#shadow is carrying the entire series on his BACK ]

[resolutewarrior]

No mfer will ever be as cool as Shadow the Hedgehog.

[joelsrose]

Valentine’s Day

fluff!!

i think i might make a little mini-series of cute fluff one shots of reader travelling w/ Joel - same vibe as polaroids

The road stretched endlessly ahead, an unbroken ribbon of cracked asphalt and brittle grass edging the silence between you and Joel. Time had lost its edges, slipping by in indistinguishable layers—sunrise and sunset melting into a quiet, unending rhythm. You both found small ways to measure the days, counting by the frost thickening in the mornings or the way your breath lingered longer in the air.

He’d been quiet that morning, gaze fixed on the horizon, shoulders curled inward in a way you’d come to recognize—a silent signal of his retreat into himself. Only when he finally spoke, his voice roughened by the cold, did you catch a faint trace of what lay beneath.

“Mid-February,” he muttered, the words barely a whisper, his eyes distant, unfocused, as though he were seeing beyond the leafless trees and frost-bitten fields, someplace far beyond reach.

The realization settled quietly within you, a subtle truth he likely hadn’t even noticed you told yourself—that today wasn’t just any other day.

Valentine's Day.

Just another day, you told yourself. And yet, as you looked over at Joel, his face softened by the pale winter light, the weight of what once was—of love, of yearning, of lives that once had space for days like this—felt as tangible as the frost clinging to the earth.

Days like this should have been trivial, stripped of meaning in the world you were barely holding onto now. And yet, as the realization settled—Valentine’s Day, here, with Joel—an ember of something unspoken flickered in the thick silence between you.

It was ridiculous, pointless even, to care about a day that belonged to a life long gone. But somehow, it mattered.

Joel hadn’t missed the thought either—not that he’d ever let on. But something shifted, a fleeting spark in his gaze, a quick, sidelong glance that brushed over you before he retreated behind the rough, impenetrable armor he wore so well. You hadn’t known him in those days, back when he was a different man, softer around the edges, before the world had carved out the unyielding hardness he carried now.

Once, he’d been the type for quiet gestures, his version of romance wrapped in a humble simplicity—a bouquet picked up on the way home from work, a meal at a place that felt like a splurge, maybe even a soft tune played on his guitar, chords strummed slow and low, just for someone he loved.

That version of Joel was a memory now, a part of him buried under years of survival. But here, in that brief, unguarded look, you glimpsed a shadow of who he’d once been, a reminder of the life he’d lost but hadn’t entirely forgotten.

But that part of him was buried now, hidden beneath layers of loss in a world that left no room for tenderness.

Still, in the quiet moments between you, there was a glimmer—a barely-there echo of the man he might have been, of a Valentine’s Day he hadn’t entirely let go. It was a trace, a faint whisper of something unforgotten, lingering in the way his gaze softened just a fraction when it met yours, a warmth hidden in the spaces where words failed.

In those rare silences, you felt it—a fragile remnant of a man who, once upon a time, might have known how to love gently.

~~~

You were passing through another nameless place, its ghostly streets and faded signs blending into the countless towns you’d left behind. The road stretched ahead, winding into the dense sprawl of forest, the trees casting shadows that grew longer as the sun dipped low on the horizon.

You walked a few paces ahead of Joel, each step sending a dull ache through your feet, the exhaustion settling into your bones as the sky blazed in hues of deep orange and soft pink—a sunset bleeding into dusk. The silence between you was familiar now, a quiet rhythm you’d both learned to live in, broken only by the steady crunch of your boots on loose gravel and the faint, reassuring echo of Joel’s footsteps behind you.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, carrying a quiet certainty as he surveyed the encroaching darkness and the shadows stretching long beneath the trees. There was a practiced ease in the way he assessed the fading light, an instinct honed by years on the road, as if he could read the landscape’s secrets in a single glance.

“Okay,” you replied, nodding without hesitation. You trusted Joel’s instincts implicitly, each decision sharpened by years of survival and weighed with a quiet precision. There was a steady comfort in following his lead, in the silent assurance that, whatever lay ahead, he would be the one standing between you and the darkness.

It was more than trust—it was a fragile kind of faith, the certainty that he’d weather the night so you didn’t have to face it alone.

You’d set up camp, sinking down against a rough, weathered log, the bark pressing into your back as you released a tired sigh. Joel muttered something about gathering firewood, his voice a low murmur that blended with the evening quiet as he scanned the tree line.

You watched him disappear into the dimming light, his silhouette broad and unyielding against the last slivers of sunset. It was a rhythm you’d come to rely on—his quiet, unwavering sense of duty, always ensuring you had warmth and protection.

Joel wandered, his steps slower than usual, his thoughts snagging on the way your eyes had brightened when he’d offhandedly mentioned the date. He hadn’t intended for it to mean anything—just a passing remark—but there was something about the look you’d given him, unexpected and strangely soft, that lingered.

It unsettled him—a quiet reminder of feelings he’d thought long buried. And yet, here they were, surfacing more persistently since he’d met you, weaving through his thoughts like a memory he couldn’t quite shake.

He’d been gathering firewood, but his attention drifted, his gaze settling on a small patch of wildflowers nestled in the underbrush. Soft purple petals, delicate against the rugged landscape, caught his eye. Before he even realized what he was doing, he reached down, fingers brushing the blooms as he plucked a few. His hands moved on instinct, guided by something quiet and unguarded, a small gesture he hadn’t intended yet couldn’t resist.

With the flowers clutched in his hand, he froze.

What the hell was he doing?

Joel stood there, caught in the deepening shadows, his grip tightening around the fragile stems as he began to pace, second-guessing himself in a way that felt almost absurd. He wasn’t the kind of man who picked flowers—not anymore, not for a long time.

But somehow, being around you had pulled him into unfamiliar territory, unearthing pieces of himself he’d long thought buried. You brought out a quiet tenderness in him, nudging him toward gestures that went beyond mere survival—small acts he tried to brush off as routine but that hinted at a fondness he fought to suppress.

After absentmindedly picking flowers for you, it became glaringly obvious to Joel that he cared for you—deeper than an acquaintance, a friend, or even a fellow traveler on this harsh road. It showed in the way he’d insist on carrying your pack, ignoring the twinge in his back with a muttered, “Not a big deal,” brushing off your concern like it was nothing. He’d save you half of whatever he was eating, passing it over with a quiet, “Thought you’d want some.” He’d keep an extra eye out for little things he knew you’d like—an old book salvaged from a wrecked house, or a stray packet of coffee he’d hand you with a gruff, “Found it along the way.” And on those rare, bone-tired nights by the fire, he’d sit just a bit closer than he had to, his shoulder brushing yours, grounding you both in a warmth neither of you dared to name. All small gestures he hadn’t made for anyone in years.

~~~

Back at camp, a quiet worry began to take hold as your gaze lingered on the darkening treeline. He’d been gone longer than usual, and with each passing moment, the shadows grew, stretching across the ground as the forest settled into an uneasy silence, the last traces of daylight fading away. It was in moments like these that the weight of how much you relied on him settled over you—how your survival had come to depend on his presence, his strength. You tried not to let those thoughts creep in, but sometimes, they slipped past your defenses: how would you survive without Joel?

Just as you were on the verge of getting up to search for him, he appeared from the shadows, his figure solidifying against the dim glow of twilight. His gaze held a quiet intensity, a flicker of something unspoken as he drew closer, and you felt the tension in your chest unravel, replaced by a warmth you couldn’t quite name. A breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipped out as you rose to meet him, a silent relief settling over you at the simple fact of his return.

“Where were you?” you asked, the worry threading through your voice despite your attempt to keep it steady. That soft edge, the unmistakable concern in your tone, stirred something deep within him—something he had realized was still there, something that felt both foreign and achingly familiar, tugging at a part of himself he thought had long since withered away.

"Just… looking for firewood," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the rough bundle in his arms as he scratched the back of his neck, almost sheepishly. You nodded, though a faint trace of doubt lingered; something told you he hadn’t just been out collecting wood. But it didn’t matter now—he was here, and the sharp edge of your worry softened, melting into a quiet reassurance only his presence could bring. The weight that had settled in your chest eased, leaving you with a sense of calm that had become rare in times like these.

You stepped closer, reaching out to take some of the firewood from his arms, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment. “Next time, don’t take so long,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with a quiet intensity. “You scared me.”

He mumbled, “’M sorry,” his gaze flickering away, yet you caught a hint of something deeper in his expression—a question he wouldn’t voice, a wondering if this—whatever it was between you—meant as much to you as it was beginning to mean to him.

Unbeknownst to you, he’d slipped the flowers deep into his pocket, his fingers brushing over the delicate petals every so often, as though they were something precious and fragile he wasn’t quite ready to let go of. He kept them hidden, a quiet secret pressed against his palm, a small piece of softness he wasn’t yet ready to share.

~~~

Later, as you lay wrapped in your sleeping bag, the world around you wrapped in darkness and silence, you turned toward Joel. He lay on his back, eyes fixed on the night sky, his familiar steady presence somehow softened, quieter. There was something different about him tonight, a quietness that felt deeper, as if he were lost in thoughts he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—share.

“You okay?” you murmured, your voice barely breaking the stillness around you. He turned his head slightly, his gaze finding yours in the dim light, and for a moment, his usual guarded expression softened. There was a warmth there, something almost vulnerable flickering in his eyes, before he gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, though his voice wavered, something unreadable passing over his face. “It’s February… mid-February,” he added, as if stating a simple fact, his gaze distant.

You nodded, watching him carefully. “You mentioned that this morning,” you said, curiosity tugging at your tone as you tried to read his expression, wondering where he was going with this.

“I, uh… I found somethin you might like’.” His hand shifted, reaching into his pocket, and he pulled out a small, crumpled handful of purple wildflowers. They were a little wilted, their petals slightly crushed from being tucked away, but there was a tender, almost shy quality to the gesture that caught your breath. The sight of those fragile blooms, offered with a rough gentleness, made your heart stumble.

“Joel… what’s all this?” you murmured, sitting up onto your elbows, your eyes wide with surprise and a warmth you didn’t dare put a name to.

He looked away, a faint flush creeping onto his face as he mumbled, “Figured, since it’s around Valentine’s Day and all… I know it ain’t much. Couldn’t exactly get you fancy chocolates or flowers from a stord.” His voice softened, almost unsure, as he extended the fragile blooms toward you. “Sorry you gotta spend the day with me… not sure if you were ever into all this stuff,” he added, his gaze lingering on the ground, as if afraid to meet your eyes.

A quiet warmth bloomed in your chest as you looked down at the flowers resting in his calloused hand. In this harsh, broken world, they were the most beautiful thing you’d seen—not for what they were, but for everything they meant. It almost hurt to hear Joel think you’d rather be with someone else, as if he couldn’t see how much his presence alone meant to you.

He’d thought of you, gone out of his way to bring a touch of softness into a life that seldom allowed for it. “This is perfect.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment before adding, “There’s no one else I’d rather spend it with.” Your words were quiet, but the smile that softened your features spoke volumes as you accepted the flowers from his hands. “Thank you, Joel.”

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you leaned over and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. It was a simple gesture, tender and brief, but it left him stunned, his breath catching. The cover of night shielded the warmth rising to his face, but in the quiet that followed, he found himself grateful for the darkness—grateful, too, for you.

He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. “It’s, uh… it’s nothin’,” he mumbled, voice rougher than usual, though it couldn’t quite mask the tremor underneath. “Just… don’t go gettin’ used to this kinda thing, alright?”

But despite the gruffness in his tone, his gaze softened as he looked at you, a warmth there that he couldn’t quite hide. You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you snuggled back into your sleeping bag. “Alright, grumpy pants,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Good night.”

He huffed, a sound of faint indignation, though you didn’t miss the flicker of a smirk just before he turned away, muttering, “Yeah, yeah. G’night.”

As you drifted off, the faint scent of wildflowers lingered in the cool night air, wrapping around you both in a gentle reminder of the moment you’d just shared. Neither of you spoke, but in that quiet exchange, something settled—a fragile, unspoken connection that made the night feel a little softer, a little less lonely.

It was a small thing, delicate and unassuming, but it was there, woven into the silence.

Maybe later, you’d press those wildflowers between the pages of one of the books Joel had scavenged for you, preserving them as a quiet promise that would last long after the petals had faded.

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (4) - Solution

Chapter summary: Wyll comes bearing a solution to your predicament with Astarion... what could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Word count: 3.5k

Previous chapter . Series Masterlist . Ao3

Snow.

Why was it snowing in Baldur's Gate this time of the year?

It didn't make any sense whatsoever.

But there was no denying it when the cold yet tender caresses of snowflakes began to spread  across the swell of your cheeks.

A distant voice was calling out to you, but you could only smile blissfully at the warm embrace of its familiarity. 

It was as the winter sun that insisted on tearing through storm clouds rolling over the majestic Baldurian mountains: powerful enough to melt the frost away, and unforgiving once its rays shined out the brightest.

The faint scent of bergamot laced with rosemary surrounded you like a soft blanket.

You did recognise that scent… and your  smile immediately dropped.

The voice got louder and louder, but your feet were now moving on their own until you were at the edge of a cliff.

Then you plummeted without looking back. 

An agonising scream reverberated through your mind like a knife in the dark, twisting and prodding until you jolted awake at once.

Your eyes snapped open and you saw Astarion's face first and felt his icy fingers on your face next.

As a surge of panic and dread took over, you instinctively slapped his hand away.

“What are you doing?”

“You were squirming and screaming.”

You quickly propped yourself on your elbows, realising he sat at your feet, brows furrowed and an unreadable look on his face. 

Another nightmare? But it hadn't started off like that. They rarely did. 

As your eyes roamed along the length of your body, it dawned on you that his scent had made it all the way to your subconscious because his cloak was now covering you.

Noticing your realisation, he cleared his throat. “You were shivering in your sleep. You humans can be so… frail.”

You wish you could hate him. You truly wish you could loathe him with your entire being, especially after your earlier exchange.

It would make it so much easier to overcome the longing feelings you had for him.

But, it would seem, he was bent on making it harder for you and this bond wasn't easily severed on a whim.

Instinctively, you pulled the fabric of his cloak snuggly around your neck as if it would be enough to keep him at bay.

“I would have offered my body heat, if I had any left,” he said with a shrug, pulling one knee up against his chest. 

Right.

Vampire.

No body heat unless he was well fed.

“Did I… say anything?”

The last thing you needed right now was for your subconscious to betray you by having you mumble out his name in a suggestive manner.

The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hard to make out anything intelligible in the midst of all the grunts and moans.”

“Good.”

Hold on… grunts and… moans?

“Oh please, don't look so horrified,” he said with a click of his tongue. “A much welcome distraction considering how tedious it's been in here.”

Typical.

A scowl settled on your face as you shifted across the mattress, pulling your knees up together and increasing the distance between you two.

The faint earthy and citrusy scent of bergamot enveloped you, and your eyes fluttered shut.

For someone who was bound to live in the shadows and prowl the streets after the sun went down, Astarion surely carried the fragrance that resembled Summer days the most.

You didn't feel cold even in this damp-filled cell. 

It wasn't even related to the cloak itself, as it wasn't thick enough to make much of a difference.

No.

It was purely an unavoidable consequence of being near him.

Even in his icy coldness, Astarion brought out warmth that would put the most fierce of flames pale in comparison.

“What's on your mind?” 

His purring voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you blinked the tiredness away, ignoring his question. “What time is it?”

“Judging from how the guards are way past the threshold of sobriety… my guess is that it's close to midday.”

You slowly dragged yourself up into a sitting position, heaving a deep sigh. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Well, we can.”

“Astarion.”

He turned his head to you. “What? You are a powerful sorcerer. They wouldn't stand a chance.”

It was a proper observation, and it surely wasn't an attempt at stroking your ego. He had seen enough of your abilities to know you could have metal melt if you so desired.

But still… “I'm sure Wyll will come soon.”

He let out a sound of pure discontent. “Yes. Your prince charming shall be here soon to save the day.”

You simply ignored him.

And Astarion hated being ignored.

So, naturally, he made sure he had your attention.

“I would just like to point out that–”

His voice died in your ears as the sound of steady paces echoed across the halls with salutes being exchanged.

You immediately lunged forward, leaving his cloak behind before pressing your face against the bars and gripping them tightly.

“Excuse me? I was talking to you.”

Astarion's outrage would have to be put on hold for the time being.

You recognised that voice and that level of respect mimicked by the guards outside.

“Wyll!”

Astarion joined your side in an instant, as the Grand Duke came into sight.

His face was heavy and he didn't bear a reassuring smile. It was such a foreign look on him, it gave you whiplash.

Your hopeful smile eventually dropped as he approached you.

“My friends, what an unfortunate turn of events.”

He placed one hand atop yours and you nodded eagerly. “Please. We are not guilty of whatever they are accusing us of.”

His young face eased slightly. “So you haven't committed any crime?”

“That's the general definition,” Astarion chimed him, visibly annoyed. 

“Why am I not surprised you are involved in this?” Wyll retorted, but his words – unlike Astarion's – held no ill-intent. 

“Oh, I thought you were aware that I'm the root of all evil in Baldur's Gate?” he said, voice dripping with cutthroat sarcasm. “Your psychic powers must be below par as of late, Wyll.”

You shot him a death glare, wanting nothing more than to cast Silence on him.

However, Wyll let out a loud and heartfelt laughter that had the other prisoners whine and rattle against the bars of their enclosure.

“Charming as always – even under such dire circumstances.”

Astarion's lips held the fakest smile ever. “Glad I could be of entertainment.”

“Especially considering that I'm most likely your only way out of this.” Wyll said in a tone that prickled the hair at the nape of your neck.

Great.

Astarion and his never-ending ability to annoy people beyond oblivion.

“Yes, I'm sure Circus of the Last Days is one clown short,” you said maliciously, side-eyeing him. “Maybe he'd prefer it over there.”

He dreaded clowns in a way that was almost comical, and your remark was enough to silence him at once, but not without having him shoot daggers with his intense stare.

Wyll cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on you.  “Listen. I believe in your innocence, my friend.”

Your heart soared high. 

“However…”

Ah, yes. There was always an inconvenient ‘however’ somewhere.

“I must look into this matter further, as the Council of Four demands. If it were solely up to me, I would have you out of here right now.”

Your heart plummeted to the ground at once.

“But it is up to you. You have the final word,” Astarion pointed out.

“Be it as it may, I cannot favour acquaintances when an alleged crime is committed.”

Astarion scoffed. “Demoting us from friends to acquaintances in under thirty seconds. My, my… and you worried I was the power-hungry one of the group.”

Wyll placed his hand on your shoulder and you glared intensely at him. “Give me a few hours, and I will see to it that you get out of here.”

He wasn't being deceitful in the slightest. Wyll's sense of righteousness and moral compass were nearly always fine tuned. 

Besides, you had nothing to fear.

Justice was on your side.

But there was clearly someone out there who wasn't, and that made your skin crawl.

Which begged the question… “Why do you believe in our innocence? I mean… I was expecting an interrogation at the very least.”

He gave you a sincere smile of affection. “My dear friend, I know you well enough to doubt your words. This crime doesn't suit you. Besides, across those weeks together, I was able to find hope where there was none. You joined forces with the unlikeliest of allies and turned on potential ones to help us all out – to help Baldur's Gate.”

A looming sense of discomfort was brewing deep inside as his words hit you.

It wasn't so much that he was exaggerating or singing praises that you were undeserving of, but you would have never made it that far on your own.

Not without him.

Or even without Astarion.

“This city is indebted to you,” he went on, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I am sure this misunderstanding will be resolved soon, but I'm afraid protocols and bureaucracy must still be addressed properly.”

You reluctantly nodded, knowing deep down that he was right.

His position was one that came with great responsibility, and it would be folly of him to not act in accordance to what was expected of him as Grand Duke.

“If you wish, I could have you moved to an overground cell – just in case Astarion is being too overbearing,” he quickly added.

“No, no. I reckon I can withstand a few more hours in his presence before losing my sanity,” you chuckled at him.

“You do know I can hear you, don't you?” Astarion said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. 

“I shall have some fruit sent over.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and turned his head to Astarion. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Yes, you can get me out of here.”

Wyll pursed his lips firmly together.

You hit with a ‘be nice’ scowl, which had him heave a deep sigh. “Alright, alright. I don't require any blood just yet. Our dear friend was kind enough to let me feed on her a few days ago.”

“Right.”

Wyll wasn't amused in the slightest and you couldn't blame him. It wasn't an ideal arrangement, and he was a monster hunter at heart, which only fueled his dislike for Astarion boasting about it.

With a final nod, he took his leave even as prisoners banged on the bars of their cells in a failed attempt at taunting him.

Once again, you pressed your forehead against the bars. “We're getting out of here soon.”

Astarion was leaning on his side against the door, eyeing you. “You know, darling… I do wonder if you're trying to convince me or yourself at this point.”

You didn't reply.

But it was probably both.

“So… who do you think got us into this mess?”

“Oh, I do so love guessing games,” he said, securing the cloak around him before sitting down on his mattress. “Well, I'm sure our list of foes didn't thin out even with the heroic display to save the city.”

Good point.

You took a hungry bite from an apple. “Hmm… it'd be less of a nuisance to just kill us, no?”

“If by ‘us’ you mean ‘you’, then sure. I don't die easily, as I know you're aware, darling.”

Another good point, even though a wooden stake might beg to differ.

“Maybe it really is just one big misunderstanding.”

“... but?”

You glared at him with furrowed brows. “But what?”

He shrugged. “Isn't there always a ‘but’?”

Your mind had begun to wander into other possibilities, each new one more alarming than the previous. 

It was particularly daunting to wonder whether this Ava woman had had a hand in this.

Should you even bring it up to him? Maybe.

“Well?” He pressed, crimson eyes never leaving yours. “I know you have something on your mind, so feel free to share with the audience, darling.”

You hesitated at first, unsure it would be the wisest choice. He was clearly fond of her, but you just couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that she could be up to something.

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. 

Maybe you were simply allowing your protective feelings over Astarion to get in the way and cloud your judgment.

Maybe she was nothing more than a mere courtesan and not some scheming criminal. 

Besides… what reason would she have to frame both of you for this?

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded, so you chose to keep it to yourself.

“I'm inclined to believe we were set up, but I don't know by whom,” you eventually said, not intending on passing out accusations just yet. 

His eyes narrowed. “You're not being truthful.”

Thrown for a loop, you blinked. “You think I'm lying?”

“I know you're lying.”

You gave him a sour glare. “I suppose it takes one to know one.”

He actually genuinely laughed at your remark. “Touché, my dear.”

One didn't easily win the title of charlatan over nothing, after all. 

He'd spent decades honing his skill in the art of deception, which had you falling for his sweet lies so easily when you two first met.

Not wanting to go down that road, you shove the memory aside and focused on the apple in your hand instead.

Silence settled heavily around you, only broken by your occasional bites.

The door to the prison hall swung open all of a sudden, but neither of you shifted.

It was probably nightfall by now, and you had gotten used to the intrusive sounds that erupted from time to time. 

Hurried steps caught your attention and you turned to find Wyll by the bars.

You scrambled out of bed as fast as a lightning bolt with Astarion following suit.

“You're getting out of here.”

An overwhelming wave of relief washed over you and you could nearly cry of joy.

“Finally. Took you long enough.” Astarion said.

Wyll's face dropped slightly. “It is not without compromise, I'm  afraid.”

Oh.

It was to be expected, really…

“The council has agreed to further the investigations without the need of imprisonment, so long as you stay confined to your place for the time being,” he went on, as two Fists joined his side, carrying your belongings. “With two guards stationed outside at all times.”

“Essentially treating us like criminals, then,” Astarion scoffed, clearly put out.

“You are suspected of being criminals,” Wyll pointed out. “I am quite certain it will only be for a couple of days, so do not fret.”

It seemed like a fair deal and, at this point, you would give anything to get out of this prison.

“Wait – hold on. What do you mean ‘your place’?”

Wyll glared at him in confusion. “Aren't you staying with the rest of the group?”

“No?” He pulled out a face of disgust as if Wyll had just implied he had been offered to share an accommodation with a pack of stinky gnolls.

“I did invite him – more than once.” 

“And I declined every single time.”

You rolled your eyes.

As much as you had earlier wished to part ways with Astarion after that heated argument, you were more than willing to move past that for the greater good.

“Well, now would be an opportune time to accept the invitation,” Wyll said, motioning for the guards to unlock the door. “You will be escorted back to your place and await further instructions.”

Grabbing your belongings, you hurried past the door to walk alongside Wyll while both guards flanked you.

“What about my clothes? I need a couple of changes, then,” Astarion inquired as he expertly fastened the dagger holsters around his thigh and waist. “I'm staying at The Blushing Mermaid.”

He did have an interesting set of priorities, given the current predicament…

“We will have someone fetch it for you.”

“Ask for a woman named Ava. She will know what to pack.”

Wyll nodded in silence.

You nearly scoffed, but managed to disguise it as a throaty cough, which earned Wyll's attention.

“I'm afraid these dungeons are riddled with dust and present less than ideal conditions, my friend.”

You cleared your throat with a faint remorseful smile, already feeling guilty for your deception.

The torch-lit tunnel extended as far as the eye could see, and it seemed like forever before you finally made it topside.

The barracks were buzzing with whispers and intense glares, with each Flaming Fist saluting the Grand Duke as he made his way through the building.

A quick glance through the window and you realised the sun had already set.

Convenient for Astarion.

Wyll's feet came to a halt before the closed shut and sturdy double door.

“I am terribly sorry that we had to meet again under such grim circumstances, but I trust this matter will be resolved soon.”

You gave him a warm smile of gratitude. “Thank you for this, Wyll. I'm sure you were met with resistance.”

He chuckled. “Quite the resistance, but I believe being power-hungry does hold its advantages, right, Astarion?”

“I suppose.”

There was not a single part of Wyll that was power-hungry. He had earned the title and his position within Baldur's Gate elite. No one was more deserving of it.

“A ‘thank you’ would suffice, but I'm guessing that's as close to it as I'll get,” Wyll said in amusement as Astarion frowned. 

You gave him a fleeting hug, earning some disapproving glares – including from Astarion.

“Thank you, Wyll.”

“You are most welcome. We'll talk soon.”

Parting ways, you stepped into the night with both Flaming Fists following closely behind. 

“Well, I'm glad that's been dealt with.” You said in an attempt to break the layer of silence.

“Hardly. I'm merely hopping from one prison to another,” he muttered bitterly. “But I suppose it could be worse.”

As you hurried along the busy city streets, you noticed the inquisitive glares from passers-by. After all, being escorted by two guards often meant trouble.

“Come to think of it, this is entirely your fault.”

Your head snapped at him. “What?”

He nodded. “If you hadn't cast Sleep, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with.”

You scolwed. “Seriously, Astarion? You were about to gut him open!”

“It would have been a better fate than what he actually deserved,” he bit back. “But that damned swirly pink spell drew too much attention.”

You shouldn't have been surprised that he was lashing out, but it still annoyed you to no end that he refused to acknowledge his part in this.

“You have some nerve to pin this on me when you were the one causing a ruckus.”

He was glaring at you like you'd just grown a third arm. “Remind me again who yelled out as they were casting a spell.”

“I didn't yell–”

One of the guards behind you cleared his throat, effectively silencing you.

Arguing with Astarion was about as pointless as fighting the sun from rising. He always had to have the final word.

You sighed. “This is pointless.”

“Agreed.”

As your house came into view, you began to make out a couple of figures by the door.

Gale and Shadowheart.

You heard Astarion immediately scoff once you were close enough. “Please be quiet.”

Gale frowned slightly. “What? I didn't utter a single word.”

“Oh, I know. I'm just practicing this line for the future.”

Shadowheart intervened before the wizard could. “Wyll informed us of what happened. Are you well?”

You nodded. “Within reason.”

She embraced you tightly. “I am sure this will all be resolved soon.”

“A very bizarre event, no doubt,” Gale said, patting your back affectionately. “This city is crawling with the most vile of creatures, indeed.”

The three of you made your way inside, and a dramatic cough was heard.

You turned to see Astarion standing by the doorway, and then it dawned on you that he would need a literal verbal invitation in order to walk in.

“Oh! Right… sorry… you may come in, Astarion.”

He didn't need to be told twice, taking careful steps at first just in case.

Upon concluding it was safe to continue, he made his way into the kitchen area, taking in his surroundings in silence.

Lae'zel was nowhere to be found, and you reckoned she might have gone out to hunt in the surrounding Baldurian woods. 

“Your belongings are upstairs, already,” Shadowheart informed him as she leaned against a wood pillar. “I wasn't sure how to make a vampire abode feel more homely in such short notice, so you'll have to excuse the lack of frivolous and decadent decoration.”

He waved a hand dismissively, heading towards the staircase. “No need to concern yourself with it, darling. I'm not staying for long.”

You watched him round the corner and disappear into the hall.

“Your room is to your left, Astarion,” you called after him.

His footsteps halted and you smiled in amusement.

“Ah – yes. I was merely taking a look,” he said, reappearing at the top of the staircase again with a disapproving look on his face. “I must say… awful and dull decoration. This has Gale written all over it.”

You reckoned having Astarion stay over would prove more of a challenge than you had initially anticipated. 

Series Masterlist

Sharing a house with Astarion under such circumstances.... what could possibly go wrong 😌

Next chapter: Confrontation

I don't keep taglists, so feel free to subscribe to it on Ao3 to get alerts 🩷

[citrinae]

mornings with them.

contents; fluff, suggestive themes. warming up with some bite-sized headcanons. hope you guys enjoy <3

ft. the monster trio

here for part 2

⋆ ˚｡༄ luffy

if he’s up before you are, that’s only because of the growling sound coming from his stomach. cross-legged on the bed with a lost look in his eyes, “imma get something to eat.” he’s definitely forgotten about the piles of snacks he keeps in his locker and that he makes sure to restock after each meal with your crewmates. 

i can see him being a cuddly type. really likes to hug you from behind. in bed, while you're standing up, while you're brushing your teeth. if you happen to be the one to wake up first, fetch him some food from the kitchen and you will earn yourself a good series of hugs from your boyfriend. if not, that's ok, because luffy is a biter too, and he will not hold back from digging his teeth into your shoulder to convince you to go to the kitchen with him. this may or may not lead to the two of you enjoying some other type of meal. 

the thing is that luffy, the moment he wakes up, won't stand staying in for too long. especially if you're on land he'll want to explore the surroundings and will try to make you join him on the adventure. knowing how much of a menace he can be objectively speaking you may have no other choice but tag along, but trust me, nothing will make him happier than getting to spend the first hours of the day with his partner in crime <3 

“that was so cool,” he's saying to you as your backs are glued to the wall of a random building, chests heaving. out of the corner of your eye, you can see a group of marines searching aimlessly for your missing shadows. luffy takes you by the hand, “we showed ‘em good.” 

⋆ ˚｡༄ zoro

you wake up first. but you’re never getting out of bed before he would, and that’s in most cases due to the fact that the arms resting around you are too heavy to lift on your own. you tried slipping away once or twice, but he always managed to keep you there. not like you mind it one bit, nestling yourself at your boyfriend’s chest filling you with a strange sense of warmth you wouldn't let go that easily. 

“easy, tiger. what’s the rush?” his voice is sleepy with a guttural undertone to it. “staying in for a minute longer won’t set the ship on fire or anything. proven.” zoro will try to make you two stay in bed with him for as long as possible. you don’t even get a chance to convince him otherwise as he’s quick to fall back into his snooze, and you are usually soon to follow. the second time you open your eyes it’s because of the voices and steps coming from the hallway telling you that you might’ve overslept.

he also likes it when you lazily climb on top of him, resting your cheek on his chest, enjoying each other's presence in silence. in the morning, he may not be the best converser. but there are times his hand may roll down your back, taking a good squeeze of your butt with a smirk plastered on his face, and that's when you know you will definitely be late to your chores. 

if you’re on land, he might make it a habit to carry you on his back for a morning jog, the sun unfurling behind your forms as hours roll past. if you’re more the athletic type like he is, he’d gladly have you running by his side. either way, i think starting his daily training with you would work like the perfect energiser for him. although he would never admit it out loud. 

⋆ ˚｡༄ sanji

i find sanji to be quite the early bird, having to set up breakfast for the entire crew and doing some first-hour arrangements in the kitchen and all that, so he wakes up before you do. almost every time. he’s already done with more than half of his chores by the time you open your eyes. when it comes to you, however, breakfast in bed is one of the many tell-tale signs of special treatment, and more often than not you get to wake up to the smell of coffee or favourite tea and a well-thought mix of sweet treats. 

corny is this man’s second language. if you’re on land, expect to see some tiny bouquets of flowers on the tray, either bought or picked from around the ship, everything looking just so dainty and perfect “like you are, my love.” one of them finds its way behind your ear with a sweet peck on your lips. 

and not rarely does he join you with his own cup of tea. leg to leg, your head leaning against his shoulder. a hundred percent the type to smoke in bed. he likes to take a few moments of tenderness with you, gently kissing your shoulder and neck and talking about your plans for the day. sanji will intently listen to you talk about any weird dreams you had, but if you tell him he wasn’t present in any of them he’ll most certainly become a pouting mess. 

he gets handsy quickly 💀 and your thighs are perhaps his favourite spot to feel beneath the sheets. the longer you let him he’s one step closer to skipping cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast. but the moment often shatters with some thuds at the door accompanied by luffy’s voice, all broken and teary, begging sanji to unlock the fridge. 

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

02 — THE NIGHT WE MET

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

Turns out, as much as water is wet, Soap likes to talk.

“Bloody Shadows,” he grunts under his breath. You’d given him your knife, so he could help you take down the men searching the tunnels. Now, after killing one, he’s got a weapon not unlike your own. In one hand, he wipes off the bloody knife on his thigh and slides it into his belt, and in the other, he checks over the stolen gun.

The water soaks your calves, a cloud of blood and a body along with it floating behind you both. Taking another step forward, the water ripples, the weight of it pulling as you continue to move forward, Soap at your flank.

“Your men feckin’ suck at their jobs, lass,” your new companion hisses, low enough not to echo but loud enough to have you rolling your eyes.

“They’re not used to this kind of fighting. It’s not their fault.” You’re not exactly sure why you’re defending them, when you’re decidedly betraying your entire unit, but you feel obligated to anyway.

“Or you’re just a bad Lieutenant.”

You shoot him an annoyed glance. “Wrong. I’m not a Lieutenant, Sergeant.”

You knew of his title because of something Ghost had said earlier, his voice carrying loud enough through the earpiece in the quiet of the shops. It suited him, in a way you couldn’t quite explain, just as the smell of the sea felt like more of a home than any building you’d encountered.

Keeping your head forward, you miss the roll of Soap’s eyes, and the flexing of his hand around the knife at his waist.

“Sorry, Corporal,” he retorts, and you bristle.

“Colonel will do,” you snap back, quickening your pace but keeping your movements quiet as you spot the shadows of your men up ahead. Stretching your hand out, you encourage Soap to pause.

Soap scoffs. “Dinnae think you’re above me.”

You go to continue the petty argument, when –

“Graves has lost his fucking mind over his chick.” A Shadow says around the curved corner, and Soap stops as you do. You see a flash of red, their flashlight, up ahead, and pull Soap’s shirt to stand with you against the wall.

“How much do you bet she’s found out about another girl he’s got goin’ on the side?”

Your chest constricts, and your body feels as though it’s frozen in time. Soap’s hand comes up to remove your grip on his shirt, and you don’t make a single argument or movement against it.

“That, or she’s gone to find another superior to fuck,” the other replies.

Within one moment, and the next, you pull your knife back from the sheath on Soap’s belt, and take a massive, sweeping step to your right.

It’s not a second later that the knife has flung from your fist, and met the neck of one of the gossiping Shadows. Blood spurts out of his neck, and he quickly finds himself falling forwards onto his knees, and then effectively being pulled by the motion of the flood.

“What the –” The other starts, but in one click, you’ve pressed the silencer onto the end of your gun, flicked off the safety and shot a bullet into the back of his head.

Your hands do not tremble. You don’t even make a noise.

Soap does, though, just as the sun is set to rise.

“Christ, lass, that was clean,” he says under his breath, before letting out a low, impressed whistle. “Colonel it is.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you just put your knife back into its rightful spot in your vest, flip on the safety, and continue to wade down the tunnel.

The words of the two Shadows echo in your mind, like your very soul has been hollowed out for the sole purpose of being a cavern of mindless thoughts. You suppose that’s the way of life.

By the time the two of you reach the end juncture of the tunnel, Soap’s killed two more Shadows. You haven’t hurt any since the last few, but it’s a small mercy. You’re not exactly itching to murder your… previous subordinates.

Previous. Past.

Whatever.

“Ghost says the church is just to the right, ‘nd up the stairs,” Soap supplies as the two of you make it to the T-junction. Giving him a small nod, you turn right, finding the said stairs mere metres away.

“It’s going to be rough out there,” you warn with a short glance his way.

He chuckles a humoured sound, surprising you with its warmth. “Aye can handle rough, lass,” he teases, and you’ll forever be grateful for his positive outlook on the situation. Humour was good, when one was going through such… bullshittery.

“What’s the plan after we meet with Ghost?” You ask lowly as you start ascending the brick steps, the dripping of water a debilitating soundtrack. 

Soap is just a few steps behind you, his steps just slightly slower due to his injuries and general stress. “Eh, we’ll see. Ghost has probably got a rough idea already,” he admits. He seems to almost worship Ghost, although in a very different way to how you do – did – with Graves. “Lt for a reason, hen.”

“I’m not a chicken,” you snark back, hand resting at the dagger strapped onto your thigh. It’s a familiar habit.

Soap’s laugh, this time, comes out boisterous and almost shocked. It’s a loud, genuine thing, and you can’t find it in yourself to despise it. 

“Yer funny for a traitor,” he responds, and your stomach hollows out once more.

Traitor.

That single word – title – rings in your ears like the bombs you’ve set off in past missions. Like a tormenting, cruel ghoul, whispering taunts in your ear. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

You don’t reply as you make it to the inside of a house, the front door seeming to face exactly where the two of you needed to go. Pausing before it, you look to Soap once more, cocking your gun.

“Ready, Sergeant?” You ask, both for his sake, and your own. Your resolve is weak, trembling, almost, but there’s no going back now. Not after this.

Soap lets out his own exhale, before his deep blue eyes meet yours. “Aye, I’m ready.”

You turn.

And you open the door.

“Jesus fuck!” Soap yells out, and your focus is quickly split between his sudden words, and the hilt of a gun crashing into the side of your head.

Falling to the ground with a groan, a bloom of light taunts you in the corner of your shut eyes, your skull pounding with the sudden pain. Bringing a hand up to the source of your ache, you slowly blink your eyes open, watching as your fingers come away with sticky blood coating them.

“I found her! She’s with –” 

Looking up, your mouth falls open as a bullet lodges itself into the Shadow’s forehead, and he too, falls to the ground.

Except, unlike you, he would never get up again.

“Was that you, Lt?” Soap calls into his own comms, and he sounds nothing if not impressed. Rising to your knees, you manage to find your way back up to your feet, albeit with shaky movements.

Your vision is slightly skewed, and you feel somewhat out of it as you look outside, and spot the darkened streets once more.

Whatever Ghost responds with makes Soap laugh, but all you can focus on is that the church is so close. You guys could make it – no, you would make it.

And you would convince Graves to stop this, and to continue being the man you thought you knew.

You could fix everything.

“All good?” Soap asks you, then, appearing at your side like a trusted dog. You’re all too aware of how you must look – bewildered and bloody.

“What’re we waiting for?” Is your reply.

Turns out, a lot.

By the time the two of you make it to the steps of the church, there’s enough blood on your hands to make you think that it’ll never come off. Both figuratively, and physically.

“Johnny!” 

Breath stilted, head pounding and ears ringing, your weighted gaze sloppily meets that of Simon Riley’s.

You’d never met the guy, never seen him, either. And in person, he’s terrifying in a guttural, instinctual way. All dark-clothed bulk, skull mask dirtied and stark in the eery night. The sniper strapped to his back just adds to his whole image.

“Fuck, Ghost, you’re –” Soap begins, but a bullet just missing his ear has his words silenced.

“We gotta find a way outta here,” Ghost directs, and you nod instinctively. At the movement, his eyes zero-in on your frame – and they narrow. His hands clench around the smaller, more close-range gun in his hands, and his jaw tightens.

Right. You weren’t friends, and you could hardly be called acquaintances.

Enemies, first and foremost.

Swallowing, you flit your gaze back to Soap, inclining your head towards the multitude of vehicles along the street to your left.

“Come on, we’re sitting ducks here. Let’s find a car and go,” you yell over the sound of the harsh pattering of rain, thunder reverberating through your chest. Your eyes maintain a wincing position, hair completely wet and droplets dripping from your face and gear, mascara coating underneath your eyes, and you’re sure, your cheeks.

“The lass is right,” Soap shifts his attention from you to Ghost, “C’mon, Lt.”

Ghost waits another moment, and even with Soap looking at him, his focus remains solely on you. His gaze is hard, cold, full of hatred and distaste.

“Please,” he insists, tone gone pleading and almost desperate.

It’s all Ghost must need, it seems, because he shifts the weight of his gun between his hands once more with a direct nod. 

It’s not a moment later that more bullets are shot at the three of you, causing you to instantly find cover and press your back against it, quickly checking that your weapon is loaded. It is, thank the gods, and you quickly peek around the stall of which you’d used as cover and pop a few shots at some Shadows you see lining the streets. A few drop, and more yelling echoes throughout the town.

“There’s a truck with its lights on up ahead!” Ghost’s voice carries over the cacophony of sounds down the street, and you heave out a shaky breath. Turning just enough that you can search for the vehicle he’s talking about, your heart thumps in your chest as your eyes lock onto it.

You figure that the man must be further along the streets than you, so steeling your nerves, you stand up once more and raise your gun.

Soap and Ghost have already made a dent in the soldiers after the lot of you, but you find yourself lodging bullets into quite a few Shadows’ skulls anyways. To be on the other side like this, to kill your men, it’s a kind of pain you’d never even considered that you’d have to experience.

Your chest rises and falls at a concerning rate as you find the truck just a few feet away from you, Soap’s hand gripping the door to the passenger’s side, and Ghost jumping into the driver’s seat.

With one final pull of the trigger, you push Soap into the car, and rush into it right after him, pulling the door shut with an audible slam!

“Drive!” You quickly direct Ghost, pulling up your gun over the back of the seat and aiming it at the Shadows directing their sights to the three of you. “Before they kill us all!”

Ghost jerks, the glass of his window shattering as a bullet flies through, a searing pain bursting through the top of your right cheek. Cursing under your breath, you pull the trigger of your gun, Soap shooting his own at the same time.

With a burst of the accelerator, the truck goes rearing backwards, and your eyes go wide as you watch Ghost reverse into two Shadows, their bodies churning underneath the wheel.

“Fuckin’ hell, Lt!” Soap cries out, and just as he does, Ghost quickly manoeuvres the vehicle into drive. He’s quick about it, and you flinch as he crashes through the wired gate that had previously blocked off the street, the truck lurching with the movement.

With tight swerves, and a few more bullets shot from your guns, both you and Soap finally loosen your postures as you lose the couple of Shadows left behind.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale a deep, meaningful breath.

“You good, hen?”

Blinking away the blurriness of your vision, you jolt when Soap’s hand reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing the spot where the pain originates on your cheek. Letting out a small hiss, he immediately pulls away.

“Just a graze, I think,” you bite out, bringing your own shaky fingers to the wound. You can feel where the blood drips from it, along with the blood from your forehead.

“I found some cloth,” Soap pulls out said object, handing you a decently clean strip of tawny fabric. “Will it do?”

With a sharp nod, you take the fabric from his grip, righting yourself to face him properly. Looking down, you unzip one of the compartments on your vest, taking out a small first aid kit.

Soap lets out a low, impressed whistle. “Didn’t realise ye were a medic, lass.”

Despite yourself, and your situation, you can’t help the small tilt of your lips. “I’m a medical professional. Just chose to take lives, rather than save ‘em.”

“Well, ye saved mine today.”

Looking up from where you scavenge through the small kit, your eyes meet his. They’re so blue, and they shine beneath the night lights of Las Almas. Even with his wound, they seem so positive, so joyful and kind.

“And you saved my humanity,” you admit. It’s true, of course – if not for you crashing into him, you had no idea where you’d be right now.

Ghost clears his throat, and you quickly focus back in on your supplies, scurrying through them for the necessary items.

Pulling out a pair of medical scissors, and some cleaning alcohol, you wave for Soap to pull up his sleeve and give you his arm. He does, swearing under his breath as some of the crusted blood pulls away with the fabric of his shirt. His arm is nothing if not muscled, and if it were any other circumstance, any other man, you’d allow yourself a moment to appreciate such pure masculinity.

But this is an enemy, and this is a bullet wound.

“This’ll hurt,” you murmur, checking over the small alcohol bottle in your hand, before looking through the medkit once more. “And you’ve lost a lot of blood. Here.”

Reaching for a small piece of candy, you drop it into his open palm.

His eyes flicker from yours, to the small wrapper in his large hand. He seems to inspect it, for a moment, before his mouth twists into a mocking smirk.

“Sweethearts, aye?”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks burning for reasons other than your wound as you twist off the cap of the bottle in your hands. If you notice Ghost’s attention flit from the road ahead to the two of you, you don’t say a word.

“You need to get your sugars up. It’s not much, but it’s all I have right now,” you explain, refusing to look up at him. “Have one now, this’ll sting.”

He huffs, but undoes the wrapping and pops one of the lollies into his mouth. He hums.

With one hand on his shoulder, you bring up the bottle and drop some of the liquid onto the wound, flushing out any bacteria or infections. Hopefully.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap groans out, teeth clenched and jaw straining as his eyes flutter shut.

“Be careful,” Ghost warns, worry and threat bundled into the two words like a second skin. If you were one to be intimidated, you would take the sentiment seriously, but all you can focus on is the obvious care for his companion.

Very odd, indeed.

“How’s the candy?” You ask, grabbing a sterilising wipe and cleaning up around the wound. Luckily, the bullet had exited – there wouldn’t be a need to go digging in there. That also meant that you had to clean the other side of his arm, however.

Soap’s chuckle comes out strained, but it’s better than silence.

“Delicious, sweetheart.”

You pause your movements, briefly, your chest tightening at the mocking endearment.

“Sweetheart?” You repeat back, your tone a question, before you continue to clean his wounds, albeit with more stilted movements.

“The lollies,” Ghost supplies, and you can’t help but think that he either thinks you’re dumb, or just generally despises you.

Maybe both.

…Definitely both.

“Yer jus’ so sweet, lass,” Soap taunts, before letting out a sound akin to a whimper when you swipe the wipe a bit too close to his wound.

“My bad,” your smile is sickeningly sweet, your tone light and innocent.

Soap’s jaw sets, but silence fills the truck as you make sure that the cloth will properly fit around the wound, getting out a safety pin to keep it around his arm.

It takes a few minutes for you to wrap the makeshift gauze around his skin, the groans of pain from him few and far between. Despite everything, you were a good medic. You’d been trained well, and you had the cadence for it.

Usually.

Fastening the clip through the cloth, you fix it up so it looks presentable enough, and successful for its job.

“All done,” you say softly, hesitant to speak up in the silence of the space.

You go to pack up your supplies, before a hand reaches out and wraps around your wrist, stopping your movements.

Flicking your gaze up to Soap’s, you go to open your mouth to say something, but find yourself at a loss for words. Your eyebrows furrow, and he seems to sense your confusion, because –

“Yer wounds,” he blurts out, wincing at the suddenness of his proposal. “...Yer wounded. Too.”

You can’t stop a shocked, sharp laugh leaving your lips.  “I’m very aware of that, yes. Brilliant observation, Sherlock.”

“Let him speak,” Ghost grits out, and Soap’s grip tightens around your wrist. The smell of blood and gunpowder is potent in the night, but you find yourself at ease with the somewhat familiar scent. What’s throwing you off is the sudden add-on of their cologne – somehow, someway, you can smell it. Whether it’s military-duty, or it’s ingrained into their very bones, you haven’t a clue.

You could slap yourself for noticing, for being curious at all.

They smell oddly like cedarwood and musk.

“Let me fix ye up,” Soap supplies, and you can’t do anything but oblige.

Handing him the first aid kit, your fingers brush, and it really, really shouldn’t mean a thing. For the gods’ sake, you’d had your hands all over his upper arm just mere moments ago.

But there’s a spark.

Like a universal truth, maybe. Like a sensation of sudden purpose, as if all this time, all of your life, had led up to this very moment. To this very person.

You pull away sharply, and Soap doesn’t comment on it.

You’ll forever be grateful for that.

“This’ll hurt,” Soap chides, mocking your voice. You fight the urge to slap that smug grin off of his face.

You notice Ghost’s uneasy grip on the steering wheel as he cruises through the city, taking odd turns and slightly too risky manoeuvres. His focus is designated directly to his task, only occasionally checking on Soap.

Fingers underneath your chin force you to look to the Scot at your side, his movement gentle but fingers calloused and weathered. It’s an impossible dichotomy, but one you find yourself relaxing into anyways; the kind of impossible that one starts to think of as home.

Yet, your home is far from here.

Your home is in Graves’ quarters. At the Shadows’ base. 

It’s difficult to suppress the groan when Soap brushes the alcohol wipe against your cheek, but biting down on your lower lip does the job. If anything, it makes you focus on the sharp pain of that, rather than the graze on your cheek.

The trick lasts a few minutes, before Ghost goes over a particularly rough bump, causing the wipe to dig into your open wound. Your head falls forward, a soft grunt falling from your lips at the burst of pain.

“Aye, lass, ‘s alright,” Soap soothes, but it does little for your growing embarrassment. 

You shoot your glare his way, settling back further into your seat. “Thanks, but that’s enough for now.”

Soap’s expression betrays his inner turmoil, but you turn, looking out of the window. 

The darkness and rain battle along the forested roads, and it’s only now that you realise you’ve left the city. And, also, that you have no idea what’s happening, or where the fuck you’re even going.

“What’s the plan?” You ask steadily, falsifying your growing apprehension.

“A safehouse,” Ghost grunts the reply, and you already know that that’s all you’re going to get from him for now. Letting out a small huff, you fold your arms over your chest, resolutely not looking at Soap.

If you did, you’d see him personifying a kicked puppy.

Silence falls, once again, over the three of you. It allows for you to think, both over the storm brewing both outside, and in your head. 

You weren’t sure how long it would take Graves to realise that you betrayed him, if he would believe it at all. Somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him to say that this is all an elaborate kidnapping, but you figure he must have bigger problems to deal with than you going missing right now.

Then, there was the issue of alliances. Ghost hadn’t exactly agreed to working with you, and he definitely showed no signs of being anything but cold towards you. And, even then, could you really kill your – whatever Graves was – if it came down to it?

And what was to happen next? After everything was said and done? Would the 141 allow you to work with them?

Would you want to?

“We’re here.”

Pulling the handbrake, the truck stops, and you see that Ghost has pulled up outside a safehouse of some sort, in the outskirts of Las Almas.

You go to get out, but you realise that your door’s remained locked – and when you turn to question Ghost, you soon gather that it’s a purposeful move.

Ghost’s eyes narrow on you, calculating and assessing, before he says, voice like a gunshot in the quiet of the night –

“Give me a reason not to kill you right now, 'nd we might let you live.”

You swallow around the desert that your mouth’s become, and with shaky words, you respond.

a/n. first post of 2024!! i hope everyone enjoys, and if u did, please comment, reblog and follow!! mwah mwah

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias

[covetyou]

nothing left to prove

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos, Joel x Tess x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: voyeurism (consensual and not), cuckolding/cuckquean, unprotected PIV, oral sex (m recieving), masturbation, praise kink, brief spit kink, little bit of choking (as a treat), bisexual reader, asshole Joel, no use of y/n word count: 5.8k summary: Some risks are worth taking.

A/N: this is the last in my planned oneshots for SWAT this month! if you have any uh... 👀 questions, comments or concerns, my ask box is open. I love you all, and thank you so much for welcoming SWAT back with open arms.

title from movement by hozier.

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Like most things where Joel was concerned, you're not entirely sure what made you do it.

One minute you were walking down the street - the bustling midday crowd rushing from one job to another, stopping by street vendors if they were lucky enough to have the cards to trade - and the next, you were mindlessly heading in the opposite direction.

It's not like you didn't know not to follow him. He'd warned you before - men in his line of work were always the target of something, and following after him, even acknowledging him in public, made you a target too. It was dangerous, and it was stupid.

Still, you did it anyway.

Without thinking, you had turned and followed, hands tucked into your pockets and collar drawn up over your face in an effort to keep back the bitter chill of wind. There was something too enticing about seeing Joel swagger down the street with someplace he clearly had to be. Something so enticing you couldn't resist. Even from the distance he was rapidly putting between you, you could tell it was him. Your eyes were locked onto his broad frame as it parted the stream of footfall, and his long, heavy strides carried him further and further away from you.

It was a fight, walking upstream through a throng of people going the direction you should've been, but you made it out of the other side and hurried down the sidewalk after him, barely a few minutes behind if your shorter strides were anything to go by.

Out of nowhere, he slinked down an alley, stealthy despite his size. You stalled on the corner of the block once you reached it. In any version of reality you'd been taught to keep away from places like this if you knew what was good for you. Things lurked in the shadows that you didn't want to encounter, and yet, here you were, embodying stupid as you contemplate throwing yourself down a dark alley after a man who was nothing but trouble.

You're still going to do it, of course. Nothing could stop you now, even as you waited with impatient jitters in your hands for an older couple to shuffle past.

Then, the way is clear and you can finally slink down the same alley Joel had turned down not five minutes before. He could have been long gone, of course. That probably would have been for the best.

But he wasn't.

A familiar Texan drawl tells you as much. There's no tinge of threat to it, just casual chat from what you can piece together, so you slip further down the alley and into the shadows. You make careful steps, trying to be silent as you step over rubble, until you reach the mouth of another alley and tuck yourself tight against the wall.

You hear him clearer from here. Whatever he's saying in the darkness sounds positively encouraging, and then you hear the other voice. Softer. More delicate. More breathless too.

Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you finally turn and peek down the alley to see the tall sillhouette of Joel pushing up against the much smaller one of someone else as they're pressed against the wall. He presses forward, and the gasp you hear tells you all you need to know. The rattle of his belt confirms it. Then, with a slow grind of his hips, he keeps on a steady pace as he fucks her right in the alleyway where anyone could watch - you're watching after all.

And you can't tear your eyes away.

The snap of his hips gets quicker, shallower, the longer you stare. His hand had long disappeared around her front, probably to rub tight circles over her clit as you peak around the corner of the alleyway. Her arms move, fists balling tight by her head, opening and flexing, gripping the worn brick as Joel works himself in and out of her from behind.

He's whispering too. No doubt talking filth in her ear, spurring them both on as he thrusts in and out of her wet heat. You're entranced by the muffled sounds of it all - the heavy rustle of his jeans, the soft whimpers, moans, and groans - and soon your core is clenching as you watch with debauched curiousity.

You stand there against the wall, watching, as minute after minute ticks by. And then, the biting wind comes back, this time carrying a high pitched moan towards you, and you try to focus on the shape of her in the darkness as she shakes against the wall, barely keeping herself upright as she comes around Joel's cock.

But, instead of plowing onwards, fucking her until she walks away with him dribbling down her leg, he delicately pulls out. You hear praise mumbled into her hair, where he kisses her, before he turns in your direction to tuck his still-hard cock back into his pants.

Your heart is pounding, you realize, when you throw yourself around the corner to hide from him. He hadn't seen you. Neither of them had. You were sure of it. Then when you hear the murmured sounds of thanks followed by footsteps, you peer back down the alley.

Only to watch as Joel's eyes flick up to yours in the darkness just as his fly zips, and you scurry away knowing you'll pay for whatever this was later.

The note had come through your door before you'd even got home that day. You knew it was from Joel before you even opened it, and when you finally did in the darkness of your room after stuffing it into your pocket so your dad wouldn't see, your heart had practically jumped out of your mouth.

my place. friday. hour before curfew. don't be late.

J.

So, here you were, a little before an hour before curfew in an apartment block across town from yours. Being here was risky - who knows how long you'd be inside - but it was a risk worth taking as far as you were concerned. You didn't even have to knock as you approached his familiar door - it opens as soon as your feet step outside of it to reveal a stern looking Joel Miller.

"Get your ass in."

He doesn't wait for you, doesn't usher you inside or pull at your clothes. He simply moves inside and stands there, back turned, arms across his chest, waiting for you to close yourself into his space.

Whatever you'd expected when you held that note, even going as far as touching yourself thinking about what was to come, the silent treatment never came to mind. Joel didn't do silent - not with you, anyway. He always had something to say and was always ready to make sure you knew it. Now, he was stood there, silent and stoic as ever. You watch the rise and fall of his shoulders for a moment, before an anxious ripple pulls its way through you and you're speaking to the back of his head.

"I'm sorry, I -"

"Y'ain't," Joel says, turning to look at you with a scowl on his face. "Knew exactly what you were doin' - you ain't fuckin' dumb, sweetheart. Or maybe you are, given how fuckin' stupid it is to pull that shit with me."

He steps toward you then, closing the vast distance between you in just a few strides.

"You've been gettin' bold. Bold means stupid, and stupid gets you killed. Now, I don't give a shit how you are with me in here. Out there you don't know me, you don't even look at me, and you sure as fuck don't follow me."

"Am I not allowed to -"

"No," he says simply, and you snap your mouth shut just as Joel pulls open your jacket and peels it off your shoulders, daring you to stop him as he stares daggers into your eyes.

"I didn't mean to -"

"Get caught?" he finishes, raising an eyebrow at you as he tosses your jacket to the side and kicks lightly at your feet to prompt you to take off your boots.

For once, Joel is wrong. Massively, glaringly, wrong. You did mean to get caught. You realized as much the second the smile spread across your face after reading his note. You realized too that you liked more than just the promise of Joel's threat to you when your fantasies of his stern words and rough hands had turned into watching that scene in the alleyway all over again.

And maybe he knows all of that too, because one second you're standing sheepishly in his living room and the next he's pulling you toward him and growling in your ear.

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?"

You shake your head, breathing him in now that he's so close you're practically chest to chest.

"If you wanna watch so fuckin' bad..." he starts as he tugs you further forward, pulling you into him as he steps back and back until you find yourself in his lamplit bedroom.

It's different. Not noticeably, at first, but then you see it.

In the corner is a chair, dragged in from its usual place at Joel's the dining table. There's barely room to walk around it, but Joel hauls you over to it anyway and pushes down on your shoulders.

"You're gonna sit your ass there and watch," he says as your knees buckle and your ass collides with the chair. "Got it?"

Dumbstruck, you blink up at him. You don't know what's happening. You don't know what you're going to be watching, here in this room with no one but you and Joel. There's something very big, and maybe very obvious, that you're missing, but before you can search your brain for the answer, he's pinching your chin and forcing you into an exaggerated nod. 

"I said, got it?"

You continue to nod and trail your eyes after Joel as he strolls back out of the room, leaving you perched there on the edge of the seat. You're in half a mind to follow him, but then a knock on the door startles you and you listen out as voices carry through the open doorway. 

It's Tess. You're sure of it. You'd only met her twice, but she wasn't exactly a person you forgot easily, and your late-night fantasies certainly wouldn't let it happen either. They spend a few minutes talking while your mind runs away with itself, their soft voices too light for you to hear where you sit, forgotten, in Joel's bedroom.

Their hushed conversation turns to something else as you listen, and the heavy sound of clothing hitting the floor reaches your ears and it's all you can do to keep yourself rooted to the spot. You said you'd sit, sure, but from here you can't watch anything, you can just wait in anticipation as the sounds of groaning and clothing being stripped off gets louder and louder.

You see Joel first. It's impossible not to as he's pushed backwards into the room by Tess, shirtless and belt hangling loose around his waist. And then you see her, clothes seemingly intact and her lips attached to his, hands grappling with his shoulders and scraping red trails down his bare chest until the gasp you were trying to contain slips out from your mouth.

She looks to you, lips swollen and hand steadily trailing back up Joel's chest until it clasps softly around his neck.

"Didn't tell me I'd be sharing," she says, and you watch as she grips the thick column of his throat beneath her deceptively strong fingers.

He swallows, hard, just about stifling a groan. "You ain't. She's stayin' right there. Ain't you?"

With wide eyes, you snap your mouth shut and nod.

"That right? You like watching, pretty girl?" Tess says, her eyebrows high as she leans into Joel, his thick fingers finding her waist.

You nod again, taking them in as they press into each other, and try to bite down the pang of jealousy that creeps through you. It's not that you want them to stop. Not at all. You do want to watch. You've never been more certain of anything. You want to see them, you want to be here as they come apart. You'd give anything to trade places with either of them, too, you think, but mostly, what you want is to slot yourself right between both of them.

Instead, you're stuck here on this fucking chair, uncomfortable and antsy as their hands roam and she tugs down Joel's jeans.

"Likes doin' as she's told, too," he groans, as Tess's hand makes it way down to the front of his boxers and squeezes the lump you'd been desperately trying to avoid looking at.

"Sounds like someone I know."

She laughs. She laughs, and it's all you can do to keep yourself on that fucking chair, not throwing yourself on the floor at their feet and begging that they let you join in. They might even let you, you consider. But you also knew there wouldn't be the same satisfacation in that. You wouldn't be able to savor and hold onto every sound and movement, keeping it locked away in your mind until later, if you were too fucked out and silly with it to know which way was up and which was down. And fuck did you want to watch Joel do all the things to her you wished he'd do to you, the things you wish you could do to her too.

So, you were going to do as you were told. You were going to be good. And you were going to watch.

When you nod again, Tess rewards you by pressing a kiss to Joel's mouth, and you can feel as you almost chase it with your own lips.

"You're gonna sit there," she says, pressing another kiss to his mouth, "and you're gonna keep watching, pretty girl. And keep those hands right where I can see 'em."

Planting your hands on your thighs, you watch Joel kick off his pants, standing now in nothing but boxers. Tess presses him back, pushing until he stumbles into his bed and lets himself collpase down onto it and shift back until he's resting on his elbows. Your eyes dart between them. She's practically eating him alive, hooking her own fingers into her jeans and pulling them down as Joel palms himself over his boxers. Then, in one elegant move, she flicks her pants off and climbs over the bed onto him, spreading her legs wide as she settles herself down onto his stiff cock.

Joel bites his cheek, keeping his hands soft on her creamy thighs as she rolls her hips over and over his, grinding her cunt against his length. He doesn't move. Doesn't pull her shirt off or force her down harder with a bruising grip to her thighs. He simply lets her use him until she's panting on top of him, his toes twitching and curling as he stifles his own moans.

Falling forward, her hair briefly shields them from you. You can hear it though. The wet, appreciative sounds of their mouths working against each other, tongues lapping against one another while Tess rocks back and forth across his length where it's trapped between them.

"You're gonna fuck me, Texas," she growls into his mouth, flicking her hair to her other shoulder so now you can see the flush that's rising up Joel's neck. "And make it good."

He flips her with a grunt, rolling her over easily and slotting himself between her spread thighs. You're breathing heavy as you watch on with hazy eyes, imagining the feel of him between your own thighs, or her hair over your shoulder as she kisses you, making biting kisses into your neck.

And then, when your eyes focus on the room once more, his boxers are gone and you're staring at the back of Joel, completely nude, and it has you suddenly sitting up straighter. Even with his hand pressed somewhere between her thighs, drawing out soft moans from her, all you can focus on is his back.

You're not unfamiliar with it, of course. You've seen him nude before. But you've never seen him like this, splayed out over the top of someone with one leg hitched up as he slowly rolls his hips and grinds his bare cock over a clothed pussy. You've never seen the way his back ripples and his ass flexes with each rock forward, or the way he keeps his toes curled as he moves. You've never seen that silvery scar to his side either, visible only by the angle he's in in the lamplight.

You've never seen him with thighs wrapped around his waist either, pinning him down to another body while soft hands snake around his back. It could be you. But it's not. It's her, and that's somehow better and worse all at once.

Tess groans and tilts her head back, letting her grip around his shoulders slip to slide her own hand down between them, replacing his.

His own fingers are glistening when he pulls them away from her core. If you could move you'd lick them clean, taste her off of them, but you're stuck here watching, balling impatient fists on your thighs. And then, he's shifting into position, letting Tess tilt her hips until he's right there, and he presses forward, slipping into her wet hole with a groan.

"Fuck, that's it, make me come."

It's hot in here. You're listening to Tess say the filthy things Joel usually says to you, and it is so fucking hot in here.

So hot, you realize, that your cheeks are burning and your hands are sweating where they fidget on your thighs, and when Joel thrusts home, deep, and Tess cries out, you moan with them, and it's like they've just remembered you're there.

They turn and look at you, Tess's eyes catching yours first, but Joel soon following. But then she's dragging his focus back to her.

"She's being so good, Joel," she says as he tucks his head into her neck to press soft kisses there. "Thought she'd be rubbing her cunt by now but look at her, she's doing so good."

"So fuckin' good."

You groan when he says it. You can't stop it, or the way your hands flex and want to reach out for either of them.

"She likes that. She likes being a good girl."

And you do. Even as you spread your legs wide and try not to rock into the seam of your jeans and make yourself come.

Then, as if you had never made a noise at all, Joel is pulling out and pushing in deep all over again, drawing out moan after moan from Tess.

Just like that, you're back to being the dirty voyeur in the corner. Ignored and desperate, and one second away from pleading with them to let you have a taste of something, anything. You don't. By this point, as Joel's ass flexes into the space between Tess's thighs, you don't even need to. You can almost feel every movement, every inch, right from where you're sat, fully clothed over the other side of the room. You can feel the slow stroke of his hips between yours, feel her heavy breaths tickle your cheek, the hard grind against your clit. You almost gasp when she does, and you catch yourself rocking your hips to each roll of theirs.

"Fuck, that's it, Texas," she says, as he kisses her neck again.

It's not hard to see he's different with Tess. 

He's softer, less rough, but just as hard. He's as silent as you've ever heard him, that filthy mouth stalled in his head, but also as loud as you've ever heard him be. He's grunting and groaning and panting as he fucks into her, huffing in quick breaths and goading himself on with stacatto nods of his head, desperate not to stop, to keep going, to make her come, until he's groaning frantically, pushing through the pain and ache in his muscles.

And then it hits you that maybe he is like this with you.

Maybe Joel Miller is just as fucked out and loud now as he is with you. How were you to really know - you were usually too deafened by your own screams and focussed on the feeling of him inside you, to really notice much to anything else.

He shifts her, maybe the most he's dared lay his hands on her, until you're no longer watching from somewhere behind and instead looking from the side as Joel pounds down and down into Tess's cunt, her head thrown to the side, stealing glances at you as you worry your lip with your teeth. You're breathing so hard you're almost whining, nodding whenever Tess makes a particularly deep moan that you can feel push through your own chest, until Joel looks up at you and smirks.

"Fuckin' likin' this, huh?" he groans. "That's it, sweetheart, you wanted to watch. Fuck. Fuck. Keep watchin'."

You whine then. You can't stop it, and you don't care. You're ready to sob, could probably come untouched right here if you thought about it hard enough, but you don't. You don't want that. You want to focus on the way he fucks her, and the way she sounds as she meets every thrust, because you know it's all going to be over soon.

You know, because Tess is grabbing his hand, forcing it between her legs and threading her hand through his hair and pulling a moment later.

"There. There. Ohh -"

His arm flexes and moves between them, rubbing over her clit as he slips and slides inside her. You're leaning forward in your seat now, hands gripping the edge, ready to move whenever - if ever - they give the word.

And then, with an open mouthed silent scream, she tenses beneath him, the pulsating grip of her cunt making him stutter his thrusts but never the movement of his fingers, until she falls limp, delivering a swift punch to his arm to make him stop a moment later.

So, Joel stops.

Completely.

For the second time this week, you watch as Joel doesn't come inside someone else.

He holds himself deep in her as she floats down from whatever cloud he'd just launched her to, panting and wiping sweat from his forehead. And then, when she opens her eyes, he kisses her, and you're floating right along side them in the ether, entranced by the way she pulls herself out from underneath him, and pulls her clothes back on while he watches after her, cock stiff and neglected, covered in his own precum and her slick.

You expect her to turn to Joel, but instead she rounds on you the moment she's dressed, and cups your heated cheek in her palm.

"Maybe next time I'll let him come in me and you can clean me up, pretty girl."

And with a pat to your cheek and a nod to Joel, she leaves, shouting out behind her.

"Twenty minutes, Texas. Don't be late."

"Not gonna take twenty minutes," he growls, standing and rolling his shoulders while you still sit on the chair he'd pushed you into.

He's wild eyed, staring at you as you practically drool down your own chin at the sight of him. His thick cock hangs heavy between his legs, twitching as his muscles flex and contract. His fists ball tight by his sides, eyes dark as he looks down at you, sitting still and obedient and good right where he left you. You can smell the sweat on him, smell how much he smells like Tess, and you want nothing more than to roll yourself in the sheets they'd just made a mess off.

"Bring that mouth over here," he grunts, beckoning you over with two fingers that had been buried in Tess not long ago.

You let out a desperate sigh of relief as you slip to your knees right from the chair and make an upright crawl the short distance to Joel and his weeping cock. He smells just like you remembered she tasted like. Sweet, tangy, musky. And then, he nods down at you, and you take your first tentative lick of his slick coated length, and you're groaning, holding on to his thighs to steady yourself.

His hand finds the back of your head, stroking briefly at your neck, sending prickles across your heated skin. Despite the sweat, his hands somehow feel cooler than you, and the sensation of them on your skin somehow grounds you, holds you back from falling into a heap and sobbing, begging, screaming in frustration. You're so pent up, that all you can do is make strangled groans as you look up at him with teary eyes as you lick over and over his cock with a broad, flat strokes of your tongue.

"That's it, that taste good?"

It does. It tastes better than it ever has. Him and her, all together. You liked how you tasted off of him, but this was something else entirely, and all the while that soft promise of next time runs rampant through your mind, stalling your moan of agreement right as it pulls out of your throat.

"Shit," he curses as you gently lick a drop of cum weeping from his tip. "Good fuckin' girl. Like that too, don't you? Can't get enough."

With a groan, he's suddenly pulled away from you, and you whine at the loss, before he's crouching in front of you, grabbing you roughly by the face and kissing you, plundering your mouth with his tongue.

"Mm!"

"So fuckin' good."

You don't know if he's talking about you, or the taste in your mouth, but you preen anyway, eyes brightening when he stands up, gripping his cock firmly in one large hand. "She creamed all over my balls too, sweetheart. Don't want to miss a drop now do you?"

Eagerly, you lap at the soft skin of his balls, swirling your tongue and groaning as you clean the taste of her off of his sack. He's slowly pumping his cock, squeezing the tip, cursing, as you work your tongue over his delicate balls, massaging them with your tongue before sucking each one into your warm, wet, mouth.

You can't help but slip a hand between your own legs as you work your tongue back and forth over him. The taste of him and her together on your tongue is sending your eyes practically rolling in your head, making you groan as you lick from his balls up the length of him and attempt to suck him down and lick every drop of her you can from his skin. Over your jeans isn't enough though, the sensations too muted by the thick fabric, so with a pop you pull yourself from Joel, look him in the eye, and tug your jeans open. Fuck, if you haven't earned at least a little bit of relief, and you stare at him, daring him to stop you as your fingers slide down and find your sopping wet cunt inside your ruined panties.

He groans when your eyes lose focus, your finger sliding over the twitching bundle of nerves that had lay neglected by not one, but three people.

"That's it. Touch that pussy while you suck me, sweetheart."

You do, swiping your finger in slow soft circles as he guides the tip of his dick back into your waiting lips. "Can still taste her, huh?" he says, when you groan at the taste of him again.

"Mhm."

"Can't get enough of it can you. Fuck you're so fuckin' desperate. Look at you. Rubbin' that little thing with my cock in your mouth."

You suck and bob your head, twirling your tongue around to taste every inch you can reach of him. You're aching, panting, grinding into your own hand as you suck him. The heat in your core is searing you, making you sweat beneath your clothes. If you had a hand to spare you'd be tearing them off of you, but you need your hand between your legs right now, and without the other to steady you, you'll be falling flat on your ass in no time.

"Finish me first," he says, noticing your desperation and the way your hips buck into your own hand. "That's it. You can come after. Fuck, that's it. So close. You wanted that pussy so bad, didn't you?"

You groan around his cock, the many ways you wanted her pussy flashing through your mind as you slide Joel's cock between your lips, until he's yanking you back, making you gasp and your fingers stop the steady circles you were making over your cunt.

"You want this too, don't you?"

"Yes," you moan, watching as he starts to jerk his cock in his fist. You don't even think as you open your mouth wide, tongue out and waiting for him to make a mess of you.

"Good fuckin' girl."

He jerks his cock faster, your saliva and Tess's cum slicking up the movement of his fist as he brings himself closer and closer. He steadies one hand at the back of your neck again, suddenly spitting down into your waiting mouth, making you groan as his spit hits your tongue and slides into your mouth.

"Keep that there. Keep that right fuckin' there."

He pants, chest heaving above you as you look between his dark eyes and the dripping head of his cock. He's so close. You can see as his muscles tense and twitch, one hand resting on his twitching thigh, the other holding off, slowly jerking your clit, until you slip your hand underneath him, cradling his balls, and gently squeeze -

Milky white spurts shoot into your mouth, his tip pressing down onto your tongue so you can taste every drop as he milks it from himself, your own hand massaging and tugging lightly on his balls until he's empty, tapping the tip on your tongue and wiping away the last remnants of the release you hold in your mouth.

"That's it. Swallow it all sweetheart."

The bitter salt of him coats your mouth as you swallow, not a drop wasted.

"You still want it?" he asks then, nodding down to your open jeans. Your own hand has stilled between your legs, fingers that were moving steadily are still now, hooked into you while you waited as promised until after you made him come. Now, the after was here, and with swollen lips and glassy eyes you nod up at him.

"Go on," he says softly, and you pull your dripping fingers from your cunt to coat your throbbing clit. "That's it. Wanna see you rub that fuckin' thing. Who you gonna come thinkin' about? Me or her?"

"Both," you gasp, pressing your face into his bare thigh, your fingers steadily building up and up the pace. "Both of you. Looked - fu - so good."

His hand strokes your hair, holding you to him while you work your fingers between your legs.

"Yeah? You liked that? Just like watchin' so fuckin' much don't you."

"Ye-eah. But," you whine. "Wantedtojoinin."

He laughs then, soft and gently above you. You don't see it. Your eyes are pressed shut and you're breathing in nothing but the smell of his skin right where his thigh meets his groin. You're ready to lose yourself in it all now. You don't care what you look like or if he's looking at you. You just care that you're pressed to him with your fingers between your legs, finally getting closer and closer to relief you'd been aching for since you saw him in that alleyway.

"Know what this proves though, don't you?" he asks, and with a harsh yank of your hair he pulls your head so you're looking directly up at him, fingers working swiftly over your clit as you gasp. "You know how to be a good girl and do what you're fuckin' told after all."

You nod, letting the drop of your head tug your own hair even more. "Yes," you say desperately. "Yes, I'll be good, I'll be good."

"Then show me. Gotta show me how good you come thinkin' about my cock in that cunt."

"Uh-huh," you nod again, and suddenly the jerk of your fingers over your clit and the thought of watching Joel's cock slide up and down Tess's slit, tasting his cum as it drips out of her hole has you exploding against your palm.

You barely hold yourself upright as you come, eyes pinched shut and jaw slack, Joel's hand in your hair probably the only thing keeping you from collapsing. And then, when the last of your orgasm has run through you, your fluttering cunt finally ceasing its twitching, Joel gently releases you, and you slump down on your knees, falling to the side until you're curled on the floor, propped up by the end of his bed.

You rest your head on his mattress and sex rumpled sheets, blissful and floating as Joel finds his clothes around you. Then, he nudges you up, murmuring encouragement as you stand and shake the fuzzy feeling out of your head.

Joel spots your look of surprise at the darkness outside. Curfew is rapidly approaching now, and if you're not careful you won't be home in time before you're free game for any FEDRA asshole that you come across.

"Still got time," he says, passing your jacket as you stuff your feet into your boots and ushering you out into the dim corridor.

To your surprise, he follows you out, throwing a bag over his shoulder before noticing your curious look.

"Won't be around for a few weeks," he explains. "Got some stuff to do."

He doesn't elaborate, and you don't ask. You don't move either, locked to the spot in front of the door as he locks it, and tucks his key away inside an inner pocket.

"And, just so we're clear, sweetheart. I don't expect to be sharin' you with anyone while I'm gone."

"You really need me to tell you I'm not gonna fuck anyone else?"

His raised eyebrow says it all, and you roll your eyes. You both know you won't, wouldn't, don't even want to, but to stroke his ego you say as much anyway, and he gives a satisfied nod.

You kiss him then, right out in the hallway before he can turn and leave, or push you away. Only, he doesn't. He never does. Never has. Probably never will. And, even out in the hallway where anyone could see, you think Joel Miller is quite a nice man to be kissing here, in an old apartment block at the end of all things.

"Keep yourself out of trouble," he murmurs into your mouth, and, before you know it, he's stalking away down the hall and, in a blink, he's gone.

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[thef1diary]

Royally Fucked | One

— Guarded Encounter

series masterlist

wc: 2.9k

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

here it is, my first ever oc and au story with my beloved ofc!! Let’s hop in to a world of royalty, romance, and restrictions. Thank you sm to @chilling-seavey for proofreading and letting me talk about Juliette and Daniel for hoursss, this story literally wouldn’t be written without your support <3

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The morning sun cast a golden glow over the secluded outdoor training grounds of the palace, filtering through the lush canopy of ancient oak trees, creating intricate patterns of light and shadow on the freshly mowed lawn. The spring air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine and the distant murmur of the bubbling fountain that had rested in the courtyard for centuries.

Juliette stood alone in this tranquil space, a considerable distance from the bustling palace. The noise of the palace–where maids were likely preparing for the day and guards stood watchful at every corridor–was a stark contrast to the serene quietude of the training grounds. Here, in the calm early morning, she found a fleeting sense of peace before the grounds would be teeming with activity. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the soft, rhythmic thud of her arrows hitting the target.

Juliette drew another arrow from her finely crafted quiver, its polished wood glinting in the sunlight. With practiced grace, she nocked the arrow and drew back the string of her elegant bow, the tension humming in her ears. She took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling her lungs, and focused intently on the distant target. The world around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the bow, the arrow, and her steady heartbeat.

As she released the arrow, it soared through the air with a faint whisper, striking the bullseye with a satisfying thud. Juliette allowed herself a small, triumphant smile, her eyes lingering on the target for a moment longer before she heard footsteps approaching from behind. 

Drawing another arrow from her quiver, she spoke without turning around, her voice steady and tinged with mild annoyance. “You’re late.”

“Apologies, Your Royal Highness,” came an unfamiliar accented voice, smooth and respectful.

Startled by the unexpected voice, Juliette spun around, bow still in hand, nocked with an arrow, and instinctively pointed it at the source of the unknown voice. Before her stood a man in a sharply tailored suit, his attire crisp and formal. A pair of dark sunglasses concealed his eyes, but the cheeky glint in them was betrayed by the playful smile that tugged at his lips. His curly hair, slightly tousled and catching the morning light, added an effortless charm to his otherwise polished appearance.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, his expression calm and slightly amused, a hint of cheerfulness in his demeanour that seemed at odds with the seriousness of the situation. 

“I was not informed you would be here, so it took me a while to find you,” the man continued, crossing his arms for a moment before pointing at the weapon in Juliette’s hand. “Do you always point a bow and arrow at your bodyguard?” 

“Who are you? Where’s Oliver?” Juliette demanded, her gaze sharp as she assessed the stranger before her. 

“I’m Daniel Ricciardo, Your Royal Highness.” 

“That doesn’t explain who you are.”

“I’m pretty sure telling you my name does,” Daniel said with a slight smile, crossing his arms again confidently. “But to clarify, I’m your new bodyguard.”

“New bodyguard?” Juliette asked, still not lowering her guard entirely.

Daniel smiled, nodding. “I’m here to fill in for Oliver while he’s on paternity leave.”

“Paternity leave?” She repeated, incredulously. “And no one thought to inform me?”

“It appears so, Your Royal Highness,” Daniel replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I understand the surprise, but I assure you, I am qualified to protect you. Now will you lower the bow?”

The princess, still not convinced, cast a skeptical glance towards the palace doors, which stood a fair distance away. A few other guards were stationed there, ever vigilant. Her voice carried an authoritative tone as she called out, “guards.”

Two of the palace guards approached, maintaining their respectful distance. Juliette pointed towards Daniel, her eyes narrowing. “Is he my new bodyguard?”

Daniel, noticing the guards, gave them a playful wave, his lips curling into a friendly smile as he muttered their names in acknowledgement. 

One of the guards, nodding, confirmed, “yes, Your Royal Highness. Your previous bodyguard is on paternity leave for one year starting today. Daniel Ricciardo has been assigned as your temporary guard.”

Juliette scrutinized Daniel for a moment longer before dismissing the guards with a curt nod and a wave. “Very well. You may stay,” she directed at Daniel.

As the guards returned to their posts, Juliette resumed her archery practice, her movements precise and fluid. Occasionally, she glanced towards Daniel, who watched her with an encouraging smile, his demeanour relaxed yet attentive.

Determined to test his capabilities, Juliette decided to issue a challenge. She turned to Daniel, her expression a mix of curiosity and skeptism. “Show me what you’ve got. Let’s see if you can match my aim.”

Daniel’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he removed his sunglasses, revealing a spark of playful confidence. “As you wish, Your Royal Highness.”

As he took the bow from her, Juliette caught a hint of his cologne–a subtle, sophisticated scent that lingered in the air, adding an unexpected touch of elegance to the moment. Daniel took careful aim, and with a fluid practiced motion, released the arrow. It flew straight and true, hitting the target dead center. The arrow quivered in the bullseye, a perfect shot.

Juliette raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching slightly in surprise, though she did her best to mask it. “Beginner’s luck,” she said, maintaining her composure.

“Perhaps,” Daniel replied, handing the bow back to her with a grin. “But I’m confident I can keep up with you.”

The sun began to climb higher in the sky, casting longer shadows across the training grounds. The peaceful solitude of the early hours was gradually being replaced by the sounds of the palace stirring to life. Juliette could hear the distant chatter of servants as they wandered around the garden, completing their tasks one by one.

As she released the next arrow, she felt Daniel’s presence close behind her, a silent, watchful guardian. There was no need for conversation, save for the occasional words of encouragement and compliments from Daniel. Juliette appreciated that he understood the importance of remaining as quiet as possible, even though she preferred complete silence. It was a change she would have to adjust to, no matter how irritating, since Daniel was an unorthodox bodyguard, different compared to what she was used to with Oliver.

Oliver had been stoic and reserved, his demeanor always serious and focused. He rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary, blending into the background and providing a comforting, silent presence. Daniel, on the other hand, was cheerful and approachable, exuding a relaxed yet attentive confidence. His occasional light-hearted comments were a stark contrast to Oliver’s predictability, adding a new dynamic Juliette wasn’t sure how to handle yet.

─────────── ♛ ───────────

As Juliette walked through the grand halls of the palace, the opulence and history that surrounded her were unmistakable. Ornate chandeliers hung from high, vaulted ceilings, casting a warm golden light that danced off the marble floors. Tapestries depicting the kingdom’s rich history adorned the walls, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to the cool, elegant stone. Large windows allowed the waning sunlight to stream in, creating a serene yet majestic atmosphere.

The palace was a hive of activity, with maids bustling about, preparing for the evening, while guards remained vigilant at their posts. The air was filled with the aroma of the fresh flowers set in vases, and a hint of lavender that Juliette favoured. Noting the time, Juliette knew the hustle inside the palace would calm down as the day would go on, like clockwork. 

As she continued her determined march, she finally spotted King Albert returning from a diplomatic trip. She quickened her pace, Daniel trailing a few steps behind, his presence a constant, reassuring shadow. 

“Father, I should know about my bodyguard’s whereabouts as much as he should know about mine,” she started without properly greeting her father, following him into a room before glancing at Daniel pointedly. “So why wasn’t I informed about the change from Oliver to Daniel?” 

The king, sensing her distress, gestured for Daniel to leave. Daniel nodded at both her and the king before stepping outside the room, giving them privacy. 

Once the door clicked shut, the king turned to his daughter, his expression softening. “I know Oliver was like a close friend as much as a protector to you, but his absence was unavoidable. I personally appointed Daniel because he is the best of the best. I would not trust just anyone to protect you, and you know that.” 

Juliette frowned, still unhappy but reassured by her father’s confidence in Daniel. “I just wish I’d been informed.”

“I understand,” King Albert said gently. “I should have informed you myself. WIth everything happening, it slipped my mind. But believe me, Daniel is exceptional. He’s not just skilled; he’s loyal and trustworthy. Give him a chance. You’ll see he’s more than capable.”

Juliette nodded in agreement, deciding to try her best to adjust to an unfamiliarity in her structured routine. Her father’s words lingered in her mind, softening her resistance, but she couldn’t shake off the irritation of not being informed. If he trusted Daniel, then perhaps she should give him a fair chance. Yet, the thought of replacing Oliver, who was like a close friend, gnawed at her. How could Daniel, with his cheerful demeanor, fit into the role of her protector?

As she left the room, Daniel perked up, falling into step behind her. 

“Your Royal Highness,” Daniel said softly as they walked. She turned to face him, her expression void of any emotion. “I’m sorry for the abrupt introduction earlier. I assure you, in a couple days, you won’t feel the difference between Oliver and I at all.”

Juliette studied him for a moment before nodding, “We’ll see, Daniel, in a few days, how true that is.”

Deciding to test Daniel’s capabilities and patience, she thought of assigning him a series of errands. “Follow me to the library,” she ordered. 

To Juliette, the library was one of the most majestic rooms in the palace, a sanctuary of knowledge and history. High, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes from the kingdom’s past loomed overhead. The walls were lined with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with an extensive collection of leather-bound volumes, ancient manuscripts, and modern texts. Each shelf was meticulously organized, reflecting the care and reverence given to the collection.

Juliette led Daniel through the vast room, the faint scent of aged paper and leather filling the air. She moved with ease among the towering bookshelves, her fingers occasionally brushing against the spines of the volumes she knew so well. This library was more than just a repository of knowledge; it was a sanctuary, a place where she spent countless hours lost in thought or absorbed in a book. After the training grounds, it was her second home.

“If you ever can’t find me anywhere else in the palace, I’m most likely here,” Juliette said, her voice soft but certain. She paused by the ladder on wheels and pointed to a stack of books perched on a particularly high shelf, their spines gleaming in the soft, golden light.

Daniel smoothly maneuvered the ladder, retrieving the requested volumes with practiced ease. As he handed her the books, he glanced around the library, taking in the room’s opulence and the sheer number of books. “Are you an avid reader, Your Royal Highness?” he asked, curiosity tinged his tone.

Juliette shrugged slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I love organizing this place as much as I adore reading the books here,” she admitted. “There’s something soothing about the order and tranquility of this room. It’s a world of its own, away from the chaos and demands of palace life.”

“Well, it certainly is an impressive collection,” Daniel replied, his tone genuine as he scanned the shelves.

Juliette decided to push a little further. “Since you’re so eager to help, Daniel, could you arrange these books alphabetically by author? And then by genre, within each section.”

Daniel looked at the towering shelves, each packed with numerous books, and nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Your Royal Highness.”

Juliette watched as he began the task, moving efficiently yet carefully, his focus unwavering. She threw in more specific instructions as he worked. “The historical texts should go over there, and make sure the classics are separated from the modern literature.”

Daniel complied without complaint, even as the tasks grew more intricate. His demeanor remained calm and cheerful, never showing signs of irritation or frustration. He took her detailed directions in stride, organizing the books with precision.

After a while, satisfied with her experiment, Juliette decided to up the ante. “Could you also retrieve the books from the highest shelves over there? I’ve been meaning to reorganize them.”

Daniel nodded, moving to the next set of shelves with the same unwavering dedication. As he climbed the ladder, the scent of his cologne wafted through the air, a subtle blend of cedar and spice, adding an unfamiliar but not unwelcome layer to the library’s familiar aromas.

As Daniel continued his work, Juliette couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for his patience and efficiency. He didn’t just tolerate the tasks; he embraced them, showing no sign of annoyance or fatigue. When he finally finished, she realized he had passed her test with flying colors.

“Impressive,” she said, unable to hide her approval. “You handled that well.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Daniel replied, playfully winking at her. “I’m here to serve.”

As evening fell and it was time to return to her chambers, Juliette walked in front of Daniel, glancing at him a couple of times, noting how he noticed everything around him, always on alert. His presence was a constant, reassuring shadow, even if his cheerful demeanor was unorthodox for a bodyguard.

“So, Daniel,” she said, breaking the silence, “what exactly qualifies you to be my bodyguard?”

Daniel met her gaze steadily. “I’ve had extensive training in combat, strategic planning, and diplomatic negotiation. I’ve protected several dignitaries in high-risk environments.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know about protecting a princess?”

Daniel smiled slightly, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “It requires vigilance, discretion, and understanding the unique challenges of your position. Trust must be earned.”

Suddenly, she threw a blade directed at him, thinking he was distracted with their conversation. It was a small, sharp knife she had discreetly picked up from the kitchen as they passed through. But she was proven wrong when he caught it by the handle, right before it stabbed him. He glanced at it and chuckled before looking at her. “Did I pass all your tests now?”

The princess smirked, clearly impressed but unwilling to show it too much. “You’ve proven yourself capable, for now,” she said, her tone still guarded. “But trust is earned over time, not in a single day.”

Daniel nodded, handing the blade back to her handle-first. “I understand, Your Royal Highness. I’ll continue to prove my worth.”

As they reached her chambers, she paused at the door, turning to face him. “Be ready to escort me to our private plane in the morning, let’s see how well you do on an international trip.”

“Understood, Your Highness. I’ll be ready to escort you in the morning,” Daniel said with a nod.

“Also, I’m not sure if you know, but you don’t have to follow me around the palace. You just have to be there when I need you, mainly when I leave the grounds. You’re free to roam around otherwise, do whatever you’d like,” Juliette explained.

“If it is alright with you,” Daniel said, “I would like to stay by your side until you’re used to my presence and until I know your routine, then I can bother the other guards.” 

The princess raised an eyebrow. “Bother the other guards? They might not thank me for that.”

Daniel grinned. “Well, I’ll make sure they get used to me. I’ll even bring them pastries from the kitchen as a peace offering.”

She laughed softly, “and that’ll work?” 

“I’ll try,” Daniel replied. “Besides, a little charm and a few pastries go a long way in a royal palace.” 

Juliette shook her head, still smiling. “I suppose we’ll see how well you handle the job. Just make sure you don’t distract the other guards from their duties.”

Daniel placed a hand over his heart, feigning a dramatic hurt expression. “Me? A distraction? Never.” 

The princess raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “We’ll see about that. For now, try to stay out of trouble.”

“Trouble and I are old friends,” Daniel said with a mischievous grin. “But I’ll do my best to keep it at bay.”

Juliette chuckled, her expression softening. “Alright then. Goodnight, Daniel.”

“Goodnight, Your Highness,” Daniel said, bowing slightly, then looking up at her before winking playfully. 

As Juliette entered her room, a small, amused smile played on her lips. Daniel’s playful demeanour and easy charm were a stark contrast to the seriousness she was used to with her previous bodyguard, Oliver. Despite the initial irritation she felt at his unconventional approach, Juliette found herself intrigued by Daniel’s personality. His cheerfulness, though odd for a bodyguard, seemed to be a breath of fresh air amidst the palace’s often stifling formality. Perhaps, she mused, it was a change she could grow to appreciate.

─────────── ♛ ───────────

NO TAGLIST

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Reach for me in the dark (and I will always take your hand)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings:  reader and damian experiencing positive emotion for the first time, they're in loooove and they're bad at it

a/n: alright alright back again

The streets of Gotham, you begin to realize, are similar to home in all the wrong ways. Shadows creeping around corners, the glint of a knife blade and the click of a gun echoing through the alleyways, a maze of winding passages that lead you deeper, deeper, down until you're lost. You'd heard Damian speak of the city before, about the life in it, the thrumming heartbeat that leads him further in.

Now, though, experiencing it on your own, it's something else entirely. Gotham is just like home in all the right ways - in the way that it twists around you and ties you there, making sure you never leave. Damian loves this city, has grown to look down on it with fondness. Every night that you join him for patrol, you find yourself getting a bit closer to feeling the same way.

On this particular night, you're separated from him, the two of you splitting up to sniff out a trail of clues, to hunt down a gaggle of inexperienced, sloppy criminals. It's easy work, nights like this - the two of you have honed your skills far beyond this. It had confused you, then, when he'd gripped your face between his hands and let his forehead thump against yours, asking you to promise to be careful - to return to him safely.

It had confused you because… hadn't you always? And since when did Damian Al Ghul worry about the safety of others, the security of the fighters around him? Did he think you were incapable? Yes, these streets are not your own yet, but the heft of your sword in your palm is the same as it always was, the sturdiness of your steps reliable and constant. Damian should know, by now, that you don't have to be careful - that the two of you have already moved beyond that. 

Perhaps it was because you were so deep in thought, mulling over everything that had changed between the two of you, that you didn't notice the flicker of a moving shadow, the movement ahead of you until the gun was already raised and fired. Your instincts, thankfully, aren't so frazzled as your mind and your sword knows how to block a bullet even in this strange place. 

By the time you're bracing yourself to retaliate, though, Robin himself has already swooped in, slamming a knee into the chest of your assailant hard enough to knock him over. You click your tongue disapprovingly and move forward as Robin incapacitates the man swiftly, making sure he's unconscious and cuffing his hands behind his back.

"There was no reason for you to step in," you begin to say. "You weren't even supposed to be here. We said we'd go different directions and -" But anything you were planning on saying after that is knocked out of your chest as Robin moves to you quickly, crushing you against him in a hug as he wraps his arms around you, one tight around your waist and the other cupping the back of your head so that your face is planted in his chest.

It's… a shock, to say the least. Damian is reserved, even now, with his displays of affection, preferring to keep them away from prying eyes and in the safety and privacy of the Manor. You're not sure what's happening so you just… let it happen, wrapping your arms around his waist and relaxing against him.

"Don't ever do that again," he says breathlessly, his lips pressed against the crown of your head. 

"What? Don't, Dam - Robin, what are you talking about?" You do pull back then, just enough to look at him, cupping his face in your hands so that you can stare into his mask. You can't see his eyes beyond it, but you don't need to to know the wild look in them, the panic and aggression that seeps into them. "Robin," you say again - firmly, this time. "Talk to me."

"You need to learn how to dodge," is all he offers in response.

"What?"

"You can't block every bullet like that. You need to learn to dodge them."

"Is… that what you're upset about?" You ask tentatively, still staring at him, searching his masked face for any sort of clue. You're used to this, thankfully, to hidden faces and hushed whispers, to the two of you dancing around the truth and holding back what you mean. "Are you… worried about me?"

Robin says nothing, but his grip on you tightens and his gaze flickers to the criminal still laying unconscious behind the two of you.

"You don't have to be - you shouldn't be," you continue. "Nothing's changed. We still -" But Damian pulls away from you then, speaking into his earpiece as he stares at you.

"Oracle? I need you to send someone here. I need… some cleanup. And someone to cover us for the rest of the night. Yes, both of us. We're going back to the Cave… No, it's nothing, don't - don't check the security footage, just…" You can hear it through your own earpiece, too, of course, Oracle having a bit too much fun with teasing Damian before she agrees. 

Red Robin cuts in with a, "yea, yea, I'm on my way Rob, you two go home and sort it out." That's all it really takes for Robin to grab you by the hand, pulling you with him back towards the Cave.

The journey back is… silent. Startingly so. It's not uncommon for the two of you to share silence, but this feels different - this feels charged, like there's a tension in the air so dense that you can almost taste it. It's not until you're back in the safety of the Cave that Damian speaks again, peeling off his mask and watching as you do the same.

"I won't lose you," is all he says. You cock your head to the side as you look at him.

"You… won't, Damian. I don't know why you think you will."

"Because you're reckless and it's going to get you killed." Behind you, Bruce pauses his typing on the Batcomputer, a tap on his shoulder from Alfred and a nod to the exit leading him to get up quietly, throwing a look of concern over his shoulder as he gives the two of you a moment of privacy. You cross your arms and give Damian a hard look.

"I am not reckless. I know what I'm capable of. You've never before shown any kind of issue with my skill." Damian balls his hands into fists as he listens, that tension that you once felt growing even more, crackling like static between the two of you.

"I'm asking you not to take any more hits. You don't need to withstand every moment of violence, you just have to avoid them," he says calmly, a strained levelness in his voice. Your frown deepens at his words, though.

"Are we not equal anymore? Do you not… trust me anymore? Trust that I can take these kinds of hits?" There's a sort of smallness in you now, at the thought that Damian doesn't think you're as sturdy as you once were - that, now, when he can finally lean on you, he doesn't seem to think you're worth leaning on anymore. But he sighs at your words, stepping forward as he tugs the gloves off of his hands impatiently so that he can cup your cheeks in his palms once more, letting you both feel skin on skin. As he brushes his thumbs over the skin under your eyes softly, he looks at you, and you feel a bit guilty when you're surprised that there's nothing but love, nothing but adoration in his gaze.

"My love, there is no one that I trust the way that I trust you. But there is also no one that I need the way that I need you." Damian speaks gently, his voice soft in that way that you know is reserved only for you. "This is no longer a life where you have to brace for every impact. You're allowed to step out of the path of destruction. You're allowed to walk away from danger."

You sigh at his words, leaning forward to let your forehead thump against his chest as his arms wrap around you, one of his hands going up to the back of your head once more to stroke through your hair. You let your hands grab fistfuls of his Robin uniform as he rests his chin on the top of your head, The R insignia staring down at you from his chest, a beacon of something more than the two of you, more than the violence of your survival.

"I've just finally got you back, beloved," Damian continues quietly. "I will not lose you now, not again."

"You won't, Damian," you assure, and there's a bit more conviction in it this time, a bit more assuredness as you pull back to look up at him. "There is no grave that could keep me from you, no fate that could take me away." Damian closes his eyes at that, tilting his head back for a moment as if to let your words sink further in, to engrave them into his soul and keep them there.

"You will be more careful," he says firmly as he looks back down at you. "And you will call for me when you need help."

"And when you need help?" You say back stubbornly. "What will you do then?"

"Then, my love, I will call for you - as I always have. That is inevitable, you should know… that it will always be you I reach for in the dark." You huff at his words, a weak distraction from the heat in your face as you bury yourself back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat thump against your ear.

"Fine then," you say firmly. "Reach for me. I will take your hand."

[srslyblvck]

the devil you know, avengers

pairing: avengers x fem!reader, bucky x fem!reader

synopsis: the avengers seem really desperate as they come to you—the person who went under their skin like no one else to help them win against hydra. while they are walking on eggshells around you, you are having fun causing chaos.

warnings: mentions of y/n (maybe), blood, violence, gore

word count: 2.1k

chapter: 2/?

author's note: i had so much fun while writing this chapter :)

series masterlist

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE QUINJET HUMMED AS it soared through the night sky, carrying you and the rest of the Avengers toward the Hydra base. You were seated across from Natasha, who had given you a black tactical suit to wear. The material was sleek, flexible, and perfect for slipping into shadows—fitting, considering your abilities. Still, you made sure to comment on it.

"Nice touch, Romanoff," you said with a teasing smile, adjusting the snug collar. "It’s almost like you dressed me yourself."

Natasha rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. She hadn’t spoken much since the briefing, and you could feel the tension in the air—more specifically, the tension around you.

The cuffs around your wrists clinked lightly every time you moved, and you'd spent the entire ride making sure everyone was reminded of your presence. You shifted, tapped, and stretched, leaning back with your arms out, just enough to get on everyone's nerves.

Tony groaned, eyes narrowing. “Would you knock it off? You’ve got five minutes left with those things—can’t you just sit still?”

You smirked. “You know me, Stark. Sitting still isn’t really my thing.”

Bucky, sitting near the door, watched you closely, his arms crossed. He hadn’t said much either, but his eyes never left you for long. You could feel the distrust radiating off him like heat from a fire.

When the quinjet finally touched down on a remote hillside just outside the Hydra base, the cargo doors hissed open, revealing a dense forest bathed in darkness. Everyone moved quickly, preparing for the mission. The Hydra base was hidden beneath the ground, concealed by a thin veil of technology and nature, but you could feel it—the faint flicker of light inside, fighting against the darkness you so easily commanded.

Bucky approached you as the others stepped off the jet. He didn’t say anything at first, just moved to unlock the cuffs on your wrists. His metal arm gleamed in the low light, the sound of the release mechanism echoing faintly in the night air.

“Don’t do anything stupid that you’ll regret,” Bucky said, his voice low and gravelly.

You tilted your head, giving him a sly smile as you felt the cuffs release. The rush hit you instantly—like blood returning to your veins, like slipping into an old coat that fit perfectly. Your power flowed back, and you felt the shadows around you flicker and shift, reacting to your presence. The darkness was yours again.

“Oh, Barnes,” you said, flexing your fingers, feeling the cold night air against your skin. “Stupid’s kind of my specialty. But regret? Never.”

He didn’t look amused, but then again, Bucky never looked amused. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned to join the others.

You took a step forward, rolling your shoulders, testing your limbs now that you were free. It felt good, like stretching after a long sleep.

Natasha stood near the front of the team, her eyes on the base. You walked up to her with a casual stride, glancing at the weaponry strapped to her hips.

“Got a spare firearm?” you asked, nodding at her holsters.

Natasha turned, giving you a skeptical look. “You’ve got powers. Why would you need a gun?”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “Powers are great and all, but you know what really matters? Aesthetics.”

Before she could respond, Tony chimed in from behind you. “Romanoff, give her something. If this goes sideways, we might as well let her feel like she looks cool while screwing it up.”

Natasha hesitated, then, with visible reluctance, pulled a shotgun from her stash and handed it to you. “Try not to shoot yourself with it.”

You grinned, slinging the shotgun over your shoulder with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, Natasha, you do spoil me. Thanks, darling.”

She gave you a withering look but said nothing, turning back to focus on the mission.

Tony approached next, handing you a small earpiece. “Here,” he said, his tone exasperated but professional. “If you need backup, just call for it. Don’t try to play the hero.”

You took the earpiece, but instead of inserting it right away, you examined it like it was some sort of toy, twirling it between your fingers. Then you smiled up at him, that same teasing grin you’d perfected over the years. “How cute. I didn’t know you cared, Stark.”

Before Tony could reply, you slid the earpiece into your ear and turned on your heel, walking toward the treeline. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

You didn’t wait for a response. With a snap of your fingers, you let the shadows rise around you, blending into the darkness like it was second nature. The shadows welcomed you, embracing you like an old friend as you slipped into them, disappearing from sight in an instant.

The Hydra base lay ahead, hidden beneath layers of security, but you could already feel it pulsing in the distance—a flicker of light surrounded by the dark. And you? You were the storm coming for them. You let yourself smile as you moved through the trees, becoming one with the night.

Behind you, the Avengers might’ve been watching, ready for you to betray them at any second. But tonight wasn’t about them. Tonight was about you and the game. You were in control. And Hydra? They had no idea what was coming.

As you approached the perimeter, the lights from the base seemed dimmer, weaker. You reached out, letting your power flow through the air, extending your reach into the heart of the shadows. The guards posted around the base were oblivious to your presence as you slid past them, their own shadows swallowing them whole.

Inside the base, you could feel it—the pulse of energy Hydra was harnessing. The faint whisper of something dark and powerful hidden within their walls. It tugged at your senses, calling to you, daring you to dive deeper.

A shotgun over your shoulder, shadows at your command, and a grin on your face—you moved forward with purpose.

The Hydra base was dimly lit, cold, and sterile, like something out of a bad spy movie. You were barely inside when the first agent spotted you. He didn’t even get the chance to yell. The shadows wrapped around him, pulling him into the darkness, muffling his voice. By the time his partner turned to see what happened, it was already too late.

You stepped forward, emerging from the shadows like a nightmare come to life, and grinned at the remaining guard, his eyes widening in horror.

“Boo,”

He reached for his gun, but you were faster. A flick of your wrist sent the shadows curling around his legs, tripping him before he could fire a single shot. You stepped over him with a casual stride, hands in your pockets, barely breaking a sweat.

The base was crawling with more agents, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you were counting on it.

Two more Hydra goons rounded the corner, guns raised, but the lights above them flickered once—then went out. When the darkness swallowed them, you grinned, letting the shadows dance around their feet. They fired blindly into the void, but the bullets only hit walls and air.

“Really?” you called out, your voice echoing through the corridor. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

One of them screamed as you appeared behind him, yanking his feet out from under him with a tendril of shadow. He slammed into the floor with a satisfying thud.

“Seriously,” you continued, stepping over him, “I was expecting more from Hydra. What is this, amateur hour?”

The second agent started running, which only made it more fun. You sent a wave of darkness after him, snaking through the corridor like a living thing, wrapping around his ankles and dragging him back toward you. He struggled, but it was no use.

“Don’t worry,” you said, leaning down as he thrashed in the shadows. “I’ll make this quick.”

You knocked him out cold, giving him a pat on the head before continuing deeper into the base.

A few minutes later, you found the room you were looking for: a small, unassuming office with a row of computers humming softly. Hydra always made things so obvious. You slipped inside, closing the door behind you, and pulled out the little USB drive Tony had given you.

The computer’s interface glowed as you inserted the drive, and the transfer began. A small progress bar appeared on the screen, ticking upward at a frustratingly slow pace.

“Well, this is thrilling,” you muttered, leaning against the desk, tapping your fingers on the wood as you waited. You clicked on your earpiece. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Focus,” Steve’s voice came through, clipped and serious.

You smirked. “I am focused, Rogers. I’m just multitasking. But I’m thinking Chinese takeout would be a good call. Just not Panda Express, okay? I know a better place.”

There was a long pause, then, faintly, you heard Tony mumble, “Yeah, I’m with them on that. Panda’s overrated.”

You grinned to yourself. “See? Stark knows what’s up.”

“You’re supposed to be downloading classified data, not planning dinner,” Steve’s voice cut in, clearly irritated.

“Right, right,” you replied, waving your hand even though no one could see you. The download bar hit 100%, and the drive ejected with a satisfying ping. “And, done. That was almost too easy. You guys could’ve handled this on your own. But, noooo, you had to drag me into it. Starting to think you’re all just being lazy.”

You pocketed the drive and headed for the door, feeling pretty good about yourself when you suddenly heard footsteps. Lots of footsteps.

Your grin widened.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Clint’s voice came through your earpiece, a bit cautious. “What’s with that tone? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said, your heart picking up pace with excitement. “There’s just more Hydra agents. A lot more. You know, enough to make it interesting.”

Steve’s voice was all business, as usual. “Get out. Now.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing the door open and stepping into the corridor. “Oh, come on, Capsicle. Don’t be such a buzzkill. I’ve been so good all night. Let me have a little fun.”

“Don’t push it!” Steve barked.

But you ignored him, slipping back into the shadows as the agents came barreling down the hallway toward you. This was what you lived for. The thrill, the chaos, the rush of power as the darkness around you stirred like it was alive.

Cut to the quinjet, where the rest of the Avengers were waiting. Clint sat in his usual seat, casually spinning an arrow between his fingers, while Sam and Tony stood near the back, discussing strategy—or at least pretending to. Steve paced near the front, arms crossed, clearly agitated that you hadn’t followed his orders.

“I told her to get out,” Steve muttered, glancing at Tony. “Why won’t she ever listen?”

“Because she's a pain in the ass,” Tony replied with a shrug, leaning against the wall. “We all knew that when we brought her in.”

Before anyone could respond, you suddenly appeared out of nowhere, materializing from the shadows in the corner of the quinjet, covered head to toe in blood.

Clint jumped, nearly falling off his seat. “What the hell?!”

Sam, startled, took a step back. “Jeez! A little warning next time, maybe?”

Even Tony, who prided himself on being unflappable, blinked in surprise, his eyes widening for just a split second before he regained his composure. “Well, that’s one way to make an entrance.”

You grinned, casually wiping some blood from your cheek as you tossed the shotgun over to Natasha, who caught it without a word. “Thanks for the loaner. Worked like a charm.”

Then, with a smirk, you pulled the USB drive from your pocket and handed it to Tony. “Here’s your data. Told you it was easy. Seriously, you guys need to stop being so lazy.”

Tony took the drive but didn’t respond right away. The rest of the team was still staring at you, processing the sight of you standing there, nonchalant, drenched in blood, like you’d just walked out of an action movie.

You plopped down in one of the seats, kicking your feet up onto the table in front of you, clearly satisfied with yourself. “So… about that Chinese takeout?”

No one said a word. The quinjet was silent as the team tried to wrap their heads around what just happened.

You just smiled, closing your eyes as you leaned back, perfectly at ease.

Mission accomplished.

dividers by @dollywons

[lizdive]

can you do a Blade ver of the Kanao!reader, thanks in advance (i love your works, btw)

Of course I can nonnie !! Thank you so much for your sweet words 🫶 thank you for requesting! If you’re unsatisfied just tell me and I’ll redo it <33

notes 𐙚 gender-neutral reader — "you" used to refer to reader ,, reader is a teenager — being 16 was the reference ,, reader is based off of "kanao kocho" from the demon slayer series ,, mention of and silver wolf ,, platonic relationships ,, not proofread ignore typos

⭑ If it weren’t for Kafka, you both probably wouldn’t have interacted at all. You were a new recruit to the Stellaron Hunters, bought by Kafka and taken away from the cruel life you lived. She had asked of BLADE to mentor you seeing as you preferred a sword over the other weapons.

⭑ He wasn’t too bothered by the request, and so he became your unofficial official mentor. You were very obedient to the very little words he’d say and were diligent in your training, improving at rapid speed. Blade appreciated the fact you don’t back talk to him rudely or make interactions difficult.

⭑ Ever since you were 'assigned' to BLADE, you’ve stuck to him like glue. Following him around like his shadow or always knowing where he was somehow. It was a hit unsettling, but the man didn’t care as long as you didn’t do anything stupid which you never did.

⭑ The more advanced you become in swordsmanship, the rougher he’ll go on you during sparring. He might get a bit carried away but he’ll notice soon enough and stop — especially if you get wounded. You don’t say anything and show no signs of pain, but he still feels a bit guilty.

⭑ He doesn’t really know what to do about your lack of decision making skills. He’s also pretty used to following orders so the both of you are kind of on the same boat in that case. Still, he’ll try to push you to make your own choices in subtle ways. Sometimes you lead him, sometimes he leads you.

⭑ You both never truly hold conversations with each other, and that’s fine with the both of you. The silence that follows you both around is comforting to one another and it’s reassuring for the both of you knowing that chatting wasn’t necessary.

⭑ Pursuing a better education won’t be difficult. The other stellaron hunters are willing to help you out — silver wolf is not as enthusiastic — so if you ever tell BLADE you want a better education that’ll be covered quickly.

⭑ You both have your manic moments and when they align the opponent will feel true fear (/ref.) You’re mean and unfiltered insults and words and his aggressive method of fighting is such a combo.

⭑ Opening up to him is a bit awkward. It probably happens unintentionally, and when it does he’ll just stare at you and give you a pat on the head when you’re done. Also, he probably knew anyways since Kafka told him when you were first recruited. He dodges the topic entirely and sees no reason or occasion for it to be mentioned.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Here For You

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: It's a bad day, a really bad day. And your boys have no intention of leaving you to suffer alone. Warnings: Chronic pain Series Masterlist

The sun's light filters in through the curtains of your room, casting long stripes of gold across the floor. But its warmth doesn't reach you today, not in this bed where you lie still, the covers pulled tight around your body as if they could shield you from the world.

You stare at the ceiling, your mind a blank slate as you wait for the pain to recede. But it remains, a constant reminder of the night before, and with every passing second, it seems to grow stronger, more insistent. This isn't just any morning; it's one of the worst, where even the simple act of sitting up feels like an impossible task.

Madam Pomfrey's potions are lined up on your bedside table, glinting mockingly in the sunlight. You've already taken them all—the ones you save for days like these—but their effects are negligible. Your bones still ache deep within, each breath a sharp stab to your lungs. You've also left out the pill packets, your muggle medication that's a requirement to get by.

The thought of food is repugnant, the mere idea enough to make your stomach twist in protest. So you lie there, motionless, your eyes tracing the patterns in the plaster above you as you try to ignore the gnawing emptiness inside.

It's moments like these when you wish to be left alone, not out of anger or frustration but as a silent plea for privacy. Your boyfriends—Remus, Sirius, and James—understand this unspoken rule, a boundary drawn in the sand that they dare not cross unless invited.

They have witnessed your struggles, the way you grit your teeth against the sharp stabs of discomfort. Still, they haven't seen you like this—when the pain becomes too much, when it consumes you entirely, leaving you trapped within your own body, unable to move, to fight back.

This is the side of you that you've always tried to hide from them—the side that shows just how human, how vulnerable you are. And it scares you, knowing that they could see you in such a state.

But today, they’re not letting it go. They used to be just your friends, but now they’re your boyfriends.

The sound of the door creaking open is a subtle intrusion, but it sends a wave of apprehension through your already tense muscles. You haven't spoken to them yet, haven't given them any indication that you're aware of their presence, but you know it's them. They noticed you weren't at breakfast. They always do.

James is the first to enter, his face immediately softening with concern when he sees you still lying there, unmoving, unresponsive to his arrival. Remus follows closely behind him, his expression one of quiet worry. Sirius lingers in the doorway, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a frown that creases his forehead.

"Hey," James's voice is a soft murmur as he eases himself onto the edge of your bed. The mattress dips under his weight, pulling at the sheets that cover your bruised body. "We got worried when you didn't show up for breakfast."

The words hang in the air, but you can't summon the strength to answer them. Your only reply is a faint shake of your head—a silent plea for understanding.

Remus kneels by the bed, his hand hovering over yours. He hesitates, unsure where touch might bring comfort or inflict pain. Finally, he settles for taking your fingers, avoiding the worst of your injuries. "Is it bad?" The question is barely a whisper, but it carries the weight of his concern.

"Yeah." Your voice is a ragged echo of its usual self, each word scraped raw by the agony coursing through your veins. "Really bad."

Sirius crosses the threshold, closing the door with a soft click. His eyes meet yours, shadows of concern etched in their depths. He moves to the foot of your bed, his usual buoyancy replaced with a heaviness that mirrors your own. "Have you taken any potions?" The question hangs in the air, though he knows the answer. He's searching for something—anything—that might ease your suffering.

You nod feebly, the motion draining what little energy remains. "I took them all... but they didn't help."

James exhales, a sound laced with frustration and helplessness. His hand finds your arm again, the touch both grounding and reassuring, even as your world spins out of control. "Just tell us what we can do," he murmurs, the words barely more than a breath. "We'll do anything."

Normally, you'd wave them off, assure them that you're fine and they should enjoy their day without fretting over you. But today... today the pain is a gnawing beast in your bones, a weight too heavy to lift even with the strongest of pretences.

"I just... I don't know," you admit softly, voice barely above a whisper as it trembles with the effort of speaking. "It hurts too much to move."

James's frown deepens, a hand running restlessly through his already dishevelled hair as he turns to look at Remus and Sirius, as if hoping they might have answers he does not. It's Remus who breaks the silence first, his voice steady despite the concern etched into every line of his face. He rises from beside your bed, the movement fluid and measured.

"Perhaps a bath?" he suggests, looking between the three of you. "The warmth could help relax your muscles."

A faint nod is all you can manage in response, appreciating the thought but dreading the effort it will require to get you there.

"I can't... I can't move," you admit quietly, and the admission feels like a defeat.

Sirius steps closer, his gaze holding that familiar protective glint you've seen so many times before. "You won't have to. We'll help you."

The prospect of their assistance sends a wave of embarrassment through you, but it's quickly snuffed out by the realisation that you have no energy left to argue or resist. You've always been careful to maintain your boundaries, to not let them see you at your weakest—vulnerable and exposed—but right now, you need them more than your pride.

"Alright," you whisper, the word scraping against your dry throat.

James leans in, brushing his lips against your temple—a soft promise. His arms snake around you, cradling your body as if it were made of glass. "We've got you, love. Just let us handle everything."

A nod is all you can manage, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you with its blend of frustration and relief.

Remus retreats to the ensuite, the sound of running water soon filling the room. James and Sirius exchange a look, a silent communication that speaks volumes of their shared concern. With a gentleness belying his imposing frame, Sirius reaches for the wheelchair parked by the foot of the bed.

"Here," James's voice is a low murmur, more felt than heard. "I'm going to lift you now." His hands, firm and surprisingly gentle, slide under your knees and behind your back. You nod, offering him the ghost of a smile even as humiliation burns in your cheeks. They've seen you hurt before, but never like this, never so helpless.

The world tilts as James lifts you into his arms. A whimper escapes your lips, the movement sending daggers of pain through your legs and lower back. But he holds you steady, his grip unyielding against the tremors that wrack your body.

Sirius hovers nearby, a shadow cut from the dim light. His hand comes to rest on your head, fingers brushing through your hair with deep affection. "Easy there," he murmurs, the warmth in his voice belying the worry in his eyes. "We'll have you sorted soon. Just keep breathing."

Once they've settled you into the wheelchair, Sirius takes the handles, steering you towards the bathroom where Remus stands waiting. The door is ajar, steam curling out from the gap and filling the bedroom with the scent of lavender bath salts. He's always had a knack for knowing what you need, even when you don't.

The sight of the bathtub makes your face heat up, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over you. You've been seeing them for a few weeks now, but none of them have ever seen you naked. The thought of their eyes on your bare skin sends a shiver down your spine, and it's not from the cold.

"I can undress myself," you insist, though even as you say it, you know it isn't true. Your body feels heavy, too weak to move.

But Sirius is already shaking his head, his hand coming up to gently push back a lock of hair that has fallen across your forehead. "We'll help, love. Don't worry about it. We're not here to gawk—we're here to help."

And you believe him. How could you not when their faces are filled with nothing but concern, their attention focused solely on easing your discomfort? There is no place for shame or embarrassment here, not in the warmth of their care.

Remus kneels next to you again, his gaze soft with understanding. "We'll be careful," he says quietly, "and we won't look more than necessary. Only us here."

You nod, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. With that, they begin to undress you, their movements slow and cautious. Their hands are careful not to touch more than necessary, and respectful of your modesty.

Your clothing, once a barrier between you and the world, falls away piece by piece until you're left in nothing but your underwear. Remus keeps his eyes on your face as he helps you to take your knickers off and you close your eyes, taking in a shaky breath as they lift you into the bath.

The water is hot, almost too hot, but it's a welcome change. It laps at your skin, soothing away the ache in your muscles and cleansing the sweat that clings to you. A sigh escapes your lips, long and shaky, as the tension begins to seep from your body.

"Feeling any better?" Remus's voice is low, just above a whisper.

You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small, grateful smile. "Yeah," you say, your voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of water against porcelain. "A lot better."

James crouches next to the tub, his hand resting lightly on the edge, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that speaks volumes of his concern. "Good. We'll let you soak for a bit. Shout if you need anything."

Sirius, still leaning against the door jamb, gives you a small, reassuring nod. "We won't be far. Take your time."

They leave you alone then, retreating back into the bedroom, but their presence lingers—a comforting pressure at the edge of your awareness. They remain within reach, ready to respond at the first sign of distress.

Eventually, when your muscles have uncoiled and the ache has dulled to a manageable throb, you call out to them. They return without hesitation, helping you from the bath with the same gentleness they showed before.

The warmth of their hands is a tangible safety net, drying you off with such care that it's almost impossible to remain tense. The blush on your cheeks refuses to fade, but the embarrassment is tempered by an unexpected sense of comfort. This isn't how you imagined spending your day, yet here you are, surrounded by the people who mean the most to you, and they're taking care of you in a way no one has in a long time.

Remus's fingers are deft as he helps you into a soft shirt, his touch careful to avoid any lingering soreness. A pair of pajama pants appears, courtesy of James, who flashes you a reassuring smile as he hands them over.

Sirius kneels before you, his silver eyes serious as he gently rolls up the pant legs. His hands pause at your feet, waiting for your permission before lifting each one, guiding the fabric over your calves and thighs with a gentleness you wouldn't have expected from him. The tension in your shoulders eases bit by bit, replaced by the rhythmic lull of their ministrations, the familiarity of their presence, and the surprising intimacy of this moment.

"Better?" Sirius asks, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers tighten slightly around your knee before releasing their hold. The concern in his tone is palpitous, a stark contrast to the bravado he often wears.

There's a shift in the air as James steps forward, taking control of the wheelchair once more. He manoeuvres you back into the bedroom with practiced ease, parking the chair next to your bed. "More sleep, or shall I make you a cup of tea?"

For a moment, you consider the weight of exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, the beckoning call of oblivion. But sleep is a fickle friend these days, and the ache in your bones refuses to be ignored.

"Tea," you manage, your voice threadbare from disuse. "That would be... nice."

A smile flickers across James's face, brief but genuine. "Tea it is." He straightens up, adjusting his glasses as he turns towards the door. "I won't be long."

"Here, let me help you," Remus says, a supportive presence by your side as he helps you move from the wheelchair to the bed. He arranges the pillows behind you with care, ensuring you're comfortable. Sirius sits at the foot of your bed, his hands restless as they toy with the hem of your pyjama trousers.

You watch them both, warmth spreading. "Thank you," you say quietly, and it feels like an understatement. For everything, you want to add, but words fail you.

Sirius looks up then, his eyes softening. "No need for that, love. We're just doing what anyone should do."

"Exactly." Remus's voice is firm as he sits on the edge of your bed, his gaze meeting yours as he wraps an arm around you. "We're here for you, always will be."

You feel a lump forming in your throat again, but not from fear or sadness—it's from the overwhelming sense of love and gratitude that fills you for these three boys who have become your everything.

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into Remus' touch, the simple act grounding you, reminding you that you're safe, you're loved. Sirius moves closer, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining in a silent promise of support. You squeeze his hand back and, for the first time since you woke up, you feel the tension in your body start to ebb away.

The sound of footsteps draws your attention as James returns, carrying four steaming mugs of tea. He hands them out, his movements careful and measured. Then, with a final glance at you, he slips under the covers on your other side. His presence is a warm reassurance, another pillar of strength in your small sanctuary.

[goblinontour]

Obsession With Death

part 2 | series masterlist

sickness or just human nature?

warnings: mentions of death, implied age gap, intercourse, exhibitionism, daddy’s back, inappropriateness

word count: 6.9k

Obsessed.  

It wasn’t an easy word for him to come to, much less admit. He’d never been one to dwell – well, he was but not like this, not to the point of ruin. But for days — days — you’d been stuck in his head, stitched into the fabric of his thoughts like a stray thread he couldn’t unravel.  

From the moment you’d walked away that first evening, your shape lingered behind his eyes. In the hours that stretched between dusk and dawn, when sleep came grudgingly and with little solace, you were there. And when morning dragged him back into the haze of routine, it was as though you’d never left.  

It’s only a crush, he tried to tell himself. It’ll go away. It’s just like all the others.  

But that was a lie. There were no others, not really. Or if there had been, none of them lingered in his chest the way you did, pressing against his ribs like something trying to claw its way out. Maybe this wasn’t a crush at all. Maybe it was danger.  

He knew it. But you didn’t.  

At first, he prayed it away, kneeling in the spaces between gravestones, the dirt still caked beneath his fingernails. He tried to will it smaller, to clip its wings before it took flight. But whatever this was — it grew.  

It consumed him slowly, a creeping vine winding its way through his thoughts. By the time he realised how deep it had taken root, it was too late. It was the way you moved, the way your voice wavered, the way you leaned into him on the hill like trust had been inevitable, like he hadn’t even had to ask for it.  

Every day he told himself, at the right place, the right time. That was how these things worked.  

Maybe tonight, he thought each evening, his chest tight with anticipation that never seemed to find its release.  

But the days stretched long, and the nights heavier still, and the right moment never came.  

Until it did.  

He wasn’t ready when he saw you again. He should have been. He’d told himself a thousand times to prepare for the moment, to practise how he’d act if you returned, if you dared step back through the gates.  

And yet, when you did, he froze.  

The sight of you felt like a slap to the chest, like breath pulled too sharply through his lungs. He didn’t expect it to feel like this — like fright.  

You walked in slowly, almost cautiously, like you weren’t entirely sure you belonged here. But you came anyway. He watched from the shadows, from the edge of the path, his body rooted in place as his mind swirled.  

What were you doing here again? What had brought you back to him?  

He prayed for something to say, some easy line to carry him through the moment. But his thoughts spiralled, and his hands felt like someone else’s, twitching by his sides.  

You didn’t see him at first. Not yet. But the way the dying light caught the outline of your face, the way your breath hung faintly in the chilled air — it undid him all over again. He thought about running, about disappearing into the rows of tombstones before you spotted him. But he stayed.  

He stayed because you had come back, and that had to mean something. Even if he didn’t know what yet. Even if it scared him more than he cared to admit.

“I can hear you this time, Alexander.” you called out, your voice cutting through the quiet like a soft blade.  

To his disadvantage, the leaves had fallen dry to the ground, betraying the faint carefulness of his steps. They rustled with every subtle shift, giving him away. You’d been ready this time — alert, listening.  

He didn’t answer right away, but when he wanted you to see him, he made it known. Stepping from behind a nearby tree, he was met with your gaze, and the smile on his face seemed involuntary, almost sheepish. When he noticed the faint curl of your lips in return, something in his shoulders eased.  

“Got me.” he said, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. His voice carried that dry, self-effacing humour, but his eyes told another story. They lifted from the ground to meet yours, and you caught something hanging there — something you almost wanted to call shyness.  

“Always here.” you muttered.  

“Surprised?” he asked, shifting his weight to lean against the tree nearest him. It stood at the perfect midpoint between the two of you, a deliberate placement that felt calculated. He might’ve come closer, if not for the way he wanted you to come to him. So badly it almost ached.  

“Not at all.” you said, stepping toward him. “You’re much more predictable than one would think.”  

“Really?” he asked, the faintest hint of genuine surprise colouring his tone.  

It wasn’t a challenge. He didn’t believe you — not fully — but he didn’t seem offended either. There was no sting in his words, no edge. Instead, he seemed…amused. Like he might let you be right, just this once, even if you weren’t. Like he might let you think you’d figured him out.  

For now.  

“Well, you’re-” you started, only to be cut off by him.  

“Always here.” he said, finishing your thought as his lips curved upward into something sly, knowing.  

You laughed lightly, just a soft breath of sound, and kept moving closer. The space between you felt fragile, as though neither of you wanted to close it too quickly, to risk breaking whatever strange rhythm you’d found yourselves in.  

“And why are you always here?” you asked, stopping just shy of him.  

“Why are you?” he countered, tilting his head slightly, his gaze flicking over your face like he might find the answer written there.  

You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, not to silence you but to pause you.  

“No, don’t answer that.” he said. “Not yet.”  

The weight of his words settled over the moment, heavy but not unwelcome. You wondered if he was asking for your silence or your patience. 

He leaned forward just slightly, the barest tilt of his body, enough to catch the faint chill of your breath in the air between you.  

“Maybe it’s the same reason.” he added, his voice softer now, almost careful.  

The same reason.  

His words stayed with you, even as the rest of the cemetery seemed to fall away, and you couldn’t decide if the thought was thrilling or terrifying. Maybe both.

You stilled before leaning closer, and the world seemed to follow suit, freezing in a moment suspended between what was and what could be. Alexander barely breathed, his body wound tight like a string pulled taut, vibrating faintly with an energy he was struggling to contain.  

Your hand — fingers chilled and trembling — brushed against the wool of his coat before landing on his shoulder, tentative but firm enough to hold your balance. A lifeline, or so you pretended, though you both knew the truth. He flinched — not away from you but within himself, the muscles beneath his skin jumping at the contact. For a moment, you wondered if you’d startled him, but no — he wanted this. He wanted it too much, and that was what unnerved him.  

He caught himself, of course, but you saw it. And he saw you see it. It was pointless to pretend now, but the pretence only made the moment heavier, more dangerous.  

His breath hitched again, catching on something deeper, and you felt it pass over your cheek as the cold air curled between you both. The atmosphere pressed in from all sides, close and heavy, as though the cemetery itself was holding its breath, watching, waiting.  

Your breath drifted upward as though summoned by the closeness, soft and visible in the chilled air, and he could feel the warmth of it mingling with the cold that clung to his skin. You leaned even closer, close enough now that he could see the faint dampness gathered under your nose, the faint condensation, a telltale sign of the biting temperature. The detail startled him with its intimacy. It was so small, so human, and yet it felt monumental in this moment.  

His eyes caught on it, lingered there as though to anchor himself, but it wasn’t enough. His gaze fell, unbidden, to your lips. The crack in the armour he’d tried so hard to maintain. He didn’t want to look. He knew once he let himself, he’d fall. There’d be no stopping it.  

Still, he looked.  

And there it was — his undoing.  

They were dry, cracked at the edges, with faint lines of redness where the winter air had worn at them. He noticed the faintest trace of dried blood there, too, caught in the creases of your lower lip like the aftermath of a small wound, so subtle it seemed almost imagined. Had you picked at them? Had the cold done this to you, or had your own hands contributed? Perhaps the former had caused the latter. The thought stirred something sharp in him, something protective and possessive all at once.  

You tilted forward, and your noses barely grazed, the faintest brush of skin, and it was like touching an exposed wire. His chest tightened, his breath snagged, and he couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped him — a mirror to your own. The sound mingled in the air like a single breath shared between two bodies.   

The sound of your gasp was the end of him. He wanted to pull away, to stop this before it became too much, but he couldn’t. Instead, he swayed closer, as though drawn by a force he didn’t fully understand. The faintest traces of your breath warmed his skin, and he swore he could taste it already. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, the phantom of your presence lingering on it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He wanted more.

Your lashes trembled faintly, blinking in the space between his skin and yours. He could feel them brushing against him like whispers, fragile and fleeting. Your eyes held something unreadable that made his stomach twist in ways he couldn’t name.  

Everything around you seemed to fade into a haze. The trees stood still, their bare branches scratching against the dim grey sky like veins on pale skin. The ground beneath you felt solid but distant and the crunch of dead leaves underfoot muffled, irrelevant. 

“Please.” you whispered, and the word shattered the moment.  

It hit him like a jolt, a crack of electricity splitting the air between you. His eyes fluttered shut, as though closing them might lessen the weight of what you’d just said. But it didn’t. If anything, it made it heavier, more visceral. He felt it sink into his chest, nestling there like a seed he couldn’t uproot.  

Your lashes brushed against his again, and it was maddening, the soft flicker of them against his skin. It was almost cruel, the way you seemed to lean in, barely moving yet pulling him closer all the same.  

He should resist.

He told himself this, over and over, even as his resolve crumbled.  

“Pleasure is an art of resistance.” he murmured, his voice low and frayed, so quiet it barely escaped his lips. He didn’t dare speak louder. Not here, not with the possibility of unseen ears or spirits lingering in the periphery. If they existed, he didn’t want them interrupting now. Not now. Not ever.  

He didn’t know why he said it — perhaps to remind himself, perhaps to warn you. But it sounded hollow, even to him.  

“Is it, Alexander?” you asked, your voice soft and steady, though the tilt of your head brought your mouth so close to his that he could feel the shape of your words against him.  

His body trembled faintly, every muscle locked in place, as though moving even an inch might shatter him. His lips parted, not to speak but simply to breathe, to take in the faint, intoxicating warmth of your proximity.  

“It’s hard to resist sometimes.” he admitted, a confession torn from some deep, hidden place.  

“Then don’t.” you whispered, sinking into him and pulling him forward, letting the words fall directly into his mouth. 

And he didn’t.  

His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, like testing the edge of something sharp, unsure if it would cut. But the softness of it undid him completely. There was nothing cold about you, nothing distant. You were heat and breath and something wild that burned through the frost lingering on his skin.  

The world fell away entirely. There were no trees, no gravestones, no brittle leaves — just the faint, undeniable press of you against him. Just the sound of your breaths mingling, the electric pull between you that he had fought for so long but could no longer resist.  

And he thought, in that moment, that perhaps resistance had never been the point at all. 

The moment your giggle broke the stillness, it cracked something open between you — something both electric and unsettling. It wasn’t loud, your laugh, but it was enough to remind him of the world beyond the thin veil you’d created. You pressed your face against the collar of his coat, nuzzling into the rough fabric like a cat seeking warmth, your nose brushing against his throat with every shift. He shivered at the contact, but he didn’t move. He didn’t know how to move.  

He felt your breath seeping through the layers, warming his skin beneath, and his pulse thrummed in response. It was as if your touch was slowly rewiring him, reconfiguring what it meant to exist in his body. He swallowed hard, uncertain what to do with himself, until instinct took over.  

His hand found yours, tentative at first, his fingers brushing against your knuckles like he wasn’t sure they were allowed to be there. Then he intertwined them, threading his fingers through yours with a deliberate pressure. Your palms warmed each other almost instantly, and it was such a simple gesture, yet it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  

“Come with me.” he said suddenly, his voice firm but low, the words carrying an urgency that felt out of place in the quiet. He didn’t give you time to hesitate, to question him, though his pace was slow enough to ensure you kept up.  

He walked like a man who knew exactly where he was going, though his steps were measured. His grip on your hand tightened briefly as if to anchor himself to you, to be certain you wouldn’t slip away before he could allow it.  

You could sense the shift before you understood it — the way the air grew heavier, the way his silence seemed to stretch taut like a thread on the verge of snapping. His steps slowed, the deliberate cadence faltering. You glanced sideways, catching the faint crease in his brow, the tension in the set of his jaw.  

“What is it?” you asked, the words softer than you intended, as though trying not to disturb whatever was unravelling in his mind.  

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze moved ahead, past you, drawn to something unseen yet inevitable. It was like watching someone step over the edge of a precipice.  

“Have you ever noticed,” he began, his voice quiet, almost contemplative, “how some names linger in your head like a melody you can’t shake? Not because you want to remember, but because forgetting feels impossible.”  

The question wasn’t for you, but it hung between you like frost, delicate and threatening to crack.  

You didn’t respond, unsure of whether he wanted an answer. He took another step forward, then stopped. His hand rose, brushing along the edge of a tree trunk as if grounding himself to the present moment.  

“It’s strange.” he continued, his tone darkening. “How a place like this makes you feel closer to something — someone — and yet further away all at once.”  

You frowned, unsure of where he was going. “I suppose,” you replied carefully, “it depends on who you’re here for.”  

His eyes met yours then, sharp and searching. “Does it? Or does it just depend on what you can live with?”  

You wanted to ask what he meant, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t seeking answers — he was seeking something else entirely.  

And then he stopped, completely still. The clarity of the moment hit you like a jolt as your gaze followed his.  

You stood in front of it — the name etched into the weathered stone as familiar to you as your own reflection.  

“Do you miss him?” Alexander’s voice broke the stillness, as though the question wasn’t one that could shatter you.

Your gaze lingered on the stone, the name, the years carved there like a timeline you didn’t want to acknowledge. “Why-”  

“Do you?” he insisted, cutting you off.  

You turned to him, confusion and something sharper flickering across your face. He shifted, his boots scuffing the ground until the tips of them touched yours. He blocked your view of the gravestone, his hands sliding down to catch yours by the fingertips.  

“Sometimes.” you admitted. “Less now.”  

“Interesting.” he said simply, his head tilting as if he were cataloguing the information, filing it away for some unknown purpose.  

Your brows furrowed. “How is that interesting?”  

“I’ve always been interested in how what we can see and what we can’t see plays with our psyche and perception.” he said, his tone thoughtful, almost detached. “Barriers to gratification unlock the mind in a new way.”  

“What are you trying to say, Alexander?” you asked, your tone sharpening.  

You didn’t wait for his response. Instead, you pushed forward, your knee knocking into his, forcing him to take a step back. The motion caught him off guard, and he stumbled until he was sitting on the cold concrete of the raised plot.  

The wind picked up, tugging at your skirt as you stepped closer. The hem danced just beneath his nose, and he caught the faintest trace of your scent — something warm and almost sweet. He leaned back on his arms, trying to regain some semblance of control, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your stockings stretched over your knees as you bent down. The fabric framed the barest hint of skin above them, a teasing glimpse that made his breath hitch.  

You climbed over him, settling onto his lap with a confidence that made his pulse pound in his ears. His gaze flicked upward, catching the glint in your eye, the knowing curve of your lips.  

“That you’re interesting.” he managed to say, remembering to answer your question, his voice low and strained.  

You smirked faintly, leaning in until your face was inches from his. “I’m just a girl with daddy issues.” you said, your tone laced with irony, but the truth beneath it wasn’t lost on either of you.  

His eyes flicked to the stone right behind, then back to your face. “Don’t you think it’s disrespectful? On your daddy’s grave?”  

He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they were barely more than a breath, spoken into the curve of your neck as your hips shifted against him.  

And then it hit him — this was bad. Not the act itself, though the taste of wrongness lingered faintly in the back of his mind, mixing with the sweetness of you. No, what was bad was the fact that he wanted this too much. Wanted you too much.  

At first, it was simple — a small, flickering crush, like the faintest ember. Harmless. Something he could let burn out if he ignored it long enough. But now…now, it wasn’t a crush. Now it was like. Heavy and burning and uncontrollable, clawing its way up his chest and tightening its grip around him, making his pulse race every time you so much as shifted closer.  

He wanted you, that much was undeniable, but it was the kind of want that made him feel crazy, like his mind was coming undone in your presence. He wanted to do things to you, for you, things he shouldn’t let himself think about in a place like this, but he couldn’t stop. His thoughts spiralled faster than he could pull them back, and each one left him dizzier than the last.  

Your scent, the faint rasp in your voice, the way you tilted your head just enough to give him a sliver more of your neck — it was making him lose his grip on whatever composure he’d managed to hold onto before this moment.  

It wasn’t just physical. It couldn’t be. If it were, he could’ve brushed it off, left it behind in the cemetery along with every other moment of fleeting desire. But you weren’t fleeting. You were lingering, like the cold in the air, seeping into his skin and filling the cracks he didn’t even know he had.  

You tilted your head back slightly, your lips parting just enough to let out the softest gasp, and he swore his chest caved in.  

This was bad, he thought again. Bad, but too bad he didn’t care. Not anymore.

His hands, which had been braced against the concrete, moved instinctively to your thighs, his fingers pressing against the thick fabric of your stockings.  

“Maybe.” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft, dangerous thing. “But maybe not.”  

And in that moment, nothing else existed — just you, the weight of you against him, the press of your bodies and the unrelenting pull between you that neither of you could deny. 

The cold air bit at the exposed parts of your skin, but it couldn’t touch the heat building between you. Alexander’s hands lingered on your thighs, his fingers curling slightly into your flesh. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one a struggle to steady himself.  

“I could get up.” you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking into a faint smile. “If it’s too disrespectful for you, Alexander.”  

His gaze darted to yours, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Do you want to?”  

Your laugh was soft, almost breathless. “No. I don’t think I do.”  

“Then don’t.” His voice was quieter now, less steady, though his fingers betrayed him by pressing a little harder into your thighs. You leaned in closer, your nose brushing against his cheek. Intoxicating, like the moment before a storm.  

“Do you always think about what’s respectful?” you asked, your breath ghosting against his skin.  

His eyes flicked upward, meeting yours with a sharpness that made your heart stutter. “Not always.”  

“No?”  

“Not when I’m with you.”  

The confession lingered between you, weighty and unspoken in all the times before now. You tilted your head, considering him, and he looked back at you like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, like he couldn’t decide whether to study you or let you consume him.  

“You don’t seem the type to care about rules.” you teased, fingers tracing the edge of his coat collar, testing the waters.

He tsk-ed softly, the sound carrying a mix of amusement and reprimand. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, love.” he said, tilting his head. “I’m very strict about rules.”  

“Not all.” you countered. “Obviously.”  

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, though the ghost of a smile played on his mouth. “I care about some.” he admitted, his voice tightening, edged with a restraint he was fighting to maintain. “But you…you make me forget them.”  

Your chest brushed against his as you leaned in closer, close enough to see the flicker of something in his eyes – something wild, barely contained. “And what happens when you forget?”  

His breath hitched, the tension between you taut. “I don’t know.” he whispered. “That’s what scares me.” 

You didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension ripple through his body beneath you. His hands tightened instinctively, moving up just slightly, fingers brushing over the edge of your skirt where fabric met skin.  

“Scares you?” you repeated, your voice soft but teasing. “You don’t seem scared now.”  

“I’m good at hiding it.”  

“Show me.”  

The challenge hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he exhaled shakily, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against yours. The gesture was intimate, almost tender, and it made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t sure you liked.  

“I can’t.” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur.  

“Can’t what?”  

“Show you what scares me.” His eyes opened, meeting yours, and they were endless. “Not yet.”  

You let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, your fingers finding his and guiding his hand up to rest against your waist. “I’m not scared of you, you know.” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge of truth that made it land heavier.  “Should I?”  

His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles against your waist. “No…maybe,” he admitted, “but not for the reasons you think.”  

You shifted again, leaning back slightly, enough to let your weight press into his legs. The concrete beneath him was cold and unforgiving, but he barely noticed it. His focus was entirely on you — the way your eyes watched him, the way your lips parted just enough to invite him closer.  

“Tell me something real.” you said, your tone suddenly more serious.  

“What do you want to know?”  

“Why you’re always here.”  

He hesitated, his grip on you tightening slightly before loosening again. “I don’t know.” he said after a moment. “It feels like…like this place is the only thing that makes sense sometimes.”  

“And me?”  

“You don’t make sense.” he said quietly. “But I don’t need you to.”  

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. Your lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you leaned in again, your forehead brushing against his as your fingers found their way to the back of his neck.  

“You’re strange, Alexander.” you whispered.  

“And you’re trouble.” he replied, his voice low, almost a growl.  

“Maybe we’re both.”  

“Maybe we are.” he admitted. His eyes stayed on yours, steady, calculating, but less guarded.  

The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but charged. Then he spoke again, his voice quieter, almost pensive, like he was voicing a thought he hadn’t meant to share.  

“Sexuality is powerful,” he said, his gaze flicking downward for a second, before locking onto you again, “and difficult. Morally ambiguous. Rarely easy or safe.”  

You tilted your head slightly, considering him, and then asked, “It’s just a sexual reaction?”  

He studied you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if he was weighing whether to answer you honestly. “You and me?”  

You nodded, feeling something twist and coil in your stomach as you waited for him to respond.  

“That’s…” he began, his voice dropping lower, rougher, like gravel sliding over silk. “Animal attraction.”  

“Yeah?” you asked, the word slipping out of you, softer than you intended, like a challenge laced with curiosity.  

He paused, his lips parting as if to say something else, but then he shook his head slightly, leaning forward, closer than ever before. “You can shut up now.” 

Before you could respond — or disobey — he closed the remaining distance, his mouth capturing yours in a way that left no room for questions, only answers whispered through the heat between you.

His hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and the motion sent a shiver up your spine. You let out a soft sound against his lips, and it was all the encouragement he needed to deepen the kiss, his other hand threading through your hair as though trying to memorise the feel of it.  

He let the strands curl between his fingers, pulling just enough to draw a gasp from you. The noise unravelled him further, and his grip tightened for a moment before he forced himself to stop, his breath uneven as he tugged lightly instead, teasing the edge of his own restraint.  

“You want me to fuck you here?” he whispered against your ear, the words raw and low, sending a spark through you.  

Your nod came fast, almost desperate, as you melted into his touch. His hold shifted, steadying you, his hand slipping from your back to your throat. His fingers curled around it like a collar, possessive but not cruel, applying just enough pressure for you to feel his strength and his control.  

“Do you want me to be your Daddy?” he asked, tilting your head back until your eyes locked with his. There was no escaping him, no escaping the intensity in his gaze or the sheer weight of the moment. He was everywhere, consuming every piece of you.  

“Please.” you whimpered, your voice trembling as it escaped, the sound vibrating against the palm of his hand.  

He felt it — felt the shiver in your tone, the fragility in your plea — and something inside him shifted. He let out a soft, dark chuckle, his thumb brushing over your jaw.  

“I can be your Daddy.” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, soft enough to contradict the roughness of his grip on you. The contrast made your knees feel weak, but his hold kept you steady. Kept you his.

The tension between you seemed to hold the entire world still, time itself pausing to watch. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he added, “But if I am, you’re mine.” 

His free hand drifted to your hip, the rough pads of his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. He guided you against him, letting you feel how much control he was losing, how much he wanted to lose it.

“Say it again.” he demanded, his voice more forceful now, less a suggestion and more a command.

“Please, Daddy.” you whispered, a soft plea that sent a surge of heat through him, making him bite down on his own restraint.

“Good girl.” he growled, and his lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, as though every kiss, every touch was sealing the words you’d exchanged in something far darker than a promise.

“Fuck, I need you.” he said, his voice breaking as though the admission cost him.  

“Show me how bad.” you whispered, your breath shaky, barely audible.  

His eyes darkened further, a flicker of something feral flashing across his face. “Get on your knees.” he ordered, sliding out from beneath you.  

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking to the cold, unforgiving concrete. The loose gravel bit into the bare skin of your knees through the stockings, but you didn’t care. His hands were already on you, pulling your skirt up, exposing the flushed skin underneath. You felt the sting of the cold air, but it was fleeting, because his touch followed, hot and insistent.  

Your heart thundered in your chest as one of his hands moved to tug your panties aside, the fabric stretched taut against your skin. The other worked quickly, fumbling with his belt, the clink of metal sharp in the still air. His zipper hissed as it came undone, and then his pants were lowered in haste.  

There was no pause, no hesitation. He pushed into you all at once, a sudden, overwhelming invasion that knocked the air from your lungs. You gasped, a sharp, desperate sound that echoed faintly around you. 

“That’s it.” he groaned, his voice thick with want. “Take it all for me, princess.”

Deeper. He pushed deeper, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. Your knees scraped against the concrete as he pulled you back onto him, setting a punishing rhythm that left no room for thought, only feeling.  

You dropped further, your forearms pressing into the cold as your body yielded to him completely. He seemed to take it as permission, his hips snapping harder, his breathing ragged. Somehow, impossibly, he sank deeper still, the stretch of him almost unbearable, almost.  

He paused for a moment, stilling inside you, his chest heaving against your back. You felt the heat of his breath on your neck, but it was drowned out by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.  

Something wet dripped beneath you, darkening the grey concrete. You blinked, trying to make sense of it — drool, tears? It didn’t matter. Your face was too cold, too numb to tell where the wetness was coming from, but the sensation of him inside you burned hot enough to block out the chill.  

“You’re perfect.” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent as his fingers dug into your hips again. He started moving once more, slower this time, like he wanted to brand the feeling of you into his very bones.  

He shifted, his knee pressing firmly onto the grave ledger, unbothered by the risk of scuffing his trousers. His hips rolled, steady and deliberate, and you felt every ridge and vein of his cock dragging against your walls. The sensation was overwhelming, electrifying. He hissed through his teeth, his grip tightening.  

Reaching forward, he caught your wrist, guiding your hand back to your own body. “Hold yourself open for me.” he ordered, his voice low, raw, each word laced with possession. He pressed your palm against the soft curve of your ass, forcing you to pull yourself apart. His eyes darkened as he stared, transfixed by the sight of himself disappearing into you, again and again, his thrusts deep and unrelenting.  

“Fuck-” he groaned, his words roughened by desire, his gaze glued to where your bodies joined. His movements became harder, more erratic, driven by the wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin — hips against yours, balls slapping against your soaked pussy. The sharp cadence of it echoed in the cold stillness, a lewd symphony that made your stomach tighten and your legs tremble.  

The intensity built faster than either of you expected. You gasped, trying to shift forward, to pull away even slightly, but his grip was iron.  

“No, no-” he groaned, the sound almost desperate, his voice breaking with need. His hands caught your wrist again, both of them wrapping around it, his fingers engulfing it completely. Your hand looked so small, so fragile in his grasp, and the sight sent a new wave of hunger coursing through him.  

“You’re not going anywhere.” he growled, pulling your hips back toward him, sinking deeper, harder. “You hear me? You’re staying right here, taking everything I give you.”  

You whimpered, and the sound only spurred him on, his hips snapping forward with a force that left you breathless. His control frayed with every thrust, every cry you made, his nails pressing into your skin, leaving half-moon imprints as he held you steady.  

“Look at you.” he rasped, his voice full of dark admiration. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”  

You nodded, barely able to form words, your body pliant and trembling under his relentless pace.  

“Say it.” he demanded, his voice sharp now, desperate, as though he needed to hear it, to solidify the bond between you in this moment.  

“I’m yours-” you managed, breath hitching. “Yours, Alexander.”  

The last fragile thread of restraint snapped. Whatever boundaries might have existed between you dissolved completely, leaving nothing but raw need in their place. He moved faster, harder, until your chest slammed against the cold, hard surface beneath you. The impact sent a dull ache spreading through your body, but it was quickly drowned out by the intensity of his presence — his hips slamming into you, his hand claiming your mouth.  

“Shh…” he murmured into your ear, pressing his lips against the curve of it as his palm muffled the sounds spilling from you. “Quiet, princess. Let me hear it. Let me hear how wet you are for me.” 

Your muffled cries were swallowed by the graveyard silence, but the obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into you were deafening. His hand covered your lips tightly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he buried himself deeper with every thrust.  

“You hear that?” he rasped, his voice low and hoarse, more to himself than to you. “That’s you, soaking me. Taking me. Every. Fucking. Inch.”  

You whimpered against his hand, the vibrations travelling through his palm and shooting straight to his core. The sound drove him crazy, made him lose control, made his hips snap forward faster and harder, chasing the feeling of your body clenching around him.  

“I can feel you shaking.” he growled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You like this, don’t you? You like being used like this?”  

You tried to nod, but his hand kept your head pressed down. Instead, you whimpered again, and he chuckled darkly.  

“Say it.” he demanded, pulling his hand away just enough to let you speak.  

“I-” you gasped. “I love it. I love the way you feel.”  

He groaned, his head falling forward until his forehead rested against your shoulder. “Fuck, you drive me insane.”  

His free hand left your hip, sliding up your stomach and under your shirt to palm your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. “So soft,” he muttered, as if the sensation overwhelmed him. “So fucking perfect.”  

You clenched around him at his words, and he cursed, his pace faltering for a moment before he recovered, thrusting into you even harder.  

“Al-” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his hand slid down, pressing against your stomach, holding you in place as he drove into you.  

“I’ve got you.” he said, his voice rough and possessive. “You don’t go anywhere. You don’t get to pull away. You’re mine.”  

You turned your head slightly, enough to meet his eyes, dark and burning with something primal. “Yours.”

He cursed again, leaning down to bite at your shoulder, his teeth sharp even through the thickness of the barriers. “Say it louder.” he demanded, his voice barely controlled.  

“Yours.” you cried, louder this time, and it was all he needed to lose himself completely. His grip tightened on you, his movements growing erratic as he chased the release building between you, pulling you with him into the abyss.

The shiver that ran through your body had nothing to do with the cold anymore. It was from him — his touch, his voice, his weight pressing into you. Every part of him surrounded you, consumed you. When he felt you tighten around him, his control finally gave way.  

“Come on, come on Daddy’s cock.” he muttered, his voice breaking into a rasp as he moved with deliberate, devastating slowness now. “Just like that- shit-”  

Then came the stillness. Blissfully thundering toward death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. An inexplicable poetry to the moment, as he buried himself fully inside you. You felt him tremble against your back, his breath hot on your neck. His hands, once so demanding and possessive, now softened their grip on your body, lingering reverently. His body tensed, every muscle trembling as he let himself go, spilling into you with a groan that sounded like surrender.  

“Stay still.” he commanded, his voice softer but still firm, his hands keeping you in place as his chest pressed against your back. He lowered himself over you, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Okay.” you whispered, though your voice cracked, rough — whether from the cold or from the aftermath of your cries, you couldn’t tell.  

One of his hands slid under your cheek, cradling it gently, cushioning it from the hard surface beneath you, as if it had suddenly become intolerable for him. The gesture was tender, almost jarringly so after the intensity of everything else.

“Close your eyes.” he murmured. His words were a request, not an order. There was a softness now, something stripped raw and quiet in him. He stayed inside you, unwilling to move, unwilling to let go. His body still pressed against yours, his arms bracing you, holding you close.  

“You’re so lovely,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. His lips found your hair, pressing against it softly, an excuse to inhale your scent, to keep you closer than he’d ever thought he’d need to.  

His hand smoothed over your hair, tracing the curve of your jaw before resting on your shoulder. “Stay with me a little longer.” he added, almost pleading. You understood.

You nodded against his hand, the tension in your body melting under the warmth of his. 

“Do you feel safe?” he asked finally, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.  

“Yes.” you whispered, barely audible but enough for him to hear.  

He sighed, a sound heavy with relief and something else — something you couldn’t quite place. Then he pressed another kiss to the crown of your head, lingering there as though reluctant to part from you, even for a moment.  

“You make me crazy.” he muttered against your hair, and though it sounded like a complaint, the warmth in his voice betrayed him.  

“I think I like it.” you replied, your lips curving into the faintest smile.  

“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head just enough to catch your eyes when you opened them.  

“Yeah.” you murmured, and his smile mirrored yours, soft and secret, meant only for you. 

a/n: Heavily based on the She Wants Revenge songs in the playlist, you can tell :) I think the smut went a bit too long, but I still have a hard time knowing how much to describe things. Like, I want to make sure you can envision exactly what I had in my mind. And yes it ends a bit abruptly, I guess, but I think it’s a good point. The birds will return in the next part. And it won’t come as fast as this part because I haven’t even started it, but I don’t have self control so I’m just going to post this one and go with it.

[dreamdragonkadia]

a/n: Something something Percy and vacation, because we all know the poor guy deserves a break. For some reason, I have this entire short series of Percy and his partner in Hawaii floating around in my head. Surfboards, shaved ice, and a lot of sunburn jokes (because you know Nico would never let this go). Honestly, it’s the idea of him being both so in his element with the water and so hilariously out of his depth when it comes to the whole “vacation” thing.

daughter of hades! reader

For as much as you were your father's daughter, the sun seemed to give you the perfect tan—unlike any other child of Hades. (RIP Nico, your lobster-colored skin will never be forgotten.) At least it usually did. This time, you were pretty sure you'd leave the water with a good sunburn, judging by the relentless warmth soaking into your skin. But you couldn't bring yourself to leave your surfboard. Not with the way your sunglasses fit snuggly on your nose, nor when the waves were so perfect, lapping against your legs and carrying you with a kind of ease you'd been craving for weeks.

This whole trip was a much-needed vacation after weeks of college exams and late-night stress eating. The only thing keeping you sane during those grueling study sessions was the promise of seeing Percy again. Long-distance relationships were complicated as hell—ironic, given your family ties—but somehow, the two of you made it work. Even going from opposite ends of the world to just two states away hadn't magically solved the struggle of missing him every single day. But him attending New Rome University did make things easier when it came to shadow travel.

So, when your semester ended, you made it your mission to convince your boyfriend that a trip to Hawaii would solve all your problems. It was the ultimate win-win situation. You got a week on the beach, Percy got to try out his water skills in style, and both of your families got a much-needed break. Plus, it wasn’t every day that the son of Poseidon got to show off in the Pacific. Plus, this whole trip was going on Daddy's credit card anyways.

The sound of a familiar laugh cut through the rhythmic crash of waves, and you glanced toward the shoreline. Percy stood there, grinning ear to ear, holding what looked like a painfully large plate of shaved ice. He waved it in the air as if to say, Hurry up, or I’m eating this all myself. Typical.

"You're lucky I like you," you muttered to yourself with a grin, lying flat on the board and paddling toward the beach. The salty spray stung your eyes, but it was worth it. Every second you spent in Hawaii with Percy felt like another little reminder of why you'd fallen for him in the first place. His effortless charm. The way he somehow always made you laugh, even on your worst days. And, of course, how he absolutely refused to stop teasing you for being a "walking contradiction."

"You're Hades' kid," he'd said when you first arrived, eyes sparkling as he watched you grab a lei of bright yellow plumerias. "Aren't you supposed to, like, hate the sun or something?"

You’d shoved the lei into his face. "We don't all brood like Nico, you know."

The water rushed around your ankles as you pushed the board closer to shore, and Percy handed you the shaved ice with a cheeky smile, already plotting something—you could tell by the glint in his sea-green eyes. Sure enough, as soon as he sat down, he used his powers to send a gentle wave rolling up behind you, pushing the board—and both of you—back into the ocean. "Took you long enough. I thought I’d have to send a search party."

"Oh, please." You rolled your eyes, trying to steady yourself while digging your spoon into the colorful mound. "I’m not the one who spent half an hour arguing with the guy about blue raspberry being superior to pineapple."

"It is superior," Percy argued, unrepentant, pressing his legs against either side of yours. "I’m just spreading the truth."

"Spreading lies, you mean," you shot back, handing him the bowl, then, with a content sigh, you lay back against the board, letting the gentle rocking of the ocean drift your mind away.

How the two of you managed to fit so perfectly on the surfboard was a mystery, especially considering that Percy was anything but small. But somehow, it worked. Maybe that was just...you and him. Always finding a way to make things fit, no matter how chaotic or improbable it seemed.

“We should do one of those couple massages the hotel offers,” Percy muttered, breaking the peaceful silence. You felt him lean forward against your legs, his voice a warm rumble as the waves continued to lap softly around you. “Mom and Paul got one this morning, and she said it was worth it.”

So that’s why Sally and Paul had left Estelle with you two earlier. Not that you minded. Estelle adored both of you, and you couldn’t say no to that little face. The memory of her tiny fingers tugging on yours that morning as she lay between you in bed brought a smile to your lips. She had giggled uncontrollably every time you’d snuggled closer, her bright laugh filling the room in a way that made your heart feel impossibly full.

“She’s the best, isn’t she?” Percy asked, as if reading your mind.

“Definitely,” you agreed, a fond smile curling your lips. “She didn’t even cry when I accidentally dropped her pacifier. Just gave me this little side-eye like, ‘Really? You’re supposed to be the responsible one.’”

Percy barked a laugh, the sound so genuine it made your chest ache in the best way. “Yeah, that’s my sister, all right. She’s already better at judging people than I am.”

“Low bar,” you teased, nudging his side lightly with your foot.

“Hey!” He grabbed your ankle in mock indignation, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You wound me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound blending with the soft crash of waves around you. Moments like this—peaceful, playful, with no looming monsters or world-ending crises, or college essay's due—were rare, and you wanted to soak in every second.

“So,” Percy said after a moment, letting go of your ankle and leaning back again, placing the bowl of already half eaten ice in the empty space under your legs. “Massages or no?”

You hummed in thought, pretending to deliberate even though you already knew the answer. “Fine. As long as this sunburn doesn't kill me tomorrow."

“Ah, yes, finally you will achieve that lobster burn like all children of Had—” Percy started to laugh, but you didn’t let him finish. With a quick shove of your leg, you pushed him off the surfboard, sending him tumbling into the water.

There was a startled yelp, followed by a loud splash, and then silence. For a moment, the waves lapped peacefully, as if the ocean itself was holding its breath.

Then, with a dramatic gasp, Percy resurfaced, water dripping from his soaked bangs as he propped himself up on the edge of the board. His nose was inches from yours, his sea-green eyes narrowed into an exaggerated pout. “Hey! What was that for?!”

“For daring to slander my superior tanning skills,”

Percy squinted at you, water glistening on his skin. “You know, I could just flip this board and end this little truce right now.”

“Percy, so help me, if you try—” Your words were cut off as he leaned forward, slotting his mouth against yours.

The kiss was warm and salty, the ocean’s spray clinging to both of you as his hand found your cheek. For a moment, the world stilled—the waves, the sky, the sun—all of it fading into the background as his lips moved with yours. All that mattered was Percy, his touch, the quiet certainty that he was yours, and you were his.

When he pulled back, his grin was back in full force, all smug and playful. “That’s what I thought,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to keep your expression serious, though the heat blooming in your cheeks probably gave you away. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky?” Percy quirked an eyebrow, sliding back onto the board with practiced ease. “Babe, I’m a catch.”

You groaned, pushing the shaved ice back into his hands. “And now I’m regretting everything.”

“Liar,” he teased, bumping his knee against yours. The two of you sat there, the surfboard rocking gently beneath you. You let out a long sigh, resting your head against Percy’s shoulder, your fingers idly trailing through the cool water beside the board. “You know,” you said after a beat, “I think this might be the longest we’ve gone without a sea monster showing up.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Percy warned, his voice light but carrying just enough seriousness to make you laugh. “The last thing I want is a giant crab ruining my shaved ice.”

“Or ruining our massage plans,” you added with a small grin. “You’re still treating me, by the way.”

“Treating you?” Percy shot you a faux-offended look. “I’m the one risking my life out here. You’re the one who almost drowned me.”

“You fell off,” you corrected, snickering as you felt his gaze on you. “I just… gave you a little nudge.”

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, shaking his head, but the way his arm wrapped around your waist told you he wasn’t really upset.

The two of you drifted for a while longer, the sounds of laughter and waves filling the air. As the sun moved across the sky, Percy glanced at you, his eyes softening. “Thanks for this.”

“For what?” you asked, turning to meet his gaze.

“For... making everything better,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Even when stuff sucks, you somehow make it less sucky.”

You smiled, leaning into his warmth. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Percy grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Well, good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

You smiled up at him. “You’re stuck with me, Seaweed Brain.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[moonpascal]

IN THE SHADOW OF MEMORY

CHAPTER FIVE I series masterlist I wc: 3.1k

WARNINGS

cormac makes an appearance, slight angst mostly fluff this chapter, language, feels like a filler chapter, some cheesy moments, probably missing some

AUTHORS NOTE

always a thank you to the beautiful @amiableness for reading this

sorry for the long wait! just a lot of stress going on and struggled on where to take this. almost made this chapter angsty but i wanted some fluff. and tagging @3llab3lla1 for her sweet message.

After last night conversation with Theo, you felt lighter. His words had eased some of your worries, offering a flicker of hope that things might eventually return to normal.

The smile on your face hadn’t faltered since. Not when he’d asked you to meet him at the library today, despite it being a Saturday, and not even when he walked you back to your common room, his voice low as he whispered a goodnight.

The playful comments from your roommates this morning about your brighter appearance had only made you more aware of the shift in your mood. You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you weaved through the corridors, murmuring apologies to others as you make your way to the library.

You spotted Theo near the entrance, partially hidden by the fountain. His head was down, attention fixed on his hands, oblivious to your approach. A flutter of nervous energy hit, you felt yourself quicken your steps toward him.

You were almost there, just one staircase away, when your name rang out behind you. Reluctantly turning, hoping it was something that wouldn’t take long, and saw Cormac jogging toward you with a determined look on his face.

“You’re hard to track down these days,” Cormac called out, his voice carrying that usual cocky edge as he jogged up to you with a smirk plastered on his face.

You were a little confused, wondering why he was even looking for you in the first place. “I didn’t know you were trying to find me.”

“Well, now that I’ve found you,” he continued, his tone making you uneasy, “I was thinking—since you’re back on the market—how about you and me, Hogsmeade tonight?”

The phrase “back on the market” left a sour taste in your mouth. When had you ever been “off” in the first place? The nervous flutter you felt before seeing Theo was now replaced with an entirely different, uncomfortable feeling.

“Oh, um… I don’t know,” you replied, trying to be polite but feeling more awkward by the second. “I’ve just got a lot going on today.”

“Come on,” he pressed, stepping closer, his smirk still in place. “Just one hour? You can spare that. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He winked, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes or find an excuse to leave. The last thing you wanted was to be stuck anywhere with him.

You forced a polite smile, preparing to decline once again, but before you could get the words out, he continued. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve got any other offers. You’ve been looking a bit lonely lately. Thought you could use some company.” He chuckled as if he’d said something clever, clearly enjoying the idea that he had the upper hand in this conversation.

Merlin, could this get any worse? You bit your lip, trying to find a way to end this without causing a scene. “I really don’t think—“

Before you could finish, a shadow loomed behind you, and you felt an immediate shift in the atmosphere.

“McLaggen,” Theo’s voice cut through the tension, low and cold. His tone carried none of the warmth you were used to. You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there, jaw clenched, eyes dark with irritation.

Cormac’s cocky expression faltered for a split second before returning in full force. He turned, completely unfazed by Theo’s interruption. “Nott,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, clearly enjoying the confrontation. “I was just asking Tesoro here on a date—until you rudely interrupted.” He stretched out the nickname, like he knew it would upset Theo more, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Theo let out a cold, humorless chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine, completely different from the warmth you’d heard in his laughter just last night. His jaw clenched, and his fists tightened at his sides. He took a step forward, his eyes darkening, but before he could close the distance, you quickly grabbed his arm, a silent plea for him to stop before things escalated.

“As much fun as this has been, Cormac,” you interjected, forcing a bright, insincere smile, “we really have other things to do.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and tugged Theo with you, pulling him away from Cormac and his smug grin.

As you walked away, the weight of Cormac’s presence finally lifted, though you could still feel Theo’s tension beside you. He was quiet for a moment, clearly still simmering, his steps heavier than usual.

You glanced up at him, giving him a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks for that,” you murmured. “I wasn’t sure how to get rid of him.”

Theo’s jaw remained tight, but his gaze softened as he looked down at you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the anger from moments ago dissipating.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, the tension slowing leaving your body. “I just don’t know how to deal with people like him sometimes.”

“You don’t have to,” Theo muttered, his jaw still a little tight. “Not with me around.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you both continued walking down the steps to the library.

“Why isn’t there a spell to reverse a memory charm?” you groaned, slamming the third book shut and leaning back in frustration. Hours had passed, and it felt like you were getting nowhere. Theo sat across from you, equally tired, his brow furrowed as he flipped through pages of an old, dusty tome.

“They probably thought it was too risky,” Theo muttered, rubbing his eyes. “You can’t just undo something like that. If memory charms were easy to reverse, people could expose things that were meant to stay hidden.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just stupid,” you muttered, flipping through another useless chapter. “There’s always something people want to undo. Why isn’t there a spell for that?”

Theo sighed and closed his book. “It’s not that simple. Memory magic is delicate. Even creating a counterspell could cause more harm than good. You don’t just restore memories—you could scramble them, or worse.”

You let out a long breath, feeling your frustration bubble over. “So we’re stuck? There’s nothing we can do?”

Theo looked at you, and his gaze softened. “I know it feels like we’re running in circles, but we’ll figure it out. You just need time.”

Time. The one thing you didn’t have patience for. You rested your head in your hands, exhausted.

“I just… I want my life back,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself, and every day it gets harder.”

Theo didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching you with a mixture of concern and helplessness. “Tesoro,” he said softly, the name slipping from his lips as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You felt your heart skip a beat, but unlike when Cormac used that name, this felt different. It was gentle, full of care, and it brought a sense of comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

He leaned forward, resting his hand lightly on the table between you. “We’ll get through this,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“Let’s take a break, yeah?” Theo suggested. He pushed the book in front of him aside and stood, offering his hand. You looked at it, surprised by how quickly he’d made the decision.

“Where to?” you asked, your brow furrowed in curiosity, but you slipped your hand into his without a second thought. His touch was warm, grounding.

“Hogsmeade,” he replied, his eyes flickering with a hint of nostalgia. “It’s been a while since you’ve been, hasn’t it?”

Hogsmeade. The name sent a flicker of something familiar through you, but it felt distant, memories blurred by time. You frowned slightly, trying to pinpoint when you had last visited the village. But your mind was a maze, and any attempt to retrieve a clear memory seemed futile. “I guess it has been a while…” you muttered, trailing off as frustration gnawed at you. Why couldn’t you remember something as simple as a trip to Hogsmeade?

Theo squeezed your hand gently, bringing you back from the swirl of your thoughts. “It’s ok we’ll figure this out, but for now we can make new memories,” he said, his tone light but reassuring. “Besides, a break might help you think more clearly. We’ve been drowning in books all day.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. He was right—stepping away for a moment might be exactly what you needed. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As you stepped out into the crisp autumn air, the cool breeze brushing against your face, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. The path to Hogsmeade stretched out before you, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you weren’t focused on what was missing. You were just… here, in this moment, with Theo by your side.

“Do you have any place in mind?” you asked, slipping your hands into your pockets as the two of you began walking down the path toward the village.

“Well, there’s always the Three Broomsticks,” Theo suggested with a slight grin. “Or we could go to Honeydukes, stock up on sweets. Whatever you’re in the mood for.”

You felt a small laugh bubble up at the idea. “Sweets sound good, and maybe Three Broomsticks?” you said, feeling a little more at ease with every step you took.

Theo chuckled. “As you wish, Three Broomsticks then Honedukes so we have sweets on our way back.”

As the village came into view, its familiar buildings lined with lights and warm, welcoming windows, you felt the knot of tension in your chest unravel just a little more. You weren’t sure if today would bring any answers or if your memories would come rushing back. But for now, it didn’t seem to matter. You were with Theo, and for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

The Three Broomsticks was alive with chatter, warmth radiating from the walls as you and Theo found a cozy corner to settle into. It was the kind of night where the world outside felt like a distant memory, the clinking of glasses and hum of voices a gentle backdrop to the feeling of comfort settling over you.

Theo returned with two frothy mugs of butterbeer, sliding yours across the table with a playful smile. “One butterbeer, as promised.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” you replied, lifting the mug in a mock toast. “To a night without studying.”

Theo chuckled, clinking his mug against yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

As you sipped, the buttery sweetness filled mug, you caught Theo watching you, his gaze warm and a bit thoughtful.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said, leaning back with a small smile. “Just nice to see you actually relaxing.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “I’m pretty sure I remember how to relax, Nott.”

“Is that so?” He tilted his head, looking skeptical. “Because last I checked, you were about ready to hex anyone who looked at you the wrong way.”

“Oh, and you’re such a beacon of calm?” you teased, nudging his foot under the table.

“Touché,” he admitted, laughing. “But seriously, it’s nice to see you smiling. I like your smile.”

The words lingered in the air between you, and for a moment, you felt that familiar warmth of something deeper—something unspoken. You brushed it off with a soft laugh, steering the conversation back to safer territory.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the evening?” you asked, tapping your fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Are we just enjoying the sights, or do you have more surprises up your sleeve?”

He grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, I thought I’d spoil you with a stop at Honeydukes next, but if that’s not impressive enough…”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think Honeydukes sounds perfect. You know, the way to my heart is through chocolate.”

Theo leaned forward, mock-serious. “Noted: chocolate bribes to keep you happy. I’ll remember that,” he grinned.

“Honeydukes it is,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand to help you up. “Though don’t blame me if you leave with more sweets than you bargained for.”

You took his hand with a grin, feeling a lightness you hadn’t felt in weeks. “Consider yourself warned—I’m taking full advantage of this candy run.”

With his hand still in yours, you left the warmth of The Three Broomsticks behind, stepping out into the crisp evening air.

“Tesoro… hey.” Theo’s voice broke through the haze, soft but insistent, as he gently squeezed your shoulder. You blinked, realizing you were sitting in a quieter part of the pub, the buzz of the crowd faded in your mind.

“What… what just happened?” you murmured, still feeling the faint pull of the memory.

Theo’s brow was furrowed, worry evident despite the calm expression he tried to maintain. “I’m not sure. One minute we were sitting here, I’d just gotten drinks, and when I came back, you were completely zoned out.”

Your stomach twisted in embarrassment. “Oh, Merlin, that’s awkward. I didn’t even realize.” You gave a half-hearted laugh, trying to brush it off.

“Did something come back to you?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

“Maybe?” You closed your eyes, reaching for the full memory that felt just beyond your grasp. The ache still at the edges of your mind. “It felt real. I thought it was happening until you brought me back.”

Theo gave you a steady look, the kind of look that reminded you he could be endlessly patient. “Do you want to tell me? Maybe it’ll help.”

You hesitated, rubbing a hand across your face. “Alright… just don’t laugh.”

“Never,” he promised, a glint of reassurance in his eyes.

You took a deep breath. “It was… sort of like tonight but busier, louder. You and I got a table and drinks. We were talking, and I told you that chocolate is the way to my heart.”

Theo’s eyes brightened. “Chocolate bribes,” Theo cut in, his eyes glinting with recognition. “You definitely took me up on that.” A small, genuine smile crept onto his face, clearly lost in his own memory of that night.

You couldn’t help but feel relief at his reaction, almost like a puzzle piece falling into place. “So, it did happen?”

“It did,” he confirmed, smiling at the memory. “We bought a few bags of candy. You were horrified at the amount, tried to insist we put some back, but I wasn’t having it. I carried all the bags while we walked back to the castle.”

His voice was warm, his gaze growing softer with each detail. He remembered so clearly, while you were still trying to reclaim that same ease and warmth from fragments that only half-made sense.

You smiled, feeling a strange mix of sadness and comfort. “And then?”

Theo’s face softened, as if he were measuring his words carefully. “I walked you back to the castle. And at the entrance of your dorm… I told you to get some rest, then we said goodnight.”

Something in his voice left the words hanging, like there was more that he wasn’t saying. But you appreciated what he offered nonetheless.

“You didn’t have to buy so much candy again,” you protested with a laugh. “This is way too much; half of it’s going to go to waste!”

Theo only shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. “You worry too much. Besides, Pansy and the guys will probably ‘sneak’ some anyway.”

“You’re too generous, but I’m hoarding mine,” you teased.

“Not even sharing with me?” Theo’s smirk caught you off guard, the playful glint in his eyes making your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure if he was just joking or flirting, but it was still enough to make your cheeks heat up.

“Fine, only because you bought it and insisted,” you replied, trying to sound indifferent.

“Oh, how very kind of you, milady,” he grinned, reaching over and snatching a piece right out of your hand before popping it in his mouth.

“That was high treason!” you gasped, feigning shock but quickly dissolving into laughter. Theo chuckled, clearly pleased, and you could feel a warmth settling over the moment, knowing he’d been the one to bring out this side of you.

As the laughter faded and the evening settled, you and Theo strolled back to the castle, the cobblestone path quiet under the soft glow of lanterns. He carried the bags of candy effortlessly, swinging them by his side as he walked in step with you. The two of you chatted easily, letting the night stretch just a little longer, and every now and then, your hands would brush against each other.

When you finally reached the entrance to your common room, you paused, not wanting the moment to end. Theo shifted, handing over your stash with a faint smile. “Well, here you are, candy queen,” he said, gently nudging the bag toward you.

“Thanks for today,” you murmured, a little embarrassed at how much you meant it. “I didn’t realized how much I needed this.”

He gave a small nod, his gaze softer. “Anytime,” he replied. “Seriously.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, but Theo’s expression grew more serious as he took a half-step closer. “So, you’re good here?” he asked, glancing at the entrance and then back at you as if giving himself an excuse to stay a second longer.

“Yeah,” you replied, biting back a grin. “Though I might need you to help me carry the candy all the way in.”

He laughed quietly. “I’d better not tempt fate.” he said, his voice soft as he slowly shifted a little closer, his fingers brushing your cheek in a way that made your pulse quicken.

There was a moment—a heartbeat, suspended—where he leaned in, his face inches from yours. His gaze softened, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile, the glow of your eyes in the low light. But then, almost reluctantly, he drew back, his expression conflicted, as though he remembered something bittersweet.

Theo took a slow breath, and his fingers lingered on your cheek before he finally let his hand fall. “Goodnight, Tesoro,” he murmured, his voice warm and soft.

A hint of longing passed over his face as he stepped back, leaving a feeling you couldn’t quite place. “Goodnight, Theo,” you whispered, watching as he turned and walked down the corridor, glancing back just once before disappearing from view. And even as you turned to enter the common room, you couldn’t shake the flutter in your chest or the sense that something important had almost happened.

If you enjoyed, please please reblog or comment! Your words keep me motivated to write and make me so happy <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[pillotalkin]

I got carried away while doodling and made an entire Sonic My Little Pony AU...! (My Little Hedgehogs? MLP: Chaos is Magic?)

Story under the cut!

Sonic Speeds (Sonic) is a royal knight in training under Prince Brilliant Mind (Eggman), who serves as the captain of the guard because his underdeveloped horn made his magic too weak to handle the celestial duties of the royal family. Sonic Speeds's cocky attitude and foolhardiness has held him back from achieving his dream of being an elite guard despite his physical prowess, so he's desperate to prove himself to his mentor, by any means necessary. Eternal Night (Shadow) is the runaway half-umbrum prince of Equestria. He's on a quest for revenge after the death of his elder sister, Princess Fragile Dawn (Maria Robotnik), at the hands of his umbrum father, King Comet (Black Doom). His true name is Midnight Star, but he adopted a new moniker on his travels, as a way of hiding his identity and also to represent what he intends to bring upon the umbrum for taking his best friend from him. Brilliant Mind, who blames Midnight Star for Fragile Dawn's death and resents him for his great magical talent, sends Sonic Speeds on a near-hopeless quest to bring back his lost brother so justice can be served (and his own revenge for being outshone can be had). Through some miracle, Sonic Speeds actually manages to find him, and as he travels alongside the somber prince, attempting to convince him to give up his quest for revenge and go home (since attempting to force him to go would be... unadvisable), their relationship grows. He begins to doubt his mentor's convictions, but his sense of duty compels him still, and the day comes when he manages to persuade Midnight Star to return to the palace with him, unaware of what lies in wait...

I've got some more thoughts on Midnight Star's origins and the underlying history surrounding this series of events, but I'll save that for another post hehe. Stay tuned!

[yandere-yearnings]

Thinking rrl hard about making out with Dice while riding him to oblivion ok bye

nonnie, i can't believe you dropped this into my inbox and ran that quick😭💔 but this put an image into my head that was honestly fucking nice, i would've liked to make this a bit longer if i weren't on a time crunch but anyway, i digress, hope this will suffice🥰

NSFW under the cut!

Your relatively normal lifestyle made you overly aware of every luxury that came your way — this moment was no different. A mansion in the suburbs, with the bathroom on the fifth story floor far bigger than it needed to be, and a bathtub large enough to fit both you and the man you had your lips locked on. The night danced with you, in shadows and shapes cast by the moonlight. Silver sparking in those dull greys, flickers of ecstasy concealed behind lidded eyes.

The water had long since drained. Cold droplets rolling down your thighs and onto his, reverberating echoes carrying your breaths to the walls. Lost to the sparks up your spine, to the stretch and burn that completed you. Your hips to his pelvis, grinding, rolling, drawing every moan you could from Dice's mouth, spit-slicked and calling your name on stolen air.

He thrust up into you and you had to stop your head from lolling back. So deliciously full, taking all you had not to be reduced to delirium. Your hands threaded through thick locks, pulled, hard. "Didn't I say," an exhale to the lobe of his ear, followed by teeth, "didn't I say I'd teach you to pace yourself? Have you gone dumb, baby?"

The tendons in his neck flexed when you pressed your thumbs to them, had him wincing and still looking so fucked out all at once. "I'm listening to you, aren't I?" He met you in the middle again, cock slipping deeper than before, stars exploding in series past flesh and sinew.

It had your arms wrapping around him, had your body melding right into his. You could give him everything for this pleasure, but it held no candles — Dice's desires shackled him to ruin. He'd chase this until it killed him.

"I could leave." That single threat was all it took, and he was still. Staring up at you bleary-eyed, the closest you'd seen him to tears; you laughed, light, happy. Control felt good.

Tongue to tongue, chest to chest, the centre of a storm that thrummed at your fingertips, that you could reach out to, touch and taste. "Good boy, that's it," again you rocked down — rewarded him. Words pressed to his skin, consuming him wholly within yourself, your entire lives eternalised in this moment, "you follow me."