist.  Honestly…he was extremely lucky.”

“But he’s okay?” Aelin asked, “He’ll wake up?”

Dr. Towers’s smile softened, which under normal circumstances would have made Aelin’s hackles rise. “Yes.  Probably within the next hour or so.  You can see him now if you’d like.  He’s in his recovery room now.”

Aelin’s entire body vibrated and it took all her effort not to bolt down the hall.  She was overstepping, she knew she was overstepping.  Right?  Why was she so concerned, so insistent about seeing Rowan?  Especially when his friends and colleagues were right here.  It was ridiculous.

And then, much to her surprise, Lorcan was the one to speak up. “Go make sure Whitethorn doesn’t break out of here prematurely.  We’ll give Moonbeam hell.”

The rangers already started filing towards the ER where Fenrys was holed up.  Lorcan narrowed his eyes slightly while glaring down at Aelin.  She raised an eyebrow in challenge to which the larger man merely shrugged before following his squad mates.

Dr. Towers rested a hand on Aelin’s shoulder. “I’ll take you to Rowan’s room.”

Nodding, Aelin glanced over her shoulder to where Elide still sitting in her chair.  Her friend only waved her on with an encouraging hand.

“Thanks,” Aelin said, turning back to Dr. Towers. “That would be great.”

It was a quick walk to the elevator and trip up to the third floor.  The entire time Dr. Towers continued to talk to Aelin about Rowan.

“I’ve done a lot of trauma work and have seen a lot of tragedies,” Dr. Towers said, “and even though his injuries sound bad, he’s going to be alright.  Just a bit of recovery and physical therapy with his leg.  It’ll be a long road but he can make it.”

They came to a stop outside a room with the blinds drawn up to look in on the sleeping body.  Aelin’s heart skipped a beat as she took in Rowan’s prone form.  Thankfully, he didn’t have a respirator or any tube actually inside his mouth.  His warm skin had taken on an ashen pallor and his usually styled hair lay flat over his brow.  One of his legs was suspended in a sling and wrapped in white bandages.  His injured wrist was also wrapped in similar bandages and resting on his chest.

“Thank-you, doctor,” Aelin said.  She smiled at the woman. “Really.”

“Of course, just let a nurse know if you need anything find a nurse, find me, and we can help.”

With another hand on her shoulder, Dr. Towers headed down the hall to the nurse’s station.

Aelin looked back into Rowan’s room.  Just the sight of him lying there had panic racing through her body.  She didn’t know what to make of all the emotions she was feeling. She didn’t know where they’d come from or what to do with them.  She knew…well she knew she’d been attracted to Rowan for a while now.  Known she’d been willing to flirt with him and see if something more that could happen between them. 

With a steadying breath, Aelin pushed open the door.

The was strangely quiet.  Even with the soft hum of the equipment and steady beat of the heart monitor, there was a stillness occupying the space.  She hated it.

Aelin crossed the room to take a seat in the chair beside the bed.  She debated taking a picture of Rowa to send to Iona.  In the end she decided there was something distinctly creepy about that so she settled on an over simplified text. 

<<Aelin: Sitting with Rowan.  Doctor said he’s doing well.  He’ll need physical therapy for his broken leg and he has a concussion, but she said it’s all going to be fine.

>>Iona: Thank-you dear.  The storms blown over so the roads should be cleared by tomorrow.

That was good. 

Aelin sighed, tucking her phone back into her purse.  She leaned forward, hand hovering over his own.  The action felt strangely intimate.  She withdrew her hand and looked at Rowan’s face.

He appeared peaceful.  Even with the gash on his forehead and the bandage trying to cover the worst of it.  He was paler than Aelin was used to him looking too.  Really, this entire situation was a nightmare.  She wanted to wake up.  Desperately.  She wanted him to wake up and scowl at her.  Wake up and roll his eyes.  Wake up and just be him.

“I am so mad at you right now,” she muttered.  She sat back in her seat scowling at his unconscious form. “You were supposed to be careful and not get hurt, Rowan.  Nox Owen said he’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.  You risked your life up on that mountain and scared the shit out of me.  You’ll be lucky if I forgive you.”

His heart monitor beeped in response.

“And you know, that’s not even the worst of it,” she continued.  Now she was picking at her nails, too upset to actually look at him.  “What’s worse is that I thought there was something more between us.  I thought…Did you even eat those cookies I baked you?”

She glared at him now, still disgruntled over how flat his hair was lying.  It made him look so much younger, soft.  She had to swallow down the lump forming in her throat.

Emotions were the worst.

The literal worst.

Taking a long breath, Aelin straightened.  She leaned forward again and did her best to channel the old Aelin.  The irritated Aelin.  The Aelin who used to have dance parties at two in the morning to rile Rowan up.  The Aelin who tried to trick Rowan into drinking a RedBull.

“You are going to wake-up and you are going to take me on a date,” she said. “Do you hear me buzzard?”

To emphasize her words, she took Rowan’s hand and entwined their fingers.  There was nothing to indicate that he could hear her.  Nothing to indicate he was waking up soon.  Which was fine.  She knew Dr. Towers had said he was fine, that he’d only just gotten out of surgery and wasn’t going to wake up for a while yet.  But she was Aelin Galathynius and she was not patient.

She squeezed his fingers.

“You’re an idiot if you think you can get rid of me that easily,” she added.  Sniffing, she rose from her chair.  She may as well let the other rangers filter through to see their friend.

She tried to pull her fingers from his grasp only to find that his grasp had tightened.  Aelin froze.

“Rowan?” She nearly fell over herself to lean back over Rowan. “Rowan Whitethorn.”

His eyelids fluttered and he took a deep, rattling breath.  His mouth twitched, trying to form a word. 

“Buzzard?”

And then his eyes opened.  Glazed and unfocused but open.  It took a few blinks and then those gloriously green eyes landed on her.

“Fireheart.”

Tears that Aelin hadn’t even known were brewing started pouring down her cheeks.  She raised her other hand to cup his cheek, feeling the stubble there.

“Hi,” she whispered, staring into his eyes, eyes she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much.

“What—” Rowan began, but he tried to move too much of his body at once and broke off with a wince and a curse. “Damned hell, what happened?”

“Lay back and stop moving,” she ordered him.  “You were in an accident; do you remember that?”

Groaning, Rowan actually listened and leaned back into his pillow. “Yeah, yeah I remember.  Nox?  Fen?  They okay?”

“They’re fine,” Aelin assured him.  She ran her thumb over his jaw, refusing to stop touching him for at least a little longer. “Nox had some frostbite and scrapes.  I think I heard he broke his ankle.  Fenrys just got some bruises, he somehow missed the worst of it.”

Rowan’s eyes shuddered closed.  He took a few breaths before looking at Aelin again.

“And are you okay?”

Aelin just stared at him. “I’m not the one who fell down a mountain.  Y’know, I think you’ve got me beat now for doing stupid things with this.”

“I was saving a life, doesn’t count.” His mouth quirked up into a half smile.

Aelin didn’t have a good response to that.  Because really, all she wanted to do was kiss him and call him a fool.

He must have seen something in her eyes because he tried to move.  She had no idea what his intentions were—he was still stiff and loopy from his medication.  Whatever he was trying to do sent a spasm of pain crawling over his features.

“Stop moving,” Aelin insisted. “You’ve got some broken ribs and a broken leg and your wrist is sprained.”

“I—then why does my head hurt?” He asked.

Poor, silly man.

“That would be the concussion.”

Rowan huffed, squeezing his eyes shut.  “Right.”

“You’re in pain,” Aelin said, trying to pull away again. “Let me go get the nurse, they should know you’re awake.”

Shaking his head, Rowan snagged her hand again and tightened his grip. “No.  It’s fine, just stay.”

Aelin didn’t like that.  Not at all.

“You are literally gritting your teeth in pain,” she said.

“Aelin.” Rowan tugged on her hand, his index finger hooking with hers. “I’m fine.”

She ducked her head, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.  She had too many thoughts and emotions rolling inside her, too many things she couldn’t define well enough.  Especially not now. 

“I was really scared, Rowan,” she whispered.  “I saw the newscast of the avalanche and thought—I thought…”

Aelin cut off as another wave of tears clogged her throat.

“Aelin,” Rowan said.  He pushed through the pain that he was so obviously in and pulled on her hand so she had to lean in closer. “I’m sorry.”

That should have dried up any and all tears that Aelin was fight back. “You’re what?  What do you have to be sorry for?  You fell off a cliff.  You broke your leg.  Don’t you dare try and sit up, I will go get a nurse, don’t try me.”

“For the bar, for the cold shoulder,” he said, only partially speaking over her. “For not talking to you.”

Aelin sank down on the side of the hospital bed, careful of any wires or tubes she might disrupt.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I am still mad at you about that too.”

Rowan, to his credit, looked chagrined. “Sorry.”

Aelin squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to tell me everything, not now anyways, but I—I want to know.”

“My last girlfriend couldn’t handle the job,” Rowan told her, hardly waiting for her to stop speaking. “Not all the calls in, the long trips I’d be gone for, not the potential danger of it all with storms like this one.  She kept showing me other jobs to apply for, telling me to get a real degree at a real college…eventually she told me to make a choice.  So I came to Terrasen.”

That had been almost three years ago at this point, if Aelin did her math correctly.

“It didn’t seem fair to put anyone else through that,” he concluded.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Aelin said, “not fair of her, not fair to you, to anyone.  Not if you love the job.  Not if your partner loves you.  And it’s not fair of you to make that choice for me, either.”

She brushed away the remnants of her last round of tears.  Heart hammering in her chest, Aelin fixed Rowan with a stare she only reserved for Fleetfoot.  A mix of amused disappointment.  It seemed apt for the Buzzard.

“I like you, Buzzard.  But you can’t keep acting like a fool.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he conceded.

Aelin nodded resolutely and then, before she could lose her nerve, leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead.  She thought it perfectly reasonable to leave it at that but then Rowan shifted beneath her and before she could pull back, his mouth collided with hers.

Even drugged up and concussed, Rowan knew how to kiss a woman.  Aelin certainly wasn’t one to pass up on this opportunity.  She kissed him deeply, feeling the spark of something flare in her chest and spread like wildfire through her blood.

Aelin pulled back far sooner than she wanted to, but she knew he was still recovering.

“Took you long enough,” she told him.

“Sorry, had a mountain fall on me.”

“Ass.”  Aelin forced herself to pull away from him for good this time.  She went back to get her phone from her purse. “I need to let your mom know you’re awake.”

Rowan made a strangled noise. “You’re talking to my mother?”

“Mostly just texting right now.  But she did invite me to family dinner next Sunday, so you’ve gotta be out of the hospital for that.”

“We don’t do family dinner.”

“Now we do,” she planted another kiss on his forehead and dialed into FaceTime. “Hi, Iona!  Guess who’s awake!”

.*.*.*.*.

epilogue next

[abiiors]

marigold's - ross x reader 🍂˚ ༘ ೀ🎃｡˚☕️

a/n: quite literally giggled and kicked my feet the entire time writing this fic!! also BAKER ROSS!!!! cw: nothing much really, just food and food related activities/conversations wc: 4.4k

it’s a crisp autumn morning when their eyes meet across the street. her heartbeat quickens, palms starting to sweat just a little. in the opposite window, ross stands still for a moment. her eyes narrow in his direction. recognition flares in them and then... hatred.

that pumpkin stealing bitch!

“you…” she seethes through her nostrils like a furious dragon. obviously, ross can’t hear her from across the street, but oh, he knows what he did. and she is sure that her face does in fact, betray all her emotions right now; anger, hatred and more anger.

ross gives her a sickly sweet smile in response and waves a cheery goodbye. then he turns around and walks away from the window, a pep in his step. it makes her brain go into emergency mode, funnily enough—anger eating away at the sane parts of it, no doubt!

the greater marigold’s is in a bit of an uproar today. suspiciously enough, everything seems to be going on normally across the street at (the inferior) marigold's. she immediately runs for her binoculars. 

a collective sigh runs through the other baristas at the sight of it, but she does not have time for these trifles. she has to get to the bottom of something. 

and there they all are, just as she suspected. big, ripe, orange, and double in quantity. the pumpkins that marigold's stole from the greater marigold's. or rather, the pumpkins that ross stole from her. 

she’s sure of it. 

she shifts her gaze to the window of the bakery. might as well get some additional spying done. and she sees him—already there—matching binoculars in hand. it’s like they are mirrors of each other. they might as well be.

for the better part of a year, she and ross have both been working hard towards being the head baker of their respective bakeries. no one has come out and said the words, but they both know it’s a race to the finish line. just like everything else. 

that’s when she realises, this is her chance to step up and take charge of the situation. she can survive another day without murdering ross, but the bakery can’t survive without pumpkins. not on a beautiful autumn day like this. 

her eyes narrow as she furiously begins to type, her coffee getting colder by the second in its cosy little mug. it can wait. this, however, cannot.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: thief! stop stealing our fucking pumpkins, you… you ghoul!!

there. that should fucking show him. with much satisfaction coursing through her veins, she reaches for her coffee, breathing in the rich aroma, dreaming of the first delicious sip when the laptop pings. 

an email pops up. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! ghoul? cute. stop stealing our recipes then and come up with your own :) 

the coffee cup stills abruptly on its way to her lips, drink sloshing precariously while she gapes at the first email of the day. the one she’s just had the misfortune of reading—first the fucking pumpkins and now this. all before a single sip of coffee. the sheer audacity!

there’s the familiar urge to glare across the street, at the all too familiar glass windows, all the way to the man inside; the familiar urge to turn him into a toad with her withering glare alone. still, she resists, takes a dainty little sip of the coffee. it tastes like shit—likely the doing of the stupid email and the stupid man. 

she huffs, fingers running angrily across the keyboard. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: thief! seems like you’re projecting? the recipe has been in our family for decades :)) return our pumpkins.  

there. that seems sufficiently saccharine and sarcastic. and sent. 

the next sip of the coffee she takes tastes better than the last, sweeter even, until there’s another ping on the computer. another email popping up. all the warmth in her belly turns to hot, burning irritation. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! marco’s older. the recipe is his. :)))  how are they your pumpkins? we paid for them

little shit! the smiley face in the email grates on her nerves. how dare he try to turn this on her?! he’s the thief, she mutters to herself, stomping her feet to the coffee machine and prepping for the day.

it’s bound to be a long one. shitty too judging by the lack of the pumpkins.

marigold's isn’t just a bakery, it’s an institution. and its head baker-to-be does not fuck around. 

ross glances at the surplus of pumpkins in the kitchen. sure, they might not have needed that many, and sure they would have to give some away at the end of the day, but he knows the other bakery does not have any for the day. 

maybe he’ll just work on a few more autumn recipes with them. he has no doubt they’ll taste just a little sweeter now that he’s seen the pure annoyance on her face—the way her forehead scrunches up, nostrils flared and the way her eyes narrow into what she thinks is a glare. to ross it’s about as scary as a little rabbit. 

it’s adorable that she should even entertain the idea that it’s scary. 

his boss, the older (and objectively the better) of the two brothers, can be dealt with. marco loves ross, loves all his recipes and the little tricks he likes to pull on ty, the younger of the two brothers. their rivalry is an enigma to him. 

it’s not just sibling rivalry—not just healthy competition. there’s so much more to it that he’d never been told. all he knows about it is that there was a big fight, marigold's split up because of it, and now the world has the "other one".

but ross has decided, a long time ago, that he won’t be caught in the cross-fire of it. not when he can be put to much better use as marco’s right hand man. 

he can’t resist sneaking a look at the modern, sleek bakery in front of theirs. everything about it is off to him—the slightly different font spelling out “the greater marigold's” in neat, cursive letters. they’re freshly painted too. not the chipped and slightly worn but comforting look he associates with marigold's. 

she’s leaving the bakery in a hurry, ross sees. her face is arranged in a careful, determined look. he looks at the clock and smirks. nowhere on a monday morning would have enough fresh pumpkins to sustain a bakery for the day. 

there’s a pumpkin spice haze in the air, ross thinks. marco even gives him a pat on the back when he sees ty throwing a hissy fit in his office through his binoculars. 

ross thinks back to just a few months ago, during the summer—how he’d managed to sneak in to the greater marigold's when she was on her break, and purchased one of the last remaining lemon-caramel muffins that had been selling like hotcakes for the last two weeks. 

lemon and caramel, he’d scoffed before biting into the giant thing, what a stupid combination. 

and now he remembers the way his eyes had rolled in the back of his head, the involuntary moan he’d let out on the sidewalk. they were the best fucking thing he’d had all summer. 

caramel, yes. 

he’d make something with caramel. 

had she been there in the kitchen at marigold's that day, she would have described it as heaven—the smell of fresh pastry, the blend of pumpkin and caramel. there’s a hint of cloves and cinnamon in there too, she would have thought. 

mostly, though, she would have looked at the baker—at his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos peeking. at the way he kneads the dough until it’s soft and fluffy. the painstaking concentration he displays while making the pumpkin and caramel filling, his dimples on full display when he tastes his creation and finds it has exceeded expectation. 

she would have looked at him to study his technique, of course. 

alas, that’s not how it goes. 

by the time she gets back to the greater marigold's, sad little pumpkin in hand, ty is waiting for her. 

“you’re my star!” he says, gesticulating wildly, shaking his head in disappointment. “how could you let that happen? no pumpkin desserts in autumn, it’s a shame.”

and it is a shame, she thinks. there were recipes she’d thought to try. something new and exciting just like her lemon caramel muffins from summer—something that would have made ty promote her to head baker on spot!

“our suppliers deliver to marigold's first,” she mumbles, but ty is too busy cursing at marco, muttering his name under his breath. she supposes her excuses and explanations don’t matter. 

the problem isn’t the lack of pumpkins, the problem is that marco (ross) won.

“i’ll make sure it won’t happen again,” she promises. 

ty takes one long hard look at her, then looks back at marigold's. she thinks something almost nostalgic flickers on his face then, but that’s a stupid thought, right? the brothers hate each other just like she and ross hate each other. 

some gaps can never be bridged. 

a second passes and ty rubs the bridge of his nose. “no,” he says, “it won’t.”

she looks down at the ground like a little kid that just got told off. ross… is going to pay for this. oh how she wishes one of those pumpkins would blow up in his annoyingly handsome face…

the rest of the day, it seems, is well on track to going downhill. she feels herself dying a little on the inside every time she has to tell a customer that they indeed do not have pumpkin spice lattes today. 

yes, it’s not even noon yet. 

no, they haven’t ran out. 

we are so sorry ma’am. 

something went wrong with the pumpkin shipment. 

she should take that small sad pumpkin she managed to get and throw it through marigold's window, ugh! 

in an hour their new trainee gets tired of dealing with people’s questions. “you can try marigold's for pumpkin spice latte, we are currently out,” he says. 

almost in unison, a gasp runs through the other baristas. head after head turns to look at her as if she’s a volcano about to erupt. and maybe she is… the boy cowers, realising he probably said the worst thing he could have. she simply smiles at him—lips stretched over her teeth, canines visible—and turns to the customer. 

“we are sorry about the lattes, ma’am,” deep breath in. deep breath out. you need to sound human, not like a growling animal, “something went wrong with the pumpkin shipment today.”

“they ran out of PSLs! PSLs!” the customer’s voice rises an octave higher, and ross smiles from behind the divider.

he’s busy making sure the big batch of caramel doesn’t burn, and eavesdropping of course… subconsciously, his gaze flicks towards the other bakery and the girl within. he wonders if she’s so angry the tip of her nose has gone all red, he wonders if she stomped back to the oven like he’s seen her do before. 

ross stirs the caramel. it’s nice and thick now, smells delicious too, but his arms strain with the effort. there’s a thought that’s pushing around in his brain. ross wishes she could try some of the doughnuts he’s going to make. he wishes for a brief five minutes they can set the rivalry aside and he could spoon some of the filling into her mouth—watch her as she savours it, letting the sweetness linger on her tongue. 

he wonders if she’d sigh and moan like he had after that muffin. 

then he wonders if he’s lost his mind because this is a truly ridiculous line of thought. 

he curses under his breath, stirring a little more aggressively than needed. why does she have to be so... infuriating?

it’s another hour before he has to let go of the doughnut recipe he’s been working on all afternoon. all of it needs to chill in the fridge for a few hours, he can’t hurry it in his excitement. the doughnuts need to be perfect. not because of her, of course—he isn’t making them for her—but because marco expects nothing less. 

besides, the satisfaction of one-upping the greater marigold’s, of seeing that familiar look of frustration on her face when she realises her defeat, would simply be a sweet little byproduct. 

there’s a quiet little ping the moment he closes the fridge behind him.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: thief! 1) we were going to pay for them before you hoarded them with your grubby little fingers.  2) marco can keep his stuffy old recipe, ty’s is better anyway :))))  3) you suck. 

ross blinks. then looks across the street and blinks some more. try as he might, he can’t seem to fight the smile that worms its way onto his face. try as he might he can’t stop his brain from conjuring up images—of her sitting in front of the computer, nose scrunched, fingers typing furiously. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! think about my fingers a lot do you? at least try my recipe before bashing it.

her cheeks are about as red as the apples in the kitchen, she’s sure of it. 

think about my fingers a lot do you?

no she fucking doesn’t! she never has and never will! what’s it to her if he uses his big hands with the slender fingers to knead the dough until it’s soft and fluffy? what’s it to her if he uses his toned arms to lift up heavy bags of flour and sugar and cocoa? what’s it to her if he does anything inside that stupid bakery of his?!

she huffs, ready to fire off a reply of her own, when the second line of the email finally registers in her brain. 

at least try my recipe before bashing it. 

why should she? it’s going to be rancid and possibly full of rat poison or laxatives or something. she’s sure of it. she turns her nose up at the email, primly clicking out of the tab. 

she won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it affected her even a little. she won’t give him any satisfaction at all. 

it works for a bit—working in the kitchen and taking up more jobs than necessary—it distracts her for a good few hours. the sun makes its slow descent west, dousing the bakery with warm golden light. 

this is one of her favourite things about the greater marigold’s—how everything turns golden at a certain time of the evening when the waning light of the sun touches it. she even likes to sit by the window for a small break then, sipping on whatever drink she fancies, munching on a small croissant maybe. 

that is until she sighs into her mug of hot chocolate, and opens her eyes to ross grinning at her from across the street. she narrows her eyes at him, his smile turns brighter, almost a laugh now. 

he has dimples, she realises for the millionth time. and just like every other time, her lungs stop working for just a second. 

ross lifts up a finger to his mouth and taps above his lip. she frowns, and then mirrors his action, mortified when the finger comes back soaked in chocolate and cream. 

shit. he saw her with a chocolate moustache like a fucking toddler!

her face flushes. ross laughs, and laughs harder when she sticks his tongue out at him. she does something wholly unfamiliar then, something that goes so much against her instincts that it feels alien for a moment; but she studies him, studies his face and the tray in his hands filled with delicious doughnuts that aren’t even baked yet and still they look so mouth-watering. 

at least try my recipe before bashing it.

should she take him up on his offer?

ross quirks an eyebrow when he catches her looking, equally as interested in her as she is in him at the moment. then his eyes slide to the door to marigold’s and back to hers. a silent invitation. he means it then—his offer is genuine. 

and try as she might, she can’t get herself to ignore the doughnuts and their maker.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: poison how do i know they’re not poisoned? 

ross laughs—no, he actually guffaws when the email comes through. two email chains in one day… anyone else might have thought there was something there. not him though. he can’t be thinking things like these…

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: poison if they were, would i tell you?

he looks across the street at the other bakery even though he can’t see her. the sun’s properly gone down now, the twilight giving way to the night. there are more people milling about the street—going home from work or out on an evening stroll. ross looks at the window and smiles fondly. 

the image is burned in his head now—her sitting by the window, upper lip coated in chocolate and head thrown back mid sigh. fuck, he had no business staring at her the way he had. no business teasing her about the moustache or inviting her to marigold’s again! 

and even now, ross can’t help but imagine the expression on her face—the suspicious squinting of her otherwise huge eyes, the subtle jutting-out of her bottom lip. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: poison at least this email thread would serve as evidence if i died

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: poison so you’re taking me up on my offer then

ross holds his breath as the email whooshes out of his inbox and into hers. who knows how long it will stay there? what if she just decides not to respond and leaves him hanging?! but his heart lurches in his chest when the inbox refreshes, one unread email at the top. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: poison my shift ends in 15

he fidgets for fourteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds of it, only getting himself together when the bells chime and he sees her looking around, a little lost. her hair is no longer in a bun, instead it hangs down her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. ross clears his throat and instantly gets her attention. 

he leans against the counter, arms crossed. the stance is meant to be casual, cool and aloof, and yet he doesn’t miss the way her eyes quickly graze over his biceps, over his forearms. how interesting…

“you came,” ross says, his voice laced with more surprise than he intended.

she hums, and there’s no judgement behind it—just a hint of that exasperation that may or may not be the teasing kind. “had to check out the competition, didn’t i,” she says coolly, walking toward the tray that still sits on the counter.

ross watches her as she takes marigold’s in. has she never been in here before? granted he’s only been to the greater marigold’s only once—to sneakily eat her muffins. shit, he’d have to erase the cctv before marco realises and goes ballistic.

he watches her with baited breath, waiting for her to finish her inspection. 

“your bakery’s empty,” she notes, and ross looks around as if realising that for the first time. 

he shrugs. “we close an hour before you do.”

she nods, then gestures towards the tray on the counter. he can practically see the gears turning in her head, sense more of the questions that he’s about to be asked. 

“what’s in it?”

“caramel,” he answers without missing a beat.

“and?”

a shit-eating grin. “pumpkins…”

she falters a little, fighting the tiny smile on her face. 

“and…?”

“usual doughnut things?”

she levels her stare at ross again. it’s a bit of a shock then—of course it is. he’s never been in such close proximity to her. the closest they’ve come before this when the brothers got into a heated argument in the middle of the street and their respective staff had to drag marco and ty back to their offices. he remembers how she’d scoffed at him then, sticking her tongue out as if that were the epitome of a good burn. 

it’s also a bit of a shock to him because in the warm, golden lighting of marigold’s, ross can see the precise colour of her eyes (so much different than he’d thought), the exact shape of them and their intensity. 

he looks at her and, perhaps for the first time, realises just how much he enjoys looking at her. 

“don’t be smart with me,” she holds up a finger, threatening.

then the finger pokes him in the chest. “laxatives?” she asks. 

ross frowns. “no—”

“ooh, i get it. salt instead of sugar.”

“uh—”

“too much cinnamon? wait, wait, cayenne pepper instead of cinnamon!”

ross watches her, amused, as her brain spits out idea after idea—all outlandish, all highly improbable. she’s halfway through guessing uranium (???) when he lightly grabs her by her elbow, halting her mid-sentence, and stuffs the doughnut in her open mouth. 

his finger touches something incredibly soft then—her lip, he realises with a mix of every emotion he’s ever felt. and thrill. so much thrill. his thumb is touching her bottom lip, lingering there, even though he should have pulled his hand back moments ago. 

she’s probably thinking along the same lines because her gaze dips down—first to the doughnut, half in her mouth and half out, and then to his hand, still by her lips. and then she bites down. 

ross waits. one beat, then another, then another. 

time slows as she chews, swallows and then, just as he’s about to be impatient and demand she tell him how they are, she licks her lips. right over the spot his fingers so briefly touched. 

involuntarily, ross shivers, gripping the countertop just a little.

“so?” he asks, his voice just a little hoarser than before. “are they poisoned?”

she doesn’t answer immediately, letting the silence hang thick between them. she just takes another bite, this time on her own accord, and closes her eyes as she chews, making a show of it. ross doesn’t realise he’s practically gawking until her eyes snap open, and she finally speaks.

“no,” she says slowly, dragging the word out, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “but they’re dangerous.”

he blinks. “dangerous?”

she swallows another bite and nods, stepping just a little closer, closing the distance between them. “quite addictive,” she says in a low voice, the teasing evident, as if she’s revelling in the way his face flushes ever so slightly at her proximity.

ross huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re terrible.”

she doesn’t bother answering that. instead, she finishes the doughnut in two more bites and then swipes another one from the tray. he tries not to notice the warmth that blooms in his chest.

“they’re inspired by you,” he admits shyly, finally allowing himself to pick up a doughnut and taste it. and yeah it’s fucking good! it’s better than when he’d tasted just the filling earlier today. 

“me?” she points to herself, voice muffled. 

“your lemon-caramel muffins from this summer.”

she ahhs in understanding, remembering the baked delights from just a few months ago, before her eyes narrow in suspicion. “when did you try them?”

ross gives her an easy smile. “i snuck in when you were on your break.”

she gasps, ever dramatic. “so you are a thief!”

ross throws his hands up. “i paid for them!”

“if i knew you were buying i would have charged double,” she challenges, standing on her toes all the way to look down his nose at him. not that it works much—he towers over her regardless. 

ross steps even closer, bending down, his voice deep and soft like he’s confessing a secret. “i sweet-talked the barista, gave her a smile, and she gave them to me for half off.” and then he erupts into laughter as her face goes slack and then indignant and then finally pouty. 

“a thief and a flirt!” she accuses.

“only one of them,” he concedes. 

for a moment, they both just stand there, the tension between them crackling like electricity in the warm light of the bakery. he’s fully aware now—how close she is, how she smells faintly of vanilla and spice, how her eyes are much more alive than he had ever realised before. and she’s watching him too, her gaze flickering between his eyes, his lips, and back again.

it’s a moment. they’re having a moment. 

but then something happens—errant noise from the traffic, or creaks of the old building, or one of the million things that could have happened—and the moment is over. she steps back. fidgeting with her hands. 

then, as if thinking twice about it, swipes another doughnut. 

“thanks for these,” she holds it up, smiling in earnest. “i’m glad i got to taste them.”

“me too,” he nods, still just a little breathless. 

“i should go,” she mentions, lingering a little. 

“mm-hmm,” he nods. she’s right, it is getting a little late. he has no idea how far away she lives or how long it would take her to get home or if she has plans she’s getting late for. 

“right then,” she slaps a hand on the counter and then turns on her heels, brushing past him, her shoulder grazing his arm as she makes her way to the door. ross’s body tingles from the touch, and he watches her go, follows her out of the bakery just because.

she looks to the right once, then left and right again, before crossing the street. halfway through though, her steps falter. ross seizes the chance. 

“oi!” he calls out and she turns, dazzling him with a brilliant smile, warm enough to stave away the late september chill in the air. “see you around?”

she swallows hard. “yeah,” she breathes out. 

it’s a crisp autumn night when their eyes meet across the street. ross’ heartbeat quickens, and his palms start to sweat just a little.

[folk-enjoyer]

Song of The Day/history of cotton eyed joe

do you want the history of a folk song? dm me or submit an ask and I'll do a full rundown

"Cotton Eyed Joe" Terry Callier, 1963

As a disclaimer, "Cotton Eyed Joe" is my least favorite American folk song and I'm going to talk about why, and I'm going to talk about why Terry Callier's version is subversive and good.

The Earliest date we have for the song's origins is from 1882 when it was Published in "Diddie, Dumps, and Tot, or, Plantation child-life" by Louise Clark-Pyrnelle. This book is a nostalgic recollection of her childhood as a plantation owner's daughter. She reminisces fondly about slavery, missing the old plantation days. Honestly, some of the quotes within this book are beyond parody, in one sentence she says "... My little book does not pretend to be any defense of slavery" and in the next sentence when referring to the morality of slavery she writes, "there are many pros and cons to that subject", later at the end of the chapter she laments about the forever lost emotional connection between the Masters children and the enslaved people. hate this woman and her little book.

It is also important to note that this book goes out of its way to caricature black people, throughout the book she exaggerates accents and dialects to dehumanize them. This is a recurring theme in early publications of this song. Another early publication of the song comes from Dorothy Scarborough in "On the Trail of negro folk-songs" 1925 who got it from her sister who also learned it on a plantation, in Texas. She writes "This is an authentic slavery-time song" This book, if you can believe it, is remarkably racist and dismissive of black music, even as a more "progressive" songbook of black folk songs.

In 1922, the song's history was documented a bit more extensively by Thomas W. Talley in his book "Negro folk rhymes". He writes that it has "deep roots in black traditional lore". Thomas W. Talley was also just a cool guy in general, this book is one of the first compilations of African American folk songs, and it has been a pioneering book in its field. Even today, this book is still one of the best sources for the history of African American folk songs.

So, this is a black song. This was a black song whose first wave of popularization was through the caricature of black people to be amusing for white folks. Let's move on to its second wave of popularization.

The song was first recorded in 1927 by "Dykes Magic City Trio" (all white band) then about a week later by Fiddlin' John Carson (white performer) then in 1928 by Pope's Arkansas Mountanaineers (all white band) then in 1929 by Carter Brothers and Son (all white band) and then it wasn't really recorded for a while because of the great depression and the war but the times it was recorded, it was by white people. We know this because it was mostly recorded by John Lomax and despite documenting southern folk songs, he almost went out of his way to avoid recording black people singing them. Then, in 1941, it was recorded by Burl Ives (painfully white).also covered by a few white country singers like Adolph hofner bob willis but I think you get the point. It wasn't until later that year that it would be recorded by a black person, performed by josh white in 1944-45, who covered it as a lullaby.

However, it wouldn't be until the 90s, during its 3rd wave of popularization that it became its most grotesque. "cotton eye joe" was recorded and released by Swedish Eurodance band Rednex in 1995 as a, to paraphrase reviews, 'Way to make fun of backwater southerners'. This song became incredibly popular throughout Europe and in the USA as well, charting as a number-one song in several countries, sometimes for weeks. Not only is this song incredibly classist, it is, whether by omission or deliberately, fundamentally racist, adding to the whitewashing of black folk and minstrelsy of black people. The attitude and humor derived from the Swedish version are the same as the version in 1882 when it was a "classic slave song".

So, why is Terry Callier's version important, why talk about it? Terry Callier's version is the first version of the song that I have heard and it is not a comedy. It isn't meant to be funny. It slows the melody down and draws attention to itself. It's almost a ballad, showcasing Joe as a tragic but mysterious hero, maybe a love song. His voice is angelic as well. Terry Callier once again, subverts expectations and creates something beautiful out of a song that has been so whitewashed and appropriated that no one remembers its tragic origins.

Thomas W. Talley

some other versions by black folks Josh white 1944-46 Nina simone 1959 The Ebony Hillbillies 2004 Leon bibb 1962 Ella Jenkins 1960 Josh White Jr 1964 Queen Ida 1985

[justaragdollysblog]

Abstragedy fic and my life is yours! (Abstragedy is gangle x zooble <3)

YEP coming right up! I love getting writing requests shdbdbdbvdhhhh

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The air was warm outside the tent-but not unpleasant as the gang embarked on an adventure, if it could be called that.

Caine had explained to them that they were to catch butterflies scattered around the grounds. Five of each color, he explained, even though there were only two colors of butterflies.

Caine had paired Zooble and Gangle together, leaving Pomni with Kinger, and Ragatha with Jax. Zooble was a little grateful to not be paired with the rabbit, and Kinger could barely contain his excitement at the bug themed activity.

It truly was a beautiful simulated day. There was a soft, chill breeze to offset the warmth, and the grounds seemed…brighter. Happier.

Zooble walked with Gangle, who, miraculously, hadn’t broken her comedy mask yet. “It’s so nice out!” Gangle giggled, as the digital lake softly lapped at the shore.

Zooble shrugged a little. “I…guess it’s one of Caine’s better creations. I wish we didn’t have to do lug around this stupid $&@%ing net, though.” They had each been given a net, that was unnecessarily heavy.

Gangle had a thoughtful look on her mask. “I’m glad it’s nothing too crazy.” She said softly. Zooble saw her bring a ribbon hand to her mask, and knew she was thinking of when it might break.

Zooble was about to say something when an orange butterfly flew next to them. It was like a monarch, but not quite. “Zooble, our first butterfly!” Gangle squealed.

Zooble huffed a bit and heaved the net over their shoulders, but the butterfly cleverly evaded capture, floating away instead.

“$&&@!” Zooble swore, frustrated. It didn’t help that lately, whenever they would look at Gangle, their pessimistic attitude would falter. Like they would start…enjoying it here. And that terrified them.

Zooble simmered when they felt a papery hand on their shoulder. It was like their frustration was a harsh fluorescent light, and someone turned them down to a warm glow. It was Gangle.

“That’s okay, Zooble. We can try and get some more! I’m enjoying the adventure regardless.” The pile of ribbons spoke softly yet kindly.

Their antenna twitched. “Yeah, you’re right.” They couldn’t stop their voice from softening. “Gangle, I…gotta tell you something.”

Gangle was a bit surprised. “Of course. What is it?” Zooble looked back toward the tent. Ragatha and Jax were still nearby, taunting the doll with a centipede. “Can we go…a bit further away?” The geometric shape pleaded, voice quiet now.

Gangle felt a pang of worry run through her ribbons. “Of course!” She scanned the area, deciding on the lake’s shore. She and Zooble sat on the sand that bled out into the body of water.

Gangle waited with bated breath. She knew Zooble had a hard time with emotions and opening up, as did all of them. She didn’t want to rush them into telling her anything.

Speaking of shapes, Zooble stared into their reflection in the water. It was about a minute of anticipated silence. Gangle was about to ask if Zooble was okay, when:

“I like you. A lot.” Zooble blurted out.

Gangle had a surprised look, but even that’s an understatement. “Do…do you mean you…” The ribbons whispered. Zooble nodded their triangular head.

Gangle smiled softly, and not just because of the mask this time. “Zooble, I do too. I love you.” That seemed to shock them, because they stood up straight and looked into her eyes, looking for any sign of sarcasm or hesitation.

But there wasn’t any. And Zooble gently took her ribbon hands in their mismatched limbs, and looked up again. “You do…?”

Gangle giggled a little and nodded. “I do! And…I’d like to be with you, if you want to…” Zooble laughed a bit. Gangle barely ever heard them laugh. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t.”

Gangle had a smile that reached her eyes, and felt safe as she held a ribbon over Zooble’s clawed hand. It was the closest they could get to hand holding, anyways.

Gangle’s heart swelled with love and peace, as they watched Jax chase Ragatha with another centipede. She giggled a bit. “It’s a nice day.”

“Yeah,” Zooble agreed, an ever so gentle hand on her ribbon shoulder.

“I guess it is.”

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WOOOOO hope u liked it!! reblogs are MUCH appreciated!

[lilsoftext]

•~* WHISPERS IN THE DARK *~•

-chris sturniolo x female reader

-summery: late night talks

——————————————————————————

It was 2 AM, and the city outside was quiet. The apartment was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. Chris and Sof lay in bed, wide awake, even though they both had an early start the next day.

Sof was curled up against Chris’s side, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Chris had one arm around her, his fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair. It was one of those nights where neither of them could sleep, and neither of them minded.

“Tell me something,” Sof murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chris shifted slightly, glancing down at her. “Like what?”

“Anything,” she said. “Something about you. Something I don’t know.”

Chris chuckled softly, his chest rumbling beneath her head. “You already know everything about me.”

Sof smiled, her fingers tracing slow circles on his chest. “I’m sure there’s something.”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he spoke, his voice soft in the stillness of the room. “Alright. When I was a kid, I used to have this crazy dream that I could fly. Not like a superhero—more like I’d just run and jump, and suddenly, I was floating. I had that dream for years. Every time I’d get upset about something, I’d close my eyes and imagine I could just take off and fly away.”

Sof lifted her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling with interest. “Really? How come you never told me that before?”

Chris shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. It was just one of those things I kept to myself. Guess I felt silly about it.”

Sof’s smile softened, and she reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I think it’s sweet. You still dream about flying?”

“Not anymore,” Chris said with a chuckle. “But sometimes, when I’m having a really bad day, I’ll think about it. It’s like this weird, comforting memory.”

Sof’s hand rested on his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. “I like knowing that.”

Chris turned his head slightly, kissing her palm. “Your turn. Tell me something.”

Sof bit her lip, her brow furrowing as she thought. “Okay. When I was in high school, I used to sneak out at night and go up to the roof of my house. I’d just sit there, looking at the stars, trying to figure everything out.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Sneaking out? Sounds like you were a bit of a rebel.”

Sof laughed softly. “Not really. I wasn’t doing anything crazy. I just needed time to think, you know? Life felt so overwhelming back then, like everything was so much bigger than me. Being up there, alone with the stars, made it all feel... smaller. More manageable.”

Chris’s hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin. “I wish I could’ve been there with you.”

Sof leaned into his touch, her eyes soft. “I think I needed that time to myself. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

There was a comfortable silence between them for a while, the kind that only comes from two people who are completely at ease with each other. Sof settled back against Chris’s chest, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady beneath her.

“Do you ever wonder where we’ll be in five years?” Sof asked quietly, her voice thoughtful.

Chris was silent for a moment, then he smiled, his hand resting on the small of her back. “I don’t know exactly where we’ll be, but I know I’ll still be with you. That’s the only part that matters to me.”

Sof’s heart swelled at his words, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes searching his face.

“You really think we’ll last that long?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

Chris looked down at her, his expression serious. “I know we will. I’m all in, Sof. Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

Sof’s eyes filled with emotion, and she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. She reached up to cup his face in her hands, pulling him down for a slow, tender kiss.

When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m all in too.”

Chris smiled, his eyes soft as he looked at her. “Good.”

For a while, they lay there in the quiet, holding each other, lost in the intimacy of the moment. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in their own little bubble.

Sof broke the silence after a while, her voice playful. “Okay, but seriously, where do you see us in five years?”

Chris laughed, the sound low and warm in the dark room. “Alright, alright. Let me think.” He paused for a moment, then grinned. “I see us in a house—not too big, but cozy. With a backyard and maybe a dog. We’ll have more time to ourselves, and maybe we’ll finally take that trip to Italy you’ve been talking about.”

Sof smiled, her heart fluttering at the thought. “That sounds perfect.”

“And you’ll still be sneaking up to rooftops to look at the stars,” Chris added with a wink.

Sof laughed, shaking her head. “Only if you come with me.”

Chris pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Always.”

They fell silent again, the weight of their words settling between them like a promise. The night stretched on, but neither of them were in a hurry to fall asleep. They were content just being there, in each other’s arms, talking about dreams and memories and the future.

As Sof drifted off, her head resting on Chris’s chest, she realized that no matter where life took them, as long as they had each other, everything would be okay.

And that was more than enough.

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i hope you enjoyed it.if you have any requests, leave them down below.

lilsoftext <3

[moonspirit]

I love all the ideas of Armin planning a well thought out proposal and all but what if it was more implosive?

After a day of work, they just got in with some crappy takeout (and a box of donuts) for dinner, before sitting on the couch and starting to eat. Annie being Annie decides she can’t be arsed to eat dinner and just goes straight in for the donut as Armin watches her lovingly then…

“Marry me”

Annie being in shock chokes a little, “what?!?”

“Marry me”…”I mean like only if u want to I don’t want to for..”

“Yes”

Then later on in bed, they are cuddling together, talking about what they just said

Armin: “I’ll buy your a ring soon, we can go get one tomorrow take the morning or afternoon off”

Annie: “why don’t we just take the whole day off? Go to the court house and get married, just you and me. No need to have anyone else there just us”

“Yeah let’s do that”

They then get shouted at by everyone else cause in less than 48h they got engaged and married without telling them (mikasa, Pieck are really pissed but Connie is the most)

Ohhhhhhhhh anon! You know what's the best part of this?

It's Armin being more spontaneous!

You know, I think he could really benefit from being more "spur of the moment" every now and then, and being with Annie, it rubs off on him a little! He spends so much time hung up on planning and obsessing over perfectionism that him finally letting go and being more spontaneous is a sign he's adjusting and healthily so! T//////T

And you know, when Armin's watching Annie stuff her cheeks with sweets, it suddenly doesn't matter - that seaside proposal doesn't fucking matter. She's right here, being comfortable and adorable and so, so warm against his skin, why does it matter where he proposes?

He has to ask. Right now. Because all that matters is this happiness and moment.

What this shows is just HOW little the grandeur matters when they're both so happy and comfortable with each other - the essence is the love still tender and warm inside their hearts and ready to be that way for the rest of their lives.

He has a ring. He slips it on her finger when they're in bed, and that's that. They laugh about how quickly they've become engaged. He kisses her fingers, one by one, just lingering a bit longer on the one with the ring.

The next day... well. Mikasa's upset, Hitch is angry, Jean is pissed, Pieck's sad for changing reasons, Reiner's emotional, but Connie... CONNIE'S MAD! Because how DARE they not let him be the third wheel to their wedding! HE HAD A BUNCH OF BEST-MAN JOKES READY FOR THE BIG DAY!

[sharkboywrites]

Haayyy >__0 if your rqs are open I'd looove to see another floyd x male reader fic... I would love to see some hurt/comfort stuff around floyd's bpd getting in the way of him finally having a meaningful relationship, n the reader comforting him about it. If you could somehow imply that the reader is trans. and autistic. that would be cool !! but it is opt. ^_^

floyd bpd is a major hc of mine and I hardly see anyone actually pointing it out or writing about it ... that stuff's gotta be done!! he's bpdtastic!! and no one gaf 😭😭😭!!!!!

Tough Times

Bpd Floyd x Trans autistic reader

A/N: Hii! So to be completely honest I don’t really know everything about bpd, although I suspect I may have it but that’s unrelated, but I’ll try my best to write it. Please correct me if I get anything wrong! Also I’ll try to fit in the reader’s own traits but I might have a bit of trouble with it

Trans reader, autistic reader, Floyd had bpd

Floyd was hard to deal with for most people

Most people thought he was too crazy, too quick to change his emotions, and was completely unpredictable and dangerous.

You weren’t most people though.

While Floyd did have his quirks, you still love him, the two of you were practically inseparable. Like seriously, it started to become odd to see one of you without the other.

Although, while you two still loved each other, sometimes it would be hard. Each episode either of you had would cause a problem in your relationship, whether it be your dysphoria or meltdowns, or Floyd’s sudden mood changes and impulsive behavior.

It hurt Floyd more than he’d ever wanted to let you know.

He really hated the way he acted, the way it caused problems between the two of you, the way he would get you into trouble along with him whenever he was impulsive.

Having these feelings just made things worse for him. The more he tried to shove it down, the worse his mood swings would get. One moment he’d be clinging to you like if he’d die if he let you go, and the next he’d be avoiding you like the plague, doing stuff that would get him into trouble.

It worried you. You knew something was wrong with the way he was acting, but you weren’t sure how to address it with him right.

During the next time he was with you, you decided it would be the best time to try and talk to him about it. You sat him down in your dorm room and gently caressed his hand as you told him what you felt was wrong.

His emotions were everywhere. One moments he was upset and crying, the next angry and yelling, mostly at himself, but in the end he was able to tell you what was wrong.

You held him closely, assuring him that even though he had these problems, you were always there for him. You weren’t going to leave him over this, that the two of you could always talk it out, just like the way you did during your own episodes.

For the next few days you made sure to shower him in affection, staying by his side almost all day, giving him treats, and reinforcing how much you love him. Your actions were reassuring to him, and while he still had some complicated feelings, you were helping to make him feel much better.

Sometimes things may be hard between the two of you, you both have your problems, but at the end of the day you both love each other, and both of you will always do your best to not let that get in the way.

[unabashegirl]

Enticing 48 — CEO

Harry, a young billionaire and CEO, is stern and private, especially about his newborn son, Oliver. When Y/N becomes his new nanny after the previous one quits, everything changes as her caring nature stirs unexpected feelings between them. As they grow closer, questions arise: Will they act on their feelings? Will Harry’s girlfriend accept their bond? And what about Oliver's mother—where is she, and how will she fit into the picture?

Author's note: Hiii, I had forgotten to upload Enticing since it has already ended on Patreon. It wasn't until someone asked me through my inbox when I was going to post that I remembered. I am so sorry.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to the rest of Enticing and one shots, blurbs and more :)

if you would like to submit request for the next one shot. leave them here x :)

masterlist

Y/N's eyes frantically traversed the black lettering on the PDF, an attachment to the email from her physician, with Harry leaning in closely over her shoulder. The words seemed to blur together, the medical terminology forming a language she struggled to decipher. Scroll by scroll, she ventured through the results until her eyes widened, and the weight of the revelation made her hands tremble, prompting her to clutch the phone against her chest.

"What?" Harry questioned, his concern evident as she blocked her phone. "What is it, love?" he pressed, observing the emotions playing out in her glistening eyes. Without hesitation, he gently took the phone from her grasp, his eyes scanning the results.

"We're having a girl," he whispered, his voice a mix of disbelief and wonder as he absorbed the implications of the genetic testing. The nerves he felt weren't just the typical anxiety of impending parenthood; they were layered with the complexities of his own tumultuous relationship with his father. Having Oliver had been a daunting experience, but the prospect of raising a daughter felt like uncharted territory, stirring a blend of excitement and trepidation within him.

Anger wasn't Harry's immediate response; instead, he sat in profound silence, contemplating the profound shift this news brought. Y/N, sensing his internal turbulence, gently broached the unspoken question.

"Are you angry?" she asked, her voice a delicate thread weaving through the room. The uncharted territory of raising a daughter seemed to hover in the air, and Harry, grappling with the weight of it all, finally found his voice.

A wave of joy began to replace the initial shock on Harry's face. Excitement sparkled in his eyes, and a radiant smile emerged, illuminating his features. "A girl," he repeated, this time with a newfound enthusiasm. "A little princess, huh?" The weight of the unknown seemed to lift as he looked at Y/N.

Y/N's concern softened into a smile as she saw Harry's genuine happiness. "You're not upset?" she asked, searching his eyes for confirmation.

Harry placing a tender kiss on her forehead taking her by surprise. "No, not at all. I'm over the moon, lovie. Just needed a moment to let it sink in."

As the gravity of the news settled, they found themselves wrapped in each other's arms, a shared warmth and anticipation replacing any lingering uncertainty. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a comforting ambiance as they settled on the bed, Harry's arms securely around Y/N.

"What do you think she'll be like?" Y/N mused, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on Harry's chest.

"Knowing she's ours, she's going to be brilliant," Harry said, a dreamy quality in his voice. "Smart, kind, and probably a bit stubborn, taking after her mum."

Y/N chuckled, playfully nudging him. "You think so?"

"I know so," he affirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

In the cocoon of their shared excitement, they decided to embrace the moment. Harry grabbed the remote, pulling up a list of movies they had been meaning to watch. They settled on a comforting classic, wrapped up in blankets, as the glow of the TV illuminated their joy-filled faces.

With the weight of the news replaced by the warmth of their love, they spent the evening lost in the magic of the movie, already dreaming of the adventures that awaited them with their little girl.

The room was immersed in the soft glow of the moonlight as Y/N gently shook Harry awake. His eyes fluttered open, momentarily disoriented, and his heart raced with concern. "What happened? Is everything okay with the baby?" he asked in a hushed tone, immediately reaching for her belly.

Y/N stifled a laugh, her hand resting on top of his. "No, no, everything's fine. The baby's doing great." She could see the relief washing over Harry as he sighed, the worry lines on his forehead smoothing out.

"Then why did you wake me up?" he asked, still half-asleep but attentive.

She hesitated for a moment, chewing on her lower lip nervously. "I, um, I have a craving."

Harry blinked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "A craving? At this hour?"

Y/N nodded, her cheeks tinted pink. "Yeah. It's a bit embarrassing, but I really, really want candy burgers."

"Candy burgers?" Harry repeated, a bemused smile forming on his lips. "You woke me up in the middle of the night for candy burgers?"

She nodded sheepishly. "I know, it's silly. But I can't stop thinking about them, and I thought if I didn't get them now, I might not be able to sleep."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle, the initial shock of being abruptly woken up giving way to amusement. "Candy burgers, huh? I don’t even know what candy burgers are?”

“Well, the buns are rice krispies, the patty is a reese's cup, with caramel drizzle like ketchup, the tomatoes are strawberries and the pickles are green gummy worms” she confessed, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. “They have to be green and not the sour kind”.  Harry, with a bemused expression, took in her explanation and couldn't help but find the idea amusing.

“Well, I suppose we need to keep our little one happy." He swung his legs out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he stood up. "Let's go get you some candy burgers, then." He spoke as he looked for a pair of joggers since he needed to head to the store for the ingredients.

The grocery store was bathed in the soft hum of fluorescent lights as Harry and Y/N strolled hand in hand through the aisles. Their journey had a specific destination tonight—the candy aisle. As they approached the colorful shelves filled with an array of sweets, Y/N's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Alright, we need marshmallows, gummy candies, and anything else that screams candy burgers," she proclaimed, a playful grin on her face. Harry chuckled, finding the whole adventure amusing.

As they perused the candy section, Harry couldn't help but express his amazement. "You woke me up for candy burgers? I thought something was wrong," he admitted, his brows furrowed in mock concern. Y/N laughed, her voice echoing through the aisle.

"Harry, this is just a pregnancy craving. Get ready; you're in for a lot more sleepless nights and unexpected food runs," she teased, gently patting her baby bump. Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning shock.

"More of these midnight escapades?" he questioned, to which Y/N nodded with a mischievous smile. "It's all part of the journey, love," she reassured him, savoring the sweetness of the moment and the prospect of the candy burgers awaiting them at home.

Harry and Y/N turned the corner, the excitement of their candy burger quest lingering in the air, only to be met with an unexpected sight. There, standing in the grocery store, was Valeria, Harry's notorious ex-girlfriend. Dressed in a very short party dress and high heels, she clutched two bottles of hard tequila, her appearance revealing a Tuesday night of revelry. Valeria's eyes widened as she spotted Harry and Y/N, and a sly smile curved on her lips. It was a scene out of an awkward encounter.

"Harry, darling, long time no see," Valeria purred, feigning surprise. Her voice carried a note of mischief as she eyed Y/N from head to toe. Harry's grip on Y/N's hand tightened instinctively. "Valeria," he acknowledged, his tone reserved. Y/N tried to maintain composure, offering a polite smile despite the uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. Valeria's gaze lingered on Y/N, a subtle challenge underlying her expression.

"What brings you two lovebirds to this charming late-night rendezvous?" Valeria teased, the sarcasm evident in her voice. Harry cleared his throat, his response measured. "Just grabbing a few things," he replied, avoiding eye contact. Valeria chuckled, her laughter carrying a hint of mockery. "Well, don't let me keep you. Enjoy your... groceries," she quipped, the air thick with tension Valeria, pretending to be engrossed in the liquor aisle, subtly observed Y/N through the unzipped sweater she wore. The realization hit her like a sudden jolt — Y/N was pregnant. A mix of shock, jealousy, and resentment flickered across Valeria's face as she grappled with the unexpected revelation. Her plans to disturb Harry and Y/N's peaceful night with her presence took an unexpected turn.

Unable to contain her surprise, Valeria momentarily forgot about the bottles of tequila she clutched. Her eyes widened, fixated on Y/N's baby bump. The jealousy that surged within her was palpable. Her thoughts raced, contemplating how Harry had moved on, creating a family with someone else. A wave of bitterness washed over her, and she found herself caught between the desire to hide her emotions and the envy that fueled them.

[dramionestills]

Dramione month days 17-21

The Hunger Games/Pride and Prejudice/Hogwarts a History/Twilight/Hermione’s Birthday/and Free

“Open your eyes.” He whispered in her ear

She removed her hands from her face and blinked. She couldn’t hold in her gasp of delight at the sight before her.

They had moved in together a few months ago and to say it had been chaotic was an understatement.

There were still boxes of unpacked stuff all over the cottage they had bought together, as work and other events had not allowed them the time and energy to fully settle in.

Hermione had worried, and still did to some extent, that moving to a smaller place than the Manor would be difficult for Draco. Not only was the space so different but also she worried about how much he was straying from traditions for her and whether that may put a strain on their relationship. But Draco could not be happier to leave the bad memories and restrictive expectations that the Manor represented behind and start a new chapter with the love of his life.

So, while Hermione had been too busy the past month with a new piece of werewolf legislation that demanded she put longer hours than usual, Draco had been coming to the cottage during the work day (with permission and even help from his boss, Head Auror Harry Potter) to set up one single room.

On the west side of the cottage, there was a room that had initially been too small to be anything but storage. Obtaining the extension charm permit had been an annoying process but well worth it, as was adding a bay window to the wall that now let the most beautiful sunsets play out. He had installed handmade cedar bookshelves on most of the available wall space, including below the window seat.

And he had organized all of their books alphabetically by author’s last name, which was their (Hermione’s, but he went with it) preferred method, combining their collections in a perfect mirror of how their lives were now intertwined. Hermione’s collection of rare Jane Austen books displayed beautifully with Pride and Prejudice (her favorite) front and center next to the first edition of Hogwarts a History that Draco had also procured from the Manor. He had brought in several that were too valuable and useful to leave behind. He had even gone to a muggle bookstore and bought some new titles for them to enjoy together once they had more time. They had recommended a few series, including The Hunger Games and Twilight, and he couldn’t wait to discuss them with his beloved while drinking the perfect cuppa.

He had chosen (with help from Ginny and Pansy) a warm color scheme and furniture that looked perfectly cozy and inviting, with luxurious velvet cushions on two large armchairs, some fluffy alpaca and cashmere throws and an ornate walnut coffee table already equipped with aromatic candles and coasters and tissues and a carafe.

It was the library of her dreams and Draco had made it a reality.

She turned to him after taking it all in, adoring the way the golden hour glow fell on not only the room but his alabaster skin and blond hair.

“Draco, this is…” she was starting to tear up, overwhelmed by emotion. “It’s perfect! When? How?”

“Happy birthday, my love” He replied, “I wanted to surprise you with something useful, especially now that the werewolf bill has passed and you will have so much more free time to enjoy your books”

He had walked closer to her and was now wrapping his arms around her waist, leaning his forehead to hers. “We can also do research here, and hopefully we can make good use of that window seat” he smirked slightly.

Hermione let out a watery chuckle. “I love it, so so much. No one has ever done anything this thoughtful for me before”

“You deserve it.”

“And I do think I’ll make good use of it for the next few months before my next project, because that will take up so much of my time.”

“You already got a new project deadline? I thought Kingsley was going to let you have a bit of a break after this one. When do you start?”

“Well,” she looked up mischievously at him. “There will be a preparatory period and then the real thing begins in, oh, approximately 7 months.”

“Huh, oddly specific amount of time but at least you do get quite a bit of time beforehand. And as I said, this library is yours to use as you please; you could use it to complete some of the work here if necessary.”

“I guess we could add a cot between the armchairs…”

“A cot? What? Wait. wait.” She could see him finally catching on and seeing the smile grow on his face as he realized it was the best birthday gift she could have gotten.