Can You Please Tag Me On Your Fiery Familiarity Series Please?☺️

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. “Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

the better strategy. / masterlist

After successfully saving Druid Grove, Astarion has one goal in mind: secure his safety. His strategy? Seduce Tav. But what if that plan goes horribly wrong and he falls for his own game?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Tav (Baldur's Gate 3) Rating: Mature ( 18+ ) Word Count: 16k Tags: tiefling party reimagined, act 1/2 spoilers, non-sexual intimacy, astarion's pov, miscommunications, allusions to astarion's past, selûne worshipper!tav, eventual romance, heavy mentions of death and abuse Note: NSFW content chapters added with asterisk Tag List: Request to join the tag list here!

CHAPTERS

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five (coming soon)

                                        ( Visit the AO3 story. )

"oh sorry, i guess i was infodumping again" - sad, shy, apologetic

"you sly dog, you got me monologuing" - cool, strong, confident

served my duty as an autistic artist and made a bunch of autism creature reaction images

Some Genshin Impact girls I drew!~

| More artworks |

Dialogue Punctuation Cheat Sheet

This is just a friendly little guide on how to use punctuation in dialogue since (at least for me) this isn’t something that I was taught in school and had to learn on my own. That being said, I am not an expert! I don’t have an English degree or anything like that! I’m just an avid reader and writer and wanted to share what I have learned in a concise format.

A lot of this information is from “How to Write Dazzling Dialogue: The Fastest Way to Improve Any Manuscript” by James Scott Bell, “The Best Punctuation Book, Period” by June Casagrande, and “The Blue Book of Grammar and Punctuation” by Jane Straus, Lester Kaufman, and Tom Stern. If you’re able to get these books, I highly recommend them!

(Also, yes I used Disney quotes for most of my examples lol)

---

Rule 1: Dialogue punctuation includes the following:

Period

Comma

Question mark

Exclamation point

Em-dash

Ellipsis

All dialogue will include some sort of punctuation before the closing quotation. 

---

Rule 2: Punctuation goes inside the quotes.

Correct

“Do you want to build a snowman?” Anna asked.

Correct

“You can’t marry a man you just met,” Elsa said.

Incorrect

“Do you want to build a snowman”? Anna asked.

---

Rule 3: Don’t capitalize a pronoun used for dialogue attribution.

Correct

“I was hiding under your porch because I love you,” he said.

Incorrect

“I was hiding under your porch because I love you,” He said.

---

Rule 4: Capitalize for action beats.

Correct

“A llama? He’s supposed to be dead!” She slammed her fist on the table.

Incorrect 

“A llama? He’s supposed to be dead!” she slammed her fist on the table.

---

Rule 5: Use a comma when introducing a quotation, such as when dialogue attribution comes at the beginning. The first word of the dialogue is capitalized.

Correct

Scar leaned forward and said, “Run away, Simba.”

Incorrect

Scar leaned forward and said. “Run away, Simba.”

Incorrect

Scar leaned forward and said, “run away, Simba.”

---

Rule 6: Use single quotation marks for quotations within quotations. Punctuation goes inside both quotations (I’ve heard this can vary depending on country).

Correct

“My father said, ‘Everything the light touches is our kingdom.’”

Incorrect 

“My father said, ‘Everything the light touches is our kingdom’.”

---

Rule 7: If there are two or more sentences, the speaker attribution should be put before or after the first complete phrase.

Correct

Grandmother said, “Great. She brings home a sword. If you ask me, she should’ve brought home a man.”

Correct

“Great,” Grandmother said. “She brings home a sword. If you ask me, she should’ve brought home a man.”

Incorrect

“Great. She brings home a sword. If you ask me, she should’ve brought home a man,” Grandmother said.

(Note: This is a rule I break all the time, but I thought I would include it in this list anyway! Usually when the first sentence or two are very, very, short and go together, but they still need that “breath” of a dialogue tag in between. But it’s a good thing to be aware of!) 

---

Rule 8: Use commas to interrupt a complete sentence with a dialogue attribution. Don’t capitalize the next word after the comma. 

Correct

“Aren’t you,” Hercules said, “a damsel in distress?”

Incorrect

“Aren’t you,” Hercules said, “A damsel in distress?”

---

Rule 9: Use ellipses to illustrate a character trailing off, showing hesitation, or a pause.

“Aren’t you… a damsel in distress?”

---

Rule 10: Em-dashes can be used for interruptions, indicating simultaneous actions that do not cause an interruption, or a change in thought/tone. Don’t use dialogue attribution after an em-dash.

Another Person Interrupts

Correct

“He would never do anything to hurt me. He—”

Hades threw up his hands. “He’s a guy!”

Correct

Meg said, “He would never do anything to hurt me. He—”

Hades threw up his hands. “He’s a guy!”

Incorrect

“He would never do anything to hurt me. He—” Meg said.

Hades threw up his hands. “He’s a guy!”

Self Interruption

“I—” Hercules reached into his pocket and pulled out a small doll. “I’m an action figure!

Simultaneous Action

“I am surrounded” — Scar dragged his paw over his face — “by idiots.” 

Change In Thought/Tone

“It’s not that you’re awkward. I’m awkward. You’re gorgeous — wait, what?”

---

Other Notes (these might just be my personal preferences, feel free to ignore)

Don’t use semi-colons in dialogue. Use a period instead.

Use exclamation points sparingly. Extremely sparingly. Maybe once per 10k words or even less.

After using an ellipsis, saying “he/she trailed off” is redundant. Just skip to the next action. The ellipsis already implies someone trailed off.

New speaker (or character action that serves as a response) = New paragraph.

“Said” should be your most commonly used dialogue tag. Any dialogue tag other than “said” or “asked” will stick out to the reader, and should be used sparingly.

If there is anything I missed, got wrong, or should add, PLEASE KINDLY LET ME KNOW! Again, I don’t have an English degree, I’m not a professional, and I’m actually a bit of a pea-brain, but these are the general rules that I know of and follow in my writing.

I love his hair

Day 14: fantasy AU

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

This is a bit (too) long, but I honestly loved writing it. I hope you like it as much as I do, it's my favorite so far!

Living as a magical creature was undoubtedly difficult. But being born a witch was practically a death sentence.

You couldn’t boast that your kind had ever been fully accepted by society, but at least you could live in peace with others, and perhaps, out of fear, they wouldn’t dare harm you. But now, everything was different with the institution of a new system that aimed to completely exterminate you.

There were no longer safe places, and you were forced to retreat into the forest, stay united in covens, or the boldest among you faced the enemy. Treating you as a threat only turned you into one, sparking an unprecedented war where the king’s men used all sorts of devices to hunt, torture, and kill witches. On your side, you practiced every spell you knew, cursing them sometimes and even causing entire towns to suffer the consequences.

It was so sad to witness the feud and know that someday you could be the one standing on that stake that had taken so many lives or hanging with your feet floating above the ground as a demonstration of what they were capable of doing: a warning.

You doubted that you could ever kill someone out of spite. Your work had always been about healing, and up until that moment, you hadn’t allowed dark magic to corrupt you in any way, adhering to your principle that magic should only be used for altruistic purposes or, at worst, in self-defense.

However, that didn’t exempt you from fearing the men tasked with hunting you. You used to travel between towns to sell your healing potions, always careful not to be spotted by anyone who might turn you in. Sometimes, you worked for free for families too poor to afford other services. After all, magic was more effective. It was always more effective, both for good and for evil.

The fireplace burned softly inside your cabin, just enough to warm you but not enough to attract the attention of those who passed through the forest. Honestly, being there sometimes felt like living in a cave. You had covered the few windows to avoid being seen, and to counteract the lack of light, you had placed candles throughout the space.

You were preparing a stew for dinner with vegetables you had bought that afternoon in a neighboring town when a knock at the door startled you. The knocks weren’t aggressive but not timid either, and you quickly ran to extinguish most of the candles, hoping whoever was behind the door would go away. No one found your place by accident, so it had to be an intruder. If it were another witch, you would have felt it.

"I know you're in there," said a voice behind the wood. It was deep, and fortunately, not unfamiliar to you. "Let me in, I don’t want anyone else noticing I’m here."

Fearful but determined, you walked to the door to do as he asked. Suddenly, you remembered how the man always complained that your footsteps made no sound, something you found useful all the time.

Before opening, you discreetly peeked through a crack in the wood to make sure no one else was with him. Having a witch hunter at your door was bad enough; more of them would be catastrophic.

You pulled the handle of the old wood to reveal your guest, and he silently walked inside.

You had never met a man as strange as Reid, the witch hunter. You first saw each other during a skirmish you hadn’t planned to be part of but unfortunately ended up involved in. Your role wasn’t to attack anyone; instead, you helped your injured companions. At some point during the altercation, the man managed to catch you, and, scared but determined not to let him discover who you were, you tried to escape. He attempted to put a pair of shackles on you, but you fought back with all your strength. Although you tried to cast a spell, the man was intelligent. His hands strategically held you to prevent any of your movements, and he was strong enough that you couldn’t overpower him.

“Witch, it’ll be worse if you resist…”

You didn’t know if he said that to convince you or out of frustration from the struggle you were giving him, but you didn’t want to find out either. You bit the hand within your reach, and though he groaned, he didn’t release you entirely. When one of your feet touched the ground, giving you more stability, you kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to let you go.

You tried to run, but the man was an expert. He quickly reached for his sword, still sheathed at his waist. You looked him in the eye and regretted being in this situation. You didn’t want to hurt him, but it was kill or be killed.

Suddenly, you noticed hesitation in him, as if he didn’t want to do anything but capture you. His long hair was tangled, and his face was smeared with blood: you didn’t want to know if it was his or one of the women’s.

A crash echoed, and in a split second, a flash of blue light shot through the air, hitting the hunter’s shoulder in front of you. A few inches to the side, and it probably would have killed him instantly.

He collapsed to the ground, dropping his sword to use his hand to try to stop the blood pouring out in torrents. You stood in shock, watching him for a few seconds, stunned by the deep pain on his face. However, there was something else: it looked like hate, but if you looked closely, it was fear. No one wants to die, and in that gaze, there was fear of passing to the other life.

What could you do in that case? The wisest thing would have been to run away and leave him to his fate, but you hesitated for a second. Was that really the right thing to do? He had tried to capture you, but after all, he was a man, a soul.

Cautiously but without wasting time, you stumbled to his side, kneeling, and extended your hands over his body, covered by a leather jacket, pressing on the wound.

“Leave me alone!”

“Shut up, I’m trying to save your life,” you scolded him.

You began to recite a spell, and although he tried to move, the pain wouldn’t let him. Little by little, he felt the burning sensation diminishing, along with the feeling of his blood gushing out.

Reid was an expert at remembering faces. Thanks to that, his team of hunters often managed to catch witches, even if they moved from place to place. While you worked, he focused on observing you. Your face was smudged with soot, and you had a small cut at the hairline, but other than that, you were fairly easy to recognize. Your brows were furrowed with concern, and he wondered what kind of crazy person you were to be helping him, even though he had been about to condemn you minutes earlier.

When the pain was completely gone, leaving only a red stain, you knew you were vulnerable again, so you quickly got up to move away from the man. You didn’t know how long you ran, but the memory of the tears streaming down your face, thinking about abandoning your own kind, was etched in your memory.

The second time you saw each other was a complete accident. You had gone to town to stock up on some materials you needed, carefully buying from different vendors so that no one could accuse you of practicing witchcraft, when you bumped into someone. Before you could apologize, you saw that golden insignia worn by the most prestigious hunters, and as soon as you looked up, you both recognized each other instantly.

You didn’t hesitate to turn and run in the opposite direction, knocking into some people along the way. A few meters ahead, he caught up to you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into a secluded alley.

“Don’t kill me,” was the first thing you said, looking at him with an involuntary pleading expression.

Thanks to the daylight, you could observe him better and noticed the hardness in his features. He was intimidating, no doubt, and you understood why there were enough reasons to consider him dangerous.

“Why did you help me?”

There was a gruffness in his question that made it sound as if he were angry. Was he offended that he had been saved by the enemy? Or did he want to know your reasons before sending you to die?

He still held one of your hands tightly, fully aware that most spells required both your hands. There was silence for a moment as you stared at each other until you dared to speak.

“I don’t know.”

“I tried to capture you.”

“I know,” you replied just as seriously. He still hadn’t let you go. “But it’s my job. I help others. And I didn’t want the guilt of having left you lying there, although now that I think about it, it probably would’ve been the smarter thing to do.”

“You could’ve let me die, but you didn’t,” he murmured, almost as if talking to himself rather than to you “You didn’t.”

He sounded incredulous, as if the idea of an act of kindness from you was unimaginable. You remained very still, waiting for him to do something, and after a few seconds, he released your wrist.

“Go,” he said again. “It’s a life for a life.”

Without thinking too much about what he was offering you, you fled once more, and you didn’t stop until you reached the forest, completely forgetting the reason you had gone there in the first place. You would buy the ingredients elsewhere, what mattered most now was getting as far away from that hunter as possible.

As if by fate, you continued to run into each other, and each time your panicked glances were ignored by him, as if by not looking directly at you, he was giving you a chance to escape. Months passed this way, and at some point, you found him at your cabin door when you returned from the town.

You thought this would be your end and cursed yourself for not letting him die, sealing your tragic fate. However, he wasn’t there to capture you but to make a deal. You couldn’t believe it. After all, since when did hunters negotiate with witches?

“You’re something like a healer, aren’t you?” he asked once he had forced you inside the cabin so you wouldn’t be discovered.

“I am.”

“And do you know how to treat head troubles?” he asked curiously “You know, things doctors can’t?”

You didn’t understand what he wanted, and once again, you felt afraid. The enemy knew where you lived; he was standing in your home, not pinning you against a wall to immobilize you. He was seeking your help, which you had every right to refuse if you wished.

“You’re a witch hunter,” you muttered aloud, your tone bordering on disgust “What does it matter if I can do that?”

If you were going to die, you wanted to do it with integrity.

“Listen, I can offer you something in exchange for your help. I can protect you. If I hadn’t kept quiet, my companions would have already found and killed you because no detail escapes me. If I figure it out, my whole team knows, but on their own, they won’t be able to decipher it. I’m the one standing between them and you. If I say nothing, you’ll be safe.”

Could you trust his word? What if it was all a trap? A million questions crossed your mind at that moment, and you tried to consider whether the risk was worth the reward. Probably no hunter in history had ever sought help from a witch, and you were sure your kind couldn’t trust ordinary humans.

But despite knowing this, you accepted. After all, your secret was already exposed, and if you refused, you would only hasten the inevitable result. At least by accepting his deal, you bought time. You could live until he decided you were no longer useful, or when his team of hunters wanted to eliminate more witches.

Months had passed since then. That’s how he told you what he was suffering from, and you helped him treat it, giving him various infusions, ointments, and occasionally using some magic directly on him.

“Have you gotten better or worse?”

“I’ve improved. On a scale from one to ten, maybe a seven.”

“Have you followed the instructions I gave you? The therapeutic baths, drinking the drops I gave you, all of that…”

“Yes. Sometimes I don’t have time, but I try.”

Whenever he visited you, neither of you made eye contact. You pretended to be busy preparing things, while he kept analyzing the wood of your table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Alright. Give me a moment, and I’ll prepare what you need.”

Reid hummed in response, and he stayed calm, drumming his fingers on the surface in front of him. While you mixed ingredients, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing that he was wearing his characteristic black clothes, but this time he looked more relaxed. No sword or visible weapons. He was only wearing a linen shirt and pants, which made you wonder if the night’s chill would affect him.

Your cabin was exceedingly warm, and although he wouldn’t admit it, there was a comforting feeling upon entering.

“I heard you caught the Green Witch.”

“We did, yes. Just yesterday. By the afternoon, her sentence had already been passed.”

“May the gods receive her with joy, and may she become magical strength for her coven,” you recited, making a gesture similar to crossing yourself.

Reid assumed that this was what you witches said every time one of your kind died.

“Did you know her?”

“Yes. We met a couple of times. She was a bit mad, but not so much that I’d wish her dead.”

“She did a lot of bad things.”

“I know. But years ago, she lived in peace with us.” You fell silent for a moment, waiting for a response. None came. “What you people do to my sisters is completely inhumane. Did you know that?”

“We’re just trying to protect people.”

“Yes, from something that wasn’t dangerous until you decided it was. If you keep telling someone they’re evil long enough, I think you’ll eventually push them into becoming that.”

Admitting it out loud would be a betrayal of the principles on which he worked, but Reid had thought many times about what you had just told him. The first encounter he had with you caused a complete ideological conflict in his mind. The lingering question had started to take shape: What if not all witches were evil?

He had joined the hunters to help achieve a greater good for his people. During those months, he had enjoyed the effects of your remedies, you had taken care of him, and despite who he was, you treated him with respect. He wondered if your behavior was out of fear that he might expose you to the other hunters or if your actions were genuine.

“If I refused to keep helping you…” you began, breaking the silence. He was deep in thought, and your voice brought him back to reality “Would you send me to the stake?”

As you said this, you still didn’t look at him. Focused on your work table, you gave him your back, somehow hoping his response would come directly to that place. You were sure of what he would say, that it would reach you like a stab.

“Are you planning to stop helping me?”

“Would you do it?” you insisted.

Reid thought about it for a moment and decided to answer your question with another.

“Would you be capable of killing me?” When you heard that, you turned with a confused expression. “You have all the means, to be honest. I drink those things you give me without question. Who’s to say you couldn’t be poisoning me?”

“I would never do that.”

“I can’t know that, just as you have doubts, so do I. It’s a matter of trust. Helping me is your choice, I’m just offering the benefit of protection in return. But if one day that agreement breaks, it won’t be me accusing you. If you decide to act wrongly, that’s your responsibility.”

You fell silent, observing him seriously. He was such a strange man.

“So, it’s our fault that we’re sent to die? Without being given the chance to prove we can help you?”

“Don’t think I’m a fool. I know you travel through the villages selling your potions and healing the poor. You’re proving your worth by keeping yourself alive, and that’s why you’re still here. You might live a long life as long as you don’t draw attention.”

“But I’m still a witch in the end. And you’re a hunter. The outcome for that combination is logical and inevitable.”

“And do you think all hunters are monsters?”

“I don’t know. Do you think all of us are evil?”

The two of you fell silent. Neither of you would dare say what you really thought. But there was something in the look you shared that felt hopeful.

Sensing the lack of response, you turned back to your work, and the conversation was over. A few minutes later, you placed three jars, a wooden container with ointment, and a plate of hot stew on the table.

“What’s this?”

“Food. No poison. If you don’t want to join me, then take your remedies, and the door is open.”

You had never invited him to stay longer than necessary, and the proposal felt strange to both of you.

Reid’s silence and his remaining in your home seemed to indicate a positive response, and still without saying anything, you served yourself a plate to join him for dinner. The sound of the fireplace was all that could be heard around you, along with the occasional noises of nature.

Whenever you weren’t paying attention, Reid would look up to observe you, as if you were a puzzle he needed to solve. Similarly, you analyzed his behavior, wondering if this man was worth the risks you were taking. Once, your gazes crossed, but as soon as your eyes met, both of you looked away.

“I should go,” he announced after finishing his meal. He wanted to compliment your cooking skills but couldn’t find the words. “Should I take the medicine the usual way?”

“Yes. The ointment is only if you have a fever.”

“Alright,” he muttered, nodding his head. He needed to leave, but it was as if his feet weren’t responding. “Thanks. For everything.”

For perhaps the first time, Reid saw a smile on your lips, and he took it as a sign of trust.

“Be careful on your way back.”

You didn’t speak of the matter any further, and you tried with all your might not to think about it. But the weeks passed, and you heard no news of Reid. It wasn’t as if you wanted to run into him everywhere, of course, but not knowing anything about him left you feeling strangely uneasy this time.

During one of your visits to town, you overheard rumors and couldn’t help but get curious. Several people were saying the same thing, both villagers and hunters.

"The hunter Reid is sick."

The women recited prayers, and the men expressed their sympathy for him. Apparently, he was a well-liked figure among the villagers, which made you wonder why and, secondly, why he hadn’t come to you for help.

Through whispers, a few questions, and your own deductions, you managed to find out where the man lived, and, trembling, you decided to search for him. Night had already fallen, and you hoped that under the cover of darkness, your identity would remain hidden.

Once you arrived, it wasn’t difficult to open the door, but your main fear was that he might have company, which would ruin everything. You noticed that the place was modest, with just a small hallway, a little room with shelves full of books, and a tiny space for preparing and eating meals. In the back, visible from the entrance, was a room dimly lit by a nearly extinguished candle.

How angry would he be if he found you in his home? In his territory, violating the place he likely considered sacred and safe? A witch in the house of a witch hunter.

He was alone in the room, lying on a small bed pushed against the wall, barely fitting his frame. He looked peaceful, but also visibly worn out, and his cheeks were flushed. You had heard of an illness affecting humans, killing them in large numbers: the plague.

Gently, almost maternally, you brushed his hair away from his forehead to check his temperature. He was burning up with fever.

“Who is it?” he asked hoarsely, barely having the strength to speak. When he cracked his eyes open and saw you, you noticed his transition from drowsiness to alarm.

“It’s me. I’m here. Calm down, you’re not hallucinating,” you murmured. Without wasting time, you searched among his belongings for the ointment you had made for him weeks ago, and without questioning it, you began to apply a layer to his forehead.

“What are you doing here?”

“The whole town is talking about you. I couldn’t help but hear, so I thought I’d come to check if my protection from the gallows was still in place,” you teased lightly.

You were lying. You wanted to see him, and you were worried about him. But you weren’t going to admit that.

“I’m just a little sore. Everyone’s exaggerating.”

“Has anyone given you anything? Food, medicine?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything.”

“Oh, so you want to go out like a real martyr? Suffering helps you reach heaven, or that’s what you people say, right?”

“Why did you come to see me? How… how did you know where I live?”

He spoke with difficulty, struggling to string his thoughts together, likely because of the illness. He was completely vulnerable before you.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked first. “Because I can.”

“No offense,” he whispered, fighting to keep his eyes open. “It was just a question”

“Then, do you want me to stay?”

“If you want to, then yes.”

Neither of you would back down. Resigned, you found a chair to sit beside the bed and rummaged through your bag for something that could help him. You had a loaf of bread meant for your cabin and some tea, still warm, that you had bought from a farmer. Despite the hardship you'd face, your will allowed you to offer both to the hunter.

“You need to eat and drink something. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll prepare a potion that will help lessen the symptoms. With that and a little magic, you’ll be well by tomorrow or the day after you won’t even remember being sick.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will see you?”

“Of course I am. But I trust you’re not so treacherous as to betray me after I’ve risked coming here to help you.”

In that, you were right. And Reid knew it.

Without saying anything, you placed the food and the steaming tea on a little table beside the bed, then went to another area to start your work. Even though you didn’t have all your ingredients with you, you could prepare something decent with the supplies in your bag.

When you returned to the room, he had already devoured half of the bread and nearly finished the tea. You noticed that he was struggling to stay seated, so you encouraged him to lie down again, ready to begin your work.

Reid watched closely as you moved your hands and the faint sparks that appeared each time you twitched your fingers. It seemed as if you were pulling something from within him, and the man’s curious nature emerged.

“What exactly are you doing with that?”

“I’m pulling the illness from your system. Your soul is infected, so I have to cleanse it.”

“And the illness? Where does it go?”

“I absorb it,” you explained. Seeing his disbelief, you continued, “Magic always requires you to give something. That’s why so many witches who use dark magic end up corrupting themselves. Committing evildoings requires absorbing that pain.”

“Have you ever used dark magic?”

Suddenly, the conversation felt kind, intimate, almost like that of a pair of friends... or even lovers. You were terrified but didn’t let him notice.

“No. I practice Wicca: nature grants me power, and I am at peace with it. Without harming others.”

“It’s fascinating to hear someone talk about it. We know how to capture, contain, and kill your kind... I mean, witches. But I never really thought about what you all practice or believe.”

His voice was soft, tired, while you continued your work.

“Do all of you have the same mark?”

His hand reached up to touch your forearm, and you felt a shiver run through your body. His finger rested lightly on your birthmark, a reddish spot.

“Witches who are born with magic do. Well, most of them. For those who turn evil, the mark darkens, and often their fingers start to turn black, as if they have soot on their hands. It’s part of the transformation.”

“And is it true that you’re daughters of the devil?”

You let out a scoff, incredulous, wondering how many more lies had been told to tarnish your people’s image and turn you into monsters.

“We are daughters of Mother Nature, descendants of the oldest magical lineages. We have nothing to do with Lucifer.”

“And how is a witch born? Do you need... to be intimate with someone of your kind?”

“I think that’s a bit too personal of a question,” you murmured disapprovingly. With one final movement, you eliminated the sickness from his soul, and you felt that even his appearance had changed. “Better?”

“A little.”

“You need to drink this all day tomorrow and if possible, the day after. Dissolve it in enough water, and as the hours pass, you’ll notice improvement. But the most important thing now is for you to rest.”

“And where are you going?”

“To my cabin. You don’t expect me to stay in town, do you?”

“The night is dangerous,” he tried to warn, but you responded with a laugh.

“So what? Afraid I’ll run into a witch?”

Reid didn’t miss the teasing tone in your voice, and for a moment, he felt the same connection, that sense of familiarity you had felt before.

“You’ll be fine. Just follow the instructions and find me when you’re better,” you murmured, hoping that would suffice as a farewell.

However, the man stretched out his hand to stop you from leaving, gently taking your fingers. You correctly assumed that no witch had ever received such a soft touch from a hunter, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Why do you insist on proving you’re good?” he asked, reflecting aloud. You looked puzzled by his statement. “You saved my life even though I sought to take yours. You help me stay sane with your herbs, and now you come here and assist me even though no one asked you to.”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

“I’m confused. How am I supposed to capture more witches, knowing they could be like you? That they could be kind, sweet… that they could be so human?”

His monologue seemed more like he was trying to understand things himself, rather than asking you. But if he was recognizing you as human, was he suggesting he saw you as an equal?

You were walking on very thin ice. Ice that could easily crack under the heat of emotions... of passion, and something strange that was brewing inside both of you.

“Just don’t do it,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. Without waiting any longer, afraid that his touch would overwhelm you, you pulled your hand away and walked toward the door. “Keep me updated. If you die, my protection dies too.”

You tried to make your words sound indifferent, but the truth was, they came out with a mixture of concern and plea. Reid felt a sense of pride, thinking that you were implying you needed him. That for one reason or another, you wanted him to stay alive.

“Thank you,” he murmured, delirious. In your heart, you hoped for his recovery, or you would never forgive yourself.

You waved goodbye and then made your way to the door of the house. Luck was on your side, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Cautiously, using those silent steps the hunter often complained about, you walked into the forest and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Throughout the night, perhaps due to fever or perhaps due to desire, Reid dreamed of you.

The months passed. Everyone was amazed at the sudden recovery of the hunter, and most attributed it to a miracle, not knowing that the magic they so despised had actually saved him.

Apparently, that second act of compassion on your part had softened his heart, and his visits became more frequent, almost always lacking any real purpose. He excused himself by saying that he wanted to learn more about witches, to see if there was a less violent way to deal with those who were evil. You had basically become the subject of his research.

Part of you was terrified at the thought that someone might discover your meetings or that he might dare to use against you all the information you were giving him. However, over time, the trust between you both grew considerably.

Titles had been lost somewhere along the way. Suddenly, you were no longer a witch, and he was no longer a hunter. You were simply two people, curious about discovering the secrets of the other's nature, beginning to learn that perhaps the beliefs you both had grown up with could be wrong.

Reid took it upon himself to warn you every time a hunt was going to start, making sure you didn’t leave your place until it was safe, trying desperately to keep the hunters away from the section of the forest where you lived.

Time was the only culprit for you growing fond of him. You didn’t want to; you never planned for it, but gradually, the feeling crept under your skin, and you couldn’t avoid it. It was terrifying just to think about it.

“It's beautiful, isn’t it?”

Reid was mesmerized by the view in front of him. Your curious friend had asked if it was true that fairies existed since he had never seen one, and you promised to take him to meet them. So, one afternoon, you ended up at a stunning crystal-clear lagoon surrounded by trees, with colorful lights flitting from one side to the other.

“We’ve explored this forest so many times. How come I’ve never seen this?”

“Sometimes, you humans only see what you need to see. The fairies are very protective of their territory, so not just anyone finds them,” you said, smiling slightly.

The idea of him being so excited to meet the fairies surprised you a lot. You had spent so much time with him that your perception of humans had inevitably changed too. Maybe not all of them were destined to hate magical beings… perhaps some could even grow to admire you.

But sometimes, you had mixed feelings about it. He visited you, protected you, trusted you… but he was still a hunter, wasn’t he? He still helped send witches like you to their deaths.

Only the evil ones, he always justified.

“Those little lights… Are they them?”

You hummed in agreement and carefully extended your palms, hoping one of them would approach. When one finally did, Reid was able to see it.

Fairies, contrary to what many humans believed, weren’t tiny, beautiful versions of a person with transparent wings. In reality, fairies were brown-colored creatures with moth-like wings and hair that looked like a bird’s nest.

“Aren’t they curious?”

“Very fascinating,” he admitted, a smile forming on his face. Lately, watching him smile had become one of your favorite activities.

He observed the scenery for a while, trying to register as many details as possible, while you gathered some plants that you would use to prepare potions or infusions.

Seeing you amid nature awakened a strange feeling in Reid. Kneeling, dressed in a white gown that gave you a certain aura of purity, your hair fell like a curtain over your face.

What was that feeling? Why did he feel this way, watching you so peacefully?

You said something, but honestly, Reid didn’t hear you. He was too distracted by the glow of your face and wondering where the little flowers in your hair had come from. It was probably the fairies, he thought, during the time he hadn’t been watching you.

“I asked if you know how to swim,” you repeated with a small smile “There are some who say this lagoon has healing properties. There are nymphs, too, but I haven’t seen any lately. They’re a bit possessive, to be honest.”

“Nymphs?” he asked, astonished, which only made you laugh.

Without saying another word, you set your basket aside, and Reid was shocked to see you start taking off your dress, leaving yourself in nothing but a very thin undergarment that was too indecent to be considered proper. But he couldn’t expect modesty from someone like you; after all, you had already shown that you didn’t follow conventional rules.

You gracefully dove into the lagoon, and Reid watched you disappear into the water, only to resurface a few seconds later.

“Come on!”

Reid hesitated for a minute, but eventually, he gave in and joined you in the water under the same conditions as you: in his underwear.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” you spoke again, floating on your back in the clear water.

You had your eyes closed, as the sun was shining directly on your face, and Reid tried to avert his gaze from the curves of your body, which were now visible through your soaked clothes. He felt slightly embarrassed by the improper thoughts that crossed his mind, thoughts he couldn’t control.

“Swimming?”

“The nature. The village is so gray and sad… everything here is better.”

The man hummed, as if to say that he agreed with you. Suddenly, he felt a couple of fairies fluttering around him, and the movement of their wings tickled him, making him laugh.

“Do mermaids exist?”

“They do, but only in the open sea. You should be careful with the sirens.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Mermaids can be benevolent if they wish. But sirens’ sole task is to seduce sailors and lure them to the bottom of the sea; they attract them with their song and beauty.”

“I didn’t know there were so many creatures I had to worry about, not just witches. No offense.”

“Oh, Reid. You humans are missing out on a whole world,” you teased, swimming right up to him “The difference is that witches don’t try to seduce you. We’re a bit more practical.”

“That would be a good strategy.”

“Do you want a witch to seduce you?” you asked, tilting your head slightly to one side to look at him.

“No! I mean… using beauty to attract people with reason might be effective. I suppose.”

“Unfortunately, there aren’t too many candidates who interest us. Most of them are grouchy, horrible old men. Although, well… there are always exceptions to the rule.”

Were you flirting with him? From the way you were looking at him, he thought it was entirely possible.

“Anyway, all it would take to make a man fall for us is putting a bit of love potion in his tea. It wouldn’t be hard.”

“Now I understand why my tea tastes weird lately.”

There was something unspoken in your teasing, something suggestive, even sinful. Yes, because the idea that a witch and a witch hunter could have that kind of tension was ridiculous. Unthinkable.

You both stared at each other for a second, waiting for the other to say something, but that didn’t happen.

“Are our things still where we left them? There are goblins in this forest too, and they tend to be quite mischievous.”

“They are,” he quickly answered.

You smiled and, with a nod of your head, invited him to follow you, then began swimming in an unknown direction.

You chatted for a while as you swam, and little by little, the sky turned orange, signaling that sunset was approaching. You were in an area surrounded by grass, where more fairies sparkled around than Reid had ever seen before, making the atmosphere visually stunning.

“We should head back. They might wonder where you are,” you suggested, glancing at the sky “Tonight is a full moon. A perfect occasion for a human sacrifice, and I don’t want any speculation.”

Your tone was playful, and just as he was about to respond, everything suddenly seemed to slow down. Behind you, there was a whirlpool in the water, and by the time he tried to warn you, it was too late. The natural phenomenon swallowed you up immediately, almost as if your body were in free fall.

Reid was seized by panic. His area of expertise didn’t involve bodies of water, but he knew how dangerous a whirlpool could be, as it could cause you to drown.

Without wasting time, he dove underwater and spent almost a painful minute trying to grab one of your limbs to pull you toward him. When he finally succeeded, your body was heavy and limp, making him fear the worst.

When he managed to resurface, he swam with you to the shore, carefully laying you down. While lying next to you, he called your name several times, moving your head to get you to respond, but nothing happened.

“Come on! Wake up!” he urged, his voice filled with evident desperation.

Suddenly, he remembered some of his knowledge of the human body and, albeit fearfully, began pressing on your chest to try to expel the water from your lungs. Every few compressions, he leaned in to give you mouth-to-mouth, hoping it would be enough to revive you.

When he finally heard you gasp and saw you roll onto your side to vomit all the water, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?” you asked, disoriented.

Reid was nearly hovering over you, holding your cheeks with both hands as if to assess your condition, his honey-colored eyes locked onto yours.

“A whirlpool. I tried to warn you, but it already had you.”

“Oh…” you exhaled, still coughing a bit. It took you a second to process it “And you saved me?”

“Of course. Who else would it be?” he muttered, almost in a reproachful tone.

A small smile crossed your lips.

“So, is this going to become a habit? Saving each other’s lives?”

It wasn’t until that moment that you both became aware of how close you were. His wet body was pressed against yours, and Reid could feel your chest firmly against his. He was still holding your cheeks.

You stared at each other. His eyes, his beautiful and gentle eyes, were fixed on yours. Just breathing a little heavier would have allowed you to feel each other’s breath, your noses practically brushing.

Once again, you faced a dilemma. You could have gotten rid of him a long time ago. Not once, but many times. And he could have done the same without consequences. But that was never your intention; it was useless to keep pretending.

And then, it just happened. It felt natural for both of you to lean in and close the distance, sealing your lips together without any need for explanation.

Your kisses said it all. They said: I care about you. They said: I was afraid I was going to lose you. They said: I know you’re not evil like the others. And they said: I know you’re not ruthless like them.

Suddenly, the contact didn’t seem to be enough, and Reid positioned himself over you to continue kissing you, with no protest from your side. You could feel the heat beneath you, and he undoubtedly felt the same. His free hand firmly gripped your side, almost massaging the soft parts of your torso. You held him tightly, your fingers tangled in the wet curls of his hair.

And so, within a matter of minutes, you both gave in to the unrestrained passion that had been growing inside you for the past few months.

He was good to you, careful. You reciprocated, caressing him gracefully and whispering sweet words in his ear.

The thin ice you had both been walking on didn’t even exist anymore. It had shattered at that moment, and all that remained was an intense fire engulfing the both of you.

You just had to be careful that a heat like that didn’t turn into a pyre.

I'd like to apologize to my mother, to the Gods, but most of all I want to apologize to my friend and long-suffering wizard, Gale of Waterdeep

Act 1 was rough for Maeve and Astarion's relationship. Didn't last forever, though!

( Text based on posts from tumblr that I now cannot find due to the accursed search function!

Backgrounds by Rick van den Berg, environmental artist from Larian Studios! )

straight up let’s hear it for dry humping!!! wooohoo dry humping!!!!