#horseshoes part one

[stareiiez]

𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬

sylus x female reader.

content : adult cis female reader. love and deepspace. indie portrayal of sylus. suggestive content. luke and kieran appearance! sex references. drinking. smut in later chapter. MDNI. 4.3k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.

note: returning just to post this! college and homework has had me busy and focused on other things!! sorry! this is just part one of this sylus one shot! part two is where it'll really ! get! juicy :) hope y'all like drunk sex.

likes and reblogs are loved and appreciated!

Your first-ever date with the leader of the Onychinus was something you didn't ever picture.

Being kidnapped and forced to stay with your kidnapper who wanted you to resonate with him so badly for whatever reason he didn't feel inclined to reveal to you or his henchmen; was never something you pictured to happen in all of your lives of living. To put the cherry on top of it, said kidnapper had made a date for you too to partake in.

Sylus, the man who kidnapped you and now the bane of your annoyance, had invited you out to this date. The way he even ' asked you out ' had been through both Luke and Kieran bursting into your room. Luke had parted the thick blackout curtains to let glorious shades of gold and yellows of morning sunlight stream into your room, and perfectly hit the folds of your eyelids. You groaned in response, an arm falling over your eyes to save you from blinding yourself. Kieran took the liberty of yanking away plush blankets and satin sheets away from your warm body with a grumble of ' get up.' leaving his mouth.

" Boss has plans for you!" Luke chirped, sliding to his twin's side. Cool pointy fingertips prodded at the cheeks of your face in insistent pokes. Sylus decided to announce his plans to the twins at the crack of dawn and make them wake you early so you wouldn't forget. Lovely.

" Tell your ' boss ' I don't care." Your voice is muffling into your plush pillow when you roll over onto your stomach and hide your face and morning breath into its soft material. One of your hands reaches blindly behind you for the blankets that Kieran pulled off your bed.

" Can't, he won't be back till later. Come on lazy bones, let's get up and be ready for the day." Luke chirps again, his fingers pinching at the swell of your calves sharply. Your skin flushes red and stings lightly, no matter how hard you try to wriggle out from his persistent fingers, you still manage to get pinched into giving in and rising from your bare mattress.

Your eyes sag at the corners, exhaustion still present on your face. Your hair is askew in some parts and matted in other parts of your skull. First, you look like you slept and woke up like the dead. Grumpy and craving more shut-eye. '

"Yeesh." Kieran comments. His hidden eyes look at you and your rumpled sleep clothing up and down. Luke nods in silent agreement.

You yawn, and a hand runs through your knotted hair. Not sparing either twin a rebuttal to their judgement, and Luke's faux fear of the smell of morning breath when you walk past both to meander to the luxuriously large themed bathroom of your bedroom. It's not like you're a morning person. You could have sworn Sylus assumed it when he spotted you late one night, in his floor-to-ceiling library; perusing the expanse of perfectly kept novels for you to read by the fireplace. Maybe this was just his way of driving another thorn, including the hundreds he's embedded into your skin, into your side just for amusement. Mephisto would have been the first to tell him how pissed off you were this morning to be woken up at the first light.

Another yawn stretched your jaw wide as you cranked on the hottest temperature of water you could handle and peeled off the satin sleep set Sylus had gifted you to wear to bed. Your eyes threatened to shut under the steamy stream of water from the rain showerhead. You were so warm, unfortunately wet, but so warm and comfortable under the gentle stream.

Hot water dripped down in tantalizing rivulets down your shoulders and back, head bowing down to tuck your chin towards your chest. Your weight swayed back and forth ever so slightly before you would catch yourself from leaning too far to one side. You could have started to fall back asleep standing up if it wasn't for the thundering rounds of knocking from the twins once again. Four sets of strong knuckles rapping against thick black wood was the sound of gunshots to your sensitive ears. A yelp escaped your lips, feet jumping and threatening to slip out from underneath your body when you were startled awake for the second time this morning. You rapidly blinked water out of your eyes.

"Hey! Did you die? Breakfast is getting cold." Luke's muffled voice called out. "You've been in there for almost an hour, you're not a plant." Have you been in there that long? Perhaps you did end up falling asleep in the shower after all. A woman of many talents.

The rest of your shower was done rather quickly. The sweet scent of expensive soaps and shampoos followed you to breakfast. Your hair was still wet and clinging to the soft fabric of your hunter's shirt when you arrived for breakfast. The grumbling of your stomach and the constant half-baked fear that Luke and Kieran would burst into your room to bother you one more time had left you rushing through the halls of Sylus's home just to eat.

Breakfast and even lunch passed by without much trouble from the twins once you gave in to their cumbersome ways of making sure you ate plenty. Lunch was quiet, only you sat at the end of Sylus's extensive dining room table. The air about the dining room seemed lonely, way too lonely for you to shovel another bite of one of the delectable foods made specifically to your palate's tastes. No matter how much you tried to coerce the butler to sit with you, every time he came to refill the multiple glasses of water and or juices, he always denied your pleas to sit and join you with a simple smile and a shake of his head. The tails of his petticoat and the clipping of shiny shoes on the cold tile made you realize that you had nobody. You were a prisoner locked away in a remote fancy prison cell, while the guards that watched over you pretended to be your friends so that you could warm up to their big bad boss.

Your fork twirled between your fingers, her cheek propped on your other hand as you gazed out of the floor-to-ceiling window. The views of the N109 zone stared back at you with its gleaming lights and ominous red fog that seemed to settle as a skyline for the dangerous city. The warm rays of the afternoon sun didn't affect the eerie look of the cold-looking skyscrapers. Daylight didn't belong in a zone that held nothing but crime and dark things that humanity wouldn't think twice about committing.

"Why so sad, kitten? Missing me already?" A dark timber voice practically rattled your eardrums. Whoever spoke to you, was so close you could smell nothing but expensive cologne, the sharp notes of red wine, and clean leather. Sylus.

"You wish. " You mumble, brows furrowing at the ends to portray your frustration even if Sylus can see your blush-ridden cheeks. You look so cute trying to play off your embarrassment.

Sylus's brows raise, and his pretty red lips turn into a shit-eating smirk that doesn't wipe away from his features even when he takes a step back and stands to the full height of his stature. His right hand extends out towards you. "Let's go. We have lots to do today, kitten."

You eye his hand, lips puffed out into a pout for a second till you sigh. Brows relax and your shoulders drop with the air that leaves your lungs. You accept his hand wordlessly, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn't waste any time pulling you along after him and his long-legged strides. The clip of his expensive shoes and the faster clacks of your steps trying to catch up to him tenfold fill the empty halls of the base.

"When you said we had-- "

air quotes are given sarcastically with your fingers.

" lots to do today."

end air quote.

" You didn't mention we'd be dealing with him again." Your hands gesture out, dramatically motioning to the tall and strongly built all-midnight black Alhal-Teke horse that was one of Sylus's prized possessions. His tail swished at non-existent flies that buzzed over his gorgeous sleek body. Horse poop, sweat and sawdust floated in the breeze, irritating your sinuses enough to sniffle every now and then.

The stallion regarded you with a frill of his nostrils, blowing hot hay-scented air at your face. He was so pleased to see you too. Glad the feeling was mutual.

After the last encounter with the stubborn animal made up to be called a horse, you had the pleasure of knowing firsthand what it was like to attempt to tame his master afterward. Needless to say, you couldn't quite look at Sylus in the eye for a few days after. The vivid dreams of the rich leather of both collar and whip still haunted your senses in your sleep. The sharp intake of breath and shuddery exhale Sylus let out as the only noises he ever granted you when you traced up and down the expanse of his chest and abdomen with the cropping whip. You shivered visibly in the warm air. Goosebumps raced up your arms at the echoes of Sylus's voice, promising you to ke

Your head shakes from side to side, ridding you of such dark and unclean thoughts. You shouldn't reminisce now, not in front of such curious red eyes that watch your every move with precise calculations. The ends of his lips curl upwards in a minute smirk like he can sense what you're thinking about. Annoying.

"Are you testing me again on how to tame a horse again? I thought we were over this." With subtly laced pink cheeks, you turn your gaze from eyeing the ornery horse to gazing at Sylus. Your hands plant onto your hips.

"Silly kitty." Sylus purrs down at you like you were a wide-eyed child. His tone was slightly patronizing yet the strangest inkling of unnerving comfort. His eyes flick towards the sounds of approaching hoof steps and another set of boots crunching dirt under the soles.

A stablekeeper, you guess, walks up to the two of you. In a pristinely kept white glove, leather reins gently pull a snowy white horse to follow the steps of the unknown man. Braided mane and tail swish with every step shiny black hooves take. Needless to say, the horse looks unreal; like every pretty princess pony young girls dream about owning when they're little.

"Right on time," Sylus says once the stablekeeper comes to a stop at his side. The reins of the white horse are held out to you wordlessly, a polite smile in greeting is on the man's mouth. "Take them, I'm going easy on you this time."

You glance at the snowy white horse, unlike the headstrong and stubborn demon incarnate stallion that Sylus adorns with soft pats and low coos to please the black stallion. The other horse is kind-looking, pretty long white lashes blink delicately at you. Piebald eyes of brown and blue watch you with no harmful intent, only slight curiosity about who you are and what exactly you smell like. She was the yin to the stallion's yang. Two drastic differences between light and dark.

"Her name is Lucero," Sylus says when you finally accept the reins from the stablekeeper's hands, and he departs as he comes. Quiet. "Luce for short if it's easier."

One of your hands reaches out, open palm face up so the mare could sniff you. Your lips curl upwards and a short giggle escapes at the tickling sensation of white horse whiskers sweeping over your hand. Hot hair blows over your hand in a friendly exhale, and Luce raises her dainty head. Shiny hooves take a few steps forward on her own to you, her muzzle bumps at your cheek. A friendly greeting, something you wish could have happened when you met Sylus's horse.

"Good, she likes you. Let's mount up, we have a little while to go before sunset." Sylus interrupts the bonding moment of rider and horse by placing a riding helmet onto your head so quickly you don't even get a moment to protest at being able to buckle your helmet yourself because he does it for you. The strap borderline chokes you from how tight he tugged at the helmet straps, but it's better safe than sorry for riding three-ton animals.

He wastes no time in swinging himself onto the sleek leather English saddle. His helmet crushes his hair to his head. A riding crop, perhaps the same one you dreamed of using on him, is tucked neatly into his armpit. He looks so natural atop the steed.

You follow suit. Swinging yourself effortlessly into the sun warmed riding saddle, the reins held between your hands. Your brows lift quizzically at him. "Where are we even go-- hey!" Sylus doesn't give you the chance to finish your question, both rider and mount are cantering away; not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if you're following behind because of course, you are.

With a clicking of your tongue and a squeeze of your calves to the round sides of the mare, you break into a matching stride to catch up and ride side by side with him.

There isn't much talking when it comes to the actual horseback riding. You doubt you would even have heard of the almost synchronized beating of horse hooves thudding along thigh-high grassy fields. Sylus seemed to be in his little world. You could swear your eyes saw the way his face softened and let himself exhale in contentment at the continuous rocking ups and downs of the stallion's gait. He wordlessly guided you both through the unmarked fields, the racing track already far behind you both, and through a pebble-riddled trickling brook of water then further into more grassy dips and curves of the land.

The spray of cool water droplets splashed onto your cheeks and clothes. You couldn't help but let out a gasp at the sudden cool sens

Sylus couldn't help but smile to himself at your reaction. The way your lips parted in a shocked ' O ' formation, your right hand parting from the leather reins to shield your face from another spray of cool water flying off the hooves of the stallion he rode. You looked so cute. Not cute, that wasn't the right wording to describe it in this angle and this exact moment of lighting. You looked . . ethereal? gorgeous? breathtaking?

"Beautiful." his words decided to flow from his mouth rather than stay rooted in the recesses of his brain. He spoke them into the universe and the slowly turning golden rays of sunbeams that kissed your cheeks and eyes when they flitted over to him. Your pupils are minuscule and swim in the lightened colors of your irises.

This was falling in love all over again. He felt this feeling before. In another body, in another time. In another century of dark demons and another girl that looked exactly like you with a slightly different name. But this was you, his pretty kitten.

Thankfully you couldn't hear him, the moment of his was cut short thanks to his stallion kicking out his hind legs; like he could sense Sylus' wandering thoughts and rounded eyes of warm syrupy adoration.

"Easy, boy. You're still cherished by me." A warm leather-bound hand patted the sweat-slicked neck of the horse.

The horses slowed to an easy trot when the fields of green grew even longer blades of grass that tickled at the bottoms of your boots. They'd come up to your waist, or tops of your thighs once you would slide off the horses. Finally, since it was quiet enough to talk amid the heavy snorts of winded horses. Your head turns to fully address Sylus with your previous question.

"So, where are we going? Or is this just an act to finally get rid of me since we can't resonate?" Half teasing the leader. You let a brow raise. If that was true? What a serene way to go out, not that you wouldn't die fighting. But you couldn't ask for a better place of scenery to draw in your final breath.

"Up there, don't you see it?" Sylus gestures up ahead with a gloved palm, where dips and rises of the fields finally swell to a gentle incline of a grassy hill. A large oak tree sits rooted in the rich soil.

A deep crimson-colored blanket lays strewn on the ground under the cooling shade of the tree. Adorning the blanket was an expensive bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. An array of meats, berries, sweet chocolates, crackers, and cheeses sit on a carved board of wood. A small container containing a few slices of rich cake consisting of differing flavors and frostings sat in the middle of the large board of wood. Faux candle lights are scattered around the borders of the blanket, giving little light to set an intimate mood for the two of you. Who knew the man was into finger foods? Not you.

Your breath catches, unknowing that your eyes rounded in awe when you two rode closer to the supposed romantic scene Sylus went out of his way to prepare. Was this the plan the twins awoke you for so early? Did they help their boss pick out cute charcuterie foods to share between you two while gazing into each other's eyes? Your cheeks warm at the scene playing in your head of the three men, consulting in the large kitchen back at the Onichynus base. Discussing what foods were trending that couples were eating together, and where exactly would be a good setting to enjoy it.

"Sylus--" Your words fall out breathlessly, oblivious to how the male had reached over to grasp at the reins of your horse with one hand; and with the other, he steered his stallion around the less steep side of the hill to ride on. Your fingers blindly reach out to bat at his large hand, you can steer yourself even if you're in mild shock.

Another ploy just to gain your trust? Maybe, but you somewhat doubt the intention behind this impromptu picnic. Sylus slides out of his saddle when the two of you crest the top of the hill, his right-hand goes to reach up between his horse's ears to pull the English bridle off. The stallion snorts, shaking his long elegant mane of midnight, dark eyes blink at your mare; seemingly waiting for you to slide off and unbridle her so they can graze together in peace.

Sylus moves to your side, one hand reaching out to offer his help; the other unbridling the snowy mare with the ease of his skilled fingers. You don't turn his hand down, not that you have a choice because he takes your hand in his anyway even when you hesitate to accept such help. He's pulled you down from your saddle with enough force to have you tumbling into his arms and bumping into his strong chest. The smell of wine and rich leather only gets stronger with the proximity.

"Must I do everything for you? You make me feel like I'm your caretaker right now." His chest rumbles against yours, his voice quiet. Words whispering darkly against the shell of your ear. Even if he was taunting you, you wouldn't be able to properly comprehend it. Not when you catch his eyes lowering to the curve of your jaw and sweeping along the pout of your lips.

He takes extra long to undo the buckle of your riding helmet, his pinky and ring finger stroking along the small bump of your chin with feather-like touches that make your skin twitch pleasantly.

Sylus retracts, tucking both helmets under an arm each he strides to the picnic spread. The helmets are placed down at a spare corner of the blanket with such care, then join them by sitting down in one free spot on the blanket. His long legs are tucked languidly together, while he reaches for the bottle of champagne.

The ends of his lips quirk upwards when you take the glass from him, and bring the tart but fizzy alcohol to your lips for a long sip. The bubbles make your nose tingle, you can feel them in your sinuses. To Sylus, you look so cute he could push you down and eat you whole right here. The sweet little picnic he and the twins laid out ahead of time would be forgotten, the main course and sweet desserts would be every inch of your body.

Instead, he sweeps his arm out to you; another invitation for you to indulge yourself while he picks at the food like a bird would. He's more like Mephisto than you even know. Your legs fold underneath you, sitting across from the male. One hand still holding your half-full glass of bubbly, the other reaching for a crisp slice of bread that's smeared with salty homemade butter. It tastes like heaven on your tingling tastebuds. You chew thoroughly, eyes flicking shyly to avoid Sylus's intense gaze and watch the two horses standing side by side grazing in contentment.

What a picture-perfect view. In Sylus's eyes once again, the light illuminates your side profile in a sunkissed golden hue. The shine of golden rays on your hair makes you look like a halo is forming above your head. An angel is in the presence of a monstrous demon of a man, who watches the precious creature with a dark possessive light in his pupils.

His flute of champagne rises to his lips. The alcohol is drained in a matter of two gulps, and his glass is being refilled in no time. You're oblivious to his staring, seemingly still uncomfortable with trying to fill the caverns of silence that radiate in the air between you two. You pick at the charcuterie board, grabbing at one of the fruits that are sweetened with a thin coating of powdered sugar on top.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You quip, your voice trying not to break when you turn to meet those sharp vermillion eyes eyeing the tart strawberry you hold to your lips. His eyes are hawklike over the rim over the glass's rim.

Instead of answering the shitty excuse of small talk, Sylus quirks one brow upward. He reaches out one of his hands to grasp at your wrist and yanks you forward hard enough to send you careening forward onto your knees and into his personal space. Your hand that held the strawberry is held in a grip that screams you shouldn't pull away from him without risking your shoulder or elbow popping. His damp lips brush over the bend of your fingers, and his warm breath fans over the back of your hand in a slow exhale. You can't help but let the flush of pretty pink and rose to stain the apples of your cheeks when Sylus hums down at you.

His lips parted to reveal the glimmering white teeth that remind you of a predator's. He could lunge forward and sink those pretty teeth that smile in those unfortunate businessmen's faces before he rips them apart. Whether with his mouth or evol, he would be your undoing; and currently one of them is teasing the tips of your fingers when he sinks them into the berry for a bite. Red juice trickles down the plump bow of his bottom lip, then runs off the sharp edge of his chin. Sin incarnate is showing in the way Sylus maintains eye contact when he pulls back, chewing the sweet and semi-tart strawberry with red staining his skin. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip to catch stray berry juice and you feel chills run down your spine from the sight.

He doesn't wipe his chin, perhaps he likes it messy like that. It fits him. His eyes twinkle in knowing that he has you trying to suppress the urge to shiver weakly at something so innocent. After all, he does have the right to share this spread of food with you, this was his plan after all.

But how the hell can you last the rest of your time here, when he keeps looking at you like that?

[you-hate-time-travel]

RUNS AWAY REALLY FAST. CHARM POST I GUESS

horseshoes are a charm for horseplay: it's wrestling, it's playfully needling someone, it's stepping on your partner's feet while dancing and it's asking a stupid riddle with an intentionally annoying answer. it's a mutual cycle of "what are you going to do about it?"

[musical-chick-13]

*puts my head in my hands* The reason that so many of us say, "I don't trust people who say that all men are evil no exceptions you should never interact with any of them for any reason" ISN'T because we are coddling abusive men, it's because we a) don't want to get into bioessentialism territory, and b) are WELL aware of your history of using this rhetoric to blame women who are abused by men because "Well men are horrible, what did she expect, she brought this on herself."

[today-i-am-thinking-about]

my awful camping experiences

[moonpascaltoo]

remus lupin

MASTERLIST • THE MARAUDERS • 11/22/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two

remus lupin one

𑣲 when friends help you get the girl I @papercorgiworld

Remus struggles to ask you out and James tries to help. When Remus doesn't want to tell you he's a werewolf Sirius takes the blame. And Peter makes sure you spend some extra time together.

𑣲 hungry like the wolf I @ddejavvu

Remus is gifted an alternative potion to Wolfsbane near the full moon, meant to convert the magic of his transformation into energy. But the run you expect him to go on to burn some of the energy off isn't as much of a jog as it is a chase, and you're the one he's after.

𑣲 mistletoe I @cassielovesnewt

after the death of your brother, you take in your nephew as your own, shutting everyone else out in your grief. However, once you’re reunited with an old friend in Harry’s third year, old feelings start to come to the surface as you help each other through your grief.

𑣲 love in the foyer I @dwindlinghaze

remus lupin loves you, but his best friend 'likes' you too. so you both ended up fake dating.

𑣲 it’s nice to have a friend I @jamespottersdaisy

𑣲 markings I @myfictionaldreams

Remus accidentally bites your neck too hard and leaves indents of his teeth, and now it's woken something within him, needing everyone to see the mark he's left on you.

𑣲 the art of eye contact I @goldencherriess

The three times they made eye contact and the one time he did something about it.

𑣲 doctor!remus I @moonstruckme

𑣲 a friendly proposition I @/moonstruckme

Remus lupin with best friend reader who hasn’t cum before, and he is outraged when he hears this? And he’s like, why don’t I show you

𑣲 doctor!remus I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 doctor!remus I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 a horseshoe for luck I @ellecdc

𑣲 black!sister reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 black!sister reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 the ruined apothecary I @/ellecdc

who reconnect after Hogwarts

𑣲 potter!reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 black!sister reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 pt!remus I @/ellecdc

𑣲 legs for days lupin I @/ellecdc

𑣲 surprise! we’re making love part 2 I @/ellecdc

𑣲 roommate!reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 bfb!remus I @inkdrinkerworld

𑣲 first impressions I @moonpascal

it’s orientation night

𑣲 hangout? I @/moonpascal

𑣲 prank gone right I @mischievousmoony

when james and sirius prank you guys after your third date, you just have to prank them back

𑣲 still here -tw! I @sun-kissy

𑣲 heaven I @/sun-kissy

𑣲 yours I @pretentious-blonde

after inviting remus's oldest friends to dinner to introduce his new girlfriend, a secret slips that could alter their entire relationship

𑣲 after the storm I @/pretentious-blonde

the full moon is looming and remus takes it out on the one person he promised not to.

𑣲 draw stars around my scars I @chxrryhxrt

Many weeks had passed since the most recent full moon, yet James and Sirius still will not let you see Remus. What could they be hiding?

𑣲 simple loving I @kquil

𑣲 letter I @iamgonnagetyouback

where the boys mess with the letter he wrote for you

[lilacs-stars]

aiming for your heart

this is part 1, read part 2 here! pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is glinda the good witch's daughter) SUMMARY: you agree to a tutoring session with your pirate classmate, but things end up taking an...unexpected twist. GENRE: pure fluff, a bit of banter CW: nothing much, just mentions of societal pressures WC: 7.9k (they just keep getting longer...)

A/N: I decided to finally do something cute and fluffy after days of working on dark angsty stuff and this felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air. it was so fun to write, so thanks to the anon who requested this for the fun idea! <3 please give me feedback and suggestions, I'd love to know your thoughts!

Up, swish, circle, flick. Up, swish, circle, flick. Up, swish, cir—

“Ahh, oww!” you cry out as a very solid metal object collides with the side of your skull. Your hand instinctively goes up to the spot on your head—which you can already feel starting to swell—as you wince in pain. 

You’re supposed to throw the ring in the basket, not at my head, idiot, you think to yourself as you grimace. 

“Oh my gosh, Y/N, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you, I swear!” you glance around the room, locking eyes with your classmate just a few tables away, whose wand is still poised in their hand and a bewildered expression planted on their face. “I just can’t seem to control…this gosh darn wand…”

You let out a little sigh, trying your best to not be impatient. After all, you couldn’t expect everyone to be as experienced in this field as you are. 

You glance back at the student, who’s rereading their textbook pages for what’s probably the tenth time. As you watch them struggle, a pang of guilt hits you for being so mean and irritable. It’s not like they were trying to hit you, and even though it was just a thought passing through in the privacy of your mind, you still feel as though thinking something mean like that is wrong. 

You push your chair back and rise from your seat, wand tightly gripped in one hand. Walking over to your classmate’s desk, you give a small smile as you ask them, “Need any help?”

They look up at you with wide eyes. “Oh, yes, please! Enchantment of Magical Objects is literally the hardest class ever!”

You grin again, keeping your demeanor light and friendly, like always. “Okay, so first, you go up, then swish, then circle your wand back around, and finally flick, and then…”

You copy the movements with your own wand as you speak, small magical sparks flickering off it at your gestures. After you complete your little demonstration, you both watch as a hand-sized sleek metal ring, somewhat resembling a circular horseshoe, levitates off the desk and neatly lands in a bucket in the center of the room. 

Today’s assignment in your Enchantment class is to use the Aiming Spell to throw the rings into a bucket. Safe to say, it wasn’t really going well for most of the class. 

“Wow, that was amazing! You’re so good at this Y/N!” your now starry-eyed classmate exclaims. “And I can barely get my rings off my desk…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there,” you smile reassuringly. “After all, I’ve had a lot of experience around wands and enchantments.”

“Yeah, I suppose that is right. I guess not everyone can be as talented with magic as the Good Witch’s very own daughter.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, and you bid farewell to your classmate as you make your way back to your seat. They aren’t wrong, after all. Your mother, Glinda, taught you how to use a wand as soon as you could walk. You’ve been watching her use magic for ages, so it’s not a surprise to anyone that you’re top of your class. 

You sit back down, getting back to work. Even though you know you’ve already mastered the spell, you still have some class time left, which you decide to use wisely and continue practicing the spell. 

Staring at the pile of metal rings in front of you, you take a deep breath and begin the task of making each one levitate off your desk and make a perfect arch towards the basket. 

Up, swish, circle, flick. Up—swoosh!

A flying ring shoots straight past your face, barely missing you by only a few inches. You stumble backwards in your chair, quite startled. Still, it isn’t unusual to see objects flying around the classroom, or rather, objects flying where they’re not supposed to.

A moment later, another one whizzes past you again. Then a third, which gets so close to your face that you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Annoyed, your head snaps to your right, trying to figure out who keeps nearly decapitating you. 

You glance around, finally locking eyes with what seems to be the culprit. Chair leaning against the wall, tipped back on its hind two legs, sits a figure with deep brown eyes and smokey eyeshadow look to match. A smirk is planted on his face, a mischievous glint in his gaze. He wears a dark red jacket on top of a black dress shirt, the collar disheveled and his tie loose around his neck. Contrary to his tousled outfit, his medium-length brown hair is neatly slicked back. One of his hands leisurely holds a wand while the other rests behind his head, and combined with the way he has a leg crossed over the other, one would think he’s enjoying a nice day at the beach instead of sitting in class at one of the most prestigious academies in the land.

You fix him with a look, your gaze subconsciously morphing into a glare as he jerks the wand up, causing one of the metal rings in front of him to levitate a few inches off his desk. With a flick of the wrist, he sends it flying across the room once again. Having learned your lesson, this time you duck down, eyes following the disk as it soars across the room. You watch as it shoots straight towards its target, who expertly crouches as the metal ring hits the wall behind him with a thud, falling to the ground and joining the previous disks.

The target of these attacks is a boy you recognize to be a good friend of the ring-throwing troublemaker, with light brown hair brushed away from his forehead and dressed in a dark green shirt with a black choker around his neck. Morgie le Fay shoots a glare across the room to his perpetrator, making a face that could only mean “You’ll pay for this later.”

Another disk comes shooting at his head, and he ducks down yet again. This time, the metal hits the wall so hard, you worry it left a dent. Unable to take their child-like behavior any longer, you get up from your seat for the second time and stomp your way over to the disk-thrower.

“Hook!” you say as you reach his table. The man in question tilts his head towards you, looking up with an amused grin.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, lassie?” he replies, his accent crisp and unmistakable. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him, knowing it would be terribly rude, even if he was getting on your nerves like no other. You settle for fixing him with another look. “Could you please stop hurling those disks around? It’s not the assignment, and you practically hit me!”

“My apologies, love,” Hook replies, still peering up at you, unbothered. You honestly doubt he means it, so you frown and try again. “I’m being serious, Hook.”

“As am I,” he replies, making you want to smack that stupid smirk off his face. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you remind yourself. Violence is never the answer. You find it funny how you can almost hear your mother’s voice as you repeat those words in your head, the ones she always tells you.

“So you’ll stop?” you ask, raising a brow and putting your hands on your hips to show him you’re not messing around.

“Ah, well, you see,” Hook starts, and it takes every ounce of benevolence in you to not internally combust at whatever excuse he’s planning to come up with. “I’m having a tad bit of trouble with this spell, love. No matter what I do, I simply can’t seem to lock on to the right target.”

At this, you raise your eyebrows again, disbelief laced through your every cell. “Why don’t you give it a go,” you say, jerking your chin towards the basket in the middle of the room. “You never know until you don’t try.”

Hook leans forward in his chair, righting it again so it stands on all four legs. He raises his wand, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s actually concentrating on the task at hand. One of the metal disks rises into the air, levitating a meter above the floor.

Hook flicks his wand forward and the disk sails away, missing the basket in an almost laughable attempt at execution. Instead of the proper target, it lands on the edge of a file cabinet in the far corner of the room. You pray for the poor soul that will inevitably open one of its drawers, only to be smacked in the head by a piece of solid steel.

Eyebrows raised, Hook unabashedly turns back around to face you with that grin of his. “So how was that, love? Satisfied?”

“Not quite,” you huff, shaking your head at him. “Honestly, I haven’t seen anyone make such a…uh, interesting attempt at this assignment.” Deep down, a little part of you really wants to say much meaner things, but you bite back your words, knowing that showing contempt never did anyone any good.

“Interesting, eh?” Hook’s smirk grows, and you can see him already scheming inside that villainous little mind of his. “Say, Y/N”—he uncrosses his legs, leaning in your direction—“you’re the top student of this class, are you not?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but refrain from saying anything you know you’ll later regret. “Yes, and?”

“Well, as you can clearly see here, I require a bit of assistance with this assignment. After all, not everyone grew up waving wands like you,” he quips, flourishing the wand in his hand as if it were an ordinary stick. Abruptly, he stills his movements and drops the wand on his desk, before turning to face you directly, locking eyes. “Would you be so kind as to teach me a few things?”

You quirk your brows, albeit attempting to keep a straight face. “Are you asking me to…tutor you?”

Hook grins yet again. “This evening, 7 o’clock, the common area in the East Wing.” He puts his hand on his knees as he gets up, now leering a few inches above you. Still holding your gaze—although he has to tilt his head down to do so—he asks, “I’ll see you then?”

You blink twice, mind replaying the events that led to you getting yourself stuck in this situation. On the one hand, you definitely don't want to have a one-on-one study session with a villain—and an annoyingly smug one at that. Honestly, the few interactions you are forced to have with him in class are far enough for you. 

But on the other hand, he is asking for help to improve his grades…after all, it’s not every day someone the likes of him shows interest in learning. Plus, you know that it’s not right to turn away a person in need of your help, no matter how insufferable they are. Especially if they’re always flashing you a smile filled with shining white teeth and full, plump pink lips.

A sigh escapes your mouth before you can stop it as you resign yourself to your fate. “Alright, I guess. But come prepared to learn. That means you need your wand, your textbooks, notebo—”

He cuts you off with a passive sweep of his hook, much to your annoyance. Leaning in just a little closer to you, enough to make your palms slightly sweaty, his face tilts down even nearer to yours. “It’s a date, then,” Hook says, his voice soft but still with that teasing tone it always seems to carry.

“It’s not a date!” you call out as the bell rings, but he’s already making his way out of the classroom, sauntering off to do who-knows-what.

Heavens, what have I gotten myself into, you think, placing a hand on your forehead as you breathe out a long, heavy sigh.

The evening rolls around far too quickly for your liking, and before you know it you’re making your way out of your doom room and up a set of stairs.

You keep on thinking about how you had ample time to back out of this arrangement; plus, you would be lying if you said you didn't consider it a number of times. But each time, you remind yourself that you are doing a good deed for someone obviously in need of a good influence. That you have to be selfless and put aside your personal feelings to serve a good cause, as all heroes do. That your opinions don't really matter—after all, the best heroes are the ones who make the deepest sacrifices, right?

So that’s how you find yourself dragging heavy feet across a corridor, a tiny voice in your head begging you to turn around, as you finally reach the common area set as your meetup spot. You glance at your wristwatch, which reads 6:55. You had decided to leave a bit early so you could arrive with a few minutes to spare. As your mother always reminds you, “It’s better to be an hour early than a minute late.”

Pulling out a chair at a nearby two-person table, you sit down, plopping your bookbag next to you. You had stuffed it full of your personal notes, your wand, and several textbooks you thought could help Hook. 

Tapping a pencil on the wooden desk, you sigh, glancing at your clock again. 6:57. Thinking back on your previous decision, you wonder why you left so early. After all, you have Hook down in your mind as the type to be extremely unpunctual. Leaning back in your chair out of sheer boredom, you start to clearly picture Hook showing up a good hour late. Heck, you’d be surprised if he even shows up at all. 

The clock hits 6:59, and you begin to debate how long you’re willing to stay here before giving up and returning to your dorm. Would ten minutes be enough? Fifteen? Thirty? The more you think about it, the more you can imagine this being some sort of elaborate prank to trick you. After all, why would a delinquent villain like Hook ever be interested in planning a tutoring session?

You sigh once again, angry at yourself for being so naive as to fall for his little trick. Drumming your fingers on the table as you put your head down, you mentally punch yourself for your gullibility. 

Which is why you nearly jump out of your own skin at the sound of a loud thud sound from in front of you. You jerk back into your chair, arms flailing as it tips, causing you to nearly topple backwards. With your reflexes kicking in, your hand latches onto the edge of the table—thankfully—and you manage to pull yourself back to a more stable position.

Hand clutching your pounding heart, you roll your head back to be greeted with that stupid little smirk that haunts your thoughts. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, love. After all, we were planning to meet up, were we not?” Hook says, tone extremely smug and a tiny bit pitiful at your frightened state. 

You raise your arm and flick your wrist, reading the time displayed on your clock. 7:00. He…he showed up exactly on time, you think, praying that your shock isn’t displayed on your face.

As if he can read your mind—and in all honesty, maybe he can—Hook says, “You didn’t doubt me, now, did you, darling? How could I skimp out on our little date?”

“It’s not a date,” you tell him once again, not even trying to hide the annoyance in your voice this time.

“Whatever you say.” Hook gives a little grin as he raises his eyebrows for a second. Before you can continue to argue, he pulls out the chair across from you and sits down. You eye a small black leather satchel that dangles from his hook as he drops it down on the floor. Huh, he even came prepared.

He leans in, arms resting on the table, as he fixes you with a sly grin. “So, Miss Teacher, what are you going to teach me today?”

You hate to pass on the opportunity to make a snarky remark, but you know that rubbing Hook the wrong way is not going to make these next few hours any less sufferable. Instead, you simply go for a “How about you start by getting out your materials?”

“As you wish, m’lady.” An irritated sigh escapes your lips, and you realize you’ve been sighing a lot more than usual ever since you got in this…predicament. You watch, somewhat impatiently, as Hook reaches down and draws a single notebook and his practice wand out of the leather satchel. Glancing at his materials, then back at yours, you realize that you came a lot more prepared than he did, even though you’re not the one trying to learn here. Well, I guess him putting in some effort still better than nothing.

You pull out one of the thick textbooks from your bag, the used animal skin cover peeling at the edges and the pages yellowed from the wear of time. 

“First, we’re going to get started with the theory of enchantments and spells.” You flip through the pages until you land on the first of many detailing the basics of spellcasting. “Even though we’re going to be focusing on the Aiming Spell, the underlying principles are pretty much the same for all spells you use. Now, you see here, highlighted in the chart are the five main…”

You chance a glance over at Hook, voice trailing off when you realize he isn’t listening. In fact, he's not even looking at the textbook placed in the middle of the desk. Instead, his gaze is fixed on…

…you?

“Hey! Why are you staring at me like that, you weirdo!” you exclaim, pulling back from the table. Hook remains unflinching, his chin in his good hand as he stares up at you with a sparkle in his eye. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it, love. You’re just so…so entrancing.”

You blink hard, recoiling at his words. He’s not flirting with you…is he? No, there’s no way. Don’t be overly arrogant, you convince yourself. This is just his personality, how he usually acts. The same way he calls everyone “love” and “darling.” There’s absolutely nothing more to it than him saying anything he can think of to fluster you and throw you off track.

…Right?

You ignore the stupid little flutter your heart does at not just being called pretty, or beautiful, or any of the normal compliments. No, you aren’t normal, you’re entrancing…

Snap out of it! you internally scold yourself. This is just another one of his little antics. You’re just letting him win by getting in your head. 

“Look, I didn’t come here and set aside this chunk of my valuable time to tutor you, only for you to not listen. If you came here to mess around—” you rant, but you’re cut off before you can get everything off your chest.

“I apologize, lassie. I promise, I’ll focus from here on out,” Hook vows. You eye him with a glare, feeling very distrustful, but you’re only met with his rather sincere gaze.

You let out another breath, once again regretting agreeing to this. “Fine. Get out your notebook. You’re going to want to take notes on this.”

Hook nods and reaches into his satchel, which is still lying on the floor. “If I’m being completely honest—which I assume you must hold in high regard, being a hero and whatnot—I really didn’t expect you to be so…irritable.”

You shoot Hook another glare, before realizing that you’re just proving his point. You give a brief roll of your eyes as you attempt a smile. “I’m not usually like this,” you say, fighting to keep a decently pleasant expression on your face. “You just really find a way to, how should I put this, you really—”

“Push your buttons?” Hook finishes for you, raising his eyebrows.

“I was going to say you really find a way to get on my nerves, but that too,” you respond, with obviously forced cheerfulness. “Whatever, we need to get back to studying. For real this time.”

Hook replies with an “Of course, m’lady,” before you begin your lecture again on the foundation of enchantments. This time, he makes sure to periodically glance down at the textbook pages and occasionally nod or ask a question, all to ensure that you don’t catch him staring at you again. Unbeknownst to you, adoration shines bright in his eyes as he studies your features, committing them to memory every time you’re not looking his way.

You spend some time going over theory with Hook, until you can feel him growing restless, causing you to start wondering if people like him have a capacity for how much information they can absorb at one time. Deciding that theory is no good if it’s not put to practice, you slam the textbook shut once you reach the end of a page, standing up.

Hook looks up at you, a slightly startled expression on his face. “Come on,” you say. “Now we’re going to see how much you paid attention by putting your lesson to good use.”

You hope to see a look of fear flash across his face, but his demeanor stays completely even. Feeling a bit let down, you remind yourself that he still has to actually cast the spell. Watch him mess it up, you think. Let’s see how smug he is then, huh?

Reaching down into your bookbag, you pull out a small bundle wrapped in a piece of cloth. You open it to reveal a handful of metal disks, similar to the ones you had used earlier in class. You empty them out on the table before walking over to the middle of the room and placing the cloth down on the floor, a good number of meters away from your table. “This is your target area,” you explain. “Stand by the table and get those rings to land within the borders of the cloth.”

Let’s see how well you fare now, pretty boy.

“Aye, that’s not fair,” Hook says, scrunching his brow as he gestures towards your setup with his hook. “That cloth’s much smaller than the basket we used in class. And the distance is far greater.”

“Well, if you learn how to get the spell right with tougher constraints than the requirement, you’ll be sure to do great for the real thing.” You flash him a wink as you watch his jaw part slightly, an incredulous expression painted on his face. “That’s how I always ace my exams.”

Hook draws in a breath, putting his ever-famous smirk back on his face, although you can feel his unease this time. He picks up his wand, turning around to point it at disks on the table. 

Up. He rolls his hand upwards, and one of the disks starts to levitate a foot in the air.

Swish. Hook jerks his wrist to the side, causing the disk to start gently vibrating with potential energy. 

Circle. He rotates his hand counterclockwise, drawing a circle with the tip of the wand.

Flick. You watch with bated breath as Hook flicks the wand towards the cloth in the middle of the room. 

Both of you follow the disc’s arc through the air with tense anticipation, as it soars, soars…

…and ends up missing the cloth by a good three feet.

Hook gives a small, halfhearted laugh, trying to keep up the suave facade. Yet you notice the way his shoulders slump forward, the way his body stiffens in an embarrassing shock. 

Part of you feels a wickedly twisted satisfaction at his failure—but as soon as you recognize it for what it is, you shove it away, repulsed at the thought of you even coming close experiencing such an emotion. Plus, the majority of you feels rather disappointed at the undesirable outcome. Whether it’s Hook’s chagrin rubbing off on you, or the voice in your head whispering that you, as his teacher, failed at your job, you can’t help but feel a bit let down at his messing up.

“Hey, it’s fine. Let’s try again,” you say softly, your usual eager-to-help manner coming back at the sight of someone needing comforting.

And so, Hook tries again. And again. And again.

Finally, after the seventh or eighth try, he puts the wand back down on the table. “I don’t know what to tell you, love. No matter how hard I try, it’s simply not working.” You sigh, looking at the floor before you, which was now littered with disks. “Hey, at least you got closer each time! That’s still progress.” You attempt to raise his spirits a bit, but he just fixes you with a look that tells you he’s not one to fall for your false positivity.

“Uhm…” You hesitate, not quite sure what to do next or how to fix this. “How about you see how I do it, and try to copy that?”

Hook gives a small nod and you fish out your wand, pulling up your sleeves and taking a deep breath to prepare. Focusing on one of the disks on the table, you start the particular movements. Up. Swish. Circle. Flick!

Both of you watch in somewhat astonishment as the ring curves perfectly through the air, flying with grace, as it lands directly in the center of the cloth.

Hook looks at you with raised eyebrows. Although that little part of you wants to rub it in his face, the fact that a hero, out of all people, bested him, you decide that torturing him with your teasing is only going to make him less likely to get the spell right.

“You see that? Now, try to copy it yourself,” you instruct.

And so, Hook makes a few more attempts, landing closer to the cloth each time, now only a couple inches away—yet never actually making contact with it.

You study his movements carefully as he casts the spell, trying to figure out what he’s doing wrong. After a few more of his failed attempts, you decide to try a different approach.

“Okay, watch me do it again, but this time come hold my wand from behind so you can get a feel for how I cast it,” you say, glancing up at Hook. “After all, it’s all in the wrist.” You recite a line your mother always says, one that often replays in your mind as you cast a spell. In your opinion, her guidance is the main reason that you’re so good at spells.

You’re still sitting down in your chair, pushing it in a little to provide room for him to come up behind you and reach your wand. 

You were expecting Hook to get rather close; after all, there aren’t many ways for two people to hold the same wand in the position you were in without a tight proximity. What you weren’t expecting was the way he comes up from behind you leisurely, deliberately. The way his chest presses into your back as he leans in, arm brushing against yours as he extends it towards the wand. The way you can feel his exhales on your skin, breathing down your neck—literally—causes goosebumps to rise up and down your arms. The way his natural aroma engulfs you completely, overwhelming your senses all at once. How his large hand feels on yours as he places it on top, curling his fingers around the wand—and yours, as well. The way you can feel the smirk dancing on his face, looking down at you with what you expect to be half-lidded eyes. 

And the way your heart races, good heavens. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought you just ran a marathon. Your body simultaneously heats up and freezes at his touches, no matter how small, your mind becoming overly aware of every point of contact you have with him. You fight against the overstimulation flooding your senses, resisting the urge to wipe your sweaty palms on your legs, while hoping that the wand doesn’t slip out of your hand as perform the incantation. 

Truth be told, although you definitely won’t admit this to anyone: you really haven’t had much experience with romance, or anything of the sorts. All your life, you’ve focused on doing good deeds and keeping up with your studies, aiming to be the best of the best in the hero world. Which is probably why no boy has ever taken interest in you; instead of going to dances or out on dates, you've always spent your Friday nights locked away in your room, studying hard to make sure you ace your exams. Plus, with your goody-two-shoes streak, you aren't exactly the most sought-out person in your class.

Which is why with the way Hook flirts with you, and now, the way you can feel his inhales and exhales against your skin—subconsciously trying to match the rhythm of his breathing—your brain is short-circuiting. The lack of romantic attention you’ve received your whole life is behind why you don't know how to react to Hook's antics, while still internally freaking out at his movements and words.

You inhale a shaky breath, trying to steady your quivering hand and hope that Hook doesn’t notice your reaction. But after the amused little hum he gives, your embarrassment grows by the second. Trying your best to focus on the task at hand, you say, “Okay, here goes.”

Up. You feel Hook’s grip tighten around your hand, just a little bit but still enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Swish. The disk vibrates with extreme intensity, to the point where you’re afraid it’ll break apart, despite the metal structure.

Circle. As you circle your wrist around, you feel Hook’s arm rub against yours even more, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. Gods, the things this man is doing to you.

Flick. You flick the wand towards the cloth yet again, jerking your head sideways to follow it as it flies across the room. Agonizing in how it ignites every nerve in your body, you feel Hook’s head brush against the top of yours as he follows your movements, watching the disk soar.

It seems, for a minute, as if it’s going to land right on top of the previous one. But to both your shocks, it falls just outside the borders of the cloth, barely touching the edge.

Your face absolutely burns in embarrassment, palms dripping with sweat now. Hook tilts his head towards yours—which you feel all too well—as he says, far closer to your ear than you would’ve liked, “Well, it seems like even the master makes mistakes, love.”

Fuming, you finally give into the urge and drop the wand to wipe your hands on your clothes. Screw him, you mentally curse. It’s all his fault. I’ve never messed up this spell before.

And as much as you want to blame him, you know that it’ll do you absolutely no good to tell him the fact that he was so close to you made your brain short-circuit to such an extent that you messed up a spell you could do since you were five.

You shake your head, refusing to accept your failure. “No, I…I don’t know what happened. It must have been a faulty disk. Just…I’m going to try again.”

Hook raises his eyebrows at you—or at least, you’re pretty sure he does, as you can’t see him from behind. You grab your wand again, and without even telling him to do so, Hook leans in and places his hand back over yours, your fingers trapped between his and the wand.

Internally, you find yourself growing impossibly more annoyed at him. Honestly, did he really have to go back to that position, the one that made you mess up the spell in the first place? You take a deep, steadying breath, forcing away all thoughts of Hook and how his dark brown eyes, beautiful and rich like the bark of the trees back in Oz, are boring into your skull right now. You simply can’t afford to get distracted again. Messing up the spell once is one thing—sure, everyone makes mistakes, don’t they? But twice? It would be absolutely inexcusable.

Twice would mean that you are not as adept as you thought you were, not talented enough in the one thing that you've been sure of for your whole life.

Remember the words.

Up, swish, circle, flick!

Fueled by your self-directed rage, you ensure that every movement you make is precise, sharp, and without a single tremor going through your hand. This time, the disk slices through the air with a clean, aerodynamic curve, and lands…

…right on top of your first one.

You beam, regaining your former confidence in your spellcasting abilities.

“The master may sometimes make mistakes, but they’re still the master,” you gloat. “Now come on, you need to practice till you get as good as that.”

You and Hook spend quite some time on practicing the spell, with you giving him pointers and him—surprisingly—improving. It seems as though your hands-on demonstration really helped him, as his skills greatly improved. 

Soon, in every set of ten rings he practiced on, he was consistently getting six or seven of them within the boundaries of the cloth, with one or two more landing on the edge, half-in. 

After one round where he managed to get nine of the disks touching the cloth—his personal best so far—you decide he needs something even more challenging.

“Woah, that was a really good round,” you praise. Hook turns to face you, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say that his normal smirk seems a little less snarky and a little more…genuine. 

“Still not as good as you, though, love,” Hook replies. You can tell he’s trying hard to maintain his nonchalant front, especially when it comes to academics, but the pride in his eyes and the earnest grip on his wand tell a different story. Honestly, you like him better this way. Less of him pretending to be a bad boy villain, and more of his real personality.

And in this moment, as you subtly study his features and think about his change in behavior over the past few hours, a thought that’s never even come close to crossing your mind suddenly pops up. What if villains, just like heroes, feel pressured to uphold a certain facade? The same way that you’ve always felt like you just have to be good, no matter the cost, no matter how hard it is for you, maybe villains feel the same way. Maybe they believe they always have to be bad, troublesome, and cruel. Even if that’s not who they truly are.

And through the lens of your new insight, you start seeing Hook in a different light. Just like how you feel as if being good and helpful and cheery all the time is a burden, how sometimes you wish you could just let loose and be selfish, maybe villains feel like being evil is a burden. Maybe Hook feels compelled to act smug and suave, even though that isn’t who he truly feels like being all the time. 

You begin to feel a deep sense of guilt for judging him based on his demeanor and criticizing his performance in class. Reflecting back, you realize that you had been unnecessarily harsh on him for something that is likely beyond his control. Gosh, I'm such an idiot, you think, shame burning your cheeks.

Shaking off your remorse, you put on another bright smile and try to respond as cheerfully as possible. “Hey, it’s still a huge improvement from sending the rings flying on top of a filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Or at innocent bystanders’ heads!” This time, you don’t encourage him because you feel pressured to do so, or because that’s who you know you’re supposed to be. You do it because deep down, in your heart, it’s what you feel like saying.

“Hmm, true,” Hook replies, angling his head to the side as he considers your point, the smallest of smiles still dancing on his lips.

“Now, for your final test.” At your statement, Hook raises a brow. “You need something different, something truly challenging. Something to prove your mastery of the Aiming Spell…”

You rack your brain for ideas, but nothing comes to mind. After a moment in silence, Hook speaks up. “I may have an idea.”

Glancing over at him, rather surprised—you were the teacher, after all—you gesture for him to go on. 

“Go stand over there by that wall,” he instructs, motioning with his hook to the wall opposite you two. “And put your hands up.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, fixing him with a look of wariness and doubt. You don’t move for a second, still too distrusting of him as you try to imagine what standing in that position has to do with casting a spell. Noticing your hesitation, Hook nods towards the wall again. “Well, go on, love.”

Still suspicious of him, you cave in and walk over to the far side of the room. Pressing your back against the wall as you raise your hands up, the position makes you feel as if you've just been caught red-handed in the midst of a crime. Hook still stands by the table, waiting patiently. You try to think back to the textbook pages you went over with him, wondering if you had accidentally taught him some sort of attack charm that he was planning to use on you.

Feeling your anxiety build, you wriggle your left fingers, wrapping your thumb and middle finger around the base of your pointer. You always wear a special, very pretty ring on that hand, a gift your mother gave to you a few years ago. Fiddling with it while twisting it around and around helps to soothe you, especially when you feel nervous.

But this time, when you go to repeat the same movement you always do, you feel the absence of the familiar metal surface and engravings etched into it. Glancing up at your hand, you confirm that your ring is indeed missing. The only trace of its former presence is the two parallel, circular indents in your skin from wearing it for so long.

Your panic skyrockets now at the loss of one of your favorite possessions, practically forgetting about Hook and the unease that accompanied his bizarre request. That ring had come with a special message; the night you got it, your mother had told you, “Remember when you were younger, and I told you that people are either good or bad? Well, that’s not quite true. No one is really black or white. We’re all just shades of gray. Some people are lighter gray, and some people are darker gray. And although we might be different shades, we all fall under the same color. Remember that, Y/N.”

And you have remembered it. Every time you go to toy with your ring, those words echo in your mind. Your mom had embedded the ring with a marble featuring a swirl of many different shades of gray, a reminder of the message that came along with it. You were too young to truly understand her words back then, but now, especially in these recent moments, you think you’re starting to fully grasp what she meant.

Snapping back to the present, you realize the serious problem you have at hand. “My ring!” you cry. “I could have sworn I had it when I came here…”

“Looking for this?” Hook’s smirk is back in full force. His left arm is raised, and on the crest of his polished metal hook, your precious ring glimmers under the golden lights projected from the ceiling.

“You…! When did you even…” your voice trails off as your mind catches up to your mouth. It must have been when he leaned in, while you were demonstrating the spell. That was the only time he had gotten close enough to you, although you don’t know how in the world he nicked it off your finger without you having the slightest hint.

Then you remember, quite painfully, how flustered you had been in that moment. If you were so distracted that you couldn't even cast a simple spell right, then you certainly wouldn’t have had enough brainpower to notice a skilled thief steal from you.

“Hey! Give that back!” you exclaim, huffing angrily, a frown etched deep into your face.

“I will, darling,” Hook replies smugly. “Now, raise your hands up again. And don’t wiggle your fingers around this time.”

“Give me my ring back first!” you demand, your previous annoyance towards him coming right back.

“Let me do this first, and then you’ll get your ring. Hands up.” At your glare, Hook tilts his head to the side and gives you a look. “Don’t you trust me?”

Well, of course not, is the first thought that pops into your mind. You’re a liar and a thief, and above all, a villain.

But then you remember your mother’s words, your earlier revelation and how, just for a moment, you glimpsed Hook through a different light. So, although you definitely won't go as far as saying that you trust him, you still empathize with him enough to give in to his request.

Wordlessly, you raise your hands back up to your sides, palms facing in front of you, while fighting the urge to fidget again. You debate whether or not it’d be best to close your eyes for this, but you ultimately decide that if Hook does try to pull any more of his little tricks, all your senses should be sharp and aware.

And so you stand, frozen, as Hook raises the wand. For a second, you think he’s going to cast the spell on you. But instead, he uses his good hand to remove the ring from where it’s stuck in his hook, instead placing it dangling from the tip. He points his wand at the ring, repeating the maneuvers you two practiced so many times.

Up. The ring lifts off his hook and levitates just in front of him.

Swish. It starts vibrating like the disks, but due to its small size, your cherished ring begins to rotate on its axis.

Circle. With Hook’s circular movement of the wand, the ring’s spinning accelerates, locking on to its target—whatever that is.

Flick. For one final time, Hook flicks his wrist, this time towards you.

You watch, your heart pounding as fast as ever, as the ring—your ring—curves through the sky as it falls, getting closer and closer to you. You slam your eyes shut for just a beat, unable to bear the anticipation, before remembering your earlier rationale again.

Eyes flying open instantly, you regain your vision just as the ring falls, falls, falls, landing…

…directly on your finger.

But not the finger that you previously wore it on. Your eyes widen again in disbelief as it slips perfectly around your ring finger.

“Uh…I…uhm…” you stammer, confused and shocked and overwhelmed with far too many things at once to form a coherent sentence. How in the world did he cast such a precise Aiming Spell, in a situation where it wouldn’t have succeeded had he been even a centimeter off? And if he was so precise with his location pinpointing, then why in the world did he put it on your left ring finger??

“Come on, spit it out, love,” Hook replies teasingly. “You can say it, don’t be afraid.”

Your mind is working far too hard for you to shoot him a glare, but you mentally do it anyway. “That was…impressive,” you finally admit, although you wish you didn’t when Hook’s smug grin grows twice as wide. Ugh, his ego is already big enough. I did not need to inflate it like that.

“Could you always cast the spell that well?” you ask, still stunned at his precision. You honestly couldn’t see how anyone who had been sending disks flying all across the room a mere few hours ago was now casting spells with the accuracy of someone who had been doing this for years.

“Why, of course not. You saw how I was earlier.” Hook’s grin grows even wider as he adds, “It’s all because I had a wonderful teacher.”

You still frown at him skeptically, walking back towards the table where he stands. “I highly doubt it’s because of that. I mean, I don’t know if even I could pull something like that off with such little practice.”

At this, Hook gives a little laugh. “What do they say, the student exceeds the teacher?”

You roll your eyes at him. “No, they call it ‘beginner’s luck.’ You should be happy you got it right this time, because you might not get so lucky on your exams.”

Hook grins again, and as much as you detest the pleasure he gets from teasing you—and though you’d never admit it—a small, dark gray part of you enjoys the playful banter between you two.

“That’s why I have you, darling. If I ever need more help, I’ll know who to run to.” He leans in close to you, so close, until his mouth is right next to your ear. You start having flashbacks to your previous experiences with Hook being in a close proximity, and the combined feelings from both your memories and his current actions causes your body to heat up in a way you didn’t even know was possible. 

He tilts his head down ever so slightly towards you, his lips feathering across your ear. “And you won’t be able to get out of helping me, my little goody-goody.”

Your mind is absolutely spinning at his words, his touch, his presence, his everything. You desperately struggle to formulate some sort of response, but just as you open your mouth, ready to question his choice of ring placement, a deep, low horn sounds, reverberating off the walls.

Curfew.

Hook breaks away from you as you glance down at your wristwatch. The clock shows exactly 10:00. Gods, how did the time pass by so quickly?

You glance back up at Hook, deciding to ignore the way he so alluringly whispered in your ear just seconds ago. “Well, uh, we have to get going, then,” you awkwardly say, scratching at your neck.

Hook stands there for a moment, staring at you whilst completely motionless, making you wonder what he’s thinking and what he’s planning to do. Just as you’re about to bid him a goodnight and turn away, he reaches his good hand out, grabbing your left one. He holds it delicately in his hand, his palm cupped upwards with your fingers resting gently on top.

Slowly, and while keeping his head up just enough to maintain eye contact with you the entire way down, he bends into a bow in front of you. Only does he avert his gaze when he finally reaches your hand, looking down at your ring, which still sits on your ring finger, as he places a kiss on the bright stone.

He peers back up at you, deep brown eyes wide and expressive.

“Until we meet again, m’lady.”

on to part 2! ->

taglist: @4ng3l-ch1ld @astrynyx @0strawberrysorbet0

just leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

a/n: the demons I had to fight to not name this "if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it" haha. anyways thanks for reading!

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

[dilfartist]

A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

————————

Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

[earthfire-75]

Demons have needs too

Genre: Dragon Age Veilguard

Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x Rook de Riva, Spite x Rook , Spite!Lucanis, female!Rook, Named Rook, otherwise, non descript

Warnings: smut, just smut PWP , knife play?, no blood, demon possession, dub-con

Notes: purple italics are Spite's thoughts/speaking

Wherein we wonder if Spite isn't actually a Desire demon...

Luna sighed and dragged herself out of bed. Heading into the kitchen, she found Lucanus’ coffee maker next to the stove. She smiled to herself, making herself a cup and a fried egg sandwich for breakfast, then she would head to the training room, where she would also likely find Lucanis. She leaned against the doorway as she watched him, jumping a little when he spoke without looking at her.

“You are improving, my friend. I almost did not hear you.”

Friend? Not friend. Want!

She hid the sadness she felt at his use of friend. She desires so much more than his friendship, had since the last time they had seen each other. But she had only been a teenager then. Now, seeing him again, she knows what she feels isn't infatuation. There is a sexual tension that comes with their sparring, however, and she needs to be careful. She's certain Lucanis Dellamorte is neither ready for any sort of romance yet, nor interested in her that way to begin with.

“Almost only counts in playing horseshoes,” she teased.

“And hand grenades. Or so I ‘ve heard.”

Lucanis turned around, finally facing the girl…no, woman…entertaining the training room. He remembers the teenager he last met years ago. She was beautiful then, but now? Now she made his heart race and his cock twitch, for Makers sake. Now he both looked forward to and dreaded their sparring. The sexual tension it brought…he wanted to …do things to her...

Fuck her, the demon supplied in a whisper. Make her ours! Spite breathed in deep. Smells like…lavender dipped in honey.

Lucanis, for his part, does his best to ignore the demon, giving Luna a smile that's meant to be reassuring as he withdraws his daggers from their sheaths. “Ready for our sparring session, my Moon?” It's a slip, one he deliberately does not acknowledge, in hopes that she missed it. But of course she does not. Still, Luna says nothing, refusing to believe he meant it in the way her heart wishes he did.

* *

He had her pinned against the wall, hands above her head, his dagger pressed firmly against the hollow of her throat. His eyes were ablaze with something she dare not name and something more sinister as he started her down.

Fuck her! The demon was worked up now, more difficult to ignore.

Pretty. Pretty tits, pretty pussy.

Never kissed, never touched

Wants, needs, aches. Aches for us!

The demon tightens their grip on Luna’s wrists. Their eyes drop to her breasts, sliding the blade from her throat down to the first button of her shirt.

We want, we need.

Throb, pulse, ache. Ache for her!

“Lucanis?”

A deep growl - Take, claim, taste, fuck!

Ours! All ours! Fuck her or we will!

At the first sign of hesitation, Spite growls in frustration, shoving Lucanis' consciousness to the side, but not down. The demon wanted its host to remember this.

“We want to see those pretty tits.” The voice that came out of Lucanis was not entirely his own and Luna swallowed around something stuck in her throat as the hand holding his dagger flicked, sending the first button flying. The second and third aren't far behind as Luna's breasts rise and fall heavily.

“Pretty Moon. We won’t hurt you. Well, maybe a little, but we think you'll like.,” the demon spoke as it continued to flick away at the remaining buttons. “But we won't deny ourselves anymore. We want you wrapped around our cock. Not our fist.”

The blade slides back up, between her breasts, cuts through the lacings of her bra, then uses it to move the shirt away from her breasts, exposing them completely. They circle her left breast with the dagger, spiraling closer and closer to Luna's tightening nipple.

“Such lovely, perfect tits.” Spite takes her nipple between its teeth, rolling it until pleasure borders pain.

“We want to tell you, but Lucanis is a coward. Big scary assassin can't tell the pretty how much we want to feel her tits, suck her nipples and ram our cock into her dripping cunt over and over until she's screaming our name, drunk on the absolute fucking we’ll l give her.”

The demon takes the blade to her right breast, offering up the same treatment as its twin. “But no, he leaves that for me to do. So We'll tell you every dirty thing we want to do to you.”

Luna hated herself for it, but she couldn't stop herself from squirming, squeezing her thighs together, arching her breasts forward and moaning as her nipples hardened and her pussy pulsed with desire. The demon breathed in deep, taking in her scent and picking up on her sweet arousal. It dropped their eyes to her still covered bottom half. With the dagger still in hand, the demon cut the ties holding Luna's pants up and watched them fall to her ankles before swiftly and carefully cutting off her panties at the hips.

It slides the blade up her thigh from knee to apex, watching goosebumps form all over her skin, making her nipples tighten even more and a gush of desire floods her. The demon gathers some on the blade carefully, as if gathering something precious. “ We want to taste you,” it whispers before licking her gathered juices from the blade, slow and sensual.

“To fuck you with our tongue and fingers. To fill your dripping, aching cunt in every way you’ll let him…Let us.”

The demon drops the dagger, lifting Lucanis' hand to cup her breast, lowering his head and swirling his tongue around her npple, nipping at the sensitive bud just to hear her cry out, to make another gush of arousal slide down the insides of her thighs.

“We've wanted you like this the longest. Every time we've sparred together, we’ve imagined fucking you into the wall after. Your tits bouncing in our face, your aching cunt squeezing tight around our equally aching cock.” It finally pressed their cock into her thigh as he kicked her legs apart, making her fuck their leg as she feels just how hard they are.

“We’ve imagined bending you over the kitchen table, our hand twisted in your hair, fucking you senseless from behind, not caring who might walk in and see it. Imagined tying you to your bed, legs spread as far apart as possible, arms above your head as you are now, helpless, dripping, begging as blade and tongue trace the shape of your perfect body, especially your tits. Maker, we really love your tits…then we bury our fingers deep into your cunt until you scream out your first and second orgasms. And then, of you’re a really good girl, we fuck your cunt with our cock.” It pressed said cock harder into her thigh to punctuate the point.

It shifted their hips just enough to be right next to her apex and began dry humping. The hand cupping her breast now pinching and pulling at her nipple. It swirled their tongue around the opposite nipple before closing their lips around the hard bud and sucking. The action made Luna moan and her hips jerk. “Please,” she begged, “Lucanis, please…”

“Shhhh, little Moon. Lucanis is…present enough. Point of no return, Pretty. Let us take care of you, let us fuck you, little Moon. Let us…” Frustratingly, the demon found it's host had more influence on them than they thought. They couldn't just fuck her like they wanted. Not without permission.

“Yes!” She couldn't take anymore teasing. Tears stung her eyes thinking her weakness now damned them both, but her hips begged the demon to take her, to fuck her in the ways it described. In a moment she felt the heaviness of his cock before it was teasing at her entrance and sliding all too easily into her, stretching her, filling her.

It did not ease the aching, but heightened it, her cries of pleasure/pain growing louder with each thrust. The demon growls, releasing her wrists to grip her hips in both hands, practically bouncing her on their cock, manipulating how she squeezes around it. She has to grip their shoulders to hold herself up.

“Please…” Luna angles herself to lean back a bit. “I need…” She feels them reach between her legs, thumb finding her clit and rubbing hard, rough circles into it and her pitch becomes higher as she now fucks herself on their cock.

They watch, in awe of her even as they chase their own orgasm. Indeed her breasts bounce, her face twisted in pleasure, sacred and profane all at once. A final thrust of their hips and she screamed out their name as predicted. But their own release comes with a whimper as they bury their head into the crook of her neck.

“You could bring us to our knees, little Moon. You could bring a demon to its knees…”

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Prince Malleus Draconia vs Human Pettiness

So we’ve all heard about the trope of angry humans doing petty stuff to avoid their supernatural s/o’s. Like dating a werewolf and wearing silver, or dating a vampire and eating Italian (or entering a house that they haven’t been invited to) or dating a demon sitting in a salt circle or even dating a fairy and wearing iron.

So let’s say you’ve had an argument with your unfairly handsome fae boyfriend and later, being the stubborn-as-a-mule human you are, realise that even though you’ve somewhat calmed down, you’re still very cross with him so you decide to get back in your own way. You may have come into Twisted Wonderland with no magic but you did possess the stories and folklore of your non-magical world. You grew up with the tales of the men and women of yore that whispered horror stories of curses, kidnappings and enchantments, fairy rings and changeling children - and it’s time to put your childhood fascination of the once-fictional-but-now-part-of-your-reality to shine.

Of course, you started with the iron jewellery; any type of bijouterie in your possession that you could possibly wear, you did. Rings, necklaces, bangles, anklets, earrings, chains, studs on your clothing, the prong of your belt, even the clips in your hair - all made out of pure iron (most of them a gift from Leona for reasons you weren’t too sure you wanted to know). You even managed to replace the buttons of your school blazer for shiny new metallic ones.

Next, you fortified your stronghold to ensure that any pesky fairies wouldn’t be able to enter. You hung up an iron horseshoe onto the door of Ramshackle and sprinkled salt all around its perimeter. You found some of your old clothes that were no longer in use and turned them inside out before placing them both inside Ramshackle and outside. Next you hung up bells and deep-toned wind chimes on as many places on Ramshackle’s exterior you could find. Then, after marvelling at your handiwork, you went to your bedroom and relaxed.

*Insert a pouting Malleus sulking ten feet away from you, physically unable to come closer, mentally debating whether or not he should be impressed by your commitment*

[eggsistential-breakdown]

Team Tulpar!!!!!

Highly self indulgent silly Mouthwashing Superhero AU

Led by the esteemed Captain Cosmos, superhero conglomerate Pony Express's Team Tulpar's latest mission is to guard a top-secret mega-important warehouse in the deep recesses of space against raiders and ne'er-do-wells for one year, until Pony Express's client can install a more permanent solution.

Unfortunately, a mysterious accident destroys their only way home and grievously injures their captain. Team Tuplar finds themselves stranded on a faraway asteroid, with only battered pieces of their ship and their all-important super-forbidden warehouse charge to sustain them.

God is not watching.

Notes below the cut, not set in stone:

Pony Express

Known for its cheap and widely available distribution of superhero teams

Common option for emergency time-sensitive threats to capital or goods

Less common option for actual life-threatening emergencies

Superhero teams function pretty much just as security details for hire

Allows a little more individualization than canon Pony Express because of superhero branding

Hence the slightly personalized horseshoe logos and outfits (also for fun)

Going under because of the widespread adoption of automated comprehensive security systems

Dragonbreath's security system just broke down and they're hiring Team Tulpar to safeguard their wares until the Earth shipment of replacement and upgraded parts can arrive in one year

Curly

Gave him a bunch of powers that would be cool in space but ultimately useless against the crash

Edna Mode disapproves of capes for being impractical and dangerous so he's getting one

Debated briefly keeping Curly as his name because it's technically space related but I think it would be a bit too morbid to use as a space related superhero name in universe

Insists his team calls him Curly even on missions

Dissatisfied with his role as a glorified mall cop

Anya

Legally, spacefaring superhero teams need a healer

Legally, Anya cannot be classified as a healer

Pony Express was pretty much the only superhero company willing to take her

Still studying for med school

Her healing powers boil down to keeping you from getting worse and offloading stress on your body in hopes that it can heal you

As long as she's around things at least won't get worse :)

Which is how she's able to keep Curly alive after the incident

May or may not be using her powers to stall her own pregnancy

Definitely the glue holding everything together in canon so wanted to emphasize her importance in keeping everything from going to shit

I'm the iffiest on her superhero name ngl

She can call herself a doctor she deserves it

Tried to throw stripes in her design to reference her canon turtleneck

Daisuke

Useless ray of goddamn sunshine

Basically a very bright flashlight

If he focuses very hard he can create lasers

Can cast movies for entertainment but only as well as he can remember/imagine them

First in his family to have powers, parents pressured him to join a superhero team

Parents also got him a slightly fancier uniform hence the golden accents

Couldn't imagine him without the shirt so he's keeping the shirt

Incorporated a little Swansea yellow

Also wanted him to have a visor to be cool he gets a visor

Swansea

Assigned mentor to Daisuke

Registered his name back in college. Claims it's too much of a hassle to change it now

Keeps shields/helmet/armor? up for the entire time from when the crash happened to when Daisuke dies

He shows the most arm in canon so you bet your ass he's showing the most arm here as well

My friends suggested this name

Wanted him to still get to wield a big-ass axe

Jingleballs

Crashed the ship into the warehouse with Curly in it while Anya, Swansea, and Daisuke were double-checking the warehouse

Wearing a little half cape in part to mimic Curly, in part to try and give him a similar silhouette as his canon short sleeves

Powers pretty much just hurting people and taking from them

When strealing powers, can only use them at 20-40% of the capacity of the power's true owner

"Borrowed" Curly's powers a lot when they were younger under the pretense of Curly should experience gravity for uhh reasons

Had the phrase "there's something 'off' about this guy" when creating his name, also kind of a play on "first 'off'icer", also turning other powers off

Wears the mask and hood up when he wants to obscure his face. Usually happens outside of missions

Misc

Warehouse sits on an asteroid because it's cheap

The crash happens right after a raid, Jimmy accuses Curly of collaborating with raiders

A little less certain that no one will find them, but the crash destroys the location beacon of the warehouse and knocks the asteroid slightly off course

Team Tulpar's ship is a lot smaller, there's no cargo hold

It's also currently partially wedged inside the warehouse and stuck in place with sealing foam

Space is essentially split between the ship with food/medical supplies and the warehouse (mouthwash)

Less of a clear division of roles other than Anya as healer and Curly as leader

I like color coding characters

Had this rattling around in my head for five days please take this

[probablyreadinsmut]

The Mrs Clause.

Jackson Joel Miller X Afab!Reader

Named after the 2002 Tim Allen Christmas movie - The Santa Clause 2.

Summary: You and Joel are Patrol partners who have been dancing around your feelings for each other for the longest time. Tommy has had enough of it and decides to intervene, setting Joel and you up as Santa and Mrs Claus.

Warnings/Tags: No smut in this part, but there will be in part two. One use of the word 'cock'. Just a lot of awkwardness from both parties (they're both dumb for each other okay?). Tooth rotting fluff in parts. Tommy being a meddling matchmaking menace, Maria enabling him like the good wife she is. Language (Swearing). Mention of pet loss. Nicknames. Tension. Implied legal age gap (nothing more 25-35 years ish, Joel would be about 57 in this). Reader has breasts and a vagina. Reader wears a skirt and heels but it's part of your costume. No mention of height, weight, skin colour or specific age. Images used in the banner above are just for aesthetic purposes, you are the main character in this fic. If I missed anything let me know!

Divider credit: @strangergraphics thank you for these adorable Christmas dividers! Merry Christmas to you! ❤️🎄

Banner made by me on canva which is why it's a little janky but we move (pls don't zoom in on it lmao)

Joel

It's Christmas time in Jackson! The town Square was beautifully decorated with twinkling fairy lights and leafy garlands with holly and pinecones weaved into them, wrapped around the street lamps. The freshly cut pine tree stood proudly in the centre of it all with more lights carefully spiralling around it and a bright star on top.

While Joel is making his way to his therapy appointment that day, he notices a crowd gathering around the town notice board, everyone is abuzz with excitement about something and his curiosity piques.

Making his way to the back of the small crowd that's formed in a horseshoe around it, he sees Tommy and Maria, with little TJ on her hip, pinning something to the board.

It's when Tommy finishes up and turns around that Joel locks eyes with him. The slow shit eating grin that spreads across his face sends alarm bells ringing in Joel's head.

As Tommy steps out the way for the residents at the front to take a look at the new announcements, the snickers and stares start. People turning and whispering, looking directly at him. Joel's cheeks heat up and his brow furrows into a deep scowl as he muscles his way through the crowd heading straight for his dumbass baby brother.

"What did you do?*The tone is accusatory right off the bat, Joel ain't messing around.

"Well take a look big brother, we're just tryin' to spread a lil holiday cheer around here and I was jus' thinkin', what grizzly old man could I get to be our Santa this year? And then it hit me"

"You didn't."

Joel could punch that grin right off his brother's face right now, as he steps aside and reveals the post pinned to the board. "Oh. I most certainly did."

There in a swirly red and green font, it reads:

🎄 Come and meet Santa Claus! Jacksons 3rd annual Christmas grotto: 12pm - 5pm December 21st. Fun for all ages! 🎄

And then there's a list underneath, containing the names of residents he and Maria have roped into helping.

Santa's Elves. Ellies name amongst them. Tommy must have a deathwish.

The names of the stabled horses next to 'Reindeer'

And then he sees it. His name.

Joel Miller as Santa Claus!

It had to be some kind of joke. Tommy's sick way of getting back at Joel for making him dress up as the easter bunny for Sarah all those years ago.

He rears back in horror, looking at Tommy like he'd just kicked a damn puppy in front of him. "Absolutely fucking not, Tommy! You must be insane to think I'm gonna do this!"

"Oh c'mon it'll be fun! TJ would love to see his Uncle Joel as Santa, wouldn't you, little guy?" Tommy smirks, keeping direct eye contact with Joel as he tickles the baby under his chin.

Maria then chimes in, shifting the giggling little boy in her arms. "Joel I know it's not your idea of fun-"

"Not my idea of fun!? That's a damn understatement if I've ever heard one!"

She holds her free hand up in a placating gesture. "Alright I hear you, perhaps Tommy should have asked first" She glances at Tommy, who's got a faux innocent 'who me?' look on his face now "But, the kids love it and usually we'd ask Richard to do it but he broke his leg a few weeks back out on patrol, so he can't do it this year. We'll make it worth your while, won't we Tommy?" She elbow nudges him in his ribs.

"Oh yeah! I've got a 40 year aged bottle of whiskey with your name on it, unopened. Sound interestin'?"

Tempting. Very tempting. But no, there was no chance he was gonna do all this just for a bottle of whiskey, no matter how good it sounded. "You're gonna have to do better than that, I'm talkin' new gun or knife kinda interestin"

"I knew you'd say that, big brother, which is why..."

Tommy jabs his pointer finger further down the announcement board, showing Joel exactly what else he has to offer to sweeten the deal further.

And there in the same green and red swirly writing. Mrs Claus with your name beside it.

A beat passes and Joel's permanent frown slowly forms into something of a half grin.

The two of you had been patrol partners for months and anyone with eyes could see how hard you were crushing on each other, both of you too chickenshit to make the first move, so here's Tommy and Maria, giving Joel the best early Christmas present he could ask for.

"I'm in."

You

Two days. You had been working tirelessly for two days on your Mrs.Claus costume, trading with the towns sewing circle for any scraps of red velvet you could get your hands on, fashioning the white fluffy edging out of an old blanket. It was far from perfect, it was rushed but there was no way you were going to pass up on this opportunity.

"Alright I'm coming out, no peeking, promise you won't look until I say so?" You call out to Maria, just finishing getting your outfit on in their living room as she waits for you in the kitchen, feeding TJ his lunch at the dining table.

"Cross my heart! Now c'mon show me what you've got, Mrs.Claus!" Maria chuckles and covers her eyes with her hand, giving you the all clear before you step into the kitchen.

It's a two piece outfit, the long sleeve top flaring out at your waist with a slight v-nexk, nothing too risque, the grotto is considered a family event after all. Then there's the skirt, just above knee length, hugging your hips and thighs in all the right places. Paired with a pair of red short strappy heels that you'd managed to borrow from one of the more fashionable Jackson residents, in exchange for some personal supplies for her. For a rush job, you were damn proud of yourself.

"Okay... You can look now!" You exclaim, straightening out an invisible crease on your top.

Maria drops her hand to look, her jaw follows quickly after. "Oh my god! Well hellooo Mrs. Claus!" She wolf whistles playfully. "Santa isn't gonna know what's hit him."

You feel heat creeping up the back of your neck at that particular thought. How Joel would react when he sees you. "Y-yeah? It's not too much is it? I mean I'm not trying to go for sexy, but I'm not not trying if you know what I mean?"

"No it's perfect! Look at Mrs. Claus, TJ doesn't she look beautiful?" Maria attempts to guide the youngest Millers gaze to you but he's too busy chomping down the banana pancakes she'd whipped up for him.

"Ah well... Speaking from experience, the older Miller men are much more attentive. And appreciative." Maria remarks coyly, lips curving into a sly smirk.

The two of you devolve into fits of giggles, not even hearing Tommy arriving home until he enters the kitchen "Ho-ho-holy shit!" Maria says his name in a scolding tone for cursing in front of the baby, he flashes her a guilty grin before continuing "Look at you darlin'! Joel, come take a look at Mrs. Claus!"

Joel. Joel's here with him.

Before you even have a chance to protest, Joel's stepping into the kitchen behind Tommy and right there and then is when you're pretty sure your heart stops.

Jaw slightly slack, brown eyes now near-black as his eyes drag up your body, lingering for a moment too long on your hips and breasts before landing in your face, noting the nervous gnaw of your lip. He clears his throat, forcing himself to act casual, ignoring the twitch of his cock in his jeans. "Y-yeah you... Wow. I mean... Wow.."

Flustered. Joel Miller is flustered. The usually stoic and self controlled aging scavenger is now a bumbling mess, even if he's trying his hardest not to show it.

A knowing look passes between Tommy and Maria, like the irritating old married couple they are, sharing small grins that mirror one another.

"Thanks... I um.. Can't wait to see your costume too!"

Tommy claps Joel on the shoulder with a loud bark of laughter. "Oh I sure am lookin' forward to that too! I think we all are, managed to find a mall Santa outfit a few years back, got the beard and everythin'. Usually it's a little big on Richard but I think Joel here won't have any trouble fillin' it out" He teases, prodding at Joel's soft tummy, earning him a brotherly punch to the arm.

"Do you ever shut the fuck up?" Now it's Joel's turn to be scolded by Maria, giving her the very same guilty smile as Tommy had done previously. The Miller genetics are truly a marvel.

It's the morning of the Christmas Grotto and your nerves are running at an all time high. Putting together the last of your costume, opting for a pair of black tights under your skirt instead of going bare legged what with the fresh snow that had settled in recent days.

Staring at yourself in the bedroom mirror, you had to admit to yourself that you looked hot and with the appraising look you'd received from Joel yesterday fresh in your mind, a big part of you was actually looking forward to today, even if you'd originally been less than thrilled at being put down for the role without being asked. The moment Maria had told you Joel was going to be santa, it had sealed the deal for you. You'd be the best damn Mrs. Claus this town has ever seen.

A little while later, it's go time. You're walking into the mess hall, the tables have been pushed aside to make room for the crowd that will be shuffling in and out. There are townsfolk dotted around dressed as elves and the horses are hitched just outside in a make shift petting zoo with makeshift Reindeer antlers on their heads. That was a cute touch. You're sure they're going to love being fussed over and fed carrots all day long.

At the far end, is the 'Grotto' which is actually just a red back drop hung up on the wall, a chair that's been decorated to look like Santa's throne, a bowl full of homemade candy canes beside it and a Christmas tree with gifts surrounding it. It's nothing special, but at the same time it's perfect No sign of Joel though, yet.

"Well don't you look pretty!" A semi sarcastic voice sounds from your left, Ellie, dressed as an elf, chewing on a candy cane.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle the laugh. She looks ridiculous and you can tell she's not happy about being asked to do this.

"Oh my god. Don't tell me Tommy roped you into this too?!"

"Sure did." She grumbles. "But he said Dina would be doing it to so..."

Looks like you're not the only one going along with it because your crush is involved. You give her a knowing smile, glancing around the mess hall. "Is um... Is Joel coming any time soon? People will be lining up in the next twenty minutes or so."

She grins as she takes another bite of candy cane "Oh yeah he's coming alright. Why Tommy thought he was a good fit for jolly old St. Nick, I'll never know! Least he's got the old part down." She trails off as she gets distracted by something over your shoulder, you turn to see Dina walking in, wearing an equally ridiculous elf costume. "Uhhhh gotta run! Good luck today!" Ellie smirks as she darts by you heading straight for her. Subtle.

Soon enough, the line starts to form and Joel is still nowhere to be seen, you're standing beside the throne, shifting from foot to foot, feeling a little anxious that he might not show up now.

And then you hear it.

"Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!" it's not exactly enthusiastic and Santa has a texan twang but there he is walking in, greeting the townsfolk and children. With the classic costume on, a fake white curly beard with his pink plush lips poking out, the hat tilted jauntily atop his head and a sack over his shoulder.

Why the hell are you attracted to this?

Do you have to add 'Santa kink' to the ever extensive list of kinks you have? Oh god, let's not go there right now.

The faces of the kids in line light up though and seeing the way Joel smiles back under the beard, warms your heart. He's a softie deep down.

"There you are, cutting it fine aren't you Santa?" you murmur to him when he sits down, setting the sack next to him. The way he immediately manspreads and looks good doing it even dressed like this, should be criminal.

Then he gives you an assessing stare, just like yesterday, unable to help himself from subtly checking you out. Subtle to anyone else who might be looking, but to you? You felt like time slowed down right then and there, noting the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips. The next five hours were either going to be pure torture or sheer agony. You truly couldn't decide which one.

"Sorry Mrs. Clause. Was doin'a little last minute gift wrappin'" You're about to open your mouth to tell him that maybe he should have a better sense of timekeeping but it's then that Ellie pipes up, cupping her hands either side of her mouth to make her voice louder. "Alright folks, who's ready to meet Santa?"

The next 5 hours were a blur, it was a constant stream of people coming to meet Santa but it was probably the most fun you've had in a long time. Tommy and Maria had set up a few games in the mess hall to make it a real event for the kids of Jackson and he'd procured some disposable cameras to take mementos of the day.

You could have killed that man when he did this though:

"Hey Mr & Mrs Claus! Lemme get a picture of the two of you!"

You'd sighed but you'd take any opportunity to be closer to Joel honestly. You moved closer to the throne, posing beside it with a beaming smile. Apparently that wasn't good enough for Tommy.

"Nooooo get closer c'mon, you're supposed to be a married couple"

"Yeah and also non existent" Joel mutters under his breath so none of the kids hear him, elliciting a giggle from you.

"Hm, what was that Santa?"

"Nothin'!"

You perch on the arm of the throne instead to appease him. "This any better?"

"Nooooo no no! Get closer!"

"How am I s'posed to get any-- oh!"

You squeek as Joel pulls you into his lap, sitting you side ways on one of his thighs.

"This okay Darlin'?" He whispers in a drawl. It's both sweet that he's checking that it's not pushing your boundaries too far but also sexy as hell. You reply with a slow nod

It's your turn to be flustered now, feeling your body temperature rising a little, along with your racing heart. You're having an internal meltdown about being in his lap.

"Earth to Mrs. Claus! Hellooooo!" It's Tommy's voice that snaps you out of it, blinking rapidly as you look up at the camera.

"S-sorry! Yes okay, I'm ready." You cross your legs and lean back into Joel just a tad, feeling his hand slipping around your waist to hold you steady, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over the velvet there. You wonder if he even knows he's doing it."Take the damn picture Tommy!"

"Alright hold your horses!" Every second in Joel's lap feels like a year. So close, close enough that his intoxicating scent floods your senses, peppermint from the candy canes, coffee and... Sawdust? You think? Would make sense considering his woodworking, you suppose. It's too much, but at the same time it's not enough.

"Alright Mr & Mrs. 3.. 2.. 1.. Say jingle bells!"

You both repeat it, smiling ear to ear as the flash momentarily blinds you.

Before you know it, it's nearly time to call it a day. You were thankful for the small heaters that had been placed nearby, it had started snowing heavily outside now and with the way the mess hall was pretty open, made it chilly. It was bearable though.

Joel had been so sweet with the kids today, it was a side of him you hadn't seen before. A stark contrast to the man you went on patrols with. You knew he was good with kids. Older kids though, like Ellie, but seeing him with the younger kids? Christ. Your ovaries damn near exploded.

Right now he has the last kid on his lap, a little girl with big brown eyes and tight curls. She's possibly the sweetest little thing you've ever seen.

"Alright sweetpea what's your name?"

"Sarah." She answers shyly.

It's then that you notice the way his shoulders tense slightly and the way his eyes get a little glossy. What's that about?

"S-Sarah? Well... Ain't that a pretty name for an equally pretty girl." The momentary hiccup seems to have passed and he's back to being sweet again. "How old are you darlin'?" She screws up her little face as she looks at her fingers trying to figure out how many to hold up before she holds up four of them, looking at who you assume is her mother for confirmation, she just chuckles and nods.

"Four? Well ain't that nice. Now tell me sweetpea, what do you want for Christmas?" So gentle, he's so gentle with the little kids, you really didn't know that there was this side of him hiding in there.

"A dinosaur!" She's come out of her shell a little now, excitedly mimicking a dinosaurs roar, to which Joel roars back and chuckles, this rich deep sound. So fucking cute.

"A dinosaur? Well little missy I'm not sure 'bout gettin' you a real one, I'm sure your momma wouldn't wanna clean up after one buuuuuut--" he reaches down into the nearly empty sack of presents and pulls out a small plushie T-Rex. "Here. Darlin' Merry Christmas."

She squeels with happiness and throws her little arms around his neck, catching him off guard for a moment. You can see the surprise in his wide eyes, but a genuine warm smile graces his lips. "Thank you Santa!" She pulls back, gently taking the plushie from him, holding it up proudly for her mom to see.

"Well you're welcome, sweetpea. G'on now, go show your momma and have a Merry Christmas... Sarah." The way he says her name, almost wistful, he watches her clamber off his lap, running to her mom to show her the gift she got, there's this longing look that you don't recognise in him.

"Joel?" You ask, gently placing your hand on his shoulder.

His head snaps in your direction, immediately changing his demeanor to a happier one, whether it's forced or not, you don't know. "God, sorry Darlin'! I was miles away."

"You okay?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, course I am! Just... Been a long day is all. You okay? It's getting cold in here."

You smile at the way he's concerned about you, shaking your head softly. "I'm fine, not really feeling it"

"Now why don't I believe that?" He does a little smirk under the beard as his eyes rake over you quickly, it making your heart do a little flip. "Here." Before you can protest, he's taking off his red jacket, handing it to you as he's left in a fitting white tshirt underneath, suspenders holding up the pants. The little roundness of his tummy is something else. You were never a fan of overly muscular guys, you'd seen the magazines from before. Jacked up men with washboard abs just wasn't your thing. This though? The dad bod he was rocking was absolutely your thing.

"T-thank you." the waiver in your voice does nothing to hide how much he's effected you. It's not fair. You put the jacket on around your shoulders and it feels as though you've been enveloped by his scent. It's dizzying and addictive.

By 6pm, all the helpers had the mess hall cleared and back to how it was before, the tables back in place and the shutters down to stave off the snow storm that was picking up outside.

You'd stayed behind to help Maria dismantle the 'Grotto' while TJ slept in his stroller, Joel was still here, Santa hat and beard now gone, much to your slight disappointment. He was busy talking to Tommy, they seemed to be sharing a moment. Tommy's hand is on his shoulder, gently squeezing it with a sympathetic look on his face, you can't make out what they're saying but whatever it is seems deep.

Maria notices you looking, smiling to herself before she speaks. "So... You gonna finally make a move or what?"

With wide eyes you turn your attention to her. "Maybe keep your voice down?"

She chuckles lightly "Oh honey they can't hear us from all the way over there. C'mon... What's stopping you? He likes you. You like him. Just go for it."

"Okay but what if things don't work out? Jackson isn't that big y'know? Imagine bumping into your ex every day. Awkward."

"Don't have to imagine. Before Tommy got here I dated one of the guys on patrol and sure it was awkward at first but we're all adults, I moved on and married Tommy and he's moved on too. It's not a big deal. You know what I think though?"

"No but I'm sure you're about to tell me" You huff in amusement through your nose, putting away the last of the props into a box.

"Damn right I am. I think you're afraid and making excuses. Just like he is. You're focusing on the negatives like 'what if it ends badly' instead of 'what if it never ends?' and that is what you should be thinking about. Seriously. You'll regret it if you don't at least try."

"See you back at the house Joel!" Ellie calls out to him as she leaves with Dina. Tommy and Maria had left a short while ago when TJ started getting fussy. So now, under the twinkling lights above you, you're left alone together with Maria's words swimming around in your head.

'What if it never ends?' she'd said it so simply, like you'd get your fairytale ending. Of course she hadn't meant it like that. Not in this world, not in this life. But, if it meant you could have just a fraction of a fairytale ending? Maybe she was right about making the leap.

So as you wring your hands nervously, your feet are moving you towards him of their own accord. He's crouched down rifling through the present sack, just in the exit doorway. You stop just behind him.

"Joel? You got a minute before you leave?"

"Oh! Yeah actually, I um..." He pulls something out of the sack, putting it behind his back as he rises to his feet, knees creaking as he does so. "I wanted to talk to you to... I uh..." His brow is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He's nervous too. "I... Got you somethin... It's not much but..."

And then he pulls out a small gift wrapped box from behind his back, tied up with a red bow and everything. Your eyes soften when you take it from him, fingertips brushing against his accidentally.

"Joel... You didn't have to get me anything... I... I didn't get you anything. I feel bad now!"

"Pfft. Don't be silly darlin'. I did this cause I wanted to, not because I felt like I had to. C'mon open it." He gives you that lopsided grin that makes him even more handsome somehow, rocking back on his heels absentmindedly.

You oblige, carefully unwrapping the bow, tearing away the paper, all the while you feel his eyes on you watching and waiting. When you lift the lid off the box, you let out a small surprised chuckle. Gently lifting the gift out to admire it.

A small carved and painted chocolate labrador dog. Just like your childhood pet. You remembered telling him about her on one of your patrols, Lana was her name. You'd lost her in the initial days of the outbreak and thought about her often. It had been months since you'd told him about her and he'd remembered. Even going as far as carving her name onto the base. You feel your eyes misting over as you take it in, it's possibly the best gift you've ever received.

"Joel I-- it's... It's beautiful. You... You made this for me?"

His shoulders relax a little as he sees the way your expression shifts, he was worried he'd upset you. It was a risk because all he wanted was to make you happy.

"Yeah I did... That's um... That's actually why I was almost late today. Was putting the finishing touches to it, wanted it to be perfect. Y'know... Like you are."

"L-like I am?" You gaze lifts from the carving in your hand to meet his own. Staring back at you with those soft brown eyes that you just want to get lost in.

As he takes a small step forward, encroaching into your personal space, it feels like the room just became too small. More intimate than it was before. Nothing has changed and everything has changed. "Yes. Like you darlin'. You... You're..." He reaches up, softly brushing his thumb over your cheekbone, making your breath catch in your throat. "You're perfection"

That's when you see it, above the two of you in the doorway. Mistletoe. You'd wondered how you'd missed that. It was like it had just appeared out of thin air, but more than likely it was a part of Tommy's meddling because it definitely wasn't there before.

He follows your gaze upwards, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Well would ya look at that."

You can't help the small chuckle of disbelief that leaves you. "Yeah would you look at that. You planning on doing anything about it, Miller?"

Now his gaze his dropped back to you, drawing your face in closer to his. His voice dropping to a low whisper. "Don't have to tell me twice, darlin'"

The moment your lips touch his, you feel like you're floating on air. It's reverent and slow, tilting his head with yours as he savours the taste of your lips. His big hand engulfing your cheek, thumb stroking over it with a tenderness that you hadn't initially expected from him.

You blindly set the carving down on the ledge beside you so you can wrap your arms around his neck as his free hand slides downwards to your lower back, holding you against him as the kiss deepens and evolves into something more desperate.

It's all consuming. Everything you could have hoped for. He's everything you hoped for.

There under the mistletoe and twinkling lights. Santa and Mrs Claus. Sharing their first kiss.

Part two coming soon!

Tagging my moots, happy holidays my lovelies:

@drewharrisonwriter @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @bitchwitch1981 @kirsteng42 @morallyinept @cheekychaos28 @itwasntimethatdidit40 @almostempty

Special mention to @lovely-vamp-princess added a part about Joel's tummy in there just for you ;D

If you'd rather not be tagged lmk and a big thank you if you do read 💜

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Rye Whiskey

♢ Summary: Celebrating Sean's return to camp includes a drunk Arthur, which allows you to discover this whole new side of him. ♢Words: 2057 ♢Warnings: None except for the whole alcohol/drinking theme, basically it's just a one-shot of a fluff idea I had watching the video of drunk Arthur saying nonsense to Saddie. ♢a/n: I recommend reading it with the mindset that Arthur is in the same state as in "A Quiet Time" and listening to Rye Whiskey to put you in the mood! Wrote a little sequel for this! Read it here. ♢Credits: These gorgeous dividers are from @cafekitsune!

♪ "O Mollie O Mollie, it's for your sake alone,

That I leave my old parents, my house and my home!" ♪

Even if one didn't know Sean had returned to the gang, they could have noticed it right away hearing his cheerful singing, his thick Irish accent rolling the words even more musically. As the main entertainer of the gang, he was absolutely delighted to have a party thrown for him, and honestly, his big toothless smile made your heart feel warmer. Tonight, in the fresh air of New Hanover, it was only laughter, guitar notes, and drunken sounds that were echoing through the camp, everyone finally having a real good time since they had settled at Horseshoe Overlook after such a long period hidden in the ruthless cold of the Grizzlies.

You were sitting around one of the campfires, with Javier, Sean, Uncle, and John. Karen had also joined, gladly sitting on Sean's lap with a bottle in her hand; you were sure there was something between them, and the poor man probably deserved some sweet time after what he had been through. Talking about bottles, the floor was flooded with a large amount of them around your little singing group, almost like a big pond of green shining glass you all fed every few minutes when someone would empty one.

You had your fair share of drinks already, a slight blush burning your cheeks, the alcohol keeping you warm under the night's cold breeze and happy despite the gang's precarious situation. Funny, how whiskey would make everything easier and more entertaining, no matter who or where you were looking at.

Alright, you had to admit it, maybe you were a bit tipsy, but so were John, Javier, Sean, and Karen, their happy faces softly lit by the golden flames. But Arthur, -Oh Lord, Arthur was far beyond drunk, he was wrecked. Looking at him from where you were sitting and singing along, you could see just how much of a mess he was; at least three of his shirt's buttons were undone, said shirt opened messily; his hair scattered under his hat and looking a bit sticky, almost as if he had put his whole head into a barrel of beer; he had a constant smile on his face, and his body was swaying slightly as if he was an unstable bottle being tossed around by the waves of a tormented sea. You chuckled to yourself; he was quite a sight to see, and you wondered if you actually had ever seen him that drunk. A few weeks back, Lenny had told you about the wild night he and Arthur had at Valentine's saloon, but the man in question had slept in jail and came back to camp completely sober, which made you unable to see his incredibly drunken state and made you wonder what the hell he must have done to end up in said jail.

♪ "If the Oceans were whiskey, and I were a duck, -Quack quack !-

I'd dive to the bottom, and get one sweet sup !" ♫

You chuckled at how Arthur had added the quacking part, finding it quite endearing. It was almost as if it was a whole new side of him, and you couldn't stop watching. His deep voice sounded surprisingly good as he was singing with the others, and you caught yourself liking hearing it. After all, you always had a sweet spot for him, so you wouldn't complain about having the opportunity to look at him as much as you wanted without him noticing it (or at least, being too drunk to understand what exactly was happening). His bright blue eyes, sparkling with the orange ashes of the fire, along with his light brown hair and stubble, his black opened shirt, his thin lips curled into this big stupid smile... It was all making your heart melt more and more. You almost lost it when he started drinking again, roughly grabbing a nearby bottle, probably without even knowing what it was containing, and bringing it to his mouth, the golden liquid sliding in his throat, making his Adam's apple bob, some glistening drops of it flowing from the bottle all the way down his scarred chin, then his throat, ending up lost in the dark hairs of his chest.

You're suddenly pulled out of your starring trance by his loud voice cutting through the song's lyrics: "Lenny, mah boy! Come and sing with us."

"Arthur... You had too many drinks again..." Lenny answered with an amused giggle as he was passing behind him, catching his inebriated eldest as he had got up to greet him, but ended up stumbling on the way and almost tripped on him, it only made Arthur laugh at himself.

There was no need to specify that Lenny had trouble holding him upright, Arthur being under normal circumstances quite a weight to carry, and even more so when he was in such a state not making any effort to prevent his face from kissing the ground. Quickly, you got up yourself, and took a few steps towards the men, helping Lenny on his difficult task.

"Look who it is... Miss Y/L/N !" Arthur greeted you with foggy eyes and a wide grin as if you two hadn't seen each other for years when you had talked only a few hours ago. He instantly put one of his arms above your shoulders and the other around Lenny's. "C-come ooon, let's dance !"

Lenny sighed before laughing a bit, letting Arthur bring him into his drunken enthusiasm; you chuckled along with him, not complaining about being so close to the handsome cowboy you had your heart and eye on for a while, even if he was barely able to register what he was actually doing and with whom. As Javier started playing a lively song, Arthur, Lenny and you were throwing your legs up in the air; you laughed some more noticing how your favorite cowboy had a hard time actually following the rhythm. You couldn't believe just how euphoric he was tonight, almost as if the bottles had turned on a switch in his mind, making him go completely wild without any of his usual gruff restraints. Maybe that was what the alcohol did to everyone. Maybe that was what it was doing to you right now but you couldn't be sure if it was, precisely because you were happily drunk and carefree.

The night continued and you blushed realizing Arthur hadn't let you go, his arms always ended up around your shoulders or on it as he was sometimes leaning against you. His manly scent, a sweet mix of smoky tones brought by tobacco and gunpowder, and woody ones, supported by pine and leather traces. Your head was starting to feel dizzy just by smelling it, your mind even more intoxicated by it than the alcohol you had been drinking all night.

"Maybe..."

You brush away your thoughts, he was really drunk, and he could have been like that with anyone. You spent the rest of the night having fun, drinking some more, laughing, singing, the whole gang having more and more fun as everyone had loosened up thanks to the booze. However at some point, the main man of the party, Sean, disappeared with Karen, and people started going to bed. After all, it was almost morning already, the stars of the night not as bright anymore as they were around the middle of the night, subtle sun rays making their presence known behind the outlines of the mountains, but not appearing just yet.

It was now only you, John, and Arthur left around the campfire, the dark-haired man looking down at his brother at heart, an amused grin on his face. Arthur was half asleep at you and John's feet, bottle in one hand, his other arm curled up around your leg. With all the proximity and physical contact he had given you through the whole night, your heart and body had gotten warmer, and you had to make enormous efforts to keep your thoughts in line, not wanting to have any false hope about him and his behavior.

"He's so goddamn drunk... " John sighed.

"Clearly."

"Come on, let's carry him to bed." John said to you, getting up with difficulty from the log you both were sitting on.

"Aah, you guys are no f-fun!" Arthur protested, his voice even hoarser than usual due to his intoxicated self. "Come on, one more drink!"

"Nope, you're going to bed." John's own croaky tone answered his partner. He then looked at you while bending down, expecting you to help him lift Arthur's poor body.

You leaned over, helping John. Arthur was barely able to walk, leaning heavily on you and John, one of his arms above John's shoulder just as earlier with Lenny, but his other one around your waist. Your cheeks burned. Even if it was just drunken attention... You liked it.

The three of you started to walk to Arthur's tent, as fast as you could considering his feet were more brushing the ground than actually stepping on it. You just weren't capable of having any coherent thoughts at this point, your whole being living for the warm sensation of his big palm on your waist, feeling how his fingers were gently rubbing against your clothes.

"You two... Are the b-best..." Arthur slurred out in a rough voice when you had reached his tent. As gently as you both could, John and you were trying to lay him in his cot.

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Arthur." John answered with an amused chuckle, placing one of his legs in its rightful place on his bed.

"Y/N, you're beautiful..." Arthur added in an almost unintelligible rumble, as you were pulling back from him. "I l-love you."

Your jaw dropped. What did he say? Did you hear that right? You froze, eyes glued to the outlaw, who was already turning around to sleep on his stomach, lips parted, a light snore emerging from his noose; he had instantly fallen asleep as if he had permission to now that he was in his cot.

John looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't take it seriously, Y/N." He advised you. "He already told that to Abigail and Karen before, even Saddie if I reckon right."

"Oh, erm... Alright, I won't." You answered your friend. Honestly, you probably would have slept better not knowing that; a sharp little sliver of disappointment subtly piercing through your heart. "Goodnight then, John."

"Goodnight, Y/N, thanks for the help." The scarred man greeted you before heading to his own tent. It was so late, you were sure Abigail would reprimand him for that tomorrow morning.

But that was John's problem, and you already had one yourself.

You took a last look at your sleepy cowboy before walking off to your own tent. He looked cute like this, hair messy, clothes completely disheveled; even his snoring was pretty endearing to you. You reluctantly turned your back to him, resisting the urge to actually lay with him in his cot. After all, he wouldn't have complained, wouldn't he? He probably wouldn't even have noticed... These thoughts got stuck in your brain as you lay in your own cot, pretty tired yourself after partying all night, your spirit slowly drifting away in the realm of dreams, sleep troubled by blurry visions of what had happened during the night, a beautiful, charming, stupid smile keeping on reappearing from time to time in your slumber.

Arthur opened his eyes. "It hurts"; were the first words that came to his mind. His back, his neck, his goddamn head, everything was hurting him. Getting old was definitely not a piece of cake. He rubbed his eyes, which felt dry and burnt, just like his thorny throat, even if a slight string of saliva had slid from his mouth. Getting that drunk was definitely too frequent for him lately, the other night with Lenny still engraved in his memory and his tired body, fed up with his poor drinking decisions. He slowly got up, rubbing his face, carefully avoiding his gaze from looking at the sun, its light way too powerful for him in this hungover state.

Looking around the camp, he smiled internally seeing Karen emerging from Sean's tent. Little bastard had gotten himself a good time last night. While thinking back about what happened, he had a hard time remembering all of it, as often when he was that drunk. Maybe it was better that way, considering his impressive capacity to get in trouble and make a fool of himself in those kinds of situations. However this time, something was lingering in the back of his mind.

You.

Your delicate smell, how the soft fabric of your clothes felt under his fingers, how your voice sounded into his ears, how smooth and mellow your leg was. How the hell did he knew about all that? He focused, frowning, trying so hard to remember what had happened, but all he had was these sensations, those pleasant, haunting sensations. He couldn't help but feel flustered all by himself, sat on his bed, cheeks getting slightly flushed, just imagining the reasons why he suddenly knew so much about the grain of your skin and the warmth of your body against his;

He prayed deeply he didn't do anything stupid with you; Lord knows how important you were to him. Hell, he had thought about you a lot already, thought about offering you flowers or maybe a nice jewel, something that would be as pretty as you even if to him, no physical object could ever compete with your astonishing beauty and your adorable, sweet, sunny personality.

But before all that, he needed to have a few words about last night with you. Probably would stumble on his words, look like an idiot again, but at least he would be able to be close to you, just like in those sweet lingering memories in his head.

Sequel here.

a/n : Alright so... Here it is! My first one-shot ever. Please, if you notice anything, any mistakes, or a weird-sounding sentence: let me know! English isn't my first language and I'm actually anxious as hell to publish this! Anyway, thanks for reading this until the end and take care <3

[too-deviant]

jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist.

summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

paring: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4k

content: luke is still a moody teenager, reader is still the fly he cant get rid of. does he really want to, though?

notes: these first two parts feel very introductory but it gets juicy as we dive a little further in the next parts hehe. also who do we think readers godly parent is?

PART II — and lord, she found me just in time 

For a hotshot lawyer, your mom couldn’t lie for the life of her. Every time you brought it up, she’d always quip that she didn’t need to be a good liar to be a good lawyer, since all new evidence is legally required to be disclosed to both parties before they are presented in court. Therefore, there is no lying, only brief twisting of the truth. She was good at that — clearly. 

“You said you didn’t want me to leave you!” 

The wooden floor of Chiron’s office wasn’t the most comfortable of lounging places, but you’d accidentally kicked the radiator after tripping over a horseshoe and Mr. D — who had escorted you there when you’d asked about speaking to your mom — had just sighed and told you to use the mist currently spraying from it as a form of communication. The whole Iris Message thing was still unusual to you, but at the same time, you’d tripped over a horseshoe because the owner of the office was half-horse. Does it get weirder than that? Probably not. 

You leaned back on your haunches, disbelief written all over your face at the scene you…walked in on? Called in on? Iris Messaged in on? Whatever — you were more worried about what you were looking at than the right terminology to describe it. 

“Oh — sweetie!” Your mom was quick to hop down from the kitchen counter, pushing the man who had been standing between her legs away from her so forcefully he fell back into the living room. 

“What was that?” You heard him ask from afar. Your mom chuckled, buttoning up her blouse. 

“The answering machine.” She excused, “I completely forgot I was supposed to call back my daughter. Would you give me a minute?”

The man agreed with a huff and your mom pushed the kitchen door closed with a click before looking at you, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms, “I didn’t. I sure do now!”

“I’ve been gone for, like, two days!” You exclaimed, “And you’re already inviting your boyfriend over? How old are you?”

“Oh, let it go.” The woman chastised, shaking her head and attempting to push down her amused smile. “I was bored.”

“Bored.” You chuckled, “Of course.”

“But I miss you.” She said then, smiling sweetly and leaning her hip on the island, “How’s camp?”

“It’s great.” You grinned, “The people are great, the food is great. Turns out, I am super with a spear.”

“A spear, huh?” Your mom nodded, “No surprise there, you’ve got a hell of an arm.”

You hummed excitedly, the previous event long forgotten as you filled her in on your first few days at camp, “One of my friends in cabin nine offered to make me a personal one.” Your mom furrowed her brows, “Children of Hephaestus. Blacksmith guy.”

“Right.” She nodded with a click of her tongue. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” You smirked cheekily, ignoring the scoff and evil look she sent you in response. 

“Alright. I best go.” She interrupted just as you went to make another comment about her guest, “I will see you at the end of summer. Okay?” 

“Okay. Love you.” 

Truthfully, you were happy to spend the rest of the day talking to your mom — it was so hot that morning that you’d thought about sacrificing your breakfast to Apollo in hopes that he’d ease up a little. You decided against it and just sent your prayers to each of them in general, hoping maybe your dad could fess up to actually being your dad. 

Clarisse had suspected you would soon join her in the Ares Cabin — something about your skills with a spear and the swift right hook you sent Chris when he made one too many comments on your form during your training session with her. You weren’t even sure why he’d been there, but you could probably fathom a guess if you judged by the looks he sent her whenever she wasn’t looking. 

After the exciting discovery that yes, you were good at something, Mr. D had come by to say you could either call your mom now or never. You chose the former option, obviously, and you only regretted it slightly as you heaved yourself up from the ground — already missing the sound of her voice. 

You didn’t let it linger, instead you pushed the creaky door of the Big House open as gently as you could, even though it still swung back against the wall, and nodded at the pair sitting on the porch, currently in a heated card game you couldn’t recognise. They didn’t look at you for long, Chiron muttering something about meeting the Demeter kids by the fields to test your gardening skills before putting down a card that made Mr. D grumble in his seat. 

You were trudging through the grass, huffing when the longer bits tickled your legs and made you go all itchy, when you spotted a body sat by the hearth in the horseshoe of cabins. You lit up, changing course and jogging over to them, “JoJo!”

Luke looked up at you, frowning, “What?”

His curls fell over his eyes and he shook them away, only to squint at the sun that shone into them. You sidestepped, your shadow proving ample shade so he could focus on you, and you stammered a bit when his face fell into focus. He was pretty. 

You let out a breathless chuckle, folding your arms, “From Horton Hears a Who.” He shows no signs of recognition, “You’ve never seen it?” Again, his face did little to answer you, so you shrugged, “Whatever. I’ll get an answer out of you one day, I’m sure. We’ve made steady progress.”

“Have we?” He hummed, picking at the worn sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Of course we have, ya’ nutmegger.” You quipped with a short chuckle, grinning when his eyes snapped back to yours. 

“You still haven’t told me where you’re from.” 

You tutted, “Where’s the fun in that? You gotta find out.”

He huffed, “Whatever.”

Since his outburst about New England the day before, Luke had done a considerable job at avoiding you. Well, you didn’t think he was doing it on purpose — he just wasn’t obligated to spend time with you anymore now that you were cleared to roam camp on your own. You’d seen him at breakfast, perched silently on the end of the bench and staring sadly at his soggy oatmeal, but then Clarisse had whisked you off to the training fields with Chris hot on her tail and you hadn’t seen him since. 

You weren’t completely sure why you were so determined to break his shell. Maybe it was because you knew he never used to be this way — that underneath the deep frowns and annoyed huffs, was a happy boy who would spend days in the sun with his teeth bared in a wide grin — and you yearned to get a peek of who Luke Castellan used to be. To bear your eyes on the side of him he kept away and to find out why he did so, to understand him on a level deeper than anyone around you did, or even deeper than you understood yourself. 

Or maybe because he’s hot. 

Either way, you weren’t letting him slide away that easily. No sir. You straightened your back, “Going to the gardens.” 

No reply, as usual. 

A huff, “Mind walking me? I don’t wanna get lost.”

He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and standing, “Fine.”

You grinned then, wide and sunny, “Great.”

You knew where the gardens were — hell, you could see them from where you stood, the two teenage sons of Dionysus chasing each other with sticks while the Demeter kids scowled at them. But you were new, and Luke was ‘the guy’ for all the new campers, so really he wasn’t allowed to say no. 

You were desperate to know more about him; his favourite sport, movie, colour. Anything irrelevant that you could see in public and think: Luke. You just didn’t know where to start — he could shut down at any given moment, so which question was more fitting to ask before he built up his walls and fucked off? 

You settled for something easy — something subtle that wouldn’t hint towards you asking about him. An easy question that any reasonable tour guide would have to answer. 

“So, do you guys host any…mortal activities?” Looking up at him in question, brows raised as he once again made no indication that he’d even heard you speak. 

But he had, “Not usually. Sometimes on weekends we’ll play volleyball on the beach, and I think Lee Fletcher has a soccer ball he kicks around but…” He shrugged, “No. Not really.”

You hummed, “You said we. Do you play volleyball?”

Nice one. 

Luke stiffened a little, sort of appalled that you’d swerved the question on him so easily, but he answered with a grumble, “Not anymore.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, “Grew out of it.”

“Huh.” You said then, facing forward with a nod and continuing your trek through the long grass, occasionally reaching down to scratch your calves, “I don’t think I’ll ever grow out of baseball.”

Come on, Castellan, take the bait. 

“Baseball?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, a little too excitedly for it to be a simple answer to a simple question. You lowered your volume and gave a more collected nod, “Yeah. Yes. I’ve played since I was old enough…little league.” You let out a weak chuckle, suddenly shy about the subject. 

Luke nodded at you, “First base?”

“Left field.” You corrected with a proud smile, “I got legs.”

“Oh.” He replied, a little caught off guard at that. Although, he was also caught off guard when you said you played baseball. 

You were debating whether or not to press when a gangly blonde boy with dark purple eyes jogged up to you and held out a wicker basket, “You’re the new kid right?” He didn’t wait for an answer before thrusting the basket to your chest, “I’m Pollux. We’re picking strawberries, c’mon, I’ll show you the best way to get ‘em.”

You weren’t sure there was a specific tactic to picking strawberries, but you stepped to follow him anyway. Turning your head to send a thankful smile to Luke for walking you down, you spotted him looking between you and Pollux with furrowed brows — then he noticed your stare and swallowed, nodding, “Uh, see you later.”

“Bye.” You replied, slightly starstruck. He walked off, but he did it slowly as if he was unsure of where to go next. You were positive he had somewhere to be — big shot counsellor and all — but as you stood, one foot in front of the other, face turned back to watch him go, he seemed to stutter in his steps at the top of the hill, deciding where to turn. His beaten converse led him west, and Pollux yelled you out of your stupor so you could help him and his brother pick strawberries. 

As suspected, your strawberry-picking skills were pretty much the same as everyone else’s — really, how can one person be any better at picking strawberries than another? It’s a very simple task. Either way, Castor and Pollux didn’t envision you as their long lost sister, and the Demeter kids apparently couldn’t smell it on you that you were one of them, whatever that meant, so you were back to your search for daddy dearest — at this point, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to find out anymore. All this hassle and for what? It’s not as if he was going to attend the daddy-daughter dance with you, no matter which god he might be. 

“So, do you, like, know Luke or something?” 

Henry Furstatt was a Demeter kid a couple of years younger than you, who had been set the task of walking you to the lake where you would rejoin the Hermes cabin on their canoe lesson. He wasn’t very talkative until you’d put some distance between yourselves and the strawberry fields, where he posed his question. 

You glanced at him with a thoughtful frown, “I mean, he’s been showing me around the past couple days, so…I guess —“

“I meant like,” He swallowed, waving his hands around, “from before. Did you know each other before you came to camp?”

“Oh.” You responded, tucking a loose hair that had fallen in front of your face away, “No. Why’d you think that?”

Henry shrugged, his loose-fitting camp shirt doing wonders to hide the movements, “Dunno. He just hasn’t talked to many people since he got back from his quest…but he’s talking to you.”

“Well.” You were suddenly a little sheepish — were you pushing Luke too much? Was your constant questioning making him uncomfortable? You were only on a mission to find out more about him because he interested you, but did you interest him, or was he ready to boot you as far as you’d fly? “He has to, doesn’t he? He’s still a counsellor, even if he does hate everyone here.” 

“True.” He settled with a nod, fiddling with a daisy he’d picked while you were walking. 

You breathed a content sigh when you finally stepped out of the grass — the summer blooming made it slightly unbearable to walk through, tickling at your legs the whole afternoon. The beating sun didn’t make you feel any nicer, but you just wafted your shirt a little as you walked past the Hermes cabin and towards the dock. 

Camp was always noisy; something you’d grown accustomed to the longer you stayed there. You never really noticed it until you were alone, but the chatter of the kids filled the air the whole day and only really faded out when they all went to sleep. It was slightly unnerving to sit in the silence, and the loud murmurs often comforted you — made you feel less suffocated as the new kid. Less eyes on you, the better. 

You were so used to the noise, in fact, that you almost completely brushed past the argument that was brewing outside the Ares cabin just a few metres away. Fortunately, Henry spotted the commotion, and pulled you to a halt in favour of staring at the ever-growing crowd. 

You followed his eyeline and spotted a burly looking boy with black hair — when he moved his head and the sun hit the right spots, you could see dark red highlights swimming in his locks. You thought that was a little bit much, but you forfeited commenting on it considering the giant machaira that hung on his back. 

The boy in question was sneering at someone in front of him, but the corners of his mouth were perked up in an amused smile that made you think he wasn’t angry yet, but he sure was getting there. You couldn’t see who he was talking to, but as Henry ventured closer, you were forced to follow and eventually his words reached your ears. 

“—big shot golden boy finally got himself a quest and doesn’t fancy sharing the details.” He laughed, deep and low in his throat. 

Henry patted someone on the shoulder, and they stepped aside to let him into the circle. You stayed behind him, watching over his head and finally checking out the opponent. Your eyes stopped on the familiar figure, and his familiar curls that hung over his eyes — eyes that were glaring daggers in the Ares kid’s direction, casting shadows over his cheekbones and making his scar look a little menacing. 

The boy continued after Luke showed no signs of replying, “We get it, Castellan. You failed, but that doesn’t mean you get to gatekeep the whole thing.”

“Dean, man.” You finally noticed Chris, standing off to the side of Luke and glancing at his brother in apprehension at the boy's words. “Back off.” 

Dean just snorted, “Don’t defend him, Rodriguez. We let him mope, now it’s time for him to spill the beans.” He took a step closer to Luke, “What happened on your quest?” 

You had only known Luke for two days. You weren’t sure if he was the type to fly off the handle, swing before reasoning, but you suddenly became aware that neither did anyone else. Sure, these people had known him for years — but you’d heard it from enough people to know that he was a different person these days. After his quest a couple of weeks ago, people had been walking on eggshells around the boy. Maybe a month ago, he would’ve calmly walked away and let Dean simmer in his anger. But now? Nobody could be sure, but judging by the look in his eyes, darkening by the second, you might be able to fathom a guess as to what he’s going to do with his hands now that they were rolled into fists. 

“I mean, is this about glory? Because you won’t exactly be sharing it — ya’ can’t share what you don’t have.”  Dean let out a chortle at his own joke, looking between his friends around him and grinning with them. 

Luke stepped forward. And — you couldn’t blame anyone, really. After that last comment, you were all expecting fists to be swung. It was only reasonable. Maybe the old Luke wouldn’t have done it, but this new Luke was looking increasingly more angry at the world as the days went by, so when he took one measly step forward, the crowd around him let out a collective woah! and put their hands out to stop him from lunging. Including yourself. 

Only he wasn’t about to punch Dean. His hand stayed dormant at his side, the only clear movement was the single step closer he’d taken to match the one the Ares boy had made earlier. He was only really stepping forward so his next words would hit harder — that’s all it was, words. They died on his lips when he realised the implications of his actions, looking between the outstretched arms and tense faces. 

He looked at Dean, “We can discuss quests when you get your own.” 

Then he walked off, past the crowd that didn’t bother stopping him. Looking around, you saw the looks on their faces — shame, from assuming Luke would evoke such violence off the sparring mat. You definitely felt it, but you didn’t stick around long enough to confirm that with anyone else. Instead, you left Chris to berate Dean in place of the head counsellor and followed the boy in question as he huffed up the hill towards the edge of the woods. 

“Hey!” You said, breathless (you were not an uphill climber). “Hey, Luke!”

He hesitated in his steps like he did earlier, but he didn’t turn around. His head twitched a little, like he wanted to look but was holding himself back, but you simply rounded him until you were face to face. The anger had long since dissolved from his expression, replaced with soft confusion. 

“Hi.” You huffed, still recovering from that incline, “Are you okay? That guy’s a dick.”

“I know.” He replied, short as usual. 

You licked your lips, still catching your breath, and nodded. He remained silent, looking around you like he was just waiting for you to leave. You decided to take the hint, muttering lowly, “Okay, sorry for bothering you.” 

But his hand reached out, circling your wrist just as you passed him. You looked at Luke, raising your eyebrows, watching as he stammered on his words, “I, uh, you aren’t bothering me. I just…”

He let go of you and you stepped back to your precious spot. Behind him, the crowd had dissipated, Dean long gone. Chris remained, staring up at the pair of you on top of the hill. You couldn’t pinpoint his expression, but he seemed to hesitate before turning his back. You looked up at Luke. 

“Why did you…come after me?” 

You scoffed a laugh, “What? Anyone would’ve, it’s like…common decency.”

He twisted his expression, looking amused and devastated all at the same time, “But they didn’t.” 

He was right; before you’d set off up the hill, everyone had just been watching him walk off. It seemed a little out of character, but then again, you didn’t know these people as well as you thought. Luke let out a sad chuckle, shaking his head, “Everyone’s sorta given up on me now that I’m…”

“Moody and depressed?” You finished, raising a single brow. You smiled at him, and it lifted into a grin when he smiled back, albeit only slightly. But you’d take it. “I just think that they’re a little unsure.”

“They’re scared, is what they are.” He said firmly, staring at the ground in mirth, “Their precious golden boy won’t clean up all of their messes anymore and they’re scared that they’ll have to start looking after themselves.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” You said, even if you didn’t believe it. How could you? You didn’t know these people, Luke did. “They’re just worried about you.” 

He scoffed, finally moving his head up and meeting your eyes. He went to say something, presumably another quip about the campers, but stopped himself. Backtracked. Instead he said, “Aren’t you angry that you haven’t been claimed yet?”

That was a deep question. You sat on it for a couple of seconds, reeling at the sudden shift of conversation, until you finally let out a low puff of air and shrugged, “I don’t really know how I feel. Why? Should I be?” 

“This camp, it’s —“ He huffed, “It helps you, sure. But it also forces you to…mould yourself into the perfect kid for — for a parent who doesn’t care enough to watch you grow up. Help you live, use their divine powers when a dragon is clawing your fucking face off!” 

He’d stepped closer to you, unknowingly, that final shout making you wince a little at the volume. He stopped then, evening his breaths and stepping back with an apologetic expression. You brushed it off. 

“A dragon clawed your face off?” 

“Yeah.” He chuckled weakly, “Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.” 

You smiled at him, shamefully admiring his face. Now that he wasn’t glaring in anger, and his face was more relaxed, you could see the whites of his eyes. His lashes, unreasonably long, and his lips that were so plush you were close to asking him if he took a trip to see Dr Miami while he was on his quest. 

“Gods.” You murmured under your breath, “You’re so pretty it sorta pisses me off.” 

Luke laughed then — a genuine chortle that shook his chest and made passers by glance in his direction. His grin was uncharacteristically wide and for a second, a brief moment, you saw it. Luke Castellan, the one everyone looks up to. The one they turn to in times of peril, the one they giggle and gossip about under the shade of the fir trees. 

Then you knew your answer to Luke’s question. No — you weren’t angry that you hadn’t been claimed. In fact, you didn’t think you’d care even if you were so long as he was smiling at you like that. 

He calmed down, catching his breath, his face relaxing back into that cool expression he’s always got on. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you were sure he looked a little less tense than before. He nodded, waving a hand, “Alright, Sunny. Let’s go canoeing.” 

“Sunny?” You asked, walking alongside him. 

He clicked his tongue, glancing down at you, “If Apollo won’t claim you as a child of the sun, then I will.” 

“Alright.” You smiled softly, looking forward so he wouldn’t see it and run off. You picked at your nails, “So long as I can call you JoJo.” 

“Let’s watch that silly movie it’s from and I’ll decide if you can call me that.”

“Deal.”

🏷️ @katherines-imagines @lovingjasontoddmakemewanttocry @jennapancake @cobaltskiez @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @m00ng4z3r @mischiefmoons (comment to be added/removed!)

[brujahinaskirt]

WAIT A SEC. I want to cut some credit to player drunkenness in rdr2 and how it works as a vehicle to reveal something about the main character of this story.

Usually drunkenness in games is played off for cheap laughs, and there are plenty of slapsticky drunken antics in rdr2 (LENNAY). But happy-drunk Arthur gives SO MUCH INSIGHT into his real personality, too -- even when he's being a giggling, property-damaging, cancan-dancing terror. When he's drunk, he forgets a little of his mean bastard enforcer mask, the primary role he must play in the gang, and his loving nature becomes laughably obvious.

[spoilers under the cut]

From his sudden determination to teach Jack mathematics to his declared affection for Hosea; from his worrying about Susan getting a break to his insistence that newer gang members are "one of us now"; from his innocuous little compliments tossed around thoughtlessly ("Mary-Beth! Sweetest outlaw in the West! Javier! Best-dressed outlaw in the West!") to his more genuine praise for Abigail's inherent goodness, drunk Arthur is a fuzzy but honest look at a truer Arthur, one who is not thinking about the part he must play in a criminal outfit. Strip that awareness of his station away, even if just for a while, and we wind up with an Arthur who is surprisingly fun-loving, sometimes downright silly, and who lives to fuss over and dote on the people around him.

My favorite moment, perhaps, is a tipsy interaction with Sadie in Horseshoe Overlook during Sean's welcome home party. Arthur meanders over to her, this woman who is not a gang member or a close friend at the time, but simply a grieving widow he doesn't know very well. And he and asks, loudly: "MISSUS ADLER. DO YOU NEED ANYTHING MISSUS ADLER. DO YOU WANNA DANCE WITH ME MISSUS ADLER."

And she just sounds so tickled when she says no thanks to this goofy-drunk gunslinger. And I think maybe, just maybe, watching big bad gang lieutenant Arthur slamming a couple bottles of whiskey and so transparently doting on everyone gave her some of the first laughter at the world she had in what must feel like a very long time.

In Chapter 6, Arthur can again approach Sadie while drunk, and he encourage her to smile. Sadie hisses you're drunk; no woman likes being told this, and on the surface, this seems like a proper Antagonize line. But then Arthur -- who knows he is dying -- says, blearily, to this friend he met at her lowest point of grief and who seems to be in danger of plunging even lower in rage, "I just want you to be happy."

Drunkenness is not a liquid clarifier. Often times, alcohol garbles and distorts a person's personality. But with a character like Arthur, whose heart is so poorly matched with his 20-year lot in life, drunk-writing becomes a powerful tool. It's a quick, non-transformative way to believably peel off the snarl he wears around for a while (without him knowing it), letting players access an easy, silly, soft interior that sober Arthur is much more guarded about showing the gang.

[snowmeow03]

I suddenly realized that as a pegasister, I have never formally drawn ponyplates (hoofplates??) in my way, so suddenly (literally 3am in my time zone) I wanna give it a shot.

I thought about Gaster's cutting, and in theory, since he's not a skeleton anymore, shearing his fur is obviously the best choice. But I feel that it doesn't capture the vibe of him “ripping apart his own body", so in the end, I chose to let him cut his horn. Hmm, maybe the body part full of magic is a must to create baby ponies.

Theoretically speaking, it's more reasonable for both of the brothers to be unicorns, but when I pictured Papyrus, I see him more as a pegasus. Well perhaps there're some pegasus in pony Gaster's family tree. But there's kind of a problem that Pegasus can already fly, how can I show the "special" of Papyrus? So, like, why not make Papyrus only have one wing! Perhaps another one was chopped off by Gaster to prevent him from escaping or something. Sans, I really can't imagine any way to disguise his blind eyes as well as showing his unique eye sockets, I mean, since he's not a skeleton anymore (again). In the end, I chose the latter between fidelity to the character and making sense, although this made them a bit less recognizable (sadly)

I hesitated for a long time about the cutie mark. Gaster’s was more straightforward, I needed to came up with something that is related to science but can also reflect the fate of "doing experiments", so I settled on this thing (funny enough, I still don’t know what it’s called, even though it’s probably common knowledge...?). In fact, I also want to express an abstract concept of "recording", including recording the timeline, "recording" the changes in Dreemurrs' and the underground world, and "recording" Radic's actions? Unfortunately, I really can't find a way to reflect the fate of falling into the core on it! The cutie marks of the brothers is much more difficult because they do not have a very specific hobby/lifestyle (like science for Gaster) to represent themselves, which is complicate - if I have to pick, I think their representative items are scarves and socks (...!) - although Papyrus loves puzzles, using puzzles as cutie mark cannot reflect his most important principles and personality, and Sans is even more difficult to handle. In short, their representatives are very abstract, and I find it so hard to summarize their very selves with a single mark on their flank! At last I tried to consider after combining the characteristic of "brothers", positive and negative. I always feel that Gaster's red scarf represents his kind heart, inherited by Papyrus along with the scarf itself, so it naturally occupies a place in his mark (unlike socks to Sans, lol). Sans' mark is more abstract, those things can actually be seen as dissipating dust or as a part of lost head, representing, uh, some obvious things...I guess? I actually even considered using the shapes of the souls Gaster gave them, representing Gaster himself who plays a huge part in their lives, but well it's a little bit tragic if you think about that, their lives should be less of him (in the sense of experiments), so I didn't do that in the end.

I also considered about the clothes. Well...Different from monsters, ponies normally don't wear clothes, in this situation it'll be weird if Gaster specially made lab clothes for the brothers to wear, so I l just let them go naked. Once again, the recognizability has unfortunately decreased...! (also about Sans' clothes, I don't think ponies actually "need" pockets...right?)

Yeah and about the plates, I literally cannot figure out where the plates should go, Gaster was trying to make sure the brothers suffer as he wanted to cut ties with them (at least that's what I thought), so they can't be anything like horseshoes. Tags on the ears are great, but still a little bit off, and I can't think of any "plates" fits both settings of pony and handplates... So I ended up going with brand marks (actually I set this for Dreemurrs in alterplates as well). As for the placement? I think they shall be the lower half and it'll be too screwed up if they were on the cutie marks, so hind legs it is. I don't think ponies wear pants, so I made the brothers wear leggings.

btw I think the brothers got the cutie marks right after Sans yeeted Gaster into the core (welp)

[ellecdc]

The Drink Snob Series (indefinite hiatus) Keep Growing (bf Remus comforts you through a friend break-up) ⛅️ CBBH universe Remus x GN!Muggle Barista A Man With a Plan Series (temporary hiatus) Dating Remus Lupin Headcanons Remus x Latinx!reader Headcanons Dance with me? (gn!reader encourages Rem to dance with them) ☀️ Cuddle Invites (Rem doesn't want to share male!reader) 🌈 Surprise! We're Making Love (fem!reader, 7k words) 🌪, ⛅️, 🌶️ 🫧 -> not so surprising after all (S!WML epilogue)☀️🫧 you kissed me (fem!reader's first [& 2nd] kiss) ☀️ A Horseshoe for Luck (farrier!Remus x veterinarian!reader) ☀️ Sister's boys (Remus Lupin x Black!sister reader) ☀️ super blue moon blues (Black!sister + big brother Siri) ⛅️ the ruined apothecary (Remus runs into feisty!reader post Hogwarts) ☀️ 🫧 by smell alone (potter!metamorphmagus!reader) 🌈, ☀️ wants vs. needs (fem!reader is too sore for Remus tonight) ☀️, 🌶️, ⛅️ problematic presenting (alpha!remus x omega!reader a/b/o fic) ⛅️, ☀️ -> new to nesting (fem!reader buildsfirst nest, rem is besotted)☀️, ⛅️🫧 moony isn't housebroken (silly blurb re: incorrect werewolf ideologies) 🌈 problems in containing Potters (Remus feels possessive near a full moon) ☀️, 🌈 the worst part (x Black!sister reader post The Prank™) 🌪, ⛅️ 🫧 Remus' big break (photographer!remus x model!reader meet cute) ☀️ the beauty and her beast (couples costume blurb) 🎃 3:47 am (remus finds pregnant!reader in the kitchen) ☀️ all in (Black!sister tell's rem she's pregnant, he thinks it's impossible) ⛅️ remus is rotten company (but fem!reader loves him anyway)⛅️ you love storms (and roommate!remus loves you) ☀️🫧 you love yapping to Remus (and he loves listening, roommate!reader)☀️🫧

Remus isn't sure how you do it (whimsical!reader astounds him)❄️ it was self-defence (roommate!reader pilfers Remus' sweats)❄️ -> cuddling for warmth, that's all... (one-bed trope)❄️ go back to sleep (reader thought Remus was sleeping)❄️ personal space heater (Remus is just a warm jumper to fem!reader)❄️ Remus' 1st time (fem, afab!reader takes Remus' virginity)🌶️ Isla Moony (single mum!reader isn't as single a mum as she thought)☀️ -> The Sleepover (feelings are addressed, you and remus are undressed)☀️ 5/5 chilli peppers (professor's remus x reader were rated on rate my professor)🌈 charms & pranks (professor!remus x professor!reader both vie for the house cup)🌈

Hockey Remus off the clock (PT!Remus x team medic!reader hockey au) ☀️🫧 team's mom & dad (PT!remus x team medic!reader hockey blurb) 🌈 Legs-for-days Lupin (hockey player!rem x team medic!reader, suggestive)🌈🫧 -> it's worse! (the team finds about about Loops x medic!reader) ⛅️ -> the medic needs a medic (team medic!reader gets injured at a game) ⛅️ -> Lupin smiles? (hockey!remus gives reader baby fever with a young fan)☀️

find more remus in: poly!marauders poly!wolfstar poly!moonwater other ships