#and you can barely even see the flicker of the flame above his hand

[suguwu]

thinking about nanami smoking when he's stressed and how big his hands look against the lighter and the cigarette

[kateschi]

into the ashes

synopsis: amid the chaos of flames and debris, dabi bares witness to you getting injured. he does not like it.

pairing: dabi x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: behold i have forced my bestie into liking him

the air reeks of smoke and burnt metal, debris scattering across the alley as another explosion rocks the street. you’re cornered, body trembling from the impact, struggling to regain your footing.

blood trickles down your arm from a gash on your shoulder, and the sharp sting makes your vision blur for a moment.

dabi stands a few feet away, eyes locked on the thug who had dared to strike you. his entire frame is tense, shadows dancing across his scarred skin, the blue flames licking at his fingertips ready to erupt.

he doesn’t even glance your way at first—his gaze is trained solely on the scum in front of him.

"you’re going to regret that," he says, voice low and lethal, a dark promise wrapped in fire.

the thug grins, clearly underestimating the depth of dabi’s rage. but you can see it—the way his blue eyes darken, how the flames around him burn hotter, more unstable.

there’s no room for banter now, no time for him to throw his usual sarcastic remarks. the second you hit the ground, his entire focus narrowed to one thing: absolute destruction.

but as much as his fury is directed outward, there’s something more dangerous in his posture—something sharp and suffocating in the way his hands shake, just barely under control.

for once, he’s not just mad. he’s terrified.

"dabi—" you start, trying to push yourself up, the pain shooting through your side forcing you back down.

he whirls around at the sound of your voice, and for a split second, you see something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

it’s brief, but the fear is there, raw and unchecked, the kind of fear that cracks through the facade he wears so well. his lips curl back into a snarl, but the flames flicker dangerously as he rushes toward you, the thug all but forgotten in that moment.

"don’t move." his voice is harsh, sharper than usual, but there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. "just—stay still, alright?"

you blink up at him, dazed, but you manage a weak nod. he kneels beside you, one of his hands hovering just above your wound, hesitating.

his touch is scorching, his quirk on the verge of slipping out of control, and he knows it. the last thing he wants is to hurt you more.

"fuck…" his breath comes out in a shaky exhale as he forces himself to calm down, though the fury in his eyes hasn’t diminished.

"you—you're so goddamn stubborn, you know that?" his voice wavers for a second, betraying the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to conceal.

you manage a faint smile despite the pain. "takes one to know one."

his lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but the moment is fleeting as the sound of movement snaps his attention back to the thug behind him. instantly, his entire demeanor changes.

his hand slips away from yours, blue flames surging to life once more, but this time, they’re different—brighter, hotter, more dangerous. the air around him pulses with a terrifying heat, and the ground beneath his feet begins to blacken.

"you think you can touch her and walk away?" dabi’s voice is venomous now, dripping with pure hatred. "I’ll burn you until there’s nothing left."

there’s no mercy in him anymore, no restraint. you can barely keep up with what happens next as he moves in a blur, his flames surging forward like a wildfire.

you can hear the thug’s screams as dabi unleashes the full force of his power, the blue fire consuming everything in its path.

the heat is suffocating, but you can’t look away. you’ve seen dabi angry before, but this is something else entirely.

this is him unhinged, relentless, the raw intensity of his emotions laid bare for the world to see. it’s terrifying and yet… there’s a twisted kind of beauty in it, in how fiercely he fights for you.

in minutes, it’s over.

the alley falls silent, save for the crackling of dying flames, and dabi stands amidst the ashes of what used to be the thug. his chest rises and falls heavily, his skin gleaming with sweat, but his eyes find you immediately.

without a word, he’s back at your side, kneeling down, his hand reaching for yours again. his fingers are still warm, but gentler now, as though he’s scared you’ll break under his touch.

"don’t you ever—" his voice is hoarse, ragged with emotion. "don’t you ever get hurt like that again."

there’s no teasing this time, no snide remark to hide behind. his grip tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to let you know just how much this is affecting him.

he doesn’t want to say the words, doesn’t want to admit just how deep you’ve gotten under his skin, but it’s there, in the way he holds onto you like he’s scared you’ll slip away.

you give his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him the only comfort you can in that moment. "I’m okay, dabi."

his jaw clenches, and he shakes his head. "you’re not. and that’s the problem."

for a moment, he just sits there, staring down at your intertwined hands. his flames have finally receded, the heat dissipating, leaving only the cool night air around you both.

when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost vulnerable. "I can’t—" he stops himself, frustration flashing across his face as if the words themselves are too hard to say. "I can’t watch you get hurt. not you."

it’s not an outright confession, but it’s close. as close as dabi can get. and in the way his hand trembles slightly in yours, in the way his gaze softens, just for you, you realize that maybe that’s enough.

for now.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ AS YOU WISH ꒱ DILUC RAGNVINDR X READER

warnings ⟢ minors do not interact—i will block you! bondage. slight dubcon (but not really...trust). cunnilingus. reader has a vagina, wears panties, is shorter than diluc, and is referred to as “dearest” once.

word count ⟢ 952

notes ⟢ this fic is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was diluc + bondage. i want to give a HUGE thank you to my beloved zebra (@tartagliove) for the beautiful redraw of darknight hero diluc in the banner. ze—i’m in awe of your talent, and i feel honored to have your artwork at the top of my fic!

The sounds of gore cease suddenly.

You hold your breath and listen, straining to hear signs of who won the battle. Tendrils of smoke drift into the air and the ripe stench of death coats your tongue; gooseflesh skitters across your limbs. When the blindfold is ripped from your head, you let out a shriek, chest heaving as you regain composure. A mere pace from you is a masked figure who is renowned in Mondstadt, more legend than man: the Darknight Hero.

His entire body is obscured by an inky cloak, a birdlike mask covering all but the lower half of his face. A shock of crimson hair is gathered high into a ponytail at his crown, his tresses a cascade of flames that lick down his neck and back. His irises are the same color: the glowing embers of a dying fire, sparking hot then fizzling out.

Before you can so much as thank him, he gestures to your arms. They are bound with rope that looks like it was dipped in the cosmos—indigo charmeuse pinpricked with wandering stars—intricately woven with Abyssal magic to suspend your wrists above your head.

“It’s going to be a while until that magic wears off.”

His voice is rich and flinty; it reminds you of charcoal. When his gaze flickers to your flimsy nightwear, you squirm against your restraints, acutely aware of your vulnerability.

“What would an Abyss Herald want to do with you, I wonder?” The hero slowly circles you, appraising, an umbertail falcon stalking his prey. “You have no vision. And you certainly aren’t prepared to fight.” A gloved fingertip, sooty with ash and ichor, grazes the hem of your shorts—much too close to your inner thigh.

“Is this an interrogation?” you snap. “Because I’d also love to know why I’m here.”

An amused smile tugs at the man’s lips. He’s so near that you can see the puckered flesh of a scar that cuts across his cheek; he grasps your chin with surprising gentleness. While his words are terse, they drip with honey. “You’re a mouthy one, hm? So tell me, then,” he pulls your shorts down and they fall to your ankles, a digit moving to stroke the waistband of your panties, “were you touched here?”

“S-stop,” you stutter, swallowing thickly. “This hardly seems appropriate for the hero of Mondstadt.”

One strong hand steadies your waist while the other pets the pubic hair that curls out from beneath your lacy briefs. He chuckles and leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear in a whisper, “Are you claiming you don’t want this?”

From the moment you first spied the tall, broad figure of your savior, a simmering warmth ignited in your belly, kindling into a roaring fire. Lust seeps through the thin garment that barely preserves your modesty, clinging to your labia. Even in the dim, flickering light of the room, your need is apparent in your smoldering stare and spit-slick pout.

Swiftly, he withdraws. “I will not stoop so low as to force myself on—”

“Don’t play the proper gentleman all of a sudden. Touch me.”

Without another word, the Darknight Hero drops to his knees. His eyes are a dusky glass of dandelion wine, drinking you in as he mouths at your clit through sopping fabric, his tongue pressed flat, savoring your arousal. But he doesn’t tease you for long; he tears off your final layer and discards it like an afterthought, humming at the sight of your exposed cunt. The stubble on his cheek scrapes the plush of your thighs as he spreads your legs. You wobble with the movement, the rope burning your wrists as your arms stretch uncomfortably.

A sweet peck to your clit is your only warning before he slips between your folds. He starts with tender licks and caresses, occasionally dipping down to lave at your hole, then returning to where you need him most, sloppily sucking until your head grows fuzzy with pleasure. You try to focus on and decipher the patterns that his slippery muscle weaves. His mouth melds perfectly with your heat, and his deep, rumbling groans heighten your bliss.

But your shoulders ache, and you’re worried that your ankles are going to give out on you.

“Diluc,” you whimper.

In an instant, your husband stands up—chin dewy with your desire. He rips off a glove and singes the rope; your body floods with relief as your arms fall slack. He removes his mask to reveal his drawn expression: brow furrowed and jaw firmly set. “I pushed you too far,” he states, examining the bands of raw flesh that encircle your wrists.

You shake your head vehemently. “No—not at all. I agreed to this, you know.”

His visage softens with your reassurance, though his eyes still shine with concern. He presses a featherlight kiss to each of your injuries. “Shall we return home? I’d like to get some salve on your wounds as soon as possible. In fact, I may visit Sucrose for a fresh jar. Of course I won’t detail what happened or why we need the salve...”

Diluc’s anxious rambling trails off, and he soaks in your palpable irritation as you frown.

“What is it, dearest?”

“Well, I was hoping the Darknight Hero would finish what he started,” you huff, ignoring the heat that blooms in your face at the admission.

“Oh,” he smirks, stepping closer, “is that right?”

“Don’t make fun of me—I’ll make you regret it.”

“I would never dream of such a thing.”

“So…” You press your palms to his chest, rising to your toes. “You’ll take me up to Mr. Ragnvindr’s study, hero?”

His lips ghost yours, sticky, heady with you. “As you wish.”

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Fall

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You have a fall. It doesn't go over well. Warnings: Angry James and Sirius, I guess Series Masterlist

James is sitting by the fire in your room, engrossed in a book. The warm light from the flames dances across his face, casting flickering shadows that emphasise the intensity of his focus. He's completely absorbed, oblivious to anything but the words before him. The soft crackle and pop of burning wood fills the air, adding to the peaceful atmosphere.

You're by the window, looking out at the darkened grounds of Hogwarts. The ache in your legs is familiar, like an old friend you'd rather not have. But tonight, it seems more insistent than usual, a demanding presence that refuses to be ignored. You know better than to push yourself, especially with James here. But the stubborn part of you—the part that has always refused to accept limitations—decides to walk from the window to your bed. It's a routine task, one you've done countless times before, and always managed on your own.

Your fingers curl around the edge of the table for support as you push yourself up. For a moment, you sway slightly, your balance uncertain. But then you find your footing and begin to move, one slow step at a time. Each footfall sends a jolt through your body, making your muscles scream in protest. You grit your teeth against the pain, determined to make it to your destination without assistance.

The distance between the window and the bed feels longer than ever, but you're halfway there when your foot catches on something—a rug, perhaps, or maybe just air. Whatever it is, your heart lurches as you feel yourself falling.

The impact is jarring, a sharp reminder of the gravity you so often like to ignore. You hit the ground with a thud that echoes through the room and into your bones. Pain radiates from your hip where it met the unforgiving floor. You suck in a breath, trying to steady the world that spins around you.

The fall isn't the worst you've experienced—not by far—but there's something different about this one. It's not just the physical discomfort; it's the humiliation, the sting of failure amplified by the knowledge that James was watching. Your face burns hotter than any pain could cause as you press your cheek against the cool wood floor, wishing for once that you could simply disappear.

"Y/N!" James' voice cuts through the haze of pain and embarrassment. The book he'd been reading lies forgotten, pages curling slightly in the heat of the fire. He's on his feet now, every line of his body rigid with tension.

You don't need to see him to know how he's standing—shoulders squared, fists clenched at his sides. It's a posture you recognise, but it feels out of place without a wand pointed threateningly ahead or a quaffle tucked under an arm. This is the stance of someone ready for a fight, yet here he is, trapped in a war with no clear enemy.

James takes a step toward you, then stops. His hands hover uncertainly in the air, caught between the instinct to help and the understanding that your independence is sacred ground. But even from your position on the floor, you can see the anger simmering beneath his concern—the same anger that flashes behind his eyes whenever Snape crosses a line or when rules stand in the way of what's right.

With effort, you push yourself up onto your elbows, ignoring the flare of pain that shoots through your side. "I'm fine," you say, more to reassure yourself than him. Your words are muffled against the wooden planks, barely audible above the crackling fire.

But James hears them, and though his hand retreats, his gaze doesn't waver. "No, Y/N, you're not." His voice is low, almost dangerous—a tone you've only heard directed at those who dare threaten his friends.

"Look at you!" James explodes, his words sharp and accusing. "You could've hurt yourself even worse—or what if you'd hit your head? You're so bloody reckless sometimes, Y/N."

His anger is a living thing in the room, crackling like the fire that casts long shadows across his face. But instead of shrinking away from it, you meet it head-on, rising to your knees despite the protest of your body.

"This is my life, James," you retort, voice hoarse but steady. "It's been this way for my entire life. I know how to handle myself."

"Do you?" He challenges, stepping closer now, close enough that you can see the storm raging behind his eyes. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't look like it."

"Exactly! From where you're standing!" you shoot back, the words bitter on your tongue. "You don't know what it's like to be me, James. You don't understand."

He falters, just for a moment, but it's enough for you to push yourself up further until you're sitting with your back against the bed. Your body screams in protest, but you ignore it, focusing instead on the boy towering over you.

"You're right," he admits after a beat, his voice softer now, less accusatory. "I don't know what it's like. But I do know that every time I see you walking around, risking another fall...it scares the hell out of me, Y/N."

The admission hangs heavy between you, a confession wrapped in layers of worry and frustration. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if trying to pull the words back inside him. But they're out there now, exposed to the flickering light of the fire and the scrutiny of your gaze.

"I can't help but think about what could happen," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. His eyes meet yours again, searching for understanding, for forgiveness maybe. "What if next time you're not so lucky? What if..."

But you cut him off before he can finish, unwilling to entertain the possibilities that haunt him. "There's always a 'what if', James." Your tone is sharp, defensive. "Every single day, I have to make decisions based on my physical strength and capabilities. Do I risk taking the dangerous shortcuts or go the long way round? Do I try to reach something on a high shelf or ask for help? Every choice has consequences, and yes, sometimes those consequences mean falling."

James opens his mouth to argue, but you hold up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "But here's the thing you don't seem to get: Those choices are mine to make. Not yours, not anyone else's. Mine. And if walking—despite the risk—is something I choose to do, then that's my decision."

The door creaks open, and Remus and Sirius step into the room, their expressions wary. The tension between you and James is a tangible thing now, thick enough to choke on. They exchange glances, taking in the scene before them—James's clenched fists, your defiant posture.

"Did we... miss something?" Sirius asks, his voice cautious as he closes the door behind him.

Remus doesn't speak, but his eyes flicker from you to James, tracing the invisible line of conflict that stretches taut between you two. He's always been attuned to the emotions of others, an empathy born from years of dealing with pain and isolation. And right now, that empathy makes him acutely aware of the storm brewing in this small space.

"Y/N fell," James says through gritted teeth, not bothering to mask the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"I see." Remus's response is measured, his gaze steady on yours. There's understanding there, mingled with concern. But unlike James, he doesn't rush to judgment or admonishments. Instead, he takes a moment, collecting his thoughts before speaking again. "And how are you feeling, love?"

You glance at him, surprised by the calmness of his question amidst the chaos. It's a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters, and you grab onto it gratefully. "Sore," you admit, shifting slightly against the bed. "But I'll be fine."

Remus nods, turning his attention back to James. "I get why you're worried," he begins, his voice low and soothing—a stark contrast to the tension still crackling in the air. "We've all seen Y/N struggle, and it's hard not to want to wrap her up in cotton wool."

"But..." Remus continues, holding up a hand when James starts to protest. "That's not what she needs. Or wants, for that matter. Right, Y/N?"

Your lips curve into a small, grateful smile, and you nod. "Right."

There's silence then, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the distant hum of conversation from elsewhere in the house. You can feel James's gaze on you, heavy and unyielding. But for now, at least, the storm seems to have passed.

"Look, James," Remus sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know it's hard to watch someone you care about take risks, especially when they could get hurt. Merlin knows, we've all had our fair share of scares with each other."

He pauses, searching for the right words. "But part of caring about someone is trusting them to make their own decisions, even if you don't agree with them. Even if they scare you."

"Trust?" Sirius scoffs, his grey eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. "That's a fine idea, Moony, but it doesn't change the fact that it's reckless."

The animosity radiating off him is almost palpable as he steps closer to you, his tall frame casting a shadow over your huddled form.

"What the hell were you thinking, Y/N?" His voice is low, laced with an anger that mirrors James's earlier outburst. It's rare to see Sirius Black lose control like this, but when he does, it's a sight to behold—and not in a good way.

"You could've seriously hurt yourself," he continues, ignoring the shocked look from Remus. "And for what? To prove some bloody point?"

His words hit you like a physical blow, each one more painful than the last. The room spins around you, the familiar faces of your partners blurring together as tears well up in your eyes. But you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. You won't give them the satisfaction—not now, not ever.

"I was just trying to walk, Sirius," you spit out, your voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Something I've done every day of my life since I was a toddler. Excuse me if I didn't think it was such a big deal."

"But it is a big deal, Y/N!" James snaps back. Sirius has worked him into a frenzy, and you can see the worry etched into the lines of his face, transforming his usually jovial features into a mask of anxiety. "It's a big deal because you could've broken something or worse! Doesn't that mean anything to you? Don't we mean anything to you?"

His words hang in the air, heavy with accusation and hurt. And for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, stunned into silence by the intensity of his anger.

"Yes, you mean something to me, James," you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Of course you do. All of you do. But that doesn't give you the right to control my life. To decide what risks are worth taking for me."

There's a pause then, so brief you almost miss it. But it's there—a flicker of doubt crossing James's face before it's quickly replaced by a hardened resolve.

“We’re not trying to control you,” Sirius interjects, his tone sharp like a blade. “We’re trying to keep you safe!”

"Safe?" Your laugh is hollow, empty of any real humour. "I've been keeping myself safe for years."

Sirius crosses his arms over his chest, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. There's a tense pause as he seems to weigh your words, and then he exhales sharply—a sign that he isn't quite ready to let this go.

"Come on, Y/N," he says, extending a hand towards you. "Let me help you up."

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended, fuelled by a mix of pain and frustration. "I don't need your help."

But Sirius doesn't listen. He steps forward, his hands firm and steady as they slide under your shoulders, lifting you off the floor with ease. You protest, but it's in vain—his grip is unyielding, and within seconds, you're sitting upright on the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the side.

"How fucking dare you?" you seethe, once you're sure your voice won't betray the tremors running through your body. "I told you I didn't need your help."

"But you did," Sirius argues, holding your gaze. His eyes are dark, almost black in the dim light, and there's something hard in them—a defiance that matches your own.

"I didn't!" You push him away, ignoring the twinge of pain that shoots up your spine. "You never listen, do you? Both of you!"

Your glares sweep across James and Sirius, landing on each man like a physical blow. They flinch, but neither looks away—instead, they hold your gaze, their expressions a mirror of the hurt and confusion etched onto your own face.

"Enough!" Remus's voice cuts through the tension like a knife, and for a moment, everyone falls silent. The anger lingers in the air, though, thick and suffocating, as if it has taken on a life of its own

[louvaine]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader synopsis: sacred midnight moments spent with the love of your life, mulling over the doubts that are beginning to drive you insane.

“Are you awake?”

It’s whispered words in the dead of night while the rest of the world rests, the moon illuminating the dark skies above. A sliver of light creeps in through the condensation  on the window, dancing along the rumpled sheets strewn over a tangled mess of limbs. It’s in the slow breath of Aaron as he leans over you, forehead pressed down to rest against your bare shoulder, the warmth of his breath dancing flames across your skin.

“I used to think that nothing could break us.”

His hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. It’s intimate, soft even, something sacred in the world of blood, murder, and undeniable tragedy. He presses another feather-light kiss against your skin, moving upwards slightly so that his hair is brushing against your jawline, his scent overwhelming you. His touch makes the room warmer somehow, and your future within its walls seems a little less bleak with every passing moment that you’re wrapped up in him.

“I was naive, Aaron.”

“Don’t──”

“How can this life not? How can it not break you?”

He sighs, closing his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe,” you placate, then add, “for now.”

His gaze is piercing as he reaches across, pulling you into his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, and despite the heaviness in your stomach, it flutters at the sensation of his body pressed up against yours. Almost like the first time you saw him propped up against the back wall of the bar your friends had dragged you to, watching you move in time with the low, intoxicating music: a siren calling out to prey. He fell for you, hook, line and sinker just as much as you fell for him.

“I can take care of myself.”

A flash of jarring memories fuels your anxiety──

Aaron in the hospital, his skin gaunt and body lifeless under harsh, fluorescent lighting. Aaron, bloody and bruised, knuckles cut and sliced open as he tells tales of defending himself and his team. There’s so many moments that flicker through your mind, so many instances where it’s tortured your heart, seeing him hurt and broken, waiting for you to patch him up, softening his barbed edges.

“Not always,” you say, voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll always protect you and our family. Whatever it takes.”

It’s a promise he’ll keep until his last dying breath; a promise that’ll take him to the grave. But it’s also the promise that’s likely to get himself killed if it meant saving you. Aaron is the stoic Unit Chief, cold and heartless, keeping all his emotions close to his chest except for when it comes to his family. That’s the only time he’ll break every single rule to keep you safe, to protect you.

“Don’t you know that’s what I’m worried about?”

He smiles sadly, thumb brushing your lips. “Is that what’s keeping you up?”

“I always worry about you. It comes with the territory of loving you.”

Aaron hums in response, rolling over quickly so that he’s on top of you, his weight pressing you down further into the bed. He looks serious for a moment, the humour no longer visible against the darkness of his eyes as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours. It’s not a kiss that’s fuelled by intense desire or lust, it’s not filled with passion, it’s not rushed or messy, it’s just this: a kiss that barely lasts a minute, but is somehow enough for you to sink into. It overwhelms you: how soft he is when it’s just the two of you falling in love all over again with only the moon as a witness.

It feels a bit like coming home; comfortable; safe.

“I’ve got people watching my back,” he replies when he pulls back, his forehead resting gently against yours. “We’re a family. Nothing will change that.”

“Aaron──”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s empty promises at best but you can tell Aaron doesn’t want to continue this conversation. He adjusts his body against you, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He glances up at the window, the light hitting his face in a way that only seems to emphasise his boyish features and it looks like the weight of the future has finally been lifted off his shoulders by the sheer strength of the moonlight. It’s a moment where you can see the warmth back in his eyes, his genuine smile erasing the sunken years he’d taken on in the last few months, and it’s as if he’s never been as happy as he is right now.

He looks content, almost.

It feels surreal.

Jack coughs, the sound echoing through the dark house, shattering the suspended moment where the world had dwindled down to just the two of you. He’s the wake-up call to reality, a constant reminder of the struggle that’s still ahead as Aaron tries to balance his commitment to the BAU and his commitment to his family. Sometimes his obligation to his job outweighs his responsibility to you, and the arguments in the aftermath leave you feeling hollow. But for every disagreement, every missed date night, every fight, it only serves to fuel your determination to fight harder because you’re not sure you can survive the fallout if this fragile thing between you breaks, and you don’t want to lose him.

“I love you.”

His lips twitch upwards. “I know.”

He leans over the side of the bed, grabbing some clothes to throw on before he goes to check on Jack, the crisp chill of the house ensuring that he doesn’t walk around half naked, much to your disappointment. He smiles fondly back at you, the sight of you wrapped up in his bed igniting a familiar warmth in his chest. He likes to think he’ll have you forever. He reminds himself that you’re not something he’ll ever give up without a fight, a promise he made to himself on the day you’d first said you loved him. 

He knows that you’d never let him leave without one either.

“Don’t be long,” you murmur, adding, “I’ve missed you.”

Between the endless cases, keeping his team in line, and his own demons that he’s still learning to live with, he rarely sees you anymore. This is the first time in a week that he’s spent longer than an hour in your presence. He watches you stretch your body out, rolling into the abandoned warmth of his side of the bed, like seeking him out has become one of your basic human instincts. He watches you for a moment, allowing his guard to drop long enough to treasure this singular moment with you.

It tugs at his aching heart; he knew you felt lonely.

But not to the extent where you’d willingly admit it to him.

“I’ve missed you too,” his voice is soft, gentle.

He thinks about the last week where you’d settled for salvaging a spare moment in the brief spaces in his busy schedule, sneaking around like teenagers, hiding in the shadows with Aaron’s lips on your neck. He’s kissed you a thousand times, pressing you up against the wall, stolen fragments in his office with the blinds drawn shut, away from prying eyes.

He’d wanted to apologise for it; to make up for it somehow. 

Except for you, there’s nothing to forgive him for.

He smiles to himself, saying, “I love you.”

A pause, and then, “I know.”

He stumbles at the open tenderness in your voice, back at your side within a second so he can lean down long enough to press a kiss against your temple. He only lingers for a moment, but there’s a faint curve to his lips as he’s leaving the room, knowing that he’ll be back in your arms before he knows it.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

A Life Lost in Time

A/N: I'm so sorry in advance. This is a sad one. I just can't get over the 'he promised me children' bit.

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Warnings: Main character death, childloss, infertility,

*This could be read in connection to Beyond Hope if you want a happy ending for this couple.

____________________________________________________________

Adar stood alone, cloaked in the deepening twilight, staring into the darkness of the rivers surrounding the elvish city. The winds carried a faint whisper, almost like a distant echo of voices long dead, warning him of what was to come. 

Eregion.

It’s fall was imminent, and he would be the one to see it burn- Sauron with it. Yet, even with the grim satisfaction of his enemies broken and his children safe, a heaviness hung in the air that he could not shake. He had fought for so long, carved his paths of pain through the centuries, yet the weight of a memory far more agonizing than any battle weighed on his mind. 

Aruvian. 

The name stirred within him like a half-remembered song. She had been the last one to use that name for him. Before he had become Adar. Before everything had changed. 

The present seemed to slip away as his thoughts drifted to a time when his heart had still known the light. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were sitting by the fire, staring into the flickering flames, pensive and deep in thought. You felt it before you heard his steps. The familiar presence within your fae, that of your husband Aruvian, approaching from behind. He sat beside you, his dark eyes filled with the same sorrow that had haunted you both for centuries. 

“I spoke to her again today,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, “The healer.” 

Aruvian’s hand gently found yours, his grip firm and warm “And?”

You turn your gaze to him, eyes brimming with tears. “There is nothing to be done meleth nin. She said it would take a miracle for us to bear a child,” 

A heavy silence filled the air. You had spent centuries trying to fill that silence- trying and failing to bring the life you both longed for into the world. 

You could feel Aruvian’s heart clench as he saw the weariness in your eyes, the shadow that had settled over you like a shadow. 

He knelt beside you, taking your hand in his. “We’ll find a way,” he said, though his voice lacked the conviction it once held. He had said those words too many times and both of you knew it. 

“We’ve tried everything,” you whispered, shaking your head. “There’s no hope left.”

Aruvian’s jaw tightened, but he forced a small smile. “There is always hope. I’ve heard talk of someone- a great sorcerer. They say he can do what no other can.” 

You looked at him, your eyes widening slightly. “A sorcerer? Aruvian you can’t mean-” 

“He is different,” he interrupted gently. “They say he can perform miracles. He can give us what we have always yearned for.”

You hesitate, glancing into the fire again. “What would he ask in return? Sorcerers… they never grant anything without asking something in return.” 

Aruvian’s hand tightened over yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Let me worry about that. You’ve suffered enough, and I can’t bear to see you in pain any longer. Please, my love, trust me.” 

Your gaze softened and after a long moment, you nodded. “I trust you,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. 

The journey had been long, taking you both to the edge of the world, to a place where the stars seemed to dim and the air grew colder with every step. The tower loomed before you like a jagged tooth against the darkened sky. As you stood before it, unease crept into your heart. 

Aruvian had been calm, resolute. He had always been your strength. He had always known what to do. 

When the sorcerer- Sauron, though at the time he did not reveal his name, appeared his presence was overwhelming. His eyes gleaned with ancient power and his red hair seemed to emit it’s own light. You felt small under his gaze, but Aruvian stood firm. 

“My wife and I seek your aid,” he said, his voice steady. “We desire a child. We have tried everything but none have succeeded.” 

Sauron’s eyes flickered toward you, lingering for a moment before looking back at Aruvian. “And you are prepared to continue, knowing my price?” 

Aruvian hesitated for only a second, though you did not see it- too busy working out what the price could be and how your husband would have already agreed to it. You did not hear the unspoken exchange between the two males- the one in which Aruvian silently offered his servitude, his loyalty, in exchange for the one thing you both desired above all else. 

“I know the cost,” he said, his voice low but firm. 

Sauron smiled- a cold, cruel smile that made your skin prickle. “Very well. You shall have what you seek.” 

The sorcerer’s magic had woven through the air like tendrils of ice touched shadows, creeping into your body and warping you from within. You felt it immediately- the dark energy coiling around your soul, reshaping you, twisting your flesh in ways that felt unnatural and wrong. But Aruvian had held you, whispering words of comfort in your ear, words of love and strength. 

And for a time, you believed him. 

________________________________

Adar snapped back to the present, his breath catching in his throat as the memory tore through him like a blade. His hands clenched into fists, and he forced himself to look once again toward Eregion. But the pain lingered, gnawing at him like a warg with a bone. 

You had trusted him. He had convinced you that it would all be worth it, that the suffering would pass, and soon you would hold your child in your arms. But the sorcerer’s magic had not been a blessing; it had been a curse. 

As the months passed, your body had weakened, twisted by the dark power that had been forced into you. You grew frail, sickly, and still, you clung to hope. But Adar had known, even then, that something was terribly wrong. He had seen the price you were paying and yet he said nothing. He had remained silent, too afraid to lose the chance he had bargained for. 

When the time came for the child to be born, your body had been too fragile to survive. Your screams of agony echoing through the cold, empty halls. You died there in that tower. Your final breath slipping away as the child- the one you so longed for- took its first and last.  

Adar had held your lifeless bodies in his arms, his heart shattered and soul broken. He had traded everything for a child, and in doing so, he had lost the one person who had meant the most to him. The one person who had trusted him, even when she shouldn’t have. 

_____________________________

The winds howled around him as Adar stood at the edge of the battlefield, his eyes cold and empty. Eregion would fall, and with it, the last remnants of the world he once knew. His servitude to Sauron had begun with a lie, and now, centuries later, he would finally end it for good. 

There were no more promises, no more bargains to be made. Only darkness remained. And Adar would see it through to the very end.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

INTERROGATION

dazai x reader

afab! reader

smut, minors DNI (ageless blogs will be blocked)

had a dream about this and had to write it. dazai gets you to talk the best way he knows how to

bondage, candle-play, overstimulation, slight dubcon

you had lost track of how long you had been on that bed.

he cuffed your hands above your head, attached to the bed frame. he left them just loose enough for you to squirm and struggle, but tight enough to draw the line at just that. the only thing he had bothered to cover were your eyes; the rest he had stripped bare. every touch felt like fire against your skin. your senses were heightened and every part of you was shaking. like a puppet on strings, he had left you helpless.

dazai reached out and traced a finger along your exposed skin, down your chest and dangerously close to the in-between on your thighs. he relished in the tremble that ran through your body, letting out a chuckle at your reactions. his breath slowly traced down your neck lower, lower, and lower. he made sure his lips abstained from contact- for now.

he continued to tease and touch you, enjoying your reactions. but even as he took pleasure in the moment, he never lost sight of what he needed from you.

"come on, angel, give me something. anything. i promise, i'll make it worth your while." he whispered into your ear, his tongue making the slightest contact with your neck. your head jerked back at the feeling, dazai ghosting his mouth over your neck and completing it with a heavy lick.

"fuck you." you grit your teeth. you were going to play this game. dazai could get anyone to talk, and you loved being the first to achieve things.

he chuckled. "stubborn little thing, aren't you?" he suddenly removed his contact, and you let out a breath of relief. luckily, your blindfold hid the ever-increasing hunger in his eyes. "i was almost hoping you’d hold out. lets see how long you can last when i do this…”

you suddenly feel a hot, liquid burn on your breasts. he must've lit a candle, letting it drip down you at an agonizingly slow pace. dazai's eyes observed with satisfaction as you gasped at the burning sensation. the flickering flame of the candle illuminated the room, casting dancing shadows that added to the intensity of the situation. but you were unaware, and could only focus on the mental games he played with you.

"poor thing, if only you had just talked….. this would all be over so soon." dazai teased you as you bit your lip. he continued to pour the hot wax down your body, moving down from your chest and to your thighs. he strategically avoided your most sensitive areas, for now. "i only save the best for last, angel."

dazai revelled in the power he had over you, watching the mix of pleasure and agony on your face. each droplet served as a testament to your willpower. he wanted to be impressed, but he knew he had more in for you.

after what felt like forever, you heard a clunk! on the table as he set down the candle. you gasped for air, the burning feeling lingering even after he finished. “i'm impressed, but we're just getting started."

“i-i’m not telling you shit.” you gasped.

"then don't." he slipped his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck. "i wanted to play with you more anyway.”

he moved his fingers in and out of your mouth, playing with your tongue and basking in the desperate noises you made. finally, he abruptly pulled out and left you to gasp. without warning, he pressed the two fingers to your clit. you cried out, feeling as he circled your folds before slowly spreading you out. he watched as your fluids ran down your pussy, admiring the sight as your wrists rattled furiously against the headboard.

slowly and deliberately, he pushed one finger inside of you. you screamed.

"how sensitive you are angel... i wonder what else i can do to you..”

he pushed two more fingers inside you, admiring how you dripped around him. your walls clung to his fingers as he slowly moved in and out of you. you felt everything, every inch of him as he fingered you at a torturous pace.

"its almost like you're enjoying this.. come on, tell me what i need to know angel.”

he grabs a chunk of your hair and yanks it, forcing your head to tilt. his tongue meets the skin of your neck once more as the pace of his fingers begins to increase. your body is on fire, your pussy clenches around his fingers as he drags his tongue down to your collarbone. his mouth finally reaches your breast, taking your nipple into his mouth. he sucks the sensitive bud, rolling it between his teeth before moving to the other side of your chest and repeating.

dazai moves in a messy pattern, licking and biting down all over your breasts as his other hand works diligently on your clit. your reaching your limit, but he isn't even close to being done. your wrists rattle against the cuffs as your legs shake like an earthquake had occurred.

"my my angel... are you ready to speak for me?"

he grabs your chin and forces you to face upwards. his thumb drags your lower lip down, daring you to talk for him. you want to spill your guts, to tell him everything. but right now your mind is blank, only focusing on the sweet nectar that dripped down your thighs. your speechless.

all is still for a moment.

that is, until you feel his the tip of his cock tease your folds.

you want to scream but he slaps his hand over your mouth, subduing your moans.

dazai drags the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, daring to push himself inside. you hands clutch the cuffs as you moan against his hand.

"awh, my poor little slut wants to talk now?" he leans in, whispering into your ear.

"too fucking late."

you feel him slowly, agonizingly slowly push his cock inside of you. you scream a moan against his hand as he begins to fuck into your pussy. he pounds into you with no mercy, the sound of slapping and your gagged moans fill the room.

your mind is completely blank. the feeling of his cock pulling out all the way before slamming right back into you is all you can comprehend. dazai fucks you with a savage hunger, gripping your hips as drives his cock inside of you ruthlessly. he lets his hand off from your mouth, allowing you to scream and moan to your heart’s content.

"such a good fucking slut you are.. taking my cock for me so well. beg more. beg for more." he commands.

"f-fuck, fuck. please. please, please." you cry out, forgetting how to speak entirely.

dazai grips the blindfold and pulls it off from you, allowing him to make eye contact with you for the first time.

he looks down at your body. covered in wax, breasts bouncing, wrists tied and your pussy full of him.

"lets interrogate you further, shall we?"

[cursedlovesstuff]

Fixing Us. Part 1.

Y/N found herself stuck in a relentless routine.

Each passing day seemed to blur into the next, a disheartening repetition of Nat's absence and Y/N's solitary dinners.

As the hours ticked by, Y/N couldn't shake the gnawing suspicion that Nat's late nights were more than just work obligations.

Despite her longing for connection, Y/N's attempts to bridge the growing chasm between her and Nat fell on deaf ears.

The once vibrant bond they shared now felt like a distant memory, leaving Y/N feeling adrift in a sea of loneliness.

Determined to reclaim her sense of self-worth, Y/N went out on a journey of self-discovery.

Early morning jogs and a part-time job designing clothes provided a temporary distraction, but it was the tattoos that became her solace.

Venturing out with friends offered a fleeting escape from the monotony of her daily life.

Tonight was one of these nights where Y/N met Carol.

There was something familiar about her, a warmth that drew Y/N in like a moth to a flame.

Y/N was sitting at the bar watching others dance while stirring her drink with her straw.

"Do you usually come to bars just to watch others dance?" a voice says, making Y/N look up, shaking her head.

"I thought this was a lounge," Y/N says, smiling a bit.

"It's both," Carol says, putting her hand out for Y/N to shake while saying her name.

"Carol."

Y/N looks at Carol's hand before shaking it, saying, "Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you again, Y/N."

"Likewise."

The pair had met before a few times at some old work events and ran into each other a few weeks ago at this same lounge.

"I don't want to sound rude, but you used to work at SHIELD, right?" Carol asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Y/N nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, I did. But I left a few years ago," she replied, her voice tinged with regret.

"Why did you leave?"

"I wanted to start a new chapter of my life, and it just wasn't the right fit anymore."

Carol's gaze lingered on Y/N, a silent understanding passing between them. "I can imagine it must have been a difficult decision," she remarked, her tone sympathetic.

Y/N shrugged, a pang of longing tugging at her heart. "It was. But sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the ones you love, even if they aren't willing to do the same for you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carol nodded, understanding. As it got a bit quiet, Y/N said, "So what brings the great Captain Marvel here?"

"So you do know who I am," Carol replied, amused.

"Maybe."

"How come you never spoke?"

"I was shy and newlywed. My main focus was on work and getting home to my wife. I didn't have time back then."

"Wife, huh?"

"Natasha," Y/N says, taking a sip of her drink.

"Nat's married?" Carol asks, a bit shocked.

"Surprisingly yes, but she seems to forget that a lot."

"Just to be clear, you mean Romanoff, right? And you're still married?" Carol questions.

"Four years," Y/N says, halfway flashing her ring before saying, "probably not for much longer anyway."

Carol notices Y/N's mood change before asking Y/N if she would like to dance. Y/N is hesitant before she says yes, gently grasping the hand Carol put out for her to grab as she pulled her to the dance floor.

As carol pulled y/n through the crowd of sweety bodys they found themselves in the middle of the dance floor.

"Do you know this song?" Carol asks to which y/n shakes her head no.

"Iv never heard it"

"Good just let your body move to the beat follow me".

There wasn't any rush or anything; the two were just having fun like only friends. Carol even spun Y/N a few times. The time seemed to fly by; what only felt like an hour of dancing turned out to be three as the two made their way back to the bar to get some water. They arrived at the same time as Nat.

"Y/N," Nat asks, surprised to see her wife.

"Hi, Nat," Y/N replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Nat's gaze flickered between Y/N and Carol, a hint of jealousy flashing in her eyes before she turned her attention back to Y/N. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, though her heart raced with apprehension. "Just out for a drink with friends," she replied, her eyes darting between Nat and Carol.

"Where are your friends?" Nat asked, slightly looking around.

"Lilly went home, and Esther is still dancing, so I'm with my new friend Carol," Y/N answered back.

"I didn't know you were friends with Carol," Nat said.

"You don't know all my friends," Y/N responded.

Nat didn't take Y/N's nonchalant yet sassy tone lightly.

"Then why are you at a bar you hate bars and clubs"

"Its also a lounge" y/n says.

"Its both"carol says making y/n smile as she turned her head to look at carol. Nat noticed this and she didn't like it.

As she eyed carol she gently grabbed Y/N's cup out of her hand, sitting it down, and grabbing Y/N's hand before looking at Carol.

"Excuse me; I think it's time my wife and I head home."

Before Y/N or Carol could say anything, Nat practically dragged Y/N to the front door, only being able to give Carol an apologetic look as she and Nat made it to the front of the bar but stopped at a table.

"Sorry I have to leave early,theres something y/n and i need to discuss"

As the team looks at Y/N, saying their hi's.

"You look beautiful, Lady Y/N," Thor says, making Y/N smile a bit while saying thank you

"Are you sure you don't want to stay drinks are on me" tony says as everyone at the table cheers.

"Yeah you guys should totally stay"carol says, which makes Nat only drag Y/N along further out of the bar after saying they couldnt towards the car.

Halfway there, Y/N finally gets out of Nat's grip.

"What is wrong with you, Nat, dragging me out of the bar like a psychopath?"

"What is wrong with Y/N being out this late at night by yourself?"

"I wasn't by myself."

"You know what I mean; I'm taking you home. End of discussion," Nat says, raising her voice a bit.

"No," Y/N says finally putting her foot down.

"What did you just say?" Nat asks.

"I said no," Y/N said before saying, "I'm going to go back into that bar and order me another shot and then another, and I'm going to have fun".

"You can have fun tomorrow when its bright outside and there are less drunk people there"

"I can protect myself natasha"

"Can you? Can you really because its been four years since you were an agent and had any type of training"

"Yeah and whos fault is that because it's not mine"

"What"

"You heard me your Your the reason that i quit being an agent your the reason why i havent trained in four years"

"because you got hurt on a mission,due to not being able to tell friend from foe"nat says making y/n scoff.

"Im perfectly capable from telling friends from foe"

"Then can you tell if carol your friend or just someone who wants to sleep with you"nat says without thinking making y/n feel hurt.

"What i can tell is that your being a dick,just because you have one doesn't mean you have to be one"

Y/n says walking backwards towards the bar saying"You can go home by yourself."y/n says turning around and walking towards the bar.

Its not long after she hears nat say" I'm going home, you're coming with me."

Before y/n knew it she was lifted off of her feet and thrown over someone's shoulder,nats shoulder.

Y/N truly forgot how strong nat was well...is.

"Put me down natasha"

Y/n says smacking nats back trying to get her to let go,but nat dosen't respond to it.

So y/n smacks nats back and butt harder in response nat hit y/n's butt hard enough to make her yelp and jump.

Nat tightens her grip so that she doesn't drop y/n,but there is no doubt that it will leave a mark in the morning.

"That isn't very nice is it?"nat asks but y/n doesn't respond she only continues to try and get out of nats grip.

Eventually y/n gives up realizing there is nothing she can do to get nat to let go.

Nat carries Y/N to the car, gently putting her down in the front seat, buckling her seat belt.

Before slamming the front door and walking around and getting in and closing the door.

[lanawrx]

Getting Caught in the Rain with Johnny Joestar

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

Johnny Joestar had never been a man to believe in fate. But the moment he saw you back in San Diego, something in him stirred. It wasn’t just the way you walked through the bustling streets of the town, or how your eyes seemed to linger on things with a thoughtful kind of curiosity—it was something else, something unspoken. And Johnny couldn’t quite shake it, even now.

He was still a paraplegic at that point, still figuring out how to navigate the world from his horse, Slow Dancer. That was where he’d been when he caught sight of you, watching from a distance. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to talk to you, to be close enough to see those thoughtful eyes up close. But the Steel Ball Run wasn’t a place for lingering.

Now, miles from San Diego and separated from Gyro after an ambush, Johnny found himself lost in the rugged plains, dusk creeping over the horizon. Slow Dancer trotted slowly, the weight of exhaustion heavy on both of them. Then, through the trees, a flicker of light—someone had set up camp.

As he rode closer, he saw you. You were kneeling by a small fire, eyes soft with focus as you added a few more branches to the flames. Johnny’s heart quickened. Of all the places, of all the nights, it had to be you.

“Hey,” Johnny called softly, his Kentucky accent creeping in as it always did when he felt unsure of himself. “Mind if I… join you for a while?”

You looked up, your gaze settling on him. Recognition flickered in your eyes, followed by a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

“Joestar, right?” you asked, rising to your feet. “You can rest here. I’ve got enough room for one more.”

Johnny nodded gratefully, easing himself off Slow Dancer and settling on the ground with an ungraceful thud. He looked over at you to see if you noticed. Part of him expected a look of pity or an offer of help. You did neither, just spared him a quick glance and rose a brow, as if to ask if he's got it. He sent you a reassuring nod, grateful that you didn't think of him as helpless.

Another part of him was slightly disappointed you didn't get all worked up over making sure he was okay.

You offered him a spot closer to the fire, and he gladly took it, feeling the warmth seep into his weary bones. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the crackle of the fire and the distant rustle of leaves filling the air. He glanced at you, noticing how the flames danced in your eyes, casting shadows that highlighted the soft curves of your face.

“You always camp alone?” Johnny asked, trying to keep his tone casual, though his voice held a gentle curiosity.

“Most of the time,” you replied, your voice steady and calm. “It’s quieter that way, and safer when you’re not looking after someone else.”

Johnny chuckled softly. “Guess you’re right. Ain’t many guys out here looking to make friends.”

A pause settled between you two, the kind of quiet that was comfortable, not forced. Johnny looked down at his hands, the roughness of his knuckles a stark contrast to the softness he imagined when he thought of you. He’d never been one to easily talk about his feelings, but there was something about this moment, about you, that made him feel a little braver.

“I saw you back in San Diego,” Johnny said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t get the chance to say hello then.”

You smiled, glancing over at him. “I remember seeing you too. You were with that other guy—Zeppeli, right?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah, Gyro’s… well, he’s something. But I'm not used to being around guys like him. He’s loud, always tryin’ to prove something You’re different.”

Your brow lifted slightly, your curiosity piqued by his words. “Different how?”

Johnny hesitated, his fingers tracing the lines of his palm. “I don’t know, just… quieter, I guess. But not in a bad way. It’s like you’re thinking about things, not just actin’ all the time.”

The campfire crackled louder as the wind began to pick up, and suddenly, there was a soft patter in the distance. It took a moment, but the first drop hit Johnny’s shoulder, and before long, the sky opened up. Rain began to fall in a gentle, steady rhythm, tapping against the ground in harmony with the stillness of the moment.

"Ah, shit." You muttered, jumping to your feet and shuffling through your supplies.

You scrambled to pull a tarp over the fire, protecting it from the sudden downpour. Johnny, still sitting there, felt a strange kind of peace despite the rain. He watched as you worked, admiring the ease with which you moved, your every action graceful and purposeful.

Once the tarp was secure, you sat down beside him again, closer this time, the rain drumming lightly on the fabric overhead. Johnny could feel the warmth of your body next to his, could smell the faint scent of rain mixed with the earth. He glanced at you, your face so close, and his heart thudded louder than the rain.

“Guess we’re stuck here for a bit,” you said with a small laugh, your voice a little softer, the rain making everything feel more intimate.

Johnny’s mouth went dry as he swallowed hard. “Yeah, looks like it.”

The rain wasn’t stopping anytime soon, and Johnny wasn’t sure if it was the rain or his nerves, but he found himself leaning a little closer, just enough to brush his arm against yours. You didn’t pull away.

“Y’know,” Johnny began, his voice low, “I never thought I’d be the kind of guy to find someone like you out here. There aren't many things that surprise me anymore.”

You turned to him, your gaze meeting his. “What do you mean?”

He let out a breath, the words hanging heavy on his tongue. “I mean, I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. Lost a lot too. But there’s something about you. Ever since I saw you, I ain’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you.”

Your eyes softened, and Johnny felt a surge of vulnerability. He wasn’t the smoothest talker, but he knew this feeling wasn’t something he could just ignore.

“Johnny…” you began, your voice carrying a note of tenderness.

Before you could say more, the rain began to fall harder, drowning out the world around you. But there, under the tarp, with the rain all around, Johnny felt like he’d finally found something worth holding onto.

Before Johnny could muster a reply, his attention was yanked away by the sound of a familiar voice echoing through the rain.

"JOHNNY!" Gyro's voice cut through the pattering downpour, a mix of urgency and frustration. "Where the hell are you, Johnny?!"

Johnny sighed, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turned toward the sound of Gyro’s call. “Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand across his face. Of course Gyro would show up now, just when things were starting to get… well, something.

You smiled softly, sensing his frustration but not taking it personally. “Looks like your friend’s found you,” you said, your voice light despite the interruption. There was a tenderness in your tone that Johnny picked up on, something that made his heart squeeze just a bit tighter in his chest.

Johnny sighed again, this time with a half-hearted smile as he looked over at you. “Yeah. He’s got a knack for showin’ up at the wrong time.”

“Johnny!” Gyro’s voice called again, closer this time, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. In seconds, the flamboyant Italian came into view, his clothes soaked from the rain. He stopped short when he saw the two of you sitting together under the tarp. A knowing grin spread across his face despite the situation.

“Nyohoho~! There you are!” Gyro exclaimed, hands on his hips as he took in the sight of Johnny and you huddled close under the small shelter. “You gettin' cozy without me?”

Johnny shot him a deadpan look. “Don’t start, Gyro.”

But Gyro was already enjoying himself too much. He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “So this is what happens when I leave you alone for five minutes, huh? Find yourself a nice companion while I’m out searching for you in the rain?”

You chuckled, the sound light and amused, though Johnny could feel the heat creeping up his neck. “It’s not what you think,” Johnny muttered, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

“Oh, sure,” Gyro teased, winking at you. “Don’t mind him—he gets all shy when he likes someone.”

Johnny shot Gyro a glare, though the Kentucky drawl in his voice softened as he mumbled, “You’re gonna make me regret tellin’ you anything.”

You laughed again, this time more openly, and Johnny found himself relaxing a bit despite Gyro’s relentless teasing. The rain continued to fall in steady sheets, drumming against the tarp above you. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just the three of you under the flimsy shelter.

“You should sit,” you said, motioning for Gyro to join the small camp. “No sense in standing out there gettin’ drenched.”

Gyro’s grin softened as he wiped the rain from his brow and plopped down beside you. “Well, I won’t say no to that.” He settled in, glancing between you and Johnny with a knowing look. “So… did I interrupt somethin’ important?”

Johnny glanced at you, his heart pounding a little harder than he’d like to admit. “Maybe.”

You smiled softly, meeting his gaze. “Maybe,” you echoed, your voice gentle, leaving a quiet promise hanging in the air.

For the first time in a long while, Johnny felt something other than the ache of what he’d lost. There, under the rain, with you beside him and Gyro grinning like a fool, Johnny felt the tiniest spark of hope flicker to life.

And maybe that was enough for now.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

[feasibilities]

Office Hours - Dr. Oppenheimer x Graduate Student!Reader (Part 1)

Synopsis: Dr. Oppenheimer begins a torrid affair with his star pupil.

Warnings: Teacher/Student Relationship, Smut, Cheating, Sexism, Dub-Con

Author's Note: I'm writing a lengthy 2nd part to this so enjoy!

On the first day of his graduate quantum physics course, Dr. Oppenheimer was surprised to see a beautiful young woman waiting at the door of his classroom. He was even more surprised by your contributions during class. The dismissals of your all-male classmates when did little to discourage you when you were clearly the apple of his eye. You always made sure to pick the seat closest to the chalkboard. His TA noticed his forlorn disposition on the day you missed class. As a married man, he felt guilty about the giddy way you made him feel. Feeling explorative, you decided to visit his office hours.

“Good afternoon.” You piped, interrupting his grading.

“Hi, I wasn’t expecting anyone. Students aren’t interested in meeting on Friday afternoons.” He said inquisitively.

“Well, I have nothing planned.” You replied, sitting in the chair in front of his desk. He made a quick glance at your cleavage before retrieving your folder from the file cabinet. A perplexed expression formed on his face as he reviewed your assignments.

“You have an A in this course. What do you need help with exactly?” He inquired.

“Can I complete extra credit and make it an A+?” You quipped.

“I don’t give out extra credit.” He said plainly. Growing annoyed with his contrived naïveté, you stood up and kissed him earnestly. You pulled away and scribbled your address on a blank sheet of paper. A dumbfounded Robert was left to watch you walk out of his classroom. 

—

Robert considered trashing the bottle of wine he bought and bolting to his car when he knocked on your front door. Before he could react, you opened the door to reveal your sheer baby pink négligée. The lacy material did little to cover the beauty he daydreamed about. Robert cleared his throat and waited for you to invite him inside. Huffing to yourself, you pulled him inside. 

“You made the time to come here so stop being so damn polite.” You reprimanded.  He handed you the bottle and hung his jacket on the rack.  

“Sit.” You ordered. You poured wine for yourself and patted the couch seat next to you. He followed your direction with a skittish look on his face. 

“What are you so nervous about?” You asked.

“I’ve never met a woman as…forward as you.” He faltered. 

“Mhm.” You hummed, downing the wine in one go. His heartbeat spiked when your hand moved up his thigh. He was embarrassingly hard by this point so there was no reason to deprive himself of a good time. His slender fingers tugged the silk bow of your négligée loose. He planted a gentle kiss right above your collarbone. You undid some of the buttons on his shirt and slid your hand underneath. The warmth of his skin stoked the flames burning in your lower abdomen. You climbed onto his lap and kissed him harshly.

In a daze, you managed to undo his belt. He could barely get his pants down his thighs before you were sheathed on his length. Your breathing synchronized with his as you tried to control yourself. Cradling his head, you bounced slowly and occasionally let out soft mewls. Robert’s arms snaked around you while he buried his face in your bosom. His eyes flickered closed as he took in the redolent scent of your perfume. Speeding up, your skin began to stick to his. You mixed in a rocking motion that stimulated your g-spot.

“Look at me, Robert…” You cooed. His prepossessing blue eyes opened to a similarly enchanting sight. Your hair had become disheveled and a thin layer of sweat made you glow in the soft light of the living room. Your lips were puffy from constant stimulation. Approaching your peak, you pressed your forehead against his as your moans grew louder. His hands found your hips when he felt that he was close as well. You sang his praises as you finished together. 

[nylpad]

EMBERS

Warnings: Emotional content,Cultural themes

Author: Seeing as my last Zuko post did great I thought I'd make another one as per @chevysstuffs 's request.

The sun dipped low over Ember Island, casting a warm glow on the white sands and the gentle waves that lapped at the shore. It was the kind of evening that invited quiet reflection, and for Zuko, it was a welcome respite from the demands of his princely duties.

You, on the other hand, had come to the island seeking solace from the bustling life of the capital. As fate would have it, your path crossed with the prince's on this serene beach, away from the prying eyes of the court.

"Enjoying the sunset?" Zuko's voice broke the silence, his figure approaching with a grace that belied his usual intensity.

You turned, surprised to find him alone. "Yes, it's beautiful here."

He nodded, sitting beside you. "I used to come here to think, to escape. But now," he paused, looking at you, "it feels different."

The conversation flowed as easily as the tide, and with each word, the distance between prince and commoner seemed to blur. Laughter mingled with the sea breeze, and for a moment, the world was perfect.

Days turned into weeks, and your acquaintance with Zuko deepened. The palace hosted a grand ball, and though you felt out of place among the nobility, Zuko's invitation was impossible to refuse.

The ballroom was aglow with firebenders' flames, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Zuko extended his hand, and you accepted, stepping into the rhythm of the music.

As you danced, his gaze never wavered from yours, and in the flickering light, you saw not a prince, but a young man with hopes and fears. The connection between you was undeniable, a spark that threatened to ignite into something more.

It was on a quiet evening in the royal gardens that Zuko's true feelings surfaced. The fireflies danced around, mirroring the nervous energy that Zuko exuded.

"I've been meaning to tell you something," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "These past weeks, getting to know you, have been the happiest of my life."

Your heart raced, anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

"I care for you, more than I thought possible," he confessed, his golden eyes searching yours for a reaction.

The words hung between you, a delicate truth that held the power to change everything.

This is just the beginning of their story, a tale of unexpected romance and personal discovery. If you'd like to continue this journey, let me know, and I can write the next chapters, weaving a narrative that captures the essence of a blossoming love between Zuko and the reader.

The days that followed were filled with stolen moments and secret glances. Zuko, once a prince bound by duty and honor, found himself yearning for the freedom to love openly. You, who had always been just a face among the many in the palace, now held the heart of the Fire Nation's heir.

One evening, as the wind whispered through the gardens, Zuko took your hand and led you to the edge of the palace, where the view of the volcano met the starry sky.

"I've never felt this way before," he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his lineage. "With you, I'm just Zuko, not the prince, not the firebender—just me."

You smiled, your hand squeezing his. "And I'm just me, not an attendant, not a subject—just a person who sees you for who you truly are."

The promise of tomorrow hung in the air, a future where titles and roles would not define your bond.

The annual Fire Nation Festival was a spectacle of lights, colors, and celebration. It was a night when the entire nation came together, and for Zuko, it was an opportunity to show you his world.

As fireworks painted the sky, Zuko's eyes were fixed on you, the reflection of the vibrant explosions dancing in your gaze. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that sealed your intertwined fates.

The crowd erupted in cheers, oblivious to the union of two souls amidst the revelry. It was a moment of pure magic, a testament to the power of love that knows no bounds.

Time passed, and with each day, the connection between you and Zuko grew stronger. The palace walls, once a barrier, now served as the foundation for a love that defied convention.

On the night of the first snowfall, Zuko stood before you, a look of determination in his eyes. "I don't know what the future holds," he said, "but I know I want you in it."

You reached out, your fingers tracing the scar that marked his past. "And I'll be there, through every challenge, every victory."

It was a vow made not with words, but with hearts that beat as one, a silent promise to face the world together.

[trashmouth-richie]

Series summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

ch 1: FLICKER

ch 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

ch 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THR REDLIGHTS

chapter summary: flashbacks provide some insight on our favorite metalhead.

chapter trigger warnings: 18+ only, character death, references to child neglect, upside down references, poor parenting practices, etc, blood, character death, killer reveal.

CH. 4: FAMILY VALUES

1974

The tires on Evil Kneivel’s Stunt Bike trudged through the familiar path of the bare thread carpet in the back bedroom of trailer 8 in Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie was on his stomach, ignoring the rumbling noise from the hollow emptiness in his belly, he pressed his lips together to vibrate a motorcycle sound through his mouth, casually blowing dark curls from his vision. 

An annoyed huff echoed across the thin walls, “This is boring,” Billy snarled, he was laying flat on Eddie’s bed, feet on the wall, throwing up his stretch Armstrong to himself before tossing it across the room, landing with a splat on the broken closet door. 

Eddie pushed himself up from the carpet, the fibers itching through the holes in his jeans and scratching his knees. 

He shrugs, running his tongue through the gap of his latest pulled tooth, “wanna see my guitar?” 

“No,” Billy huffed, his thumb nail catching along the ridges of the zippo lighter he had stolen from Melvalds, lighting a small flame that he quickly extinguished with the flip of the lid. “I wanna do something fun.”

“Alright then, genius,” Eddie scowls, sitting next to Billy on the brown and burgundy ripped threads of an afghan blanket, “what do you have in mind?” 

Billy swings his feet around, landing with ease and standing before his friend, the smirk on Billy’s face was one Eddie knew all too well. 

—

Neil and Al didn’t hear the boys sneak out from the back room, too drunk and elbow deep in “work” to notice their sons had pushed the screen outward and hopped down to the ground. 

“The instructions are clear, Al,” Neil said, his mouth around a can of Pabst, scrubbing a dirty thumbnail through his eyebrow, “here let me see that.” 

Al blows a cloud of smoke into the air, handing over the poorly written note on the back of the Hideout napkin, clad with ketchup stains and spilled coffee. “Don’t know how you can even read this shit.”

“I can read that’s how I can read it dumb fuck,” Neil snapped, grabbing the napkin from him, he looks over the scratchy pen marks, pointing at the instructions again, “see right there, Creel laid it all out for us.” 

“Okay wise ass, but it doesn’t make sense. How the hell are we supposed to break int- into that place without anyone seeing us?” Al puts the butt of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, blowing smoke around the side of his mouth. “It’s under surveillance and the guards are armed.” 

“The guards are armed.” Neil mocks, “Jesus Christ you sound just like a woman, how many cars have we boosted?”

“That’s different, easy. Breaking into a secret government lab? This is above our pay grade, and your skill level.” 

“Yeah and your big brains are why you got fired from the mill right?” 

“Shit,” Al downplays, “they didn’t pay worth a damn, boosting and dealin’ keep my pockets lined just fine.” 

“If only it was enough to keep Liz around right?”

“Don’t say that bitch’s name in this house, I’ll slit your throat and use it for an ashtray, Hargrove.” 

“Ahh shit,” Neil quips, “don’t get your panties wadded up, but back to this,” he says waving the napkin around, “the tunnels, that’s our way in.” 

—-

Eddie’s van is barreling down the highway like a bat out of hell. Nancy hasn’t stopped crying, slowly wiping her tears, with the front of her shirt, sniffling every so often. 

You’re grief stricken, numb to whatever the hell just happened, and what those things even were— and to top it all off, Eddie somehow knows?

Steve is leaning on the center console between you and Eddie, back seat driving and giving him directions on how to get to his house. 

At first Eddie had thought about going to his trailer, he knew his dad and Wayne kept their rifles in the back shed, but decided against it at the last minute, hollering over his shoulder for anyone having an idea of where to go. 

How safe could he keep everyone if his house was bordering on enemy lines? 

—-

1983

The Hargrove’s house was nestled on Cherry. Older but comfortable, a damn sight better than the paper thin walls of the trailer, and the soggy couch that reeked of spilt beer. 

Billy was going on and on about his girlfriends, yes plural. The blonde haired Gina or was it Jenny? And Tanya, the rich one who lived by Steve Harrington. 

Junior year was different for the boys, where Billy excelled in popularity with the jocks being a basketball star, Eddie fell into a different crowd, the Hellfire Club.  

They were still friends, still causing trouble on nights you couldn’t hang out, Billy now refusing entirely to hang out with Eddie when you were around, which you weren’t complaining about. 

Eddie takes another swig of Mt. Dew and continues drawing a rogue for one of the older guys, Nico, in Hellfire. He was only half listening to the way Billy was describing the differences between the girls, body type mostly. 

“If you want in on the action big boy just let me know, Gina loves hearing Metallica play when we steam up the windows in my car if ya know what I mean,” the cigarette hanging limply from his lips wiggled as he spoke, sending ashes down to his black converse. 

Eddie immediately thought of you. He wasn’t sure of his feelings when it came to you but he wondered if you’d be weirded out that Billy was planning to get him a date. How would you feel if he went out with some chick?

The idea of you kissing someone made his stomach turn, and not in a butterfly way. 

Instead of listening to Billy bitch about how much he can’t stand you and how you’re holding Eddie back he just went along with it, “yeah man, sounds good.” 

“Sounds good?” Billy questions, racking the weights he was lifting with a thud, checking his traps in his reflection, shooting a look over his shoulder, “I’m trying to get you laid, dude.” 

Eddie looks up from his seated position in the corner of Billy’s room, his fingers were silvery from shading the lines of his drawing, pinked eraser rubberings littered the front of his new Metallica shirt. “Yeah man, I’m down, what’s her number.” 

Eddie wrote the number on the corner of his paper, barely registering what else Billy was saying, his mind wandering to what kind of shit his dad was up to this time. 

Al was home for a longer stretch than normal this time, but he seemed to spend every waking minute at the Hargrove’s.

Eddie wasn’t dumb enough to think that his dad actually wanted to hangout with him. 

Oh no, Al Munson had his priorities whenever he came back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, and seeing his only son wasn't the top of the list. 

He went to the bar first, picking out the waitress with zero confidence, saying all the right things and tipping her just enough to make her think she was really something. When her shift was over, he’d bring her to a sleazy by-the-hour motel, giving her the ol’ Munson magic and then, when she was in the shower or cleaning up in the bathroom, he’d bolt. Driving to the nearest gas station casino and spending whatever money the waitress had in her purse. 

He’d finally crawl back to Wayne’s when he was bone dry, claiming he was home “for good this time!” And how he, “just wanted to hangout with my boy!” 

Turns out the “hanging out” was going over to Neil’s and getting shitfaced drunk, bringing Eddie to tag along, to prove to his brother that he was a good dad. He failed to mention that Eddie would end up locked in Billy’s room until dawn. 

So no, getting laid wasn’t on Eddie’s mind right now. 

“I told Tommy H to leave you alone, told him I’d fuck his girlfriend again if I caught wind of him messing with you.” Billy said, shoving his chest out proudly. Maybe if he helped Eddie spread his wings, he’d stop getting picked on, but in Billy’s eyes, Eddie brought alot of it on himself sticking up for those fucking nerds he always hung out with. 

The Hargrove kitchen table was covered in the same paperwork they always were when Al came over. Weird haikus, and riddles that were partly solved, a timeline of when and where everything needed to take place, and lastly, a complete blueprint of Lonnie Byers’ house. 

Everything was just about set in stone, the only thing the men couldn’t figure out is why Creel had decided that it had to be Lonnie’s son as the baited sacrifice. And whenever they asked, Creel would say the same thing, “an eye for an eye.” 

—

1986

“Right here,” Steve said, pointing his hand in Eddie’s face and out the window to his big behemoth of a house. 

The kind of house that belonged to a homeowners society, telling you when, where, and how to water and mow your grass. Not the type of neighborhood that housed the brown piece of shit on wheels that was arriving into the Harrington driveway at record speeds. 

Steve fumbled with the door and had to pry Nancy away from the van, she was petrified, her body shaking and tense, beneath his arm. 

Eddie turns to you, tapping you gently on the shoulder and when you don’t move he guides your chin towards him, his heart breaking at the sight of your tear filled eyes. 

“I’m gonna keep you safe, okay?” His eyes were large and the worry on his face only made you more scared, but he tried to put on a brave face for you, “c’mon, we gotta get inside.” 

Steve’s home was decorated with expensive paintings and gold fixtures. The kind of decor that wasn't available at a mall but ordered from some lavish designer in New York. The living room had vacuum lines in the carpet, as if it were never used. The wood floors in the foyer sparkled from the overhead chandelier, it was a catalog home, looking as if it were staged for a photo 

shoot rather than people actually living in it. 

Nancy’s cries echoed loudly around the empty Harrington home, Steve scooped her up like an infant and carried her down the carpeted steps to the open basement. 

Eddie still wasn’t acting like himself, his eyes were clouded over with something you couldn’t pinpoint, plagued with grief? But you felt reassured when his fingers curled into the spaces between yours as you followed Steve and Nancy to the basement. 

—

NOVEMBER 9, 1983

“You working tonight?” Eddie asks at your locker, ringed fingers working over the corners of a Polaroid of you and him last summer when he tried to teach you how to skateboard. One of his favorite memories. 

“Nope,” you answer from deep inside your locker, looking for the crumbled history notes you swore you still had for todays test, emerging from the locker and hitting your head on the way out, “ow fuck! Nah I’m off tonight, Don closed since Joyce’s son has been gone, why what’s up?” 

Eddie shuts your locker and shifts his worn notebook to his other hand, “it’s Wednesday, the Hawk has free popcorn, thought maybe we could see a movie?”

It wasn’t weird for two friends to go to a movie together, you and Eddie had done it multiple times. Completely casual. Even if the heat from his fingers bumping against yours sent flutters to your stomach and he quickly moved his hand like you were a snake that had bit him, a blush forming on his cheeks. 

“What time?”

“I dunno, seven? Pick ya up at 6:30, that way we can stop and get snacks to sneak some snacks in to go with our free popcorn.” 

His boyish grin was the same from when you were kids, dimple dipped cheeks, and the darkest eyes twinkling with mischievous glee.

The door to Mr. Stanley’s Chem 210 was open and you stopped before going in the classroom to give Eddie your answer, “fine, but I want twizzlers.” 

—

“What the hell do you mean it’s not enough? We did exactly what you said, solved each fucking riddle!” 

The weathered boards of the Creel House groan as a screaming gust of wind slaps loud against the old home, the late winter storm rattled the wooden foundation and pelted the window panes with ice, pinging loudly with each large gale that forced its way through the cracks of the poorly maintained home.

A small fire crackled in the sunken fireplace, wafting dark plumes of smoke into the living room and ashing soot onto the cobweb covered furniture. 

“He makes the rules, I do not, I am simply a messenger, a ves—,” a tattered mitten hand cups around his mouth, acting as a poor excuse for a shield against a barking, wet cough. Lungs burning with each wheeze of oxygen leaving. He clears his throat when the fit is over, wiping his mouth with a moth bitten scarf around his sagging neck, leaving blood behind, “..vessel, I don’t make the rules, Neil.” 

“A what?” Al quizzes, shifting uncomfortably from his left leg to his right, “we delivered that kid exactly where you told us to! The whole town thinks he’s dead! Hawkins PD put out the report last night that a body was found by the quarry.” 

Creel pokes the fire with the blunt end of his cane, crumbling a reddened log into pieces, adding a wadded mass of newspaper, the face of Will Byers’ missing poster front and center, his cherub smile warping with the heated flame. 

“The boy is hiding somewhere. The creatures can not find him, he is convinced that there is help from our side.” 

“Impossible,” Al scoffed, rubbing the cold of his nose on his sleeve, “I just talked to Chief Hopper at the Hideaway last night, and according to him it’s a closed case, Lonnie and his former ol lady were making funeral arrangements.” 

“What you hear, and what you see, seem different ways to hold the key.”

“Enough with the psychological bullshit!” Neil yelled throwing his beer across the living room, “tell us what he needs from us.” 

The blackened tooth smile creeps onto Creel’s face his red chapped lips split and bleed, and he holds back his cough just long enough to whispers the same fallacy he was given only hours before, in another dimension identical to this one. 

“A son.” 

—

The wind was ripping snow across the streets of Hawkins. The windshield wipers on Eddie’s van had frozen in place, stopping half way in the middle of the windshield, the shitty wipers no match against the freezing, winter rain. 

You were certain that the seat belt in the passenger seat had never been used before tonight, but Eddie was insistent that you wore it, foregoing his own with a you’re kidding right? look. The whites of your knuckles shine bright with each overhead street lamp that dances lazily on the windshield, and Eddie looks over with a laugh.

“Almost there Pebs,” he mumbles, his mouth snug around the filter of a cigarette, a half smirk on his lips, “don’t worry.” 

The storm foiled more plans than just good driving conditions, apparently The Hawk had closed earlier that day when the windchill dipped down to the negatives, Sal ensuring that his employees had plenty of time to get home before the weather took a turn for the worst. Thankfully Family Video was still open, and Eddie’s trailer was empty for the night, save for a couple of beers in the fridge and the heat from an electric blanket. Apparently the manager of Family Video didn’t give a fuck about the roads, neither did the factory. 

You and Eddie were met with the rolling eyes of Steve Harrington as you two shoved each other out of the way to get into the door first, bringing with you a cold gust of wind and chattering teeth.  After securing The Poltergeist and two boxes of peanut M&M’s, you and Eddie were tucked into the tin can death trap on wheels, trekking slowly to Forest Hills Trailer Park. 

The bumpy driveway was nearly covered by the falling ice and snow, causing Eddie to slide into his parking spot, well the front yard, of trailer 8. Before he jiggles the key out of the ignition, a man’s shadow illuminated the front door, the burning end of a cigarette glowing on a presumed inhale, and Eddie mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“Stay here, okay?” He says with a shallow voice, his eyes never leaving the front door of the trailer, “I’ll be right back.”

What the hell was his dad doing at home this time? Maybe he was confused, thinking it was Thanksgiving already— probably wondering where the turkey and green bean casserole were. 

The door of the van groans as Eddie pushes it open with his shoe, slamming it shut and hearing the crinkle of built up ice breaking away from the frame. Ice was gathering in his hair as he scurried up the steps, the shadow moving away from the door so Eddie could come inside, and once the threshold was breached, he wasn’t surprised to see his dad standing in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, long fingers wrapped around a can of Wayne’s breakfast PBR.

“There’s my boy,” Al greeted with a false tone of cheer laced in his voice, “only been waiting here for an hour, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters, shutting the door tight and shaking his hair free of the elements, “must have lost my schedule on your flight arrival.”

“Watch it,” Al snaps, his eyes are bloodshot and dark rimmed, voice gravelly, “I’m in no mood for your shit tonight, alright?”

Eddie tuts through his teeth and shoulder checks his old man before walking to the living room, pulling the cord from the wall jack, unplugging the tv. Holding it against his hip to bring it to his room.

“What the hell man, I was gonna watch that!” Al yells as Eddie trudges into his room, shoving shit off his dresser with a sweep of his arm, putting the small tv down he turns to find his dad right behind him, glaring menacingly at him, nose to nose. 

“The rabbit ears haven’t worked in months, guess you’ll have to go to Neil’s..”

His insult is cut short as Al grabs him by the lapels of his denim vest, shoving him into the closet door, busting it off the sliding track. 

“Listen to me you little fuck…” Al spits, literally into Eddie’s face, “I said I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight, ya got me? I need your fucking help for once in your life, can you manage that?” 

“Get off me,” Eddie sneers back, trying to hide the trembling in his jaw as he grits his teeth, “I’m serious.” 

I'm serious, Dad! Al mocks, shoving Eddie harder into the closet, the splintering wood busting beneath his shoulder blades. “I ain’t ever asked you for nothin’ in your whole damn life, let you live here with Wayne, no rules no nothin’ and now it’s time to pay up. I need a favor.” 

His eyes were shocking in a desperate way, anger riddling his irises. 

Eddie thinks fast to his underwear drawer, the wad of cash shoved into an old sock underneath a sticky playboy, “I don’t sell whatever you’re on, and I don’t have any cash.” 

“Ain’t about money, or horse, Eddie boy, you remember my friend, the one that lives in the old house on Morehead?” 

Eddie thinks back to all the “friends” Al had ever introduced him to. There was Bud the one who owned the bowling alley in Bridgeport that had a fake eye and an gnarly looking scar on his face from a dog bite, Willy Jack who helped take the plates off of the van and scratch up the VIN number when they stole it from that scrap yard north of town, he even painted it any color Eddie wanted, but somehow the friend he was talking about wasn’t registering. 

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie shakes his head no. “Doesn’t matter,” Al said all too quick, “his son has been missin’ see, for years, and we need your boys’ help finding him.” 

“Who’s we?” Eddie asks, finally wiggling free from his dads hands, straightening his jacket, “and why the fuck do I need to find him?” 

A closed fist breaks through the paneled wall next to his chin, “enough with the questions Eddie goddamnit! I need you on this, and you’re not gonna tell me ‘no’ you understand me?” 

Eddie had never hated his dad more than he did at this moment. If he were older he’d swing a fist into his gut, knock his lights out once and for all, but he didn’t dare, shoulders slumped and the weight of the world and all its guilt piled onto him. He had no idea what kind of shit his dad was getting him into, only the gut wrenching feeling that something was terribly wrong, and the only thing he could do was nod his head, agreeing to lend his trembling hand. 

Across town on Cherry lane, Neil Hargrove was having the same friendly little “discussion” with Billy, but the conversation was different, lighter, happier, and the two Hargrove men seemed to be on the same page for once in their lives. 

—

OCT. 1986

The Harrington’s basement was set up much like the Wheeler’s but on a grander scale. Large tv tucked behind an oak cabinet,, a beige leather couch that seemed to stretch across the entire living room area, a surround sound system in each corner,  two bedrooms and a full bathroom. Setting Nancy down on the plus couch and covering her small form with a wool blanket, Steve opens a closet door and wrangles out a new set of golf clubs, leaning them against the wall, and running his hair through his fingers, as if he’s trying to make a mental list of household objects that could be used as a weapon. 

The phone rings noisily in one of the bedrooms and Steve leaves to answer it. 

Eddie still has your fingers between his, his rings leaving small indents but you don’t mind, it’s a comfort. He’s muttering to himself, in a tone only he can hear, biting the nails on his right hand with grinding clicks of his teeth. Looking at you his expression falters for a split second, trying to put on a calming mask, nonchalant-like even though inside he was screaming. 

It wouldn’t be long before the Demodogs came, especially if the Demogorgons were out, would he be looking for him? Wondering where he has been? Why he’s been gone? 

He guides you to the couch, a grand gesture with his nail bitten hand, grabbing a blanket and putting it around you. 

Steve emerges from the back bedroom, a tiny bit of relief in his eyes, “that was Robin, they’re on their way here, I guess they barely made it out.” 

You wince at the thought of everyone dead at the carnival, the way Argyle’s body was ripped to shreds, the howling cackle from Creel, the way he stood with his arms in a welcoming hug, just an hour ago you were convinced you were going to kiss your best friend, now the majority of Hawkins was dead. 

Steve turns to Eddie, with wide searching eyes, fumbling for the right words but failing, “I need answers man, right now.” 

—

Robin hangs up the phone, blood drying on her fingers from when she tripped over the gaping carcass of Tammy Thompson, her face covered with streaks of dirt and god knows what else, “ Let’s go! Everyone’s at St—”

A stinging in her spine brings heat, warm and dripping, then fiery hot, a hand on her shoulder she turns to see his maniacal eyes, the blood from the gash on his head now trickling into his mouth, white pearls stained in ruby. 

“I did you a solid Rob, killed that bitch for you—didn’t even think twice about it, because we’re friends,”  blood now trickling down her back into the waist of her scoops ahoy uniform shorts, she garbles a breath cusping on the breath of a question. 

“shh,” he reassures, wiping tears from her freckles lined cheeks, extracting the knife from the well in her back, he helps her lie down gently, “this isn’t going to kill you, it’s just temporary you see? I can’t have any distractions, I can’t let you get in my way, but don’t worry!”

 He moves to rip the phone cord from its hook, “I’ve done so much research on this meticulously studying over books on ways to cut the human body, what would hurt the worst, the least, the angle of the knife  was just right, I guess I could be wrong,” he scratches his head, the whites of his eyes rolling as the smell of blood starts to work him up, an ache he can’t scratch, “hmm… take care, yeah? I’ll be back.” 

A pool of blood blossoms from Robin’s back, flowing into the blue carpet fibers of her room— in tandem with the slow blink of her eyelashes meeting. 

The ignition of his car engine backfires with a gunshot noise, the bloody knife he used to kill the others laid gently on the leather of his passenger seat. 

Driving down the desolate streets of Hawkins, he looks in the rearview mirror, and for the first time, Jonathan Byers likes what he sees. 

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @mopeymopeymouse @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @katethetank @munsons-mayhem28 * @mandyjo8719 @joannamuns9n @littlebookworm86 @hunnybuns-world @feyremunson

[threepandas]

Sun Burnt: Part 2

Sixteen grand, only half my go bags, and about three blocks of Mafia Land on fire.

That was my fucking legacy now. I was the crazy fuck that DICK PUNCHED the Dread God of hitmen everywhere. The nightmare that lesser men fear. The blood soaked luxury few can afford! Oh god. I just punch the greatest hitman on THE PLANET in the DICK.

IN PUBLIC.

CURSE YOU LIGHTNING BRAIN!

I can't believe I fucking FORGOT that panic and impossibly fast reaction times were a BAD IDEA. God DAMN it! No wonder everyone thinks Lightnings are morons! That was the DUMBEST SHIT I'VE EVER DONE IN MY LIFE! Oh god. Oh god! I'm gonna die so slow. He's gonna drag it out! What do I DO!?

He didn't even collapse! Just hissed in through his teeth and TANKED it!

Thank god for Tazer training.

But also like!? Ha ha!!! OH GOD IM SO DEAD. I just pissed off EVERYBODY, didn't I? I can never come back! I had to have hit like... fifteen DIFFERENT SETS back there! And Colonello will be out for my BLOOD. Fuck, I wanna LIVE!

Boats. I gotta steal one of the boats!

And thank god? I DO. The island is in chaos, thanks to the fires. I dump the boats number of trackers overboard. Sure, I have to take a knife to a few fancy ass walls. But it's WORTH it.

I got a fancy ass little yacht! Perfect. It's fast, it's liveable, I can DISAPPEAR out to sea. He'll NEVER fi-!

Click.

Cool metal smoothly, cruely, presses againt the back of my head to crush my hope, just as it begins to form. The cologne is unmistakable. I can not tell you, how in God's name I missed it. The barrel of a gun pressed close, like a lover's hand, in unspoken threat.

"Bella~" purrs an amused voice from behind me. It sound like a threat. "Quite the trouble maker, aren't you? Such... CHAOS~♡ But, really? Did you HONESTLY think you could run? We're not done yet."

.....m...maybe I could swim.

I break out into a cold sweat, too aware yet completely frozen. The stairs to the deck are too far away. Fuck. I... I could MAYBE make it? Or.. or punch out a wall? Right into the water? I try to keep my breathing even. It doesn't work. I know, because Death made a man? Who stands behind me? Hums in amusement. His gun pressing tighter against my skin.

"I wouldn't, bella fulminea. I am nothing if not a gentleman, but if you keep fighting me? Well... it is a long boat ride. I'll have to find SOME way to immobilize you long enough for us to have a little chat. And an excuse to have my Flames inside you? You'd be surprised the damage one can do without lasting effects, when they know HOW too."

"And make no mistake. I DO know how to hurt you."

"So let's behave ourselves, hmm? Have a seat."

I... I had a seat. Very comfy. Didn't feel like crying in the SLIGHTEST ha ha, WHAAAT? Don't be silly! This is FINE! We're all friends here! R..Right?

The slow grin I got was NOT reassuring.

He stood there, above me, gun casually pointed at my head, as he examined me. Taking his time. As though decadently savoring the moment. Enjoying my tensed muscles. The way my Flames crackled and arced across my skin. My eyes dilated in fear. The resonance that filled the cabin.

His eyes weren't dark anymore. And that... God, that was the worst part. They had lit up. I'd HEARD about the phenomenon, but never thought I ever actually SEE it. 'Cause who could actually be that batshit powerful? What realistic person would ever be so fucking STRONG?

It was like looking into molten gold. Liquid Sun Flames. I could almost SEE the flicker and burn. I could DEFINITELY feel the Flames filling the room. It was like being crammed in a box with a tiger that barely fit to begin with. Shoved RIGHT up against its face. All I could do was hope it was friendly. Preferably ignored me.

But he wasn't.

No, he wanted to TALK.

Had finally, thankfully, put the gun away. Stepped closer to grab my face and tilt it up. Angle it this way and that. Memorizing my features. Shit. My thoughts must have been obvious on my face, because his smirk widened. His grip got tighter.

"Do you know, little lightning, how long I've waited? How many DECADES I've made do? I don't care if you're not a Sky. You could be another sun as far as I'm concerned. It is the fact that your Flames SING to mine. Crave a place with mine. THAT is why you will never escape me."

I didn't even know if I WANTED a Set. Yeah, it sounded cool. The companionship, the understanding and stuff. Like... like soulmates. Literal platonic but could be not if you wanted Soulmates. Yours forever. Best friends and balm to all wounds. But? But! If THIS was what was in store for me?!

Ha ha, NOPE!

I may not have be interested in being some meat shield for some entitled, cloying, grabby-flamed Sky BRAT, but that didn't mean I wanted a living DREAD GOD! R... RIGHT?! I just wanted, you know, substance! Mutual understanding and a mature outlook on life. Competence. Maybe some one... who thinks... I'm...funny...

Ooooooh no.

Oh no no NO!

"REBORN! Did you KIDNAP a random thief?!"

Thuds up on the deck. A roaring voice sounding vaguely hysterical. A god like Cloud kicking the door to the lower levels clear off it's hinges. Vongola. Oh thank MERCIFUL FUCK. I risk a glance across the table. His face has frozen in it's pleasantly smiling mask. Pissed at being interrupted. Again.

His eyes say "don't you do it. Don't even DARE.

My eyes shoot from him to the Cloud slowly walking down the steps. Followed by the rest of the Tenth generation of the Vongola Familgia. The clear exit they've left open behind them. Back to him. His gaze now promising to break both my legs.

.....he'll have to fucking catch me first.

I BOLT.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Massage

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: The boys try and help you on a bad day Warnings: Chronic pain Series Masterlist

The sun has long since disappeared behind the imposing walls of Hogwarts, leaving your room bathed in the flickering light of the fireplace. Shadows dance across the stone walls as if performing a wordless play, but their usual warmth and comfort elude you tonight. Instead, an icy grip seems to constrict your chest, a sensation that no amount of blankets or potions can assuage.

You lie motionless on your bed, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it, attempting to focus on anything other than the pain coursing through your body. The gentle crackle of the flames, the distant echo of footsteps along the castle's corridors—these are your anchors to the present moment. Yet even these familiar sounds cannot drown out the constant throbbing in your legs, back, arms, and neck.

The pain comes in waves, ebbing and flowing with a rhythm all its own. At times, it recedes enough for you to draw a full breath, to believe that perhaps this too shall pass. But then it returns with a vengeance, sharp and unyielding, cutting through any shred of hope.

The potions have stopped working, their promised relief nothing more than a cruel illusion. They leave you drowsy, yet sleep remains a distant dream, chased away by the relentless ache. Every muscle is coiled tight, a bowstring drawn taut with frustration and weariness.

There's a soft rustle, a light knock, and then the door to your room creaks open. They don't wait for permission; they know already, can sense it in the slight tremor of your hands or the too-bright sheen of your eyes. James, Sirius, and Remus enter as quietly as shadows, their faces etched with concern.

"Hey," James murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He moves to the edge of your bed, his fingers brushing away a strand of hair that has fallen across your face. His touch is warm, a lifeline in the cold expanse of pain that threatens to pull you under.

"You didn't come down to dinner," Remus adds, pulling up a chair beside your bed. He folds himself into it, all long limbs and quiet strength. His eyes, usually full of laughter and mischief, are drawn tight with worry. He studies you, taking in every detail—the way your body curls in on itself, the stark whiteness of your knuckles where they clutch at the sheets. "We came to check on you."

Sirius lingers by the door for a moment, his eyes unreadable before he slowly approaches. "We thought you might not want to move around too much," he says, holding up a small tray with a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. "So we brought it here."

"Thanks, guys," you mumble, managing a faint smile despite the pain. It feels like a small victory, even if the effort leaves your stomach in knots. "I'm just... not feeling that great tonight."

James's gaze doesn't waver from your face, taking in the pallor of your skin, the tightness around your eyes. There's an unspoken question there—one that goes beyond the physical discomfort you're experiencing. But he doesn't ask it. Not yet.

"Figured as much," he admits, his frown deepening. "Does it feel worse than usual?"

You nod, grimacing as another wave of pain radiates from your lower back. "Yeah, it’s one of those nights. The potions aren’t helping, and Madam Pomfrey is out of options for me."

Silence falls over the room again, punctuated only by the crackling fire and your own uneven breaths. James stands there, helplessly watching you suffer. You see the concern etched into his features, the way his hand clenches at his side, as if he wishes he could physically tear the pain away from you.

Finally, he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We’re here, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "We’ll do whatever we can."

Sirius places the tray with soup on your bedside table, but it's clear from his expression that he won't force you to eat if you're not up for it. Instead, he eases himself next to you on the bed, careful not to jostle you too much. His hand finds a spot on your arm, laying there lightly, a silent promise of his presence.

"Is there anything else we can do?" Remus's voice filters through the darkness, a beacon of concern. "It's hard to see you like this."

You pause, the words hanging heavy in the air. You don't want to be another responsibility for them—they've done so much already. But the pain gnawing at your insides is unrelenting, and the idea of facing it alone makes the walls of the room feel as though they're closing in.

"Maybe... just stay with me?" Your voice is barely more than a whisper, laced with embarrassment and an ache that goes beyond the physical. "I know you've done a lot, but—"

"Of course we'll stay." Sirius's hand tightens around yours, a lifeline in the storm. His voice leaves no room for argument, firm and yet somehow gentle. "We're not going anywhere, baby. We're here."

James moves on the bed, his eyes darting between Sirius and Remus before settling back on you. He looks thoughtful, as if considering a difficult problem and weighing the possible solutions.

"Maybe we could help you relax a bit," he suggests, his voice soft but firm. "You're so tense... I could see it in your shoulders when I walked in. Perhaps we can do something about that."

Your head tilts, brow furrowing as you try to understand what he means. How could they possibly ease the tension coiled tight within you? The past few days have left you on edge, every muscle knotted with worry and fear. It seems too much to hope for any relief now.

Remus catches your confusion and offers a small, reassuring smile. "A massage," he says gently. "We'll be careful, of course. But it might help you relax enough to fall asleep. You need rest, and more than that, you deserve to find some measure of comfort after all you've been through."

For a moment, you hesitate. The thought of their hands on you, even with the kindest of intentions, is daunting. But then you remember how they've held you, guided you, kept you safe—and the prospect becomes less intimidating, more inviting. You know they will be gentle, respectful of your pain. And the promise of even a brief respite from the constant ache is too tempting to resist.

Slowly, you nod. "That sounds... nice.”

"Right, let's get you comfortable then." Sirius moves to gather some pillows, his casual tone belying the worry in his eyes. "You'll need to lie on your stomach, and we'll take care of the rest."

You nod, shifting as best you can despite the pain shooting through your back. James and Remus assist, their fingers careful as they help position the pillows beneath you, ensuring you're well supported. Once settled, you take a slow, measured breath, attempting to focus on the softness beneath you rather than the ache that permeates your muscles.

Sirius kneels beside the bed, his hands hovering over your back for a moment before making contact. It's a tentative touch, almost asking for permission, before he starts working on the knots along your spine. "Just tell us if it's too much," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates down your senses. "We'll stop if it hurts."

You nod, your cheek pressed against the pillow as you close your eyes. "I trust you."

The world seems to tilt as Sirius's hands start their work, moving in slow circles against your back. He applies just enough pressure to coax the tension from your muscles without causing pain. His touch is firm yet surprisingly gentle, tracing a path of warmth that slowly begins to unknot the stress coiled tight within you.

"Easy there," Sirius murmurs, his voice a low rumble near your ear. "Just breathe."

James moves to your legs, his fingers finding the knots in your calves and thighs. The heat from his hands seeps into your muscles, loosening them with every stroke. He's careful, always checking to make sure he isn't pressing too hard. His fingers trace along your skin with a gentleness you didn't expect from the Quidditch captain. A soft sigh escapes your lips as some of the tension begins to ebb away.

Remus remains by your side, a grounding presence amidst the whirlwind of sensations. His hand, cool and light, brushes through your hair, offering a silent promise of safety. He doesn't say much, but his eyes—watchful and kind—never leave your face. Every so often, he whispers words meant to soothe, reminding you that they're here, that they aren't going anywhere.

Sirius's hands travel up your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine until they find the knot of tension lodged between your shoulder blades. He pauses, fingertips pressing in just so. "Right here?"

There's a softness to his voice that makes you want to lean into it, to let yourself be cradled by the sound as much as by his touch.

"Y-Yes," you manage to say, breath hitching as he applies more pressure to the spot. The pain is sharp, a constant companion you've learned to live with, but even it seems less formidable under Sirius's determined ministrations. "That's... the worst part."

His thumb rubs circles against your skin, tracing the edges of the knot before pushing back into the center. You feel the muscles there begin to give way, a reluctant surrender under the steady rhythm of his touch.

When James's fingers find the knots in your calves, kneading out the ache that has settled deep into your muscles after a day of constant motion, it brings an unexpected relief that tugs at something tender within you. "You're so strong, y'know?" His voice is soft against the backdrop of the night, filled with an admiration that makes you want to curl up and hide even as it warms you from the inside. "You deal with all this, every bloody day, and still you show up for us, for everyone. We see it, love."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, hot and insistent, but you keep them firmly shut, grateful for once that you're face-down and they can't see the way your resolve crumbles under their kindness. You've spent so long building walls around yourself, layer upon layer of brick and steel designed to keep out the world and its cruelties, yet here they stand, unafraid to chip away at the facade, revealing the fragile heart beneath.

"You don't always have to be so strong," Remus murmurs as if reading your mind, fingers light as they thread through the tangles of your hair, each stroke grounding you further in the reality of their care, their concern. "You've got us now. You don't have to carry everything on your own anymore."

Sirius's hands stay on your back for a moment longer, then move to your shoulders, pressing gently. He leans down then, lips brushing against the space between your shoulder blades, and his voice is soft when he speaks again. "And we'll always be here," he murmurs, "whenever you need us."

Their words—these promises of safety—are a balm that starts to seep into those hidden places inside you, the ones locked away so tightly. It doesn't erase the hurt or the fears, but for now, it's enough to let the tears fall silently from your eyes.

They notice, of course. Remus' hand tightens a fraction in your hair, James' fingers pause their ministrations on your leg, and Sirius places another gentle kiss on your skin. No one says anything; they just offer their silent support, understanding that sometimes, words aren't necessary.

The massage continues, their movements careful and soothing, until the sharp sting of your injuries dulls to a manageable throb. It's replaced by an unfamiliar warmth, a feeling of safety that wraps around you like a blanket, fighting off the chill of your own doubts. Your eyelids grow heavy, and despite the part of you that wants to stay awake, to hold onto this moment, you can't fight off the pull of sleep any longer.

"Sleep," Sirius murmurs, so close that his breath brushes against your ear. "We'll be here when you wake."

And with those words, you allow the darkness to claim you, lulled into slumber by the gentle pressure of Sirius's hands on your back and James's at your feet, their presence a steadfast anchor in the stormy sea of your life. Even as you drift off, you can feel Remus's fingers still threading through your hair, each stroke a promise—an unspoken vow that you are not alone, not now, not ever.

[scuttlingcrab]

A Devilish Mentor

This is the second fic I wrote for the Raphael fan zine @silkandsulphur! You can find it here. This one has been brewing for a while, as I desperately needed to write a version of Raphael making Mol a deal, and to see just a glimpse of what his mentorship could've been like.

The first piece I wrote is called Flowers for a Devil.

Summary: Have you ever pondered what happened to Mol after she was abducted from the Last Light Inn? In this one-shot, the Devil we know swallows his pride as he ventures deep into the Mind Flayer Colony to rescue Mol, and not because he has a soft heart... he's just looking out for his future assets.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via keylana-dragon)

The Last Light Inn shuddered as the roof collapsed, windows shattering all across the establishment as a swarm of winged horrors flooded through the openings. They bared their rotten teeth, immediately slashing at anyone within their vicinity. Mortal screams merged with ghoulish screeches as the tiefling refugees scattered like ants, some trying to find a spot to hide while others frantically searched for something to defend themselves with. 

Jaheira jumped to her feet, her army of Harpers quickly following suit as they unsheathed their weapons, charging at the intruders with a surprising amount of vigour. 

It was safe to say the sudden onslaught of enemies had taken everyone by surprise. 

Well, nearly everyone…

The Devil sat amidst the ensuing bedlam, sitting snugly in his favourite seat near the entrance of the Inn. A mischievous smile snaked across his lips as he took in the atmosphere, uncorking an aged bottle of wine. He could’ve easily snapped his fingers to aid the poor mortals, to end their doomed fight faster than it began, but where was the fun in that? The shrieks. The blood. The abject horror. These were Raphael’s cornerstones. He nodded to himself in agreement as he watched a winged horror tear a tiefling apart – the Shadowlands never failed to disappoint. 

Raphael proceeded to pour himself a generous amount of wine, swirling it around in his goblet before bringing it to his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaling its delicious aroma. Earthy and sweet, with hints of black cherries and a dash of smokiness to it. Just how he liked it.  

The window next to him exploded before he could take a sip as a winged horror darted inside, shards of glass and wooden splinters ricocheting through the air. Raphael sighed, unmoved by the sudden disturbance. He took a moment to brush the broken glass and specks of dirt from his shoulder, noticing fresh tears in his favourite doublet and small lesions on his skin. He twisted his lips into a sharp frown at the sight, snapping his fingers to rid himself of the imperfections. 

The winged horror hovered above Raphael and raised its hand, claws extended as it prepared to lash out at the Devil. Raphael looked up lazily, finally taking a sip of wine. His dark brown eyes transformed into a raging inferno, violent flames flickering deep within his retinas as he gave the ghoul a hard stare. His seat glowed red, the wood catching fire as it pulsated, a trail of smoke rising to meet the winged horror. It disregarded Raphael’s silent warning as it edged closer. Raphael snarled, showcasing his own Devilish fangs as he hissed. Get lost. Or else.

Raphael wasn’t in the mood to waste his breath on a creature of that status. If it came to it, he would’ve gladly ripped the ghoul’s head off, turning its skin into putty. It would’ve at least satiated his growing hunger, calmed his spiralling nerves for a brief moment. But Raphael quickly discarded that thought, uninterested in having his doublet ruined for the second time that evening. 

The ghoul’s pale eyes widened as it took in Raphael’s threats, jumping back at the unexpected hiss. At realising what he was, who he was . It promptly zipped away, haphazardly flying into the staircase bannister as it made its way up to the second floor.

Raphael shook his head, shedding any remaining evidence of his infernal nature. 

This only proved one thing, that Ketheric Thorm had truly lost all manner of sensibility. He was a coward in every sense of the word, too afraid to even collect his daughter from the Last Light Inn. Despite the God of Death himself sitting on the old elf’s shoulders, feeding him with immortality as befitting the Chosen of Myrkul, he had grown weaker, stupider; instead sending those slaves of the Absolute to do his bidding. No wonder he sat on his crumbling throne in Moonrise, rotting away and wasting his true gift as he chased one meaningless quest after another. It was no secret Raphael once took pleasure in Kethric’s misery, feeding off his pain and suffering, but now the fool was just getting under Raphael’s skin, disrupting his grand ambitions. If he had never joined the other Chosen, Raphael would’ve been content leaving Ketheric to wither like a rotting flower. 

It didn't matter. Raphael had seen this story before, knew its ending. If only he could skip to the conclusion…

An icy breeze crept in through the window as Raphael watched the chaos continue, his eyes scanning the crowd for Tav and her companions. His grip tightened on the goblet as she flooded his mind, of what she could promise him, if his coercion went according to plan . He had grown tired of reading Korrilla’s field updates about the little mouse, finding her notes monotonous and lacking his usual artistic flair. His mouth salivated at the notion of getting to watch her work in real time, to see if this hero was truly worthy of his attention.

As if on cue, Tav dove out of one of the rooms upstairs, ramming against a bookshelf as she dodged an attack from a winged horror. The bookshelf fell on her, scattering miscellaneous scrolls across the upper landing. Tav eventually managed to free herself, drawing her sword and attempting to slash the ghoul in two. She missed the swipe by a margin, as if she was blindfolded. 

In retaliation, the winged horror attacked Tav, marking her across the face with its claws. She screamed, throwing away her sword and summoning a fireball. The spell hit the winged horror, but also caught part of the landing as it exploded upon impact. Within seconds the ghoul disintegrated and the fire spread to the surrounding walls. Tav threw her arms up in panic as she showered the fire in an ice spell, quickly calming the flames. 

Tav barely survived a fight against a weakling that should’ve taken her one, maybe two moves at most. Raphael let out a loud sigh, massaging the back of his neck. A lump formed in his throat, the sense of dread growing as it made its way to the pit of his stomach. Of all the creatures, in all the planes, it had to be that woman, that lost cause , who held the future in her hands. His future. 

Fate was a cruel mistress indeed. 

Two more winged horrors flew towards Tav and she yelped like a puppy, nearly tripping over herself as she ran back into the room she came from.

A strange warmth surged through Raphael’s chest at that sight, washing away all previous anxieties, as a rather boisterous laugh escaped his lips. Raphael seldom laughed in such a manner but it seemed the wine had loosened him up, perhaps too much, and he allowed himself to relax back into his seat. Yes, Tav was an imbecile, but he wouldn’t deny that she was quite an amusing creature.  

He let the laughter naturally trail off as he re-directed his focus to one of the other rooms. Raphael immediately caught the eye of Jaheira near the dormitory, struggling to keep a winged horror from ripping her neck apart. She fired a thunderwave at it, but despite the concussive blast, it didn’t stop lunging at her. She glared at Raphael, her brows raising in confusion as she fought off the ghoul. A frown grew on her lips, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth. 

Raphael tilted his head, smirking at her in return. 

“Get away from me!” A familiar voice screamed near the bar, stealing Raphael’s attention from the Druid.

He leaned out of his chair, searching for the owner of that voice. Mol. Raphael barely had a moment to register it was her before a winged horror snatched her by the waist, taking her in its arms and flying off into the darkness outside the Inn. 

Raphael crossed his arms, massassing his chin in contemplation. That cheeky little tiefling, he’d hate to lose that one. A nuisance to some, but to Raphael she was another auspicious opportunity.

A few nights ago, Raphael and Mol played lanceboard together until the wee hours of the morning. Raphael let Mol win, of course, but it was a close call, causing Raphael to change his tactics more than once. No creature had been that close to defeating him in a game since that priest, aeons ago. With more practice, and some clear guidance from Raphael, perhaps one day she’ll beat him fair and square. He saw something familiar in Mol, something that reminded Raphael of his younger self, scraping the barrel to survive. 

At that moment, Mol’s contract practically fell into his lap. Although Raphael didn’t draft the document yet, they had a preliminary agreement set in place. He had strategically left the rest up to Mol, leaving her with the decision of whether or not she wanted to make such a risky bet on her future. But as with all decisions Raphael placed in front of his clients, she was free to choose the only option she had left.

Yes, Mol would need saving, that was for certain. The hour was late, but Raphael still had some time to kill before his next appointment. Why not make the most out of it? A little improvisation would do him some good. He was a saviour, after all.

Raphael’s eyes went back to Jaheira, curious to see how she was getting on with her struggles. The Druid was now on the floor, dazed from a strike against the head. The same winged horror loomed above her, within seconds of making the final strike.

“Might as well…” Raphael whispered resignedly, shrugging. He rose from his seat, straightening his posture as he snapped his fingers. A wooden beam instantly fell from the ceiling, crushing the winged horror like an insect, its guts splattering across the wooden floor.

Jaheira instinctively curled up into a ball as the beam destroyed the ghoul, preparing herself for the inevitable. After a moment of stillness, when she was sure the rest of the ceiling wasn’t going to collapse, she peeked through one of her arms, slowly unravelling. She crawled away from the dead monster, staring at the corpse and back at the ceiling in confusion. 

She stiffened, as if feeling Raphael’s gaze on her, and slowly turned in his direction. Raphael nodded, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. You’re welcome. 

The Druid shook her head, her eyes narrowing, lips snarling as she gave him a scathing look in return for his generous display of chivalry.

Their moment promptly ended when more screams came from the upper landing. Jaheira jumped to her feet, running towards the action without a moment's hesitation.

Raphael hummed an old melody to himself as he turned away from the ongoing action, sparing a final thought for Tav. Good luck, little mouse. They’ll be reunited soon enough.

And with that, the Devil snapped his fingers, whisking himself away to Moonrise Towers in a theatrical display of sparks and embers.

---

Raphael groaned as he trudged through the never-ending corridors of the Mind Flayer Colony, his boots squelching with each step, disappearing into the jelly-like consistency of the flooring. He shivered in disgust, holding his limbs close to his body. That cursed place was a disgrace to all living things, assaulting practically every one of his senses. Raphael picked up all sorts of rancid scents from the hills of rotting corpses and the sour stench of the Elder Brain itself, lurking somewhere even deeper below him. He knew the Absolute cultists were vile creatures, the scum of the earth, but he would’ve preferred any torment to this. He’d even consider having a face-to-face meeting with his beloved father rather than continue subjecting himself to these horrors any longer than necessary. 

He followed the bloody hallways, unsure what other disgusting things awaited him as he searched for Mol. He eventually entered a location that resembled a laboratory, strange instruments he had never seen before occupied most of the room. An assortment of body parts and torture weapons were also thrown about the chamber like forgotten toys. Blood trailed down the walls like a waterfall, still wet from their victims. It was a madman's playpen. Raphael hissed, instantly recognising the handiwork from the disorder in front of him. Balthazar, that wretched necromancer. He should’ve known. At least Raphael had the dignity to clean-up after himself when he tortured his clientele. He quickened his steps, barely spending another second in the lab before he moved on, not wanting to risk contaminating himself any further. 

Soon the Devil stumbled into a tadpooling centre, identical transformation pods lined the edge of the room, taking up practically all available wall space. Raphael took a step forward, his eyes scanning every pod for a sign of Mol. He felt his breath catch when he recognised the shape of a small silhouette in a pod at the far end of the room. It was roughly the same height as Mol, with two little horns sprouting from the skull…

He clapped his hands, rubbing them together in excitement. Alas! 

Raphael darted towards the pod, peering inside it to confirm it wasn’t an illusion. Mol was unconscious within, her body slumped to the side. Her eyepatch was missing, no longer hiding the gaping hole where her eye would’ve been. Mol’s face was puffy, her body bruised and covered in blood, likely tortured before being thrown in there for transformation. 

He sighed, tilting his head back in relief. 

Raphael raised his hand, preparing to snap his fingers, when a voice sang out from the pod next to Mol. 

“That one put up a fight…” 

Raphael froze, turning towards the neighbouring pod. His eyes widened, glinting with excitement when he realised who that mysterious voice belonged to. 

Mizora was crammed inside the pod. Her wings were folded and tangled, barely giving her any room to breathe within the confines of that Illithid cage. Usually so high and mighty, quick to treat even the mightiest Devil’s like dirt under her heels, she was now reduced to a measly insect in a jar. 

Oh, this was going to be delicious . 

Raphael stood in front of the pod, tapping on the glass with his index finger. He waved flamboyantly at Mizara, proudly wearing a smug smirk on his face. 

“My, oh, my. Look what the cat dragged in. Are we having fun, Mizora?” 

“This isn’t how I was expecting to spend my evening, so no .”

Raphael leaned back, crossing his arms thoughtfully. 

“Hmm, yes. I can imagine your disappointment. Riding on Zariel’s coattails has taken you far, it seems. Where is your faithful leader now?” 

“You will hold your tongue,” Mizora hissed. 

“Must be eating you up inside. Poor thing .” 

Raphael extended his arms, bringing a hand to his forehead as he began dramatically looking around the room, pretending to search high and low for Zariel’s whereabouts. 

“Zariel?! Oh Zariel…?!” Raphael paused, cupping his hand towards his ear as he waited for an answer. “Wherefore art thou…” 

 “Forever the jester, never the king.” Mizora spoke through gritted teeth, leaning towards the glass. 

Raphael bit the tip of his tongue, using all his power not to show any reaction to Mizora’s words. Her comment cut deep, sliding beneath his thick skin, just like Mizora knew it would. He clasped his hands behind his back, hiding the fact that the tips of his fingers glowed red, pulsating, on the brink of casting a rain of Hellfire down on her. That pod was about to become Mizora’s coffin if he didn’t control himself. 

“Mock me all you want, Raphael,” Mizora continued, that venomous grin growing larger as she glared at Raphael. “Once Zariel gets word of this, your little escapades are over.”

“Oh I beg to differ.” Raphael laughed, quickly recovering his confidence and stopping Mizora’s smile short. “And shall I tell the Archduchess how one of her most prized servants foolishly let herself get caught in the Shadowlands, of all places? Overwhelmed by… what was it again? Shadows? Shadows, really? My, how the mighty have fallen.”

Raphael laughed uproariously, tears forming on the corner of his eyes. He placed his hand on the pod to catch his breath. 

“Oh, I do look forward to seeing you finally cast out of Zariel’s inner circle, forced to beg for her love, her affection, scrounging for scraps like the miserable half- devil you are. You are slacking, my dear, maybe it's your obsession with that Blade of Frontiers, hm? I’m sure there is a list of growing tasks on your plate that you have been shoving aside just for him, no?”

Mizora lashed out at Raphael like a rabid wolf, hitting her face against the glass. 

“Tsk. Have you no ounce of decorum, Mizora? Even now? A pity…”

Raphael turned away from Mizora, walking back to Mol’s pod.

“Don’t you DARE! I will make sure Z–”

Raphael snapped his fingers, silencing the cambion. He breathed deeply, basking in the newfound quiet that filled the room. 

Back to business. 

Raphael wet his lips, considering the tiefling for a moment. If he delayed any longer she’d be at risk of becoming a useless mind flayer, something not even a Devil of his stature could amend. Yes, he’d lose a deal, a soul, but he had enough of those already. What he craved, wanted more than anything was a chance at mentorship. He could barely remember the last time he recruited someone so young, someone bursting from the seams with potential. Mol was the perfect clean slate for Raphael’s endeavours, a mortal who was practically begging to receive Raphael’s guidance. With Mol under his wing, she’d be raised to her full potential by the time she was in her teens. Who knows what she’d achieve in adulthood… 

He snapped his fingers, throwing open the door to Mol’s pod. Her body slumped forward, but Raphael was quick to catch her, holding the tiefling in his arms like precious cargo. 

Satisfied, Raphael glanced back at Mizora. She was screaming, clawing against the glass of the pod. Ugly tears streamed down Mizora’s face as she continued yelling, her meaningless words lost in the silence. He stared at her, curious as to what she was saying; most likely begging for his help, in between all the infernal curses. He smiled proudly in return, joy filling his heart at how easily he had put Mizora in her place.

“Ta-ta…” 

Raphael gave Mizora a final wink before spinning around. 

A fiery portal appeared in front of him and he stepped through, leaving Mizora alone in her misery. 

---

Nearly two days passed by the time Mol started to show any signs of life. She finally stirred, twisting in her bed, as if stuck in a never-ending nightmare. Her sudden movements pulled Raphael’s attention away from a meddlesome contract he had been drafting. He placed the quill in its holder, rubbing the bridge of his nose, relieved to finally have a moment’s respite from his growing infernal duties. 

They were in a cosy guest room, located in his House of Hope and within a comfortable distance from the Chamber of Egress. Raphael seldom entertained guests who merely sought to spend the night, and much to his disappointment, that room was used only on the rare occasion. 

Unlike the rest of Raphael’s domain, the guest room was decorated sparingly, with only a single ornate floral painting hanging over the large bed. The artwork showcased a vast field of daffodils, a piece Raphael painted from memory. When he found time slipping from his fingertips and unable to escape to the place it inspired, he stopped in this room, losing himself in the painting and the memories it elicited. 

Save for the rosewood desk Raphael occupied in front of the bed, stacked high with various contracts and tomes, there was no other furniture in the room. A small balcony sat opposite the door, showcasing sweeping views of the mountainous landscape of Avernus and the River Styx below.

Raphael had stayed by Mol’s side since bringing her to his home. With Korrilla too busy watching Tav and her companions, Raphael trusted no one else with the task and had no choice but to keep a watchful eye on Mol himself. So, like a good mentor, he naturally brought the work to him, spinning his webs of influence even then.

Mol’s twisting quickly turned to violent thrashing, the sheets tangling around her small frame as she continued writhing, her face contorting in pain. Sweat glazed her forehead as she began muttering to herself frantically, all incomprehensible words. She pleaded to someone, something… Raphael inched forward in his seat, watching her curiously. Was she about to transform? Was he too late? He held his breath and waited. 

The tiefling abruptly shot up in the bed, screaming at the top of her lungs. She panted, gasping for air as she looked around the room. There was a pause, the silence feeling like an eternity, as Mol’s breath steadied. She blinked, rubbing her eye, and taking in her new surroundings. Her remaining eye came to rest on Raphael. Her eyebrows attempted to climb up her sweaty forehead at the sight of the cambion, sitting there calmly surrounded by scrolls and documents. 

He smiled, nodding reassuringly at her confusion. He soon settled back in his chair once realising his newest protege wasn’t in danger of sprouting tentacles.  

“Ooooooh...” Mol said, looking out towards the balcony. It was almost as a confirmation to herself, an understanding of where she was. That she was safe. 

The tiefling stretched the rest of her worries away, pushing her limbs out in front of her like a cat. 

“So, it seems that you’re in my debt, Mol. How are we to solve this? Hmm?”

Mol opened her mouth to respond and quickly closed it, her brow furrowing in thought and frustration. 

“I could've gotten out of there on my own, you know. I had a plan!”

“From my perspective, you were within seconds of becoming a sack of tentacles. Unless that was part of your scheme… you’ve proven to be quite resourceful in times of distress. I will give you that.” 

“Hey, I fought off that big smelly fat man before he knocked me out. Smashed a bunch of those weird looking brain thingies too. I don't need anyone to save me!” 

“Oh really now?” Raphael sniffed quietly, walking towards the balcony. He rested his hands on the stone railing, admiring the views of Avernus as he pretended to be disinterested in the current conversation.  

I don’t need anyone to save me. 

Raphael had uttered similar phrases throughout his entire existence. He had grown to rely only on himself, for safety and success. It was the only way to avoid any more disappointment, any more loss from his previous failures. After being cast out of Cania, deemed an embarrassment and unworthy of even his father’s love, he was forced to shape his own path, create his own future. Raphael had no one to thank but himself. And his father, he supposed. If it wasn’t for Raphael’s hatred towards Mephistopheles, he wouldn’t have ended up so successful in the first place.

“But I guess… I should thank you, Raphael.” Mol shrugged, scratching the side of her head uncomfortably. 

She suddenly gasped, feeling around for her eyepatch. She swiftly covered her missing eye with the palm of her hand, hiding it from Raphael. 

There was another pause as Raphael waited, hoping he didn’t seem too desperate, too eager to solidify this deal with Mol. He wanted her to be comfortable and willing to give up anything. She needed to make the first move.

“I bet you want to talk about that deal, don’t you?” Mol asked.

Raphael nodded, the smile on his lips growing. Bingo.

“I’m all ears, Mol. A Devil is always ready to discuss business.”

“But… what if I’m not ready?”

At her words, Raphael turned around, snapping his fingers. A raging portal opened back to the Mindflayer Colony, showcasing a man in a pod. He was mid-transformation, his skin disintegrating into a bloody explosion, tentacles sprouting from his mouth.

“I can send you straight back if you wish? You can put your plan to good use, I’d be curious to see how you manage.”

Mol viciously shook her head, shivering. 

“Gods, you’re good.” 

“Shall I close the portal or…?”

Mol nodded and with another snap, the portal faded. 

“I will have you know, Mol, this house was built from nothing,” Raphael dramatically gestured to the walls around him, treating the moment as if he was on stage in front of an audience. “I didn’t come this far by merely playing fair. I only show the reality of what is to come without my aid. I’ve been known to bend a few rules, or two, in my favour. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Maybe you can show me some of those tricks one day.”

“Would you like that?”

Mol nodded again.

Snap! 

A blistering contract appeared before Mol, pulsing above the bed.

“Consider it done.”

“And uh, that other thing we talked about?”

“All in the contract.”

Mol hopped to her knees, crawling towards the contract in excitement. She raised her hands, reaching towards the quill but Raphael flicked his wrist, causing the writing instrument to vanish. 

“It's never wise to sign without reading the fine print, Mol. Let this be your first lesson under my patronship.”

“Nah, I trust you. Oh, actually wait…  can I add one more thing before I sign?”

“I’ll allow it.” 

“Can you do something about this ?”

Mol lowered her hand from her eye, pointing towards it.

Raphael walked towards Mol, tenderly placing his hand on her head. She looked away, biting her lip, as her cheeks grew red in embarrassment. 

“I’ll give you this one for free. Now read the contract. You never know who, or what, will try to deceive you.”

Raphael patted Mol’s head, sparks flying from his fingertips as her face was briefly covered in them. 

“Ow! What the–!” 

The sparks dissolved from Mol’s visage, revealing her restored eye. She gasped, jumping up and down on the bed. 

“This might be the best thing that has ever happened to me… since… robbing those Druids and getting loads of gold!” Mol looked down at her hands and squealed in joy, observing her nails, looking at each finger, and making fists and other silly gestures with her hands. “Actually, no, I lied… this is way better!” 

“Now read.” 

Mol sighed, her posture deflating as she sagged into the bed with disappointment. She reached for the contract, bringing it closer to read.

Raphael resumed his position behind his desk, watching as Mol took her sweet time going over the contract. Her face became more serious as she concentrated, squinting her eyes and frowning as she mouthed each word from the text. When she was finished, she glanced up at Raphael, grinning. 

Snap! 

A quill appeared in her hands. She wasted not even one second as she signed her name on the dotted line. 

Raphael clapped his hands and the contract disappeared in a ball of flames. The Devil spared no expense from his usual whimsicality, even for Mol. 

“Well, I don’t feel any different…”

“In due time, Mol,” Raphael turned away from her, returning to the work that remained piled high in front of him. 

“So… what happens now?”

“Might I suggest you start your work in the sewers if you are to achieve these rather ambitious goals of yours?”

Mol grimaced. 

“I was hoping it would be more… instantaneous. I’ve had enough experience working in dirty, grimy places.”

“There is more to be found down there than meets the eye. Power means many things, one of which is connections . If you want to be running the Guild one day, it’s high time you start inserting yourself in their business. Know their rules, study their actions, and in time you will learn how to break them, mould them to your vision.” 

Mol’s eyes brightened as she listened to Raphael, her eagerness growing like a volcano on the verge of an eruption until… her stomach grumbled, rather loudly, echoing throughout the room. 

Raphael lowered the scroll he had been reading, shooting Mol a cold stare. She returned his look with a sheepish grin. 

“I don’t suppose you have any… food down here?”

Another snap, this one strangely angry sounding.

A new table appeared in the middle of the room, filled with a plethora of snacks and luxurious food Mol had no doubt never laid eyes on.

“Gods! What a spread!”

Mol dove towards the table, devouring the food like a rabid dog. He would’ve normally found this behaviour repulsive, nothing ruined his appetite quicker than a mortal who could not control their temptations. But Raphael found comfort watching Mol, holding back a laugh as she tore the meat from a chicken leg. He would teach her proper manners soon enough.

“Say, no offence, but can you send me back when I’m done?” Mol spoke through a full mouth, “I mean, to Baldur’s Gate. I’m not a big fan of Avernus…”

“You better get used to it, Mol.” Raphael responded, dabbing a quill in some ink, “you’ll be seeing the Hells far more often, I guarantee it.”

[heylorrain]

Serpent’s touch

[ 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐲 🐍 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ]

Previous Part 1 Next

"What are you going to do now, Ominis Gaunt?”… “Nothing that you wouldn't want me to do," he finally replied, his voice low. He waited for a sign from her, her consent, a hint, anything. 

As the game ended, the duo trudged down to the Quidditch lockers to console their defeated friends. The Slytherin team had given it their all on the field, but their efforts fell short and they suffered a humiliating loss. Sebastian, fueled by anger and disappointment, was ready to confront another player for alleged cheating. And of course, Imelda's antics were always adding fuel to the fire.

The Slytherins exchanged glances at their friends' typical reactions before dragging them out of the tents and towards their common room before things got too heated.

The cool breeze of the castle hit them as they entered their Common Room, adding to the already gloomy atmosphere. But even in the dim light, they could see the moon casting its silver glow onto the Black Lake, waves crashing against the windows and reflecting off the stained glass. 

As the night wore on, the sounds of students returning to their dorms could be heard throughout the castle.

When Bell’s Tower clock chimed past midnight, a lone male figure emerged from the shadows. 

Wand casting a flickering red light as he made his way down the stairs. It was young Gaunt, making his way towards his favorite spot - a puffy couch next to the crackling fireplace. But as he approached, something caught his attention. Another figure sat in his usual spot, staring into the dancing flames.

"I see you too have nightmares" Lorra spoke in a hushed tone, her voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire. "Mine come and go, but I'd rather not sleep at all on nights like these. They only worsen with darkness."

Ominis sighed, his voice heavy with weariness and a hint of fear. "Indeed" he admitted quietly, "and they're always much worse when I sleep for long periods of hours." Lorain's gaze softened with understanding as she listened to him speak. "I just... can't sleep well most of the time. May I?". Ominis asked before sitting down next to his friend. 

"That's why you take naps during the day," Lorain deduced, her eyes searching his face for confirmation. A small smile tugged at her lips as she added, "You're quite the character, Ominis Gaunt. Tell me, what do you normally do on nights like this?"

Her playful tone brought a slight blush to Ominis' cheeks as she gently nudged his shoulder. 

"I... I usually just read or practice my magic," he answered after a moment of thought, his voice growing more confident. "Or sometimes, I'll sit outside and imagine I can look at the stars shining in the night sky..." His blind gaze drifted upwards for a brief moment.

His eyes lit up with a sense of wonder and excitement. He gestured animatedly with his hands, describing how he used his wand to trace the patterns in the stars and create intricate constellations only visible to him.

Lorrain leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, fully absorbed in his words. She could feel his passion for magic radiating from him, and she couldn't help but admire him for it.

"So when you look at the stars, Can you see shooting stars brighter than anyone else? How beautiful," she murmured.

 "It's one of the few perks of my condition."" He smiled softly, touching the tip of his wand.

She let out a contented sigh, "You're amazing, Gaunt. Tell me more about yourself." Her voice was getting tired, but filled with genuine interest as she finally began to feel sleepy in his comforting presence.

"Um... Well, I'm not too much of a... very interesting person. I'm just an average wizard”. 

She leaned in, intrigued.

 "I've heard differently...about the Dark Arts and the Gaunts. Are the stories true?" Her tone was respectful, but there was a hint of curiosity in her voice.

He let out a long breath before answering. The weight of his family's dark beliefs hung heavily on his shoulders.

"Yes, unfortunately they are true. My family has a long history with the Dark Arts, and to our ties to Salazar Slytherin doesn’t help either. I'm not that different from them, despite trying to distance myself from it all." His words trailed off, filled with regret and shame. It was nothing to be proud of. Especially for what they’ve made him do when he was just a child…

Lorra's gaze lingered on Omini's face, her eyes drawn to the unique pattern of moles scattered across his cheek. 

He tilted his head to the side. His light blue colored orbs seemed to see right through her. "You are different from them, I can tell. " she said softly.

Ominis couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves at her words. He was used to being looked down upon or ignored, not complimented. But there was something about her gentle expression and kind words that made him feel seen in a way he never had before. He smiled shyly and nodded his head in response.

"Thank you but I...you know, you don't really know me that well." He paused. “ That doesn't mean you're wrong, it's just...I'm not as good as you think I might be." 

“Let me get to know you better then…”

She wanted to break through his reserved exterior and truly connect with him, for some reason. She knew he had walls built up, BIG ONES, but she couldn't help but feel hopeful that he would let her in.

Their midnight meetings had become a comforting routine in the weeks that followed. They would always meet in this same spot, surrounded by the darkness and the quiet of the night. For hours they would talk about their hopes and dreams, delving deep into the depths of their souls. They sat in silence sometimes, both lost in their own troubled thoughts and fears. But somehow, simply being in each other's company brought a sense of comfort and understanding.

One particular night, Ominis seemed more philosophical than usual as he asked her an unexpected question.

"What's something that you regret doing in your life? Anything at all that's worth regretting?"

She sucked in a sharp breath, feeling both nervous and vulnerable. But she knew she needed to answer his question honestly, it was only fair.

“I-I regret many things,” she laughed nervously, “but I guess not being there when my aunt needed me the most… She was the one who raised me, took me in after my muggle parents were killed. You see, Her and myself were the only witches in the family… ” She paused for a moment, her words heavy with emotion.

Ominis was taken aback by her response. He hadn't expected such a deeply personal and emotional answer. He couldn't help but feel sympathy for her.

"I’m so sorry Lorra".

Her eyes filled with tears as she began to open up to him. “She was cursed with the Torturing Curse, spent some time at San Mungo's but...she wasn't the same person anymore. She couldn't walk nor eat, comb her own hair, bathe herself… Eventually her lungs failed and then, well...I couldn't bear to see what she had become...an empty shell. For some reason everything is kind of a blur for me when I try to remember how it all happened, it’s just like a fog that clenches on that part of my past, you know?”

Her gaze drifted to the flickering flames before them, lost in memories she never thought she would share with anyone else nor trusting a Gaunt with these painful moments. The urge to embrace her and offer comfort was strong, but Ominis knew this was not the time. 

As if sensing the heaviness in the air, Lorra interjected with a more mundane and random question, "Do you have a favorite color?"

It caused Ominis to laugh, understanding she wanted to stay away from that topic. “Yes, I do. My favorite color would have to be purple. For some reason, it brings me a sense of calm and peace. Sebastian has told me it’s the color of lavender, and the berries in our breakfast.”

Lorrain shared she knew - for some reason - that for blind people, muggles and wizards, colors were perceived through different sensations - red denoted warmth and coziness, while blue evoked feelings of coldness and solidity, and so on. 

The concept fascinated her as she wondered how someone who couldn't see could understand or imagine the world around them. 

Then, a thought crossed her mind - She wondered how Ominis, born without sight, would visualize her appearance. Has he imagined her based on the sound of her voice or the feel of her touch? With no filter at all, she asked if he was curious about what she looked like. 

He met her curiosity with his own "May I touch your face then? It’ll just be a moment"

A rush of excitement surged through Lorrain as she eagerly replied, "Yes, please do." She sat facing him with her legs crossed, and grabbed his hands and gently guided them to her face, leaning in closer, allowing him to explore her features.

As he gently traced the contours of her face, she couldn't help but wonder what he was imagining. Was it close to reality or completely different? It was a strange sensation, being seen through touch rather than sight, but somehow it felt oddly intimate and personal.

The light brush of his fingertips against her skin made her hold her breath. His touch was as cold and smooth as polished stone, tracing a path from her hairline to her delicate eyebrows, then lingering on her eyelids with their soft, fluttering lashes. He continued down to her warm cheeks, where his touch seemed to melt away the chill, and finally to her parted soft lips. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat as she gazed into his mesmerizing eyes. They were like pools of liquid blue silver, reflecting chimney fire. Ominis continued his caress, stroking every contour of her face with delicate precision. As his fingers reached her chin, she smiled. She felt for a moment as though she was his most precious possession in the world. 

The blonde wizard could sense her aura changing into something more... affectionate. The way he’d felt her smile made his ears warm up. Ominis’ hands slowly fell to the sides. Lorra waited anxiously for his response.

"I think I have a good idea now of how you look" 

She watched him with curiosity and amusement, tilting her head slightly to the side as she waited for him to finish speaking. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke again.

"May I... ask you something personal? Why are you so kind to me? It's a dumb question, I know, but I can't help wondering."

She smiled and sighed at the same time, as if grappling with conflicting emotions. With a playful glint in her eyes, she replied, "You know Natsai Onai? She’s a Gryffindor. She told me to be cautious around you. Which only bloomed my curiosity on why”. She paused for a moment before continuing, “I didn’t want to believe the rumors until I knew you better" 

Ominis' face twisted into an angry grin. How could someone who barely knew him, and spoke probably just a couple of words in four years, make assumptions about him?

Lorrain reached out and gently took his hand for comfort. "But I don't like to judge people before I really get to know them," she said softly. "And I'm glad I didn't listen to Natti.” Her heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement.

“You are a good man, Ominis Gaunt. I’m thankful for everything we’ve shared so far. And I-I’m happy I was your dance partner that day… I truly am" Her words were like a warm embrace, softening his gaze and bringing a sense of peace. He couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken such kind words to him. 

As the tension thickened between them, their breaths grew heavier with each passing moment, they inched closer, crossing personal boundaries until their bodies were almost touching. Ominis could feel the heat radiating from their skin and the pounding of their hearts almost deafening in his ears. 

Before they could continue, the loud laughter of his friend Sebastian shattered the moment, separating them in a quick movement. The sound echoed off the stone walls of the common room, bouncing off the high vaulted ceilings and filling the space with a chaotic energy. Trying to redo his tie and smooth down his disheveled hair, Sebastian burst into the room like a whirlwind, clearly trying to hide the evidence of a late night escapade. 

"Good morning, sunshine," Ominis quipped sarcastically as he pointed his wand at his friend in a mock-parental manner. "Late night study sessions, I presume?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the smile on his face. "Well my study session went very well, thank you. And it also resulted in me getting invited to the Ball... What a time to be alive," he declared with relief, grateful that he didn't have to stress about finding a date, not that he’d have a problem finding one…

Turning to Ominis, scanning the situation he had just interrupted, he asked with a teasing tone, "And do yoouu already have a lucky lady on your arm for the event?"

"No, I do not have a date for the upcoming ball. And yes, I am aware that it is happening soon," Ominis replied sharply. 

Sebastian joined them for a while before leaving to his room, joking about how Lorrain didn’t have a date either because she didn’t find any of the suitors appropriate. 

“I better be off as well, Ominis,” said Lorra with a soft sigh. "Thank you for another late night chat. I always enjoy your company." 

Ominis saw an opportunity and seized it. He knew it was sudden, and possibly bad timing, and it was certainly not the way he’d wanted to extend a proper invitation, but he hoped that out of all her possible options, she was only considering one. 

With a determined flick of his wand, he summoned a delicate flutterby into existence, stood up from the plush couch and called out Lorra's name, halting her ascent up the staircase. His heart pounded nervously as he held out the shimmering creature towards her.

"Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?" he asked, his voice faltering slightly as he waited for her reply. He mentally scolded himself for not planning this moment sooner.

She turned to face him, a slight look of surprise crossed her features. Ominis quickly caught up to her, making sure to stay just one step below her in position. The following silence felt like an eternity for the young Gaunt, each second stretching out into infinity.

"I would absolutely love that," she finally said, her voice soft and melodic, reaching out to take the beautiful present Ominis presented to her. As their hands met, she could feel a wave of warmth spread throughout her body.

They stood there for a moment longer, their bodies tense with emotion over the invitation and the response. She could see the hunger in his eyes, and she knew exactly what he wanted to do. She leaned back against the railing adorned with a stone serpent, carefully placing the pot on its sturdy surface.

"What are you going to do now, Ominis Gaunt?" Her words were a challenge, a dare, dripping with sarcastic amusement.

Like a predator stalking its prey, Ominis followed her scent, as she leaned away from him, and quickly closed the distance between them. Their bodies were so close now, their breaths mingling together in an intimate dance. His hand caressed her forearm, his lips pressing against the soft skin of her hand. And she couldn't help but feel a rush of intoxicating sweetness at his touch.

"Nothing that you wouldn't want me to do," he finally replied, his voice low. He waited for a sign from her, her consent, a hint, anything. 

She grabbed him by the cloak and gently pulled him closer. Ominis’ hands found the curves of her neck, fingers tangled in her braid. Finally, their lips found each other for the first time. Eyes shut, they savored the moment - their souls leaving their bodies at the touch of each other finally happening. The heat of their embrace gave Ominis enough confidence that he was doing the right thing. 

Despite their lack of expertise in the art of kissing and courting, it was enough for them. Their bodies pressed together with a comforting weight as they continued to lock lips. She timidly opened her mouth, her tongue instinctively reaching out to explore her lover's mouth. Ominis eagerly welcomed her, mirroring her actions with slow and deliberate movements. Her hands traced a path from his chest to his neck, making his blood drop cold at the warmth of her touch. With noses touching and smiles on their faces, they broke apart like two mischievous children caught in the act.

As they acclimated to each other's unique scent and taste, they murmured sweet nothings about how long they had wanted to share this intimate moment, how mesmerizing the other was, how they never imagined ending up like this after a simple dance class. 

There was a shift in the scents surrounding them, from the warm sweetness of cinnamon to a stronger and more vibrant aroma of berry-lavender.

Notes:

👉 Took me for ever to be ok Ominis' hair but I think I finally got it! 🐍✨

👉 🌷 a beautiful plant with green branches and violet flowers that resemble a butterfly, They shudder and adapt their smell only once a century.