#but in doing so innocent people are caught in the cross fire. You have to care about minorities more then you hate bigots and these guys do

[aloeverawrites]

I'm calling the part of leftists who defend creepy art towards children, causal misogyny in their spaces, and who will label every criticism as 'puritanism', the reactionary left.

They don't like terfs so they defend sexism, they don't like puritanism so they defend predators, they don't like conservative Christians so they defend anything those people are against.

They just react.

[iris-qt]

𝚜𝚕𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚒 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝

ᴘᴛ. ᴠ ᴛᴏ (ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴏ) ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ꜱᴀɴᴛᴀ - ꜰɪɴᴀʟᴇ

❆ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ | 10.0ᴋ

❆ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴄᴜʟᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴠᴀᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀʟꜰᴏʏ'ꜱ ʟᴏᴅɢᴇ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ. ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇᴛʀᴇᴀᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡʏ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʟᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ?

❆ ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴜ���ᴘᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ. ɪᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ!! ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴀ ʙɪɢ ʙɪɢ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ. ᡣ𐭩

It was a late evening in the Slytherin common room, a week before winter break.

 A crackling fire illuminated the room as Theo lounged on a green velvet sofa, flipping through a book, while you scribbled furiously in your notebook at the opposite end of the room.

Mattheo strutted into the common room, his usual smirk plastered across his face, followed closely by Blaise who looked far too amused for Theo’s liking.

“You know,” Mattheo began, plopping himself into the chair between you and Theo, “I think it’s time we had a little chat.”

Theo groaned, not even bothering to look up. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“Busy ignoring each other? Very productive,” Mattheo quipped, glancing between you two. “But don’t worry. I’m about to change your lives.”

You shot him a glare. “If this is another one of your ridiculous schemes-”

“Oh, it is,” Blaise interrupted smoothly, flopping onto the sofa beside Theo. “And it’s brilliant.”

Mattheo leaned forward, his smirk widening. “You two ever wonder why we’ve been pushing you together so much lately?”

Theo snapped his book shut, narrowing his eyes. “Because you’re a meddling prat who has nothing better to do?”

“Accurate,” you added without looking up from your notes.

Mattheo held up a finger. “True, but not the full story.”

Blaise chuckled. “This is the good part.”

With a dramatic sigh, Mattheo leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “See, here’s the thing. Your constant bickering? It’s been exhausting for the rest of us.”

You frowned, pen pausing midsentence. “Excuse me?”

Mattheo waved a hand. “You heard me. The snark, the eye rolling, the glares. It’s like watching a soap opera unfold. Minus the dramatic music and commercial breaks.”

Theo scowled. “We do not bicker that much.”

“Mate,” Blaise interjected, “you both argued for twenty minutes last week about whether the library smelled more like parchment or mildew.”

“It smells like parchment!” Theo defended, throwing up his hands.

“Exactly,” Mattheo said, pointing at him. “Proving my point. So, the gang and I decided to do something about it…for an end goal of course”

You crossed your arms, clearly unimpressed. “And what, exactly, is this end goal?”

Mattheo’s grin turned positively wicked. “We orchestrated this whole winter break thing.”

Theo blinked. “What whole thing?”

“A ski retreat to Malfoy’s family ski lodge!” Mattheo says as if it’s the brightest plan of the century.

Your jaw dropped. “You mean to tell me you’ve been meddling just so we wouldn’t annoy you?”

Mattheo held up his hands in mock innocence. “Not just that. It’s also been incredibly entertaining.”

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaise said, smirking. “It’s not like it didn’t work. You’ve been a lot less...murdery toward each other lately.”

You opened your mouth to retort but stopped, glancing at Theo. He looked just as caught off guard as you felt.

Mattheo leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Besides, you two needed this. You just didn’t know it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Mattheo smirked, standing up and patting your shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. The mountains have a way of making people see things clearly.”

As Mattheo sauntered off, Blaise followed, throwing a parting shot over his shoulder. “Just don’t forget to thank us when you’re both madly in love by New Year’s.”

You and Theo exchanged a horrified look, protests overlapping.

“That’s not—” “We don’t—”

The silence that followed was almost comical.

Finally, you shook your head, muttering under your breath. “They’re insufferable.”

Theo huffed, grabbing his book again. “Tell me about it.”

But as he flipped a page, he couldn’t help glancing at you, a thought nagging at the back of his mind. 

Maybe, just maybe, the prats had a point.

…

The snow outside the Malfoy lodge sparkled under a pale winter sun as three elaborate, gleaming black carriages pulled up in a line, two days after break began. Each was pulled by magical thestrals, their skeletal wings casting eerie shadows across the snow. The group began piling out, each member showcasing a different level of winter preparation.

“Careful!” Pansy snapped as Mattheo practically vaulted out of the first carriage, sending a dusting of snow into her boots.

“It’s just snow,” Mattheo said, brushing nonexistent flakes off his jacket with exaggerated care. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Pansy shot him a murderous glare. “These are Prada, you twit.”

From the second carriage, Blaise emerged with practiced grace, holding a flask. “Anyone want a warming charm? Or something stronger?”

“Why not both?” you said, stepping out behind him and rubbing your gloved hands together.

Just as you spoke, a loud whoosh echoed, and everyone turned to see a plume of green fire bursting from the lodge’s ornate outdoor Floo Powder station. Draco stepped out of the flames, his hair immaculate, brushing soot off his shoulders like it was routine.

Behind him, Theo stumbled out, coughing into his sleeve. He was covered head to toe in soot, his normally pristine coat streaked with black.

“Floo Powder,” Theo muttered darkly, shaking his fluffy brown hair out. “Never again.”

Mattheo grinned, barely holding back his laughter. “You look like you just crawled out of a chimney, mate. Should I find you a broom to match?”

You smirked, unable to resist. “You’re really going for that chimney sweep aesthetic, huh?”

Blaise raised his flask in a mock toast. “To arriving in style…or in Theo’s case, spectacular disgrace.”

Theo grumbled under his breath, attempting to clean his coat with a wandless spell, but your laughter made him pause. You were grinning at him, cheeks red from the cold, and for a split second, he forgot his irritation.

“Alright, you lot,” Draco said, stepping into the center of the group. “This isn’t a circus. Let’s go inside before someone else makes a fool of themselves.”

Mattheo elbowed Theo as they started up the snowy path. “Don’t worry, mate. You’ve already won that competition.”

Theo shot him a withering look but couldn’t help the faint tug of a smile. The lodge loomed ahead, and with it, the promise of a very long, and eventful week.

…

They arrived in the grand foyer of Malfoy’s extravagant ski lodge, all gleaming marble floors, enchanted chandeliers, and walls lined with enormous portraits of Malfoy ancestors. The lodge was gloriously decorated with sparkling enchanted candles and floating ornaments. The group huddled inside, shedding coats and scarves as Draco began assigning rooms.

“Welcome,” Draco announced, spreading his arms as if he’d built the place himself. “To the Malfoy Lodge. Please try not to ruin it.”

“Try not to ruin it?” Mattheo repeated, smirking. “Sounds like a challenge.”

Draco shot him a withering look. “It’s not.”

You glanced around, taking in the sheer grandeur of the place. “This isn’t a lodge…it’s a castle pretending to be cozy.”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Theo drawled, brushing a bit of snow off his coat. “Bet you’ve never seen anything like it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right, because I live under a bridge.”

“Enough,” Draco interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get through room assignments so we can all move on with our lives.” He pulled out a parchment and began reading.

“Blaise, you’re in the east wing, Room 3A. Mattheo, 3B, next door. Pansy, you’ve got the west wing, Room 4C.”

“Alone?” Pansy asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You don’t trust me with a room neighbor?”

“Let’s say I wouldn’t trust my worst enemies with you,” Draco replied smoothly, earning a round of muffled laughter.

Draco continued, ignoring the side chatter. “I’m in 2F. And Y/N...”

You perked up, expecting your name to be followed by your own luxurious solo room.

“You’re with Theo in 1D.”

“What?” you and Theo exclaimed simultaneously, voices overlapping in a mixture of outrage and disbelief.

Draco folded the parchment and tucked it into his pocket. “You heard me.”

“But there are literally a hundred rooms in this place,” you protested, gesturing wildly. “Why do I have to share one with him?”

“Yeah,” Theo agreed, his brows furrowing. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Draco sighed, as if he’d been expecting this. “The decision is final. You’re both insufferable on your own, and frankly, I’m tired of your constant bickering. Maybe forced proximity again will teach you some manners.”

“Or one of us will murder the other,” Theo muttered under his breath.

You crossed your arms, glaring at Draco. “This is ridiculous. You’re punishing me for no reason.”

Draco smirked. “Oh, there’s a reason. The entirety of our 7 years at Hogwarts with you two was like listening to a pair of Howlers.”

“I mean, he’s got a point,” Blaise added lazily, earning a glare from both you and Theo.

Mattheo, ever the opportunist, grinned. “Don’t fight it, you two. Think of it as a bonding exercise.”

“Or a reality show,” Pansy quipped. “We can take bets on how long it takes before one of them snaps.”

You turned to Draco, desperate. “I’ll sleep on the floor! Or the couch! Or in a cupboard!”

Draco shook his head. “The wards on this lodge won’t allow it. Guests must sleep in their assigned rooms. Besides, there’s only one bed in 1D, and it’s big enough for two.”

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Draco didn’t bother to deny it. “Enjoy your stay.”

…

It’s the first morning of the trip, and the gang is gathered in the grand dining hall for breakfast, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that reveal a picturesque snowy landscape. The chaos begins as they attempt to settle into their vacation routines.

You and Theo walk down shooting each other glares after a restless night in your shared room.

You claim his snoring kept you up, but really, it was the light weight of Theo’s hand that moved to grasp your own while he slept that kept your brain and heart spiraling all night.

Theo claims it was you muttering about homework in your sleep when really it was endless dreams about you that woke him up every few hours.

“Pass the coffee,” Pansy grumbled, rubbing her temples and squinting at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. “Who thought waking up before noon on a holiday was a good idea?”

“Some of us like to experience daylight,” Blaise chimed in, helping himself to a stack of waffles.

Mattheo strolled in, already dressed for the slopes, and clapped his hands together. “Morning, peasants! Who’s ready for some wholesome outdoor bonding?”

“Define wholesome,” Blaise said, barely looking up from his paper as he sipped his espresso.

“The kind where Theo falls on his arse at least three times,” Mattheo replied with a smirk.

Theo, seated at the far end of the table, shot him a glare. “The only person falling today will be you, after I shove you off a ski lift.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be coordinated enough to manage that,” you quipped from beside him, not looking up from your plate.

Theo turned to you, his brow raised. “I’m sorry, did you even pack skis, or were you planning to sled down the mountain on sheer audacity?”

Before you could respond, Draco walked in, exuding his usual aristocratic confidence. “Can you all keep it down? You’re ruining the ambiance of my family lodge.”

“Your brooding ancestors ruin it, not us,” Blaise muttered under his breath, eyeing the various portraits of Malfoy’s old ancestors on the walls.

Draco ignored him, instead waving a hand toward a nearby (well paid and well treated) house elf, who instantly appeared with a tray of fresh pastries. “Right. Ground rules. No one burns anything down, no one embarrasses the Malfoy name in front of the other guests, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t let Mattheo near the fireplace.”

“That was one time,” Mattheo protested.

“It was last week,” Draco deadpanned.

You looked around, amused. “So, this is what the elite do on holiday? Bicker over breakfast?”

“Only when we’re stuck with you lot,” Theo muttered.

You gasped dramatically. “You’d be lost without me, Nott.”

“Lost?” Theo scoffed. “I’d be thriving.”

“Enough,” Draco snapped, clearly already regretting his decision to invite them. “Just be ready in twenty minutes. We’re hitting the slopes, and I expect some semblance of decorum.”

“Decorum?” Mattheo asked, feigning confusion. “Is that a new drink on the menu?”

Pansy snorted into her juice, while Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do I even bother?”

…

The group arrives at the base of the ski hill, where chaos quickly ensues.

Mattheo insists on leading the warm-ups, which somehow devolves into him challenging Blaise to a race. Blaise accepts with a smug grin, only to deliberately shove Mattheo into a snowbank halfway down.

Pansy, decked out in an overly glamorous ski outfit, refuses to actually ski and instead sets up a lounge chair to “supervise” from afar.

Draco attempts to maintain order but gets increasingly exasperated as your’s and Theo’s bickering escalates.

“You’re supposed to lean forward, not flail like a deranged Hippogriff!” Theo shouts as you wobble on your skis.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be flailing if my so-called instructor wasn’t a deranged Hippogriff,” you fire back.

“Merlin’s beard,” Draco mutters, watching you two with a mix of horror and resignation.

Meanwhile, Blaise sails effortlessly down the hill, turning gracefully to call out, “This is fun! You lot should try it without all the screaming!”

Mattheo, now dusting snow off his jacket, watches you and Theo with a knowing smirk. “You know,” he says to Pansy, “this trip might actually be worth it just for the entertainment value.”

“Agreed,” Pansy replies, snapping a moving photo of Theo glaring at you as you fall into a heap.

…

It was truly a picturesque ski slope surrounded by snow-covered trees and tall peaks. The crisp mountain air bit at your skin as a crowd of skiers zooms past, but you were struggling to keep your balance on the slope. Theo, perched at the top, watches with a smug smirk, clearly enjoying your distress.

You wobbled as you pushed yourself forward on the skis, trying to follow the basics Theo had explained, or, rather, mocked you for not knowing. Your knees bent awkwardly, and you nearly toppled over again, catching yourself just in time.

"Steady there," Theo called from the top, clearly amused. "Maybe next time try not to fall on your face. It’s not a good look."

You shot him a glare, balance once again betraying you as you slipped down a little too quickly. “Oh, please. You’re not even helping me!” you shot back, voice carrying over the soft wind.

Theo smirked, crossing his arms. "Helping you? I’m pretty sure I’ve helped enough already. You’re the one who insisted on trying to ski like a pro on your first day."

“I was just trying to keep up with you,” you muttered, half under your breath.

“Oh, so now you’re admitting you want to be like me?” Theo teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, who wouldn’t? Look at me.” He pulled off a smooth ski maneuver, ending with a pristine spray of snow, making sure you could see just how effortlessly he glided down the slope.

You grumbled under your breath, muttering something about him being insufferable. But just as you started to regain your footing, a tall, handsome wizard in sleek black ski gear suddenly appeared beside you, his charm radiating like he’d been born for the slopes.

“Need a hand?” he asked, giving you a warm smile that made you heat up a little, despite the cold.

Theo’s smirk faltered slightly, a spark of irritation flickering in his eyes as he watched the wizard approach.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, though you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, especially with Theo watching from above. You adjusted your ski poles, trying to keep your balance as the wizard gave you a once-over.

“Don’t worry, happens to the best of us.” The wizard grinned, offering you a hand. “I’m Callum, by the way. Been skiing since I could walk. You just need to loosen up a bit.”

Theo watched the interaction with narrowed eyes, irritation bubbling up in his chest, but he tried to keep his voice casual as he spoke.

“Callum, huh?” Theo called from above, his tone dripping with mild amusement. “I see you’re making new friends already, Y/N.”

You shot a glare in Theo’s direction, but your smile was warm as you turned back to Callum. “It’s fine, really. I’m just trying to figure this out on my own.”

Callum’s grin widened, clearly amused by your stubbornness. “Ah, the independent type. I like that.” He took a step back, giving you some space. “If you change your mind, I’ll be over there.”

You watched as Callum glided away. You shook it off quickly, focusing back on the task at hand.

Theo, still watching from his spot above, couldn’t resist the chance to poke fun. “Nice guy. Wonder if he’s always so...helpful.”

You rolled your eyes, but the irritation you’d seen in Theo’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “Don’t be a jerk, Theo.”

Theo smirked, though it was tinged with something less playful. “I’m not a jerk. Just saying, he looked a little too eager to help out a beautiful stranger.”

You huffed, cheeks warming. “Well, maybe I don’t mind help from someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Theo’s jaw tightened slightly, and his smirk faltered for just a second. “Yeah, well, I know what I’m doing too. You could’ve just asked me, you know.” He motioned to the slope below him, as if to emphasize his very important role in the situation.

“Maybe I don’t need help from a guy who’s too busy making fun of me,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone light, but there was a hint of challenge in your words.

Theo’s brow furrowed slightly, and he looked at you with something unspoken in his gaze. For a moment, the teasing fell away, and his voice was more serious when he spoke. “I’m not making fun of you, Y/N.”

“You sure?” you asked, skeptical, arms crossed. “Because it sure felt like you were.”

Theo exhaled sharply, pushing off from the top of the slope. “Fine. Look, I’m just trying to make this less...embarrassing for you.” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess I’m...not the best at helping, but I didn’t mean to-"

“Alright, alright,” you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips as you adjusted your stance again. “I get it. You’re just...a little jealous.”

Theo blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “What? No. I’m not jealous.”

“You sure?” you teased, smile widening. “Seems like you were a little bothered by Callum being so nice.”

Theo narrowed his eyes, his teasing smirk returning full force, though his voice was a little more strained now. “I’m not bothered. I’m just saying, if I were him, I’d be careful not to seem so desperate”

You laughed, finally gaining your balance as you turned back to the slope. “Well, I think Callum’s probably a better skier than you,” you called over your shoulder.

Theo’s eyes flashed with something unrecognizable, and he glided down the slope faster than before, catching up to you in just a few seconds. He pulled up alongside you, deliberately leaning in close. “You really think Callum’s a better skier than me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re about to prove me wrong, aren’t you?”

Theo smirked, eyes glinting. “Damn right I am.”

…

The ski slope is quieter now, with most people off to lunch or exploring the lodge. The snow is fresh and untouched, the air crisp, and the distant sound of skis swishing down the hill fills the silence. 

Theo, looking slightly more serious than usual, positioned himself in front of you on the slope. His arms crossed, but there was a noticeable softness in his expression as he adjusted his ski poles.

He sighed dramatically as he looked down at you, as you were trying your best to stand upright on your skis. “I’ll teach you…but no more complaints when I make you do the actual stuff.”

You gave him an exaggerated smile. “I promise to keep the complaining to a minimum.”

“Famous last words,” Theo muttered under his breath, but he gave you a small, almost reluctant smile before motioning to the slope. “Okay, first thing’s first: keep your weight forward. Don’t lean back like you’re about to doze off.”

“Thanks, that’s really helpful.” you shot him a sarcastic grin.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “You asked for this.”

The Slytherin crew stood at the top of the hill, watching the whole interaction with varying degrees of amusement.

“Do you think she’ll make it down without damage?” Draco called down, watching as you wobbled awkwardly on your skis.

“Hard to say,” Mattheo teased, smirking. “Theo’s over there looking like he’s actually trying to teach her, but we all know how that goes.”

Blaise chuckled from where he was leaning against a nearby snowbank. “At least she’s got some determination. I’m just here for the inevitable faceplant.”

Mattheo grinned. “You really want to see that? I thought you were a supporter, Blaise.”

“I’m supportive of entertainment,” Blaise replied with a shrug. “And believe me, this is gonna be good.”

You shot them all an exasperated glare. “I can hear you, you know!”

“You’ll be fine,” Theo reassured you, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you. He pointed down the slope. “Alright, now push off with your poles and glide forward. Keep your knees bent, like this.” He demonstrated, bending his knees and effortlessly gliding down a few feet.

You followed, though your glide was a little less graceful. “I’m trying! This is hard, you know?”

Theo grinned. “I know. But I’m here to help.” He looked over his shoulder at his friends. “No laughing, alright?”

“We’re not laughing,” Draco replied innocently. “We’re just concerned for her safety.”

Ignoring them, Theo focused on you, walking alongside you as you practiced. “You’re doing better already,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed. “You’re standing up this time.”

“Yeah, but I’m barely moving,” you admitted with a huff.

Theo smirked. “Progress is progress.” He leaned in closer, his tone teasing but a little softer than usual. “Ready to try a bit of a turn?”

You bit your lip, suddenly unsure. “A turn? What if I…fall again?”

“You won’t,” Theo said, his confidence unwavering. “Just follow my lead. You don’t need to be perfect. Just keep your balance.”

You nodded, trying to trust him. As you pushed off again, you followed his movements, attempting a turn, but the slope was slicker than expected. Your skis slipped out from under you, and before you could react, you found yourself heading straight for Theo, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to regain control.

“Uh, Theo?!!” your voice was an alarmed squeak as you careened toward him.

Theo’s eyes widened just in time for him to brace himself. But it was too late. You crashed directly into him, sending you both tumbling into a soft snowbank with an exaggerated thud.

The sound of laughter echoed from above as Draco, Mattheo, Pansy, and Blaise all burst into chuckles.

“You two look adorable together!” Mattheo called down with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe next time, Theo can teach her how to ski without turning every slope into a disaster zone.”

Theo lay sprawled out in the snow, you on top of him, both of them tangled up in skis and poles.

“Well, that went well,” Theo muttered, his voice muffled by the snow.

You groaned, half-laughing and half-sighing as you pushed off of him. “I think I might need a lesson in not crashing.”

Theo propped himself up on his elbows, giving you an exaggerated look of mock concern. “Nah, you’re doing fine. You only fell once.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Once? You’re being generous.”

“Alright, five times, but who's counting?” he replied, clearly trying to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.

You glared at him playfully, then threw a handful of snow at his face, watching as he blinked, startled.

Theo wiped his face and laughed, brushing off the snow. “Okay, I deserved that.” He then held out his hand, offering to help you up. “Let’s get you back on your feet, shall we?”

You took his hand with a mischievous grin. “Next time, you teach me on a less bumpy terrain.”

Theo snorted. “Deal. I’ll find a nice, flat field for you. Maybe one without any snow…or hills...or gravity.”

…

The group was gathered around the roaring fire in the lodge's cozy living room after a day on the slopes. Snow lightly dusted the enormous windows, and everyone was bundled in oversized sweaters, sipping on mugs of hot cocoa or mulled wine. Pansy stretched luxuriously on the fur-lined couch, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Alright, I’m bored,” Pansy announced. “Time for a game. Truth or dare, anyone?”

Mattheo smirked, leaning forward eagerly. “Count me in. I live for chaos.”

Draco sighed, swirling his drink. “Do we have to? These games always end up with someone storming out.”

“Exactly why we’re doing it,” Pansy replied with a grin. “Come on, Theo, Y/N, Blaise. You in?”

Theo leaned back in his armchair, raising an eyebrow. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” you said, smirking as you adjusted the blanket around your legs. “You’re playing.”

“Fine,” Blaise drawled, lounging with effortless elegance. “But if this turns into one of those embarrassing dare marathons, I’m out.”

Pansy clapped her hands. “Great! I’ll start. Mattheo, truth or dare?”

“Dare, obviously,” Mattheo said without hesitation.

Pansy grinned, her eyes glittering with mischief. “I dare you to serenade Draco with a romantic ballad.”

Mattheo’s face split into a devilish grin. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this.” He grabbed a decorative candle holder from the table and used it as a makeshift microphone.

“Draco, oh Draco, my icy-hearted friend,” Mattheo began dramatically, earning an eye roll from Draco. “Your scowl is so sharp, it could make a dementor bend.”

Draco glared, but the rest of the group burst into laughter as Mattheo collapsed back into his seat with an exaggerated bow.

“Brilliant,” Blaise said, raising his glass in mock applause. “Your voice truly brings tears to my eyes. Mostly from the pain.”

“Your turn,” Pansy said, pointing at Mattheo.

Mattheo rubbed his hands together like a villain. “Y/N. Truth or dare?”

You narrowed your eyes, sensing trouble. “Truth.”

“Coward,” Theo muttered under his breath with a small grin.

Mattheo smirked. “Alright, Y/N, if you had to date someone in this room, who would it be?”

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to you. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks and tried to play it off.

“Easy,” you said breezily. “Pansy. Obviously.”

Pansy laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Excellent choice, darling. You have impeccable taste.”

Theo, however, narrowed his eyes. “Coward’s answer,” he said, smirking slightly. “But whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Your turn, Y/N,” Mattheo prompted, still grinning.

You thought for a moment before turning to Blaise. “Truth or dare?”

Blaise sighed. “Truth.”

“If you had to swap lives with one of us, who would it be and why?” you asked.

Blaise considered this for a moment, then gave a sly smile. “Draco, obviously. Purely for the wardrobe.”

Draco looked vaguely offended. “Is that all I am to you? A walking closet?”

“Yes,” Blaise said without hesitation. “A very expensive one.”

The group dissolved into laughter again, and Draco muttered something about “uncultured fools.”

Theo leaned forward, clearly enjoying the game despite himself. “Alright, my turn. Draco. Truth or dare?”

Draco sighed, resigned. “Dare.”

Theo grinned, the kind that spelled trouble. “I dare you to let Mattheo style your hair for the rest of the night.”

“No,” Draco said immediately.

“Dares are binding, Malfoy,” Pansy said smugly, pulling out her wand to transfigure a nearby cushion into a small mirror. “Rules are rules.”

Within minutes, Mattheo had turned Draco’s usually impeccable hair into a chaotic mess of spikes, braids, and a small ponytail sticking straight up. The group was in hysterics as Draco sat there, his dignity in shreds.

“Enjoy this moment,” Draco said coolly. “You’ll all regret it.”

“Oh, we’ll treasure it,” Blaise said, snapping a photo with a magical camera.

“Alright, Blaise,” Theo said, turning to him. “Truth or dare?”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Dare.”

Theo smirked. “I dare you to compliment everyone in the room sincerely.”

Blaise groaned. “Merlin, kill me now.”

He sighed dramatically, then started. “Fine. Pansy, you have excellent taste in fashion and an alarming knack for manipulation. Mattheo, you’re surprisingly loyal for someone with no impulse control. Draco, you’re...rich. Y/N, you’re stubborn in a good way. And Theo…” Blaise paused, clearly thinking hard. “You’re less insufferable than usual tonight.”

“Touching,” Theo said dryly. “Really, Blaise, I’m overwhelmed.”

The group laughed again as the game continued into the night, the fire crackling and the snow falling gently outside. It was chaotic, silly, and exactly the kind of thing that made their group unforgettable.

…

The Malfoy Ski Lodge’s grand dining room was buzzing with energy. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the snow outside fell gently, blanketing the landscape in a peaceful white layer. You, walk into the kitchen to refill your drink.

But as you were heading back with a glass of butterbeer, you overheard snippets of their conversation, and your heart sank.

"Come on, Theo," Mattheo was saying with a laugh. "You’re not fooling anyone. We all see how you look at her. You like her."

Theo’s voice came through, more defensive than usual. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." His tone was sharp, but there was an undertone of uncertainty.

“Oh, please, Theo,” Blaise added, clearly amused. “You’ve been all over her since we got here. Can’t even ski without looking like a lost puppy when she’s around.”

“I’m not a lost puppy,” Theo muttered, but the nervousness in his voice was clear. “She’s just…a friend. At most.”

You paused in your tracks, heart pounding. A friend? At most? You had no idea why, but for some reason, hearing Theo brush off the teasing stung more than it should’ve. You didn't want to be just a joke, or some passing distraction. Your stomach twisted, and before you could stop yourself, you grabbed your drink and quickly walked out of the room.

The cold air hit you as you stepped onto the balcony, the breathtaking view of the snowy mountain under a blanket of stars offering little comfort. You leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. The quiet of the night contrasted sharply with the loud emotions swirling inside you. You weren't sure what you had expected to hear, but it wasn’t that.

A few moments later, you heard the door behind you open and close softly. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Theo…you could feel his presence, like a pull you couldn’t quite resist. His footsteps were hesitant at first, then more assured as he reached your side.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice laced with guilt. "I didn’t mean for you to hear that."

You turned to face him, eyes holding a quiet hurt. “What did you expect me to think, Theo? You’re over there acting like it’s all a joke, and here I am trying to figure out what’s going on between us.”

Theo ran a hand through his hair, his usual confident demeanor faltering. "It’s not like that," he said quickly, his voice defensive. "I didn’t mean to brush you off, okay? I just-"

“You just what?” you interrupted, tone tinged with frustration. "Do you even know what you want from me? Because I sure as hell don’t. It feels like one minute you’re messing with me, and the next you’re being…" you paused, searching for the right word, “...sweet.”

Theo winced, taking a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "I know I’ve been a prat. I’ve been messing things up, and I don’t know how to fix it."

Your breath caught in your throat, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you. But you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you weren't hearing everything. "Then what is it, Theo? Why is everything so…complicated?"

He looked down, his jaw clenched in thought. “Because I don’t know what I’m doing.” His voice lowered, becoming more vulnerable. “I’m scared. I’m scared of ruining things, Y/N. I don’t know how to handle…whatever this is between us.”

The words hung in the cold air between them, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of his admission made your heart flutter. A mix of confusion, relief, and something you couldn’t quite name.

"You’re scared?" you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper. "Scared of what, exactly?"

Before Theo could answer, the door behind them swung open again, this time with Mattheo’s voice ringing out. "Oi, Theo! Y/N! You coming back inside? Stop standing out there in the freezing cold like bloody idiots."

Theo’s head jerked around, frustration flashing in his eyes. "Mattheo, seriously, not now." He shot him a pointed glare before turning back to you, his voice tense. "Can we talk about this later?"

You nodded, your own emotions a mix of uncertainty and something warmer, more hopeful. “Yeah, later.”

Theo hesitated for a moment before taking a step closer, his hand brushing against yours, a tentative touch. He looked at you, his eyes filled with something unspoken, then pulled away quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology.

"Sorry, I…" He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to do this, Y/N."

You offered him a small smile. "It’s okay, Theo. We’ll figure it out."

Theo glanced at you one last time before reluctantly turning back toward the door. 

As he walked away, you stayed on the balcony for a beat longer, glancing out at the snowy mountains, thoughts swirling. You didn’t have all the answers, and neither did Theo. But something told you you guys were closer to figuring it out than you’d been before.

And maybe that was enough for now.

…

Early evening in the lodge grounds the next day, the sun was setting behind the snow-capped mountains, casting a soft orange glow across the snow-covered landscape. The cold air was sharp, but there was a sense of warmth among the group as they prepared for some lighthearted chaos. Laughter echoed through the crisp winter air as the whole Slytherin crew gathered outside for an epic snowball fight.

You and Theo are standing a few feet apart, half-watching, half-dreading the upcoming battle. Your breaths form little clouds in the cold air as you two survey the rest of the group, who are already clearly strategizing.

Mattheo, grinning like a mischievous Cheshire cat, turns to Blaise with a glint in his eye. “Alright, you take left, I’ll take right. Theo and Y/N are gonna be an easy target, so let’s give them a warm welcome."

Theo glances over at you, an eyebrow raised. "This is ridiculous. They’re ganging up on us."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Well good, you deserve a little payback for the skiing fiasco."

Theo scoffs. "That was a day ago. I’m a changed man."

"Yeah, right," you tease. "And I’m a professional skier now."

Just then, Blaise and Mattheo hurl snowballs toward you both with expert precision. Theo quickly sidesteps, pushing you out of the way as one of the snowballs flies dangerously close to your face.

“Oi! Protect yourself, Nott!” Mattheo calls out, laughing.

Theo doesn’t even hesitate. He turns and blocks the snowball with his arm, the impact making a satisfying “thud” as it hits him. He looks back at you, while you stare at him with wide eyes.

"Er, what was that?" you say, more than a little amused. "I thought we were supposed to be enemies here."

Theo shrugs, looking somewhat embarrassed. “You’re not getting hit while I’m around.”

"Protective much?" you tease with a small grin. "It’s just snow, Theo."

The game progresses, with most of the snowballs missing their targets.

Pansy wrinkles her nose. "I refuse to partake in this childish nonsense. I have better things to do than get wet."

“Like what?” Draco calls over, still laughing. "You’ve been standing there for the past ten minutes looking like you’re waiting for something more dignified to do."

Pansy shoots him a scowl, but her lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “I’m waiting for the glorious victory of watching you two idiots get buried under snowballs.”

Meanwhile, Blaise and Mattheo charge again, launching a combined attack. The snowballs are coming at you both fast and furious, and Theo, ever the knight in shining armor, grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into the “fort” you two have hastily built out of snow.

“Are you going to help or just stand there looking helpless?” Theo says, his eyes flicking over to you as you laugh.

“Who says I’m helpless?” you retort, picking up a snowball and throwing it with all your might toward Blaise. It hits him square in the chest, and you pump your fist in victory.

“Killer shot!” Theo laughs, clearly impressed. But before he can throw another, Blaise ducks behind a snowbank, sticking his tongue out.

“Not bad, Y/L/N!” Mattheo calls. “But this is a real battle now.”

And just like that, you and Theo find yourselves in the heat of battle, dodging and throwing snowballs, laughing like kids. Theo makes a move to dodge a snowball from Mattheo, only for you to toss one of your own right in Theo’s face with a suppressed giggle.

“Look at that teamwork!” Draco shouts, throwing his hands up in mock awe. “Who would’ve thought?”

You snicker as Theo wipes snow from his face. "We make a good team, don’t we?"

He smirks. "I wouldn’t go that far. You did just hit me in the face with a snowball."

“I didn’t mean to!” you teasingly protest with a laugh. “It was the heat of the moment!”

Mattheo suddenly jumps out from behind a snowbank, sending an enormous snowball flying toward them. Without thinking, Theo jumps in front of you, taking the full brunt of the impact.

“Bloody hell, Nott!” Mattheo laughs. “You’re a real knight in shining armor.”

Theo, completely covered in snow, shoots Mattheo a dirty look. "This is why I don’t like you."

You can’t help but laugh, heart swelling with affection. “Taking a bullet for me yet again?”

Theo, now half-covered in snow, gives you a playful shrug. “Right, because a snowball equivocates a bullet”

But despite his words, there’s a softness in his eyes, something that makes your heart flutter. As the rest of the group continues to launch their attack, the two of you find yourselves working in sync, your movements becoming more fluid, more comfortable together.

The snowball fight rages on for a little longer, each side claiming small victories, but soon enough, you’re all laughing too hard to care about who’s winning. You and Theo find yourselves leaning against each other, gasping for breath, the cold air mingling with the warmth of your laughter.

“Alright, alright, I think we’ve had enough,” Draco calls out, raising his hand. “I’m freezing my arse off.”

Mattheo and Blaise look at each other and then back at you and Theo. “Yeah, I think we broke them,” Blaise jokes, eyeing the pair with amusement.

Theo turns to you, his expression softening. “So…partners in crime?”

You smile up at him, feeling a warmth you haven't felt all day. “I guess so.”

And for the first time, their teamwork feels effortless. The snowball fight might be over, but something new between them is just beginning.

…

The fire crackles softly in the grand stone fireplace of the lodge’s cozy library, casting a warm, flickering light across the room. The scent of aged wood and the faint, comforting smell of pine linger in the air. Thick rugs cover the stone floor, and large windows offer a breathtaking view of the dark snow-covered mountains outside. It's a peaceful, intimate setting: the perfect escape from the chaos of the group that evening.

You had slipped away from the others earlier, needing to recharge your social battery after days with your beloved friends. You were sitting by the window now, legs tucked beneath you, watching the snow drift gently to the ground. You felt a strange mix of contentment and nervous energy…like something was finally shifting, something you weren't sure you were ready for.

Theo, having spotted you earlier, couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight might be the night everything changed. He had tried to avoid it, but his thoughts had been consumed by you since he first met you in Potions in 1st year.

And now you were all in 7th…time flies.

 The banter, the teasing, even the pranking…none of it had been the real reason he kept coming back to you. It was something more, something he hadn’t fully understood until now.

He stepped quietly into the room and saw you. You looked peaceful there, face lit by the glow of the fire, and for a moment, Theo simply watched you, taking in the way the soft light made your eyes sparkle like they had that first day.

He couldn’t ignore it any longer. The weird mix of nerves and anticipation settled in his chest as he walked closer, not knowing what would come of this, but knowing he couldn’t stay silent forever.

“Y/N?” His voice was quieter than usual, careful, unsure.

You turned, a smile instantly forming on your face when you saw him. “Hey, Theo. Didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

A small, self-deprecating smile appeared on his face as he leaned against the wall. “Yeah, well, it’s just you and me. The gang’s off causing chaos somewhere else, I suppose.”

Your smile softened, and you patted the spot next to you on the window seat. “Wanna join me?”

Theo hesitated for a moment, and for the briefest second, his mind screamed at him to just stay away, to keep things light and simple. But that part of him was already fading, pushed aside by something else. Something bigger than the teasing or the distance he tried to keep between you two.

He nodded slowly, moving to sit next to you. He felt the warmth of your presence beside him, a comforting tension building in the space between them. For a moment, you two just sat in silence, the only sound the crackling fire.

“So…” you began after a while, looking at him with curiosity in your eyes. “What’s going on with you today, Theo? You’ve been…quieter.”

Theo let out a small laugh, his hand running through his hair. “Yeah, I guess I have. Just been thinking a lot.”

“About what?”

He turned his gaze toward you, eyes softer now. “About this trip, mostly. And about you.” He paused, his throat tightening a little at the admission. “Look, I know I’ve been a prat. And I’ve…messed with you more than I probably should’ve.”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes searching his face. “What are you talking about, Theo? You’ve always been a prat, it’s kind of your thing. And we’ve been having fun with it.”

Theo shifted closer, now visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not just that. It’s-” He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. His thoughts were racing, and he wasn’t sure how to say what he needed to say. “I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle...you. The way I’ve felt.”

Your heart skipped a beat, breath catching in your throat. You had a feeling where this was going, but hearing it out loud made your pulse quicken.

“I didn’t want to mess things up,” Theo continued, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you had ever heard it. “I was scared that if I…admitted how I felt, I’d ruin everything. Ruin what we have.”

You swallowed, voice soft but steady. “What do you mean, Theo? What is it that you feel?”

Theo turned toward you, his eyes searching yours, the weight of his emotions heavy in the air between you two. His heart was racing, but he couldn’t pull away. “I don’t know what it is, but you’re all I can think about. The way you laugh, the way you challenge me, the way you always know how to get under my skin...it’s all too much, and it makes me feel like I’m going crazy...in the best way.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words hit you. You couldn’t help but smile at how raw and honest he was being. But at the same time, there was a knot of nervousness in your stomach. You had known there was something more, but hearing him admit it was like stepping into new territory.

“I think I know what you mean,” you said, voice quiet but firm. You turned to face him more fully, hand subconsciously inching closer to his. “I’ve felt it too, Theo. I’ve been falling for you, even though I’ve tried not to. Even though you’ve made me madder than anyone else at times, I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

Theo’s eyes widened slightly, a look of disbelief crossing his face. “You’re serious?”

You nodded, a small, soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’m serious.” Your voice faltered, and your eyes dropped to your hands only millimeters apart. 

Theo, unable to contain the overwhelming mix of emotions inside him, reached for your hand. His fingers brushed against yours lightly at first, testing, feeling the softness of your skin. He didn’t want to rush this.

He didn’t want to mess it up.

But the urge to close the gap between them was undeniable.

Your eyes flickered up to his, and without thinking, you leaned in slightly, faces just inches apart now.

The world outside seemed to fade away, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, caught in this perfect, fragile moment.

Theo’s breath hitched, his hand moving to gently cup your cheek. He could feel your warmth, the delicate flutter of your breath against his skin. “I’m not going to mess this up,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, but his voice was full of intent.

And then, without another word, he closed the gap, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tentative at first, as if you were both afraid of breaking something precious. But soon, it deepened, the kiss growing more confident, more urgent. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he needed to make sure you were real.

You kissed him back, hands finding his shirt, tugging him closer. Everything that had been building up between you two, all the teasing, the quiet moments, the laughter, it all poured into that kiss. It felt like the world had shifted, and there was no place else either of you would rather be than right there, in that moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, Theo pulled you into an embrace, holding you tightly as if he were afraid to let go. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, a sense of peace settling over you.

“I’m not going to let go,” Theo whispered into your hair, and you smiled softly against him.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered back. “I don’t want you to.”

And in that moment, everything seemed to fall into place.

…

Morning sunlight streams through the tall windows of the dining hall, casting a golden glow over the Slytherin group as they gather around the massive oak table, which is laden with a delicious spread of breakfast food: fluffy pancakes, buttery croissants, fresh fruit, and an assortment of wizarding teas and coffees.

You and Theo arrive a little later than the rest of the group, walking in together. There’s an unmistakable shift in your guys’ dynamic: your soft laughter at something Theo whispers to you, the way his hand lightly brushes your back as he pulls out a chair for you. 

The group notices immediately.

Mattheo, ever the observant instigator, leans back in his chair with a mischievous grin. “Well, well, look who decided to join us. And look who’s suddenly a gentleman. Theo, since when do you pull out chairs for people?”

Theo shoots him a half-hearted glare as he sits down beside you “Since now. Got a problem with it?”

“Not at all,” Mattheo smirks, raising his coffee mug in mock toast. “Just making sure we all take a moment to appreciate this rare transformation.”

Pansy narrows her eyes, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “You two are acting…different. Suspiciously different.”

Blaise, never one to miss an opportunity for a jab, points his fork at them. “Did you two chug a love potion last night, or was it just the stars aligning?”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks faintly flush. “Oh, please. You lot are just shocked because Theo finally managed to act like a decent human being for once.”

Theo smirks, leaning back in his chair as he picks up his coffee. “You’re not wrong. It was a conscious decision to give you a break from my usual wit and charm.”

Draco, sitting at the head of the table, raises an eyebrow but remains silent, sipping his tea. His small smirk, however, gives him away.

Mattheo leans forward, eyes sparkling with amusement. “So what’s the story? Did Theo finally confess his undying love under the stars? Did you two make a pact to stop pretending you hate each other?”

You grin, playing along. “Actually, we wrote a peace treaty and shook hands. Very diplomatic.”

“Diplomatic, my arse,” Blaise snorted. “More like ‘I’ll teach you to ski if you teach me to snog.’ Am I right?”

Theo, unfazed by the teasing, casually drapes an arm over the back of your chair, earning a chorus of exaggerated gasps from the group.

“Merlin’s beard!” Pansy exclaims, clutching her heart dramatically. “Is that…affection I see? Theodore Nott, showing actual feelings? Someone write this down for the history books.”

You laugh, leaning into Theo’s side with a playful smile. “You lot are the worst.”

“And yet, you love us,” Mattheo quips. “Just not in the way you love Theo, apparently. Aw, look at you two, all cute and coupley now.”

Theo rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, he grabs a croissant and hands it to you, and you thank him with a soft smile.

The group erupts into laughter, their teasing filling the room. But there’s no malice in their words, just a sense of camaraderie and joy at seeing their friends happy.

As the conversation drifts to other topics, Theo leans close to you and whispers, “Think they’ll ever let us live this down?”

You smile, eyes sparkling. “Not a chance.”

Theo chuckles, brushing his hand against yours under the table, where no one else can see. “Worth it.”

You glance at him, heart swelling with warmth. “Definitely worth it.”

Your quiet exchange doesn’t go unnoticed by Pansy, who catches Mattheo’s eye. The two share a knowing smirk but decide, for now, to leave the new couple in peace. 

The teasing can wait. 

For the moment, the morning feels light and perfect, and everyone is exactly where they’re meant to be.

…

The morning is crisp and bright, with the snow sparkling under the golden sun. A few house-elves load trunks into the enchanted carriages lined up outside. The group stands together, bundled in coats and scarves, chatting and laughing one last time before departing.

You stood beside Theo, gloved hands tucked into the pockets of your coat. The week had flown by in a blur of snowy adventures, late-night games, and moments you hadn’t expected.

Especially with Theo.

You glanced at him, heart fluttering at the thought of everything that had changed between you two.

Mattheo broke the quiet moment by slinging an arm around Blaise. “Alright, admit it. This trip was genius. I deserve full credit for making this happen.”

“Genius?” Blaise scoffed, brushing snow off his jacket. “You spent half the trip plotting ways to embarrass Theo.”

“And look how well it worked out!” Mattheo gestured dramatically toward you and Theodore. “I mean, come on. Couple goals.”

Theo sighed but didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he smirked, looking down at you. “You see what I’ve had to deal with my whole life?”

You laughed, nudging him. “You poor boy.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Alright, lovebirds, save it for the ride home. Some of us are still processing the fact that Theodore Nott is no longer an emotionally stunted iceberg.”

“Touching, Pansy,” Theo replied dryly, earning a chorus of laughter.

Draco, ever the practical one, stepped forward. “Alright, everyone, let’s wrap this up. The carriages are ready, and I’d rather not spend another minute in this cold.”

You turned to the group, heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, guys. This week was…unexpectedly amazing.”

“Unexpectedly?” Blaise teased. “We’re delightful company, Y/N. Admit it.”

You grinned. “Fine. You’re all delightful. Even you, Theodore,” you tease with a small smirk.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Even me?”

“Especially you,” you said softly, cheeks warming despite the cold.

Mattheo groaned dramatically. “Merlin, they’re already insufferable.”

The group shared a final laugh before starting their goodbyes. Hugs, handshakes, and promises to meet up soon were exchanged. Finally, it was just you and Theo standing by your guys’ carriage.

You glanced back at the lodge, the memories of the week rushing through your mind. “I’m going to miss this place.”

Theo stepped closer, his voice quiet. “I’m going to miss this too. But…I’m glad we figured things out. You and me.”

You looked up at him, smile soft. “Me too.”

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know, I wasn’t sure how this week would turn out. But now? I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Me neither.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, before helping you into the carriage. As you settled in, the rest of the group waved from their own carriages, already shouting jokes and goodbyes as the thestrals began to pull them away.

Theo took your hand in his, fingers intertwining as the lodge disappeared behind you. The future might be uncertain, but for now, everything felt exactly right.

And as the carriage carried them down the snowy mountain road, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing this was just the beginning of your story.

…

Bonus Scene: Winter in Italy

For the last two days of winter break, you were invited to Theo’s family villa in Northern Italy, which lay nestled among snow-dusted hills. The villa’s ivy-covered walls framed a panoramic view of the sparkling lake and surrounding countryside, the winter air crisp and invigorating.

You stepped onto the villa’s terrace, gaze sweeping across the breathtaking view. The rolling hills were dusted with snow, glimmering under the fading light of the day. You shivered slightly, pulling your coat tighter around you as you took it all in.

“Cold?” Theo’s voice called gently from behind you. You turned to find him leaning casually against the doorframe, his dark sweater clinging to his broad shoulders. He held out a thick, woolen scarf.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, smiling as you let him wrap the scarf snugly around your neck. His fingers lingered for a moment against your skin, and you felt your cheeks heat despite the chill in the air.

“You’re easy to read,” Theo teased, his lips quirking into a smirk.

“And you’re tragically overconfident,” you shot back, though your tone lacked any real bite.

He stepped closer, his presence intoxicatingly warm against the crisp air. “Come on,” he said, his voice lower. “I have something to show you.”

Theo led you down a winding path through the villa’s garden until you reached a secluded grove of olive trees. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting a soft golden glow on the snow-covered ground. In the center was a plush blanket draped over the ground, surrounded by candles that flickered against the darkening sky.

Your breath caught. “Theo…this is…”

“Don’t make it weird,” he interrupted, but his usual sarcasm was softened by the way he watched your reaction with soft, expectant eyes. “I just thought you’d like it.”

You turned to him, a smile tugging at your lips. “I love it.”

You both settled on the blanket, the thick material insulating you from the cold ground. Theo pulled another blanket over your laps, and you nestled closer to him, head resting against his shoulder.

For a moment, the quiet was filled with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the villa. Then Theo shifted, his arm curling around your waist, pulling you closer.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, voice teasing.

He smirked. “And you’re terrible at compliments.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head up to look at him. “Fine. You’re warm and annoyingly good at planning perfect moments.”

“Annoyingly good?” he repeated, leaning closer.

Your breath hitched as his face hovered just inches from yours. “Don’t let it go to your head, Nott.”

“Too late,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp as his hand slid up to cradle your jaw.

Theo kissed you, the touch of his lips firm and deliberate, igniting a heat that chased away the winter chill. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. Your hands moved instinctively, tangling in his dark hair as you leaned into him.

When you finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other.

“I thought you said not to make it weird,” you teased, voice barely above a whisper.

Theo chuckled, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You make me do a lot of things I never thought I would.”

Your gaze softened, and you placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Like admit you actually like me?”

“Something like that,” he said, his voice low and warm. “And maybe a little more.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, lips more insistent this time as he laid you back against the soft blanket. His hands skimmed your sides, stopping just short of improper as he hovered above you, his breath mingling with yours in the chilly air.

When you broke apart, your cheeks were flushed, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Theo,” you began, voice shaky but sure.

“Yeah?” he replied, his tone teasing but his eyes betraying his seriousness.

“I think I might…” you hesitated, then smiled. “I think I might like you a little more than I should.”

Theo grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Good. Because I’m far past simply liking you, Y/N.”

As you lay together under the twinkling lights, wrapped in warmth despite the snow around you, you knew you wouldn’t forget this night.

Or the boy who had made it unforgettable.

Taglist: @lovrsm, @minhlajenni, @rafeluvrr, @mgchaser, @r6yven, @ahead-fullofdreams, @alwayslatetothefandoms, @whosyourgnomie, @froyofreya, @smut-anarchy, @babene-e, @nottinmyheart, @marikajhaha

(I'm so sorry if I missed anyone's request to be in this series taglist but ty to everyone! mwah :))

[incognit0slut]

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

This isn’t a love story. This isn’t a fairytale. This is about a woman bent on setting the world on fire and the FBI agent assigned to her case, drawn to the very flame she ignites.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader

Warnings: (18+) Typical CM violence, mentions of sexual assault and trauma, implied sex, fire/arson, and this is basically angst with no happy ending

A/n: For once, I am writing outside my comfort zone. This is heavily based on John Mayer’s song with the same title, Female Rage, and Megan Kane (she did nothing wrong!). Constructive criticism is welcome since I rarely write angst, but please be nice, it's my birthday🥺 (yes my birthday appreciation post is heartbreaking)

You wanted the world to burn.

You wanted to watch the ashes drift through the air. You wanted to smell the acid scent of smoke. You wanted to feel the heat envelop you, to wrap your body like a suffocating blanket. Because simply sitting in silence wasn’t enough for the rage that consumed you, the smoldering anger that craved the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath.

You craved the chaos, but the man lying defeated before you was enough for now. His eyes, wide with horror, stared up at you—the look of a man who knew these were his final moments. He pleaded, his voice cracking in desperation, his hands bound tightly behind his back as you stood there, unfazed.

Please.

I have a family. Think of my children.

Just let me go—I'll disappear, you'll never have to see me again.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? How a man could beg for mercy, could invoke the sanctity of family only when facing his own end. How a man could think that running away could solve everything, believing that his disappearance would erase the past and the suffering he caused.

No, that was a choice you didn’t have. The luxury of forgetting, of escaping the shadows that clung to your every step. Not only was his pleading in vain, it was insulting, as if the depth of his misdeeds could be washed away by mere absence. You wanted him gone. You wanted him dead.

So you gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Your expression was serene, almost angelic, but it belied the reality of your intentions as your heels echoed through the empty warehouse, a jug of gasoline in hand.

He screamed. Your smile widened. It was useless—no other soul was near enough to hear his cries, too far away to save him. His desperation filled the empty space once again as you poured the gasoline around him, drenching him in its sharp, pungent scent.

Then you took a step back, your hand reaching for the lighter in your pocket. There was a moment of hesitation as you watched him struggle. Could you really do this? Could you cross this final line?

But then the memories surged forward, vivid and painful. He was one of them, one of the people who had taken advantage of your innocence when you were young and naive, who had shattered your trust and left you to pick up the pieces alone, leaving scars that never truly healed.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Your fingers tightened around the lighter. What a foolish man, who was he to think that a forced apology could undo the damage? With a steady hand, you flicked the lighter, the flame springing to life. His apologies continued, increasingly frantic, but they were nothing more than the desperate noise of a man who had run out of options, out of time.

You threw the lighter. The small flame sailed through the air, landing amidst the gasoline-soaked ground with a burst of fire. The flame caught instantly, erupting into a roaring blaze that engulfed him in a matter of seconds, drowning out his piercing scream.

You continued to watch his body burn, and perhaps for the very first time in your life, you felt a terrifying peace.

~*~

“This is the third body in a week,” Derek mentioned, stepping into the old factory as he slipped his sunglasses on top of his head, scanning the scene before him. It was disturbing. The stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Spencer looked up from where he was crouched near what was left of the victim. “It’s getting more deliberate,” he observed. “The Unsub is trying to send a message.”

Derek moved closer, carefully stepping over a piece of evidence marked by the forensic team. “What are you thinking?”

He slowly stood up, his eyes assessing the place. There were actually a lot of things on his mind, and one of them being how this third victim seemed more calculated, more precise than the others. It was a stark contrast to the first victim, whose remains were found in a haphazard, chaotic state in that old warehouse.

But this one… everything was meticulously arranged, from the positioning of the body to the burn patterns that radiated outwards in a controlled manner. The Unsub was trying to perfect their methods in a short amount of time, and as much as Spencer hated to admit it, it was almost impressive.

“They want attention,” Spencer finally said, breaking the silence as he mulled over the crime scene. “They’re not just doing this for the sake of it; they’re communicating. Whatever message they’re trying to send, it’s getting closer with each victim.”

“You think they’re trying to tell us something?”

“No, I don’t think it’s aimed at us.” Spencer bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing in thought. “They’re trying to make a statement.”

“Like a public declaration?”

“Could be,” Spencer acknowledged, stepping back to view the scene from a different angle. “Or it could be a form of protest or revenge.”

“Burning people for revenge,” Derek mused, crossing his arms. “Now that’s a hell of a way to get a point across.”

“It’s deeply symbolic. Fire consumes everything, leaving nothing but ash. It’s final.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “Whoever is doing this is not just angry, they’re trying to erase their victims from existence.”

“Well, they’re doing a pretty good job at it, we haven’t identified any of them yet.”

Spencer frowned, his gaze dropping back to the scene in front of him. Identifying the first two victims had been nearly impossible due to the extent of the burns. The flames had consumed everything, leaving behind little more than brittle bones and ash. Dental records and DNA tests had been their only hope, and even those couldn’t identify the victims.

He continued to study the body, looking for anything that could help them. The burns were severe, almost total, but then something caught his eye. A faint mark, barely visible under the scorched skin. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out the details. There, peeking out from the blackened flesh on the victim’s forearm, partially obscured by the burns, was a small tattoo.

“I think we might have something,” he said, pointing to the mark.

Derek leaned in, his eyes widening slightly. “That looks like a tattoo.”

“You think we can get this to the lab?”

“We can,” Derek replied as he took out his phone and took a quick photo of it. “But we also have Garcia.”

Spencer watched as Derek quickly navigated through his contacts, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He tapped the screen, putting the phone close to his ear. It didn’t take long for the call to connect, and almost immediately, a familiar voice filled the brief silence through the speaker.

“I knew you couldn’t go a day without me,” Penelope’s unmistakable cheerful voice greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this delightful interruption?”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “Garcia, we need your magic on a photo. There’s a partial tattoo on our latest victim, and we need to know if it matches anyone in the system.”

“Send it over and I’ll sprinkle some of my digital pixie dust on it.”

Derek attached the photo to a message and sent it directly to her. “It’s on its way.”

“Got it,” Penelope replied, her fingers already flying across her keyboard on the other end. “Okay, this might take a while, but I do have more information on our first victim, or I guess you can say, I have all the information that you need.”

“Our first John Doe is identified?”

“Rick Sullivan,” she confirmed. “He was reported missing a week ago by his wife. Turns out he has a bit of a past—multiple arrests for minor offenses, but nothing that would usually make him a target for this kind of violence.”

Spencer leaned closer to Derek’s phone. “Does he have any known associates or enemies that stand out?”

“Not on record,” Penelope said, her voice slightly muffled as she sifted through more files. “But listen to this, his bank transactions show some pretty hefty sums being spent regularly. Guess where most of it is going?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

"To an exclusive strip club on the east side of town called The Velvet Curtain,” she revealed. “Seems our Mr. Sullivan was quite the regular spender there.”

Derek smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough,” she replied with a playful lilt in her voice. “Keep the compliments coming and maybe I’ll dig up even more dirt for you.”

“We’ll need all the dirt we can get. Thanks, Garcia.”

“Always a pleasure, gentlemen. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything else,” she said before ending the call.

Derek turned to Spencer as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Ready to see some strippers, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer glanced back at the charred remains. He’d seen too many bodies, too much senseless violence. There was nothing left that could shake him—not even the neon lights and dark corners of a strip club, or even the thought of being in a room surrounded by half-naked women. He could handle that. He could definitely handle that.

With a slight nod aimed at Derek, he followed him out of the building.

~*~

“Scarlett!” A voice rang through the dressing room. “You’re up in five!”

You swiped the red lipstick across your lips one last time, perfecting the bold arch that had become your signature look as your eyes swept over your reflection, eying the thin straps of your costume. The fabric was a deep, seductive red, almost the color of freshly drawn blood, and barely covered your skin. The material was sheer and see-through, leaving little to the imagination, something you preferred. Because the more skin you showed, the more you felt in control.

This was your armor, the persona you donned to hide the secrets buried beneath your glamorous exterior. As Scarlett, you were a siren. Untouchable. You had power and control, something your life outside these walls lacked.

“Scarlett!”

“I’m coming!” You snapped, capping the lipstick and placing it back in your makeup bag. You stood up, smoothing down your outfit, and made your way to the stage entrance.

The stage coordinator eyed you up and down. “No props for today?”

You shook your head, giving a confident smile. “Not today. I can manage without them.”

He nodded approvingly, moving to the side. “Alright, it's your cue."

You brushed past him and headed down the dimly lit corridor leading to the stage, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through you. Taking one last deep breath, you finally stepped into the glow of the spotlight. The crowd's attention shifted to you, and you felt the power you had grown accustomed to, the control you desperately craved. The music pulsed through the air as you sauntered toward the pole at center stage.

You started to move.

Your fingers around the cold metal, and your body naturally found the beat as you began to dance seductively, letting the red fabric of your costume shimmer under the lights. A flirtatious smile played on your lips as you glanced around the room, locking eyes with a few patrons who watched. You slid down the pole, bending your knees and arching your back gracefully, biting back a smile as you heard the cheers and whistles from the crowd.

You took in the familiar faces and the usual gazes of admiration and desire, from the sleazy grins of regulars to the guilty looks of married men stealing away from home. But then, two men caught your attention, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the usual patrons.

One of them exuded confidence, his gaze steady and assessing as he watched your performance. The other, however, seemed out of place, his eyes darting around the room awkwardly. At first, he appeared uneasy, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and avoiding direct eye contact. But as you moved, dancing with the pole and letting your body sway to the rhythm, his gaze gradually settled on you. 

You had never seen him before. He was unexpectedly handsome, with soft curls that danced along the edges of his face and soft features that made him beautiful, almost angelic. But there was something more about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed to blend in with the shadows, making him nearly invisible among the brasher, more excited crowd. His presence was so out of place and yet so focused on you that it spurred you on. 

With a teasing smile, you tugged at the thin strap of your top, playing with it as you danced. His eyes followed the movement, his breath catching slightly as you slowly slid the strap down your shoulder. The fabric slipped further, revealing more of your skin as you twirled around the pole. 

You then arched your back and bent low, the thin strap finally gave way, allowing your top to slide down your body, exposing your perky breasts to the crowd. His eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't look away. Neither could you. For a moment, it was just the two of you, locked in a silent exchange as the cheers and applause became a distant hum in the background.

You could see the conflict in his eyes—part fascination, part restraint—and it only made you bolder. You slipped the last piece of fabric down your legs, and with each sway of your hips, you drew him deeper into your world, determined to leave a mark on his memory.

~*~

“Just talked to the club owner,” Derek mentioned as he walked over to where Spencer stood, hiding in the corner of the room. “He gave us permission to question the dancers.”

Spencer nodded, but didn’t say anything. Derek raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… fine.”

Derek gave him a knowing look. “Your first time being at a place like this?”

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the stage. That would be a good excuse for why he was acting this way, but it wasn’t the truth. He grew up in Las Vegas, after all. Even though he rarely found himself in these types of scenes, he knew what went behind the walls. He was aware of what happened inside clubs, the performers, and the whole spectrum of human behavior. But he had never seen someone so… mesmerizing.

His mind was still processing the way you moved, the way you commanded the room with such effortless confidence. The way you shamelessly captivated everyone’s attention, including his.

No, it wasn’t the setting that threw him off—it was you.

“Reid?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here,” he managed, snapping back to the present. “So the dancers?”

Derek nodded, sensing Spencer’s momentary distraction but choosing not to comment.

“Yeah, we need to start talking to them. With these many dancers, I think it’s better we split up.” His eyes scanned the room. “You take the bar out here, and I’ll handle the lounge area. If any of them seem to know more or are hesitant to talk in front of others, we can bring them aside for a more private conversation.”

“Got it,” Spencer agreed. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath as he made his way directly to the bar, nodding politely to the bartender before turning to address the group of dancers gathered nearby.

“Excuse me, uh, hi there,” he greeted, showing them his badge. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I’d appreciate it if I could ask you a few questions.”

The dancers exchanged glances as Spencer cleared his throat, trying to appear composed. One of them, a tall woman with striking pink hair, stepped forward. “What do you need to know, Handsome?”

Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck, momentarily flustered by the directness. “Have any of you noticed anything unusual or seen anyone acting suspiciously in the past few weeks?”

The pink-haired woman looked him up and down, taking in his crisp suit and tie with a playful smile. “Well, the only unusual thing I’ve seen lately is a handsome FBI agent in a place like this.”

Her comment drew a few chuckles from the group, and Spencer felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him. He usually could handle a bit of teasing—he’d even interviewed sex workers who blatantly flirted with him before—but being surrounded by half-naked women, one of whom was actually topless, was making him feel distinctly out of place. His usual confidence was slipping away, replaced by a deep, uncomfortable blush.

Before he could respond, another dancer, this one with blue hair, joined in the teasing. “Aww, look at him blushing. Aren’t you just adorable?”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to refocus. “I, uh, appreciate your… observations. But really, any information about unusual behavior could be very helpful.”

One of them, with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaned closer and asked in a flirty tone, “Would you like to find a private room for questioning, Doctor?”

His eyes widened. “W-What? No, no, I—”

“Ladies.”

Spencer turned around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw you standing close to him, your sweet fragrance enveloping him. His heartbeat quickened, and he found it hard not to stare. You had changed from your performance attire into something slightly less revealing but no less captivating that Spencer had to remind himself to blink.

“Stop teasing the poor guy,” you said, addressing the dancers with a slight smirk.

“We were just being nice,” one of them protested, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s give him some space.”

The rest of the dancers giggled, picking up their drinks and retreating to another part of the club. You watched them leave before turning back to Spencer and gracefully took a seat on a stool where one of them had been.

“So,” you began, crossing one leg over the other, and Spencer made a conscious effort not to focus on how the fabric rode up your thighs. “I can’t help but overhear you’re with the FBI. I’m Scarlett.”

He stared at your outstretched hand but made no effort to take it. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ah,” you said, retracting your hand and placing it on your lap. “You’re that type of guy.”

“What do you mean?”

You tilted your head slightly, a wry smile playing on your lips. “You know, the type who might think less of this kind of job, of people who work in places like this."

Spencer shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I grew up in Las Vegas, places like this don't surprise me. It's just that—l don't do handshakes. Personal preference, not a judgment."

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Well, studies show that handshakes transfer a significant amount of pathogens. It’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

An amused smile played on your lips. “Is that your way of trying to kiss me, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and a flush crept up his neck. “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammered. “I just meant, scientifically speaking, it’s… safer.”

“Of course.” You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “So what brings the FBI here?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “We’re here to gather information about one of your customers.”

“Who?”

“Do you know anyone by the name Rick Sullivan?”

“Know him? He practically lives at the end of the bar some nights.” Your eyes swept over the empty seat where Rick usually occupied. “Although he hasn’t come here in a while, his wife probably decided to put her foot down."

“Do you remember anything unusual about his behavior or if he mentioned anything out of the ordinary recently?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “He was always pretty quiet. But now that you mention it, a few weeks ago, he seemed more on edge than usual. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was expecting someone.”

“Did he ever talk to anyone in particular, or did anyone strange approach him?”

You shook your head. “Not that I noticed. But then again, it gets pretty busy here. Hard to keep track of every interaction.”

Spencer nodded at the information. “Is there anyone who seemed particularly close with him here?”

“I don’t think so. He’s friendly with some of the regulars, but no one stood out. He mostly keeps to himself unless he’s buying drinks for the dancers.” You watched him, noticing the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought and you couldn’t help but ask, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but don’t you have to write all this down?”

Spencer glanced at you, a small smile forming on his lips. "I have a good memory. I'll remember everything you've told me."

"Really? Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

"Eidetic, actually.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s impressive. So basically you’ll remember anything?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, I can recall detailed images and information with high precision.”

“Alright, I want you to remember this then,” you said, leaning in slightly. You recited a series of numbers, your voice smooth and confident.

He looked genuinely confused. “What’s that?”

“My number.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Oh.”

“There’s a rule against sharing personal information while working here,” you explained, leaning in a bit closer, “But you can save it under Y/N. That’s my real name.”

Spencer found himself momentarily mesmerized by your proximity, the scent of your perfume, and the intensity of your gaze. He blinked, trying to maintain his composure.

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, as if committing it to memory.

You smiled. “Exactly. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he assured you as you slipped off the stool and the space between you momentarily vanished. For a brief, unexpected second, your body lightly pressed against his. The contact was fleeting but there was an unspoken tension that seemed to pause the noise around you.

The closeness brought a rush of warmth, and your eyes locked with his. “Do you like jazz music, Dr. Reid?”

He frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Um, I don’t really listen to music.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” you replied with a playful smile. “There’s a great spot not too far from here. They have live bands on the weekends.”

“What… what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to ask you out on a date.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he processed your words. “Oh,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by your boldness. He hesitated, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. “I, uh, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?”

He swallowed, looking a bit flustered. “It’s not that. It’s just… there are boundaries, and I’m supposed to remain professional.”

“Ah, I see. But if you decide to change your mind…” You moved closer, reaching out to fix his crooked tie, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I’ll be at the Blue Moon on Saturday around 9 p.m., sitting at the bar in a red dress with a drink in my hand.”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly as he tensed but didn’t pull away, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you do, Dr. Reid.” You took a step back, your hand lingering for a moment before you let go of his tie. “You know where to find me.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there as he watched you blend into the crowd, conflicted and unexpectedly aroused.

~*~

You weren’t sure what you were trying to do. Asking an FBI agent out on a date went against every rule you had set for yourself. You were supposed to keep your distance, to remain anonymous and untouchable. It was safer that way, for both you and your secrets. Yet, here you were, sipping your drink as you waited for a man who represented everything you should be avoiding.

A part of you questioned your sanity. What was it about him that made you break your own rules? It was reckless, foolish even. Getting involved with someone like Spencer Reid could only complicate things.

But there was something about him. Maybe it was the curiosity in his eyes, the way he seemed both out of place and perfectly composed at the same time. Or perhaps it was the way he treated you with a respect and sincerity that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it had been enough to make you take this risk.

But now, as you sat by the bar alone an hour later, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a mistake. The minutes had ticked by slowly, and you tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and maybe that was for the best.

Just as you were about to give up and leave, the door to your side opened. You turned, not daring to hope, and there he was—looking slightly disheveled and out of breath, but undeniably there with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a small, relieved smile crossed his face.

“Hi,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up at work and I didn’t want to come empty handed, so…”

Your eyes drifted towards the simple bouquet of white lilies in his hand. “Are those for me?”

Spencer nodded, extending the flowers towards you. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “I didn’t know what you’d like, and I thought lilies are a safe choice because they’re elegant and not too overwhelming, but then I started thinking maybe roses would have been better, but then roses can be a bit too—”

You cut him off with a warm smile, gently taking the bouquet from him. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

He let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like them.”

You placed the lilies on the bar and gestured to the seat beside you. “Come here, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

“It felt like it,” he admitted, taking the seat right next to you. “I really didn’t want to be late.”

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You slightly leaned back and studied him. “I’m actually surprised you changed your mind.”

Spencer glanced at you. “I… I guess I realized I didn’t want to miss the chance to get to know you.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to know about me?”

There were so many things he wanted to know about you, actually. He wanted to know your story, why you chose your job, and who you were beneath this confident exterior. But that was all too much for a first date. Glancing around the room, he decided to start with something simpler and said, “Start with how you know this place.”

You smiled, looking around the familiar setting. “I found it a few years ago. I was walking aimlessly down the road one night after work and stumbled this place. It’s become my little escape since then.”

“I can see why." His eyes drifted towards the band playing live music and the few patrons mesmerized by the soft tune. "It’s definitely got a charm to it.”

You leaned in slightly. “Do you have any secret escapes?”

He looked back at you. “Not really. My escapes aren’t quite as charming. Mostly books and chess. They're not exactly thrilling.”

“Books and chess?” you asked, tapping your finger on the bar. “You really are a nerd.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man of knowledge,” he replied with a shy yet proud smile.

“Well, intelligence is attractive, and not only that, it’s also very sexy." You laughed when you noticed him slightly squirming. “Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

He tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “I’m actually pretty good at magic tricks. It’s something I picked up as a kid.”

“Now that’s a talent I didn’t expect,” you observed, your eyes lighting up. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I’d be happy to,” he replied enthusiastically. “What about you? What’s your hidden talent?”

You grinned. “I can make a pretty mean lasagna. And I’m good at dancing, but you might have already guessed that.”

Spencer suddenly felt the warmth spreading along his face as he remembered your performance on stage the other day. His mind flashed back to the way you moved with such confidence, the undeniable sex appeal you exuded effortlessly, and he could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, I, uh, definitely noticed,” he admitted.

“I hope that means you were impressed.”

Spencer nodded, still a bit flustered but managing a smile. “Very impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you noted, leaning closer to him. “How about you? Do you dance, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the question. “I’m not nearly as skilled as you are,” he confessed. “My dance moves are more… theoretical. More of an exercise in coordination than something you’d want to see in action.”

The image of this authority figure awkwardly dancing in his suit made you smile.

“Now this I need to see.” Sliding off the stool, you extended your hand towards him. “Dance with me.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

You waited, half-expecting him to decline considering he didn’t even want to shake your hand the last time you saw him. But then, to your surprise, he took a deep breath and placed his hand in yours.

You couldn’t help but smile as he stood up and let you lead him to a small open space near the bar, slipping in between other couples swaying to the music as the band played a lively, upbeat tune.

“Okay, put your hand here,” you instructed, guiding his hand to rest lightly on your waist. You took his other hand in yours and began to sway gently to the rhythm, leading him in a basic two-step.

Spencer tried to follow, his movements slightly awkward at first. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right.”

“You’re doing fine,” you reassured him, smiling up at him. “Just trust your instinct.”

“My instinct is to find the nearest exit door.”

“No escaping tonight. You’re stuck with me,” you teased, your other hand holding onto his shoulder. “Besides, I think you’re doing pretty well for someone who claims to be bad at dancing.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his confidence growing slightly. “You think so?”

“Yep,” you replied, giving him a grin. “In fact, I’d say you’re almost a natural.”

“Almost?” he echoed, a teasing note in his voice. “What do I need to do to earn the proper title?”

“Maybe a spin?” You suggested, already positioning yourself lightly. With an encouraging nod, you prompted him, and he took the cue, lifting his arm and carefully guiding you into a smooth spin under his hold. You twirled gracefully and came back into his arms, beaming up at him.

“How was that?” He asked.

“Pretty impressive.”

He smiled, and a warmth spread through you, a sense of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was wrong, you knew that. You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory, blurring lines that should remain clear. But at that moment, all those concerns seemed distant and unimportant, especially when the music suddenly turned slower.

The soft, sultry notes of a saxophone filled the air as you moved closer to him, gently grabbing his hands before guiding them to rest behind your back.

“Now this,” you began, moving your arms around his neck. “Is how you dance to a slow song.”

Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft expression that made his whole features light up. He pulled you gently against his chest. “I think I prefer this type of dance better.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. “Me too.”

You felt a hand press gently on your lower back, drawing you even closer as you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. He smelled of fresh soap and something sweet, like vanilla or honey—a combination that you could easily find yourself getting addicted to.

The thought surprised you. For someone who loathed men, who had built a life around a cold, calculated revenge against them, you found Spencer oddly comforting. It was unsettling how natural it felt to be this close to him, how safe he made you feel.

You could almost laugh at the irony. Here you were, a woman fueled by a desire for vengeance, finding solace in the arms of a man. It was reckless. Dangerous. You needed to keep your head in the game. Allowing yourself to get distracted, to feel these warm, tender emotions, was a risk you couldn’t afford.

But as you pressed your face closer to the crook of his neck, it became increasingly difficult to push him away. You knew you had to be cautious. You knew you needed to keep your head clear, your focus sharp, and you promised yourself that you would.

But not now. Not when his touch made you feel something you hadn’t felt in years. For now, you allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, to the warmth of his embrace, to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, and to the fleeting sense of peace that felt so foreign yet so desperately needed.

~*~

Spencer wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He found himself awkwardly moving close to you, then pulling back, reaching out as if to take your hand, then stopping himself. The hesitation gnawed at him, torn between wanting to hold your hand and maintaining a respectful distance.

Was it too soon? Was there a rule about holding hands on the first date?

He mentally sifted through his limited experiences, trying to recall any useful advice or guidelines. But all he could think about was how natural it had felt to dance with you, to be close to you. He glanced over, catching the soft glow of the streetlights across your face. You looked serene, content, and he wished he could just follow his instincts without second-guessing every move.

“What?” You asked without looking at him. “Why are you staring at me?

He quickly directed his gaze away from you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You turned to him with a small, amused smile. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. I was just curious.”

He hesitated as you both continued to walk, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps blending with the quiet night. Finally, he decided to be honest. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right moment. I guess I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I wanted to hold your hand,” he blurted, his face flushing slightly. “But I wasn’t sure if it was too soon. I didn’t want to seem too forward or make you uncomfortable. I’m sure there’s a whole rule to this that I don’t know about, and I’ve been overthinking it the entire walk.”

You chuckled softly. “Spencer, you don’t need to worry so much.”

He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… can I hold your hand?”

“Of course, you can,” you replied. “I’d really like that.”

His face lit up as he reached out, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You laughed at his boyish smile. “So this is why you’ve been silent this whole time?”

“I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“And here I thought you didn’t want to talk to me because you didn’t enjoy my company.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, not at all! I was just worried about doing something wrong.”

“I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong tonight.”

He looked at you, relief washing over his face. “Really?”

“Well, except for making me wait for a whole hour.”

He winced at your words. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t worry. The flowers were worth the wait,” you said, holding up the bouquet in your other hand. “And besides, I enjoyed dancing with you, I had a great time talking to you, and now you’re walking me home, which is definitely a bonus point.”

“So you’re keeping scores?” He asked, finding this conversation amusing. “What’s my score now?”

You pretended to think, a smile playing on your lips. “Well, punctuality could use some work, but excellent choice in flowers, charming dance skills, and chivalrous escort service? I’d say you’re doing quite well. Maybe an eight out of ten?”

“An eight? What happened to the last two points?”

“You need to earn them.”

“How?”

You slowed your pace, pulling him to a stop under a streetlight.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He hesitated for a moment, then complied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shut his eyes.

“Okay. Now what?”

You stood on your toes, trying to match his height, and leaned in close. Then, with a quick flutter of excitement, you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

His eyes widened in surprise. “I—uh, what—”

You just laughed, a light and carefree sound that cut through the night. “You just gained another point, Dr. Reid.”

Before he knew it, you turned and dashed away, your laughter trailing behind you playfully. He couldn't help but smile at the sound, and, almost without thinking, he started chasing after you.

Spencer wasn't sure why he was running, or even why this felt like the most natural thing to do, but he didn't care. Your laughter was infectious, and when he finally caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist, he couldn't stop laughing.

"Got you," he said, grinning as he met your gaze.

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. There was a certain glow about you, a warmth that seemed to radiate across your face. His gaze then drifted down to your lips, slightly parted and still bearing the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest.

He liked seeing you like this. You always looked so confident and poised, but now you seemed... happy. There was a lightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before, and like a moth to a flame, he wanted to bask in your warmth.

Without thinking, he slowly closed the gap between you, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, and then, gently, he kissed you.

Your lips were so soft.

He had imagined they would be, but not like this—not as delicate, not as perfectly in sync with his. The sensation was more than he had ever expected, more than he had allowed himself to hope for. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, and the soft moan that escaped you urged him even further.

He pulled you closer, and you parted your lips to invite him in. The moment his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he was lost in the rush of flavors and sensations. Your tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, savoring every second while everything around him started to blur into shadows and muffled sounds.

He was so engrossed, so utterly consumed by the taste of you, that he completely forgot he was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a throat being cleared that reality snapped back into focus. Pulling slightly away, he turned his head towards the sound and met the stern gaze of an older woman passing by.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling incredibly flustered. The woman simply huffed and continued on her way, shaking her head.

You giggled as you reached up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth. “I thought you weren’t good with this sort of thing.”

“I’m not,” he assured you, his thumb gently brushing your sides. “This is... definitely a first for me.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t usually make out with girls on busy sidewalks?”

The laugh he let out sounded almost ludicrous, as if the image of him kissing girls in public seemed completely out of character, out of place—until now, to his surprise.

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

You smiled and tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

You walked together, and Spencer took your hand again. His grip tightened slightly, almost unconsciously, as if he wanted to imprint the way your hand felt into his memory. He was acutely aware of the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers fit perfectly with his. And this sense of wanting to hold onto you grew even stronger when you finally arrived at your building.

“This is me,” you said softly, turning to face him.

He looked down at your intertwined hands. “This is you.”

There was a brief, tense silence before you softly called out his name. He met your gaze, and dear god, how could he let go when you looked at him like that? He was mesmerized by the way your eyes sparkled under the light, the soft curve of your smile, the gentle confidence in your stance.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how you can earn your last point?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your question, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Alright,” he said. “How can I earn my last point?”

Then he saw it, the same glint in your eyes that he had noticed when you were dancing on stage. It was a look filled with flirtation, exuding sex appeal and confidence. The way your eyes sparkled under the ambient light, the subtle but assured smile playing on your lips, all pointed to someone who knew exactly what they were doing and enjoyed the game just as much as the outcome.

“Well,” you started. “How about you come upstairs and we can figure it out together?”

Spencer’s heart raced at your words. He might not have had much experience when it came to dating, but he knew the look on your face all too well because he was sure he had the same expression. His eyes fell to your lips.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

You gave him a knowing smile. “Because you’re trying to remain professional?” You asked, recalling his exact words the other night. “Spencer, I think you’ve long forgotten about that the moment you agreed to spend the evening with me.”

He felt a rush of warmth at your words, realizing just how right you were. The boundaries he usually upheld seemed irrelevant now, replaced by the desire to be closer to you. He sighed, the tension easing slightly as he admitted, “I guess you’re right.”

You stepped closer, your smile seductive. “So, how about we stop worrying about what’s appropriate and just enjoy ourselves?”

He was going to regret this.

“What do you have in mind?”

He was really going to regret this.

“I think you already know what I have in mind.”

Oh, screw it. If regret was the price he had to bear, then he was willing to pay it.

~*~

The crowd pulsed when you stepped out into the main area, heels clicking sharply against the floor. You took in the scene before you, passing sleazy men, some slipping tips to a dancer on stage, others getting lap dances in the dimly lit corners. A group of men in sharp suits whistled when they spotted you, and you winked at them, flipping your hair back with a playful gesture before continuing on.

You could feel heavy stares watching your every move, but despite being in a room full of men, there was only one man you had your eyes on.

You spotted him by the bar with a drink in his hand, and despite your meticulous planning to bring him back here to observe him, the sight of the man who ripped off your dreams as a naive sixteen-year-old girl never failed to ignite a burning rage within you. You wondered whether his memory was as vivid as yours, if he remembered the disgusting things he had done. But there was never any sign of recognition in his eyes, just as there hadn’t been in the eyes of the three before him.

They all thought you were just a woman trying to make ends meet, working every night in this dark place by taking your clothes off on stage. To them, you were just another pretty face, another body to gawk at. They believed you were just another girl trapped in the cycle of survival, oblivious to the deadly game you were playing.

You had crafted this persona carefully, every move, every word designed to lure them in, to make them feel comfortable, even powerful. They had no idea that you held their fate in your hands. You made them think they were taking advantage of a desperate woman, but in reality, they were the ones being manipulated, guided like pawns towards their inevitable downfall.

And tonight, it was his turn. The last of the men who had tainted your innocence.

You slipped into the empty stool beside him, a coy smile playing on your lips. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”

He turned towards you, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, your voice a soft purr. The words were easy, almost natural.

“You’ve been quite the distraction for me,” he admitted. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You laughed lightly. “Good, because I aim to please.”

“And you’re very pleasing to look at,” he agreed, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile. “You have a way of captivating an audience.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I have such a dedicated fan.” You leaned loser so your shoulders brushed. “What brings you here tonight? A fight with the missus?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s out of town.”

You knew that already. You knew his schedule as well as he did, if not better. But you feigned innocence, like you always did.

“Lucky me then,” you replied with a flirtatious tilt of your head. “It means I get to have you all to myself tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised interest. “I really couldn’t stop thinking about you lately.”

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Really? What exactly have you been thinking?”

“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to spend some real time with you. Away from the club.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what exactly would we do with that time?”

His hand brushed against your thigh under the table, a bold move that was more telling than any words. “I think you know what I mean.”

You pulled back slightly, giving him a flirtatious look. “You know it’s against the rules to do anything too... personal here. The club has strict policies about that sort of thing.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping for more than just a dance.”

You smiled slyly, your eyes locking onto his with a promise. “Who says we have to stay here?”

His grin widened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, brushing your fingers along his arm. “We could go somewhere else…” you murmured, your hand continuing a path up his shoulder, tracing the line of his suit jacket. “Somewhere we can really enjoy each other’s company.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “Like where?”

You let your lips brush his ear. “How about your place? Your wife isn't there, we can use it however we want.”

There was a pause as he considered your words. You could see the wheels turning, the temptation playing across his face. Sensing his uncertainty, you placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your fingertips.

“Think about it,” you coaxed softly, your voice a seductive whisper. “Just you and me, no rules, no eyes watching...” Your body inched closer to his. “It’ll be our little secret.”

His eyes darkened with anticipation, the earlier reluctance fading away under your touch. “Alright,” he said after a brief pause. “Let’s go back to my place.”

You smiled triumphantly, standing up, brushing the nonexistent dust on his shoulders. “Meet me at the back exit in five. I need to grab my purse.”

He nodded excitedly as he watched you walk away, mesmerized by the confidence in the sway of your hips. But the moment you stepped into the dressing room, your façade cracked.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a deep breath as you fought to keep your composure. The walls seemed to close in, the air thinning around you as if suffocating you under the weight of your own emotions. Your breath became shallow, the world spinning slightly as a wave of dizziness and anger overwhelmed you all at once.

You slowly forced yourself to move, your feet dragging you over towards the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable. The confident, seductive woman from moments was now replaced with a figure trembling under the weight of her memories.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the past rushed back in a wave of emotion. The image of the young girl you once were, the girl whose dreams had been shattered by the man waiting for you outside, seemed to blend itself over your reflection. The pain, the anger, the helplessness—it all came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm you.

But you couldn’t let it. Not now.

Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you straightened up, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. You grabbed your purse and checked its contents one last time, making sure everything was in place, and checked your phone.

There was a message.

Your eyes welled up with tears again as you saw the name glaring back at you.

Dr. Reid :)

Just seeing his name was breaking your heart. He had been trying to contact you for days now, ever since that night you spent together. The night that had been a brief, beautiful distraction from the dark path you were on. He was kind, gentle, and you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. 

Each message was harder to ignore than the last, and he wasn’t just reaching out; he was trying to reach in. His words were always kind, always thoughtful.

I had a great time. Can we meet again?

Just thinking about you. Hope you're okay. 

Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep to keep from drifting apart?

His random messages of facts always made you smile because it was so authentically him—something you had never encountered before. And every time he tried to contact you, the walls you had carefully constructed around your heart began to crack. You longed to reach out to him, to relive those short moments of happiness that had brought a rare light into your life. But you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, it would only weaken your resolve.

So you had been avoiding him, giving excuses about being busy or not feeling well. His presence had a way of grounding you, and you couldn’t afford that now, not when you were so close to the end.

Your eyes fell to your phone again. Despite the knot tightening in your stomach, despite knowing how much it would hurt, you clicked open the message.

Can I see you tonight?

The words on the screen blurred as your grip tightened. A part of you wanted to see him again, to have his arms wrapped around your body, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. But surrendering to these desires would only put you in danger. It was only a matter of time until he saw through your act, and until then, you needed to move fast.

Because you knew that if you let him in, if you opened that door, you wouldn't be able to follow through with your plan. The plan that had consumed you for so long, and now with the final act right in front of you, you couldn't afford any distractions.

So you took a deep breath and crafted another lie.

I have work tonight. I'm sorry.

~*~

Spencer stared at the message, a frown creasing his forehead. Had he done something wrong?

He couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding him. He replayed the evening in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word exchanged. It had felt perfect to him—the connection, the chemistry. But now, your constant excuses and distant responses gnawed at him. Had he misread everything? Had he been too forward, or was there something he had missed?

"Reid?" Derek's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You were saying?”

Derek opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Penelope entered the conference room with a laptop in her hand. "You guys are gonna love me," she sang, setting the device down.

“You found anything?” Derek asked.

“Remember that blurry picture of the tattoo you sent me a few days ago?” she turned her laptop screen towards them, showing a detailed emblem that was now clearly visible. "This isn't just any tattoo—it's mandatory for the members of a local club known for their… exclusive membership.”

“What kind of club?”

Penelope clicked through a few more screens, bringing up information she had compiled. “It’s a bit underground, not your typical social club. It appears to be part social, part cultural, but there are hints of something more... let's just say, illegal activities.”

“And all members have this tattoo?”

“Yep, it’s like a symbol of loyalty, almost like a badge of honor.”

Spencer felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Is it… The Velvet Curtain?”

Penelope shook her head, typing quickly to bring up a comparison on her screen. 

“No, The Velvet Curtain is just a fancy, exclusive strip club. This one, on the other hand…” She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she chose her words carefully, “...is much more secretive and, from what I can tell, much more dangerous. Think less about glamour and more about power and control."

“What kind of activities are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual gambling and trafficking,” Penelope said dryly, scrolling through her screen. “I think you guys should check this out after we wrap up the case.”

Derek ignored her jab and crossed his arms. “So our victim can be anyone, which doesn't narrow it down much.” He turned to Penelope. “How many members are we talking about?”

“Over three hundred registered members.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of numbers.”

“Have you tried cross-referencing the members with Rick Sullivan?" Spencer suggested. "He might be our best lead.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up new data. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “Got it!”

Derek leaned in. “We have a name?”

Penelope quickly brought up a profile. “James Dalton, went to college with Rick. Mid-30s, a manager at a tech firm, lives in the suburbs with his family…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “...and was reported missing a week ago.”

Spencer frowned, piecing it together. “He could be our John Doe.”

Penelope nodded, already typing away. “I’m cross-referencing his dental records and fingerprints as we speak.”

“You can do that?”

“You underestimate me, pretty boy,” she quipped with a smirk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her screen to flash with the confirmation she needed. “It’s a match. James Dalton is our John Doe. The dental records line up perfectly.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as they absorbed the news. Derek ran a hand over his face, breaking the silence with a sigh. “Did Rick and James ever contact each other after college?”

Penelope shook her head, scrolling through her data. “No, there’s no evidence of any recent communications. It looks like they hadn't been in touch for years until... well, until whatever pulled them back together recently.”

Spencer leaned closer to get a better view of Penelope’s screen. “Can you check his bank records? There could be any mutual transactions between them.”

“Pulling up his financials now,” she said, her eyes scanning the data that populated her screen. Moments later, she pointed at a series of numbers. “There are no mutual transactions… oh wow.”

“What is it?”

“He spent a lot of money over the past few months,” Penelope continued, her eyes wide with surprise. “We’re talking significant amounts.”

“Where?”

She looked up at him. “The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt the blood drain from his body. It was as if a heavy, sinking feeling took hold, the kind that grips the stomach and pulls down hard. At first, he thought of your safety. The club you worked at was linked to the case, and worse, even directly to the victims. This connection sent chills down his spine, filling him with dread.

But the more he thought about it, especially when his mind replayed how you had been avoiding him lately, the worse his feelings grew. His concern turned into suspicion, and then that suspicion morphed into a sense of betrayal. Were you involved in this? Were you hiding something from him?

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t. You were too kind, too genuine. There had to be another explanation.

“Reid, let’s go.”

Spencer looked up to see Derek standing by the door. “Where?”

“We need to go back there,” Derek said firmly. “We’re missing something.”

Spencer’s badge felt heavier than usual, the gun on his hip weighing him down. His mind was clouded with doubt, his heart pounding with anxiety. He always considered himself as someone who was confident when it came to his job, a man of knowledge who could win an argument with facts and logic. But now the lines of right and wrong seemed to blurred and he found himself questioning even his own judgment.

He let out a heavy breath. There was nothing else he could do but to follow Derek out of the room. He needed to see this through, for justice, for his peace of mind, and perhaps, for your innocence he hoped to prove.

~*~

You weren’t here. 

I have work tonight, I’m sorry.

You weren’t here.

Spencer was trying to come up with excuses for your disappearance. Maybe you got sick. Maybe there was an emergency. His mind went through plausible scenarios, but none seemed to fit quite right, and his curiosity continued to gnaw at him. He braced himself and approached the club owner, hoping to gain some information under the pretense of connecting you as a witness.

The man, with a burly frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl etched on his face, barely let Spencer get the words out.

“She was here,” the owner grumbled. “Her set was half an hour ago and I haven’t seen her since. If I find out she’s skipping out on work again…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration.

Spencer felt his heart sank. “Again?”

He nodded gruffly. “Yeah, she’s been a bit unreliable lately. Shows up late, leaves early. It’s becoming a problem.”

“Did she mention anything to you?”

“She never says much. Keeps to herself mostly. If she’s in some kind of trouble, she’s not talking about it.” He gave Spencer a once-over. “You know her personally?”

Caught off-guard, Spencer quickly shook his head. “No. I’ve just heard she might have some useful information on the case we’re working on.”

The owner seemed to accept this, nodding slightly. “Well, good luck with that. If you find her, tell her she’s got some explaining to do.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him even more. The pressure in his chest was almost suffocating. He knew he needed to focus on trying to find out anything about James Dalton, but his mind kept turning to you, unable to shake the fear that something terrible had happened, or worse, or worse, that you might somehow be involved. 

“What was that all about?”

He looked up to see Derek watching him closely. “Nothing.”

Derek studied him for a moment, noting the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes darted away. “Reid, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine."

“You know you can talk to me if something’s up, right?”

“I know,” he snapped. Then he sighed, his expression softening. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just focus on the case.”

Derek studied him for a moment longer, wanting to press further, but was stopped when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, saw Penelope’s name, and quickly switched it to speaker.

“Found something new?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Penelope's voice came through with urgency. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”

“No, nothing solid on our end,” Derek replied, glancing at Spencer who remained focused but visibly tense. “What did you find?"

“I think you should take this somewhere private,” Penelope suggested cautiously.

Derek nodded, catching Spencer’s eye and motioning for him to follow. They navigated through the bustling backstage area, moving past busy staff and performers until they spotted an empty dressing room. He ushered Spencer inside and shut the door behind them.

“We’re out of earshot,” Derek confirmed, his tone low. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, listen,” Penelope began, her voice serious. “I’ve been digging into the pasts of the two victims we identified and I found something disturbing that was buried deep in their college history. It took a lot of digging because it was almost completely erased from the public record.”

“What did you find?”

“There were reports of a group of men, including Sullivan and Dalton, who were accused of sexually assaulting a high school student who was a minor. The details were sketchy and it seems there was a significant effort to cover it up. The case never went to trial, the reports were sealed.”

“How many men were involved?” 

“Four. Sullivan, Dalton, Mark Eldridge, and Robert Lawson.” There were some clicking noises in the background before Penelope continued, “Mark Eldridge was reportedly missing a few days ago, and I cross-checked his dental records with our second John Doe—it was a match.”

Derek let out a sigh. “This looks like some kind of revenge plot.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the situation sinking in. “What can you tell us about Lawson?”

Penelope quickly typed in a few commands. “Robert Lawson lives on the outskirts of town. He’s maintained a low profile over the years, but nothing in his recent history suggests he’s aware of the danger he might be in.”

Derek nodded, absorbing the information. “Alright, send us his address. We need to get to him before the Unsub does.”

“Sending it now,” Penelope confirmed.

“Garcia?”

Derek looked up to see Spencer standing at the edge of the room, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. His posture was tense, his face pale, and his breathing uneven. It was the most uncharacteristic of him Derek had ever seen.

“Who was the victim?” Spencer asked, his voice low, almost strained.

There was a brief pause as Penelope searched through her files. “Y/N L/N,” she answered quietly. “She was a high school student at the time, just sixteen. The case was buried deep, but it’s all here—she was threatened, her family was paid off, and the whole thing was hushed up.”

Derek felt a chill run down his spine. “And where is she now?”

Another pause, this one more tense, as Penelope gathered the final piece of information.

“She’s a dancer at The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt his world tilt. The realization hit him like a freight train, his heart dropping like a stone into the depths of his stomach. It was as if the ground beneath his feet had turned to ice, sending him slipping into a dizzying spin of shock and disbelief. The pieces clicked together with the painful precision of a knife twisting in his gut. All the clues that had seemed disconnected before suddenly formed a clear, devastating picture. 

“Reid.”

He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight with a constricting panic. The room closed in around him, the walls seeming to press closer with each labored breath.

“Reid.”

The reality made him feel sick.

“Reid!”

He needed to get out of here.

His feet carried him toward the door, pushing him outside to breathe. The fresh air hit his face, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his lungs.

“Reid, I need you to talk to me,” Derek’s voice followed behind him.

Spencer leaned against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his racing heart and chaotic thoughts. He struggled to find the words, the horror of the situation crashing over him like a relentless wave.

“What happened?”

He stared at Derek through blurry eyes. “It’s her,” he managed to choke out. “I-I didn’t know it was her…”

“Reid.” Derek stepped closer, gripping his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Spencer looked up at him, the pain suffocating his chest, building up inside until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. The words began tumbling out of his lips.

He told him everything. How you approached him that first night they came to the club, how you stood out in the crowd. He described the spark in your eyes when you had asked him out on a date and how hesitant he was at first until his curiosity got the better of him.

He recalled that night, how he felt a connection he hadn't known was missing. He told Derek about the conversations you shared, the laughter between you, and how deeply fulfilling it felt to be with someone who seemed to truly get him, a happiness he hadn't known before.

Derek stared at him when he finished. There was no judgment in his eyes, far from it, but what Spencer saw was even worse—it was pity.

“Reid…”

Spencer shook his head, trying to dismiss Derek’s sympathy that made him feel so exposed. “I know what this looks like,” he cut in quickly. “But you have to understand, it felt—everything with her felt real.”

“I know, I know. I believe you, man, it’s just—”Derek sighed. “You’re too involved in this.”

Spencer met his gaze. “I never wanted to be this involved.”

Derek let out another sigh, something he couldn’t stop doing when the person he considered as his little brother was going through so much pain. He took out his phone from his pocket. “Look, let me call Hotch and tell him to send someone else—”

Spencer quickly grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping him from dialing. “No,” he insisted. “I need to do this. I want to see her.”

“I don’t think—“

“I have to,” Spencer pleaded. “I need to. I can’t… I just… I need to see her.”

“Reid, she’s dangerous. She’s killed three men before, and there’s a chance she might do the same to you.”

Spencer shook his head. “What she’s doing is for revenge, you said that yourself. She won’t hurt me.”

“But—“

“Morgan, please,” Spencer interrupted, the desperation clear in his voice. “Let me talk to her. This might be my only chance.”

Derek watched him closely, seeing the pain and determination in his eyes. It was clear Spencer wasn’t going to back down, and understanding this, he finally gave in.

“Fine. But we’re taking every precaution, okay? You’re not going in alone.” Spencer nodded gratefully. “And I’m still calling for backup.”

“Of course,” he agreed, watching Derek turn around.

Spencer silently followed him back to the car as he replayed every moment without you. He tried to search for any clues he might have missed, wondering how he had been so blind, so caught up in his feelings. The thought of you being the one behind those murders was too much for him to bear, yet he knew he had to confront you. He had to know why you did it. He had to know whether any of those moments you shared together was as magical for you as it was for him, even though he was scared of the answers, of this new, cruel reality.

He just had to see you, no matter how painful it might be.

~*~

Your last victim was the easiest. You’d think he would have struggled a bit, or maybe he’d see right through your act. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had seen you, and sure, you might have looked different, but you still had the same features from when you were young. Your eyes. Your smile. You were still you, just older.

But he never noticed, because as soon as you started to seduce him, he was just like the others. All they sought was your body, or the thought of it, the fantasy they spun so easily in their minds. You realized that another thing that hadn’t changed was their disgusting perception of you, not as a person, but as an object for their desires.

Despite their oblivious nature, it came to your benefit. It was easy to put the drug in his drink, not much, but enough to make him drowsy. Enough for his body to go limp so you could tie his hands behind his back easily. You could see his brows creasing as he struggled to keep his eyes open. You knew the sedative was starting to get to his brain.

You managed to drag his body to his study. You had pulled him by his feet, his head occasionally bumping along the floor. He groaned but didn’t do much, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. His eyes, heavy and confused, flickered with a dim recognition of his state, a useless attempt to grasp the situation that was slowly escaping his control.

And you loved it.

“W-What…” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “…help…”

You left him there to struggle as you grabbed the can of gasoline from his backyard, which you had hidden there that morning when he was at work. You wondered briefly if he had noticed it when he came back home, but just like the others, he was oblivious. It was still right where you left it.

You carried it back into the study and noticed his eyes widening slightly, a fear starting to seep through his confusion. You unscrewed the cap, the pungent smell filling the room, and stared down at him.

That was when you heard the ringing.

It was a loud, jarring noise and your eyes settled onto the house phone sitting on his desk. The sound was out of place, cutting through the tension-filled silence like a knife as you waited for it to stop. It kept on going, on and on, until the answering machine clicked on, and a familiar voice cut through the room, calling out your name.

You let out a cry. The sound of Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed in your ears, the voice you had hoped to avoid was now invading this moment.

“Pick up the phone,” he pleaded. “Please.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was already starting to shake your defenses.

The call ended not long after that. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain your composure. But then the phone rang again. This time, his message was more desperate.

“Talk to me, please, I know what you’ve been through... I just want to help.”

The gasoline can shook in your grip. Help was the last thing you needed. “I don't want any help," you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible over his voice cutting through the answering machine.

“I-I’ll be here if you need me, you don't have to go through this alone.”

"I don't want any help.”

But he kept on, his voice calm yet insistent. "I know you're in pain, but this—this isn't the way to solve things. Answer me, please, let me help—“

It was your last straw. You finally snatched up the phone. "I don't want any help!"

You were met with a stunned silence on the other end. It was deafening, stretching out long enough for the reality of who was on the other end to sink in.

“…Spencer?”

“I’m here,” he replied softly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hearing his voice, so familiar and filled with genuine care, made you pause. For a split second, the walls you had built around your heart trembled. You wanted to scream at him, to push him away, but a part of you longed for his presence.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why are you not going anywhere?”

“Because I…” There was a pause. “Because I care about you.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst. “You do?”

“I do,” he confessed. “More than I should have.”

You sniffed, gently placing the gasoline on top of the wooden surface of the desk. “Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?” You wondered, recalling the same question you had asked him days ago.

“You know it was never about that,” he said. “But you’re smart enough to know the real reason.”

You glanced back at the man lying on the floor, barely conscious, his breaths shallow and labored. Spencer’s voice rang in your ears again.

“Don’t do this… please.”

You swallowed, your heart beating fast. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll give you three,” he responded quickly. “One, you’re not a bad person.”

Your grip on the phone tightened.

“Two, you deserve a chance to find real peace.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, the resolve in your heart wavering.

“And three,” Spencer’s voice softened. “Because I want to dance with you again.”

The memory of that night, the connection you felt, rushed back, overwhelming your rage that you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears. “Yeah?”

“I want you to teach me again,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m still not very good at it.”

The image of the two of you dancing at the bar brought a bittersweet ache to your heart. But it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the anger, the deep-seated rage that had driven you for so long.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the phone, the words escaping in a breath so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.

Spencer heard it, though. “Don’t say that. It’s not over,” he pleaded. “We can still have more nights out, more dances.”

“Spencer, stop.”

“Think about it,” he continued, his voice softening as he tried a different approach. “Your family, they would rather take the money than fight for you. They left you to fend for yourself when you needed them the most.”

“Spencer…”

“And you’ve carried that weight for so long. You’ve been so strong, but now you’re not alone, you have me. So don’t let their choices define you,” he muttered. “You’re better than this.”

His words struck a nerve.

“Better than this?” You suddenly snapped, anger flaring up again. “You don’t know me. Just because we had one date, it doesn’t mean you understand what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t know everything you’ve been through,” Spencer admitted. “But I know pain. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and betrayed.”

He paused, the line silent for a moment before he continued with a heavy sigh.

“When I was in school, a girl asked me to meet her by the school field one day… only for the football team to show up instead. They tied me up to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of all the students.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone laughed and stared, and no one did anything to stop them.”

You knew what he was trying to do. And partly, it worked. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. You imagined how sad it must have been for him, how traumatic and devastating that experience must have been. It was heartbreaking to picture him in that situation. But despite your sympathy, it didn’t suppress the anger inside you.

As painful as his story sounded, you knew you’d rather take his place instead of enduring what you had experienced.

“Spencer, it’s not the same,” you said, your voice trembling. “What they did to you was horrible, but what happened to me… it destroyed everything.”

“I know it’s not the same,” he replied quietly. “But pain is pain. And it doesn’t have to define us. We can choose—“

“Pain is pain?” You cried, finally letting go of the tears you had been holding back. “You know what’s painful? Hearing your story and the first thing that came up to my mind was how I’d rather take your place, because unlike you, those men didn’t stop after they stripped me naked.”

The anger boiled over, and you couldn't stop yourself, tears streamed down your face as raw, unfiltered pain poured out in your words.

"Do you know what it feels like to be young and helpless? To have four men twice your size assault you?" You screamed, losing any semblance of control you had left. "Do you fucking know how it feels to see these disgusting men get away with everything while you have to endure the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear every single day?"

Your voice broke, heavy sobs wracking your body.

"Do you know how it feels to be broken, to be so destroyed that you can't even look at yourself in the mirror without hating what you see?”

Silence fell, your heavy breathing the only sound in the aftermath of your outburst. Spencer's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course, you didn’t. Because you’re a man, after all.” You picked up the gasoline again, the weight heavy in your hand. “You’re just like them… all you want to do is to save them.”

“That’s not what I—”

“And you’re fucking wasting my time.”

You slammed the phone down, cutting off the connection.

You moved on instinct. You looked down at the man on the floor, his eyes half-open, barely conscious. You regarded him one last time before you poured the gasoline over his body. The fumes rose in the air as you spread the liquid around the room, creating a trail that led to the door. At some point, one of your heels cracked, and you kicked them off, feeling the cold ground beneath your feet. It was a minor inconvenience, nothing compared to the gravity of what you were about to do.

When you finally reached a safe distance from the house, you paused, taking one last deep breath, throwing the empty can onto the ground. The weight of your past, your pain, and your anger all converged in this single moment. You took out the lighter, your hands trembling as the reality of what you were about to do settled in.

You flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night air. For a moment, you were transfixed by it, the flickering light a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you. Everything you had endured, everything that had brought you to this point, seemed to hinge on this tiny flame.

With a flick of your hand, you let it fall to the ground.

The flame kissed the trail of gasoline, igniting it instantly. The fire took life, racing along the path with a hunger that matched your own rage. It moved back toward the house, consuming everything it touched, fueled by the fume and your deep-seated desire for retribution.

The flames grew and the fire roared louder, its crackling sound filling the silence of the night. The house began to catch, the flames eagerly climbing the walls. The sight was mesmerizing yet horrifying, and you stood rooted to the spot, the fire reflecting in your eyes, casting light on the tears that streaked down your face.

You felt a smile forming on your lips.

So this was what it felt like, to watch the ashes drift through the air. To smell the acid scent of smoke. To feel the heat envelop you, wrapping your body like a suffocating blanket. To hear the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath. It was beautiful, and you were mesmerized by the flames, the destruction—they were your creation, your justice.

But deep down, it was so much more than that. This wasn’t just for you, but for everyone else who had been silenced, who couldn’t do anything. You realized your anger was more than just a personal vendetta. It was a voice for the voiceless, a stand against those who had used their power to hurt and destroy.

You thought of all the others who had been through the same hell, who had been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone, who had been dismissed by a system that should have protected them.

The fire was for them, too.

You continued to watch the flame dance through the night sky, and that was when you heard it, the distant sound of vehicles approaching you. The crunch of gravel under tires grew louder and you stayed rooted where you were.

There was no running from this, no escaping what was to come. You had chosen this path, you had already accepted the consequences long before the first match was struck.

As you turned around, a group of people in FBI vests came rushing out, some frantically calling for backup as they watched the fire consume the house, while a few others pointed their weapons towards you. But your eyes were fixed on the man who had given you a glimpse of hope, the man who had tried to save you.

You felt tears streaming down your face as Spencer approached you, and you sobbed uncontrollably, the reality of what you had done sinking in.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I-I had to do it.”

“Reid.”

An older FBI agent standing close called him, his tone a clear warning, but Derek, the other agent who you had also seen at the club, placed a hand on his shoulder. The older agent hesitated, then remained silent, allowing Spencer to approach you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance. The confident woman he had always known was nowhere to be found, replaced by this version of you—vulnerable, sad, and angry at the world. The sight of you barefoot, the dirt and grime clinging to your skin, made it even more heartbreaking. Your hair was disheveled, your face was streaked with tears. The raw emotion in your eyes tore at his heart.

“I—I’m sorry too,” he whispered.

You let out a choked sob. “I… I-I really had fun that night.”

Spencer nodded helplessly. “It was the best night of my life.”

Your sobs grew louder, feeling the air restrict your lungs. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to do it again.”

He shook his head. “We could.”

“You know well we couldn’t,” you murmured. The pain in his eyes after those words left your mouth was too much—that raw, unguarded hurt—and you had to close your eyes, not wanting to see it.

In that brief darkness you wondered what would have happened if you had never gone through with any of this. Would you still have crossed his path? Would things have been different? But no, your rage was too consuming, too deep-seated for you to second guess the path you had chosen.

His soft voice whispered your name, and you blinked your eyes open, noticing his outstretched arm.

“Dance with me.”

You let out a painful cry. “Spencer… don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Please, I… I just want to hold you.” You stared at his hand trembling under the firelight. “Please.”

You had never felt so much pain, a crushing weight on your heart, and against your better judgment, you took his hand. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as if trying to memorize every detail of your body pressed against his.

The world seemed to pause. You let your mind be happy for a while, you let it travel to the simple, mundane things you wished you could do with him—walking hand in hand through a park, sharing quiet breakfasts, laughing together over something silly, and feeling his comforting presence beside you during the small, quiet times in bed.

You dreamed of a life where your past didn’t haunt you, where the weight of your decisions didn’t crush your spirit. You dreamed of waking up to his smile, of whispered conversations in the dark, of his naked body pressed against yours as he whispered sweet nothings to your ear. You allowed yourself to fantasize of a life filled with those ordinary, beautiful moments, a life that felt so achingly close yet so painfully out of reach.

But the fire’s glow around you was a reminder of the reality you couldn’t escape. Still, for a few moments, the night around you seemed to fade, the chaos and destruction reduced to a distant backdrop. His hands were gentle on your back, holding you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, someone to be loved.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, those deep brown eyes you knew you were going to miss. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The sorrow there was mirrored in your own, a mutual recognition of the pain you both felt. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The color of your eyes, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice. He wanted to remember you for a lifetime.

With tears streaming down your face, you leaned into him, savoring the bittersweet moment. You ignored everything around you. The noise, the chaos, the destruction—all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

And nothing else did.

So you danced for the last time, holding on to each other desperately, each step a silent prayer, each turn a tender goodbye, as the world continued to burn.

~*~

“Can't seem to hold you like I want to,

So I can feel you in my arms.

Nobody's gonna come and save you,

We pulled too many false alarms.”

~*~

A/n: If you managed to make it to the end, I applaud you! Thank you from taking the time to read this fic. I’m very self conscious about this because not only does it have 14k words, the plot is also very heavy. But I’m happy with how it turned out and I hope you liked it too. Also, I could go on and on about why I chose this specific plot, but I’d be talking too much here. So if you want to further discuss this story, feel free to send me asks. I’ll gladly reply to them <3

[evilminji]

*evil grin of The Ponderings™*

You know who DEFINITELY would have Unfinished Business?

Heroes. Professional "If I could just MOVE, just fight a BIT LONGER, save ONE MORE PERSON" Heroes. It's the ultimate and unending Unfinished Business. To protect people. Not just their friends, their co-workers, but the innocent people around them.

That kid, stuck crying in the rubble.

That business man, screaming in pain, caught in the cross fire.

The People NEED them. They SWORE. Their very SOULS burn with the NEED to help. But... the flesh gave out. Injuries. Age. Quirk overuse. They knew... they KNEW, this was not a safe line of work... but... but! Please! Just one more person! Why can't they just make their breaking, dying, bodies MOVE!

Of course they refuse to move on.

They are needed HERE.

Yet? Their hands pass through. Their voices do not reach. A hell of their own, unknown, making. They can't let go, but they can't HELP either. There isn't enough Ectoplasm here. The walls of their reality overly patched up, since that unfortunate leak a few centuries back.

After all, the Zone had dumped near lethal quantities of unfiltered Ecto into the atmosphere. They're STILL dealing with the mutations and fall out, aren't they? At least, they are according to the Zone. (Wtf is a "Quirk"?) And, yeah, someone should PROBABLY do an assessment on the ecological recovery of the Reality. But like?

Do you have any idea how few people have an Obsession for stuff like that? Wait your turn! The list is long and you're not fuckin special, okay? The agents are BUSY.

Now, you might wonder? Wait. If they aren't moving on. Are DEFINITELY Ghosts. Starving as they are. Refusing to die as they may be. Wouldn't... Wouldn't that leave the whole ass area around their Reality an ecological dead zone? If it got over patched and no Ghosts LEFT, thus noticed, and started to try and work on it from the outside? Assuming the COULD?

Yeah. Yeah it would be!

It's called the "New Wastes"!

There used to be some cool Lairs around there. But there was a turf dispute. Someone DID something. Punched a HOLE. And everyone re-died. It was fixed but never quite re-healed. Portals... don't show up there? For some reason? Meh. Wanna brawl?

No. Danny's curious. He wants ANSWERS.

It's his fatal flaw.

Well... that and his inability to keep his mouth shut. But he likes to think he's funny. So... off he goes! And MAN! Does it feel funky out there! Weird textures. Mmmm, Don't Like THAT ™. It's probably a King thing? The Zone here... FEELS wrong.

Not... the way it's SUPPOSED to be shaped, if that makes sense?

And? It feels... if you sorta squint? Like... a LOT of people AREN'T where they should be. But aren't gonna leave until they're READY. Ooof. Great. Someone messed up again. Why does he KEEP FINDING bits and pockets that need straightening out? Unruffling? It's like he has to keep smooth out this giant peice of fabric with all these stains on it. Clean the messes on it.

He feels more like a maid then a King.

Maybe he is?

Pretty sure he's more of a nanny, since the Zone is more of a whiny yet excitable toddler then anything else. Alright, let him in. And fix... whatever THAT is.

So he steps into the Reality and? Huh. Japan. Neat. He always meant to go, never got around to it. Why is that man an otter?

.......oooohohooo, this place was HELLA fucked up by Ectoplasm, wasn't it? This is multi generational exposure. It's in the air. The water, ground, buildings. But stale to the point of stagnation. That can't be healthy. At least a few people he sees have developed ecto-resistance, thank the Ancients.

Danny discovers there are? "Superheroes"? Or just... heroes, apparently. They sell shampoo lines and athletic gear. Villians are petty criminals and psychopaths. All lumped together. He gets fuckin CHASED by the COPS and half the cities spandex patrol, called a "villian" (you know, like the purse snatchers and the DUDE WHO TRIED TO OPEN FIRE ON A CROWD) for flying around trying to assess the situation. Not speaking Japanese fast enough.

Soooorry! He TRIED to answer your confusing barked demands! This isn't his native language! He's translating through Ghost Speech! He knows it sounds unsettling to the living! It's the best he's GOT, man! (Asshole)

He escapes, obviously, because he's not 14 anymore. And honestly? He could top 200mph or so AT 14. He's only gotten faster. Intangible flight means no wind drag, motherfuckers~! OR need to dodge buildings! HA. Try to follow him through THE GROUND!

A few Blob sucked (to remove the ectoplasm) bits of treasure later? And he leaves a pawn shop with local currency. Thank YOU shady pawn shop! Ask him no questions, he'll tell you not lies. Enjoy Pariah's gold.

He does tourist things. Buy foods he's never tried, wanders around. Sees what's needed. Noticed a lot of people struggle with some aspect of the ecto-mutations brought on by the extreme Limnality. Need accessibility aids.

.....well, he IS a Fenton. His parents would disown him on the SPOT if he left with out at least TRYING to help. So he tracks down one the local ghosts. He'll need a guide or two.

He? VASTLY underestimates how desperate a sea of Obsession Starved Hero and Vigilante Ghosts will act, the INSTANT, they realize not only someone can see them... but it's? Their "Boss"? They aren't sure HOW they know that. But they DO. It's THE Boss. Here to help them! Asking for HELP ™ from THEM!

Yes

YES THEY CAN DO THAT

He gets swarmed. Hundreds of ghosts fighting over each other. Shouting. Turning on each other like rabid animals. All worn down and ragged by their Obssesion starvation. He's forced to shout over them.

And? Holy shit, these are only the ones from THIS CITY, too.

Thank Zone, again, he's no longer 14. That he has friends who are Rulers ™ that taught him HOW to Rule. To delegate. Pretend he TOTALLY knows what he's doing. That every action is on purpose.

It takes less then two hours, with all the experienced Unground Heros help, to make himself a Real Boy and buy a building. Put himself into the correct databases. He officially has licenses for things he's never studied. Is a tax paying citizen. Even belongs to several local clubs.

Over the next few days? He sets up his new... oi! Quickdraw! What're they called again? Right. "Lifestyle Support Company" which? Is a dumb name. But, Fenton Works is Fenton Works. Somehow he always kinda knew he'd be inherenting. It's in a cruddy part of town and the prices are cheap as he can safely get um.

He already had two customers, even though half the building isn't even fully set up. Which? I mean... he gets it. Poor guy. Knives for hands. Sharp ones too. The other guy's Obsession made him emotionally react to colors and like three different ones were ruining his life. So, hand Prosthetics controllable by knives and color filtering wrap around glasses.

Took him a lunch break or two.

Changed THEIR lives.

Suddenly his shop is packed. Schedule screaming for relief. And the ghosts? Getting more tangible by the day. See, his work shop? Ecto proofed. Let's him relax. But it ALSO let's him radiate fresh, clean, Ecto out into the air. And as King? With a direct line to The Zone? He puts out a lot.

There start to become Sightings.

People who SWEAR they saw long dead Heros out of the corner of their eyes. Dead vigilantes. That was who through that bottle. Who tripped that thug at just the right moment. Who unlocked the door. The SWEAR. They aren't crazy!

And... at first? Brushed off. Stress does a lot of crazy thing to a person, ma'am. But? How do you brush off, making eye contact with your dead best friend? Your old mentor on the other roof? That vigilante, who you WATCHED bleed out? Can you brush them off... when a vigilante from the dawn of quirks, punches some two bit villian on live television? Calls the Heros on the scene gloryhounds? Goverment dogs?

Runs from the cops and vanishes into thin air?

When this shit KEEPS HAPPENING?

Is spreading?

Are... are you supposed to arrest them for illegal vigilantism? How? They're THE proto-Heros! You don't want your name tied to that! The HPSC is furious. The goverment is uneasy. There are like... 6 dudes and a lady, openly stalking some kid in UA. Trying to mentor him. He looks moments away from a nervous breakdown.

Us too, kid. Us too.

All? While Danny? Is just sitting in his lil shop. Tinkering. Not HIS problem. Gotta let the ghosts here get it out of their system. Get their Obsession's full. Then it's all aboard the Zone Train. He's just here to make sure no one does anything "Too Crazy".

What's HIS definition of "too crazy"?

Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy~☆

@hdgnj @lolottes @nerdpoe @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn

[tumbleweed-run]

Want

(18+, Explicit) Kinktober 2023 Day 7: virginity

“There you are, I was wondering if you’d changed your mind,” Gale tried to make sound light, a little joke between the two of you but you could hear the undercurrent of tension in his words. 

“I’m sorry,” you said earnestly, letting your hand rest on his shoulder as you sat. “I got caught up asking Wyll something.”

That was a lie, and one you felt a little guilty telling him, but the real reason you were delayed was a bit more embarrassing. You’d been sitting by the fire going over conversations in your head. Or rather, how to have a very specific conversation. One you still weren’t exactly sure how to approach. 

The truth of the matter was, physically you were a virgin. Even though you’d had mind-blowing, life-changing, astral sex with Gale just before fighting Ketheric your body was still very much the virgin it had been before that night. 

Gale, of course, didn’t know that fact. It wasn’t something you advertised to potential suitors. 

It wasn’t that you were some prudish untouchable. You’d had your fair share of odd groping as a teen (and adult) and were intimately familiar with your own body. You’d just never had actual sex using your body. 

That was an odd distinction to have to make.

You weren’t ashamed of it, it was just something that didn’t happen. Some people never had the opportunity to try certain foods or go certain places, you’d never had the opportunity to have sex. Or rather, you had the chance a few times, but the partners were decidedly less than ideal. 

You realized that keeping this fact from Gale was becoming increasingly like keeping a secret. You needed to tell him, and you needed to do it before he decided to take advantage of the relative quiet of the journey from the Shadowlands to Baldur’s Gate. 

“You seem quiet,” Gale prodded, bumping his shoulder into yours. 

“A lot on my mind,” you admitted vaguely. You bumped your shoulder into his but stayed there, leaning into his warmth. 

Gale hummed in agreement. “It’s odd this calm before the proverbial storm.” 

You felt him press a kiss into your hair. 

“I need to tell you something, but you can’t make a big deal about it,” you said eventually after allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of the moment. 

You felt Gale’s body stiffen, no doubt anticipating the worst kind of confession. Though at this point you weren’t sure what Gale would consider the the worst.

“Alright, I’m intrigued,” He said very neutrally. 

You took a deep breath and sat up right, giving yourself the space for this. “Just to be clear, that night, our bodies weren’t actually… involved.” You were hopeful maybe you were wrong and you’d just missed all the awkwardness because you’re mind was literally somewhere else. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gale’s head cock to the side. “Ah no, they weren’t,” he agreed, unknowingly dashing your hopes, “it looks a bit strange to an outsider, I admit, but alas our corporeal selves were exactly where we left them.”

“Why?” He tacked on after a pause. 

“Well, that would mean that I’m still technically a virgin.” You made your admission rather quickly, words bumping into one another as you spat it out, hoping to get this odd conversation out of the way. 

Gale was unusually quiet and when you finally turned your head to look at him you saw about a thousand emotions cross his face. 

“You’re a…” he trailed off.

You waited.

“Virgin?” his voice had risen almost comically. 

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“But you’re-”

“Yes, I know how old I am,” you interrupted rolling your eyes at him. 

“You mean you’ve never…?” Another incomplete sentence from your usually verbose wizard. 

“That would be what that means, yes,” you confirmed… again. 

You sighed and turned your body so you could look at Gale easily. “It’s not that I’m some innocent. I’ve had the odd kissing session in a dark room, its just never gone any farther. Not to mention I’m concerningly familiar with my own hand and also that one odd pillow in my…”

You trailed off as you watched Gale’s eyes darken. He cleared his throat and shifted. Idly you wondered which of those revelations had affected him so.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded almost hurt. 

“It never came up,” you admitted, “first, you were at risk of blowing us all up and then we ended up having sex astrally. I would have told you if we’d been… physically involved,” you assured him, fighting with yourself as to how exactly word things. 

Gale seemed to absorb this information with acceptance. “Well I guess that means my plans for tonight are off the table.”

“What? Why?” You sounded genuinely alarmed, surprising even yourself. 

Gale smiled a small, exasperated thing. “My love, I can’t have you bedded properly for the first time in some wood in the middle of nowhere.”

“You absolutely can,” you insisted.

He chuckled and took your hand. Normally you would have seen a similar move as patronizing but there was nothing but love and adoration shining from Gale’s eyes. “We can be together astrally, again.”

“No,” you huffed pulling your hand away, growing frustrated. This wasn’t why you’d told him. “I want you,” you insisted, “I want you, for real. Here.”

Gale shook his head again, “but you deserve-”

“Gale,” you moved up onto your knees so you could hold his face between your hands, “this is about what I want. And what I want is your actual physical cock inside of me, here in this clearing. Tonight, preferably.”

Whatever Gale had been expecting, that confession wasn’t it. His mouth dropped open. 

“Are you sure?” He asked eventually. 

You nodded, vigorously, “yes.”

“Then I will give you what you want.”

You leaned forward and kissed him. Gale gathered an arm around your waist and laid backward, pulling you with him. You laid across his chest, eagerly allowing yourself to get lost in kissing him. 

You shifted, slotting your body between his legs. Gale groaned when your thighs brushed against his cock, already half-hard. Taking advantage, you pressed your tongue between his lips. His hands slid down your back to your ass, cupping it he pulled you up and closer. 

“How many young lads did you lead into dark corners, only to leave them with their hopes dashed?” Gale teased when you two finally separated for air. 

You laughed. “I never said I left them unfulfilled.”

Gale shook his head with an amused smile. “I assure you every lad who left without bedding you was unfulfilled in some regard.”

“I think,” you smoothed a hand against his chest, “you think too highly of me.”

“Not possible,” Gale reassured. His expression changed as you watched, from playful to something more sincere. 

“What have you done with others?” He asked all of a sudden. 

Now, you felt you might be a little offended. “Gale, I wasn’t saying that-”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I don’t care if you’ve had a thousand cocks in your mouth. Confused, perhaps, but I want to know specifically what has been done to you that hasn’t come from your own hand… or pillow I suppose.”

“Oh,” you felt a little sheepish now.

With out warning his hands slid to your thighs and he lifted you, pulling your legs apart, forcing you to straddle him. You could feel his cock pressing against your core. You fought down the urge to grind against it. 

“Has anyone ever made you come with their mouth?” Gale asked then.

You shook your head, a warmth crawling down your neck at the thought. 

“Their fingers?” He continued. 

Again, you shook your head. “Twice I've had someone’s hand down my pants,” you admitted, “but it was awkward and they never really did much.”

“Maybe you’re lucky,” Gale mused, “boys tend not to think beyond their own needs.”

“And men are any different?” You challenged. 

Gale’s eyes darkened as he looked at you now. “Not all, but this one, yes. Your needs are mine.” He rolled his hips up then, grinding his cock against you. 

“Oh,” the sound felt like it was punched out of you. Happily, you rocked your hips back down against him. 

Gale’s hands went to your hips, holding you from doing anything further. You tried to roll them again and frowned when he wouldn’t let you. 

“I promise I will pay as much attention to your pretty cunt as you can stand,” he started, “but I need you to promise you’ll stop me if anything makes you uncomfortable.”

There was an edge to his final words, and you knew anything less than an agreement that he’d leave you untouched. 

“I promise,” you repeated. 

“Good girl,” He rewarded, his words shooting straight to your core. You absolutely did not look at him in an attempt to hide that knowledge from him. His chuckle let you know it had been unsuccessful. 

He released your hips and you ground down on him once more. 

In a testament to Gale’s self-control, or perhaps his determination, his hands moved to the ties of your trousers. When he’d finished opening them, he rolled you both so he was above you. He sat back on his legs and slid backward before working to shimmy your bottoms off before discarding them in a pile nearby.

He gently pushed your legs and you laid back, allowing him to bend your knees. He gently pushed at them so they dropped to the side. You shivered both from the complete exposure of the position he’d put you in and also from missing his warmth on you. 

“Fingers or mouth?” Gale asked, hands sliding down your thighs, ever closer to where you truly wanted them. 

“I believe I said cock,” you retorted. 

A light pinch was delivered to your thigh and you jumped, startled but not actually in pain. “Soon,” Gale promised, “for now, though, those are your options.”

“Mouth,” you answered with almost no hesitation.

Above you, Gale smiled, apparently pleased with your answer. “Do you want anything? A pillow,” he asked rather than doing what you’d asked for. 

“I want,” you answered a bit snappier than you’d meant, “for you to touch me.”

“Some day, I will have you without risk of interruption.” Gale wasn’t really talking to you it seemed. Still, you wondered what he meant by that. You hoped something wicked. 

All thoughts left your mind when you felt his fingers spread you open even further. You were about to remind him you’d said mouth, unable to resist the urge to push against whatever side of him you were seeing, when you felt his breath hot against you. That urge fled, just as quickly as your thoughts. 

You cried out when he swiped his tongue between your folds. Quickly you pulled your arm across your mouth, aware the camp wasn’t too far off. Gale didn’t seem at all concerned though as he began tracing maddening paths with the tip of his tongue. 

Somehow he was touching you where you wanted and yet seeming to avoid it all together. A growl ripped out of you in frustration and you tried to slide down closer to his mouth. An arm flew across your hips quickly, preventing you from moving anywhere. You were about to say something, beg even, when his tongue finally found your clit. You cried out, free hand threading itself in Gale’s hair. If you couldn’t move closer to him, you could at least pin him to you. He didn’t seem too bothered by this thought, tracing his tongue down you again, this time pressing it inside of you. 

“Shit,” you cursed hips ineffectively trying to grind down again. 

Gale, in some act of benevolence or maybe because he was enjoying your reactions, move his arm from across your hips. He instead pushed his hand under your ass forcing you to tilt your hips up towards him. He moved his attention back to your clit. You felt the walls of your pussy begin pulsing around nothing and you whimpered.

“Fingers,” you gasped, pulling your arm from your face. 

Gale either didn’t hear you or was ignoring you. A few more seconds of attention to your clit and then his teeth gently nipped against it. 

“Fuck,” you cried out as your orgasm hit, once again pulling Gale against you. You couldn’t help but shamelessly grind against his face as you came. 

He stayed there, tongue licking broad stripes up and down your center until you stilled. Only then did he gently disentangle your hands from his hair and sit up.

He knelt between your still-spread legs, a hand gently cupping your cunt. He was watching you closely, pleased with whatever he saw he gently began kneading against you. 

“Will you fuck me now?” You asked unable to help the way your hips chase up at the contact. 

He shook his head. Briefly, you were mesmerized by the way his beard, glistening with your wetness, reflected the light. 

“Why not?” You whined, which wasn’t exactly how you’d meant to say that. 

Gale chuckled before leaning over you to press a kiss on your lips. You could smell yourself on him, taste it even when he pulled away. Far from being turned off by that fact you found yourself wanting to kiss him again. 

“Fingers, first,” he said and demonstratively slipped a finger beneath your folds to press against your entrance. 

He easily pressed the finger into you, finding no resistance when he did. Gently he began pressing it in and out, every time he ground the heel of his palm against your clit until your hips were rolling with his movement. 

His eyes never left your face when he began pressing a second finger into you. You nodded, trying to pull them deeper but he only continued pressing the new digit into at a slow pace. 

“Gods,” you moaned when his fingers were pressed into you completely. 

“Not quite,” he answered with a wry smile. 

You were quickly distracted when you realized he was refusing to move his fingers in you. He was just grinding his hand to your clit, and while it felt amazing it wasn’t what you wanted. 

“Gale,” you whined rolling your hips in an effort to get some movement inside of you. 

That was his aim, apparently. Gale held his hand still and allowed you to fuck yourself on his fingers. You grew brazen, chasing after the grinding sensation as well with a roll of your hips. He watched you with a scrutiny that had your body flushing. Gradually you realized he had begun gently scissoring his fingers inside of you, pressing you open wider each time you pulled away from them. 

His fingers were thick and you felt yourself clench around them at the thought of what he’d (hopefully) be replacing them with. You realized, in a passing thought, that you’d struggle to watch his spell casting in a normal way ever again. 

You felt another orgasm building and with great effort stilled your own hips. 

“Please,” you groaned out, “I want you inside me. Please, I’m ready,” you were shamelessly begging. 

“Yes,” Gale agreed before finally thrust his fingers in and out of you a few times and then with drawing them entirely. 

He was quick about removing his own trousers. His cock sprung free and slapped against his stomach, in the moonlight you could make out a bead of precum on the tip.

Your mouth watered. 

Gale didn’t allow your thought to wander any further before settling between your legs. One hand hooked around the back of a thigh and hiked up your leg against him. 

“Tell me if this hurts, despite what you’ve heard it doesn’t have to,” he said leaning over you, bracing himself with his free arm. 

You would rather die, you realized as you nodded a lie to him. 

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, but he didn’t move any further. It appeared he’d also put you in a position where he could keep you from pushing down on it. You wondered if it was forethought or simply a coincidence. 

When he pressed inside your head collapsed fully against the ground. He was certainly bigger than anything that had been inside you before, his thick fingers included. Painstakingly Gale began pressing into you. His movements were slow and controlled, making sure to keep you immobile. The sensation was uncomfortable but not painful as he stretched you even further. 

You couldn’t help but be grateful, now, for his refusal to fuck you immediately.

When he bottomed out, hips pinned against yours, he groaned head dropping forward. You felt the muscle of his thigh tremble against yours. You were secretly pleased as he struggled to maintain his composure. 

You tried to wait him out, trust him as he had only thought of you so far, but your patience only extended so far. Experimentally you clenched around his cock. 

“Shit,” he groaned, hips stuttering as he restrained a thrust. 

“Please,” you whispered once again fluttering around him, “please.”

Gale pulled out only a little before slowly thrusting into you. It wasn’t much but your eyes rolled back. 

He kept it that way, small shallow thrusts until there was almost no resistance when he did. Then, he began working back further before thrusting into you. He was grunting with each thrust, head hanging low so his forehead was resting against your chest. 

“Gale,” you whined unable to take the coddling much longer. 

It seemed his restraint was hanging on by a thread because his hips snapped up against yours, much harder than any previous movement. 

“Yes,” you cried out in response. 

Gale began truly fucking you then. He was mumbling something against you but the sound of your skin slapping against one another was drowning him out. Your own hips were moving now, too, the hand on your thigh had loosed so he was not longer holding you still. 

“Touch yourself,” he said, voice strained, finally loud enough for you to hear. 

You were able to slide a hand between the two of you. Instead of touching yourself right away you pushed your finger further down enjoying the sensation of the slide of his cock in and out of you. 

Abruptly Gale pushed up so he was sitting back on his knees. Both hands sliding under your hips in order to tilt you up so he never slid fully from inside of you. 

“Now, please,” he groaned out and you realized he was holding back his own orgasm. 

Hurriedly you found your clit with your fingers, this new position making it easier. You rubbed quickly and efficiently in a way you’d long learned would bring you off. 

“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful,” Gale babbled above you. “Come for me, I want to see your face this time.”

It was his words more than your fingers that pushed you over the edge. You whimpered and he began thrusting harder as you squeezed around him. 

Gale came with a shout, eyes screwing shut. He pinned your hips together once more as he spilled inside of you. He rode out his own orgasm like that, hips rolling slightly with each pulse. Once he was done, Gale gently lowered your hips back to the ground, allowing himself to slip out of you.

You extended your hand up to him and when he took it you pulled him down against your chest.

“Next time I think I want to ride you,” you told him after a moment of quiet. 

Gale laughed before tilting his head up to capture your lips in a kiss. 

[topguncortez]

Blow to the Head - J. Halstead

whumptober masterlist || previous day

prompts: slurred words

synopsis: you had always dreamed of being a police officer, but one bad accident left you with a lifetime of pain. Luckily for you, Jay is the perfect person to be by your side.

warnings: car accident, swearing, mentions of child crimes, mentions of sex trafficking crimes, mentions of passing out, mentions of vomiting, slurring words, intense pain

word count: 1.9k

You knew from a young age that you wanted to be a police officer. Your father was, and there was something about watching him protect and save the people of the city that had you wanting to follow in his footsteps. He always reminded you that it was a daily sacrifice, that some days were easier than others. Some days, he got to do the easy things like write traffic tickets and do school yard crossing. Other days, he was arresting people for warrants or having to tell a total stranger that their loved one was killed. You were prepared to make those sacrifices, prepared for those tough days that came with the job that you so badly wanted. 

And you did get that job. You got to have your perfect job for three years. One of those years was spent in a patrol squad, before you and your partner, Jay Halstead, caught the eye of Hank Voight, the captain of the intelligence unit. You knew of Hank’s reputation from your father, and knew that he didn’t extend the invite to join the unit very often. You took the spot without thinking, easily falling into the groove of the unit. It was tough work, and sometimes the bad days outweighed the good by a long shot. But those good days. . . those good days were your favorite. 

It was one bad day that took your entire life from you in an instant. 

It was going to be a routine bust, you and Jay waiting in your jeep on the side of an abandoned warehouse, waiting for Hank’s call to move in. It had been months of creeping in on a local gang leader who had been involved in a sex trafficking ring involving children. To you, the cases involving kids hit harder. They were the most innocent group, and the easiest to be attacked. You had a chip on your shoulder the whole time while working the case, chomping at the bit to get this guy. 

“Come on, Hank,” You muttered, looking out your car window, “Come on, come on, come on.” 

“Patience,” Jay hissed, as annoyed as you are, “This guy is skittish. We move too early and we lose everything.” 

“Or we lose more kids,” You shook your head, going to reach for the walkie when gunshots fired off. 

“I lost him! Out the back!” Hank’s voice crackled over the radio, “Blue car! I got kids here!” . 

“Shit! I’m going in, chase after him!” Jay said, jumping out of the car, and running into the building. You quickly put the car in drive, going straight to the back of the building, easily spotting a blue car. You pressed down firmly on the gas, sending your jeep flying through the city of Chicago. You almost had him, closing in closer and closer, maneuvering the car so you could side swipe him. That was, until a black SUV came out of nowhere, plowing into the driver’s side. You felt your head slam against the airbag as it deployed in your face, your body jerking as the car came to a stop. 

The accident hadn’t totally crippled you. You had to have surgery to repair a broken pelvis, several painstaking months of physical therapy, and to pass the physical fitness test before you could go back to the team. Although your broken bones had been fixed, your doctor diagnosed you with arthritis, making almost every day a living hell. When you got the all clear to come back to the team, you did, for about a month, but the whole time you felt like such a burden. 

“I can’t do this, Jay,” You cried in the locker room, him kneeling in front of you, “I can’t run as fast as I used to, or jump things, or fuck, it even hurts to sit in a car on long surveillance. I can’t do this anymore.” 

“It’s okay,” Jay said, rubbing your knee, “I’m going to take care of you. We’re going to be okay.” 

Jay kept his promise to take care of you, moving you into his house almost as soon as possible. The two of you hadn’t really defined your relationship at that point, but you knew he was yours and you were his. Hank still had you somewhat a part of the intelligence unit, working more inside the house than out. It was easier for you, the days when your pain was really bad, you got to stay home and work from home. 

You knew that you were going to wake up in pain the next day. It was supposed to be an easy gym set, just some light leg work followed by a thirty minute walk on the treadmill. Usually, it wasn't an issue, you would wake up feeling that good type of muscle soreness. But the shift from warm late summer weather to the cooler fall weather had your bones feeling brittle.

You could hardly get out of bed, your knees and hips aching, your spine feeling like cement had been poured down it. It took you nearly ten minutes to pull yourself to your feet, and it felt like pins and needles. Tears filled your eyes as you shuffled your way to the bathroom to do your morning routine. You bit back a cry as you lowered yourself down to the toilet. 

Ever since your diagnosis, Jay has done all he physically could do to help you. He read nearly every article he could get his hands on, wrote down all the recipes he could find, googled all the best treatment options there were. On the days the pain was really bad, Jay would help you inject cortisone into your joints, hoping to help relax them and lessen the pain. He hated watching you like this. He hated that your careers, which had started together, had gone in such totally different ways. 

You let out a shaky breath as you tried to reach for the ginger tea on the shelf. You had already planned to take some Tylenol, and curl up with your heating pad. You texted your physical therapist and sadly she couldn't get you in for acupuncture. 

Your whole body felt weak as you picked up the tea kettle and poured the hot water into your mug. You very slowly walked to the couch, holding your mug tightly in your hands, worried that your hands could give out at any moment and send scalding water to the ground. You gently eased yourself down on the couch, letting out a groan as your body sunk into the soft cushions.

You weren't sure when you fell asleep, but you woke up to Jay's worried face in front of you, gently running his hand over your cheek. "Jay?" Your head was pounding as you looked up at him, the lamb behind his head making it look like a halo around him, "What are you-"

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” He said, “Hailey said that you canceled your lunch plans and then quit answering. I got worried.”

You nodded, “I just. . . hurt.” 

Jay’s eyes filled with hurt at your slurred voice, knowing that the pain is damn near unbearable if you canceled your plans with Hailey, “Show me where it hurts.” You closed your eyes as the tears started to fall down your face, “You should’ve called me.” 

“The case is important,” You sniffled, not wanting to look up at him. 

“You are important,” Jay said, bending down to place a soft kiss on the crown of your head, “How about a bath and a massage?” You nodded, "Alright. I'm gonna help you sit up." You nodded again as Jake put his strong arms under your back and arms, moving your body from a laying down position to a sitting one. You let out a cry and Jake pressed his lips to your forehead, "I know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

“It’s okay,” You sniffled, taking in a short breath. Just that small movement sent a wave of pain and had stars dancing in your vision. It wouldn’t be the first time that you have lost consciousness from Jay trying to help you. The pain gets to be too much that your body just shuts down. You gripped Jay’s shirt tightly in your hands, willing the all too familiar feeling of bile rising in your throat to go away. 

“Do we need to go to Med?” Jay whispered. You hated having to go to Med when the pain got bad. You did everything in your power to stay away from taking heavy pain pills and going to the doctor for treatment. 

You let out a slow breath, “No. Just move slowly. Please,” Your voice cracked. 

Jay nodded his head, letting you sit up for just another moment, before sliding his arms under your legs and around your back. Another cry left your lips as Jay lifted you up and began walking to your bedroom. He hated causing you more pain, but knew that this was going to be the best place for you to get some reprieve.��

"I'll go draw your bath and change," Jay said, setting you down on the vanity chair. He moved around the room quickly, drawing your bath and adding some drops of essential oils in, as you tried to strip from your clothing. You tried to lift your shirt over your head, but even that caused you to cry out in pain. 

Jay stopped what he was doing and ran to you, "Hey, let me help you."

"I can do this," You shook your head and Jay nodded. He had learned one thing over the years that you still wanted to do as many things as you could despite the pain. When you were fully naked, Jay helped you to your feet as you walked towards the bathroom. You could smell the lavender and rosemary oils. You gripped Jay's hands tightly as you stepped into the bathtub and he helped you gently lower yourself into the hot water.

Jay sat on the other side of the bathtub on the ground, and watched you. You let out a sigh as you settled into the water, feeling the ache in your joints go from a nine to at least a five. Everything still hurt but it was a bit more manageable.

“I’m still going to call Will and have him come see you tomorrow,” Jay said, grabbing a washcloth, soaking it in the bath and then gently rubbing it across your back and down your shoulders. “You can tell him to fuck off when he gets here, but he’s coming over.” 

A small chuckle left your mouth, “Okay.” You knew there was no arguing with him on that one. You were surprised that Jay hasn’t already invited Will over to come take a look at you. 

"Do you want to ice down after this?" Jay asked, gently moving his hand in the water.

"No. Just put the lotion in the fridge," You said and Jay nodded, "You already did, didn't you?"

He smiled, "Yeah, I did," He sat up on his knees and leaned in to kiss your forehead, "I rewarmed your tea and got you some more Tylenol. Your physical therapist said she can get you in tomorrow morning. I already got tomorrow cleared so I can take you."

"Jay-"

"In sickness and in health," Jay said, and caressed your cheek, "I made a promise. And I mean it." You nodded and Jay placed yet another kiss on your forehead, making you smile.

[soaps-mohawk]

Sacrifices

Kyletober Day 12: Gunplay

Summary: You took a chance. Now you have to pay the price of getting caught.

Pairing: Witch hunter!Kyle x witch!reader

Word Count: 1,912 words

Warnings: NSFW, dubcon, coercion, manipulation, gunplay, giving a blowjob to a loaded gun (don't do this), magic, witchcraft, religious themes, lots of fear and anxiety, language

A/N: Yeah, so this one is quite the change of pace but I'm not sorry for it.

MASTERLIST

This is not where you want to be. It’s not where you’re supposed to be. You were sloppy and reckless and now you’re paying for it. You have one job on nights like tonight, and that’s to not get caught. Now you’re sitting here on your knees, staring down the barrel of a gun. You’ve never been caught before. Never. Looks like that streak has been broken. Not that it will matter in a few moments. 

You glare up at his face, those dark eyes shining in the light of the full moon, reflecting its light down on you. You’ve seen him before in passing. It's hard not to miss him. You knew what he was immediately the first time you saw him on the street. A dedicated member of the church, always there, always watching. He's one of the ones that puts the targets on suspicious looking individuals, blending in with the crowd so well no one looks twice. 

Well, almost no one. 

The thought makes you chuckle. 

“Not going’ to beg for your life, witch?” He spits the title from his lips like it’s a curse, a slander upon his very being speaking that word aloud.

You suppose it is, for a witch hunter. 

“I wouldn’t beg even if you tortured me.” You spit back, unafraid. Your life will end regardless tonight. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of begging for it. 

He hums, shifting forward to press the barrel of the gun against your forehead. The silver cross around his neck glints in the moonlight as he moves. “You’re a lively one. Not like the one last night.” 

Anger bubbles in your core. You know who he took last night. That was why you were out here in the first place. “You bastard!” Your eyes flash, your body shifting forward. You want to turn him to ashes, melt him down until he’s nothing but a corpse feeding the earth.

“Ah ah ah,” The safety of the gun clicks, the fire in you settling as you sit back on your knees again. “Not so fast. You’re forgetting who’s in control here.” 

You smirk. “You think you’re in control, witch hunter? Our mother is watching us all, and she will cast judgment upon you when you meet your end.” 

He matches your smirk, leaning down slightly. “Your false gods don’t scare me. I know what awaits me when my time comes.” 

“Some promise of paradise for killing innocent people?” You growl. 

“A promise of paradise for wiping the devil's worshippers off of god's green earth. It's a far better place than you will go.” He smirks, pushing the barrel of the gun harder against your forehead, just to the point of being painful. You’ll have an indent of it later, if he doesn’t leave a bullet hole there instead. “Such a waste.” He says, looking you over. “It’s always the pretty ones.”

Your glare deepens as you stare at him, his handsome face tarnished by the truth of what he is. “Wish I could say the same about you.” 

He huffs out a laugh, lightening the pressure of the gun against your forehead. “You're a fiery one, aren’t you?” His teeth sink into his lip as he stares at you, his eyes roving your body.

“I could turn you into ashes to prove it.” You retort, skin crawling from the way he’s looking at you. 

“I’m sure you’d love to.” He says, sliding the gun from your forehead down to your cheek. “You're a fun one, not like the others that beg and plead. I’d hate to waste such good fun.” He clicks his tongue, staring down at you for a moment before shifting on his feet. “I’ll cut you a deal. You give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“What is it you think I want?” You ask, starting to grow a bit uneasy. You knew there was a possibility that it might not just be your life that you lose tonight if you got caught. 

“The location of the witch we took last night.” He traces your lips with the barrel of the gun. “That’s why you risked coming out here tonight, isn’t it?” He clicks his tongue. “You want her back, you do as I say.” 

So she is still alive...

Or he’s toying with you, playing you like a deck of cards. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” You ask, your instincts telling you not to believe him for a moment, yet you can’t help that tickle in the back of your brain. What if he is telling the truth? What harm is there really in taking that chance? You’re going to die tonight regardless. 

“You don’t.” He shrugs. “You’ll have to decide whether or not you want to gamble.” 

Do it.

You feel that familiar tickle in the back of your mind. Your intuition is on red alert, picking up something in the back of your mind. What is there really for you to lose at this point? He holds your life in his hands regardless. There’s no escaping, but if he is telling the truth...

“Fine.” You say, shifting on your knees in the dirt. “What is it you want?” 

He smirks, pushing the barrel of the gun against your lips again. “Open up.” 

Your stomach clenches at his words, your eyes dropping to the gun. You know what he wants. You’ve heard horror stories from those that witnessed, the lucky few that managed to escape. 

“You sick fuck,” You sneer, trying to move your head away. 

“The choice is yours,” He shrugs, clicking the safety. 

You exhale through your nose, staring at the gun again. What really are your choices? Say no and die, letting the reason you came out here die with you? Or, bravely face the shame and possibly get a clue towards what you were seeking. If he’s lying he’ll kill you anyway. Better to take the chance and face the shame for the good of your coven. 

Mother forgive me.

You close your eyes, sucking in a breath before pushing yourself up onto your knees so you’re level with the gun again. He drags the barrel across your lips before you part them, your tongue darting out to lick across the tip. It’s metallic and bitter on your tongue but you push past the disgust at the offending flavor. You hold his gaze, your eyes sharp as you stare up at him. He looks far too satisfied as you open your mouth wider, taking the barrel into your mouth. 

The sharp metallic flavor coats your mouth, the taste of it nearly making you gag. He’s used it tonight, the grit of gunpowder sinking onto your tongue as you close your lips around the barrel. Shame burns hot in you as you take the gun deeper into your mouth, his hand pushing it forward until there’s nothing left to take. You want to gag, you want to vomit, but you won’t. You won’t give him the sick satisfaction of your weakness and struggle. 

Instead you pull yourself back, dragging your lips along the barrel until you’re nearly at the tip. His tongue darts out, licking his lips as you start to take it into your mouth once more, wincing from the way he pushes it against your tongue. 

“Not used to sucking, are you love?” He smirks, pushing the gun as far as he can into your mouth. 

Tears burn your eyes as you make a choked sound. Your breaths are sharp, in and out of your nose as he finally allows you to pull back, the taste of metal and gunpowder tainting your mouth. 

“Suck it like you mean it.” He commands, holding the gun towards you still. 

You swallow your pride as you take it back into your mouth, bobbing your head as you suck on the barrel. His finger isn’t on the trigger, yet you can’t shake that lingering fear that he could shoot a bullet right through your throat if he wanted to. 

If he wanted to kill you, he would have already. 

No, that’s not true. Witch hunters take far too much pleasure in torturing witches to waste opportunities like this. 

Sick fucks, the lot of ‘em. 

You suck the barrel of the gun like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. You doubt he’ll let you go free, but the thought that you might have a chance keeps you going. It’s not for you, or your life. You have nothing to lose, but by doing this, there is something you could gain. 

You take the gun as far into your mouth as you can again, tears gathering in your eyes as you stare up at him. He’s hard from this, the bulge in the front of his pants visible at this proximity. The fear that he might take this further still lingers in the back of your mind. 

Better the gun than him. 

You drag your tongue along the top of the barrel, staring up at him through your lashes. He licks his lips again, his other hand dropping to adjust his pants. 

Nausea churns in your stomach as you pull back, flicking your tongue across the tip of the gun again. You squeeze your eyes closed as you continue to suck on his gun, unable to stare at his smug face any longer. You take the gun deep into your mouth again, drool sliding from your lips and down your chin. 

He licks his own lips before he pulls the gun free, your body nearly falling forward. He drags the tip of the gun down your neck to your chest, smearing your own spit along your skin. He pushes your shirt down just slightly until the top of your breasts peek out, the tip of the gun pushing between them. Your heart is thudding, chest heaving. You can't stop the fear making your heart race. The knowledge that he's pointing a loaded gun right at your chest is overriding your expectation to die. All he'd have to do is pull the trigger and it would be the end. 

“Such a waste.” He murmurs, staring down at you for a moment before he moves the gun away. “The Old Mill.” He says, holstering the gun. “I'd move quickly though, if I were you. Can’t say how long she'll last.” 

He grips your chin before you can rise, tilting your head up. He stares down at you for a long moment. You wonder what it is he’s thinking, what’s going through his head. The conflict of whether or not he should have given you that information? The conflict of whether or not he should kill you anyway? The conflict of his desire that pushed him to commit such an act? Is he regretting not doing more? There’s nothing to stop him, even now. 

His fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. It hurts, your head being forced back until he’s looming over you. 

A glob of spit drops onto your tongue. 

“For next time.” He smirks before releasing you, taking a step back. 

As much as you want to reduce him to ashes, you know he's right. You'll need every ounce of power you still have if you're going to be successful. 

The Old Mill. 

You half expect him to shoot you as you dart through the trees and into the darkness. 

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[cheynovak]

Broken Hero

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Soldier boy and Y/N are on a mission and stranded in a cabin. They at first don't seem to like each other, until Y/N admits she had a crush on him as a teenager.

Warnings: Virgin reader, mentioning first time.

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The cabin was small, rustic, and isolated — everything that could drive Soldier Boy mad within minutes. The walls were thin enough that the cold seemed to seep through despite the roaring fire in the stone fireplace. Y/N sat on the worn leather couch, staring at the fire, her thoughts distant and steady, but Ben paced around the room like a caged animal.

He hadn’t stopped complaining since they’d arrived.

“Damn Vought and their shitty ideas. Babysitting duty, really?” Soldier Boy grumbled, shooting her a look. His green eyes narrowed, sizing her up. “What’d they think, huh? You’re some precious little thing I need to protect?”

Y/N didn’t flinch under his gaze. After working with Vought since she was eighteen, she’d become well-practiced in handling all kinds of egos. Soldier Boy’s was just another variation of the same thing: pride wrapped in cynicism. Still, the teasing glint in his eyes was unmistakable. He was poking at her, testing her limits.

"It’s not that bad," she replied with a calm shrug. "Could be worse. At least it's quiet here. No cameras, no prying eyes, no Vought telling to straighten up you back and show them your fake smile that breaks peoples hearts."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Sure, quiet. Just what I want. Some boring-ass cabin with a baby." His lip curled into a smirk as he moved closer to her. “And you—what, you think you can handle this mission? Out there in the wild? Pretty little princess like you?"

The nickname made her tense slightly, but she kept her cool. “I don’t mind the quiet, Ben. I’m used to it, I like to keep to myself.”

Soldier Boy snorted. "Oh, I bet you are. The perfect American sweetheart routine doesn't work on me Princess. So don’t give me that. You work for Vought, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anyone with that good girl act of yours. Bet you’re as dirty as the rest of them, hiding behind that pretty smile. How many skeletons in your closet, huh or should I say men in your bed?”

His words stung more than they should have, but Y/N had gotten used to people assuming the worst about her simply because of her affiliation with Vought's heroes. She raised an eyebrow, keeping her tone even. “And what makes you think I have secrets, Soldier Boy?”

“Oh, come on,” he taunted, stepping even closer, invading her space. “You’ve been with Vought since you were what, eighteen? I know how it goes. They chew you up, spit you out, and in between, they turn you into something filthy. All of you cheap young women. Bet you’ve got some dirty little secrets you’d never admit to. You’re not as innocent as you pretend to be."

She exhaled slowly, trying to maintain her composure. There was a glint in his eyes, daring her to break, to snap back. He was testing her again.

But instead of responding with the anger he seemed to expect, Y/N leveled him with a calm, steady look. Her voice dropped slightly, serious now. “You really want to know my secret?”

That caught him off guard. His teasing smile faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly, smirking again. “Sure, princess. Let’s hear it. What’ve you been hiding?”

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. The truth had never come easily to her, especially this truth. For three years, she had managed to keep this part of her hidden from everyone at Vought. But now, something in her snapped. Maybe it was his constant teasing, or maybe it was the fact that Soldier Boy, in all his arrogance, was standing there acting like he knew everything about her.

She straightened her spine, looking him dead in the eye. “I’ve never slept with anyone.”

That shut him up.

Soldier Boy blinked, his smirk vanishing entirely as confusion flickered across his face. “What?”

“I’m a virgin, Ben.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the silence stretching between them, thick and tense. His green eyes searched hers, as if trying to figure out if she was messing with him. But her expression remained serious.

“No fucking way,” he muttered, stepping back a little, genuinely taken aback. “You’re… serious?”

Y/N nodded, biting her bottom lip nervously. “I’ve worked for Vought since I was eighteen. I’ve been around all kinds of people, been in all kinds of situations… but I’ve never slept with anyone. Ever.”

His disbelief was palpable, and he shook his head, pacing for a moment as if trying to process what she just told him. “But you… you’re fucking gorgeous. Smart. You’re the whole damn package. Guys should be falling at your feet, begging for a chance to fuck you.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little at that... compliment? Though her heart still pounded in her chest. “They have. I just… never wanted to. I was waiting for the right person.”

Soldier Boy stopped pacing and looked at her again, his expression softer, less cocky. “And… what, you still haven’t found him?”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flickering to the floor for a moment before she met his gaze again, her voice soft but steady. “I have. well I mean... I always dreamed of losing it to... one specific person.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, the weight of her confession hanging in the air between them. Ben, for the first time in a long time, looked genuinely speechless. His cocky persona shattered completely as he stood there, staring at her like she had just flipped his entire world upside down.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked, his voice lower now, more serious. “Me?”

Y/N nodded, her heart in her throat.

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you when I was a young teenager. All the bravado, all the toughness… I saw through it. There’s more to you. or so I thought. And… I wanted you to be the first.” She looked back at the floor.

For a moment, he just stood there, processing her words. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t the cocky, arrogant grin she’d grown used to — it was something softer, something real.

“Well, shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice huskier now, filled with something she hadn’t heard from him before. Respect. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She smiled softly, her nerves finally starting to ease. “Guess I am.”

Soldier Boy stared at her for another moment, and then, slowly, he moved closer again, this time without the teasing edge, without the bravado. There was something different in his gaze now, something warmer.

The cabin’s warmth didn’t seem to reach Ben as he stood there, staring at Y/N, her confession still hanging thick in the air. His smirk faded entirely, and for a moment, he just looked… confused. Out of his element.

“Look,” he began, his voice unusually quiet, “I don’t think I’m the right guy for something like that. For your first time I mean.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She had spent so long imagining this moment, wondering how it would go, but now that she was face-to-face with the reality of who Soldier Boy really was… he wasn’t the man she had dreamed of. Not anymore.

She bit her lip, a small sigh escaping her as she looked down at her hands. “Yeah,” she whispered softly, “you’re probably right, I mean now I've met you.”

Ben’s brow furrowed, and he stepped closer, an edge creeping back into his voice. “Wait—what the hell do you mean, ‘now you met me’?”

Y/N glanced up, meeting his gaze again. His green eyes were hard, defensive, and she knew she had touched a nerve. But she didn’t back down.

“When I was younger, I had this idea of you,” she admitted, choosing her words carefully. “I thought you were brave. Strong. A hero. A man worthy of… of a girl’s first time.”

Ben’s jaw tightened, and she could see the flash of anger in his eyes. “Oh, I get it now,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

He growled, taking another step forward, his voice growing more heated. “You think you’re the first girl to look at me like that?"

She looked up at him, her expression softening. “No, Ben—”

He cut her off, his words dripping with arrogance and frustration. “I’ve been a lot of girls’ first time. You think you’re special because you had some dream about me when you were younger? Trust me, sweetheart, that’s nothing new.”

Y/N took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Exactly my point,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through his defenses like a knife. “That’s exactly why I’m glad I never acted on it. I had this image of you… this larger-than-life hero. But now that I know the real you—”

“What?” he interrupted, his voice harsh. “Now that you know I’m arrogant? Filthy? Rude? Selfish? What did you expect, Y/N? That I’d be some goddamn knight in shining armor? That I’d live up to all your little fantasies? That I would buy you flowers and open the door for you, news flash love, holding the door is just an excuse for men to look at your ass!” His words were sharp, mocking, but beneath it all, there was something more — something raw and real.

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t back down. “No. I expected you to be a man who cared about something. About people. About more than just yourself.”

Ben stared at her, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He clenched his fists at his sides, the tension in his body palpable. “I saved this fucking country,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “I gave everything to this goddamn place, and what did I get? I can play fucking babysitter. So forgive me if I don’t give a shit about your sweet little daydreams of what a hero’s supposed to be.”

Y/N held his gaze, unflinching. “I get that, Ben. I do. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re not the man I thought you were. And honestly, that’s okay.”

He barked out a laugh, cold and bitter. “Oh, yeah? How’s that okay?”

"Maybe the man I thought I wanted… isn’t what I need.”

Ben’s jaw tightened, his teeth gritting as he stared at her, his frustration boiling over. “You’re just like everyone else,” he growled. “You put me up on a pedestal, and when I don’t live up to your perfect little picture, you toss me aside. Fucking typical.”

Y/N shook her head, her expression calm despite his anger. “I didn’t toss you aside, Ben. I just… I just see you differently now. I see all of you.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing. “And what the hell do you see, huh?”

“I see someone who’s been hurt,” she said softly. “Someone who’s been broken down and built back up in a way that no one could ever understand. I see someone who’s angry, who’s bitter… but I also see someone who’s still trying. Even if you don’t realize I see it.”

Ben blinked, the heat of his anger suddenly cooling. He stood there, staring at her, the tension between them shifting again, this time into something quieter, something deeper. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just letting her words settle over him.

Then, finally, he spoke, his voice lower, more honest than it had been before. “You really think that’s what I am? … Broken?”

She shook her head, stepping closer to him. “No. I think you’re still figuring out who you are outside of the war. And I think it’s okay to not have all the answers.”

Ben stared at her for a long moment, his arrogance slipping away, leaving only the man beneath. The real Ben. Not Soldier Boy, not the legend, not the hero from the posters. Just him.

For the first time, he didn’t have a quick retort, no cocky comeback. He just stood there, looking at her with something almost like vulnerability.

“Guess I’ve never been close to that guy, you dreamed of huh?” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a rare hint of self-awareness.

Y/N smiled softly. “Maybe not. But that's ok.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, the only sound in the cabin was the crackling of the fire. Neither of them moved, the weight of the moment heavy but somehow not uncomfortable.

Then, with a slow exhale, Ben ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly as if trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. He turned to the window, looking outside. “Hell of a way to spend a mission,” he muttered, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N chuckled softly, the tension between them easing as she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Yeah, I guess it is.” Ben stayed quiet for a second.

Until he looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes softer now, more thoughtful. “You really waited... for me. Wanted it to be me?”

She nodded, her voice gentle. “Yeah. I did.”

Ben let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn. Guess I owe you an apology for all the shit I said earlier.”

Y/N smiled. “It’s okay. I think we both had some expectations to work through.” Ben chuckled, the sound rough but genuine. “Yeah, no kidding.”

For a brief moment, the arrogant facade he wore like armor slipped away, and Y/N saw the man beneath — complicated, wounded, but still human. And maybe, just maybe, still capable of becoming more than the legend that had trapped him for so long.

Y/N stood up from the couch, her body moving almost on instinct as she walked toward Ben. He was standing by the window, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, staring out into the swirling snowstorm, his broad shoulders tense as if the weight of the world still rested there.

She hesitated for a moment, her heart racing, before she gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The tension in him softened at her touch.

"It's kind of beautiful, in a way," she murmured, her eyes drawn to the chaotic dance of snowflakes outside. The storm was wild, unpredictable, but there was a strange sort of peace in the way it blanketed the world in white. The isolation of the cabin, the quiet fury of the storm—it all seemed to mirror the whirlwind of emotions they had just unraveled.

But Ben wasn’t looking at the storm.

He turned his head, his green eyes locking onto her. There was something different in his gaze now. Gone was the cocky arrogance, the biting sarcasm.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice soft, almost reverent. "Yes, it is."

But he wasn’t talking about the snow.

His eyes were fixed on her, the weight of his stare almost overwhelming. Y/N felt a flutter in her chest, a warmth spreading through her despite the cold storm outside. She realized, with a quiet breath, that Ben wasn’t looking at the snowstorm at all. He was looking at her.

The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken things, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. All that mattered was the space between them, the slow understanding that passed through his eyes as he gazed at her like she was the most unexpected thing he'd ever encountered.

She noticed the shift, the way his expression softened, the way his eyes lingered on her lips for just a moment too long. Her breath caught in her throat. Before she could say anything, Ben leaned down, his hand moving to gently cup the side of her face.

He kissed her.

It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. His lips met hers with a tenderness that surprised her, a slow, deliberate movement that contrasted everything she thought she knew about him. The kiss wasn’t forceful, wasn’t driven by his usual arrogance or lust—it was something softer, something that felt like a quiet acceptance of the truth they had just laid bare between them.

Y/N’s hand moved from his shoulder to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. She kissed him back, her body moving instinctively closer to his as the storm outside raged on, oblivious to the warmth blooming between them.

Ben’s hand tangled gently in her hair, pulling her just a little closer as the kiss deepened, his thumb brushing against her cheek. He tasted like warmth and whiskey, the rough edges of his usual demeanor melting away into something almost tender, almost… sweet.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as the moment lingered. Ben’s eyes searched hers, as if trying to find the words that had escaped him.

Ben’s forehead remained pressed against Y/N’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. The air between them felt heavy, charged, but in a way that made her feel like time had slowed down. His hand still cradled her cheek.

"If you ever…" he began, the usual swagger in his voice softened as he paused, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. His breath was warm against her skin, and she could feel his hesitation, the way he was searching for something deeper to say, something that didn’t feel like his usual bravado.

"You know," he continued slowly, eyes locked on hers, "if you can't find a man worthy of your… precious gift," He paused again, the faintest hint of a grin playing on his lips, “... don’t be shy to call me.”

Y/N blinked, a wave of heat rising to her cheeks as the words settled over her. “Precious gift?” she repeated with a small laugh, unable to stop the blush from deepening. “You’re so old school, Ben.”

He smirked at that, the usual arrogance flickering back into his eyes for just a moment. "I'm an old soul, sweetheart. You should know that by now."

She couldn’t help but smile, still close enough to feel his warmth. “Yeah, I’m starting to see it.”

But the teasing gave way to something more as his expression softened again, the weight of what they were talking about pressing in on the moment.

He tilted her chin slightly, making sure she was still looking directly into his eyes. “I mean it, Y/N,” he said, his voice serious now, with none of the usual cocky edge. “Waiting for the right man… that’s not weakness. It doesn’t make you naive or Vought's puppet. It makes you smart. Makes you… wise.”

Y/N’s smile faltered slightly as his words sank in, the sincerity in his tone catching her off guard. “You really think so?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

He nodded, his thumb tracing soft circles against her skin. “Yeah. I do. Anyone can go out and just… give it away. But waiting for the right one? That’s what makes you a wise woman, not some cheap girl.”

His words struck her deeply, not because she hadn’t heard them before, but because they were coming from him. From Soldier Boy. The man she had once idolized as a teen, the man she had assumed was nothing more than a self-absorbed relic of Vought’s past. The men who slept with so many women he probably lost count.

But here, now, in the quiet of this cabin, he was different. Raw. Real. A little broken, sure, but more human than she had ever imagined.

Ben kissed her again, soft, a gentle brush of lips that left Y/N breathless. It was tender, unexpected, and held none of the arrogance she'd known from him.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. "Get some rest," he murmured, before turning toward the small bed.

She stood by the window, still feeling the warmth of his kiss, her heart racing. He lay down, stretching out with a grunt, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Night, sweetheart," he muttered, already settling in.

"Goodnight, Ben," she whispered, watching him as the storm raged outside.

--

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[blakeswritingimagines]

Sleeping All Alone

Summary: Reader who always teases bodyguard, named Daemon, to keep you safe both in public and in private situations. However, as the two spend more time together, an undeniable attraction and chemistry starts to develop between you.

Warnings: Power imbalance, Teasing, PWP, Begging, Choking, Use of Darlin, brat, tease, minx, Dom Daemon, and Sub reader, no real gender used for the reader.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Word count: 6.0k

Daemon Targaryen sat in his usual spot at the back of your concert venue. He watched as the fans went wild for the pop star on stage. He was there for one reason and one reason only, and that was to protect you. As you sang and danced on stage, he scanned the crowd, searching for any potential threats. He had been hired by your management team to be your personal bodyguard, and he took his job very seriously. Despite his best efforts, Daemon couldn't ignore the fact that the fans were going crazy over every move you made. It was obvious they were smitten with you, and he couldn't blame them. You were good-looking and talented, and he found himself distracted by you on stage more times than he'd care to admit.

As you strutted across the stage, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. You knew who it belonged to, your bodyguard Daemon. While most people found his intense stare unnerving, you couldn't help but feel a little thrill every time his eyes bore into yours. You tried to focus on the performance, but his presence was distracting. He was like a magnet, tugging at your attention even when you were supposed to be focused on the music. You finished the final song of your set, panting and wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead. You gave a final wave to the adoring crowd before returning backstage, only to find Daemon waiting for you with his arms crossed. “Another successful show,” he said as you approached. Daemon's voice was cool and measured, betraying no hint of the attraction he felt towards you. He had been your bodyguard for several months now, but he had managed to keep his feelings hidden from you. He knew that it was unprofessional to become involved with his client, but that didn't make the attraction any less strong. "But I have to say, you're slacking on your security. You're supposed to be paying attention to your surroundings, not getting distracted by me."

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but secretly a part of you was flattered. It was true, you had caught yourself sneaking glances at him during performances, but you weren't about to admit that. "Oh, don't flatter yourself," you replied with a smirk. "I was just making sure you were doing your job properly." Daemon chuckled softly at your words, his eyes never leaving yours. He knew that you were trying to maintain a veneer of indifference, but he could see through it. He could sense the spark between you both, no matter how much you tried to downplay it. "I'm always doing my job," he said in a low voice. "Just make sure you're not distracting me too much with those pretty eyes of yours." You felt a hoard of butterflies in your stomach at his comment, but you forced yourself to keep your cool. Two could play at that game. You stepped closer to him, using your height and platform shoes to your advantage. "Oh, trust me, my eyes aren't the only part of me that's distracting," you purred, fluttering your eyelashes innocently.

Daemon's breath hitched at your response, but he kept his expression cool. He wasn't about to let you know just how much you affected him. "Is that so?" he said, taking a step forward to close the distance between you. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, and it was driving him wild. "Careful now, little one. You might be playing with fire." You grinned, reveling in the effect you seemed to be having on him. It was rare for him to lose his cool exterior, and the fact that you were the one to make him falter was quite pleasing. "Oh, I can handle the heat," you said with a shrug. "But can you?" You stood on your tip toes and reached up, gently tugging on the lapel of his jacket to pull him closer. Daemon's eyes darkened as you pulled him closer, his resolve wavering slightly. He could feel the heat and electricity between you both like a tangible force. "You have no idea what kind of heat I can handle," he said in a low voice. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. He could feel your heart racing in your chest, and it only made his own beat faster.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as he drew you closer, your body pressed against his. Being this close to him was intoxicating, it was like he was a drug and you were already addicted. "Oh yeah?" you murmured, your voice husky with desire. "Prove it." The concert ended and you managed to get through the mandatory pleasantries and goodbyes without incident. Finally, it was time to leave the venue. You bid goodbye to your friends and colleagues and stepped out into the cool night air. Daemon was by your side immediately, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he ushered you toward the car. As you made your way through the crowded parking lot, Daemon kept a watchful eye on your surroundings, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. He could feel the press of your body against his, and it sent a jolt of electricity through him. He knew he should keep his distance, but he couldn't help the way his body responded to you. Once you reached the car, he opened the door for you and waited until you were safely inside before shutting it and walking around to the driver's seat. You watched him through the window as he walked around the car, the muscles in his shoulders rippling beneath his shirt. You couldn't help but admire his powerful physique, and the way he moved with such calculated grace. When he finally settled in the driver's seat beside you, you turned to him, your expression coy. "Where to next, sir?" you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Daemon stifled a smirk as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He could feel your eyes on him and it was driving him wild. "Are you always this cheeky, or is it just for me?" he asked, his tone neutral. He glanced over at you, his eyes raking over your body. He had never wanted anyone quite like he wanted you at this moment. Daemon gritted his teeth at your tone, but he couldn't deny the effect it had on him. "Home," he said curtly. "It's late, and you have an early morning tomorrow." You rolled your eyes, but a small smile played at the corners of your lips. "Oh, come on, you love it," you teased. As the car pulled away from the venue, you leaned back in your seat and let out a sigh. "You know," you said, breaking the silence in the car, "I don't know how you manage to stay so stoic all the time. It's a bit disappointing, really. I was kind of hoping I could break through your icy exterior by now." Daemon let out a soft laugh at your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You think I'm icy, huh?" he said, stealing a glance at you. "I guess it's just part of the job, little one. Can't have me getting distracted while I'm supposed to be keeping you safe."

You pouted at his response, leaning your head against the window. "Boring," you drawled. "You can't just blame it on the job. I think you like to act tough because you think it makes you look cool and mysterious." Daemon chuckled again, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe it's a bit of that," he admitted. "But you have no idea how hard I have to work to keep my cool around you." He flicked his eyes to you, taking in your pouty expression. "You drive me absolutely wild, you know that? But I have to keep my head straight when I'm working." Your expression softened at his admission, and a small smile tugged at your lips. "Well, I'm glad to know I have that effect on you," you replied, your voice tinged with mischief. "But I have to say, keeping your head straight seems like a pretty tall order. I can guarantee you I'm not making it easy."

Daemon's grip on the wheel tightened as he heard the sultry tone in your voice, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to do to you. "You have no idea," he said gruffly. "Every time you look at me with those big pretty eyes of yours or touch me with those delicate little hands of yours, it takes everything I have to stay professional." You couldn't help but feel a thrill at his words, the fact that you had such an effect on him only made you want to push his buttons more. "Maybe I like seeing you struggle," you said, leaning closer to him and placing a hand on his thigh. "Maybe I like knowing I can break through that tough exterior and leave you a mess." Daemon's breath hitched as your hand landed on his thigh, his muscles tensing under your touch. "You're playing a dangerous game, little one," he warned, but there was no denying the hunger behind his words. He glanced over at you, his eyes dark with desire. "You keep testing me like this and I won't be able to hold back for much longer."

You grinned, enjoying the way you were making him squirm. "Who says I want you to hold back?" you purred, leaning even closer to him, your lips almost brushing his ear. "Maybe I like the idea of you losing control with me." Daemon clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to pull you into his lap and ravish you right there in the car. Your proximity and your words were driving him wild, and the sound of your sultry voice in his ear was quickly eroding his self-control. "You are the most infuriating woman," he said through gritted teeth. Your grin widened as you heard the strain in his voice, knowing you were causing him to lose his grip. "But you love it," you said, moving your hand further up his thigh. "You love the way I get under your skin and make you feel things you try so hard to keep locked away." Daemon let out a low growl as your hand inched higher up his thigh, his knuckles white from gripping the wheel too tightly. "You're playing with fire, darlin'. I've been good so far, but you keep pushing my buttons like this and you're gonna see a side of me you can't handle." He shot you a warning look, but the lust and desire in his eyes betrayed him.

You chuckled, not intimidated in the least. "Oh, I can handle you," you teased, squeezing his thigh for emphasis. "And as for that side of you, you keep trying to keep hidden, I think it's about time you let it out to play." You moved your mouth to his ear, your lips brushing against his skin as you whispered, "I can take whatever you throw at me, big guy." Daemon let out a guttural moan as your lips grazed his skin, his control slipping further away. The sound of your voice in his ear was like a siren song, making him crave you more than he ever thought possible. "Damn you," he muttered, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "You think you can handle me, huh? I'll show you just how wrong you are, you little brat." You felt a thrill at his words, the way he was struggling to keep his composure only made you want to push him further. "Bring it on, big guy," you teased. "I'm not afraid of you." You continued to tease him with your hands and your voice, wanting to see just how far you could push him before he snapped. The car finally pulled up outside your home, and Daemon cut the engine with a flick of his wrist. The air was thick with tension between the two of you, the electricity crackling with every look and touch. As the two of you sat just outside your home, Daemon sat for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of the thoughts and desires you had stirred up in him. After a moment, he turned to you, his expression a mixture of lust and frustration. "You're a damn tease, you know that?" he growled. You smirked at his words, loving the effect you were having on him. "And you're a stubborn control freak," you retorted, still not backing down. "It's about time you realized you can't always be in charge." You leaned closer to him, your lips only inches from his. "But we both know you like it when I challenge you, don't we?" Daemon gritted his teeth, your proximity and your words making his restraint wear thin. He wanted nothing more than to give in to the desire that was building inside him, but he was a man of control, used to being in command. "You're driving me wild, you know that?" he muttered. "You're like a storm, beautiful and dangerous, and I can't resist your pull." He reached out and grabbed your chin, pulling you closer. "But make no mistake, darlin', I'm still the one in charge here."

You let out a soft gasp as he grabbed your chin, the rough handling sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, is that so?" you purred, your lips only millimeters from his. "Why don't you prove it, then?" Even though you were the one in control of the situation so far, your pulse was racing and your breath was coming in shallow gasps. Daemon's eyes darkened with a mix of lust and determination as you challenged him, your proximity and your sultry tone igniting a fire within him. "Don't tempt me," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Once I start, I won't be able to stop." He held your chin in his hand, his gaze burning into yours. "Are you sure you're ready for this, darlin'? Because I won't be gentle." Your heart hammered in your chest as you met his intense gaze. You were playing a dangerous game, teasing and challenging a man who was known for his self-control, but you couldn't help it. The way he looked at you with such hunger and intensity sent a thrill through you, making you more reckless than ever before. "I'm sure," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can take anything you dish out, big guy. Bring it on…. how about you come inside?"

Daemon's self-control finally snapped at your words, his restraint lost in a wave of desire and need. "You asked for it," he growled, his voice thick with hunger. Without waiting for a response, he quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed open the car door. He strode around to your side of the car and yanked open the passenger door, pulling you out of your seat with a firm grip on your wrist. "Inside," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "Now." You gasped as he yanked you out of the car, the force of his grip making your heart race even faster. You followed him obediently, almost feeling like a pet being led on a leash. As soon as you stepped inside your home, he slammed the door shut and pushed you up against it, pinning you there with his body. His eyes glittered with a dark intensity that made your stomach flutter. "Now you're mine," he said, his voice hot against your ear. There was no going back now, you had pushed him past his breaking point and now you were about to see just what he was capable of. Daemon's body was taut with tension and desire as he pressed you against the wall, the weight of his body pinning you in place. His hands came up to cup your face, his touch rough and demanding as he held you in place. "You've been pushing my buttons all night," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. "Now you get to see what happens when you drive a man wild." Without warning, he slanted his mouth over yours, claiming your lips in a bruising kiss.

You couldn't help but moan into his kiss, your body reacting to his touch with a mind of its own. He was overwhelming your senses, his grip on your face and his body pressed against you left you feeling helpless and yet utterly desperate for more. You returned his kiss with an intensity that matched his own, your hands gripping his shirt and pulling him closer. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his desire like a flame that threatened to consume you whole. Daemon groaned, his kiss becoming more urgent and desperate as he tasted you. He released your face, his hands wandering down to your waist as he pressed you harder against the wall. His hips rocked against you, grinding his growing arousal against you as he deepened the kiss. "Damn you," he muttered, his lips moving against yours. "You drive me insane." Your breath hitched as his hips pressed against you, the feel of his hardness making your body respond with a wave of heat. You gasped against his mouth, your mind lost in a fog of desire. "Daemon," you panted, your voice pleading and desperate. "Don't stop, please. I need you, more than air."

Daemon growled low in his throat at your pleading words, the sound sending shivers through you. He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. "You beg so pretty, darlin'," he murmured, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them tightly. "And I'm going to give you exactly what you need, but it won't be gentle." You arched your neck back, offering up more of your skin for him to claim. His words sent a thrill through you, making you shiver with anticipation. "I don't need gentle," you gasped, your hands moving to tangle in his hair. "I just need you, all of you. Take me, any way you want." Daemon let out a low hiss at your words, his control slipping further with each passing moment. He nipped at your neck before pulling away slightly and looking down at you with darkened eyes. "You won't be able to walk straight tomorrow," he promised, his voice rough with desire. "I'm gonna make sure you feel me for days." Without warning, he picked you up easily, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you towards your bedroom.

You let out a gasp as he picked you up, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. You could feel the heat and strength of his body as he carried you, and the knowledge that he was in complete control both terrified and excited you. "I don't care if I can't walk," you gasped, your mouth hovering just above his ear as if not even thinking of the full day ahead of you. "I just want you. Now." Daemon grunted in response, the huskiness in your voice only fueling his own desire. He kicked open the door to your bedroom and strode towards the bed, dropping you down onto it with a soft thump. He followed you down, his body covering yours as he looked down at you with a mixture of hunger and possessiveness in his eyes. "You're mine," he growled, his hands roaming your body as he started to remove your clothes with rough, needy motions. "And I'm going to make you scream my name." You let out a gasp as he tore away your clothes, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You could feel the need and desire radiating off of him, and it only served to heighten your own feelings. "Yes," you gasped, your voice thick with desire. "I'm yours. I'm all yours. Do whatever you want with me, just please, don't stop."

Daemon's breath hitched at your words, his eyes darkening further as he looked down at you. The sight of your exposed body beneath him only served to stoke the fire of his desire, and he quickly shed his own clothes. "I won't hold back," he muttered, his hands roaming over your skin, claiming every inch of you. "You asked for this." Without warning, he claimed your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, his hands continuing to explore your body with urgency and hunger. You moaned into his kiss, your body responding to his touch on instinct. His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, and you felt like you were drowning in a sea of sensation. You arched your body up to meet his, desperate for more, more contact, more sensation. Your hands roamed over his back and shoulders, feeling the strength and power coiled just underneath his skin. "Don't hold back," you panted, your voice hoarse with need. "I can take it, I want it, I need it." Daemon groaned, his body shuddering with need as you writhed beneath him. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path down your neck and collarbone, leaving behind a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses. "You're so damn responsive," he muttered, his hands roaming over your body, tracing every curve and contour. "It's like you were made for me." He nicked at your skin, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh. "I want to taste every inch of you."

You gasped and arched up to meet him as he kissed and bit his way down your body, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you. The feel of his mouth and hands on your skin was driving you wild, and you could feel your body responding with a primal need. "Please," you panted, your voice thick with desire. "Don't tease me, I can't take it. I need you, now." Daemon growled, his restraint crumbling as your words and body reacted to his touch. He knew he was driving you wild, and it only made him want you more. He pulled away slightly, his eyes meeting yours, darkened with a feral hunger. "You don't get to tell me what to do, darlin'," he said roughly, his voice thick with desire. "And I'll tease you as much as I want." Without warning, he pressed his body against yours, his weight pinning you to the bed as he claimed your mouth in a hot, possessive kiss. You tried to suppress a moan as he pressed himself against you, the feel of his body and his lips on yours sending a wave of heat through you. He was in complete control, and you both knew it, but you couldn't help but push back against him, a little bit of defiance still left in you. "Don't be a tease," you managed to gasp between kisses. "I need you, now, please."

Daemon's body tautened as you spoke, his own need becoming almost unbearable. He broke the kiss, his lips hovering millimeters from yours as he looked down at you. "You want me, huh?" he muttered, his voice rough with desire. "You want me to give you exactly what you need, right now?" He leaned back slightly, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you, vulnerable and desperate beneath him. "Beg for it." You swallowed hard as he pulled back, his eyes raking over you, taking in every inch of your exposed flesh. You were already a mess, your body craving his touch with a need that bordered on desperation. The fact that he was still in complete control, holding himself back just enough to drive you wild, was maddening. "Please," you panted, your voice strained with need. "Please, Daemon, I need you. I'll do anything, just please, give me what I want."

Daemon's eyes darkened further as you begged him, the sound of your need and pleading driving him wild. He leaned back in, his body once again pressing heavily against yours. "You're so damn beautiful when you beg," he muttered, his voice thick with desire. "And I can't resist when you look at me like that." He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "But I think first I wanna hear you say it." You let out a soft gasp as he cupped your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat and desire radiating off of him, and it only served to fuel your own need. "Say what?" you asked, your voice breathless and needy. "What do you want me to say? I'll say anything, just please, don't make me wait any longer." Daemon's eyes darkened even further, his gaze locking onto yours. "Say you're mine," he muttered, his voice rough and possessive. "Say you belong to me. That I can do whatever I want with you, whenever I want. And that you'll take whatever I give you, and you'll crave more. Say it."

You felt like your entire body was on fire, your need for him almost painful. You let out a shuddering breath, your eyes locked with his. "I'm yours," you gasped, your voice thick with desire. "I belong to you, completely. You can do whatever you want with me, whenever you want. I'll take whatever you give me, and I'll always crave more. I'm yours, Daemon, only yours." Daemon let out a low, guttural moan, your words sending a rush of heat through him. He claimed your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, seeking, claiming, consuming. His hands roamed over your body, touching, claiming, possessing. "You're mine, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice rough with desire, as he broke the kiss and nuzzled your neck. "All damn mine." You melted beneath his touch, your body responding to his every move with a mix of need and surrender. "Yeah," you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "All yours, only yours. Just please, I need you, now." Every touch, every kiss, only served to fuel the fire that was burning inside of you, a fire that only he could extinguish.

His eyes darkened with desire as he watched you unravel beneath him, your pleas igniting something primal within him. He didn't need to be told twice. With a growl, he lifted you effortlessly, positioning you so that you were straddling his hips. The tip of his throbbing member teased at your entrance before he thrust into you with a force that left both of you gasping for air. A loud cry escaped your lips as Daemon's thick length filled you in one powerful stroke, stretching you deliciously around his girth. Your nails dug into his chest as you adjusted to his size, the pleasure-pain sending sparks through your nerves. "Oh god…" you panted, your head falling back as he began to move within you, each thrust driving deeper, harder. The wet sounds of your coupling echoed through the room, mingling with your ragged breathing and moans of ecstasy. "More…please, give me more!" You begged shamelessly, lost to the overwhelming sensations consuming you whole. Daemon gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you steady as he pounded into you with ruthless abandon. Each deep, punishing thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you closer to the edge. "Take it all, little brat," he snarled, his voice raw with lust. "Every inch of my cock is meant for this sweetness."

He reached up to wrap a hand around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch into him. The dual sensations of his fingers on your pulse point and his thick shaft splitting you open had you teetering on the brink of climax. The roughness of his grip sent another wave of heat coursing through you, making your entire body tremble with anticipation. You threw your head back, exposing the tender column of your neck, a silent invitation for him to explore further. "Yes, yes, just like that," you whimpered, feeling the coil within tightening dangerously. His thumb pressed against your throat, cutting off your breath momentarily before releasing it in a rush, intensifying the sensation of being completely owned by him. "I'm close…so fucking close," you confessed, your inner walls clenching around him instinctively. He felt your body start to tighten around him, signaling your impending release, and it spurred him on even more. His thrusts became erratic, driven by pure, unadulterated lust. "Come for me, love," he commanded, his voice dripping with carnal intent. "Show me how much you want it."

Your body convulsed as the first wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling beneath Daemon. Your inner walls clenched around his throbbing length, milking him for everything he was worth. "Oh fuck…Daemon!" you cried out, your body writhing uncontrollably under his touch. The pleasure was so intense, so overwhelming that it brought tears to your eyes, blurring your vision as you rode out the orgasmic waves crashing over you. Daemon groaned deeply as he felt you come undone around him, your tight sheath rippling along his shaft. It was almost too much to bear. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you and let go, spilling his hot seed deep within your quivering depths. "Fuck, yes," he hissed through gritted teeth, his body shuddering with the force of his own climax. As the last tremors subsided, he collapsed back onto the bed, pulling you down to lie atop him, still joined intimately. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as they both struggled to catch their breath. As the aftershocks of your orgasm slowly faded away, you lay there, panting heavily against Daemon's chest. The warmth of his cum filling you made you feel complete, and cherished. You turned your face towards him, pressing a soft, satisfied kiss to his lips. "That was incredible," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're amazing." The feeling of being held tightly by him after such an intense experience was soothing and comforting, and you found yourself not wanting to pull away anytime soon.

He smiled against your lips, a rare moment of tenderness breaking through the usual facade of dominance. "And you, little minx," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face, "are utterly bewitching." There was a contentment in his voice that hadn't been there before, a satisfaction that came from having fulfilled a deep-seated craving. Slowly, he rolled you onto your side, keeping you nestled against him, his arm draped possessively across your waist. "We'll do this again," he promised, already plotting future encounters in his mind. You woke up the next morning feeling sore and tired, but blissfully satisfied. The memories of last night came back to you in a flood, and you smiled as you realized that you were still in bed with Daemon. You turned over to look at him, only to find that he was already awake, watching you with a lazy smile on his face.

Daemon's eyes took in the sight of your satisfied smile and messy bed hair, he felt a mixture of pride and contentment. He reached out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and tender. "Morning, darlin'," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "How you feelin' this morning?" You leaned into his touch, a contented sigh escaping your lips. "I'm feeling sore," you admitted with a small laugh, "but absolutely wonderful. Last night was… incredible." Your eyes met his, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of his satisfied expression. "How about you? Did I wear you out?" He chuckled, a roguish smile playing on his lips. "You damn near killed me," he said, his words punctuated by a lazy stretch. "But I ain't complainin'. I could get used to seeing you like this every morning." He leaned in closer, his voice growing huskier. "All disheveled and satisfied, and all mine." You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, your body responding to his possessive tone. You reached out to touch his chest, feeling the heat and strength of his body beneath your fingers. "Careful," you teased, a smile playing on your lips. "I might just have to test that theory."

His eyes darkened at your touch, his body responding instantly to the feel of your fingers. "Is that so?" he said, his voice dropping even lower. "You think you're up for round three already?" He shifted closer to you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. "Or do you need a break first, darlin'?" Your morning reverie is interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by your assistant's voice from the other side. "Knock knock," she calls out cheerfully. "I've got a list of things that need your attention-" The door swings open, and she stops mid-sentence as she takes in the sight of you and Daemon, tangled up in the bedsheets. "Oh?" Daemon stiffened as the assistant barged in with no warning, quickly trying to keep the sheets covering his and your mostly exposed bodies. He couldn't help but scowl at her intrusion, his arms instinctively tightening around you as if to shield you from her gaze. "Ever heard of knockin' and waitin' for a damn response?" he snapped gruffly. Your assistant blushed profusely, her eyes widening as she realized the situation fully sunk in. "I'm sorry," she stammered out, her voice high-pitched and embarrassed. "I didn't realize- I'll just-" She quickly turned and tried to exit the room, but in her rush, she tripped over the rug near the door and crashed to the floor with a loud thump.

Daemon rolled his eyes at the sight of your clumsy assistant, but his grip on you didn't loosen. If anything, he held you even tighter, pulling you closer to him and the safety of the bed. "For the love of God…" he muttered, his voice an annoyed grumble. "She's a walking disaster, ain't she?" You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of your assistant sprawled out on the floor, clearly embarrassed and flustered. "Yeah, she's a bit clumsy," you admitted, your voice full of fondness. "But she's loyal and hardworking, so I keep her around." You looked up at Daemon, a sly smile on your face. "And she knows when to make herself scarce, thankfully." Daemon chuckled, his mood somewhat brightened by your fond words for your assistant. He leaned back against the headboard, pulling you with him so that you were half-reclined on his chest. "Yeah, I think the poor thing got the message," he said, his tone dry. "But I can't deny she's got great timing. Or lack thereof, in this case."

You snuggled up against him, enjoying the feeling of his warm, solid chest beneath you. "I guess we should count ourselves lucky," you joked. "Otherwise, we'd probably never get anything done." You glanced over at the clock on the bedside table and sighed. "Speaking of which, I do actually have things to do today…" Daemon groaned lowly in response, his arms tightening around you possessively. He nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit your scent to memory, before pulling back slightly. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he muttered, his tone resigned. "You've got a business to run. But can't a man just hold his brat a little longer?" You chuckled at his words, touched by his possessiveness. "Of course you can," you reassured him. "And I would love that. But I really do have to get up. We can always pick this up later, though…" You reluctantly started to extricate yourself from his embrace, planting a quick kiss on his lips before standing up. He lets out a huff, watching as you reluctantly untangle yourself from his arms and rise from the bed, already missing the warmth of your body against his. He props himself up on his elbows, the sheets pooling around his waist and revealing his bare chest. "Promises, promises," he mutters, a roguish smile playing on his lips. "I'll hold you to that, you know. And I aim to collect, darlin'."

[sassyfrassboss]

So I have been following along quietly for a few months now. Not gonna lie, pretty burnt out on all of this. Pretty much at the point where the BRF needs to shit or get off the pot when it comes to Harry and Meghan. Strip the titles and give the US Gov a strict ultimatum, the UK or THEM. Take them off the royal website and shut down any and all connection to them for good.

I will tune in if there is a divorce. No way in HELL would I miss that. Especially since I have been dying for one since May 20, 2018.

As for the new book and Omid once again showing his true colors...yeah we all knew that was going to happen. I knew in advance this book was going to be a total dumpster fire and a pile on Kate. Don't need insiders or a psychic to tell me that...

However, it never crossed my mind he would claim Kate was one of the royal racists. I truly didn't think he, nor Meghan, would go that low. But alas, I was wrong.

I figured he would call out Charles as one of them but I thought he would claim William was the other.

Remember also, Meghan claimed that there were MANY conversations held regarding Archie, although according to Harry this was before Meghan was even pregnant and Meghan was never part of these conversations.

Back in 2018 before the wedding, we all know Kate was pregnant with Louis. Now I can see Harry inquiring about Kate's pregnancy and what it was like to prepare himself for future fatherhood. I can also see a conversation happening in regards as to who this potential baby would take after looks like since George looks like Mike Middleton and Charlotte looks like William. Heck, this conversation could have happened before he even proposed to Meghan.

What I can see happening is a casual conversation between Harry and Kate being mentioned to Meghan where Harry says "yeah we talked about what the baby would look like" and Meghan turning that into it being racist. Then over time the exaggerations begin and the next thing we know, Meghan has claimed on Oprah that skin tone was brought up and she was there...even though later corrected her saying it was before she was ever pregnant and she wasn't there.

So that's my thought on that...

As for Omid...

The biggest issue with him denying that he NEVER wrote the names of the royal racists and that it was a "translation error" is something he got right from the book of Meghan. Deny till you die or until they actually find proof you're lying.

Omid has already been caught lying under oath and he got a free pass. He is taking a page out of Meghan's book and expecting people to forget that he is a habitual liar or that he "misremembered" what actually happened.

However, we have the actual translator coming out and saying that the book she received included the names and that she did NOT mistranslate the book. All this woman needs to do now is show her copy of the manuscript she received (hopefully she still has it) and we have proof once again Omid lied.

Guaranteed though he will claim that the publisher must have been the one to change the manuscript and he is innocent...

Which either scenario leaves him without credibility or any future jobs because no publisher or network will touch him after this...

[thatsoanjie]

The Weight of Anger

Sebastian Sallow x reader

[spoilers, obviously]

Summary : Sebastian doesn't exactly see eye to eye with you on goblins... can he be reasoned with?

WC : 779 (short drabble)

Notes : No warnings! This closely ressembles the quest line with Sebastian. Enjoy :)

Read my disclaimer and fair use notice here

The tension in the Undercroft is thick, nearly suffocating as the argument between you and Sebastian unfolds, echoing off the cold, unforgiving stone. The shadows stretch long under the dim, flickering light of the enchanted lamps, but nothing can diminish the storm crackling between the two of you.

Sebastian paces with a sharp, restless energy, his jaw set, eyes dark with a frustration that radiates off him in fierce waves. The composed, controlled demeanor you’ve always known has cracked open, letting the raw, volatile force of his emotions spill out.

“They’re goblins!” His voice is a razor’s edge, slicing through the heavy air. “They’ve been attacking villages, murdering innocent people—my people! They’re the aggressors, not the victims.”

You stand your ground, arms crossed tightly, your own emotions a turbulent mix of determination and the sting of hurt. You understand his pain, the searing anger that drives him, but the narrow, unforgiving view he’s clinging to fills you with unease. The world is rarely so black and white, and you can’t remain silent, not when you know there’s more at stake.

“I’m not saying what they’ve done is right,” you reply, your voice steady, a calm contrast to his fury. “But not every goblin is like Ranrok or the ones who follow him. Some are trapped, forced into a war they didn’t choose. We can’t just condemn them all, can’t assume every goblin is our enemy.”

Sebastian halts, whirling to face you, incredulity blazing in his eyes. “Are you defending them? After everything they’ve done? After what they did to Anne?”

The mention of Anne is like a dagger, twisting deep, and you know just how much it fuels his hatred. You feel it too—the sorrow, the anger—but you can’t let it consume you. “I’m not defending them,” you insist, stepping closer, your tone firm yet imploring. “I’m asking you to see beyond the rage. We can’t lose our humanity in this fight. If we do, we’re no better than those who see us as nothing more than obstacles to be crushed.”

His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath the fire, you catch a glimmer of doubt, a flicker of something less certain. He’s not used to you standing against him like this, not on something that cuts so close to the bone. “So what, then? You want me to just forgive them? Pretend like they haven’t torn everything apart?”

“No,” you whisper, the word soft but unyielding. You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, anchoring him as much as yourself. “But we can’t let our anger devour us. If we do, we’re playing their game, becoming exactly what they want us to be. We have to be better, not driven by revenge but by the hope of something better.���

Sebastian’s gaze falls to where your hand rests on his arm, the touch pulling him back from the edge, from the abyss he’s been staring into for far too long. His anger falters, giving way to the exhaustion beneath. His shoulders slump forward slightly. “It’s not easy,” he admits, his voice raw, stripped of its earlier venom. “Every time I think about Anne, about what they’ve done to her, all I want is to make them pay.”

“I know,” you murmur, your grip tightening just slightly, grounding him, anchoring him. “But we can’t let that pain control us. We have to find a way to channel it, to fight for something more than just revenge. We can’t let this war turn us into monsters.”

He looks up at you, the fire in his eyes dimming as he finally lets your words in. The tension in his shoulders eases, his breath shaky as he slowly nods. “You’re right,” he says, the anger melting into something more fragile, more human. “I’ve been so caught up in my rage, in making them pay, that I lost sight of what really matters. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

You offer a small, reassuring smile, your hand giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise, your voice carrying a quiet strength. “But we have to do it the right way.”

He nods again, the storm within him finally beginning to calm. He looks at you, really looks, and sees not just an ally, but a lifeline, a guiding light through the darkness that’s threatened to swallow him whole.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice sincere, filled with a gratitude that goes deeper than words. “For keeping me from losing myself.”

Your smile turns into a smirk, relief washing over you. “That’s what friends are for,” you say softly, “keeping each other on the right path.”

***

Thank you for reading!! Requests are open :) see y'all soon!

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 18/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

“Just say I spelled you! You can pin all this on me! I can put a hex on you. Something minor, something you can break easy…your coven can lodge a complaint with the high coven and they’ll sense the magic still on you. You go in all pissed that I controlled you, give them some details, show you’re cooperating. As old as you are, they’ll believe I wasn’t able to hold a hex long term. They’ll be so focused on finding me, they should leave you guys alone. You can walk away.”

Evan said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly. As though throwing him to the wolves to save his own skin was just the most logical step that Tommy could take. As though Tommy shouldn’t even bother trying to come up with any other plan. His voice was steady, convincing, brave even.

But his heart stuttered in his chest.

His breath hitched on the last words, barely audible even to Tommy’s enhanced senses.

He wouldn’t quite meet Tommy’s eyes.

The idea of forging off alone on Grant’s ‘distraction’ mission scared him. Of course it did. Tommy was not particularly keen to go play bait for agents of the Southern California high coven, and he had centuries of experience in such matters. Evan would be an idiot to not be afraid…and yet looking at him, Tommy could tell he was serious. He wouldn’t just take the opportunity to run, to try and flee the state. He’d genuinely put himself in that kind of danger to try and buy Grant and her coven whatever kind of time he could to figure out a way to prevent a coven war. From what Tommy had seen and heard, Evan’s own kind wouldn’t cross the street to spit on him if he was on fire, but he was willing to risk his freedom and his life to try and keep a coven war from erupting because innocent people would be caught in the crossfire. His witch was that brave, that selfless.

Damn it, he had to stop doing that. Evan wasn’t his anything.

But here he was, in Tommy’s safe haven, dressed in Tommy’s clothes, the maddening, tempting scent of him washing through the place and mingling with Tommy’s own. For a moment, all Tommy could concentrate on was how right it felt. How right it had felt to have Evan at his back, at his side. How effortless it had been to fall into a rhythm with him at the office building, how easily he had trusted that none of Evan’s spells would go astray. Ever since he’d taken his witch out of Gerrard’s party, it had felt like a puzzle piece had slotted into place somewhere, like he’d found something he hadn’t even realized he was missing.

He didn’t understand it. He found himself trusting Evan like he trusted Sal, who had been his friend for hundreds of years. He trusted Evan like he trusted Lucy, his turn in every way that counted, the little sister he could no longer remember if he’d ever had. It was madness to give Evan the same level of trust, the same level of regard.

But it felt so right.

And the idea of stepping aside to leave Evan to face down the high coven alone, to leave his witch to defend himself against whoever was pulling all the strings around them…Tommy had no words for how wrong that felt. Every instinct he had screamed out against the very idea.

“Evan,” he started, searching for the words that would make Evan understand that Tommy was in this just as deeply as he was, that Tommy wasn’t going to just stand aside and leave him in danger.

But before the words could come, his perimeter alarm went off. Evan flinched back and barked out a spellword, an orb of white light igniting around one hand as Tommy whirled to face the front door. In a flash, he was pressed against the edge of the front window, easing the heavy curtain aside just a crack as he listened intently for approaching intruders. He held up a staying hand when he heard Evan move behind him, gratified when his witch instantly went still.

“What is it?” Evan whispered, but Tommy just shook his head, reaching over to the alarm panel by the door to punch in the code to silence it.

The alarm for the gate at the end of the bungalow’s long driveway had been disarmed. Someone who knew his gate code had triggered the secondary motion detectors he had along the fence line. He straightened, sighing in relief at the realization that whoever had breached his property wasn’t an enemy…but a wary sort of caution settled over him anyway.

Sal or Lucy would have texted him to let him know to disable his secondary security systems. Josh, Ravi, and the rest of the coven didn’t even know this place existed, and he trusted that neither Sal nor Lucy would have told anyone. The only other person who knew where this place was and had his gate code was…

“It’s all right,” he said over his shoulder, glancing behind him. Evan frowned uneasily, but dismissed the orb of magic with a flick of his hand. Outside the house, Tommy heard the rumble of an engine pull up the driveway, pause at the front of the house, and then continue along to the covered carpark in the back. “But let me do the talking, okay?”

“Who is it?” Evan demanded, his eyes darting to the back door in the kitchen once the vehicle got close enough for him to hear it too.

Tommy sighed. He would have appreciated a head’s up from Sal or Lucy, but he understood why they hadn’t. Not everyone had the leeway Tommy did with their unexpected guest.

“My coven master,” he said

*

The vampire who called himself Gabriel Alonzo these days was not an imposing figure, to look at him.

He’d been older than Tommy had been when he was turned, balding and starting to go soft around the middle, closer to Gerrard’s age when his human life had ended.

But the aura of power that surrounded him as he stepped into the bungalow was unmistakable. Alonzo was not ancient, did not give off the air of danger and strength that Tommy knew he himself did…but he was old. And his presence commanded respect.

Tommy only knew a little about Alonzo’s past—he’d been a scholar at some university in Spain in the late 1500’s, a minor aristocrat. Beyond that, Tommy didn’t really know the details. Partly because most vampires who made it past three or four hundred years had trouble recalling the specifics of lives that had ended centuries ago. Partly because he and Alonzo just weren’t that kind of close. He counted his coven master as a friend, trusted him and deferred to him in coven political matters…but they weren’t close. He didn’t care about Alonzo the way he cared about Sal and Lucy, or even Ravi and Josh.

His coven master stepped into the living room, his dark eyes immediately landing on Evan, who had shifted himself back by the bookshelves next to the fireplace, where he’d been huddled last night. Tommy heard Evan’s heartbeat kick up as Alonzo sized him up, but his witch didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. Instead, he squared his shoulders, and a little bit of his own crackling aura of power came to the fore, magic just barely crackling in the air around him. Tommy had no right to the pride that flashed through him—but he felt it anyway.

“Alonzo, this is Evan,” he said, not quite interposing himself between his coven master and his witch, but casually positioning himself that he’d be able to intervene if Alonzo decided to attack. He didn’t think Alonzo would do something like that, but he saw Evan relax slightly out of the corner of his eye. “Evan, this is Gabriel Alonzo.”

Evan gave a short, jerky nod, not offering any kind of greeting. His eyes kept darting between Tommy and Alonzo, clearly nervous—but willing to follow Tommy’s lead.

Alonzo looked Evan up and down again before turning to Tommy with a carefully neutral expression. “Thomas,” he said, never one for nicknames as long as Tommy had known him. But he wasn’t calling him ‘Kinard,’ so he wasn’t angry. Yet. “I’m really hoping you have an explanation for why Mehta and Marks have been sending messages inquiring about your status in our coven.”

That…was not what Tommy had been expecting Alonzo to say. He reeled back a little. “What?”

Alonzo sighed, his lips compressing into a thin line. “Jeshan and Andrew have both been calling all morning, asking if you’d gone rogue. Thomas, they’re saying you were involved in a fight downtown yesterday where multiple vampires were killed. They said the SoCal high coven is involved now. Is it true?”

“That’s, uh, that’s a pretty Cliffs notes version of what’s going on, but they’re not wrong,” Tommy said, looking back at Evan briefly. “How did it get around to the other covens already?”

“Thomas! Why the hell am I just hearing about this? What did you do?”

“I was going to call you later tonight,” Tommy hedged. “After Evan and I checked some things out.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but he really should have updated his coven master about what was going on last night—as soon as he’d gotten a better idea of the scale of the shitstorm he’d stepped into. He didn’t even have a real reason for why he hadn’t gotten in touch with his coven. He couldn’t very well say that he’d been so incredibly distracted by the effect Evan and the strangely intense connection he felt with the witch that it had slipped his mind.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Alonzo snapped.

Tommy frowned at the tone, exchanging another look with Evan. Quickly, he launched into an explanation of what they had discovered so far—starting with how he’d taken Evan out of Gerrard’s party, and going all the way through their meeting with Grant’s coven the night before. Alonzo’s face grew darker and darker as Tommy spoke, his eyebrows drawing together in a thunderous frown.

“Do you have any idea how much danger you’ve put our coven in?” he demanded as soon as Tommy was done. “You were recognized and you didn’t think to tell us?”

“You’re right. I should’ve called you. I was hoping to keep the coven out of it, but I should’ve called you as soon as I knew how fucked up the situation with Greenway and Gerrard’s parties was.”

“You’re damn straight you should have! Thomas, running around with a witch? Unsanctioned killings? Being targeted by the high coven? Do you know what kind of position this puts me in?! Mehta knows you; he just wants your side of the story, but Marks? He and his allies think you’ve either been spelled or gone rogue!”

“Alonzo, this is bigger than I thought it was! Someone’s trying to touch off a coven war in LA, what was I supposed to do?” Tommy pushed back, a growl he couldn’t quite suppress curling through his voice.

“What I told you to do in the first place!” Alonzo snarled. He stabbed a finger towards Evan. “Get rid of him! Turn him over to the high coven, tell them whatever they need to hear to keep them the hell off our backs so I can start damage control with our kind!”

“They’ll kill him,” Tommy said, taking a reflexive step closer to Evan.

It was something he’d been trying to avoid thinking about, something he’d been trying to avoid acknowledging. But there was no doubt in his mind. If either side of this mess got their hands on Evan, his witch would be killed.

“He’s a witch,” Alonzo said firmly, glaring harshly at Evan. “Whether they live or die isn’t our problem.” Tommy bristled, his fangs aching in his mouth, his eyes starting to grow scarlet. Alonzo’s posture turned wary, his eyes narrowing. “Thomas,” he warned.

“No one’s touching him,” Tommy said, the words ripping out of him before he could think about it, before he could reflect on them. It was instinctive. Immediate.

And true.

While Tommy could prevent it, nothing was going to hurt his witch.

Evan made a soft, surprised sound behind him, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Alonzo. His coven master wasn’t stronger or faster than him, even when he hadn’t recently drunk witch blood, but Alonzo was crafty…and far more dangerous than he appeared.

“Thomas,” Alonzo said quietly. “If you don’t abandon this situation, I can’t protect you. I can’t protect us. The entire coven will be in danger.”

“T—Kinard,” Evan said, speaking up for the first time, his words stumbling slightly in the way he had been all morning. Tommy was trying not to read too much into the sound of it, a little alarmed by how very much he wanted to hear his name on Evan’s lips. “I can handle myself. You should—”

“I should what, Evan? Turn you over to the high coven? Go track down those fuckers that just tried to kill us and see if they want another round with you?”

With another warning glare at his coven master, he turned to face Evan. His witch met his eyes squarely, a tired sadness in them that Tommy wondered if Evan was even aware of. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’ve been on my own before. I can manage. Just do what I said before…let me leave and have your coven master lodge a complaint with the high coven. Tell them I spelled you. I don’t—I don’t know what to do about the vampires, but at least that’ll get my people off of your coven.”

“Well. I wasn’t expecting you to be the voice of reason,” Alonzo said, sounding reluctantly impressed. “Listen to him, Thomas. We don’t have a lot of time to go with that story—not even a powerful witch could control you for very long.”

Tommy stared at Evan, his mind racing as he searched for some option—any option—that kept both his coven and his witch safe. That didn’t drag the people he cared most about any deeper into this mess or leave his witch standing alone in it.

He couldn’t let anything happen to Lucy. To Sal, and Ravi, and Josh, or any of the others. Hell, he didn’t want anything to happen to Alonzo either, no matter how difficult his coven master was being. He was trying to protect the coven the only way he thought he could—Tommy couldn’t be mad at him for that.

He couldn’t let anything happen to Evan.

He could not. With no reason, rhyme, or logic to it, he knew that something happening to Evan would wound him. Would wound him deeply. Evan finally looked away from him, his open, expressive face suddenly shuttering. Tommy watched a blank, emotionless mask slide over his witch’s features, as if he wasn’t affected at all by two vampires arguing over which of the paths that led directly to his death they should take. Only his eyes held any spark of life to them—and the building resignation in them hit Tommy like a punch to the throat. He wondered if this was the front Evan had tried to put up during his trial.

There was only one path forward for him. “I can’t do that,” he said, not looking away from Evan, an irrational fear seizing him that if he looked away for an instant, his witch would vanish. “Evan, whoever is orchestrating all this, I’m not leaving you to face them down by yourself.”

“Thomas, are you insane?” Alonzo interjected. “You can’t be serious!” He started to pace back and forth, and now Tommy stepped deliberately between him and Evan. “If you do this, then I’ll have no choice but to disavow you. Sever our alliance.”

Behind him, he heard Evan take a sharp breath. He straightened himself to his full height, calling on the cool detachment that had seen him through more battles than he would ever be able to remember. “Exactly,” he said.

At that, Alonzo froze, turning slowly to face him. His normally calm exterior cracked completely, surprise and no small amount of disbelief twisting his face. “You’d leave? Lucy? Salvatore? You’d leave them, us, your coven for nearly two centuries…for that?!” He threw out his hand toward Evan, and Tommy’s jaw clenched.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he said.

“Because I don’t!” Alonzo roared. His own eyes gleamed scarlet, and Tommy relaxed his stance, ready to spring in any direction if Alonzo lunged for Evan. “He’s a witch!”

“I have my reasons,” Tommy said calmly.

“Reasons? I haven’t heard a minute of reason out of you since I arrived,” Alonzo spat.

“Disavow me. Sal will swear he witnessed…tell him I said not to be as stupid as he was in Genoa if he argues. Mehta will back you. I know you two have been talking about an alliance ever since Ortiz started making serious moves…do it. There will still be enough people scared of pissing me off to give you all some protection until you can solidify an alliance with Mehta’s coven.”

“Thomas,” Alonzo said, the stunned disbelief overtaking the anger in his face. “You’ll be covenless.”

Tommy shrugged with a carelessness he didn’t feel. “I’ve been covenless before.” He pressed a closed fist over his heart and gave a short bow, a gesture that was as engrained into his muscle memory as which hand he used to write with, though he couldn’t recall the leader he’d first used it to salute. “I can’t do what you’re asking me to. But the coven’s not safe as long as I’m a part of it, right now. So do what you need to, Gabriel.”

Alonzo stared at him a long moment, and then his face hardened. “Thomas Kinard,” he said. “Our alliance is ended. You are no longer recognized as a member of our coven, and are entitled to nothing of ours.”

Vampire covens were different from witch covens. There were no magical bonds connecting them, nothing to sever and diminish. If Alonzo had been his maker, it would have been different…but Alonzo was not the bastard. Tommy’s presence in Alonzo’s coven was purely a political alliance, enforced only by their own choice to remain allies. Alonzo’s coven was not even the first that he had been part of since the bastard’s influence over him had been removed by his second death. It was the first coven that Tommy had seen himself staying with, though. The first coven that had felt like more than a port in a storm, more than a convenience.

Tommy was almost a thousand years old. Hell his name had come into common use during his human lifetime. He was no stranger to loss.

But loss still hurt.

“Gabriel Alonzo, our alliance is ended,” he said formally. “Tell Sal and Lucy I’ll call them when…if it’s safe. I’ll explain.”

Alonzo scoffed, but Tommy knew him well enough to read the real regret in his expression. “You know there’ll be no explaining this to those two.” He ran his hand down his face and sighed. “If the high coven comes to my door, I’m not going to be able to do much to throw them off your scent, Thomas.”

“I don’t expect you to. Get me a heads up when that happens if you can.”

Alonzo inclined his head, before shooting one more dark look in Evan’s direction. Then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the bungalow, exiting the way he’d come. Tommy did not fully relax until he heard the car start up outside, and then cracked his neck back and forth. He closed his eyes briefly, before turning to face Evan.

His witch was staring at him in complete shock, his eyes wide and wild. “Evan, remember,” he said gently. “Coven bonds aren’t like what you’re used to for us. This isn’t…it doesn’t hurt me.”

A lie, but only a small one. Being exiled from his coven wasn’t going to harm him or diminish his power.

Evan shook his head silently, his brow furrowing. “Why…” he started, but broke off, looking off to the side and swallowing harshly. “Why did you do that?” he said finally.

There were several answers he could give, some of which even made at least a little sense. He was no more eager to see a coven war start in LA than Evan was. He believed that Howie’s coven would be able to get to the bottom of what Greenway—and by extension, Evan—had been embroiled in. This even freed him up to be less cautious in his actions, now that he no longer had to worry so much about them coming back on his coven. None of them were true, though.

He had done it because he could no more leave Evan to face this danger alone than he could go out and bask under the light of the sun. Evan didn’t belong to him. He had no claim over the witch, nothing tying them together that would warrant this. And yet…

And yet.

Evan was his witch.

And Tommy was beginning to realize that breadth of what he’d do for his witch was terrifying.

[malum-forev]

Congrats on 1k followers 💓 I am so happy for you!

And can I please request the “stranded” prompt from your bingo game?

Just imagine Bucky and reader not really liking each other and being stranded somewhere after a mission. The tension, the intrigue, the fluff! Ugh I’m excited ❤️‍🔥

Much love, Meg (espinosaurusrexex) ✨

Hiii thank you thank youuu!! ❤️‍🔥 Here's the "stranded" prompt! I hope you like it <33

*

Your legs felt heavy as you walked deeper into the forest. The “simple” mission Sam sent you on had taken you from morning to afternoon and now, into the night. You found yourself trying to ignore the ache enveloping your body as you dragged your exhausted body through the damp ground. Whoever said nature gives you peace and makes you feel grounded is an idiot. 

Stupid Sam, with his stupid mission, and his “You’ll be in and out in an hour, two tops.” You thought. 

On paper, it looked easy. You were supposed to go to a warehouse that was used as a training camp during the war somewhere in Vermont. There had been a couple of reports stating weird things were happening, there was talk of more super serum and information taken by Hydra being hidden there. But someone must have been tipped off because when you got there, everything was gone. Well, almost everything. Before you got to the warehouse, whoever was getting rid of the evidence clearly wanted to get rid of you too. Blinding gas tanks were detonated and they’d wired bombs to the landing strip, the quinjet completely destroyed. 

You always had a Plan B, of course. A safehouse some miles into the forest that bordered the area near Montreal. 

Your shoulders dropped as you saw caught sight of the small cabin. The sigh you let out was the first thing you’d heard in an hour, apart from the sound of two pairs of boots crunching down on the dropping leaves.

Bucky turned to look at you but you kept your gaze forward. You were in absolutely no mood to talk. It was his fault you were here but you knew he would never admit it. 

You walked up the old wooden stairs and stopped at the door.

“Are you waiting for the door to magically open?” Bucky crossed his arms over his chest.

Your hand covered your eyes. “You cannot be serious. Sam gave you the key for the safehouse in case we needed it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bucky shrugged. “And I put it in my backpack.”

“And where’s your backpack?” You asked, annoyed. 

Bucky looked over both his shoulders and spun around once. “Does it fucking look like I have my backpack?”

“You lost the only thing you were supposed to keep track of?” You groaned. 

“Well I’m sorry, I was trying to not get killed by the fucking bombs!” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

You put your hand up, conveying a clear stop talking or I’ll kill you message, and knelt down. You took a couple of paper clips from the inside of your vest and straightened them to try and pick the lock. 

“Wouldn’t it be easier and more effective to carry a lockpick set?” Bucky asked. 

You stopped working on the lock to take a deep breath. We do not kill innocent people. You repeated in your head. Even if they’re not so innocent and they’re assholes.

You were able to get the door open after a few minutes. You took in your surroundings as you came in and turned on the lights. There was a landline phone at one end of the small cabin and a couple of medical aid kits, a couch on the other side of the four walls and a small table with two chairs next to it, but that was about it. You looked out the window and into the night, there wasn’t anything to be seen. Miles upon miles of trees, a good hour and a half away from any sort of civilization. You were truly stranded. 

“This place looks like shit.” Bucky said. 

Five words, that’s all it took to ignite the fire that had been lightly burning in your being. 

“Really? Because I think this place is incredibly charming.” You said, your words dripped sarcasm. “This was actually my idea of a perfect Friday night! Go on a mission, have you mess everything up by not checking if the place was decked out in bombs and having to walk almost two hours to a safehouse.”

“How is this my fault! You were the one who wanted to land the jet closer to the warehouse.” Bucky’s tone rose, his chest heaved. 

“Oh don’t you try and flip this situation around.” You warned. “Because the problem starts and ends with you being selfish! And because of your idiotic need for individualistic recognition and praise, we're stranded!”

Bucky was fully ready to let his wrath out on you but just as he was about to tell you why you were the problem, he saw a stain on your light grey vest. He furrowed his eyebrows at the large dark stain. 

“What happened to you?” He asked, getting closer and lightly tracing over the spot.

A painful shriek slipped out of you as you felt the pressure, Bucky stepped back. 

You grabbed one of the kits and dropped your body on one of the chairs. With a groan and a wince, you took your vest off and pulled your shirt up, tucking it under the wire of your bra. 

You teared the packaging for the antiseptic wipe and tried to clean the area. The large gash on the skin covering your ribs was still leaking blood. 

Bucky sat down on the chair next to you and pulled your chair closer to him, taking the wipe from your hands. “C’mon let me do it, I’ve got a better angle.”

You threw your head back and hissed as he pressed the wipe to your wound. 

“How’d you even get a cut like this?” Bucky asked, his usual frown softened a worried look taking its place.

You shrugged your shoulders. “What did you say earlier? I was trying to not get killed by the fucking bombs. Couldn’t really concentrate on anything else.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth turned upwards slightly. 

You took sight of the man in front of you. The warm light cast intricate shadows on Bucky’s face. You could see his frown lines but you also took note of the small wrinkle on each side of his lips. Smile lines. You thought of the few times you’d seen him smile. You’d seen him give out his fake smile many times at press conferences or Stark events, but Buck’s true smile- the one you knew was hard to get out of him- you had only seen once or twice in passing. There was that one time when Sam finally broke him down with a cheesy joke, Bucky’s whole face would light up and an ear-to-ear smile would reveal his pearly whites. You had noticed your breath hitching when you saw him, not that you would ever admit it. 

A smile of your own threatened to appear as you saw how his tongue poked out of the side of his mouth, concentrated on treating your wound.

“Will you stop looking at me like that?” Bucky said in a soft voice. He took the needle out of the packaging, you needed at least three stitches. “It’s making me lose my focus.”

“Sorry.” You whispered.

“S’okay.” Bucky mumbled. 

You felt your mouth open without consulting with your brain. The question on the tip of your tongue. “Tell me a joke.” 

You don’t know what came over you but you asked it. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the lack of blood. You saw Bucky’s eyebrows furrow and his jaw tense. His expressive face went through all the emotions.

“A joke?” Maybe he hadn’t heard correctly, you definitely didn’t say that. How could the woman with whom he’d spent more time arguing than actually talking ask him to tell her a joke. 

“Tell me a joke.” You repeated, it was too late to back out now. 

“What’s a prize old people can win for aging?” Bucky asked, his eyes focused on finishing up your stitches but his brain was elsewhere. 

“What?” 

“Atrophy.” His celeste eyes looked up at yours and there it was, a smile. You knew you probably looked dumbfounded but there wasn’t any other expression you could make. Now you knew why Bucky didn’t smile as much, that man could start a war if he wanted to just by flashing a quick smile. 

You let out a light laugh. “That was a really bad joke.”

“I’m out of practice, I can’t remember the last time someone asked me for a joke.” Bucky bit his bottom lip. 

“You should smile more often.” Bucky’s eyes widened at your words. 

“I-I should?” He stuttered, quickly finishing the last stitch. Taking a bandage strip and placing it over his work. 

“You have a really nice smile.” You said and watched as his cheeks turned red. 

With a cough, he stood up from the chair. Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Thanks, it’s- been a long time since someone’s said that.”

“Am I the first person to tell you you have a nice smile in 70 years?” You asked. 

“Well- I – when you think about it-“ Bucky’s brain was frying, he had no idea what to do in this situation. He’d begged Sam not to put you two together in a mission for this exact reason. You were extremely irritating to him but at the same time he couldn’t help but want you. Want to be near you. You had the ability to make him angry in a matter of seconds but make his pants feel tight with just a couple of words. The devious smile playing on your lips only made him harder. 

“I’m gonna call Sam to see when he can pick us up.” Bucky gulped. 

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

*Any gifs posted are not my own and I give the artist full credit.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Can you do Percival hc with female reader? I rarely see others write about him.

Absolutely! Hope you like your headcanons dear anon.

Percival is a country bumpkin at heart, which is something that he often hears from everyone, he doesn't understand why though. However he is quite literally incapable of viewing someone gender-wise, if you accomplish something great or otherwise display your power, it is then and there he starts forming a view of you. He recongizes someone for their dreams and ambitions, which is something he can deeply appreciate. A genuine curiosity inspires him to get to know you better, to see what kind of person you are.

Even despite his initial bluntness and/or honesty, he isn't inherently stupid. Percival can tell if something is bothering you, which is when he'll ask if he can help you someway or somehow. It's as if something is stringing at his heart, the heavy-weight burdening your shoulders. Though his heart soars if he was able to help you through it, it is your expressions of happiness -- your smile, that give him a sense of renewed hope.

Weak or strong, he is quick to protect you like the rest of his friends. But if you can clearly hold out on your own, then he trust you completely to help finish the battle and protect any innocents caught in the cross-fire of the fight. Nothing sort of admonishment, he admires your ability to use your powers well even if it may seem useless at first. Even something as basic can be devastating if used in the right hands.

As time had passed, he had eventually had come to learn a little bit about you, as you had come to learn about him. You two had come to meet when way out in the Dalflare ranges where Gowther had anointed himself as the protecter of the lesser demons who didn't participate in the New Holy War sixteen years ago. You were both surprised and envious of Percival's history, and his willingness to go on. It was some days that you truly couldn't go one, being too much of a herculean effort to continue forward.

You had being chasing your own devils down the same old dead end road-way, coupling with dealing with your own darkness and the mission to stop Camelot seemed to be quite a lot. But it was him that had encouraged you to go forward, alongside other pushing factors.

When you had been inflicted with a major injury in the fight with the Dark Talismans, way out nestled of the depths of the entangled forest, Percival was extremely worried about you. But you had insisted yet again and again that you were fine, but he persisted anyway, leaving you to find a small green-like bubbly Percival at the site of your wound; healing it. You didn't understand why he was so insistent, but it had seemed he had gone through with it anyway. Though, you were quite glad the pain had faded away.

On your travels, you had once or twice been allowed to try on his helmet. Well, you had rather stolen it one time, about putting it on. Seeing the way Percival had laughed, and mentioning how funny you looked in it had made your heart burst with happiness. Even in the midst of the onset of doom and gloom, you much rather enjoyed it when people were happy and joyous.

You had tried his cooking before, which was absolutely amazing much to your surprise. Having seen the teenager garner a penchant for combat and immediate rescue, actually even seeing his tendency to almost throw his life away, you never had expected him to have such a level of skill when it came to cooking. Which you had to admit, albeit silently, that he was good at it.

There was once a time you had pointed out the insignia on Percival's brooch, mentioning the legend of the ouroboros; how the snake eating itself signfied the eternal cycle of life, death and rebirth. He thought it was pretty cool, and thanked you for the knowledge. It was much to your surprise when the concept had held true later on.

You could see how easily he could become friends with people, much to your chagrin as you weren't quick to become friends with people the way Percival could. You just had more so kept your distance and stayed silent around the others, mostly keeping your converstations with Percival.

[mr-bas00nist]

Okay so I'm gonna try request this...

Raiden (cyborg) x boyfriend male cyborg who's a caretake at one of the children hospital and got absolutely wrecked because he was protecting a kid from a bully nurse/doctor/other caretaker?

They're neglecting and beating kids that are too much to handle and reader caught them doing so.

Basically how would Raiden react to finding out reader had to have an emergency surgery because he was badly "hurt" while protecting a child from an angry guy with a fire extinguisher.

Maybe I'll be bolder with my requests in the future, but we'll see.

Thank you for the opportunity to request something~ ❤️

I have genuinely never played any MGS with Raiden because after Phantom Pain I strayed away from it. I had to watch like a whole playthrough to gauge his personality lmao which is why this request took so long. But here’s a little drabble! :)

Protecter

⚔-Raiden x Male! Reader

⚔-Cw: Mentions of abuse, blood and that’s all!

You were considered a protective man. At least, you’d like to think so. There were few things you wouldn’t do for loved ones or people who needed protecting. Today was no different.

When you saw one of the kiddos getting hurt it made your blood boil. How could someone do that to something so innocent and sweet? So you rushed in, putting yourself in the line of fire. Each slam of hard, cold metal of the fire hydrant against you hurt like a bitch.

Which is why it sent you into intensive care. Which is also why Raiden was now standing there reprimanding you. You sat back on the bed, hands under your head as you kept your eyes closed listening to him. It got on your nerves when he yelled at you like you were a little spoiled brat.

“How could you be so stupid? At least go in with a weapon of sorts,” he would say. You sat up with a grumble pulling out the IV that gave you blood back. “If you came here to berate me then you can leave Raiden.” You spoke bluntly.

He seemed surprised. Not used to you speaking up and out at him. “I’m not ber-“ he tried to explain. “Yes you are.” You cut him off. He glanced away for a moment but sighed. He crossed his arms as he sat up staring down at you.

“You did good.” He admitted in a soft tone. This was new. He sensed your confusion. “I don’t want you to get hurt like this. What if you died?” He questioned to which you just stared in disbelief.

“I won’t bother you any longer. You get my point. Just be careful.” He was about to walk out the room when you spoke up with a laugh. “Since when did you care?” You joked. He rolled his eyes before leaving the room.

“I’ll see you when you get out.” You heard his smooth voice ring back to you in the hallways.

A/n: We’re back. Sorry it’s so short! I didn’t want to like fully describe reader getting his ass beat or the kid😭🙏🏽. But hopefully it was sufficient! And sorry for any ooc lol.

[thephantasmalmaze]

Yk I may not be a writer in any sense of the word, but I got the spirit and realized Yk I can make the fic it aus we crave.

Anyways fae dads and Mira fix it sorta ig idk it’s 1am

It starts with Percy meeting Rusty, like how it always does for them. Rusty is a catalyst to what Percy will always call the start of his life, the moment he realizes maybe he can start to wash all the blood off his hands and walk away.

Percy is smart, he’s known distantly about ways out of the court for years now but he never thought it would apply to him. Mira was definitely a bit of a change in the plan, a last minute addition.

Zyblina isn’t blind, she can tell Percy is getting ready to make a break for it she’s broken enough people to know the signs of a budding rebellion. So she decides it’s time to start adding some new talent to the roster if you will, maybe it’s to guilt Percy into staying maybe it’s simply she knows she’ll need to replace him eventually, whatever her reasons this how darling little Mira gets caught in the cross fire.

Percy intended to leave Mira or not, he knows Zyblina manipulation like that back of his hand and this kid plays right into her hand. But he also doesn’t know how he could look Rusty in the eye, the sweetest man he knows, knowing he’s condemning an innocent child to repeat his fate. So he acts rashly, something to this day he still doesn’t know quite what possessed him to do so, but he as a last act of defiance takes the child with him.

Mira for all things is quite easy to convince, she doesn’t bat an eye as she puts her small hands in his as he runs. Does nothing but smile as they tread through woods owned by no one, and giggles any time the smallest pixie flits into her view. It’s in this trek out, Percy decides he’d die for this little changeling.

Rusty questions him, cause a child was not in the plans they had discussed and does complicate things. But all it takes is one sweet smile from her as he hand her his hat that she had been grabbing at, makes Rusty get it. So two becomes three, and sure life is a little more complicated and things are a bit more risky when you have to keep a child in line but all and all it works out in the end.

Mira grows up into a spit fire of a thing, or as Rusty will call her until the day he dies his little Wrymling. They’re not quite sure where she picked up the red hair, Rusty is convinced she saw the color of red dragons and liked it, Percy is sure it was some random woman they saw many towns ago. The day mira no older then the age of nine changes her eyes to match Percy’s he cries, well and truly, cause how did he go from having blood soaked so far into his skin he thought it would drown him; to having this sweet child look at him like he hung the stars for her. He’s never been and will never be a praying man, but he would sing the praises of whatever god smiled upon him the day he took her.

*bows awkwardly* uh hope ya liked it bye o/