#scout and nimble

[harperandhudson]

[cq-studios]

Down by the bay

Where the Watermelon go

Back to my home

I dare not show

For if I do

The Masters will say-ay-ay

Have you ever seen a Nimble Bee wizzing around a tree

Down by the bay

[sallowsarchives]

Clash and Convergence

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: Tensions are running high as you continue to grapple with your conflicting emotions. However, with another job thrusting you both back into close proximity, could this new development be the key to easing the tension and mending the rift between you once more? Word Count: 8.2k  Warnings/Tags: no use of y/n, angst, gunfights, injury, canon-typical danger, dead bodies (nothing too graphic), not proofread!! A/N: Hey again! Alright so compared to the last chapter, I've taken some creative liberties and sort of deviated from the canon for this one, so I’m hoping this one turns out good. Also, no smut for this part but I promise it’s coming in the next chapter, which I hope to finish as soon as I can. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and feedback is always appreciated!

Read on AO3

A few weeks had passed since that night, yet despite the passage of time, the unspoken tension between you and Arthur remained. 

In the first few days after the party, you withdrew into yourself, steering clear of the usual banter and small talk. You went about your tasks with mechanical precision, your movements efficient but devoid of the usual liveliness.

The memory of the events that occurred lingered in the back of your mind, casting a shadow over your usual routines. Your tried to bury those thoughts, focusing on the small, manageable tasks that kept your hands busy and your mind occupied.

Lately, the days had been filled with nothing but the usual activities—scouting for potential heists, tending to horses, helping with chores, and maintaining the camp.

Arthur was rarely at the camp, often off on some job Dutch had given him. Some days, you'd catch him heading to his horse early in the morning, riding out to God knows where and wouldn’t return for a few days. When he did, he'd usually arrive with freshly caught game or extra cash to contribute.

On the days he was gone, the camp felt a little quieter, a little less tense. His absences were a small blessing, giving you the space needed to collect your thoughts and maintain the fragile peace between you both. During those times, you could almost pretend that things were as they once were.

But on the days he was present, you both made a concerted effort to avoid each other. Conversations were brief and strained, and any interaction was kept to a bare minimum.

He often busied himself with tasks around the camp—chopping wood, organizing supplies, and carrying hay bales to the horses as if they weighed nothing.

When he wasn’t working, he’d sit by the campfire, engaging in small conversations with the others or scribbling in his journal. On some days, he’d spend the entirety of his time hidden away in his room.

You, on the other hand, would retreat to the outskirts of the camp until Miss Grimshaw scolded you, at which point you'd bury yourself in tasks of your own, your demeanor just as distant. 

You found solace in the routine of chores, focusing on the small, manageable tasks that allowed you to avoid any unnecessary interaction with Arthur. 

You missed the days when you'd head into town with the girls or accompany some of the men for small jobs where you’d use your nimble fingers to good use. Blending into the bustling crowds, you’d quietly lift wallets and purses from unsuspecting townsfolk, finding a strange satisfaction in the simplicity and thrill of the task. 

But lately, with the Pinkertons breathing down the gang's necks even more, there hadn’t been much in the way of work. The lack of action only heightened the tension, making the days drag on with a restless energy that seemed to seep into every part of your life.

Before long, the unease between you and Arthur became palpable to those around you. The camp was abuzz with quiet speculation, though the mood remained outwardly unaffected.

Conversations with the others were tinged with curiosity as they noticed the stark shift from the usual lively banter to the strained silence that now characterized your interactions. 

The frequent arguments and sharp exchanges had given way to a stifling quiet, and it didn’t take long for the gang members to sense that something was off between you two. The change in dynamic was unusual and unsettling, prompting whispered conversations and knowing glances among the camp.

One evening, as you were helping Pearson with the supplies, you overheard Javier and Bill talking by the fire. 

“Have you noticed how quiet it’s been without those two at each other’s throats?” Bill said, shaking his head.

Javier nodded, glancing discreetly over at you. “Yeah, it’s strange. Almost miss the excitement.”

Lenny and Karen, who had joined the group, shared their own takes. 

“It’s strange,” Lenny said. “I mean, they’d always bicker and fight, but there was some kind of spark to it. Now, it’s just… cold. A whole lot of nothin’.”

“You’d think they’d have worked it out after gettin’ the chance to spend time together. But it’s like whatever went down just left a permanent chill between ’em,” Karen added.

Pearson, catching the conversation, gave you a look but said nothing. You simply shrugged and continued with your task, trying to ignore the growing weight of the situation.

Though the camp had noticed the shift between the two of you, no one had really confronted you about it—except for one person. 

Hosea, ever the keen observer, had picked up on the change in demeanor from you and Arthur during the ride back after the party. 

That night, as soon as you arrived at camp, you dismounted the coach before anyone even had a chance to offer a greeting and headed straight into the house without a word. 

The usual warmth of the campfire and the lively chatter that greeted the return of its members felt distant and muted to you, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions churning inside. 

Arthur had watched you storm off with a mix of frustration and concern, feeling a pang of guilt but too wrapped up in his own stubborn pride to approach you. His internal conflict was evident, as he struggled with his own emotions while grappling with the distance growing between you both. 

The weight of his own pride and the fear of further complicating things kept him from reaching out. He knew he was part of the issue, yet he couldn’t bring himself to make things right, leaving him brooding by the fire long after you had disappeared into the house.

Hosea didn’t miss the tension in the air as you left abruptly or the way Arthur’s mood had darkened. He watched Arthur’s restless movements, the firelight dancing over his face and revealing a rare glimpse of vulnerability and frustration. The usual calm and quiet confidence Arthur exuded was replaced by visible agitation, a stark contrast to the man Hosea had come to know.

At first, Hosea hadn’t thought much of it, assuming it was just another round of the aftermath from the usual quips and disagreements between you and Arthur. But as weeks went by and the tension persisted, he began to sense that something deeper was at play.

Fast forward to now, as you were engrossed in cleaning a rifle— which Hosea had actually gifted you after witnessing your impressive marksmanship on a hunt you had accompanied him on—you caught sight of him approaching out of the corner of your eye. 

"Mind if I join you?" he asked gently, settling himself on a nearby log. His tone was casual but his eyes held a deep concern. "I've been meaning to check in, see how you're doin' after the party."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without betraying the turmoil inside. Hosea sat down beside you, watching as you continued to clean the rifle, the rhythmic motion of your hands almost mechanical.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice soft and careful. "I, uh, noticed you’ve seemed a bit... off since that night. You've been keepin' to yourself more, and there's not as much of that fiery spirit you usually show. I don't mean to pry, but, well, I reckon somethin' happened, didn't it?"

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no judgment in his eyes, only an open, sympathetic understanding. Sighing, you tried to find the right words. 

“Arthur and I just had a… disagreement. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

“Disagreements are one thing, but this feels different,” Hosea said, his voice carrying a hint of concern. “I’ve seen you two go at it before, but there’s a coldness now that wasn’t there before. Something’s weighing heavy on both of you. You want to talk about it?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Hosea. Just a rough patch, like always.”

Hosea’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t push further. 

“Alright. Just don’t let it fester. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

You nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Thanks, Hosea. I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Just need to keep busy.”

With that, you turned your attention back to the rifle, the rhythmic motion of your cleaning a soothing distraction from the thoughts clouding your mind. Hosea left you to your task, though his concerned gaze lingered a moment longer before he walked away, leaving you with your uneasy thoughts.

You knew his concern was genuine, but you were determined to keep things at a distance and focus on moving forward, despite the emotional undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.

You took a deep breath, letting the familiarity of the rifle and the routine of your task provide a semblance of control amid the chaos of your feelings.

Later that evening, as the campfire crackled and cast flickering shadows around the camp, you sat with Abigail, the two of you enjoying a rare moment of light conversation.

The warmth of the fire was a welcome contrast to the chill in the night air, and Javier’s gentle guitar strumming in the background added a soothing ambiance to the evening, offering a brief respite from the weight of your thoughts.

As you and Abigail chatted, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, the quiet rustling of footsteps and the gentle clearing of a throat drew your attention. Turning around, you saw Arthur standing there, his expression guarded yet earnest.

Arthur had arrived at camp some time in the afternoon, his presence marked by the familiar rhythm of his horse’s hooves and the clink of his spurs as he carried in another fresh load of game. His arrival had been met with the usual nods and grunts of acknowledgment, but he had kept to himself since then.

Arthur’s presence seemed to amplify the quiet of the evening, his stance betraying an unease that matched the tension between you two. The firelight cast shifting shadows on his face, revealing the weariness and frustration etched into his features. 

“Evenin’,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “Uh, Dutch needs to talk to us both.”

Arthur shifted his weight, his gaze flickering to the side before meeting yours again. “He uh… said he wanted to talk to us about something,” he added, his tone attempting to be casual but betraying a hint of the underlying strain.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself against the rising unease about what Dutch might need to discuss. Abigail, noticing the awkwardness in Arthur’s demeanor, chose not to comment. Instead, she offered a sympathetic smile and stood up, her gesture a small comfort in the tense moment.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” she said softly, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat before heading off to give you and Arthur some space.

As you watched her walk away, you felt a brief flicker of gratitude for her understanding. You turned back to Arthur, who was still standing silently, his gaze shifting uncomfortably, before making your way towards Dutch’s quarters. 

Arthur’s footsteps were heavy behind you, his usual easy stride replaced by a more deliberate, uncertain pace. He cleared his throat, as if to break the silence, but no words came.

The crackling of the campfire and the soft murmur of distant conversations slowly faded, leaving only the sound of the wooden floorboards creaking under your steps as you both made your way inside the house and up the stairs.

You raised your hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing louder than you expected. After a moment, Dutch’s voice called out from inside, inviting you both in. With a deep breath, you turned the handle and stepped into the room, ready to face whatever Dutch had to say.

Upon entering, you found Dutch and Hosea on the terrace, engaged in a low conversation. The evening light cast a warm glow over them, adding a sense of calm to the otherwise tense atmosphere. Dutch looked up as you approached, a smile etching onto his face.

"Ah, there you are, come on out, we’ve got some things to discuss."

Hosea gave you a nod of acknowledgment, his expression one of quiet understanding. 

Dutch gestured for you and Arthur to join them at a small table set up with a few maps. 

“I wanted to go over a few things with you both,” Dutch said, his tone casual but authoritative. “Hosea and I have been discussin’ a plan, might just be what we need to get away from here and finally throw the Pinkertons off our scent for good.”

Hosea turned to you, adding to Dutch’s explanation. “There’s another job, particularly concerning the stagecoach details you picked up from the party, actually. You know, the one rumored to be packed with jewels and cash. We’ve gotten word that it’ll be rollin’ through just north of Lemoyne, somewhere in New Hanover, tomorrow.”

You felt a jolt of realization as Hosea’s words hit you. The mention of the stagecoach, packed with jewels and cash, immediately brought back the details you’d nearly forgotten in the whirlwind of recent events. 

Your mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information you’d gathered during the party. This was the opportunity that could turn everything around, but it also meant diving right back into the chaos. You could sense the weight of the mission ahead, the stakes higher than ever.

You nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of the situation. “Alright, so what’s the plan?” you asked, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the whirlwind of emotions.

Hosea glanced at Dutch, who took over the explanation. “We’ve got a basic outline. We reckon the stagecoach will be guarded, so you’ll need to stay sharp. Essentially, your task is to take out the guards and haul that coach right back here for safekeeping,” he said, pointing to a spot on the map.

Arthur leaned in, his expression serious. “Sounds like a plan. Who else is comin’ with us?”

Dutch and Hosea exchanged a glance, then Dutch answered, “It’ll just be the two of you. We’re countin’ on you to get it done.”

You blinked, eyes widening as you begin to feel a surge of frustration. “Wait, what? You can’t be serious,” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur's eyes widened slightly, his unease becoming more evident. “Just the two of us?” he repeated, trying to mask his discomfort with a gruff tone. He looked between Dutch and Hosea, clearly taken aback by the lack of backup.

Dutch looked momentarily taken aback by your reactions, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s the problem?” he asked, clearly oblivious to the underlying tension between you and Arthur. “I figured you two would be the best for this. It’s a straightforward job. I know you can handle it. You seemed to do fine back at the mayor's party.”

Arthur fidgeted with his hat, looking uncomfortable. He glanced at you, his face showing a mix of frustration and reluctance.

Hosea, sensing the growing discomfort and understanding the gravity of the situation, stepped in. “Since you were the one who uncovered the details about the stagecoach,” he said, addressing you directly, “We figured you’d lead this one. You know the specifics and what to expect. Arthur here is our best bet to go with you, handle any trouble, and watch your back while you’re at it.”

“And besides,” Hosea continued, his tone softening, “I know you’ve been itching to get out of camp and put your skills to use. This job could be a good chance for you to get out of the camp for a bit and do something you’ve been craving.”

Oh you had been hoping for a change of scenery, but not the kind that would throw you right back into close quarters with Arthur. 

This is just fantastic… Just what you needed, no? You couldn’t make this up if you tried. Here you were, thinking you’d get a breather from the endless tension, only to find yourself on a direct collision course with it. Really, the universe must have a twisted sense of humor.

Arthur’s dry laugh cut through your thoughts, and you glanced at him, noting the mix of annoyance and amusement on his face. Yeah, he’s probably thinking the same thing. Didn’t expect this to come with a side of enforced teamwork. We’ve barely been able to keep it together when we're in camp. Now we’re supposed to be a seamless duo out there?

Before you or Arthur could voice any further objections, Dutch cuts in with a firm tone. “It’s settled. You two will handle this job together, and that’s final. No more complaints or arguments.”

The finality in his voice left no room for negotiation. 

Arthur let out a deep frustrated sigh. “Well, ain’t this just perfect,” he grumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You shot him a resigned glance, both of you silently acknowledging the irony of the situation.

“Now you two get some rest tonight, and we’ll go over the details tomorrow. I trust you two will make it work.”

With that, Dutch gave a nod, signaling the end of the discussion.

As you were about to leave, Hosea approached you and Arthur with a gentle demeanor, clearly aware of the tension between you two. 

“I know it’s not ideal, especially with how things have been between you two,” he said quietly, his voice filled with understanding. “But you’re both capable. I have faith that you’ll handle this just fine.”

Arthur shot Hosea a skeptical glance but nodded in acknowledgment, his gruff exterior softening slightly. “We’ll do what we can,” he muttered, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.

You managed a tight smile, appreciating Hosea’s attempt to offer reassurance despite the circumstances. “Yeah, I suppose we’ll give it our best shot.”

Hosea nodded approvingly and patted Arthur on the back. “That’s the spirit. Now, try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

With that, Hosea gave you both a warm, encouraging smile before stepping back, leaving you and Arthur to face the uncomfortable reality of the task ahead.

The promise of the job loomed large, and the need to navigate both the heist and your fraught relationship now seemed inescapable.

The silence stretched, awkward and thick as the both of you grappled with the weight of the situation in your own way, the unspoken tension hanging between you like a heavy fog. You could almost feel the gears in Arthur’s mind turning, his usual confidence replaced by a reluctant resignation.

Arthur shifted his weight, glancing sideways at you before speaking. His voice was low, tinged with hesitation.

Arthur shifted his weight, glancing sideways at you before speaking. “Look, I know this isn’t exactly ideal. We’ve had our share of run-ins, and I’m not expecting us to suddenly be friends or anything. But, for what it’s worth, I’ll do my part to make sure this job goes smoothly.”

You studied Arthur for a moment, taking in the sincerity behind his words. Despite the tension, there was something begrudgingly reassuring in his willingness to make the best of the situation. You sighed, trying to keep your tone neutral but not entirely devoid of acknowledgment.

“Yeah, well, I’m not expecting us to be the best of friends either,” you replied, forcing a small, wry smile. “But I appreciate the effort. We’ll both just have to keep our heads in the game and get this done. For now, let’s try to focus on the job and not let our… differences get in the way.”

Arthur gave a short nod, the lines of tension on his face momentarily easing. “Fair enough.”

There was an awkward pause, the silence stretching out between you. Arthur finally cleared his throat, his eyes flickering towards you. “Look, about what happened—”

You cut him off, your voice sharp. “We don’t need to rehash it. Let’s just focus on this job so we can continue with our ways.”

The last thing you wanted was to dredge up the emotions and pain that had been bubbling beneath the surface. Revisiting the topic felt like opening an old wound that had yet to heal, and you weren’t ready to face that vulnerability all over again. 

Arthur’s expression shifted, a mix of resignation and understanding passing over his face. “Alright,” he said, his tone flat. “We’ll do that.”

With that, you give him a nod before turning heel and walking away downstairs, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet. 

Arthur watched you go before heading to his room, the weight of the conversation and unresolved issues hanging heavy on his mind.

As you settled into your sleeping roll, the familiar comfort of the bedding did little to ease the turmoil inside you. The day's events, combined with the strained interaction with Arthur, made it difficult to quiet your racing thoughts. 

Despite the brief truce, the underlying tension between you and Arthur was far from resolved.

The next morning dawned crisp and clear, the sunlight filtering through the cracked windows. The sky outside was painted in soft hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the sprawling estate of Shady Belle. 

You woke with a start, the unease of the previous night still heavy in your mind. The camp was already bustling with activity as the early risers went about their morning routines, preparing for the day ahead.

You and Arthur had gotten up early, each in your own way preparing for the job that lay ahead. The conversation this morning with Dutch and Hosea had been brief, focusing mainly on the specifics of the job and the logistics of the route. The details were clear, and the plan was set.

With that in mind, you were left to prepare for the task ahead. Preparing your saddle bag, you set about stashing away the essentials: ammunition, a spare set of clothes, and other provisions.

You grabbed your rifle, carefully checking it for any issues before securing it onto your horse, running a final check on your gear and making sure everything was in order.

The horse you were saddling stood patiently, its calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm brewing in your mind. As you adjusted the saddle and tightened the straps, you tried to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside thoughts of the upcoming journey and the inevitable interactions with Arthur.

Arthur was nearby, working on his own preparations. Though there was no direct conversation between you, the occasional glance or nod indicated a mutual understanding of the importance of the task at hand.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the unspoken words and unresolved feelings between you. The air was thick with the weight of the unaddressed issues, but you both knew that there was no room for sentiment right now.

You let out a sigh before mounting your horse. The two of you had a job to do, and despite the personal issues that loomed, you had to find a way to make it work. This job had to go smoothly, and you needed to focus on that, no matter how difficult this job was already proving to be.

Arthur gave a brief nod, acknowledging your resolve, and mounted his own horse. With a final deep breath, you spurred your horse into motion. 

Arthur fell into line beside you, and together, you set out on the journey ahead.

The road stretched out before you, winding through the dense forests and swamps. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm light over the landscape. 

The journey had been relatively uneventful so far, a few scattered encounters with travelers and the occasional wildlife breaking the monotony.

You and Arthur rode side by side, the silence between you still thick and uncomfortable. You focused on the landscape around you, the dense trees and winding paths offering a certain level of tranquility.

Arthur, for his part, appeared deep in thought. He occasionally glanced over at you, but the eye contact was fleeting.

His usual confident demeanor was replaced with a quiet determination, and the silence spoke volumes of the discomfort that lingered.

You had both briefly reviewed the details of the job, and the execution was expected to be straightforward. The plan was simple enough: intercept the stagecoach, secure the loot, and make a swift escape with the coach to a hiding place somewhere near camp. 

After a beat, Arthur finally broke the silence. 

“You ready for this?” 

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the road ahead.

“Yeah, just like any other job, right?” you replied, keeping your tone steady, though the edge in your voice was unmistakable.

Arthur sighed, clearly sensing the strain in your words. “Look, I know things ain’t been... easy between us. But we gotta get through this.”

You glanced over at him, your expression hardening. 

“I know that, Arthur. I’m not gonna let whatever’s between us mess up the job. I’ve got a job to do, and so do you. I intend to see it through without letting personal grudges get in the way.”

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and resignation. “Yeah, I know you will. Just... stay close, alright? We need to be on the same page.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Understood. Let’s just get this done.” 

The tension lingered, but for now, it was buried under the urgency of the job.

The terrain shifted subtly, the once marshy ground giving way to the rich, green embrace of dense forests, rolling hills, and steep mountains. 

The road followed a river that wound alongside you, its surface catching the overcast sky’s light in a subdued, shimmering dance. The rhythmic flow of the water provided a gentle counterpoint to the tension between you and Arthur, a quiet reminder of the natural beauty surrounding your uneasy journey.

Arthur’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his focus unyielding. He kept his gaze sharp, scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. Despite the coldness between you, you couldn’t help but notice the way he took his job seriously, his focus unwavering. 

His attention to detail was evident as he navigated the terrain, maneuvering his horse with practiced ease. Each time he glanced over at you, his eyes were a mix of concentration and something softer.

Eventually, you reached a vantage point overlooking the road where the stagecoach was expected to pass. You dismount your horse, feeling the weight of the upcoming task settle heavily on your shoulders. Arthur followed suit, his expression serious as he joined you.

"So, how do you wanna do this? You take the front, and I cover the back?" Arthur's tone was practical, but there was a hint of something less guarded in his voice.

A smile unexpectedly crept up on your lips, a rare break from the seriousness that had defined your recent interactions, as you thought of how you approached these jobs with a different flair when you were with the girls.

Arthur glanced over, his expression guarded but curious. You continued, “Or I could play the helpless lady who needs help while you sneak up on ‘em?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and a small, begrudging smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, so you’re thinkin’ of dustin’ off the old act, huh? Think you still got it?”

You raised an eyebrow, the tension easing just a bit as a genuine smile tugged at your lips.  “Oh, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. But you better keep up if you’re gonna be my backup.”

Arthur nodded, his smile widening slightly. “You got it.”

You checked your gear, slinging your rifle securely behind you. Arthur did the same, both of you falling into the familiar routine of preparation.

As you moved into position, the earlier unease shifted into focused, purposeful energy. 

The playful banter had served its purpose, bringing a brief moment of levity to the serious task ahead. Now, with the weight of the mission on your shoulders, you prepared for the role you’d play and the action to come.

“You think this’ll work?” you ask, your voice tinged with both curiosity and apprehension.

Arthur glances up at you as you both make your way slightly further down the hill. 

“It’s our best shot. We’ll need to time it right. ‘Sides, we’ve got the element of surprise on our side.”

You nod as you stop just before the road, positioning yourselves behind the trees and thick bushes, your eyes scanning the road for any sign of the stagecoach.

The sun was at an angle indicating that sunset was within an hour or two, casting long shadows that merged with the undergrowth, providing natural cover. The sound of the flowing river in the distance had faded into the background as you both waited in tense silence. 

Then, amidst the quiet, you both heard it—a distant rumble growing louder. The roll of the coach’s wheels crunching over the road, steadily approaching. 

You exchanged a sharp glance with Arthur, the anticipation spiking as you prepared for the imminent arrival of your target.

Peeking over the edge of your hiding spot, you counted around five guards stationed around the stagecoach, each one mounted on horseback with rifles gripped tightly in their hands. They occasionally glanced at each other, their movements synchronized but relaxed, their attention more on the road ahead than on the dense cover flanking either side—rookie mistake.

The impending arrival of your target presented a perfect opportunity. Their lack of vigilance provided a window to implement your plan.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you signal to Arthur with a subtle nod, your heart racing as the time to act approaches.

You step out from behind the tree and move to a position where the road curves, creating the illusion of a stranded traveler in need of assistance. 

As you raise a hand to signal distress, you adjust your expression to one of genuine concern before you stumble forward, making sure to catch sight of the approaching vehicle, your movements exaggerated for effect. 

The guards notice your presence immediately, their posture becoming tense as they exchange wary glances. The coach begins to slow, and one of the guards shouts over.

“Hold up! What’s the matter?” His voice carries a mix of suspicion and urgency as he strains to see what’s going on.

That’s your cue. You force a shaky voice as you call out, “Help! My horse threw a shoe, and I’m stranded here! Please, I need assistance!”

You stagger slightly, clutching your arm as if in pain, and glance anxiously towards the coach. The guards’ expressions shift from suspicion to concern as they assess the situation. 

They exchange a few quick words, and one of them starts to dismount, moving towards you with a wary but reluctant gait.

Concealed by the trees, Arthur remains hidden, his sharp eyes locked on the scene. He watches as the guard approaches, waiting for the precise moment to make his move. Your heart races as you maintain your act, trying to keep your expression a mix of fear and gratitude.

As the guard comes closer, his eyes seem to fixate on something behind your back and his expression shifts to alarm, his hand moving instinctively towards his weapon.

“Hold on a minute,” he calls out, voice now laced with suspicion. The tone of his voice immediately alerts the other guards, who begin to look more closely at the situation. “What’s that on your back?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow as he notices the shift in the guards' demeanor. His movements are fluid and calculated as he positions himself strategically, drawing his rifle with practiced precision. He takes a deep breath and steadies his aim, preparing to act at a moment’s notice.

You freeze, trying to keep your expression composed despite the sudden shift. Your heart skips a beat, and you shoot a quick glance toward Arthur, who’s watching intently from his hidden spot.

The guard takes another cautious step closer, his gaze fixed on your rifle. “Seems a bit odd for someone stranded to be carrying a rifle, don’t ya think?”

As steady as you can manage, you respond, “I— I just needed it for protection. I didn’t expect trouble.” 

You can feel the weight of his scrutiny, and you silently pray that your composed demeanor is enough to keep suspicion at bay.

As the guard’s suspicion grows, he signals to the other guards, who start to move in closer, their hands gripping their weapons with increased wariness. 

The tension thickens, palpable in the tightening of their grips and the narrowing of their eyes. You can almost see the wheels turning in their heads, questioning the authenticity of your situation.

Arthur’s eyes narrow, realizing that the plan might be in jeopardy. His fingers tighten around the handle of his own rifle, ready to act. 

The guards' wary movements signal that they're about to take a closer look at you, their caution evident in their deliberate steps. You catch Arthur's eye, and he gives a barely perceptible nod—a clear signal that the time to act is now, before the guards get any closer or the situation escalates further.

With a deep breath, you prepare yourself, knowing that the success of the job now hinges on a delicate balance between deception and action.

As the guard steps closer, his suspicion hardening into action, the tension snaps like a taut wire. The moment he raises his hand to signal the other guards to move in, the situation escalates rapidly.

The air fills with the sudden sharp crack of gunfire as Arthur’s rifle erupts from the trees. His shots ring true, striking one of the guards and sending him crashing to the ground. The remaining men, caught off guard, scramble for cover as the shootout begins in earnest.

You draw your own rifle, aiming at the nearest one as you move quickly to the side, seeking cover behind a large rock. 

Your shots are quick and precise, the loud reports of your gun blending into the chaotic symphony of the firefight. The guards on horseback begin to return fire, their rifles barking in rapid succession.

Amid the chaos, you catch a glimpse of Arthur, moving with practiced precision. He’s taking them down with controlled bursts of fire, his movements fluid and efficient. He’s clearly in his element, but even so, his eyes occasionally flicker toward you, ensuring you’re holding your own.

The stagecoach driver, realizing the situation has gone terribly wrong, frantically tries to maneuver the vehicle away from the danger. His hands tremble as he struggles to keep the frantic horses under control.

One of the guards, attempting to flank you, takes a well-aimed shot, forcing you to duck behind your cover. You peer out, seeing Arthur’s form in the distance as he intercepts the guard, eliminating the threat with a single, decisive shot.

As the last of the guards fall, the chaos begins to wane. The sound of gunfire now replaced by the restless snorting of the horses. 

You scan the area, assessing the situation, and your heart starts to slow as you see the immediate threat has been dealt with.

Arthur, breathing heavily from the exertion, emerges from his cover, his eyes scanning the scene for any remaining danger. He gives you a quick nod of acknowledgment before turning to secure the stagecoach. 

You emerge from your cover and make a beeline for the stagecoach, reaching the vehicle just as Arthur approaches it, his face a mask of focused intensity. 

The driver has managed to bring the horses to a halt. Without a moment’s hesitation, Arthur nudges the man with a sharp flick of his rifle. Clearly intimidated by Arthur’s commanding presence, he scrambles off the seat and retreats into the road with a frantic pace.

With the situation now under control, you watch as Arthur focuses on calming the restless horses. He approaches them carefully, his voice a soothing murmur that cuts through the chaos. The horses’ breathing begins to slow, their agitation easing under his calm presence.

You take a moment to catch your breath and collect yourself, observing Arthur’s handling of the situation. His actions are steady and confident, and you can see the familiar ease with which he interacts with the animals. It’s a side of him that, despite everything, has managed to impress you.

Catching the subtle shift in your expression, he glances over at you. His gaze lingering for a moment. For a brief instant, his own hardened expression softens, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a small, almost self-satisfied smile. 

You blink, momentarily flustered. You hadn’t realized how much you were letting your guard down, caught off-guard by the warmth in his eyes and the easy way he spoke. 

The sight is fleeting but significant, a silent acknowledgment of the shared success and a momentary easing of the tension that had previously clouded your interactions.

You attempt to steady your voice, but it comes out softer than intended. “Come on, let’s check if this thing has exactly what they said.”

Arthur gives a nod, his focus shifting to the task at hand as you both move to inspect the stagecoach. 

As you open the coach's doors, the sight inside is nothing short of astonishing.

Chests, small pouches, lockboxes, and crates are crammed into the coach, each one overflowing with a dazzling array of jewels and cash. Arthur’s eyes widen as he takes in the sheer volume of riches. 

Seeing the score, the weight of the day's hostility seems to have dissolved, replaced by a palpable sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.

Arthur whistles, clearly impressed. “Damn, we hit the mother lode, this is more than I ever expected.”

You nod, grabbing a small bag to carefully assess the loot. This one was filled with sparkling rings and ornate necklaces. The sight is overwhelming, and the weight of the haul is tangible even before you touch it.

Beside you, Arthur takes to opening a lockbox with his hunting knife. The contents inside reveal neatly stacked bundles of cash. 

“This is a hell of a find,” he says with a hint of admiration in his voice. “Dutch is gonna be thrilled.”

“This is more than enough for the gang,” you comment, carefully handling each piece. “Who in their right mind would only send five guards to accompany this?”

“Seems like they were a bit too confident in their security. Their loss is our gain, though.”

“Let’s get this sorted and packed up. We need to move quick before anyone starts sniffing around.”

You whistle for your horse and begin stashing a few bundles of cash and select pieces of jewelry into the saddlebag. Arthur mirrors your actions, moving with deliberate speed as he fills his satchel with a mix of valuable items from the coach.

You and Arthur quickly secure the remaining loot and prepare the stagecoach for its journey before he climbs up to the driver’s seat, taking the reins with a firm grip.

“Let’s get this thing moving,” he says, his voice low but determined.

You nod, taking your place beside him whistling to your horses once more, signaling them to follow. The stagecoach lurches forward as Arthur cracks the reins, guiding the horses into a steady trot. 

With the weight of the haul securely packed and the adrenaline of the heist gradually fading, a sense of accomplishment settles in. The tense moments of the plan's execution now give way to the satisfaction of a job well done.

Arthur glances over at you, a trace of a smile lingering on his lips. “Good work back there. Reckon we make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

You catch his gaze and, despite yourself, feel a flicker of warmth. “Yeah, just don’t get used to it.”

Arthur chuckles softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Half an hour in, you continue your journey to the agreed location with the fruits of your labor securely in tow.

The adrenaline from the earlier confrontation has faded, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and relief. The surroundings have returned to their tranquil state, the earlier chaos now a distant memory as you and Arthur ride side by side, the silence between you now more comfortable and less charged than before.

With the sun setting, you keep a vigilant eye on the surroundings, focusing on the road and surrounding area ahead for any signs of trouble. 

Suddenly, the faint sound of galloping hooves slices through the calm, growing abruptly louder. The rhythmic pounding signifies an approaching group, and the urgency in their pace suggests they might be heading straight for you.

You glance over at Arthur, noticing his instant shift in posture, his hands tightening slightly on the reigns. 

Following the sound, you look behind and see a horde of riders emerging from the tree line, their horses kicking up clouds of dust as they charge forward. The group is sizable, and their intent is clear—they’re coming fast and with purpose.

Arthur’s jaw clenches as he takes in the approaching threat. He adjusts his grip on the reins, his frustration evident but his focus unwavering. “Damn it,” he growls. “We can’t outrun ‘em with this load.”

With resolve, you kneel a leg on the seat, bracing yourself against the coach roof for stability. Your expression is determined as you aim your rifle at the approaching riders. 

“You just keep those horses running. I’ll handle the welcoming committee,” you call out to Arthur, your voice steady. Arthur glances over, a flicker of amusement in his eyes despite the urgency, before his gaze sharpens back on the road. 

The coach surges ahead, the horses racing faster as Arthur skillfully maneuvers them away from the oncoming threat. The clash of gunfire and the thunderous pounding of hooves create a frenzied soundtrack to the chaos unfolding.

The vehicle sways with the sudden bursts and you brace yourself, focusing on keeping your aim steady amidst the chaotic barrage.

Bullets ricochet off the ground near the coach, their danger unmistakable. You grit your teeth, cursing under your breath as you see both your and Arthur’s horses veering sharply to another direction to evade the attackers, separating them from you.

From beside you, Arthur's curse breaks through the chaos. You glance over to see the road ahead sharply climbing, winding up the mountain with a steep incline.

The horses strain against the uneven terrain, their hooves scrambling for traction as the coach teeters perilously, the situation now becoming more complicated, with the treacherous path adding another layer of danger to the already tense escape.

You turn to see Arthur’s face set in grim determination, his focus entirely on the road. His efforts to control the coach are apparent as he wrestles for control, fighting against the treacherous surface.

“Dammit!” Arthur growls, his knuckles white as he grips the reins tightly. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a getaway route!”

The incline grows steeper, and the coach struggles to gain traction.

You return your gaze to the unmistakable sound of more guards closing in, aiming steadily at those who are getting too close for comfort.

Their pursuit is relentless, and the weight of the situation becomes increasingly apparent. Each shot you fire feels like a desperate attempt to stave off the growing threat, as the gap between you and the pursuing riders narrows with every passing moment.

“They’re gaining on us!” you shout over the cacophony of gunfire and the rumbling coach. “There’s too many of them. We have to leave the coach!”

The sound of men shouting and the sharp crack of gunfire splintering the wood of the coach fills the air, heightening the chaos. The horses, already on edge, begin to panic, their frantic movements causing the coach to lurch.

The coach tilts precariously toward the edge of the mountain, and for a moment, you feel yourself tipping dangerously close to the edge of your seat. Rocks tumble down the steep incline as the coach seems on the verge of tipping over completely.

In a split second, Arthur’s arm shoots out, grabbing you firmly by the waist and pulling you back into place while still maintaining control of the reins. The coach rights itself with a jolt, the wheels crunching heavily on the loose gravel as it stabilizes. The sudden movement pulls you both back from the brink, but the threat of the approaching guards remains ever-present.

“You alright?” he calls out, his voice edged with worry amidst the chaos, his hand still wrapped around your waist as you cling to him for stability.

You nod quickly, forcing a shaky nod. “I’m good… Just keep this thing steady.”

Arthur’s hand slips away as he refocuses on guiding the coach.

You lean back, gripping onto the seat with both hands to brace yourself against the relentless jostling. 

You can feel the coach shudder under the strain of the terrain and the impact of the guards’ gunfire. The unstable footing and the increasing danger make it clear that staying in the coach is no longer an option.

Realizing there's no way back, you scan the surroundings desperately for an escape route. Ahead, on a flatter section of the mountain, your eyes land on a bridge spanning a rushing river below. It’s a precarious-looking structure, but it might be your only chance.

“Arthur! That bridge up ahead!”

Arthur’s eyes dart to the bridge, and he curses under his breath. 

"That thing looks like it's barely hangin' on," he mutters, a worried frown on his face. 

The two of you exchange a worried glance, the urgency of the situation clear. With no other options and the guards closing in, the risk of crossing the unstable bridge might be your only chance at escape.

Arthur takes a deep breath, his expression set with determination. 

He grips the reins tighter and steers the coach toward the bridge, maneuvering through the challenging terrain. 

The stagecoach lurches and tilts dangerously as it approaches the bridge, the horses straining against their ropes. Every bump and sway sends a jolt through the coach, and the bridge creaks ominously under the pressure of the approaching load.

The guards’ shouts grow louder, their pursuit relentless, adding to the mounting pressure.

Arthur's knuckles whiten as he clenches the reins, his eyes locked on the rickety structure ahead. “Hang on!” 

The wheels hit the first few planks with a jarring thud, the structure shuddering violently while you brace yourself against the seat, gripping it tightly. The bridge sways and creaks under the strain, the narrow path making it clear that any wrong move could spell disaster.

The wooden planks of the bridge groan in protest, threatening to buckle under the weight. You can see the river below churning violently, a reminder of the precarious situation. 

As you and Arthur drive the stagecoach across the rickety bridge, the relentless pursuit of the guards continues. Gunfire cracks through the air, and the panicked horses struggle to keep their footing on the unstable wooden planks.

“Arthur, watch out!” you shout, gripping the edge of the coach seat tightly.

Arthur's eyes dart to the side, spotting the weak planks giving way under the weight and stress of the coach. The bridge shudders violently, and a loud cracking sound echoes through.

Without warning, the bridge gives way entirely. The horses scream in terror as the entire stagecoach plunges into the rushing river below. 

The world blurs around you as you're thrown from the driver’s seat, hitting the icy river with a jarring impact.

Cold water engulfs you instantly, and the current's force pulls you under, dragging you downstream. As you struggle to stay afloat, you catch fleeting glimpses of the stagecoach being smashed to pieces against the rocks and debris.

The river’s powerful current quickly separates you and Arthur, each of you fighting to keep afloat. Your heart races, and every instinct urges you to fight the current. The roar of the river overwhelms your senses, making it difficult to think clearly. You reach out, trying to find something solid to grab onto, while the chaos of the river makes every movement a battle.

"Hold on!" Arthur's voice, hoarse with effort, barely reaches you over the roar of the river, eyes widening in alarm as he sees you being dragged away by the current.

"Arthur!" you scream back, your voice filled with panic as the water pulls you under again. 

You fight to surface, gasping for air, the relentless force of the river carrying you further away. The rush of water roars in your ears, drowning out any other sound, and your vision blurs with each desperate attempt to find your footing.

In the chaos, the water pulls you under once more. As you struggle against the current, a sharp pain explodes in your head. The impact sends you spinning, and the world around you blurs into a dizzying haze. Each breath is a struggle, the cold water overwhelming your senses as you fight to stay conscious.

The agony in your head intensifies, and the cold, relentless river drags you further from the surface. The muffled, distant sound of Arthur’s voice calling your name is the last thing you hear before darkness engulfs you.

A/N: Alright so not much going on between the two this chapter, hopefully everything is resolved in the next. Stay tuned for the next one which is the final part!

[sillylotrpolls]

(Relevant text below the poll)

Inspired by this post by @roselightfairy and replies by @herrhasen, @enide-s-dear, @unnamedelement, @dragonfirez, and @carlandrea.

If you'd like to refresh your memory of the Fellowship at its bitchiest (and Boromir at his best), the relevant text is below the cut.

Excerpted from The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter 3: The Ring Goes South

Gimli looked up and shook his head. 'Caradhras has not forgiven us.' he said. 'He has more snow yet to fling at us, if we go on. The sooner we go back and down the better.'

To this all agreed, but their retreat was now difficult. It might well prove impossible. Only a few paces from the ashes of their fire the snow lay many feet deep, higher than the heads of the hobbits; in places it had been scooped and piled by the wind into great drifts against the cliff.

'If Gandalf would go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for you,' said Legolas. The storm had troubled him little, and he alone of the Company remained still light of heart.

'If Elves could fly over mountains, they might fetch the Sun to save us,' answered Gandalf. 'But I must have something to work on. I cannot burn snow.'

'Well,' said Boromir, 'when heads are at a loss bodies must serve, as we say in my country. The strongest of us must seek a way. See! Though all is now snow-clad, our path, as we came up, turned about that shoulder of rock down yonder. It was there that the snow first began to burden us. If we could reach that point, maybe it would prove easier beyond. It is no more than a furlong off, I guess.'

'Then let us force a path thither, you and I!' said Aragorn.

Aragorn was the tallest of the Company, but Boromir, little less in height, was broader and heavier in build. He led the way, and Aragorn followed him. Slowly they moved off, and were soon toiling heavily. In places the snow was breast-high, and often Boromir seemed to be swimming or burrowing with his great arms rather than walking.

Legolas watched them for a while with a smile upon his lips, and then he turned to the others. 'The strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf or over snow-an Elf.'

With that he sprang forth nimbly, and then Frodo noticed as if for the first time, though he had long known it, that the Elf had no boots, but wore only light shoes, as he always did, and his feet made little imprint in the snow.

'Farewell!' he said to Gandalf. 'I go to find the Sun!' Then swift as a runner over firm sand he shot away, and quickly overtaking the toiling men, with a wave of his hand he passed them, and sped into the distance, and vanished round the rocky turn.

The others waited huddled together, watching until Boromir and Aragorn dwindled into black specks in the whiteness. At length they too passed from sight. The time dragged on. The clouds lowered, and now a few flakes of snow came curling down again.

An hour, maybe, went by, though it seemed far longer, and then at last they saw Legolas coming back. At the same time Boromir and Aragorn reappeared round the bend far behind him and came labouring up the slope.

'Well,' cried Legolas as he ran up, 'I have not brought the Sun. She is walking in the blue fields of the South, and a little wreath of snow on this Redhorn hillock troubles her not at all. But I have brought back a gleam of good hope for those who are doomed to go on feet. There is the greatest winddrift of all just beyond the turn, and there our Strong Men were almost buried. They despaired, until I returned and told them that the drift was little wider than a wall. And on the other side the snow suddenly grows less, while further down it is no more than a white coverlet to cool a hobbit's toes.'

'Ah, it is as I said,' growled Gimli. 'It was no ordinary storm. It is the ill will of Caradhras. He does not love Elves and Dwarves, and that drift was laid to cut off our escape.'

'But happily your Caradhras has forgotten that you have Men with you,' said Boromir, who came up at that moment. 'And doughty Men too, if I may say it; though lesser men with spades might have served you better. Still, we have thrust a lane through the drift; and for that all here may be grateful who cannot run as light as Elves.'

'But how are we to get down there, even if you have cut through the drift?' said Pippin, voicing the thought of all the hobbits.

'Have hope!' said Boromir. 'I am weary, but I still have some strength left, and Aragorn too. We will bear the little folk. The others no doubt will make shift to tread the path behind us. Come, Master Peregrin! I will begin with you.'

He lifted up the hobbit. 'Cling to my back! I shall need my arms' he said and strode forward. Aragorn with Merry came behind. Pippin marvelled at his strength, seeing the passage that he had already forced with no other tool than his great limbs. Even now, burdened as he was, he was widening the track for those who followed, thrusting the snow aside as he went.

They came at length to the great drift. It was flung across the mountainpath like a sheer and sudden wall, and its crest, sharp as if shaped with knives, reared up more than twice the height of Boromir; but through the middle a passage had been beaten, rising and falling like a bridge. On the far side Merry and Pippin were set down, and there they waited with Legolas for the rest of the Company to arrive.

After a while Boromir returned carrying Sam. Behind in the narrow but now well-trodden track came Gandalf, leading Bill with Gimli perched among the baggage. Last came Aragorn carrying Frodo. They passed through the lane; but hardly had Frodo touched the ground when with a deep rumble there rolled down a fall of stones and slithering snow. The spray of it half blinded the Company as they crouched against the cliff, and when the air cleared again they saw that the path was blocked behind them.

'Enough, enough!' cried Gimli. 'We are departing as quickly as we may!'

And indeed with that last stroke the malice of the mountain seemed to be expended, as if Caradhras was satisfied that the invaders had been beaten off and would not dare to return. The threat of snow lifted; the clouds began to break and the light grew broader.

As Legolas had reported, they found that the snow became steadily more shallow as they went down, so that even the hobbits could trudge along. Soon they all stood once more on the flat shelf at the head of the steep slope where they had felt the first flakes of snow the night before.

[kittenintheden]

I Slit the Throat of Your Confidence

oh hi there did you guys order the Astari'zel hatesex (except not really but kind of but not really)? here that is for you. mind the tags please.

AO3 link for bookmarking

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion/Lae'zel Word Count: 5.5k Content: 18+, rough sex, fighting kink, blood play, blood drinking, blood kink, these bitches fight as foreplay, oral sex, fingerfucking, edging, orgasm denial, biting, scratching, reads like hatesex but is kind of more like respectsex, they're matching energy, BDSM themes

Lae’zel misses Créche K’liir. Desperately.

The gray, porous rock with its endless twining mess of hollows and caves was a young githyanki’s dream, ripe for guerilla warfare and games of Capture the Crest that inevitably turned to bloodshed. Many of the chambers were stained rusty brown from the generations before, and she’d added layers of her own in time.

Being terrestrial leaves much to be desired. It is not her first time among the istik and groundwalkers – she’d been on reconnaissance missions to the vast caverns under the place they call Waterdeep many times before. She’d been preparing for her first true test, her first scout command, when the ghaik vessel passed their asteroid by and pulled her and a handful of clutchmates into its web.

And now she is here, her fate as much as sealed if she’s to continue working with this blundering band of… adventurers. All of her advisement to abandon the ridiculous teethling – tiefling – weaklings and reach the nearest créche had fallen on ignorant ears. It is by sheer tenacity and the will of Vlaakith alone that they have not become that which she is duty-sworn to kill.

Instead, they are having a… party.

Lae’zel’s lip curls as she watches the others making merry and growing more intoxicated by the hour alongside a gaggle of their horned charges. Sparks fly through the air from one wizard or another, younglings lurk about undisciplined, and the choices for stress relief are sorely lacking. They all smell of alcohol and hope. She’lak and shka’keth.

She rolls her eyes and folds her arms, casting her judging eyes over those remaining reasonably in control of their faculties. There’s the human-turned-devil, who smells of soft history but well-worn struggle, as well. He’s a possibility, she supposes.

A glance to the side reveals her first companion, the one called Tav, deep in conversation and their cups with that sniping half-elf cleric of some terrestrial god. Lae’zel cares not for the details.

Another scent passes by her keen nose and she looks the other way, regarding its source. The dainty elf smells of blood and death, of course. He’d revealed his vampiric nature not but a few nights prior, and while she deeply mistrusts every silky word that drips from his wretched tongue, she can’t deny that he seems well-learned in the art of carnal pleasure. At least, he claims as much, but she’s seen the way he moves. She’s seen the way he hunts. His words may be hollow, but the body doesn’t lie.

The decision is made, then.

She approaches Astarion just as he takes a drink from his misbegotten bottle of wine. He pulls a face and glances her way.

“Oh, hello,” he says in that lilting, maddening way of his. “Decided to partake after all, rather than simply glowering from the shadows, have you?”

Lae’zel plants her feet shoulder-width apart and folds her arms, eyes tracking from his overwrought hair all the way down to his nimble feet and back again.

Astarion points at her from around the bottle and leans in. “This is the part where you respond with your words, darling.”

The scent overlaying the death note that lingers on him is pleasant enough, after all.

She jerks her chin his way. “I tire of this pathetic attempt at revelry. I suspect you do, as well.”

“There we go,” he says, the tip of a fang flashing past his lips as he gives a half smile. He takes another drink and pulls another face. “Ugh, you’re not wrong. Even the wine is terrible.”

He tosses it aside and seems entirely unbothered by the sound of shattering glass. When he turns back her way, he rubs his fingers together as he regards her before gesturing in her direction. “Was there something I could help you with in that regard or did you just come over here to stare unnervingly?”

Lae’zel takes a step closer, into his personal space, and he stiffens defensively, narrowing his eyes at her. “Your scent reminds me of home. Of wounds sustained in battle, of slain enemies scattered across the stone.”

Astarion gives her a long, slow blink. “Is this your idea of endearing small talk? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Ch’k.” She leans her weight onto her back foot. “I am informing you that I find you a reasonable choice for an evening of carnality.”

“Ah,” he says with a mirthless laugh, looking past her off into the distance. “Of course you do.” His usual bravado is curiously subdued, which she finds of interest.

“Are you not amicable?” she says. “I will take my interest elsewhere.”

She turns to do just that and pauses as he says, “Wait.”

He’s looking at her with hooded eyes, head tilted to one side. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” he says, voice lower in timbre. “You caught me off-guard, is all. I didn’t think you cared for me much.”

“I don’t,” she responds. “I find your theatrics tedious and your fighting style chaotic. But you are nonetheless an appealing candidate for coitus, and that is my present interest.”

“How did I ever manage to lure in such a sweet-talker?” he drawls, sighing in exasperation. Then he cocks a brow. “But fine. I could do with a bit of fun, and the sort you’re proposing is of far more interest to me than anything I’ll find here.”

She nods, unsurprised, and says, “Good. Then meet me after the revelry has run its course. I shall be waiting at the ruins nearby.”

Lae’zel walks away without waiting for his response. Behind her, she hears him say, “See you later, then. Lover.”

“Do not call me that,” she says without turning.

***

She paces the length of the ruins, hands clasped behind her back. There’s no nerviness to her gait, no tension in her shoulders. The vampire will come to her, or he will not. Those are the only possibilities, and whichever outcome occurs, she will deal with the fallout. Fretting over what could be makes a warrior weak. There is only the now.

Astarion makes himself known with a gentle clearing of the throat and she whirls to regard him. His approach was nigh-silent, but that’s hardly a surprise.

He leans with an arm on a pillar, one foot crossed casually over the other, but his relaxed posture does not fool her. Lae’zel know how quickly he can move.

“You came,” she says, allowing the slightest smile. “Good.”

He flicks his hand at her as she approaches. “How could I possibly turn down an invitation as intriguing as ‘meet the deadly extraplanar girl in the abandoned ruins so she can either come on me or kill me.’” He leans in and gives her a smirk. “Maybe she’ll do both.”

Lae’zel scoffs, circling him with her hands still behind her back. “Remove your clothes, istik. I will allow you the honor of pleasing me at my direction. If I deem you worthy, I may offer pleasure in return.”

Astarion gives a sharp laugh and pushes off the pillar, facing her. “No, no, no. I don’t think so. You came to me, darling. And why is that?”

She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Have I been unclear as to the nature of this meeting?” she says. She honestly hadn’t thought the man a complete idiot, but even she can make a mistake.

“Oh, no, you were very clear.” Astarion steps closer, his head moving from one side to the other as he regards her like a predator would. It raises her hackles. “What I’d like to know is why you seem so certain I’ll be the one taking orders. You’re the one with a…” He trails his gaze from her face down the length of her toned torso and back up. “... need.”

Lae’zel does not cower. She does not suffer weaklings. And she does not back down from a challenge.

Her hand spreads wide on his chest and she effortlessly forces him back until he’s pressed up against the pillar he started from. To his credit, he doesn’t gasp, nor do his eyes go wide with fear. Instead, his expression remains amused. Interested.

“I do not submit to inferiors,” she growls.

“So why…” He raises one eyebrow. “... did you come…” His grin widens, exposing his fangs. “... to my tent?”

Despite herself, Lae’zel feels her gaze fall to his mouth, all pale lips and sharp teeth. Her eyes flick back up to meet his.

“I thought you a worthy adversary,” she admits at last.

“Ah,” he whispers. “There it is.”

Then he shoves off the pillar with strength that surprises her and crushes his mouth to hers, putting her just enough off balance to stagger back a step. He takes the second of advantage to fist his long fingers in the back of her hair and hook his leg behind hers.

Lae’zel’s heart thrums at the promise of a fight.

He’s fast. But she is gith.

With practiced skill, she counterbalances herself to thwart his attempt to sweep her leg. He meets resistance and overcorrects, and that’s her opening. She twists her arm up under his and uses the momentum to spin him around so she can get him in a modified headlock. From behind, she leans in close to his ear.

“As I said,” she hisses softly. “I do not submit to inferiors. So show me you are not one.”

Without so much as a sardonic quip, he stomps on her insole with his full weight and bites her arm at the same time. Lae’zel is not often surprised, but the absolute audacity of the move throws her long enough for him to twist free. When he turns to look at her from several feet away, he smirks and goes to wipe the small smear of blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Chaotic enough for you?” he teases.

In response, she surges forward, moving like liquid mercury, and fakes him out with a right hook to block while she brings her left hand up to cuff him squarely under the chin.

“Bleeding hells,” he swears as he stumbles back, fingers going to his jaw. There’s a flash of fury on his face, of spite and vengeance. Then it’s gone, replaced by a calculating look. His lip curls back, showing teeth, and his pupils dilate. He moves to circle her and she responds by moving in the opposite direction, keeping their same distance. Astarion’s fingers clench and flex, clench and flex.

“Gloves off, then,” he says, voice low and breathy.

She raises her hands in a ready stance, welcoming an attack. “I never said they were on.”

A thin trail of blood drips down her arm from the bite. Astarion’s eyes snap to it and his mouth twitches as if he’s preparing to bite again, teeth peeking. He tenses to pounce and looks her in the face again.

“If you want blood,” she says warningly. “You must take it from me. If you can.”

That’s all he needs in the way of permission, if that’s in fact what he sought. Astarion springs forward like a tightened coil, using what little he has on her by way of body weight to catch her around the middle and send her staggering back. Again, he goes to hook her ankle and send her off balance, and again she adjusts to match him. Just as she raises her elbows to bring them down squarely in the center of his back, he releases her unexpectedly and steps around behind, turning with the grace and speed of a trained dancer.

He brings up his foot and kicks, connecting with the small of her back using all the leverage he has to shove her forward. This time, he actually manages it. For one solitary second, she loses her footing, and then he is on her from behind, looping an arm through both of her elbows and pulling them back so her sternum arches out sharply. She hisses from the strain in her shoulders.

And before she can regain the upper hand, he sinks his teeth into the side of her neck. It is an icy sting, foreign and sharp, and her warrior’s instinct immediately looses a battle cry that echoes throughout her ribcage. She cannot fall. She will not fall.

Astarion manages to get a few healthy pulls from her before she wrenches herself away, hand going to the wound he left there. It comes away bloodied and she raises her gaze to his face.

He looks like a creature possessed. The carefully crafted hair he maintains much to her disdain is falling from its coif and his mouth and chin are smeared with her gore. His tongue licks at his scarlet-stained teeth and he grins, feral, shoulders hunched forward and pupils blown out so wide she can scarcely see the irises of his eyes. When he moves, he jitters, jerky and unnatural. Nothing like the smooth flow of his usual airs.

A lesser woman would be terrified.

Lae’zel is not a lesser woman.

When he comes at her again, she drops, rolling onto her rear and back and using his own momentum against him. She takes him by the shoulders and continues to yank him up over her head, following after until she can push herself over top of him, pressing her thigh firmly between his legs. He makes a noise up at her from the stone floor, a trilling, growling sort of purr.

She silences him with her mouth over his, tongue running over his mouth before dipping inside and tasting the cosmic metal of her own blood on him. When she pulls back, her face matches his.

“Nasty thing,” Astarion says. “This is what gets you going, hm?”

He flexes his thigh, trapped between her own, and she feels the first teasing tingle of pleasure pull at her core.

Lae’zel laughs, heady with violence. “You think me affected, istik?” Quick as a heartbeat, she snakes her hand down between his legs and he chokes off a gasp as she firmly grips his cock through his clothes, the length of him gone fully hard against his leg. Her hold is strong, just barely on the right side of painful, and she feels a pulse go through him. “I have never seen a groundwalker so aroused by the promise of blood. Are you as excited at the prospect of pain?”

With that, she grabs the split of his shirt with her free hand and tears it open, the fabric splitting with a satisfying rip. He cries out in indignation, then again when she sinks her own teeth into the flesh of his chest. When she’s satisfied, she sits up, then stands and backs away from him, leaving him staring at the fresh bite on his skin with an expression of shock and interest.

He glares at her and pushes himself up to standing, his erection now very clearly visible through his fitted trousers. A flap of his torn shirt flutters in the slight breeze moving through the space and he flicks at it.

“I just found this shirt,” he growls. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find something out here that doesn’t look like it’s been through six generations of peasantry?”

She grins back at him, swaying from foot to foot. “And what are you going to do about it?”

He pulls the shirt loose from where it’s tucked and shucks it off, using it to wipe the worst of the mess from his face before tossing it aside. His skin is like marble in the moonlight, pale and solid stretched over the muscle beneath.

“I’d run, were I you,” he says.

“I do not run,” she answers.

Astarion springs and they lock arms again. It is a battle of speed versus strength, cunning versus training. Every time she gets the upper hand, he finds a way to free himself and get her back in turn. Round and round they go, bruises and bites, tongue and touch.

When he next gets her on her back, his forearm presses her to the ground just below her windpipe. He does not throttle her, but he’s making it clear that he could. Instead, his lips soften slightly, pulling over his bared teeth, and he appraises her face. She writhes and wraps both legs around his waist, intending to flip him, but he has his full weight across her torso and one of her arms pinned to the stones.

“Will you relent?” he says, tilting his head to one side and sounding for all the world as if he’s asking to kiss her.

“I will not,” she pants, writhing again. “You do not have me yet.”

“Hm,” he hums, eyes roving over her face once more. “Then I’ll consider this an opportunity.”

“An opportunity to wh-” she starts.

Astarion grinds himself into the cradle of her hips, hard. She feels the rigid length of him roll along the crux of her legs and her eyes shutter closed.

“She likes that, I think,” Astarion purrs.

He does it again.

“A break, perhaps?” His own voice is starting to go reedy. “Exchange pain for a bit of pleasure?”

“I will…” She pulls in a shaking breath, warmth blooming in her center, pulsing with a fierce edge of adrenaline. “... allow it.”

He rolls off her instantly, going to his back beside her, and begins wrestling with his own fastenings, nearly clumsy in his desperation to remove his remaining clothing. Lae’zel follows suit, albeit more efficiently. Her clothing and underthings are unfussy, made for utility far more than form. Astarion’s only just kicking off his bottoms when she climbs atop him, straddling his torso with her powerful thighs on either side and holding herself up out of his immediate reach.

She jerks her head down at him. “You wish to show me you are worthy of my gifts?” she says. “Then give me your hand.”

Astarion narrows his eyes at her, mistrustful, but he does as she asks, holding up a hand. Lae’zel accepts it.

“Good,” she says. “Now pay attention.”

Then she moves both of their hands between her legs, manipulating his fingers as she’d like them.

“I assume I am your first githyanki,” she breathes as his fingers brush her sensitive places. “I will only teach this once.”

She takes his middle finger and touches it to a tender place to one side of her slit. “Here.” She moves it across to mirror a spot on the other side. “Here.” Then she takes his thumb and places the pad over the spot at the front, a harder ridge that would normally be a hood on a softer species. “And here.”

He continues to watch her, his tongue peeking out to lick his lip.

“This is called kalach’ra k’rel vah, the points of the star,” she says. “Skilled lovers can hit all three at once and ah-”

“Like this?” Astarion lilts as he instantly relocates all three points and presses them hard with the tips of his fingers. “Or perhaps this?” He twists his wrist and brushes over the hot spots in a sweeping motion.

“Ah,” Lae’zel says again, radiant pleasure expanding deep in her belly. She tips forward and grips his biceps for support.

“Am I doing it right?”

Now he’s teasing her and she does not approve but oh Vlaakith'ka sivim hrath krash'ht if his detestable lockpicking habit isn’t working out in her favor at exactly this moment.

“Stay your fool tongue,” Lae’zel gasps, arching into his touch and canting her hips in time with him. A tingle twines up her spine like a serpent.

“Is that really what you want?” he says as he tilts his head back and curls his tongue out past his teeth in an obscene show.

“Ch’k,” she breathes. Loathe as she is to give so much as an inch, she cannot deny that she’d dearly love to shut him up. She pulls his face to hers, taking that wretched tongue against her own. The kiss is fierce and deep, leaving both of their lips cut from it.

Lae’zel wraps a hand around the back of his head and yanks it to one side, her face going to his neck. She inhales deeply, sweat and blood and death and life and fight. Then she runs her tongue along the vein climbing the column of his throat and keeps going along the edge of his ear.

Beneath her, Astarion bucks hard enough that she feels the head of his cock strike her thigh. A long groan sounds from deep in his chest and he twists, mouth pressed to her neck, and the wet heat of his tongue is stroking up to the place near her jaw.

She pulls back to place another bruising kiss on his mouth. When she pulls him back by the hair, she says, “As you were.”

He curls his lip at her in a snarl, but dutifully returns his hand to its work between her legs. Lae’zel lolls back and rolls against him as he plays her like gith are all he knows.

After a moment or two of blissful, bone-deep, aching pleasure in near silence, Astarion breaks it again.

“Anything else?” He tries to sound bored, but the winded words don’t fool her. His arousal must be growing unbearable.

Lae’zel rises and falls against him, trying to get the friction she needs. “Inside,” she breathes. “Partway up, softer than the rest.”

Without another word, Astarion slides two fingers across her and inside, exploring but a moment before he finds the place she indicated.

Lae’zel howls to the sky through the broken ceiling, praising the stars in Vlaakith’s name for the boiling knot of tension that will feel better than githyanki silver at release, better than the eternity of the Astral Plane, better even than riding a dragon-

Astarion pulls his hand away and lays back.

Her howl turns to one of rage as her head whips down to meet his knowing smirk. Even as his own breaths become shallow with need, he teases.

“Can’t let you have all the fun,” he says, examining the hand that had just been giving her such ecstasy. He glances back up. “I just wanted you to know that I’m capable, should you like to, oh, I don’t know…” He waves his hand through the air. “Admit that I’m not an inferior.”

The tempest behind Lae’zel’s eyes flickers in warning. Then she does the most terrifying thing she ever does – she smiles.

She’s off him in an instant and Astarion sits up on his elbows to watch, trying to figure out her next move. By the time he does, her face is already dangerously close to his cock and he’s having a sudden avalanche of regrets about certain previous choices.

“Ah, ah, I like that where it is very much,” he chides nervously.

Lae’zel holds his eye and continues lowering herself.

Astarion tenses. “Seriously, watch the teeth, watch the teeth the teeth the-”

Then she takes him down deep, mouth and tongue sliding over his length, and Astarion fully understands that githyanki tongues are uniquely textured.

“-the tee- oh.” One of his eyes twitches a bit as his expression goes slack in pleasant surprise. “Oh, that’s very… mmmn.” He collapses onto his back. “Okay.”

Lae’zel is honestly tempted to bring teeth into the mix anyway simply to teach him his place, but even she must begrudgingly admit that the elegant arch of an elf losing himself to the pleasure of her mouth is an alluring sight. His chest twitches as it rises and falls with his breath, his head thrown back and brows furrowed as if in concentration, lips pulled back to reveal the tips of his teeth.

Alluring, indeed.

“That shouldn’t be allowed,” he grits out, cracking his eyes open once more to peer down at her.

She nearly pulls off him for his ignorance, but instead she moves her tongue back, firms the tip, and runs it around the entirety of his glans. That’s always the most sensitive part for gith, and if the anatomy translates…

Astarion arches his back clean off the ground and snarls out a curse.

Lae’zel truly thinks she has him right where she wants him. Up until he sits back up on his elbow, tents his knee, and tangles his fingers into the back of her hair, an inferno in his eyes as he smolders down at her. Slowly, he thrusts into her mouth deeper, testing the water to determine whether she can take it.

She meets the intensity in his gaze and pushes herself still farther.

She never backs down from a challenge.

His fingers twist tighter in her hair and his hips begin to snap harder, fucking her mouth until he’s hitting the root of her tongue, then the back of her throat. Githyanki do have a gag reflex, but Lae’zel has trained to suppress hers for any number of applicable reasons. Perhaps she did not originally intend this one, but it applies nonetheless.

“Shit,” the elf spits, eyes falling shut as he continues to thrust, hand holding her in place as he does. “Gods, that’s not fair.”

Fair. As if anything about this union has ever been about what’s fair.

She’ll remind him.

His toned thigh flexes as he continues to leverage himself in a steady pumping rhythm that would not under any circumstances be considered gentle. He pants out his breath as the force of it leaves trails of her saliva trailing down. There’s not enough time or relief between thrusts for her to swallow. His loss, that.

When she’s decided she’s had enough of his antics, she puts her palms on his hipbones and pins him to the ground. He bucks against her in vain. Not as weak as she initially anticipated, especially not in his legs, but her muscles are corded steel. He groans out his frustration.

She pulls up and off of him unhurriedly, raising her head until she can look down upon him. His breath huffs angrily as he glares from beneath his furrowed brow, the tips of his elven ears flushed with borrowed blood and his cock shiny and slick from her mouth.

“Surely you did not expect to finish so easily,” she says, her words slightly raspier than they were. “Not while I’m left wanting. That is not why we came here, k’chaki.”

“No,” he says lowly as he pushes himself up to sitting so he’s at level with her. “We came here for a godsdamned fuck.”

He shoves her back and she goes, caught off guard for once. He crawls over her as she flips herself onto her belly, set to push back. Astarion slams one hand down over one of her wrists, and the other hand down over the other, and grips them both tight, laying his full weight over her.

She hears the shiver in his voice as he leans close and says, “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

Lae’zel rolls her hips and draws up her legs to spread herself for him.

“As you were,” she whispers.

A low sound rumbles through Astarion’s chest as he grips her hips tight and presses himself into her. They combine in a way that is at once familiar and alien. It leaves them both crying out.

Lae’zel feels the prick of Astarion’s nails deep in the skin of her thighs. She wraps both hands around his forearms and digs her sharpened nails into him in kind.

His hips snap, thrusting into her hard and fast. Lae’zel drowns in sensation, of his cock stroking in and out, of his heated breath against her neck, of the scent of all that grounds her all around. With a surprising amount of awkwardness given his typical precision, Astarion fumbles a hand around to the front of her and attempts to find the places on her body she’d shown him before. It takes him a moment, but he manages, leaning heavily over her as they move.

Lae’zel’s mind blanks in bliss, the warming wave of first pleasure sweeping over her as he continues to move. She moans through it, a string of githyanki praises and blessings spilling past her lips.

Above her, Astarion’s breathing is labored. “Hells below, did you?” he gasps. “Tell me you did.”

With one more slight moan, Lae’zel pushes herself up, her back against his chest and forces him back as he bites back a curse. He pulls out of her and she turns, the movement lazy, and leans in to grip his jaw with one hand and pay him another kiss.

When they break, she says, “I have reached the cliff. The edge is near.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Astarion huffs in exasperation. His curls are flat now, falling around his face damp with sweat.

Lae’zel grins and pulls him to standing, putting both hands on his chest and backing him up to the nearest wall. She lays her body across him fully, letting the skin-to-skin contact send echoes of pleasure over her. This is the euphoric state, the one just before clarity. It is the only time she would dare let a soul call her “cuddly” and not immediately suffer an ignoble death.

She runs her tongue over his chest and peers up into his face. “It means that this…” she reaches a hand between them to take his cock in hand and hears his sharp intake of breath. “... feels almost as good for me as it does you, until the heat comes.”

“Again,” Astarion says with a slight wheeze. “What the fuck does that mean?”

In response, Lae’zel begins pumping him with long, firm strokes that make his eyes go half-lidded.

“I mean,” he slurs. “I’d had other plans, but I can live… with this…”

She leans in close. “It is temporary.”

“Don’t care what that means anymore,” he murmurs as she works him.

He arches against the wall and breathes oh-oh. Lae’zel can feel the heat, her heat, rising off his skin. The muscles underneath. The way everything twitches as he gets nearer and nearer. Her eyes watch his face, marveling. These terrestrial races, they are so strange, and somehow so beautiful.

Deep in her core, the cinders flicker back to life and Lae’zel’s initial pre-orgasm high falls to flame as her arousal comes back like a roaring bonfire. It’s so overpowering that she nearly misses the telltale signs that Astarion’s almost done for. His brow is pinched and fluttering moans keep escaping past his lips. She feels a swelling beneath her touch.

And she stops and steps back.

“No!” Astarion groans out his disappointment. “Gods damn it, no, I was right there.”

She grips him by the jaw and makes him look at her. His glare could melt metal.

“Has your edge returned to you?” Lae’zel says.

“You might bloody well say that,” he snarls.

She puts her hands on his shoulders. “Then use it.”

With an animalistic growl, Astarion puts his hands on the backs of her thighs and she jumps to wrap her legs around his waist. He whirls them both and slams her against the wall, its cold stone cooling her overheated skin and its rough surface keeping her present. There’s a few seconds more of adjustment before he pushes back inside her, effectively pinning her to the wall with his hips as he grabs her wrists and presses them into the stone above her head.

As soon as he gets the balance right, he begins fucking into her without additional thought, hips grinding together tightly. Lae’zel shuts her eyes and grins as the force of it appeases the desire inside her, feeding the fire until it grows, and grows, and–

She doesn’t even hear the cry that escapes her lips as the light inside her bursts, its luminance igniting every cell. The world around her rings, all other noise coming to her as if underwater.

When she finally comes down enough to hear again, Astarion is saying something to her.

“What?” she manages.

He presses his mouth right up against her ear, continuing to pump into her. “I said…” Thrust. “... is it all right…” Thrust. “... to finish…” Thrust. “... inside?”

Lae’zel’s laugh is high-pitched. Delirious. “Yes, fool, you may come inside.”

“Fucking finally,” Astarion groans.

His thrusts go slow as his body tenses against her. Then he leans his full weight against her and the wall with a stuttering cry as, she assumes, he comes his entire soul out.

Afterward, they’re reclining nude on the nearby blanket catching their breath. Lae’zel glances his way.

“Are you actually required to ask permission to, ah. Complete inside someone?” she asks.

Astarion gives her an incredibly put-upon look. “I asked because it’s polite, you weird arsehole.” He winces as he rolls his shoulder, poking at a new bruise. “One of us could try to bring a little decorum.”

She smirks and looks out the ruined archway. “You were most enthusiastic tonight,” she says.

“Well.” He lays back on one of the folded up blankets. “Not every day you encounter someone open to certain, you know. Proclivities.”

Lae’zel nods. “I may have use for you again in the future.”

Astarion gives a sharp laugh to the night sky.

[slytherizz]

Bludgered - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

Summary: Sebastian never really knew what his friend saw in Isaac Cooper but he never questioned it - he made his friend happy. That is until a Quidditch match goes quickly awry and he realises his feelings for her may go far deeper than simple friendship.

Prompt from @monismateos Quidditch Seb x Slytherin Seeker F!MC. Thank you for your patience with this one lovely!

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, 7th Year, explicit sexual content, smut, mild violence, love confessions, semi-public sex, first time

You can find all the tags on Ao3

Condensation fogging the inside of Sebastian’s goggles made it almost impossible to see his frozen fingers clasped around the handle of his broom; let alone the Quidditch match itself. His hair was slicked down his forehead and he could already feel a splinter working its way under the skin of his palm.

He’d have to ask her to help him squeeze that out later.

Rain lashed in oppressive sheets as Sebastian circled the pitch diligently. He rolled his shoulder as much to keep the blood circling as it was to keep pace with the veering gusts that would knock a smaller man from his broom.

Sebastian hadn’t even wanted to try out for the blasted Quidditch team he grumbled inwardly as he swerved out of the line of the chasers keeping an eye on the skies to ensure their path was free of a hurtling bludger.

He’d only intended to watch and support his friend try out for the Slytherin Seeker position. Reyes had taken one look at him stuffing himself into the narrow stalls beside Ominis and declared he had a ‘beaters build’. Before he could protest she’d manhandled him onto a broom, forced a bat in his hand and next thing he knew he was being dragged out at the crack of dawn every morning in the baltic Scottish winter.

Anne had always been the Quidditch player not him – slight and nimble she’d taken great pleasure in outpacing her brother in front of Madam Kagawa. 

Merlin, he missed the library.

He could be warm and dry watching the game from a respectable distance inside, book in hand. The cold stiffness in his bones seemed to creak in mourning because at that moment they felt like he’d never be dry again.

But he hadn’t wanted to disappoint her.

She’d looked so pleased when Reyes had offered them both a spot on the team. She’d flung her arms around his neck crowing with delight while Sebastian’s stomach had dropped like a stone. But with how her wide eyes had shone at him, small hands squeezing into his biceps, smile so wide and crooked like a crack of lightning; excitedly waiting for him to return her jubilation he hadn’t the heart to tell her that the absolute last thing he wanted was to be on the Quidditch team.

He'd never been particularly good at saying no to her.

So with a coil of despair tightening in Sebastian’s stomach, he muttered a silent goodbye to his books and his bed and returned her smile praying he didn’t look like a man walking to the gallows.

With how often Anne had badgered him to help her practice during the holidays when she was a Chaser; Sebastian consoled himself with the knowledge that he was a fair flyer. Better than a lot of the Gryffindor team evidently with how their Keeper practically wept every time he saw Rayes’ raven hair streaking towards his goalposts and as a Beater he could at least help keep an eye on their troublesome Seeker.

She was scouting high above him, robes burdened and sopping with water – it was a marvel the weight of them hadn’t made her sluggish. In fact, she barely seemed to notice the cold or the rain at all. Just as alert as she was at the beginning of the match. Floating ominously overhead she kept her silent vigil; like a hawk waiting for a rustle of prey in a dense forest. As impressive as it may be, Sebastian’s constitution was not as robust, and he just hoped she would catch the bloody snitch soon so he could pack it in.

“That’s Reyes with another 10 Points to Slytherin – Puddlemere United will have their hands full with that one next year!” Lucan’s crackly amplified voice shouted over the howling wind.

The thumping of feet heavy enough to break the rickety rafters and a roar of approval from the emerald-cloaked stands answered the chorus of groans from the scarlet that surrounded the pitch.

Tapping his bat against his boot in an inaudible clap Sebastian looked smugly up towards the Gryffindor stands as they jeered at Imelda who seemed as unbothered by them as a speck of soot on her cauldron.

“Eyes on the game, hound!” Imelda barked as she streaked past. Sebastian rolled his eyes at the nickname his captain had bestowed upon him which to his dismay had caught on with the rest of their team. 

As he began to turn his attention from the crowd a flash of black stood out against one of the scarlet banners. Obsidian and vibrating with its internal rage Sebastian caught sight of the bludger rocketing through the fog towards their Seekers. All other thoughts evaporated, and he pulled up the handle of his broom jolting up into its path.

He searched wildly through the dark skies for anything to redirect the screeching little devil away from her. His eyes landed on a scarlet figure with a bat in hand - Sebastian found his target. With all the strength his frozen joints would allow, Sebastian raised his arm and smacked the bludger with a resounding crack from his bat, sending it hurtling towards Isaac Cooper.

He’d apologise to his friend later if he put her boyfriend in the hospital wing.

A lopsided smile tugged at his lips. Sebastian leaned back slightly on his broom. Feeling rather pleased with himself he turned to grin at her hoping his quick reactions would break her concentration momentarily and earn him a flash of a smile no matter how fleeting; it was one of his few moments of pleasure in this infernal game – but she was gone.

“The Seekers have spotted the snitch!” Lucan shouted, “It’s Slytherin in the lead – come on Ogspire, knock her off her broom if you have to!”

“Lucan!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Sure, enough like an arrow released from its quiver she was streaking towards the ground. Cutting through the rain, neck and neck with the bludger hand outstretched as she hurtled towards a flash of gold behind Cooper's left ear.

Nelly, the Gryffindor seeker had also spotted it from below. If she didn’t have such a sizable lead, Sebastian was sure there would be a head-on collision, a mess of broken bones and blood splattered across emerald and scarlet. 

Sebastian’s head whipped around to the only other person not intently watching the seekers – Cooper. He’d seen or heard the bludger Sebastian had sent his way a split second before it was too late…for him.

Sebastian felt like he was watching in slow motion. Raindrops hovered in midair like glittering jewels, her emerald robes flapping in the wind like wings, bludger far too close to her head and Cooper poised to strike. A hunter with his gun ready to shoot her from the sky.

Cooper swivelled quickly on his Nimbus, strong arm reaching up above his head as he swung. Wood connected with iron as he followed through redirecting the angry bludger hurtling towards her.

Sebastian screamed her name.

So loud it clawed at his throat. A desperate plea for her to get out of the way, forget the bloody game - but his voice was silenced, stolen by the storm.

If it wasn’t for the clap of thunder and the hammering of rain, Sebastian knew he would have heard the sickening crunch as the bludger connected with bone.

Even if her hands had been tightly clutching her broom, she wouldn’t have been able to grip it after her head was bludgeoned to the side. Every muscle and tendon which had been coiled tight as she surged for victory slackened.

She wobbled and slid silently sideways off her broom.

***

Somewhere overhead even over the deep rumble of thunder, Sebastian could hear Imelda screeching out commands to their team, signalling desperately to Kogawa on the ground below. But Sebastian could barely register the words over the blood roaring in his ears.

Pressing hard on the handle of his broom Sebastian tore towards the ground, rain buffeting his face a harsh sting on freckled cheeks. His vision had tunnelled as he narrowed in on the spot she was falling. He could catch her. Stop her from hitting the ground, if only he could push himself faster. Harder.

She was falling like a star crashing to earth that never should have been stolen from the sky.

Bile was in Sebastian’s throat, harsh and sour. Twenty feet from the sodden earth. Faster. His stomach lurched. Ten feet. Just a little further. A futile hand outstretched.

Just as he was certain she was going to hit the ground limp limbs sprawled and broken in the grass like a rag doll she was suddenly buoyant – airborne once more.

Professor Ronan had his wand outstretched from the stands slowing her descent to Professor Weasley who had already been waiting on the ground. Her mouth pinched in a thin line as she surveyed the sickly parlour of the witch's face and the blood now matting her hair.

Sebastian was the first player to touchdown. Throwing his broom away, abandoning it like he would anything else as long as he could get to her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the other players circling down to earth but he was consumed. Soley with thoughts of her.

Professor Weasley flicked her wand, muttering a barrier charm shielding her from the unforgiving elements. Sebastian was hot on her heels to follow when Kagawa stepped in front of him putting a firm hand on his shoulder in warning to not interfere.

“She will be fine, Sallow!” said Kagawa sternly. 

“You must be joking. She’s clearly not fine! I can help. Just let me go with her and-”

“Professor Weasley and I will accompany her to the hospital wing immediately. You will only get in the way. You can see her for yourself. Later. Be sure to relay that to the rest of the team,” she said with conviction but it did not ease the twisting in Sebastian’s stomach. Kagawa nodded tersely and strode briskly towards the castle. 

Sebastian balled up his fists, jutting out his jaw as he took in a heavy breath through his nose. 

He wasn’t cold any longer. Sebastian was burning. Burning from the inside out; with a white-hot rage…and fear. Letting it scorch at the shame he felt that he had let this happen, it had been his fault, he had not been enough to take care of her as he’d promised himself. 

Mud splattered as he turned on his heels stomping towards Cooper. Channelling the last of his fraying self-control into not reaching for his wand and hexing him on the spot into his feet. Cooper’s face was pale, eyebrow knitted and mouth curling down with worry but it did little to quell Sebastian’s fury. 

What right did Cooper have to be worried? 

Cooper’s eyes found Sebastian, his grimace contorted into a glare. Narrowing his eyes, a sneer wrinkling his nose and the twitch in his jaw that seemed to be reserved especially for Sebastian. A face so unpleasant, that he had never been able to put his finger on why everyone in this school regarded him as so handsome. Being half-decent on a broom was hardly a reason to fawn after anyone. 

Why someone as brilliant as her, with everything she had achieved, would fawn after him too had remained a mystery.

Sebastian never really knew what she saw in him, but he never questioned it - Cooper made his friend happy. Thought he’d made her happy. So the two young men largely ignored each other despite their significance to her unless an interaction was absolutely necessary. 

But this betrayal was not something Sebastian could ignore. 

“You could have killed her,” Sebastian shouted with such venom that not even a howl of wind could soften his tone. Sebastian shoved an accusatory finger into the other man's chest. Which was promptly smacked away in disgust.

“You heard Kogawa. She’ll be fine!” 

Cooper pushed back his ash blonde hair sodden and hanging over his eyes. Averting his gaze to the direction Professor Weasley had whisked her out of the stands and towards the hospital wing. Sebastian clenched his teeth, his jaw twitching at his blatant disregard.

“What the hell were you playing at? Was killing your girlfriend really less important than losing a bloody game or has too many bludgers to the head rendered you a feckless moron?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you hit a bludger at me. It’s part of the game, Sallow. She knew what she signed up for.”

“That’s bollocks and you know it.”

“Bludgers are an occupational hazard.”

“Couldn’t stand the fact she’s a better player than you - Is that it? Gryffindor chivalry my arse!”

“Unlike you, I'm not that insecure," Cooper blustered "I would have done the same to anyone else.”

“But she’s not just anyone else,” Sebastian shouted incredulously. Anger was pooling in his gut, ripping through him at the thought of Cooper or anyone daring to think so little of her. “She’s your girlfriend!”

Cooper scoffed and his eyes raked down Sebastian. Sizing him up for all he was worth. The two men stepped towards each other. 

Never one to back down, Sebastian squared his shoulders to the challenge. Cooper wasn’t much taller than Sebastian and certainly not as broad but he used every last inch to stare down his nose at him with a mocking sneer.

“Exactly. She’s my girlfriend. Not yours.” 

“I know that-”

“Do you?” he chortled. “Some of us were starting to think you were as thick as you are pathetic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sebastian spoke through gritted teeth, acutely aware of the heat rising in his face staining his ears pink. 

“It’s fucking embarrassing,” Cooper continued. “The way you carry on after her. Dragging her to the library every night, sending her owls - You don’t even like Quidditch! But you’re at her beck and call like a love-sick cruppy-”

“I’m her friend.”

“Her friend,” Cooper scoffed. “Give it a rest, Sallow. You think you have some sort of claim over her just because you’ve been following her around since fifth-year but never had the nerve to do anything about it.”

“I don’t have a claim on her-” he spluttered. His cheeks redden further and not just from the biting chill. 

“No you don’t, because she’s mine-”

Crack.

Sebastian’s fist connected with Cooper’s jaw before he’d even realised he’d swung for the arsehole. Perhaps not as hard as a bludger but the cut it wrought would sting with far more malice than enchanted iron. Taken off guard expecting a wand drawn between his eyes long before a brawl, Cooper was sprawled out at Sebastian’s feet in the steeped grass. 

Cooper stared up at him dumbfounded from the floor clutching his cheek. Sebastian’s breath came out angry and ragged, fogging the air in uneven pants. Cooper did not move to get up or reach for his wand. Despite his love for books and clever spell work, Sebastian in that moment was glad of the years of working the fields outside of Feldcroft that made him more physically intimidating than someone so scholarly rarely was. Because if Cooper had moved one inch, he wouldn’t have hesitated to hit him again. He wanted to hit him again. Partially for her, but mostly for himself because Cooper had made him feel small. Powerless. And he’d sworn to himself years ago that he'd never be powerless again.

Powerless as Cooper clearly felt. Crimson cheeked glaring up at him like the intensity of his gaze could set Sebastian on ablaze even in the torrential gail. The prickle of eyes gawping at them, making the heat rise in their cheeks and the hairs on the back of their necks stand to attention. 

“Stay away from her. She’s not yours anymore. Not anyone’s. And if I catch you in a broomstick’s length of her again after what you did today - I swear on Salazar’s grave, you will be the one sleeping in the hospital wing next time.”

Cooper’s only acknowledgement of his threat was a glob of scarlet blood spat onto the grass. But he didn’t try to rise to his feet and continued to glare at Sebastian. The tips of his ears were as scarlet as his cloak in rage or embarrassment to be laid out in front of Merlin knows how many students that were still packed into the stands. Circling vultures who would undoubtedly, pick apart his humiliation and spread it through the castle letting it grow more outlandish with each retelling. 

Let them say what they want, about Cooper or himself, let them pick them apart - they could make themselves sick on it for all he cared. He only cared about one thing at that moment.

He turned to head for the castle, ignoring the route for the changing rooms where his dry robes waited intent on striding straight for the hospital wing. 

“Sallow! What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Imelda shouted barging past the group of quidditch players standing well back from the scuffle. Her black hair was sodden and her ponytail limp, her signature scowl she wore when addressing just about anyone looked forced with the corners of her eyes creased with concern.

“Finish the match without me Imelda-” he grumbled. She stepped into his path blocking him as he attempted to push past her. 

“It’s already over. Ogspire caught the snitch and had the good sense to look sheepish about it when she realised what happened. Or the crowd would have seen two seekers knocked off their broom when I was through with her – but that doesn’t matter.”

“No, it doesn’t matter! Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to see to the only thing that does.”

Reyes placed her hands on her hips and looked him up and down, assessing him with an amused quirk on her brow - Sebastian wondered how such a tiny thing as Reyes could be as terrifying as a Hungarian Horntail like she could strip the flesh of your bones with a look. 

"Do you know why the rest of the team calls you ‘the hound’?"

"I assume it's because you told them to treat me like some sort of dog. Now if you’ll excuse-"

"You're not a good quidditch player, Seb."

"Cheers Reyes."

"Luckily Carrow is a decent enough beater to look after the rest of the team. But we keep you for one thing. You're the hound. Her guard dog. On and off the pitch. That's why she went down like a sack of shit,” she grimaced. Reyes despite her callousness, Sebastian could see how her shoulder stiffened with suppressed anxiety for one of her few close friends and it settled the anger that was still threatening to spill over. “She's potentially the only seeker in history to never be hit by a bludger. She doesn't even look for them anymore. As I said - you’re not a good quidditch player, Sebastian. But while she’s my Seeker and Carrow doing the heavy lifting…I’ll happily take a bloody guard dog over a half-decent beater. Just don't beat yourself or Cooper up about it."

“No promises about the last bit,” he griped. Averting his eyes, hoping Imelda thought the flush creeping over his cheeks was from the chill and not from the knowledge that even his own teammates shared the opinions of Cooper and his friends when it came to Sebastian’s feelings for her - which felt jumbled with both worry and speculation. 

“Go check on her. Blainey will have a fit if the whole team shows up,” Imelda said softly. She negated her uncharacteristic kindness with a firm punch to Sebastian’s arm. Her eyes glinted viciously as she looked past him to Cooper who had pushed himself off the ground dusting off his robes. “Besides…I want to have a little word with Cooper myself.”

***

A puddle had formed under Sebastian’s chair as it had dripped from his sodden robes until Madam Blainey had ushered him into the lavatory. Sebastian hurriedly stripped, cast a drying charm on his clothes and pulled them back on. Forgoing his shoes as he hopped lopsidedly out the door. Hastily pulling up the breeches which stuck against the wet hairs on his legs. Blainey wrinkled her nose at his display but left him to his vigil, being far too familiar with the pair and how persistent they could be when it came to remaining by the other's hospital bed. 

On more than one occasion she’d sent the other packing only to be greeted cheerily the next morning by a smug-faced teenager who’d tampered with her locks and wards to sneak back inside to keep the other company. After almost three years of this, she left them, albeit reluctantly, to it.  

She was curled up under white starchy sheets; a draped knit blanket barely covering her knees was sliding to the floor where she’d squirmed. No longer chilled to her bones, the colour had returned to her cheeks. Sebastian rested his head on his palm, elbow braced against his knee. He’d been in this position far too many times than was preferable but it had become familiar to him; the twinge in his neck, the ache in his arms as the hours of the vigil dragged on. Not that he minded, being beside each other was second nature. 

She shifted; eyes blinking sleepily back into focus as she rolled onto her side. Sebastian stretched rubbing the back of his neck smiling at the softness of her sleepy gaze. 

“Seb?” she sighed dreamily, her voice thick and curdled with potions Blainey had more than likely forced down her neck. 

“Who else,” he grinned. Blainey had long since satisfied her need to poke and prod at her ward and headed up to bed. And he doubted anyone had the bollocks to go against Imelda if they’d forbidden them from seeing her tonight. “You gave me a bit of a fright there, pet.”

“It’ll take more than that for you to get rid of me…” she said sitting up more jovial than he expected. “But…whoever came up with the idea of bludgers is a sadist.”

“Or a masochist. Some of us are gluttons for punishment,” Sebastian argued, pulling at the collar of his Quidditch jersey exposing the jagged scar on his shoulder. 

Faded white, the remnants of one of their summer duels. With no Blainey to patch him up in seconds, the skin had puckered and scared but he was rather fond of how it cut through the freckles. 

“If you recall, you were the one who insisted we practice severing charms after five pints in the Broomsticks.”  

“In my defence, with the amount of practice you get, I thought you had better aim when you were drunk,” he chuckled. “How are you feeling? You seem to be fairing better than I was that morning.”

“I’m made of sterner stuff. No hungover wailing over a little scratch for me,” she jabbed before grimacing rubbing the side of her head where it had struck. “Not going to say it was pleasant - nasty little buggers aren’t they. But Blainey patched me up. Made me drink that foul grey sludge for the concussion but a couple of spells for the wound and I was good as new. Honestly, the sleeping draught seemed like overkill but I think she’s just sick of catching me roaming the halls at night.”

“If she thinks that’d stop you! Don’t think I’ve ever seen you sit still for this long, you menace.”

“Or you for that matter,” she grinned, patting his hand affectionately. Moonlight spilled in from the ornate windows over the vacant hospital wing, she peered past him down the rows of empty beds. “Where’s Isaac? I thought he’d want to see me-”

Sebastian bristled, her disappointed frown souring his cheerful mood. He brushed the bruised swelling on his knuckles from where they’d connected with Cooper’s jaw. 

“What you’d rather see your ‘brave’ Gryffindor boyfriend - than me? Who’s been here.” 

Who’s always been here.

Maybe Cooper was right. Perhaps they all were and Sebastian really was pathetic. Pathetic for assuming she’d still want to wake to Sebastian at her bedside now that she had Cooper in her life. That their friendship could compare to what he could offer her. 

“No, I’m glad you’re here,” she said crossly. “But…I thought he’d want to at least check I was alright.”

“You shouldn’t want to see him after the stunt he pulled today! He’s the reason you’re in the hospital at all, might I add. Decided you were less important than a stupid game. I told him to stay the hell away from you for good.”

She blinked at him incredulously for a moment before the heat began to rise in her cheeks and she clenched her jaw. 

“How dare you! Who do you think you are deciding what I do? You have a lot of nerve, Sebastian.”

“I thought I was saving you the trouble but if you want to scurry back to him, be my guest!” Standing so abruptly his chair screeched across the floor. “Keep doing everything for everyone else when they wouldn’t give a fraction back. No matter the cost to yourself, like you always do. You can be so bloody naive!”

“I know you don’t like Isaac - you don’t even try to hide it. But you can’t dictate who I see. And I hoped you thought more highly of me to think I’d stay with him after the shit he pulled today. But, if that’s what you really think of me, you can bloody join him” she snarled.“I tell everyone they don’t know you like I do, but maybe I am naive. Seems I’m surrounded by tossers trying to knock me down. Why do you even care, as clearly you think so little of me?”

“Of course, I care! Even though you’re seemingly incapable of caring about yourself. You barely even let me. You’re infuriating! What’s more ridiculous is what someone like you would see in him. He’s not good enough for you, he never has been! You give yourself over to people who couldn’t give too shits about you and now look at you-”

“Oh, so what? My boyfriend turning out to be a complete and utter prat is somehow my fault?”

“No! Of course not,” he flustered, carding his fingers through his hair. All the words in his head felt jumbled and he could tell by the dangerous look in her eyes he’d let his temper dig himself into a hole once again. 

“Don’t hold back, Sebastian,” she spat through gritted teeth. “Did you just come here to insult me or is there something you’re trying to say?”

“What I’m trying to say is you should you should be with someone who fucking cares. If it was me, I wouldn’t be risking your safety to win a stupid game! Merlin, if I was your boyfriend I wouldn’t risk you for anything. I thought I lost you once and it was one of the worst days of my life. If someone had tried to take you away from me I would have fought back. Fought for you. If we were together-”  

His voice died abruptly in his throat when she was no longer fixing him with a deadly eye but staring at him. Wide-eyed her mouth hung slightly a jar. He'd built up a barrier around himself and as close as he was to her, probably closer than anyone he’d still kept her at arm's length. Once again he let his temper get the better of him but instead of solidifying those walls, he’d exposed a little too much. Exposed something he’d vehemently denied to even himself.

Shone a light on a corridor in the labyrinth of their friendship and feelings he had for her he’d never explored. One he perhaps always knew was there but until now had dutifully tried to ignore lest he lose his way and not be able to make it back to the well-travelled paths of simple friendship.

“But we’re not together…” she said cautiously. As if she could tell Sebastian was a startled animal, and once the shock of his confession wore off he’d bolt. Which quite frankly he was considering. 

“No. We’re not," he responded voice clipped. Sebastian was more surprised it even worked at all with how tight his chest felt. 

“But if we were…” she said it like she was stepping out onto thin ice wondering if it would hold or she’d plunge into the unforgiving water below. “What would you do for me?”

There was no use hiding it any longer. He sighed, looking into her eyes resigning himself to that first step into the unknown.

“Anything.”

Her breath caught and Sebastian knew she could see the truth they’d danced around painted across his face and laid bare between them. Feel the finality of his words like Pandora opening the box and swarming the carefully curated distance between them with truth never to be recaptured.

Sebastian reached for her, fingers entwining in her hair tilting her chin up so she could see him. Perhaps truly for the first time, exposed and raw. Her soft lips parted as if to protest his confession but as she searched his face for the lie she found none. Sebastian was done with hiding, with pretending. The realisation that his feelings went beyond that of a companion and he didn’t care if anyone thought it pathetic. In truth, it was liberating to drop the charade he played with his own heart. 

He kissed her. 

Claiming her lips firm, not holding back the wave of desire that ignited any semblance of decorum and dignity he had left. Any whisper of a reason he’d concocted in his mind for why they couldn’t - shouldn’t be together going up in smoke. Pulling her towards by the nape of her neck, like he hadn’t realised he’d been starving until he tasted her. 

There was a desperation in the way he cupped her chin, tangled in her hair longing for acceptance. He brushed his tongue lightly against her bottom lip.

Just like that barrier between them crumbled for her too and she was kissing him back. Mouth moving against his with such a fiery intensity he thought he might catch alight. Like she too had stifled any spark she’d felt between them; kept it bottled away for so long with no chance to grow that now it was fed it devoured her.

It was not soft, nor tender – perhaps it was because neither were they.

His tongue delved into her mouth hungrily, exploring brushing against hers. He stifled a wanton moan into her mouth. 

“I think I need to break up with my boyfriend,” she said breathlessly between kisses.

“I already took care of that for you.”

For a moment, Sebastian thought she might break off their kiss and start shouting again. But she nipped at his lip satisfied with his answer. Her hand was in his hair, wrapping around his neck. Pushing up on her knees to press her chest against his. Muffled moans slipped from her lips which made Sebastian’s head spin dizzy with desire. His own strangled, desperate groan when she slid her tongue past his lips to brush tentatively against his own. Every flick of her tongue drove him further into the heady fog of desire. 

The overwhelming need to be closer. To drown in her embrace. Sebastian's knee found purchase on the bed between her parted legs. His hand ghosted down her back settling on the small of her back. She groaned as her spine curved towards him as he impressed down upon her. Still clinging to him as she fell backwards. Sebastian tumbled after her. Not caring about how his weight rested heavily upon her. She seemed to revel in the closeness, in the way Sebastian bore down on her. Desperate to be closer to her. Cocoon himself around her. Be the barrier to shield her from harm. 

But she wanted no barriers. At least not between her and the sanctuary that was Sebastian. She tugged up the hem of his jersey, eager fingers stumbling. He let his lips briefly leave hers, sitting back to pull it roughly over his head discarding it carelessly to the side. 

It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him shirtless before when they'd spent sun-drenched summer afternoons swimming in the river by Feldcroft or when errant spells had ripped or burnt the clothes from his back. But never had she looked at him like she was now - or if she had he hadn't noticed. Eyes darkened with desire raked over him hungrily as if she wanted to tear into his flesh.

She explored the breadth of him that was now exposed to her. The sparse hair on his chest, the marred skin on his shoulder the scar she’d left; a claim she’d staked on his skin long before he knew every inch of it was hers. 

His hands explored her in turn. Running along her ribs, the curve of her hips, and the dip of her waist. Committing this side of her to memory. Unbound, lustful. Still every bit the wild thing he knew her to be but with an endearing nervousness to her inquisitive touch. 

A side of her that until now had remained a mystery to him. A restricted section of a library he’d been too afraid to read from lest he be thrown from its doors entirely; on he intended to consume entirely.

“I didn't know you wanted this - Merlin, I didn't know I wanted this," he murmured between kisses.

"A life-threatening blow to the head can really knock things into perspective." 

He tilted her chin to access her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin below her jaw. She let out a startled little yelp as her body jolted in surprise. Sebastian chuckled and pressed his lips more softly against her quivering pulse, letting the tension ebb from her tightly coiled muscles before sucking a brand into the delicate skin. She groaned as her back arched towards him, breast brushing against his chest through her thin nightdress. The sweet trembling whimpers as he soothed the ache so intoxicating he felt drunk on her cries. Kneading the flesh of her breast in his palm, coaxing more delightful sounds from her lips as he tweaked the bud between his fingers. 

"I'll have to thank Isaac for-"

"Don't say his name-" Sebastian pleaded. Disliking the way any name sounded in the breathless quiver of her voice besides his own. "From now on - No one else's. Only-"

She cut him off cupping his face, prying him away from his ministrations on her jaw. She touched her lips to his gentler than the last had been, understanding the desire in his incoherent rambling. 

"Sebastian."

And she said it was the only name that mattered. He groaned deeply, burying his face in her hair. Breathing in the faint lingering scent of mallowsweet not even the storm could wash away entirely. Sebastian grasped her hip through her thin nightdress dress so he could roll his own against her core. He knew she would feel the growing need hardening in his between his legs.

Slipping under her skirt he slid a hand purposefully up the inside of her thigh. Her fists balled in the sheets as he brushed against the soaked fabric of her knickers. She shivered and certainly not from the cold, as he tentatively traced her folds. 

“Say my name again.”

She complied and he pressed his thumb against the bundle of nerves. She whined at the contact and it called to something primal within him. That doggedness, that impulsivity a part of him he tried to damper, and contain lest it consume him completely as it had done in the past - perhaps this was why he'd built a wall between her and his heart. Because once he surrendered this part of himself to her, anything he had done in the past would pale in comparison to the everything he would do for her.

Shifting the fabric to the side and dragging a finger through the slick coating her folds to press against her clit. Coaxing out mewls of pleasure with every tantalising circle of the nub. Her breath was hot against his neck and a flush had spread from her cheeks down her chest. She writhed in search of more friction as he teased her open with his fingers. Sebastian emitted a low throaty groan when he felt how silky and keen she was for him. Her breath caught in her throat and his own became more ragged as he pumped and curled his fingers inside of her. Working her open, pliant to his touch. 

His cock was strained against his Quidditch breeches twitching eagerly against her stomach with every muttered curse and keening mewl she released. Her whine into his mouth, a plea for Sebastian to give her more than just a tentative caress. Her hands which until now had been stroking along his spine and tangling in chestnut curls ran along the curve of his ribs and down his stomach. She palmed his hard length and began pulling the laces to free him from his trousers. 

Rumoured dalliances were one thing and those were bountiful. Gossip spread like wildfire whether there was truth to it or not. But if it were to be discovered Sebastian had had her completely - it could damn her. There would be no going back, no changing her mind about their feelings for each other. Not that there would be any going back for him. Not now the floodgates had opened try as he might he would not be able to close them.

He’d submitted to it. To be hers. And he knew his stubborn heart could not be turned. 

A crease formed between his eyebrows and he pulled back from their kiss. Sebastian had burned for her for longer than he knew and now his heart had begun to splutter with nerves. She smoothed the lines etched on his brow, tilting her chin up to kiss him with a soft longing. A silent affirmation that this was not a moment of madness or revenge.

“This really isn't the place, pet," he tried to reason but he made no motion to move away from her embrace. Instead, he peeled the silken nightgown over her head which she wriggled out of gratefully. Bare and laidf out below him his mouth felt dry, as she looked at him through her lashes. Chest heaving, his friend transformed into a goddess under the soft lamp light. 

"You don't think the hospital wing is romantic?"

"We could get caught?"

"We're both rather adept at getting out of trouble."

"You're sure?" 

“About you?” He nodded nervously. Her eyes softened and the words came to her easily as if somehow she'd always known it would be him. "Since the day I met you.”

Sebastian heart rattled as she undid the laces, and helped her shuck the material down his hips. He kissed her and he wondered why he tried to evade the inevitability that was her. She wrapped a hand around his cock and he bucked almost embarassingly into her grip. 

He helped her guided his cock towards her entrance, shivering as he dragged the head against her slick folds. He kissed her deeply. Passionately. In reverence to her and all she meant to him; even when he'd been too blind to see it. 

He sank into her tight heat. The noise rumbling from deep in his chest was more akin to a growl than anything human as his girth stretched her inch by inch. 

Muscles tightly coiled with nerves but a tremor of pleasure electrified her as Sebastian pressed his thumb gently to her clit soothing her delicate whimpering. Fingernails etching grooves into his shoulders he knew should sting but gods - his mind had been completely overcome in the bliss of her warmth.

"Ah- Fuck." 

Sebastian wasn't sure which one of them had uttered it the moment he bottomed out inside her. Dropping to press his forehead against hers. Hot breath disturbed her unruly hair which he had tangled, a blush staining her cheeks and lips swollen, Sebastian didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more beautiful. 

The last thread of his control was dwindling with how tight her walls fluttered around his cock, how perfectly he fit inside her; like he belonged buried in her. But he stilled himself. Letting her adjust despite how desperately he craved the claim her to make her scream his name until she could speak no other. 

Sebastian wasn't known for his exercises in control, but he tried. For her. 

Moving his hips working himself into her with tentative shallow thrusts. Her appreciating shallow panting like blissful music. He stole a look down to where their bodies were connected. Almost coming undone completely at the sight.

"It's like you were fucking made for me," he rasped. Still circling her swollen nub admiring how each stroke strained her breathing into short needy pants. Coaxing more of her slick to coat his shaft. 

"Funny," she choked a devilish smile spreading over her face. Her eyes flicked up to his from they too had been trained on their union. "I was going to say the same thing about you."

He dared a deeper thrust. Pulling back before pushing back in with a languid roll of his hips that made her groan, wanton and needy. Her back arching skyward he slid his free arm under the space she left. Wrapping around her waist to embrace her tighter.

Her hips bucked towards him, with every deep steady thrust. Cursing a string of profanities and praise the new angle allowed the head of his cock to stroke along her sweet spot. Filthy things that would have made even him blush but if it was possible they only made him rut into her more possessively. Mouthing brainless at the curve of her jaw, as she accepted him deeper.

There was a familiarity in the unfamiliar. The way the scent of mallowsweet wrapped around him had never smelt so intoxicating. The lilt to her voice when she said his name never sounded so reedy and desperate. 

He'd been trapped outside the gates of Elysium and now indulged fully in its pleasures. Sebastian groaned, peppering kissed into the crook of her neck, spreading her knees open to take him deeper. His thumb still teased her clit with every thrust making her legs tremble. The hair on his chest and freckles across his skin did little to hide the flush of colour on his skin. Sebastian clung to her desperately, her skin soft and plush in ways he’d never let himself imagine. 

He felt her climax building around his cock. Clawing at his back as she whined, teetered on the edge of ecstasy. Desperately clinging to him, to prolong the moment neither of them wanted to end. But his own release was impressing on him fast. Coiling tightly in his gut as he began to pound into her harder his pace becoming erratic with every deliberate thrust into her tight heat. 

“Fuck. Fuck- Please, darling. Come for me,” he pleaded. Barely recognising the desperate gravelly rumble of his voice. 

“Seb- Sebastian, I’m so close!”

“I can feel you. Fucking incredible. You’re incredible, taking me so well. I can’t- I can’t hold back anymore.”

Her climax broke, with a shuddering cry of his name. Spasming and contracting as she sucked him in impossibly deeper into her cunt. Sebastian doubted there was any greater pleasure in this world than the feeling of her completely unravelling, pulsing around him. 

She was calling out to him breathless, like his name was the answer to a question her soul had been asking and he was filling in the gaps of what she never knew was missing.

His vision narrowed, until she was all there was. Blushing, dishevelled a fucking exquisite mess writhing against him - because of him. With a final uneven snap of his hips, he buried himself inside of her to the hilt. Groaning her name over and over like a mantra as he came, hard. Harder than he ever had. Hips spluttering as he spilt inside of her grinding out his release deep in her channel. 

He loosened the arm coiled around her waist allowing her to slump boneless onto the mattress. He kissed her, capturing her sweet dulcet whimpers as he coaxed her slowly down from her bliss. Letting her ride out the last of her shaking climax with gentle circles on her clit, still buried inside of her.

They stayed like that for a while, his head pressed into the crook of her neck, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Humming contentedly as rocked into her. A little gasped when he at last pulled his softening cock from inside of her. Mourning the loss of being intertwined with him completely.

Hardly big enough for two, he pulled her half draping her soft body over him so they both fit. Head resting on his chest she hummed contentedly as he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. They were silent, the only sounds were their laboured breathing and the occasional satiated sigh.

"I love you," Sebastian’s voice broke the silence. 

And it felt too big and too small all at once; like it didn't capture the enormity of what he was feeling but now that he did he could never love anyone else. Never feel the warmth of another and for it to feel like home. “I just- I want you to know in case it wasn’t obvious. You don’t have to say it back-”

“I love you too. In fact, I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

She tilted her chin up to kiss him and the world seemed to tip on its axis. Sebastian resigned to the knowledge he would fly through a thousand more storms just so he could bask in her warmth.

***

Luxuriating in the afterglow of a perfect evening rarely lasted forever. However, Sebastian didn't anticipate his to end quite so abruptly or by being shoved out of bed by the witch he loved. Landing clumsily on the tiled floor he glared up at her disorientated. If she wasn't roughly pulling her nightdress over her head to cover her bare breasts he may have thought last night was a rather vivid wet dream.

"Blainey's coming. You need to hide," she hissed. “Quickly. Under the bed.” 

"So? She's used to it. We always stay here together-" Sebastian yawned in protest. Reaching up to fix her dishevelled hair brushing his thumb against her cheek. If possible, she blushed even more wildly than she did last night when he’d been buried between her legs. As if the affectionate hand from the man who loved her was somehow more intimate.

"Yes- but usually fully clothed! Oh for Merlin's sake-"

She snatched her wand up off the table, pointing it dead between Sebastian's eyes she muttered a disillusionment charm. Sebastian felt it trickle over him and just as his hands disappeared from view the door to Blainey’s chambers swung open. The matron shuffled into the hospital wing bee-lining for her solitary ward’s bed who was quickly stashing her wand under her pillow. Sebastian despite being little more than a trick of the light, scooted further under her cot to avoid discovery.

"Good morning, dear! How are you feeling?” she greeted her cheerily. Stopping at the foot of her bed her sensible shoes the only thing visible to Sebastian. “...You look a little flushed."

"Much better, Miss. Truly-”

"Look at the state of your sheets. Tossing and turning all night, I’ll bet," Blainey tutted. Sebastian clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a snort of laughter. "Glad I kept you in. I knew you needed a good night's rest."

“Ah. yes- slept better than I have in years,” her voice wavered unconvincingly. Terrible liar. The bed springs straining as she squirmed uncomfortably.

"You have a visitor,” Blainey said, fussing with her pillow. Sebastian tucked his feet in tighter into the cramped space. “Your boyfriend, Mr Cooper."

Sebastian stilled, his jaw tensing as he resisted the urge to charge out of the hospital wing in all his naked glory and tell the Gryffindor to piss off.

"I think Isaac is mistaken, Miss. He is certainly not my boyfriend any longer.”

Sebastian may be naked, tailbone throbbing and hunched under a hospital bed in the most undignified position anyone could possibly be discovered in - but Sebastian felt far from pathetic. Smug was probably a better word with the grin that had stretched over his face. 

The blow to the face may have hurt Cooper’s pride but it would be nothing compared to the gut punch awaiting him when he discovered how their roles had reversed. When he saw what he squandered had been entirely to Sebastian's gain. 

"Or perhaps he has taken too many bludgers to the head or he would have gleaned from his conversation with Sebastian that I don't have a boyfriend,” she said loudly enough for Cooper's prying ears likely eavesdropping on the other side of the door. 

Sebastian frowned. Snaking his hand up quickly to deliver a hard pinch to the soft flesh of her arse. She squeaked in surprise, swatting into thin air as she searched blindly for his invisible hand. He knew she’d be blushing madly and he’d probably get an earful about that later. Although he now had a lot more creative fantasies about making it up to her. 

"Something wrong, dear?" Blainey turned to her concerned. 

"Nothing!"

But, something was much indeed wrong.  

'I don't have a boyfriend' he almost gave himself away with an audible scoff. 

Sebastian would have to do something about that immediately.

[demondwellersword]

spoilers for the final episode of aot

EREN visits you one last time before the rumbling. he knows that once he dies the memory will return to you, sharp as a knife in the heart, and he will be glad that he won’t have to see the way it will make you sob. he knows you will look much the same as you do now, with your hands that he once loved to watch nimbly operate the odm gear balled in the fabric of his shirt. he looks down at you stoically as you yell at him, begging him not to do this, begging him to run away with you, begging him to give you just a little more time. but you don’t know—you will never know, he guesses—that he doesn’t want to leave you either. he wants you to be his forever, however long forever is for him. and he wants forever to last far longer than the handful of weeks that separates him from his final fate. he knows that he cannot change the events that will come to pass, but he desires so deeply for the ability to grant the wishes that you tearfully press into his chest. he holds you now, for the last time, hoping that when you remember him you do so with love in your heart. he knows a part of you will hate him for what he will do, and he has forced himself to make peace with that, but he hopes that you’ll remember him as he was before. as the boy who pined after you from the moment you met in scout training, hating every second that jean tried (and failed) to flirt with you. he hopes that you will remember him as the person who held you every time you cried. as the person who tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed you in the soft candlelight the night after you first saw the ocean. he knows he’s not the same now, but he isn’t lying when he says that he did so much of it for you. if you can make it out alive, at least, this will all have been worth it. and if you remember to love him even after he’s gone, it will make the pain of his sins just a bit easier to bear.

[discordantwritings]

Rock Hard (Rock Band! Cross Guild x Reader)

Pt. 3 The Guitarist

Prelude // The Vocalist // The Guitarist // The Drummer

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, semi-public sex, Buggy is a Problem, possessive Mihawk, fingering, oral sex, no Crocodile yet but soon

WC: 2.4k

Summary: So, you slept with the main singer of Cross Guild, who is also your boss. It’s fine. No one will know.

Except Mihawk, Mihawk finds out pretty fast.

Notes: I got distracted for (checks calendar) 2 months but I swear I’m not abandoning anything

Tagging: @keiva1000

“And then you have the meeting with possible collaborators at the end of your day.”

“And why am I doing that instead of Crocodile?” Mihawk asks from behind his desk.

“Because he is busy scouting concert venues.” You explain, clipboard held to your chest.

“And Buggy?”

“I think why we know Buggy isn’t doing it.”

He pauses, rolling his eyes. “We do. Fine. But make sure I have the recording studio booked for Friday and nothing interrupting it.”

“Of course. Any other schedule requests?” You ask, jotting down his demands.

“No just that.” He waves a dismissive hand and you politely nod and head to the door.

“Oh- one more question.” His words stop you and you turn on your heels back to him.

“Are you fucking the clown?”

You nearly drop your clipboard in shock, brain trying to process the absurd question before it quickly turns into a sharp embarrassment. There isn’t time to get out any words before Mihawk is speaking again.

“That answers that then.” His voice is flat but you can hear the slight edge of disappointment.

“It was only once and I swear it will never happen again.” It was the truth- since your moment with him in his office a few weeks ago nothing has happened. Sure he would grab your ass when no one was looking but there hasn’t been a spare moment where the two of you could do anything more.

“Look, I don’t care who you sleep with. As long as you don’t let it interfere with your work it’s fine.” You would feel relieved if you still weren’t drowning in embarrassment. “I’m just surprised.”

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can manage, unable to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t be. It’s unbecoming.”

You can only nod as you slip out of his office in shame.

The next few days everything is normal, and neither you nor Mihawk acknowledge the brief conversation that had happened. You felt the information prickling at the back of your brain every time you were in the vicinity of Mihawk though, knowing how much he was judging you for you indiscretion.

But true to his word he didn’t seem to care as long as it didn’t affect your work. You treated Buggy the same as everyone else, even if his hands and gaze wandered constantly. So, while you remained professional, Buggy didn’t. It wasn’t a surprise to you but an annoyance as he grew bolder and bolder with each passing day.

Like now right now, while you’re sitting down for a meeting with all of The Cross Guild and some investors. You and the band are all sitting on one side of a long table while three business men sit across from you. Today you’re a glorified note taker as Crocodile handles most of the business, sitting and writing between Buggy and Mihawk. You don’t mind it too much- at least until Buggy starts to fool around.

You wanted to stab him with your pencil the instant you felt his hand creep onto your thigh. Restraining yourself you instead shoot him a glare which falls painfully short of your intended effect. The clown just smiles at you as his hand creeps further up your leg. Your hand tightly clasps on top of his to stop his movements but he’s more nimble than you give him credit for, easily sliding out of your hold and darting to what he can manage to grab of your ass.

You’ve missed a minute or so of conversation so despite the hand on you, you try to focus back in on the conversation- only to find Mihawk staring at you. There’s a long moment of eye contact before his gaze darts down to where Buggy’s hand is and back up to you. You’re mortified and try your best to silently convey to Mihawk that you’re sorry and it’s all Buggy’s fault.

There must be something he understands because you feel him look slightly beyond you to where Buggy is sitting and glare- hard. The hand quickly retracts and you’re able to relax slightly and focus back in on your work. You manage to figure out most of what you missed and the meeting is quickly finished much to your relief. You need to go scream in an empty room.

After politely shaking hands with everyone and handing over your notes to Crocodile you dart out into the hallway to go back to your office- only to be stopped by a hand grabbing your wrist. You turn around and see Buggy with a shit eating grin plastered on his painted face.

“We running off somewhere?” He uses his hold on you to pull you in close.

“Buggy I swear to god-“ You look around, making sure no one else has come out of the room yet. “If anyone sees us-“

“Then what?” He moves and you back up, your back hitting the wall. “You’re good at your job- you won’t get fired. Besides, everyone will blame me.”

It’s true- everyone will blame him- but that doesn’t stop you from distinctly remembering Mihawk’s words only a few days ago. He would kill both of you if-

“Clown.”

Suddenly Mihawk is looming over Buggy and you watch as his face pales to the same white shade as his makeup accents. He slowly releases his hold on your wrist before sliding out between you and Mihawk so he can turn and face him.

“Mihawk, buddy, great meeting today. I was just checking in with our manager on the- uh- the-“

“Don’t pretend you know what the meeting was about.” Mihawk then looks at you and you fight the urge to meld with the wall. “Come with me.”

You hang your head and follow Mihawk, not looking at Buggy as you pass him. You go down a few hallways, brain trying to find some kind of excuse to save you. Caught up in those thoughts you almost run into his back when he stops abruptly and flings open a door you’ve never seen before.

Mihawk’s hand pushes lightly against your back and you’re ushered into the newly opened room. It’s dark and small and you realize as he shuts the door behind him your in a storage closet. You’re not fired. Mihawk’s going to just kill you.

“What was the one thing I asked?” He asks, body pressing against you in the narrow space.

“That I didn’t let my relationship with Buggy affect my work.” You admit, pressing your back against the wall to try and not be as close to him.

“Is it a relationship?” He asks, voice low.

That wasn’t where you thought this discussion was going, but it was a fair ask. “I’m not sure. I don’t think anything is ever serious with Buggy.”

“No, nothing ever is.” You’re suddenly very aware of how close Mihawk is, how he’s bending over you slightly and caging you in. One of his arms is bracing against the wall next to you and his other brushes up against your hip. “He’s immature. Unfocused. Did he even make you cum?”

“He did.” You confess, fighting every urge to press against him.

“Surprising.” He hums, hand now fully gripping your waist. “Well if you’re not in a relationship with him you should have no problems seeing what other people could offer you. The pleasure other people could give you.”

“What other people?” You ask breathlessly, still searching for confirmation that this is somehow real.

“I think you know.” Deft fingers undo the clasps of your pants and slip past your waistband.

“Yeah- I think I do.” Your head falls back against the wall as Mihawk’s knees push your thighs apart.

His hand is slow as it moves down, pushing past fabric and gently skirting over your folds. Mihawk hums into your ear when he finds the wetness seeping out of you. “I wonder… is this for me or for him?”

“You!” You answer quickly, desperate as you fight the urge to move your hips down closer to his fingers. “Started when you dragged me away from him.”

“Really now?” That must have been a good answer as one of his fingers rubs along your clit.

His mouth moves to your neck and you tilt your head to give him better access. You whine as he sucks a bruise into your neck, determined to mark you. The possessive act has you melting even further into his touch, relying on his strength to keep you upright against the wall.

One long finger presses into your entrance as his thumb stays firmly on your clit. Your hands are balled in fists at your sides as you fight the urge to touch Mihawk- afraid of ruining the tense moment. That doesn’t stop you from moaning when a second finger quickly joins the first and skillfully curves inside you.

“So noisy… do you want someone to hear you?” His words make you suddenly very aware that you’re still just in a closet in a hallway anyone could be walking down right now.

One of your hands flies up and covers your mouth as his fingers curl again, muffling another moan. Mihawk chuckles as his fingers somehow find spots you could never hope to hit with your own digits. You resort to biting down on your hand when he finally hits that delicate spot deep inside you.

You had watched his fingers move over his guitar, effortlessly playing rhythms your mind couldn’t even keep up with, but you never let your mind think of the other uses those skilled fingers could have. He plays you just like his favored instrument, strumming inside you to get you to sing for him. Now you don’t think you can ever watch him play without these feelings washing over you again.

You’re so close to your orgasm as his fingers make a mess of you but right as you’re about to fly over the edge his fingers still completely and you almost scream. Your eyes find his in the dark and you can barely see any gold in them.

“Say you want me, not him.” He says, voice barely above a whisper.

So close to your edge, you probably would have said anything to get his fingers moving again.

“Mihawk- please I need you- I can’t even think about him when you’re- fuck your fingers are so good please Mihawk-“ You plead and beg, voice pathetic in the small space.

“That’s right.” His fingers move again and your knees give out as he massages the spot deep inside you while pressing against your clit.

If you were in your right mind you’d be embarrassed at the wetness soaking Mihawk’s fingers and your underwear but in the throws of your orgasm you couldn’t give a damn. His fingers work you gently through it, pulling out only when your own legs can hold you up.

“Open.” You obey his command without a second thought and fingers covered in your juices slip onto your tongue.

You leave your mouth hanging open as your tongue swirls around his fingers, making sure to clean every last drop of you off. He’s fixated on the way your tongue moves and you try not to let it get to your head that you have a man like Mihawk captivated. When you’re done you slowly pull away and stare into his eyes, patiently waiting for his next command. You don’t have to wait long.

“Knees.” You drop to the floor so fast you’re sure your knees are going to be bruised but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Your hands quickly work at his belt and shove down his pants, letting his hard, red cock spring free. Bringing his tip to your mouth you let pooled spit drip down, coating his length. One of your hands moves to pump his length as your spit eases the way as your tongue swirls around his tip. You take him into your mouth and hear him groan above you.

Looking up you see him almost doubled over you, one arm holding him up against the wall as his head hangs down to look at you. When you finally catch his gaze his free hand runs through your hair, surprisingly delicate.

“Just like that love.” His hand holds your head but doesn’t force you down further, allowing you to keep your own pace.

You work slowly, forgetting the fact that at any point in time someone could walk in on the two of you. The feeling of him sitting on your tongue is intoxicating as you take him into your mouth inch by inch. Breathing in through your nose you push him into your throat, eventually getting his whole length inside.

You feel his hand grip you tighter as he moans above you. “Fuck you’re good. Can you- just hold right there-“

You listen and don’t move, swallowing around his length and feeling the way his cock throbs in response. You hold like this for what feels like forever until your throat starts to get tired and you slowly push back against Mihawk’s hand. He lets you pull off and you gasp for breath, thick lines of spit still connecting you.

Mihawk’s hand guides you to tilt your head back and he brings his other hand off the wall to furiously pump his own length. You let your mouth fall open as his guides his tip to your tongue. You make sure to look at him as hot ropes of cum fall onto your tongue, making sure not to swallow.

“Let me see.” He crouches down to your level, hand holding your jaw so he can find the perfect angle to see his cum pooling in your mouth. “That’s right- now swallow for me.”

You do so- glad to get the salty taste from your mouth and also glad to see how much Mihawk likes your obedience. He watches your face for a few seconds before pushing forward and capturing your mouth in a needy, sloppy kiss. Despite it only lasting a few seconds, you’re breathless when he pulls away and stands up.

He quickly tucks himself back into his pants and zips himself up before reaching a hand down to you to help you up. He takes care of your pants as well, pressing one last kiss to your neck as he does so.

“See you tomorrow.” He says, a slight smile on his face as he slinks out the door of the closet, leaving you alone in the dark.

You’re seriously fucked.

[scrunckled-idiot]

ok so i've been putting this off for WAY too long and ermm- yeagh :D

here's my silly mini fella <3 (design will most likely change in future posts with this guy cus im not too fond of the outfit)

(in case writing in the pic is hard to read:)

"a mute, miniature, blu super human experiment gone rouge to red, the pocket merc proves themselves to be a highly dense and nimble asset to their team... when the aren't hiding in walls or being trod under a barrage of boots"

this little fella was from a fanfic i wrote for myself before Tumblr. thinking about cleaning it up in the future and posting it on my ao3. idk.

additional heap of info! (im... not good at these AUGJ-):

because of their densely and tightly packed form, they're pretty much invincible to anything, from temperatures up to 1600c, as cold as -197c, and can withstand a weight limit of 30,000 tons. so medic didn't even bother adding a respawn chip to them. but he didn't count for the fact that every. single. one of those hurts like hell. death isn't even an easy way out. either wait for help, or get out of the situation themself.

lol again wtf is gender my bitches, bastards, and cunts in-between 😎

on the field, they're mostly used as a pest to distract the enemy so that their teammates can get the final blow.

lives in a hole punched into the wall by heavy in engineers workshop.

though they're a nervous wreck and cowardly most of the time, once attacked, or a teammate is in trouble, they act on an apeshit instinct and go as ham as they can, mostly going for the eyes, nape of the neck, or even the groin at times. its hard to hit something so small y'know.

they, engie, and pyro hand out most of th time. family bonding <3

literally experiencing the terrors everyday. pls help them.

they're mute because blu didn't create them with vocal chords since they were just gonna attach a camera with a mic to em. so since they cant talk, they use a lot of hand gestures and charades, sometimes using objects around them. fuck sign language that shits too hard to learn 😔

engie made their lil' suit, boots, and nail gun. had a blast with it since it reminded him of those minifigures sets he used to own as a boy.

nail gun works like a rifle but with arching projectiles. the arc aint that big, its mostly a straight shot.

its lonely being so small and miles apart from everyone.

idk what else to add ahah :) wugahy

relationships:

likes:

engie. heavy. demo. pyro. sniper

tolarates:

scout. spy.

dislikes:

medic.

miscellaneous:

soldier. they aren't sure. he's sending mixed messages. wtf.

ALSO CAN POCKET PLEASE MEET UP WITH @bluespace-skull CELINA AND @moon-0f-m4rs CIG pls i beg on my knees it would be so awesome sauce. the holy trinity.

(ahah)

[oldfarmhouse]

scout and nimble

[jjkamochoso]

I Survived Shiganshina and All I Got Was This Stupid T Shirt

Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Levi Ackerman x gn!reader

The battle at Shinganshina is here—how will Levi cope with the imminent death of another person he loved?

Warnings: cussing, violence, mentions of blood and death

A shiver flew through your entire body, your bones shaking under your skin. Your fingers were having trouble fastening the emerald green cape around your neck, the button slipping from your quivering grasp, as you got ready for what was most likely the last battle you’d ever enter. You had just witnessed the best Scouts get absolutely demolished by the Beast Titan, torn to shreds by the boulders he threw with no mercy, and you were only saved from that early demise due to Erwin asking you to fight elsewhere with Levi and the new recruits. Now, here you all were, scared out of your minds under the flimsy cover of buildings as pieces of rock threatened to pummel you at any second. Meanwhile, you were too busy dealing with this fucking cape that you couldn’t fucking button because your fucking nerves—

“Take a breath, brat.”

Your anger was immediately quelled by the sound of Levi’s calm voice as you felt his nimble fingers make quick work of the closure. His steel eyes were boring into your own and if it were any other time, you’d look away shyly, but your lives were about to expire and there was no way you’d want to focus on anything but the man in front of you.

“I can feel your heart pounding through your cape. You need to relax.”

His words were stern but you knew the concern that lay behind them. The captain still hadn’t pulled his hands away from your body after helping you out, opting to hold you close in the only way he knew how. You and Levi had made your affections for each other known a few months back after many years of friendship but agreed that it wasn’t the time for romance of any sort so you found yourselves locked in a relationship that was a mix of platonic and whatever a step beyond that was. Right now you wanted nothing more than to give him the deepest, most passionate kiss you had in you but you were all too aware that you dedicated your heart to the Scouts and betterment of humanity, not just to the famed captain so you couldn’t take your mind off the task at hand—keeping your cadets alive for as long as possible.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you told him, regret oozing from your mouth. You weren’t apologizing for only today, but for all your past mistakes. He deserved to know you took accountability for all your transgressions, both professional and personal. If only you knew then what you knew now… you would’ve made countless different choices to lead you and your soldiers to victory rather than sitting in a clump waiting to die. You could’ve been at home, content in the arms of the man you loved rather than participating in the macabre game of seeing whose light in their eyes goes out first.

“No regrets. We made our choices and there’s no going back. We have to look forward.”

You nodded in agreement and he reluctantly pulled his hand from the worn fabric, you immediately missing the warmth of his touch. Levi left to talk with Erwin on what to do next while you tried to calm the new recruits.

Was Levi scared?

That’s a loaded question.

Technically speaking? No. There was nothing fearful about an overpowered, loud, ugly, shitty excuse of a monkey, even if said monkey was making quick work killing the Survey Corps. Levi knew he could kill him. It would take speed and finesse, traits he utilized in every mission, so no, Levi wasn’t scared of that.

Levi was scared to lose you.

He had seen too many of his comrades fall, his loved ones fade away from existence. With every death he found a way to keep moving, carrying their fighting spirit with him, but if you died?

That would be a major blow to his morale.

That was why he was currently debating with Erwin, desperate to find an escape route for you and the recruits. He could beat the Beast Titan in a fight, that he was sure of, but the sacrifice of Erwin, you, and the rest of the cadets would be a devastating waste of lives. Would it be worth it to kill the Beast Titan now instead of letting everyone retreat? Would it be worth the loss of his two closest friends?

The loss of the love of his life?

As a captain in the Survey Corps, it was your duty to give your heart for the survival of humanity. Why was it so damn hard for Levi to see you do just that?

“Give up on that dream and die. Lead the captain and those new recruits into hell. And I will take down the Beast Titan.”

You anxiously awaited word from Levi and Erwin on what the plan was going to be. More buildings had collapsed and it was only a matter of time before all your shelter was gone and it would be a full on massacre. You hoped they were about to bring good news. Erwin stood proud in front of the recruits while Levi took his place next to you, wearing a somber expression and you knew that spelled disaster.

“There was no other way,” he said, confusing you until Erwin began explaining his strategy to the group. When you heard you were going to be riding straight into your death, you were struck with a million different emotions. Fear, anger, and grief were the ones you felt the strongest until Levi’s face entered your peripheral and finally you settled on relief. You had been fighting your entire life for peace for your loved ones and this was no time to turn your back on gaining the opportunity for humanity’s survival. Besides, a quick, meaningful death was being served to you on a platter in this situation which was all you could ask for. After Erwin’s rousing speech, you felt even more secure in your position as a distraction to help Levi eradicate the Beast Titan. Levi was deathly quiet throughout the whole ordeal and you couldn’t get a read on how he was feeling.

“I was upset at the plan at first,” you told Levi as recruits were rushing around you, mounting horses and dodging rocks, “but I get it. It’s what we signed up to do. I just hate that I’m leaving you so early.”

He didn’t say anything as he received horse reigns from a frenzied soldier, studying your face and committing everything to memory. If this was the last time he’d see you, he wanted to make sure he’d never forget it.

“Titan got your tongue, Captain?” you joked, shooting Levi a soft smile and gripping your own horse’s reigns in a white knuckle grip. Levi reached out, his free hand ghosting over your tense hold.

“I thought I told you to relax. And I know my own shitty voice, I want to remember yours.”

“I love you so much, Levi,” you suddenly blurted out. “Don’t let these words become a curse or a burden, I just need you to know that my feelings were real. You can take them with you or leave them here in this graveyard if that’s where they belong but I couldn’t die without telling you.”

Levi was quiet again.

You started to mount your horse, ready to give your all in your final battle before eternal rest. Before you could swing your leg up, you felt a fist connect to your chest.

“You’ve dedicated your heart,” said Levi, his eyes unnaturally wet as he looked steadfastly at you one last time, “to the cause, to the Scouts… to me. I won’t let you down. Your death won’t be in vain. And when I die, whenever that may be, I look forward to seeing you again.”

You felt tears ready to drop but you refused to let them fall.

You extended your pinky. “You promise you’ll take down that shitty monkey?”

Levi copied the motion and you trembled at the skin on skin contact.

“I swear on my life. This is my promise to you, y/n.”

You released the intertwined pinkies and touched your own hand to his chest, letting it rest above his fast beating heart. “It’s been an honor, Captain.”

“Same to you, Captain.”

You smiled and relinquished your limb from his body, swinging your leg over your horse and waiting for the command from Erwin. You saw Levi mount his horse and in that moment, you understood the full extent of why the public viewed him as a humanity’s strongest soldier. His unyielding conviction and resolute attitude in the face of impossible decisions was truly exemplary. The regal way he sat atop his horse was nothing less than extraordinary and the way he handled his blades with such ease and grace was absolutely swoon worthy. You considered yourself the luckiest person in the world to have known him as well as you did. You gave each other one last head nod before his horse galloped away, ready to ambush the Beast Titan. Your job just got even more important. You weren’t going to fail him. You weren’t going to let him die.

Blood. Pain. The smell of smoke signals.

These were all things that filled your senses to the brim as you charged forward, screaming until your throat burned and your lungs gave out. The first bombardment had left you dazed, a large piece of rock whizzing by your head and hitting you just enough to make you nauseous and almost fall off your horse. You pressed on, not giving up so soon. The only way you’d let yourself die is when you feel like you accomplished what you set out to do. Levi needed more time, more distractions, and so, you weren’t finished yet. You loaded more smoke shells into your gun and fired off more rounds, the deafening cries of fallen soldiers filling your ears. The Beast Titan had picked up another handful of boulders and you knew your time was running out. You rode as fast as you could, feeling sorry for the inevitable end your horse was going to meet as well, but your sacrifices were going to help the next generations grow up in a better world.

Another bombardment was on its way.

Shrapnel and boulders began showering over you. You yanked on your horse’s reigns and you narrowly missed a chunk of rock. More smoke signals left your gun as you twisted your body around to see who was still standing. Just you and three others.

It was the end for you.

You wished you could’ve survived long enough to see Levi kick the monkey’s ass, but fate was cruel as the Beast took up one last handful of soon-to-be-projectiles. Your horse’s legs kicked up dirt clods in a frenzy at the speed you were going and you were hoping she was having a good time running free like this, unaware of the death she was about to face. The Beast Titan’s arm threw itself forward and you released the last smoke shell in your gun. As the rocks rained down on you and the last of your soldiers, you could’ve sworn you saw Levi’s silhouette through the smoke. Your horse got struck by the last of the boulder pieces and you flew off, striking the ground with a large thump. The last thing you saw before everything went black was a memory of Levi smiling at some stupid shit joke you made in the dining hall one evening.

There was a faint feeling of someone touching your neck and you didn’t know if you were in the afterlife or not. It was certainly bright enough to be the afterlife since the light was basically blinding you through your closed eyelids. You tried to move, speak, anything, but your body wasn’t cooperating. You tried moving toward the light, like what people say happens when you die, but you didn’t feel any different when you finally opened your eyes. In fact, you felt like absolute shit. You had a pounding headache and it was like every bone in your body was broken. You registered the hand on your neck again.

Probably feeling for a pulse.

“Levi?” you croaked out, “Levi? Is that… you?”

“Captain! Captain, can you hear me?”

“Levi?” you tried again. It didn’t sound like him but you weren’t sure of anything anymore.

“No, it’s Floch. Captain y/n, it’s Floch. We have to get out of here. You have to get up!”

Get up? You could barely open your eyes. And what the fuck was Floch doing here, sounding like he didn’t just experience the worst day of his life?

“Commander Erwin is still alive but he’s bleeding out. We have to get him to Levi to save him!”

Levi. Just his name put a smile to your face. Right. You have to save Erwin and see Levi. Two very agreeable missions to accomplish, in your opinion. You forced yourself to peel your eyelids apart and the sun burst in your retinas like a floodgate had opened. You ignored the burning and bruising sensations in the rest of your body as Floch helped you up. You definitely busted some ribs, suffered a major concussion, scraped open your face, and had a broken arm and ankle, but all things considering, that wasn’t the worst outcome. You were relieved that Levi survived the Beast Titan bout. The mental image of Levi severing the monkey’s head gave you a burst of energy and you were able to walk a little bit faster, Floch holding you up as you made your way to grab Erwin and find Levi. When you got to Erwin, you were exhausted and sat down while Floch shoddily bandaged up the commander.

“Can you walk on your own? I have to carry him or else he won’t survive.”

You nodded. “I’ll either do it or I won’t. If I fall, keep going to Levi and don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.”

You two started your treacherous trek into the walls. It was eerily quiet after the battle, the scent of blood filling your nostrils and you weren’t sure if it was your dead comrades’ or your own. You stumbled more times than you could count and there were a few moments where you thought you’d fall and die in the same spot, but before you knew it, you had come upon Eren, Mikasa, and a charred body…

“W-who is that?” you cried out, trying to keep from throwing up. It was the right size and build to be Levi but there was no way he got burned, right? That wouldn’t make sense at all but your delirious mind had been through too much to work properly.

“It’s Armin,” said an all too familiar voice.

“Levi!” You fell to your knees from fatigue, both physical and emotional. You were overjoyed that he was completely unharmed but on the other hand, you witnessed the burnt body of a wonderful young man with friends who tried to protect him with all their might. You felt strong arms grip your body as Levi moved you to a better spot on the roof, away from Armin and the other teens and leaned you up against the remnants of a chimney.

“I’m happy you’re alive,” you said wearily, ready to pass out.

“Same to you,” he said, frowning slightly, “but hey, don’t close your eyes. Stay awake for as long as you can. We’ll get you to a doctor soon.”

This time it was you who didn’t respond, your head lolling against the stone as your eyes shut.

“Y/n. Y/n.” Levi was shaking you by your shoulders and lightly tapping your face but there was no response. He located your pulse and it wasn’t scarily faint so he decided to leave you be for now while he dealt with a new, huge problem—deciding to continue with saving Armin or giving the serum to the freshly returned from the battlefront Erwin.

When you finally woke up again, you were greeted with Hange (minus one eye) staring at you like you were their newest titan experiment.

“Glad to have you back with us, y/n,” they said, clapping your shoulder gently. “I didn’t want to lose anyone else today.”

“Who did he choose?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

Hange stiffened ever so slightly. “Armin.”

“Good,” you replied, “Erwin had been through enough and met death in the most fitting manner for him. Armin and those other kids are our future. He made the right choice.”

“I agree.” They helped you sit up and your bones creaked in protest at the movement. You saw that you had a hastily arranged splint on your left ankle while your arm was in a sling made from part of someone’s shirt and sensed the pull of a bandage along your cheek and down your jaw. Levi heard you talking and quickly came over to fill you in on what was next.

“You’re going to the top of Wall Maria with what’s left of the Scouts so you can get to Trost and recuperate. Hange, Mikasa, Eren, and I are going to the basement.”

“I can go, too.” You tried to shift position and stand but you were too weak, your body giving out on you as adrenaline was quickly draining. Levi rushed to your aid, letting you support yourself against his leg as you sat again.

“You can barely sit on your own, let alone walk to Eren’s house. You’re going to Trost, y/n, and that’s an order.”

You looked up and met his eyes; they were filled with concern and you were washed in shame at your lack of self awareness. Of course you couldn’t go, you’d only slow them down. Now was not the time to act rash in the name of selfish desires for answers. Levi borrowed Eren’s ODM gear to bring you to the top of Wall Maria since his own gear was out of gas and pretty busted up. You bid your goodbyes to Hange and the kids as Levi deftly scooped you into his arms, mindful of your numerous injuries, and began swinging through the ruins of Shiganshina.

“So, did you bring them with you?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Bring what?”

“The words. The ones I told you before the battle. Did they die with our comrades or did you bring them with you?”

“I-” Levi faltered. “I… brought them with me. You mean a great deal to me, y/n. When I sent you out on the battleground I refused to let you die in vain, you’re worth too much for that. But I made a promise to you and Erwin that I’d kill that shitty Beast Titan and I failed. I’m sorry.”

“Levi,” you said, your hand finding purchase on his cheek, “it’s alright. You did your best and I’m proud of everything you accomplished today. We can try again and keep trying after that as many times as we need to, and we won’t give up. We can do this. Together.”

His lips were pressed in a firm line as you felt his grip on you tighten. You had almost scaled the wall when Levi spoke up.

“I had made peace with your death but now that you’re back with me, I won’t lose you again.”

You were now walking atop the wall and you spied Sasha and Conny from your position. Levi helped you hobble over, a firm and comforting grasp on your waist. When they greeted you both, Conny said the group was about to take off for Trost. Levi knew he couldn’t continue wasting time here but he had this ache gnawing inside him at the idea of someone other than himself taking care of your injuries. He didn’t want to leave you alone but you both had jobs to do—him to find answers in the kid’s basement, and you to rest up. He noticed your cape was undone and sliding off so he moved it back into place, ignoring the revolting squish of fresh blood under his fingers, and affixed the button to the loop. The action was the same as a few hours prior but the result would be much different. Instead of you marching to your death, you were heading to be healed. Instead of wrapping you in a body bag, he could try wrapping you in his arms.

Levi smiled internally at the thought.

“I’ll come see you as soon as I can,” he said, sincerity shining from his irises. “Listen to the doctors and don’t be stupid. You need to get stronger. Make sure you get plenty of rest and eat lots. Don’t get dehydrated, you have to keep your fluid intake up after injury. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it, that’s what the staff is there for.”

“Okay, mom,” you teased. Levi scoffed and you just giggled.

“I’m looking out for you, brat, so take my advice.” His tone had gone soft, no bite behind his words whatsoever. You made the connection that this was his way of saying “I love you” and you let out a sigh of relief that he was returning the weighty phrase. You became aware that his hands were resting on the same junction of your cape’s button and clasp like before, not making an effort to pull away any time soon if he could help it. But he couldn’t help it since you were being called over to start your journey to Trost so his touch ceased from the heavy fabric as you gave him one last tender look.

“Take care of yourself, Captain.”

He reached over to ruffle your hair. “You too, Captain.”

You heard the zip of ODM gear and Levi was gone in a flash. Though you felt like a piece of you was missing without Levi by your side, you knew he’d be back with you in no time. As you limped along the wall with your hurt comrades, you felt a fire ignite deep within your soul.

The Beast Titan was going to pay.

[hailsureisrotten]

Literally all of the Slugcats in my silly lil Rotten Hail AU!! Also, some lore on them and a version with a transparent background below the cut!

So, the lore!

Moon and Pebbles: Not shown here. During Moon's collapse, she fell westward, colliding with Pebbles' structure and knocking them both over. This created an eternal Blizzard inside their Facility Grounds. This event also caused the Rot to evolve via consuming the Neuronflies en masse, the Rot now assimilating creatures into itself instead of consuming them...

Survivor: Born into the colony fairly late into the Blizzard. Often does scavenging work, but has learned a fairly vast array of talents, meaning they can help out with pretty much anything, instead of specializing in specific subjects like most other slugcats.

Monk: Born into the colony fairly late into the Blizzard as well, specializing into animal handling and botany. Has diabetes, often carrying extra snacks in their bag in case her blood sugar drops out on the field.

Gourmand: The Colony's primary chef, as well as being a scout and part-time craftsman. Super kind and caring... though often forgets most do not have the appetite they do, often having guests passed out in their spare bed due to food comas.

Hunter: Created by NSH after Moon and Pebbles' collapse. Was very sick with Rot, but thankfully was brought back to NSH before it claimed them. Using samples of the evolved Rot, NSH created an injection that fused Hunter's rot into their body, causing it to stop eating away at Hunter and even granting them new abilities- at the cost of a drastically increased appetite.

Spearmaster: Created by Seven Red Suns as a messenger. After Moon and Pebbles' collapse, was given some specialized equipment. Due to their spaghetti DNA, their tail has grown in size quite excessively, and while this had made them less nimble, they now have the idea of spiking up their tail and swinging it like a giant mace, which has proven quite effective.

Artificer: Also created by Seven Red Suns for the purpose of destroying rubble and starting fires for warmth amongst the Blizzard. Her lost leg and missing eye are due to blood clots forming when she was young, and exploding violently. Was taught by SRS all the technological knowledge of how Iterators and Ancient technology work, and as such is a talented engineer.

Diver and Collector: Artificer and Hunter's pups. Green and Blue instead of red because of Arti's spaghetti DNA. Both carry Hunter's ability to middle alter their own bodies to extend their limbs a little bit, and also Arti's abilities, letting them to light up their bodies in bright, flashy bursts of fire, like little living Fireworks.

Rivulet: Created by a currently unknown Iterator before Moon's collapse, as a gift to keep her company. During the collapse though, got a concussion and memory loss, due to being inside Moon's structure. Lived on her own for a long time, scavenging for supplies under the freezing water. Now lives in the Colony, operating a water treatment machine below it.

Saint: Created by Sliver Of Straw as the Triple Affirmative. After meeting Gourmand, discovered their love of food. Still carries the power to Ascend others using their mechanical arm, but prefers not to unless asked to do it, or if it's the morally better option. Actually fairly chubby underneath their cloak now.

Nightcat: Slugcat from the Colony who, while on one of their first scouting missions, encountered a Rot Cluster who had learned to create immensely powerful bursts of light to flashbang foes. After the encounter, Nightcat was left permanently blind.

Inv/Enot: Cluster of Rot that was experimented on to create the Cure for Hunter. Became sentient and passive, taking on a vaguely slugcat-like form most of the time. Very silly and fun-loving, but also very anxious all the time, which they do their best to cover up. Often resides inside an abandoned Slugcat skeleton, using it to help their body maintain a stable form.

The Colony: The colony of Slugcats living on the outskirts of the Facility Grounds/Outer Expanse. With the guidance of Artificer, as well as SRS and NSH, the colony's home was revamped from a partially hollowed-out tree to a full-on town built vertically around it.

[eueuphoriaz]

Hange's last fight.

I was getting some references for some of Hange's fight poses for a personal project and realised that she is the only one who died without any blood on her.

Ok. The heat from the titans vapourised the blood.

And think about how fast Hange is moving between those Titans to avoid the heat. And she has proven that she is, in fact, very nimble. (Leaping away at her first fight scene in ep 9, leaping away multiple times from Sawney and Beane, leaping away from the talking titan in the OVA)

Still in her last moment, she is still looking if the airboat has taken off.

And that look of determination on her face.

Honestly, that scene hit so hard because the emotions are all experienced by the on-watchers, aka us. Hange, not showing any fear makes the scenes so emotional.

Look at her last facial expression. I compared with Erwin's cos both are basically heading towards their death knowingly.

I dont sense fear in Hange's expression even as she is burning. I read that the pupil's constriction and dilation convey emotions. Dilation is caused by our body's sympathetic nervous response (fight or flight), with constriction is the opposite, by the parasympathetic nervous system. It also means when your pupils are constricted, you may be focused. The burrowing of her brows, just depict her conviction and determination so strongly, in the face of death.

Just another quick analysis from Erwin's charge.

The scene of the 3 scouts depict fear and apprehension when Erwin first told them his plan. All of them had the same expression.

Next, after his motivating speech, Marlowe's expression became determined while Floch showed apprehension still. The girl is a bit hard to read but her pupil gets a little more dilated.

And then their last moment. Do I need more explanation on the fear the facial expressions and the eyebrows show?

Hange is truly the most marvellous character in AOT.

[captain-pheonix]

Hallo !! Saw that your requests were open so I was wonderin if you could do some headcanons for Heavy and Sniper with an s/o who acts like Scout but more humble and chill? If that makes sense? If this isn't sorta your cup of tea or you just have no idea how to write this, feel free to ignore! No pressure!:]

A/N: hallo! I like this one!! Here you are! P.S: here’s a goofy picture because I’m too lazy and amused by it to find a normal one 😂

Heavy & Sniper with a more chill Scout-like S/O

Heavy:

- As a family guy who’s been taking care of his sisters and mother his whole life, he would definitely appreciate it if you were more of a responsible and caring type

- He would probably adore it when your funny and rambunctious side comes out every now and then, your jokes and antics making him belly laugh

- Whenever you’re tuckered out, he would totally offer you some bear cuddles

- All the mercs would likely tell Scout about how you could be a role model for him (much to scout’s chagrin, of course)

- On the battlefield he would 100% like it when he can trust someone more nimble to do things like get the intel or make a distraction

Sniper:

-Right off the bat, he might think you’re really cool (get noobed, scout)

- He would appreciate the chill type, someone who could match his energy and is easier to talk to

- likely you would be his public speaker if was ever feeling overstimulated or overwhelmed by social situations

- Considering he’s used to being on his own and speaking very little to the rest of his teammates off the battlefield, he’d need you to step in occasionally

- He might teach you some target practice if you ask nicely enough

- Absolute camper cuddle supreme because he needs some calm company

- Cold day? Cuddle. Bad day? Cuddle. Stupid social event? Cuddle.

- Another thing with social events is that you would offer to stay behind with him whenever he didn’t want to go somewhere like the bar

- Sniper would probably love taking you on camping trips with him, just to be mundane and relaxed for a few days in the wilderness (camping cuddles? Yeah.)

-If you ran as fast as Scout did, he would definitely teach to track fast moving animals he couldn’t keep up with as much

- Your jokes would definitely make him laugh because knowing Scout, they would probably be really terrible (the good kind of terrible)

- In battle, knowing he’s at risk because he doesn’t have a medic with him 24/7, he would really like it if you grabbed medpacks and ammo packs for him so he could man his post

—————

I ended up writing way more for Sniper…oopsies 😳 anyway tysm for reading!!

[my-naughty-writings-and-musings]

NSFW Gunmax x Reader

Chapter One

I have once again fallen into my old love, Brave Police, and with so much stress in my life I've decided to have a bit of fun with the bots! Synopsis is simple: Gunmax invites reader to "spend the night" with obvious intent, not knowing reader is fully aware that he's a virgin. Shenanigans will ensue.

(NSFW, Robot Human Relations, Reader uses gender neutral pronouns, Sauciness to Increase with Additional Chapters)

Please like and reblog, and let me know what you think!

"Here we are."

The garage Gunmax had brought you to was lit only by string lights overhead once the door closed behind the both of you, but even then you could see there was a fair bit more out of place in the abandoned cement structure. A bot sized bed of cushions covered in blankets was the main feature, and a closer look revealed it to be in the shape of a lopsided heart, making you smile at the sentimentality most would never have expected from a mech like Gunmax. To his credit, he must have also cleaned the place up, as there wasn't a speck of dust or dirt along the aged stone surfaces. You'd have offered a thankful flirt, but the not-so-distant sounds of the city's active night life gave you pause. The last thing the two of you needed was an unexpected visitor.

"You're sure no one will disturb us in here?" you asked as you looked up at him. Gunmax scoffed in sarcastic offense, hitting a button on the wall that snapped a heavy duty lock over the garage door.

"I scouted and secured this place myself, we won't be bothered." he said with full confidence. You saw no reason to distrust him on this matter, so you relaxed and turned your attention to the lovely night ahead. Gunmax had made it very apparent what he wanted to happen, his many forced innuendos telling you more than he had probably intended, but you were polite enough to play along provided he behaved himself. Looking back to the sizable and only slightly lumpy bed, you smiled in anticipation of a lovely evening. Gunmax puffed his chest out as he lifted you for a clear view of his work. "I even got it all nice and pretty for you, baby."

A most imperfectly timed flickering of the lights overhead made him pout, compelling you to jump to his rescue and save the mood. You knew from experience there was one thing that cheered him up without fail; playful ribbing. "I think we have different definitions of pretty."

"I'd say you have no taste, but I'm proof of the opposite." he countered effortlessly, back to high spirits without delay. You rolled your eyes at his boundless arrogance, but couldn't keep from smiling at his wit, especially when exchanging playful barbs had been the start of your relationship in the first place. Bending down to let you hop out of his hands, the mech flopped back onto his makeshift bed with an audible whumpf from the cushions, sprawling his nimble limbs as he looked down at you with a smirk.

"How about giving this bed a try before you knock it, yeah? It's big enough for two, but you can always have a seat on my lap." he offered, adjusting his posture so the area between his legs was freely accessible. It wasn't his most obnoxiously suggestive invitation, but you had little intention of just going along and making things easy if he tried to play at being something you knew he wasn't. It might not have been obvious to Gunmax that he wasn't fooling anyone, but if he continued to bluff you were intending to call him out on it. Having so much fun in the process was just a perk.

"Why would I ever want to do that?" you asked coyly, sitting down on the edge of the bed after hefting yourself over the lip. It was impossible to say just how many cushions, blankets and mattresses had been gathered to build it, but the end result was indeed quite comfortable. You couldn't wait to break it in properly.

Only mildly phased by your mock misunderstanding, the biker sighed in dramatic fashion, doubling down on his pouty approach as he leaned his cheek into his palm. Whatever game he was playing, he was in it to win, optics twinkling behind his visor with mischevious daring as he leveled them on you. "I'd hoped you'd feel grateful enough to show your host some appreciation, but I guess you have poor manners..."

The daring taunt flicked a switch in you, his overt teasing just too much to endure when you knew he was faking it, and you decided that he'd unknowingly chosen to do things the hard but equally pleasurable way.

"I had a feeling "checking out your place" was code for something else. But, if you put it like that..." you trailed off to crawl between his legs, moving carefully but quickly so he had no time to prepare before you were pushing his thighs apart, letting your hands linger on his freshly waxed white finish. His antenna dipped reflexively, and you heard him gulp when you stopped just shy of his panel. From the way he flinched backwards at your sudden approach, one would have thought you towered over the bot. You might as well have with how easily you had him on the run. "I'd certainly hate to be rude."

[moonlight-tmd]

do you remember the post about blitzbee starting when blitz and lugnut arrived on earth? I was thinking about that and I was curious; what would've happened when starscream suddenly became involved briefly? (he apparently kidnapped bee for shits and giggles and didn't know what was happening) what would he do then?

would star just use this to his advantage or leave it alone because in his perspective it's stupid? I'm just curious :p

Lol yeah I do.

He's your typical asshole that will do shit to annoy you. And heck if those big dumbafts wanna date this tiny scrawny bot then surely he's gonna get involved.

He will swoop down just to grab this tiny mf and "claim him as his" just to piss everyone off. Then he's gonna try and run away,... too bad he forgot Blitzy can fly and kick his aft in 4 different ways. Of course, Blitz rightfully returns the minibot to the ground after he's done, even makes sure he's not injured in any way, what a gentlemech.

When Shockwave learns what happened then Starscream will have to watch out for his oil cuz that shit might be poisoned again. Prowl is just suffering cuz why do so many people want Bee in particular? He only wants to be happy with the scout, he didn't think there will be a literal fight over his Spark.

Starscream didn't really know what was happening and only saw all these disasters trying to flirt with Bee. He does shit to piss everyone off, that's just how he is. Whenever Starscream is targeting Bee in battles, he's getting his aft handed back to him by Blitz who is always hiding somewhere to watch and save his little love if needed. Literally no one is allowed to hurt Bee under any circumstances or else they'll experience the wrath of a Triple Changer. And don't be fooled, Prowl may be small but he's fast and nimble and will waste thousands of his shurikens just to make you forget you even saw Bee. You're already dead with Shockwave/Longarm- literally. This mf has your personal files deleted or with a note of you passing away and then he will take care of you in ways you cannot imagine.