#when he's with her his defenses are down and he is safe something something

[monsterlimbs]

Okay third "sympathetic big bad" from bg3 post for Ketheric because he is the one guy that I think most can sympathize with, and he's truly the easiest to sympathize with.

Some horrible day, your beautiful Melodia, your darling wife, dies, protecting your daughter. You grieve horribly, but you keep going for your children. Everything for them.

Your daughter brings home a fucking IMMORTAL Aasimar, child of a god and declares her as her lover. A child or your god, yes, who you've known so far to be good, sure, BUT STILL A CHILD OF A GOD. It almost makes it worse that the Aasimar is a child of your god, considering you raised your daughter, per your wife's wishes, to trust Selûne, and you're worried that this Aasimar may use this to her advantage. And they're so in love yes, but that's such a scary power dynamic for you- what if Aylin asks your daughter to do something she's not ready for? How OLD is that Aasimar? And how could you live with yourself if your daughter was put into an unsafe situation, simply because you didn't put your foot down? So, you do, and your daughter's angry. Of course she's angry, you're telling her that her and her girlfriend can't be together, but she has to come around eventually, she has to understand what a horrible power dynamic that is.

And worse, worse than when your wife died, you're told your daughter, precious, sweet, innocent Isobel, is dead (who I believe was killed by Halsin in self defense with the Sorrow glaive, even though that content has since been cut from the game but y'know! so essentially, his daughter, in his mind, was killed by a damn druid, the guys who were supposed to be PEACEFUL). You spiral, of course you do, your precious baby is dead, how could you not? And when your god, Selûne, damned mother of that damned Aasimar, ignores your prayers to have your baby back, you turn to her sister, Shar. And Shar, for a moment, helps relieve your loss. In return for killing Selûnites, the same wretched folk that turned against you in your grieving, she rewards you, turns you immortal by letting you imprison that Aasimar that took a liking to your daughter. You're more than pleased to do so, to lock what you believe is a predatory Selûnite up. Shar helps soften your loss.

And then she lets you die to Harpers of all people, and uses you as a way to release the Shadow Curse.

You're revived (I like to believe by Balthazar), and shown the way of Myrkul's path, and HE, is the one to bring your baby back, a century after her fall. You're happily indebted to him, to have your child alive again, anything and more for your baby.

....But she's mad at you. She won't talk to you. She looks at you like you're a monster. She's STILL upset over you forbeying her and Aylin's love, and even more now that she knows you've been using her as a means for immortality. She doesn't get how much you did for her, even while she was gone. You've practically forgotten about all else besides her, and it hurts so bad knowing your baby is not only angry at you, but thinks of you as a MONSTER. You know she'll come around, though. ...And she's now running from you and hiding in the Last Light Inn.

Eventually, you send a Fist to get her and bring her back, and either, your daughter has been killed AGAIN by some random wretched folk- oh gods it's not random is it? That's Durge. OR, she survives and is brought back to you, OR she survives and is even angrier at you now. She doesn't see how much shit you've waded through, just for her. She only sees a man who's "gone too far". She doesn't even know how far you'd go, to keep her safe. Everything and more, just to keep her safe.

Whether she's with you or not, one day you wake to a suddenly... off feeling. ....Fuck, why do you feel so odd? FUCK, your immortality's gone, you can feel it. Your wounds don't close, you're vulnerable. And it's all the problem of, either, the folk that kept your daughter from being returned to you, or the folk who killed her and sent her back.

And once, Ketheric truly was redeemable. But now, he gets SO, SO, SO close and then Aylin's like "nah he'd NEVER surrender, isn't that right, you worm?" and he gets up and is like "oh fuck you" and every chance is gone. Then you see him again, and he's already decided, he WON'T grovel again. He's gone too far, he sees it now. Sweet, precious Isobel was right. There's no coming back from this. And if you try to convince him he's worthy of redemption, he selflessly gives up and his god ixnays his retreat. And otherwise, he may go down yes.... But if he's going down, so are you.

And then he dies. He dies knowing he's given up everything for his daughter, cursed an entire land, caused Hell for everyone, and that his daughter, sweet Isobel, doesn't even think he's her father anymore. In her eyes, he's so far gone that he's not even the same man.

[reminaofthedust]

We meet again. (p4)

Jackson!Joel x Reader

Rating: sfw

word count: 3.8k+

Summary: Jackson softened his edges and he knew it.

pt.1/ p1.2/ pt.3/ pt.4(end)

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Joel Miller walks the long way home. The one he's sure he'll see you in. This he can admit to himself. Almost a year here, he knows you'll be at the poultry. And you are.

Your face brightens when you see him, hands waving enthusiastically over your head. You yell, "Mornin' Joel!" He offers a small wave. 

For the first time in a long time, Joel feels at peace. When he first arrived here in Jackson, he was sceptical. Slept with a gun near his head, didn't let Ellie out of his sight for long. Now she decided she wanted to move out, a big girl now. He missed her a lot and tried to take time out to sit and talk to her always, even though he couldn't contribute to the conversation much. She teased him for being so overprotective, but he couldn't help it; it was in his nature to worry. 

In such a short time he felt himself slipping into ease; a full stomach and warm bed will do that to a man. Although he was still kind of bad with people. He tried his best, still, it felt as though something about him immediately made people want to stay a few feet away. He wasn't the best at talking either, which didn't help his case. Even the people he worked with on the daily thought twice before striking up a conversation with him. 

"It's that scowl you have on your face." You had told him once.

"No idea what you're talkin' about," he said, taking a swig of his beer, aware that he was scowling right now.

You tapped the area between your brows. "Right here," you scrunched your face, mirroring him. "You do this all the time, even when you deliver good news."

He wondered why you even wanted to be around him in the first place. You went out of your way to welcome him here, dropping by when he and Ellie lived together. After Ellie left the house, he assumed you would frequent him less, but you knocked on his door, same time, same day, your day off, and spent it with him, talking over fire. He didn't mind your company. You would talk about your life in Boston, asking him all sorts of questions; sometimes, a few drinks in, he even indulged you. Told you about the good, the bad, and the ugly. You listened with rapt attention as if listening to a bedtime story.

One time he found you digging in his front porch, planting something.

"what the—" He'd walk out of the door, ready to yell at you.

You would look up, face dirty, "Leftover sapling, you'd like 'em, blooms in the morning."

And he did. Weeks later, when he walked back home from patrol and noticed the flower welcoming him back.

You would sometimes join him hunting. He learnt quickly that you were good with makeshift bows and arrows. That's what you did; you had told him, even back in the QZ. He learnt to relax a little knowing you were capable of looking after yourself. You promised to teach Ellie too, and he offered to join.

He had been off-putting to you the first few months of being here; he knew he scared you, and a sick part of him enjoyed watching you squirm under his gaze. Now you would just call him out for his behaviour, making him confront that part of him that he built as a self-defense years of living in this new world. 

But Joel came with a heavy burden to bear; he felt that he had lived too long. Seen too much. And he surely didn't deserve this kindness bestowed on him—a safe place, a bed to lie on, a shoulder to rely on. But he was grateful, and so he held on to his blessings tight. That's why he didn't push you away either; the selfish part of him didn't want to deny himself your kindness.

Tommy sat down with him once. "So," he grinned. 

"So?" He raised his eyebrows; he didn't like his brother's cheeky smile. 

"You and her huh—?" He motioned at you, working the bar with his head. 

Joel frowned. "ain't nothin' like that." 

"C'mon! Even Maria can tell." He nudged at him, "So? She come to your house often?"

Joel put down his drink abruptly and glared at his brother. He didn't like what he was insinuating. He didn't like you being talked about that way.

"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hand in the air. "Just teasin' ya old man."

Did he think about you? Yes. It felt strange to him, making him feel like a teenage boy when he brushed his teeth in the morning, and the first thought that struck his mind was how cold you would be since it had started snowing. He would chop up some wood for you, was his next immediate thought. 

He would drop by the bar on the days you worked, drinking, sometimes alone, sometimes with Tommy and Maria. Sometimes Ellie dropped by with her friend. He would watch you from tables across as you talked to the people around you, getting them drinks and food. You would smile sometimes when you caught his gaze. Embarrassed, he would try not to look at you again but fail. You glowed to him. 

What was stranger still was that sometimes it felt as though you did the same. Your gaze falling on him when you thought he was unaware. But he felt it all the same. 

-

You sat on the floor of your small living space, hands hugging your folded knees. You gazed at the fire crackling in front of you. 

Joel had so thoughtfully left it in your yard a few weeks ago. It was so sweet, but you couldn't make yourself appreciate the gesture even if you tried. It was so him to do that—leave it at your doorstep without a word, without waiting for you to express your gratitude, without waiting for you to say anything. It was like all he knew—to give and give and give. It wouldn't have mattered to you much except maybe guilt if it was anyone else but with Joel? You wanted him to know. You wanted him to know that you liked being looked out for by him.

Yes, you liked him. Not in a good samaritan/neighborly way; you liked him as in you wanted to be around him always. You wanted to hold his hand, reach out and touch his face, and kiss him. 

Somedays it felt as though that was also what he wanted—the way he would go out of his way to do things for you, the way he would look at you. It was like looking into the mirror. You would walk back to your house at night and smile at the thought of him, giggling like a schoolgirl as you got yourself ready for bed. 

But then morning would come, and you would be back to square one, him— monosyllabic, you— hovering around him like a bee to a flower. It used to hurt you before, but you tried to get over it, tried. 

He made sure he never left your mind; a gentle touch on the shoulder as he walked by you at the square, a smile from the table across the bar, a lingering look from across would pull you back to him like moth to a flame, unable to deny its nature. 

You hovered around him. Samuel teased you for it, already aware of your crush on him.

"Can't believe it, out of all the people here... Joel Miller?"

"Will you hush?" You looked around frantically, no sign of Ellie or Joel.

"I thought you were scared of him," he pushed on.

"Can you not make this a big deal?" you relaxed once realising no one was within earshot. "It just happened, okay?"

"Does he know?" Million-dollar question.

Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Whatever the answer was, it pissed you off regardless. If he did and he was leading you on, it felt mean, so unlike him.

If he didn't. Well, then for a man who was the designated 'leave it to me' guy, he was very stupid.

Although you didn't say it out explicitly, it felt like people close to you already knew. Even Maria. Who, although still wary of him, didn't feel it was too crazy of news. "I kind of knew, I mean, you two look at each other like one of you is gonna get swallowed by the earth any second."

You had decided weeks ago that pursuing something more with Joel was not in your cards. He cared for you, sure, but not in the way you did. Maybe he thought of you as someone to take care of. You wished you hadn't met him before; maybe that's why he felt the need to look out for you the way he did. But distancing yourself from Joel seemed impossible in the small town of Jackson. You seemed to run into him every day. He was polite, but you? You were burning inside. He would be out and about, carrying his toolbox, shirt folded up, hair slicked back, sweat glistening on his neck, and all you could think about was how handsome he looked. Your only hope now was to smile, keep up a front, and pray the feelings away. How can you be rude to someone who restocks your firewood?

Joel sat in his usual spot at Tipsy Bison where he could nurse his drink uninterrupted when you entered the bar. He wondered why you were here on your day off when you sat down and ordered a drink. He imagined for a moment if you would look around, spot him and join him. Or he would join you. 

Suddenly he sees you turn your head sharply as if someone called for you. And someone did. Across from the counter stood a guy, Joel had seen him once or twice in patrol. Ray. He walked over to you, leaning across the drink bar with a smug look on his face. He leaned down and whispered something in your ear.

Joel had seen this play out before. You were a pretty girl; no doubt many guys tried to ask you out before and did. You would gently turn them down, excusing yourself with a reminder of work or something else. Joel never liked those guys anyway, but he never had to worry about you going home with any of them. Not until now. 

You smiled shyly, and you straightened your back, your entire attention on the guy in front of you. He sat down beside you, and your body seemed to lean into him as you listened carefully to every word that came out of that idiot's mouth.

The drink tasted bitter in his mouth as he watched you two. His head swirling with a million questions. What the hell was happening? Did you suddenly find that imbecile something worth wasting your time on? 

He put down his drink with a thump. No, he didn't like what he was unfolding before his eyes; what would unfold if he didn't do anything about it now. He marched up to where you sat. With a loud creak, he slid into the stool next to you, making his presence known.

Your body quickly followed your head as you turned to realise who had taken the empty seat. 

"Joel," Your face was flushed, he would have appreciated it more if the thought of what made your cheeks that way made him angry all over. "Hey, I was just getting a drink myself." You smile, ever so politely. He could not even return you the courtesy as his eyes remained fixed on the guy next to you. 

"Joel." The guy nodded and considered it the end of his part of the interaction as he opened his mouth to get your attention again, but your body had now turned fully to him. He smirked at the guy as his words fell from his lips unnoticed.

"Your table looks lonely." You looked over his shoulder at the corner which he usually occupies. 

"Felt like a change." He said, eyes back on you as he adjusted himself on the seat. He hated barstools.

After a few seconds of silence, you spoke again, clearly a little uncomfortable with the two guys next to you staring at each other.

"You know Ray, Joel, I had a shift with him this morning and let me tell you, it was horrible." you joked. But his eyes snapped to you regardless, eyebrows scrunched. Anybody else would think he was angry but you knew that's the face he made when he was worried. You waved your hands dismissively. "I meant horrible as in—"

"She slipped on the stirrup," Ray joined in, smiling at you. "Fell back first into the stream." 

You laughed along, ears turning red again but Joel did not seem to find that funny.

He looked at the other guy straight in the eye, "So what did you do? just stood there and laughed?"

Now it was Ray's turn to be flustered. "Wha— of course not, I mean, I helped of course—" He waited for Joel to nod or say something to dismiss it but when nothing came from him, you quickly jumped in, confused as to what even was happening. 

"No I was fine, it was just funny how I fell, thas all." You laughed, and Ray quickly joined you. 

"You should always check your stirrup as well as your saddle before leavin'." Joel said seriously.

Ray nudged you with his elbow, "That's what I said to her. She's so forgetful, I knew Maria would be on my ass. Lucky for me, she doesn't complain much otherwise I was considering bribing her, got her stuck with me for the whole week." You chuckled shaking your head.

"Then maybe you should've checked it for her instead of sittin' here and flirtin'." Joel said, his cold gaze cutting through the other guy's laugh. 

"Joel!" you exclaimed still unsure what the hell he was doing. "He wasn't—"

"Maybe I will next time," Ray said suddenly, his friendly facade dropping. "and about the flirting, yeah, so what if I was? she didn't seem to mind when I—" 

Joel stood up suddenly, hands clenched beside him, daring him to say the next words.

"ENOUGH!" you banged your hand on the counter as you also stood up making the people around you look at you curiously. "Joel, come with me." You didn't wait for his answer as you grabbed his hand and pulled him outside.

-

"What the hell are you doing? Are you drunk?" You yelled once you two were outside in a corner out of earshot, exasperated. 

"No." 

"Then what was that?"

He stared at you, his gaze unreadable again. You groaned, grabbing a bulk of your hair. 

"He was comin' on to you." he said quietly.

Your head snapped back to him "So?" you blinked a few times, "What? That makes it alright for you to speak to him that way?"

"He clearly wants to sleep with you, and trust me, heard of him enough to know that's all he wants." Now he was the one sounding frustrated, he had to make you see what mistake you were making.

"So what?"

He became still for a moment, his stoic expression cracking a bit. "You wanted him?" his voice dropped as he stepped closer to you.

You sighed, turning away from his gaze. Suddenly he grabbed your chin. "Look at me," he said, his tone icy, but his eyes burned. "Did you want him to take you to bed?"

"This is what I hate about you Joel," you looked like you were about to cry. "This exact thing you do." You pushed his hands away. "You act like you care about me just to get my hopes up, then you leave me in the dust."

"Who said I don't care about you?" he hissed.

You scoffed. Was he seriously mad at you? "Oh you do? alright, I want to get laid tonight. I'm going inside and maybe I will take up Ray on that offer you kindly relayed to me." Maybe it was the drunken confidence you suddenly possessed or the way your body felt the heat from Joel's gaze, but you stormed inside, determined. You made it a few steps to the entrance when you felt a hand pull at you harshly. You gasped loudly as Joel grabbed the meat of your arm, dragging you away. 

"I act like I care?" He barked out, looking straight ahead as he dragged you forward. He pushed you at the now empty barn, closing the door with a bang behind him. "I ain't the one smilin' sweetly, followin' me around everywhere. Every damn place I look there's you—" He pushed your back to the wall edges, cornering you. Your breath grew shallow and fast, your gaze dropping to his lips, then to his eyes with quickness. He noticed that and chuckled. "And I surely ain't the one wanting to get fucked by some worthless piece of shit I don't even know."

"I know him—"

He grabbed your chin quickly and tsked. "Always focused on the wrong part. Been like this always, hmm? Even back in Boston." You gasped slightly at the mention of your shared city. He stared at your parted lips, something akin to want clear in his eyes. He smirked, watching your eyes doing the same. "You like me like this don't you." he leaned in closer, "always askin' me about the good ol' days."  He tilted his head observing your reactions now. "Always wantin' to know how I hurt all those people."

The little dignity you had left in you tried to shake its head weakly. He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Quit lyin'" He pulled his head back slightly and your body reacted faster in following him. 

"I know you. I know you better than any imbecile who hopes to take you to bed every night." He said darkly, his voice dropping low. "I know you better than that idiot at the bar, waiting there right now, hoping you walk into the bar again and join him." He sounds more like he's trying to convince himself, but you know it's true. Joel knows you, he knows you want him. And so do you, his eyes would betray anything he would say otherwise broken off of this jealous haze. You did not want to let him go now.

His hands slide up your arm, huge arms covering the curve of your neck as he thumbs your lower lip. You realise he's waiting for your consent. Consent to continue on whatever this was, consent for what he wanted to do to you. Your hand quickly reached for the nape of his neck, sliding up curling around his hair as you pulled him closer. Joel jumped at the assent, he eagerly let himself be pulled, his lips engulfing yours. His tongue didn't need much proding as you let him in with fervor.

You felt your whole body warm up to his touch, reciprocating everything he gave you with the same passion. You felt giddy with happiness, of finally having Joel in your arms so much so that you whined pathetically when he pulled away.

"I want you." He whispered across your lip as you followed it pitifully, eyes begging for him to close the distance. He smiled softly, his hands letting go of your hair. "But not like this, not when you're drunk."

"Joel I'm not drunk," you tried again to reach out to him, pull him closer, but he shook his head. The man had made up his mind and you knew how stubborn Joel was. You frowned, but he gently took your hand and kissed them. It was only when he whispered into them a gentle "not now, not here," that you calmed down, a promise of this not turning out like other times. You seeked his eyes and they were sincere and you felt yourself relaxing into him, only now realising that you were shaking, a familiar drunken chill passing through you.

"Can I walk you home?" He whispered into your hair. 

"You would anyways." You sighed into his chest.

He chuckled, "You know me too well." 

-

He stood there patiently as you fumbled with getting your key in. You managed to open the door and suddenly all you wanted to do was fall into the warmth of your bed. But you didn't want to pass this opportunity; you turned around and did your best seductive voice. 

"You sure you don't wanna come in? It's cold out here."

He shook his head smiling. "Goodnight, sweetheart." You watched as he walked down the little porch step. But before you could close the door, he paused midway, turning around, he walked up to you again and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. "I'll see you tomorrow." He said reassuringly. You nodded and wondered if sleep would even come to you tonight.

-

You slept pretty well, a smile plastered on your face as you did your morning routine. You decided you would drop by Joel's today. Maybe beg Samuel for some flowers from his greenhouse. Oh, and tell everything Sam about yesterday. 

Or maybe you could invite Joel here? 

A soft knock on the door breaks your thought. Ray was here, thank god, you wanted to apologize to him for earlier. Less awkward for both of you on your journey ahead. 

To your surprise, the man who stood before you was not your unfortunate partner but the man you were just thinking about.

"Joel."

He nodded, "Mornin'" 

You looked around, "where's Ray?"

"I shifted us around. You're with me."

You blinked at him, confused. "You can do that?" 

"Had to ask my little brother a favor." He said, a small smile tugging at his face at your face visibly brightening up. You looked away now, suddenly shy.

"Hmm... I did want to apologize to him." you mumbled, as the both of you made your way to the stables. 

"No need for that. you did nothin' to go apologizin' for. Especially to him."

You smiled playfully, "You still hung up on yesterday?"

"No." You rolled your eyes at his answer. "Then maybe I should go apologize to him right now." You lengthened your strides but squealed when Joel grabbed your jacket with quickness, pulling you to him.

"Where do you think you're going?" He smiled as you pretended to be offended by him. He turned you around in his arms and leaned in carefully, giving you time to pull away but you quickly closed the distance before he could change his mind. None of you deepened the kiss, both aware you two had a tiringly long patrol ahead of you. "Wanna grab a drink later?"

"I have half a mind to tell you no." You huffed, remembering all those times he turned you down.

He kissed your cheeks. "How about I make it up to you tonight then?"

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a/n: fought the urge to include smut :p maybe some other day in some other fic. I will stick to writing one-shots omg the urge to extend and extend and extend is so strong.

Thank you for reading <33

[seepingfrommyskin]

i loved you on this day. i love this memory.

[shrenvents]

Guard Dog

Warnings: Part one of two (is smut), stalkerish lol, fluff, mentions of death, mutual pining

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x you

Summary: Set after joining Alexandria, Daryl's overtly having issues settling in, and even more problems leaving you alone.

Word count: 1.8k

...

You and Daryl have known each other for years. Through thick and thin, your found-family has each other's backs. But your group has been wearing thin. From Beth to Tyreese, now in Alexandria, a strange and new environment— it's safe to say, Daryl’s been on edge. He was losing his nerve, and that somehow entailed keeping you close, very close.

Every and any second you're alone, he appears, determined to invade your space, and it's becoming difficult to keep your feelings at bay, because you’ve been in love with him since your time at the prison. Even then, when shit hit the fan, he raced to get you out. Though you feared your affections for him made such a delusion — one that posed he would think to save you first— his recent clingy behaviour has made you believe in said delusion.

Today, he's back at it. You’re alone gathering food for dinner, for less than 10 minutes, before he marches into the garage. Bearing in mind that he has no reason to be here, and spent most of his time hidden from the locals, his appearance would be considered unusual.

You let Daryl silently stand there, patrolling the entrance for a few seconds, till your heart gives out.

“Is something the matter?” You utter, shifting your eyes to his dark ones, and they snap to you, slightly taken aback. “Nothin,” is all he grumbles before looking outwards to your surroundings, observing and scanning like the hunter he is.

“Daryl, we’ve been here for weeks," huffing, "we’re alive, and well,” you state, swallowing quietly. “You can relax you know.” You turn to lift a basket of supplies. When heading for the exit, Daryl swiftly steps in front of you.

“I ain’t doin' nothin' but standing,” he rumbles defensively.

“Standing in front of me, might I add,” you retort, smiling, trying to ease the strange tension, but his face remains stoic. Daryl stares directly into you, and a shiver rolls down your spine. His intense gaze doesn’t last long, as he chooses to walk off without a goodbye. Your shoulders instantly deflate, and you exhale, closing your eyes.

“Now what was that?” Sasha’s voice makes you flinch, popping your eyes open to peer at her. “You tell me,” you sigh and she laughs.

“I’ll be damned if I ever try to read that caveman's mind,” she grins, “You're better off leaving that question for Carol.” Her smirk tells a different story, one that says she knows something more, and you can’t help the second shiver that racks through your body.

...

Desperate to figure out Dixon, you go to Carol’s, asking for her assistance with dinner as a cover.

As you both cook, it takes little time for her to notice your incessant gawking. She pronounces your name, and your eyes snap back to the sizzling food. “Cmon, you can talk to me,” she assures.

When you decidedly stay hushed, she releases a sigh that eases into a snicker. “You should speak soon before Daryl finds us, or you, rather,” she mentions, attempting to contain her humour. You spin to face her. “What do you mean by that?” You question far too quickly, that the words practically jumble together. “Exactly what it seems,” she smiles pleasantly, ignoring your eager tone. “You’ve got yourself a lifelong, loyal guard dog.”

“Why? I mean, Daryl’s protective of everybody? But why does he only follow me?” You ramble, “Doesn’t he trust me to not end up dead, in a friendly, gated community?” You pout and Carol laughs again.

“That isn’t quite why,” she dwindles.

“Please just spell it out for me, I can't take it anymore.” Now square to her, you drop the stirring utensil, and tug your apron over your head. She watches you move, absorbed in her thoughts, as you jump to sit on the edge of the kitchen island. “He’s making you uncomfortable?” She asks warily.

“Yes,” you pause, “and no.” Your head lowers in embarrassment.

After a moment, you look at Carol, while she refocuses on adding more ingredients, to the dish you abandoned. “Why does he do it?”

Her moving actions falter, and she pivots to face you. “It isn’t for me to say, but being around you, knowing you’re safe, clearly calms him." Though you don’t truly get it, you nod slowly so Carol goes back to finishing the meal.

Just as she puts meat in the oven, Daryl waltzes through the door, without so much as knocking or giving some sort of warning. You yelp when you spot him. When you lock eyes, you refuse to hold it, so you turn your head over your shoulder quickly, with a grimace, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Daryl.

“What? Somethin' happen?” His hoarse voice sounds almost panicked. As you swivel your neck to soothe Daryl’s unnecessary worry with a "No," he suddenly grips your wrist, far too roughly. You squeak as he grabs your full attention.

You assess how he stands motionless in front of your knees, eyes widened, regarding his hand as it holds your wrist. He looks kind of appalled, as if he couldn’t believe he touched you. He then briskly lets go of your arm, like it burned him, retracing into himself.

You gulp and your bottom lip trembles. 'Was he disgusted? Did he see you as a child? What had you done to warrant this behaviour?' You think anxiously.

You look between Carol and Daryl now, as they share a lengthy stare. You swear under your breath, then push Daryl's chest with your fists, shocking both of them.

“I’m leaving, do not, follow me.” You order, with a vexed, yet hurt look. His mouth gaps with a soundless word, and you leave.

...

Sitting alone in your home, your empty stomach growls, and you start to seriously regret what you did earlier, which left you too ashamed to stay for dinner.

As your thoughts run wild, a quiet knock at the door diminishes them. You stay still, almost wondering if the noise is no more than a tree branch, moved by wind, but he bellows your name.

"Daryl?" You respond, and his voice simply calls your name again, almost like a plea. You turn the lock and knob, opening to find Daryl, fidgeting on his feet uncomfortably at your doorstep. "Um, come in?" You allow meekly, and he enters, faintly brushing your side.

Picking up his musky, pine scent, you bite your lip examining him, slowly leaning back on the closing door. He looks around agitatedly, seeming completely out of place, and somewhat flustered.

Growing stiff, you can't bear the awkward silence for much longer.

"I'm sorry," you mumble an apology for something, you're not sure what, and clearly, neither is he. He whirls towards you, stepping into your space. "For what?"

"I was rude earlier and-"

"Not rude, just, confusing." He interjects, brows furrowing in tune with his sentence. You scowl, "Well, if I'm being honest, I wouldn't say I'm the 'confusing' one here." Your remark reminds you of your previous feelings, and they bubble to the surface.

When he says nothing, you continue. "I'm safe here Daryl, and pretty happy, all things considered," you breathe out in exasperation. "Is there some danger that I should know of? Is someone here out to get me?"

"No-"

"So why do you keep chasing me around?" You just about shout, interrupting him. Daryl flinches and looks as though he wants to be anywhere but here, with you. He fixates on the door behind you. "I ain't doin' nothin-"

"Daryl! Please just," you cut yourself short as your voice escalates. "Please be honest with me, after everything we've been through, you owe me that," you beg.

His tense frame withers in defeat. "I just can't leave your side," he grumbles, his words barely understandable. "Why?"

"Don't wanna lose ya," Daryl's voice trails off as his head wheels to the side. "You won't, and I can take care of myself, just like the others, who you don't follow around." You fail to hide your ignominy, visibly disappointed that he believes you need special attention, over the rest of the group. "Can't," he mumbles.

"'Can't' what?" You inquire, now stepping into his space, voice rising.

"I can't, 'cause I don' wanna lose you," he exclaims again in a burst. Your face twists further in ignorance. "Christ woman," he runs his hand down his tormented expression. "Daryl, please stop dancing around what you mean." You cry out, "'Lose me?' Tell me what you mea-"

Abruptly, he grips your shoulders. "I want ya." He states, baring his teeth as if it were a threat. "I want you, I want you to live."

"You 'want' me... To live...?" You ask slowly and his eyes roll back in frustration. "No, not just to live-"

"Because I love you," you blurt and immediately try to pry your shoulders from his clutch. He stills with you firmly in his grasp, so close that his nose nearly grazes yours. His hold increases its strength, and he shakes his head to himself, seemingly battling his own thoughts. "Daryl?" You whisper.

"How can you?" He utters so quietly it's barely audible, so quiet you don't think he expected to say it out loud.

While his eyes squeeze shut, you snake your arms around his waist, and his entire build clamps up. Now afraid of a possible rejection, you loosen your embrace. But his hands move from your shoulders to your upper back, arms drawing you to him, fully caging you in. You take in his broad chest as it presses against your less impressive one. Your fingers seize his leather vest, aching to know how it feels in your palms.

His heavy breathing fans your nape, and you swear he sniffs your hair, as his nose and scruff tickle the skin behind your ear. His fingertips tease the ends of your hair, and you take this as an opportunity to breathe him in. Just as you do, he pulls away, moving you to an arm's length. You blush.

"Sorry," he mutters and your brows crease. "I smell bad, I know," he murmurs and goes fairly red himself. "I don't mind," you say sweetly with a smile, ignoring the urge to tell him you like it.

Finally getting a chance to gaze into his eyes properly. You virtually melt when his pupils appear glassy. You've only seen him cry once, after losing Beth. 'So would he really be brought to tears over a confession? From you no less?'

"Daryl?" He peeks up from behind his fringe. "Do you 'want' me, or like me, like I like you?" You ask, trying to minimize the pressure he may feel to admit any feelings, but you so desperately want to know —how desperately you want him to hold you again.

"Both," he rasps.

You nod and smile sheepishly, "I can work with that."

When a comfortable silence envelops the room, your stomach growls loudly. A modest smile takes shape on Daryl's face. "I put some food aside for you, back at Carol's." He emits, gesturing to the door behind you, wordlessly asking you to go over there, with him. You nod a yes and your heart pounds, swooning at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you."

You reach your hand out, and he very hesitantly holds it, after wiping his twice down his thigh. You beam, heading out the door.

Part two

[ventismacchiato]

11 stuck with you — five feet apart !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

ACT TWO

Another hot and sticky night in the stuffy dorms led you outside earlier than usual. Maybe if you were up before Scara you could make something without depending on him for food like everyone else was. 

But alas, the universe hated you. And there he was. Scaramouche, already awake, sitting at the kitchen island mindlessly stirring a cup of tea. But more important than that was the tray of mouth watering muffins sitting in front of him. 

“Did you make those?” you ask cautiously, eyeing him as if he laced them with poison just for the hell of it.

He glanced up, his face unreadable.

“No,” he answers, “Yoimiya did.” 

You felt like thanking the gods right then and there. Relief washed over you. Yoimiya was a safe bet. You grabbed one of the chocolate chip muffins and took a tentative bite. It was sweet, soft, and perfect. At last, something that wasn’t a disaster.

“Finally,” you muttered, savoring the taste. “Something I can actually eat.”

Scara side eyes you, but you didn’t spare him a glance before grabbing another one. You left the blueberry ones untouched, as it wasn’t your favorite. 

“Not surprised you chose the unhealthy option,” Scara speaks up, reaching over to grab a blueberry one.

“I’m not a fan,” you huff, getting defensive over your picky palate. 

“Such a child,” he muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Just then, the door swung open, and Yoimiya waltzed in along with everyone else.

“Good morning, everyone!” she chirped, her hair bouncing as she moved, “I’m starving!”

“Have some of the muffins you made,” you suggest, “They were really good.”

“Hm? What muffins?” Yoimiya asks as Venti steps around her to grab one, “I didn’t make those, Scara did.”

You turned to Scara, mouth agape. “What? But you said-”

His cheeks flushed slightly, but he recovered quickly, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Fuck off, I said Yoimiya made them,” he corrected, crossing his arms defensively.

“Scara, I literally watched you mix the batter,” she said, “You told me to fuck off because I kept licking the spoons.”

Childe, Aether, and Venti, who had been leaning against the wall munching on said muffins, immediately perked up, sensing an opportunity to annoy the hothead. 

“Looks like Scara’s a real tsundere” Childe laughed, elbowing Aether.

“Right? Can’t even admit he can bake,” Aether chimed in, stifling a chuckle.

“Whatever,” Scara scoffed, getting up and grabbing the water pails and walking off. Lumine shoved you after him.

“Go help him fetch the water,” she suggested, not taking no for an answer.

Scara walked ahead the worn down path, pails swinging at his sides. You hurried to catch up, grabbing one of the pails from him, but immediately winced at its weight. “Fuck.”

Scara lets out a smug smirk at your struggle and easily grabs it back, “Looks like someone’s weak,” he taunted. 

“It’s just the weather,” you say, ignoring how he rolls his eyes. You help turn the spout on to feel a little helpful as you both watch the buckets fill up. Scara’s back was turned to you as he watched to make sure they didn’t overflow. It was rather easy to talk to him when he wasn’t looking at you so you took your chance.

“Thanks for the muffins,” you say almost so quietly the stream of the water almost overshadows it. But with the way Scaramouche’s head slightly turns at your words indicates he heard it. 

“I did it for me, not you,” he says, turning the spout off, “I didn’t want you collapsing on my consciousness.” 

You huffed at his response, but your chest felt oddly warm. You hadn’t considered that Scara might care. In a very roundabout way. 

“Well, why did you lie about them?”

“You wouldn’t have eaten them if I told you I made them,” he answers, grabbing both pails back and turning around. The water sloshed around the edge and left a trail of water running down his biceps. You avert your eyes. Weird. 

“Well, you’re right I wouldn’t have,” you frown, mad he’s right.

“And I didn’t need you thinking I want to do nice things for you,” he adds, stepping past you.

“Besides,” he adds, sparing you a glance, “It’s fun to watch you squirm a bit.”

You ignore the feeling in your stomach.

//

“I hate living on this fucking island,” Scara mutters, wincing at the taste of the well water.

“It’s nice, but doesn’t feel like the vacation I thought it would,” Childe adds, fanning himself with a paper plate. None of the buildings had AC, hence you all were dying. 

“I have so many mosquito bites,” Venti groans.

“I heard you guys complaining!” Yae exclaims, popping in from nowhere.

“Wait, were you behind that counter the entire time?”Aether interrupts.

“Yes, but don’t mind that,” Yae waves off, “I was waiting for a good segway!”

“Couldn’t we have just faked one?” Fischl pipes up.

Yae pauses.

“I suppose so,” she sighs, “Now all of you hush, let me get on with my spiel.” 

She clears her throat and throws on a smile, “I bring all of you a lovely incentive! Today’s game will have a better prize! Remember how we mentioned the sister island is an actual resort? Well, the winner of today’s game will get to spend the night at the five star hotel. That means no cooking your own meals, an actual bed, and spending time with your crush!”

The entire group cheers at her words.

Yae brings the mic down and whispers, “And off record, this one won’t be rigged. Just to keep it more realistic. If a pair other than Scara and Yn win then it’s fine, we’ll send then over another time”

“The archons have listened to me,” Venti praises, raising his hands up, “Hot showers here I come.”

“You guys are going to draw lots for your pairs, but choose whoever you want. It’s a strength challenge so keep that in mind.”

“Fuck yeah,” Childe cheers, already getting up to flex.

“I’m not sure if we should zoom in or cut the cameras,” Yae ponders, “Would the youth be into this?”

“Cut the cameras,” everyone deadpans.

The excitement in the air was palpable as Yae explained the challenge. Everyone would be paired up in groups of two and one member would have to be carried by the other on the shoulders. Yae and the crew would spray water on all of them and try to get them to slip off balance. The last pair standing would win the night on the sister island and be back by tomorrow morning. 

Scara shot you a look, “We are going to win this. I am not spending another night listening to Childe’s snoring and hiking half a mile for water.” 

“Oh, fuck off!” Childe yelled from where he was hoisting Fischl onto his shoulders. 

“Really? You don’t look like you work out,” you mumbled, knowing you were treading on thin ice but unable to resist. “Full offense,” you added for good measure. You didn’t have high hopes for this challenge. You’d already kissed goodbye to your chances at spending the night at the resort. 

“Are you doubting me?” he muttered, already beginning to unbutton his shirt a little to prepare for the challenge, revealing a surprisingly toned build underneath. You felt your cheeks warm slightly as you caught a glimpse of the muscles you hadn’t expected. Archons, why did he always have to one up you?

“Okay, maybe I was wrong,” you admitted, a little flustered. “But you still might not be strong enough to carry me.”

“Just get on my shoulders,” he replied, a hint of irritation in his tone. “You’ll see.”

You reluctantly climbed onto his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hoisted you up from under your legs. It felt odd to be held this close by him. 

Yae barely gave any of you time to adjust before she gestured for the crew to start spraying cold jet streams at you. You could immediately feel your grip slip. You heard a yelp that sounded a lot like Venti’s to your right.

The moment your skin touched his, you felt an unexpected jolt of warmth. “Hold still!” you yelled as the water began spraying down on you both.

“Stop moving,” Scara yelled, but he was shaking his head, trying to clear the water from his face.

“You stop moving!” you yell back, feeling yourself slipping through his grip as water gets in his eyes. You adjust yourself so one arm is hanging onto his shoulders and you bring your other palm to cover his eyes to shield him from the water. 

“Is that better?” you huff, still squinting from your own eyes having no protection.

“Just…hide your head in my neck,” he says, his voice slightly strained but firm. You didn’t need to be told twice, your eyes burning hurt more than your urge to be petty against Scara at that moment. Your will wasn’t very strong, water was enough to take you down it seemed.

You obliged, leaning forward and burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your lips were pressed right up against his skin due to the proximity and you could feel every breath he took.

“Another pair down!” Yae cheered, “Turn up the pressure!”

“She’s having too much fun with this,” you lamented, though your voice came out muffled. You could hear him chuckle, and despite the chaos, you felt a strange comfort in his steadiness.

As the game progressed, you noticed that it was down to just you and Scara against Yoimiya and Lumine. The water sprayed relentlessly, and you felt yourself slipping, but Scara’s grip on your legs tightened. 

Finally, Lumine slipped and the duo fell, leaving just you and Scara to stand.

“We won?” you questioned as Scara let you down, and you stumbled slightly as your feet hit the ground. “Finally,” you breathed, relieved but exhilarated. You both let yourself fall to the ground from exhaustion and cough up water as Yae cheered you guys on.

“Geez guys, at least try to look hot for the camera,” she sighed, letting you guys get up before turning the camera towards you both, “Our winners Scara and Yn will get to spend a night at the luxury resort!”

Childe whistled, and you turned to see Scara’s shirt clinging to him, soaked through from the spray. He shook his head, sending droplets flying everywhere. “Good.” he muttered, looking over at you, “Don’t doubt me next time.”

“Whatever,” you swallow, averting your eyes and locking them with your members instead who decided to be obnoxious and wiggle their eyebrows at you. 

//

You were starting to wonder if spending the night at a luxury hotel instead of the shabby island was worth it when you saw your ride there.

“Why can’t we take a boat?” you mourn, staring up at the helicopter awaiting you and Scara’s departure.

“Because it’ll take too long,” Lisa explained, “We’ll take some last shots then you guys will board and there’ll be a crew over there waiting for you. I want some romance tonight but I’ll let you guys enjoy the amenities too.”

Her words washed over you as you started contemplating swimming to the other island.

Scaramouche let out a scoff as he watched the panic filter through your eyes. He wordlessly grabbed your arm and pulled you into the death trap as you started wondering why you ever became an idol. 

“It’s only fifteen minutes, keep it together,” he muttered, watching as it took you three tries to put your belt on.

You shot him a glare, though the unease in your gut was making it hard to muster up a convincing retort. 

"Not all of us have a death wish," you muttered, trying to sound braver than you felt. The thought of the helicopter's blades slicing through the air and lifting you far above the ocean was doing nothing to steady your nerves.

He opened his mouth to fire back, but Lisa’s voice cut in before he could. “Alright, save the banter for the cameras. Let’s get a shot of you two boarding together!” she said cheerily, a bit too excited for your taste.

You swallowed hard, eyeing the helicopter as if it might bite you. But before you could back away or think of an excuse, you felt a sudden grip on your face, forcing you to turn away from the intimidating sight.

“Idiot,” Scaramouche muttered under his breath, his hand warm against your cheek as he held your head steady, forcing you to meet his gaze instead. “Don’t look if you’re scared. Just focus on something else.”

His eyes were steady, a mixture of exasperation and something softer that caught you off guard. For a second, the world outside—the roar of the helicopter, the prying eyes of the crew, even your own fear—seemed to blur at the edges. All you could see was him, closer than he’d ever been, the lines of his usual smirk softened into something almost unreadable.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the unexpected gesture.

“That’s good,” Lisa hummed, breaking the weird tension as Scara let go of you and you focused on your shoes.

 "You know you didn’t have to do that,” you say as the pilot starts getting ready for takeoff, “I was fine.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you were,” Scaramouche replies, his voice gruff but quieter now, “I’ll make sure you don’t embarrass yourself too much.” 

You weren’t sure whether to be grateful or insulted, but somehow, the tremor in your hands wasn’t quite as bad as before. 

//

The resort was breathtaking, as one would expect from a luxury hotel. Even Scara was impressed as you both practically cried at the array of foods welcoming you, an escape from the dreadful meals you’ve been preparing for yourself. It all seemed perfect.

Well, apart from one thing. 

“This is so corny, why is there only one bed?” you question as you both walk into your room for the day. It was a lover’s suite. Of course it was.

“Well, you should take the floor,” Scara unhelpfully suggests.

Well, maybe two things.

“Absolutely not!” Lisa shouts from the speakers, causing you both to be startled.

“Freaks, why are you watching us sleep?” Scara mumbles.

“I can hear you!” Lisa shouts again. 

“Whatever, anything’s better than that stupid island,” he eyes you to make his point before walking off to unpack.

“Fuck you!” you call out but he’s already gone. The suite was either so big he coudn’t hear you or he was ignoring you. Far likely to be the latter. 

//

There was one thing you were looking forward to coming here tonight, finally getting to soak in water that wasn’t the frigid ocean. Even if you had to share that with the idiot that was Scaramouche. 

The hot tub bubbled around you, steam curling into the air in soft wisps. The view was stunning, all twinkling lights from the resort below and a sky full of stars that might have seemed romantic if you weren't stuck here with Scaramouche. 

“Ugh, can you stop hogging all the space?” you snapped, your shoulder bumping into his as you shifted to get comfortable. The hot water was supposed to be relaxing, but with him practically glued to your side, it was anything but. You had both gotten in and sat at opposite ends but with endless yelling in your earpieces from Yae you had bredgrudingly scooted closer. Too close.

“Maybe if you weren't all elbows,” he shot back, “I don’t want to be this close to you, but that devil of a woman is making me.”

“I heard that,” Yae replies from the speakers. Scara flips her off.

“This isn’t relaxing when I can hear you breathing right beside me,” you huff, sinking into the tub.

“Go underwater then,” Scara replies, “I’ll help you.” You swat his hands away, drowning on camera in a three foot tub would end your career and whatever was left of your dignity.

A sudden voice crackled to life over the speakers, startling you both. “Less bickering, more flirting!” Lisa’s voice boomed.

“Tell him to act more likeable!” you shoot back, yelling at where you think the camera is. 

He shot you a withering look. “Me? You’re the one who looks like you’re constipated every time you try to smile at me.”

“Well, maybe it’s because looking at you does that to me,” you snark back.

“I am so dry in the studio,” Yae mourns over the speakers, “Put this tension into something else. Scara, take your shirt off.”

“Fuck no?” Scara yells, crossing his arms over his chest, “What is wrong with you guys?”

Yae's voice came through the speakers again, dripping with amusement. "Alright then, if you won’t take your shirt off willingly, how about you give our dear co-star a hand, hm? Go on, help him with those buttons, Yn."

You stared at the camera, slack-jawed. "You can’t be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious," Yae replied, her tone too cheerful to be anything but evil. "It's called fan service, darlings. Now, hop to it."

You turned to Scara, who looked about two seconds away from drowning himself in the tub. 

He eyed you, a flicker of something like a dare in his eyes, “Don’t even think about it.”

“They’ll keep yelling if we don’t," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. 

“Put on a show!” Lisa reminded through the speakers.

You sighed. You’d have kept your mouth shut at that damn award show if it meant not having to do whatever this was.

Slowly and hesitantly you reached out, fingers brushing the top button of his shirt.

“You’ll be more comfortable if you loosened your top,” you swallow, your attempt at trying to sound believable.

“Take it off then,” Scara replies against his will, uncrossing his arms and leaning back against the tub.

Your breath hitched slightly, and you could see the way Scara’s lips curved up into a teasing smirk. He was enjoying this. Your hesitation. Your obvious discomfort. He didn’t think you could do it. It made you want to wipe that smirk off his stupid pretty face.

"Fine," you said, your voice steadying, the challenge accepted. You took a deep breath and reached for the second button, fingers trembling just slightly as you undid it. The fabric parted to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbone, and the heat of his skin seemed to radiate into the space between you.

"Don’t get shy now," he taunted, voice low, barely above a whisper. His eyes were locked on yours, unblinking, as if daring you to keep going, “You’re not very good at this, don’t tell me you’ve never undressed someone before.”

"Oh, please," you shot back, “Of course I have,” your tone dripping with false bravado. He knew damn well you’ve never.

He chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Keep telling yourself that," he said, his gaze slipping to where your hands hovered over the next button, like he was daring you to take it further. You couldn’t let him win by chickening out. 

You fumbled with the button, but when it finally came undone, your eyes couldn't help but widen slightly. His chest was inked with tattoos—bold, intricate designs that curled and twisted across his skin, disappearing under the remaining fabric. It was more than you expected, more than he’d ever let on in any photoshoot or public appearance.

"I didn’t know you had all these," you blurted out before you could stop yourself, your voice tinged with genuine surprise.

He arched an eyebrow, that ever-present smirk returning full force. "And how would you know anything about me, huh? Are you stalking my photoshoots now?"

You glared at him, the embarrassment making your cheeks heat. "Don’t flatter yourself. I just figured a narcissist like you would’ve shown these off already."

"Shows what you know," he said, "Some things aren’t meant for everyone to see."

Your fingers hesitated over the last few buttons at his words. There was something about the way he said it, like it was a confession layered under his usual sarcasm.

"Then why show them now?" you asked, quieter, the banter slipping into something that felt almost serious.

"Because I like watching you squirm."

You scoffed, more to cover up the way your pulse had quickened than anything else. "You’re insufferable." 

Of course, it didn’t mean anything. He was just as infuriating as ever.

"And you’re blushing," he pointed out, a wicked gleam in his eyes that made you want to dunk him right into the bubbling water.

“It’s the steam,” you grumbled, flicking water on him and scooting away as he rubbed at his eyes.

Lisa’s voice crackled over the speakers, almost giddy with delight. "Oh, now this is what I’m talking about! Keep that energy, you two. That’s chemistry! The audience is going to eat this up!"

You both shot a glare toward the camera, and in unison, muttered under your breaths, "Shut up, Lisa."

You both spent the rest of the hour on opposite ends of the tub.

//

“I want that side.”

“Well, suddenly I want that side.”

“I wasn’t asking, I was just letting you know,” you huffed, already slipping under the covers on the left side of the bed. With a pointed look, you grabbed one of the many pillows and wedged it firmly between you like a flimsy barricade.

Scara rolled his eyes, scoffing at your actions. “As if I’d touch you with a ten foot pole,” he muttered, reluctantly getting into the other side of the bed. 

You both sat there in stiff silence, staring at the ceiling, the awkwardness so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. Neither of you knew what to do with yourselves, like two kids playing a game of chicken to see who'd crack first.

There was a strange feeling in your chest being this close to him. Every sense seemed dialed up to ten, heightened and fixed on one single point. You felt hyper-aware of every movement, every breath, and even every blink. You swallowed unconsciously, the action feeling louder and more awkward than it should’ve. You let out a shaky sigh and wipe your free hand on the comforter, surprised to find your palm slicked with sweat. This was weird, weird, weird.

You heard a soft shuffle next to you, and when you glanced over, you saw Scaramouche turn on his side, his back now facing you. He moved like he was trying to put as much distance between you as possible, yet there was something almost vulnerable about the way his shoulders hunched.

You found yourself watching him longer than you intended, tracking the slow, even rise and fall of his breathing as he settled into sleep. There was something disarming about seeing him like this. He was quiet, without his usual smirk or biting remarks to put you on edge. You didn’t even have to reach out your arm to touch him. Not like you would. But you could.

You slowly turn to the other side, pulling the covers over your head and begging yourself to go to sleep. But even with the pillow wall between you, the warmth of his presence lingered. You felt it like a soft hum through the sheets, the awareness of his touch from earlier still lingering on your skin like a ghost. It was unsettling, the way it seemed to echo long after it was gone. 

Weird didn’t even begin to cover it.

[00:00:00] ONE BED INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE ONE

YAE: [QUIET]

SCARAMOUCHE: Don't piss me off.

YAE: I didn't even say anything!

SCARAMOUCHE: I felt it.

JEAN, SIGHING: Good lord.

YAE: Moving on...

YAE: How was your night with only one bed?

SCARAMOUCHE: Quiet.

YAE: That's such a lie.

SCARAMOUCHE: No.

YAE: Are you going to say more than one word?

SCARAMOUCHE: Maybe.

JEAN, QUIETLY: Oh, my God...

SCARAMOUCHE: What did you want me to say? We watched the stars through the skylight and talked about our fears together?

YAE: Yes, actually.

SCARAMOUCHE: Bite me. We didn't.

JEAN: Scaramouche, if you give us something-anything-you can go back to your room.

SCARAMOUCHE, CROSSING HIS ARMS AND HUFFING: YN is a blanket hog. I was cold and couldn't sleep because they toss and turn like a demon is chasing them in their sleep.

SCARAMOUCHE: They didn't even apologize when they woke up. They just said to quote, "Cope."

JEAN: ... Good enough.

YAE: Cut!

[00:00:00] ONE BED INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE ONE

YN: Why does that little thingy say one bed?

YAE, CONFUSED: This is what you did last night? We want to know about it.

YN: No, I didn't.

YAE: Don't play with me.

JEAN: YN, this all goes faster if you don't lie.

YN, SCOWLING: Don't play with me!

JEAN: Good grief! Cut!

[00:05:30] ONE BED INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE TWO

YAE: [STARING AT YN BEHIND THE CAMERA]

YN: [STARING BACK]

JEAN: Guys, please...

YN: Yeah, okay, fine. I shared a bed with Scaramouche last night. So what?

YAE: Did anything... happen...?

YN: Like what?

YAE: You know like...

YAE: [PRETEND GIGGLES LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL] Kissing and stuff?

YN: Are we five years old? Don't piss me off!

YAE: Scaramouche said the same thing.

YN, STANDING UP: Well stop pissing me off!

JEAN: YN, just give us something.

YN, WALKING OFF CAMERA: I hogged the blankets on purpose to make him mad. Fuck that guy.

YAE, CALLING TO YN: Anything else?

YN: Bite me!

YAE: Scara said that, too.

JEAN: Cut!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

*slide13: can u bring me back some food

*slide 15: …get him to go to the gym…and scara

I JUST REALIZED AE REPLIES TO YNS PRIVATE TWEET IN THIS PLS IGNORE AND PRETEND ITS VENTI

also scara uses the wrong your in slide 23 he wud never i’m so tired pls forgive me

title is from that one vine am i showing my age lord two bros chillin in the hot tub five feet apart cus they’re not gay

if you can’t read the qna tweets send me an ask i’ll post a clearer version! also literally don’t know what yn wud have as a wallpaper sorry

also sorry if u like blueberries it’ll come back later

taglist is closed, comment on the masterlist if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — im sorry for leaving you guys hanging for two months! hopefully it hasnt been too long where u forgot the plot,, college was really busy for me and i lost all motivation to write,, i lowk got rlly depressed lmao like omg med school is not for the weak!! i had to lock tf in and study but i saw a scara edit on my feed a few days ago and got to inspo to write so pls enjoy this long chapter :) missed u guys!! pls comment if u enjoyed to give me some motivation <33

taglist is closed! — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @kazuhasbabe

[miumura]

SHE GETS HER WAY ｡ ｡ ｡ 보이넥스트도어 🪽 ✦

( 𝓢 ) ﹕ gf privilege with boynextdoor

──── 0t6!boynextdoor x f ! r ╱ ⌕ est. relationship, fluff ∿ w. none, they are just cuties wc. 0.7K+ ( 757 ) ｡ ｡ first post of 2025 😚 !! ( many more bnd works to come! ) happy new years everyone !! i am so thankful for everyone && i hope that 2025 treats you well and also becomes your year 🤍 !!

❛❛ 💬 ❞ 𝗦𝗢𝗣𝗛 > 𓂃 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗖𝗞 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗕𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗙 ⋮ 🪽

MYUNG JAEHYUN freely allowing you to bother him

no matter what kind of tricks you could pull, he never seems to get even a little bit annoyed. in fact, it's almost as if he adores you even more because of your antics. sometimes, it leaves you wondering if anything could tick him off at all. in reality, he might just play hard to get purposefully just to watch you persistently ask for something he would do for you without a second thought—no matter what it was. he just finds it rather cute when you're so determined to make him do something that you want. you wouldn’t even notice it’s an act until you see his wide grin as he finally “gives” in. so really, there's no need to beg for anything—you’re his weak spot, and he doesn't even try to hide it.

PARK SUNGHO dragging him into doing silly trends

regardless how silly he may think the tiktok you just showed him is, there’s such a low chance for him to say no. almost all of the time, you’d catch him saying yes. to his defense, how could he say no to someone like you? he loves seeing that spark of excitement in your eyes and can’t help but smile as you eagerly set up for the video you’re about to record. sungho, without a doubt, would just look at you with so much love as you tie that pink ribbon around him, adoring and cheesing over you internally.

LEE SANGHYEOK random physical touch

he doesn’t dislike physical touch, however, he will get all tensed up if someone were to randomly give it to him without warning. but with you? that’s a complete different story—poke at him, wrap your arms around him, or even smother him with affection, and he'd let it happen without a single complaint. if you wanted it, he’d simply give it to you. regardless, it’s a win-win situation for him—you’d get all the physical touch you want and he gets pampered with your sweet kisses and hugs. let’s say, there was always a motive all along—one that leaves him content with getting to keep you as close as possible.

HAN DONGMIN taking his belongings without asking

the first time he saw you wearing one of his hoodies, he could’ve sworn he fell even harder for you. sure, he’s the type who usually prefers when people ask before borrowing his things, but seeing you in it? that was a whole different story. it brought an instant smile to his face, one he couldn’t hide even if he tried. from that moment on, he’s never refused you—or asked for anything back. need to borrow his phone for a bit? go ahead. want to wear that accessory he cherishes so much? it’s yours. he’s just that down bad for you. honestly, it doesn’t matter how long it’s out of his sight because as long as it’s with you, he’s at ease. he trusts you completely—and maybe, just maybe, he secretly loves the reminder that he’s yours.

KIM DONGHYUN you have all of his attention

safe to say, you have the leehan completely swooned. you could be distracting him from his game or youtube video, but the moment you call his name, it's like everything fades into the background. it’s almost as if, within a split of a second, he’d be right there for you. even when you don’t call for him, he’ll pause whatever he’s doing just to check up on you. whether it’s a quick text or simply staying close within your reach, it’s more than enough to keep him content. his eyes soften the moment they land on you, almost as if he can’t help but admire the person who means the most to him. and honestly? he wouldn’t want it any other way.

KIM WOONHAK decorating his belongings

at first, he might refuse and say a few half-hearted complaints as you pulled out your sticker sheets. but the moment you stuck those tiny heart stickers on his phone case, it was game over. his heart started racing faster than he’d like to admit, and suddenly, those so-called “childish” designs didn’t seem so bad. ever since then, he’s been extra cautious with anything you’ve decorated, treating them with such care as if his life depended on it. he’s practically paranoid about getting even the tiniest scratch on them. in fact, he takes every chance he gets to proudly show them off—whether it’s his phone, notebook, or water bottle—and purposely leaves his things out in the open, secretly hoping you’ll add more. it doesn’t matter if the stickers are cute, silly, or completely random. what matters is that you’re the one who decorated them, and to him, that makes them absolutely perfect.

‘💬’ ─── new year new layout ( ? ) do we like this way of writing for hcs ??

BND PERM TAGLIST ( OPEN ) ! — @juyeoz @j4d

[tetzoro]

SLOW MORNINGS — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : after two years, you finally agreed to move in with kuroo and after your first night together, kuroo reflects on his perspective of love — and how much you’ve influenced it.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : fluff, fluff, fluff ! — WC : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : this was lost in the abyss on kuroosdarling but i rescued this cheesy lil piece. enjoy !! dividers by @/cafekitsune ᰔ

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

love was something kuroo always found in fiction.

whether it would be from the stories his grandmother used to read to him as she tucked him into bed, her sweet voice filling his mind with a longing desire to one day have even a fraction of that love.

or in the books his father swore he didn’t own but yet somehow found themselves nestled in between the self help and business books that collected dust on his bookshelf. the tattered covers showing signs of wear and tear that could only come from a devoted reader.

but he never thought he’d make it here and experience a moment like this for himself. he never thought that this was something he’d ever even want at all. relationships had always been pushed back into the far corner of his heart, the fear from his parents ultimate brutal destruction overshadowed his desire for it.

so he never chased after love.

but then you chased after him. and he couldn’t help but welcome you in his arms. you were everything he never thought he needed. you brought peace and serenity into his life. kept him grounded, balanced but still somehow always knew how to push his buttons and keep him on his toes at the same time.

you were the perfect partner for him.

the day he met you, he had no idea how much you were going to infiltrate his life. you went behind enemy lines, storming towards his heart all without making a noise. the perfect stealth attack that left him questioning if he ever had any defenses to begin with.

but he supposed that all boiled down to a simple fact. he could act blind all he wanted, but his soul knew better, for it was the very thing that led you right into his heart, letting you steal it and make it yours.

he was just happy that it was finally in safe hands.

it all brought him crashing down to this moment — seeing your toothbrush innocently sitting next to his in the little ceramic glass by the bathroom sink. the little reminder that showed he shared his space with someone, actually letting them into every crevice of his heart. the thought had him getting a little emotional at 6 in the morning.

because he could easily look over to his right, through the opened bathroom door and see you still peacefully asleep in his bed — your shared bed. and it warmed his heart to no end.

as if you could sense his thoughts, you shift awake, watching him as he stared back at you.

“morning tetsu.” you whisper into the otherwise silent apartment. it took him a second to process the words as they spilled from your lips, watching as you slowly get up and stretch in a way that reminded him of a cat when they first rise from their slumber.

“morning sweetheart.” he smiles, his toothbrush haphazardly hanging out of the side of his mouth. you giggled at the sight, causing his grin to spread wider — wide enough for it to slip out of his mouth and into his hand. his reflexes from volleyball always came in handy when he needed it most. but he supposed he still looked like a fool in front of you — you just had that effect on him.

“you still asleep in there or something?” you ask, teasing him as you wander into the bathroom, wiping some toothpaste off his cheek before wrapping your arms around his bare waist.

“tell me, is it possible to get too much beauty sleep? because you’ve never looked more gorgeous.” he murmurs back, his large hand covering yours as he held your gaze in the mirror. he relished in the flustered expression you tried to hide as your face burrowed between his shoulder blades.

“so cheesy this early? my oh my, we’re off to a good start.” you giggle, your lips pressing against his bare back as the sound escapes you, sending chills all throughout him.

“you better believe it.” he smirks, happily leaning back into your touch. “how’d you sleep?”

“i slept great.” you poke your head out from behind him, smiling as you met his gaze in the mirror once again. it was hard for him not to immediately match your smile, the light in your eyes already brightening the dawn of the day. so he didn’t bother to fight it as his lips lifted upward. “our first night together in the apartment.”

“our apartment.” he quickly corrected, his palm patting your hand soothingly.

“our apartment.” you repeat. you pivot so you’re next to him, lightly bumping his hip with yours so he’d step to the side, giving you some room in the cramped space. you reach over and grab your toothbrush, the very one he was so caught up in only moments ago.

the quiet space now filled with life as you start your morning routine. he resumes brushing his teeth, watching each step you take.

how could something so mundane fill him with such joy?

your pretty eyes meet his in the mirror once again as you start brushing, slightly widening them in surprise under his watchful gaze.

and you were just so cute, sleep still clinging onto your sweet features as if you were internally fighting to stay awake. the two of you had plenty of sleepovers prior to you moving in, but this felt different.

this was the start of your lives together.

and it made him happy. so happy that he couldn’t help but chuckle, watching your face scrunch up at the strong minty toothpaste he used.

you couldn’t hold back your laughter either, lovingly looking at him through the mirror as your shared giggles fill the room.

if this was the first day to the rest of your lives together, he knew it would be filled with nothing but love. the kind of love he thought only existed in cliche movies and sappy poems. the kind in the bedtime stories his grandmother would read to him. the kind he found between the annotated pages of his father’s books.

but he found all of that within you, the love of his life.

thank you so much for reading :3

[vaaaaaiolet]

Six years have gone by since 1998. Two since the death of your first (and only) love. So when the dead come knocking at your door after your life went to hell without warning, you have a tough time welcoming him back in. In Leon's defense, his hands were tied. You? You'd put your life almost unforgivably on hold after he blindsided you.

Maybe the only way to get you to listen is to tie yours.

STRICTLY MDNI!! f / m make-up sex after a reunion gone sour. ANGST GALORE. established relationship but it's Messy, plot spans pre-re2r to re4r, character study (scar tour!!), Foreplay: The Movie, good bdsm etiquette...leon doms PLS STAY WITH ME. light bondage + blindfold, The Chair™️, munch MARATHON, emotions (read: LEON) keep edging you before an extremely self-indulgent dicking down. consensual unsafe sex, PRAISE, lil bit of mean ft. leon's possessive streak + morning after <3

a/n: anon req gone wildly wrong. welcome back to ovulation week with vivi, THE MOST UNORIGINAL BITCH ON THE PLANET 😭 i read a fic about getting tied to a chair and discovered something about myself. now i’m convinced daydreaming about bondage w/ leon is how i passed finals. oops. pray i survive second sem y'all🧍

word count: 6.3k 🤡 // read on ao3

“The heart has its reasons which reason does not know.” - Blaise Pascal

Like any good breakup scene, it starts with rain. 

A torrential downpour. Poseidon’s wrath lashing down the panes of your living room windows. The terrific sound of it is only drowned out by the hum of your TV set, the one source of light in this dark room and you, a moth to flame, circle it, afraid of getting too close lest you burn. 

The President’s on tonight. His daughter’s back safe and sound, having been spirited away to Spain. The press release is overjoyed to report that one indomitable man brought her back in a matter of days. President Graham declares it with a triumphant fist: an American hero stands in front of us tonight, and the crowd erupts in cheers for the First Daughter’s savior, but honest to God, you couldn’t give a shit about his heroics.

Not when Leon’s right there. Suited and tied. 

Or as close to living, breathing Leon as you could hope to get.

You inch closer to the screen when the camera pans over a face you haven’t seen properly in six years.

Sandy hair two shades darker, baby fat bereft on now-chiseled cheeks. It’s easy to pick apart the pixels of the man’s profile when he’s staring at the audience. Heart knocking against your ribs, you can’t help reaching out and tracing the angle of his jaw, this uncelebrated member of the President’s security entourage on national television who’s unknowingly subbing in for your once-boyfriend. Long-term, long-distance lover, if you wanted to flatter yourself. 

It doesn’t matter now. It’s getting late and dreaming should be done in bed. You reach for the remote to turn the prerecorded program off, and the rain starts falling – no, knocking – exceptionally harder against your front door. Urgently, like it wants in. 

And then the rain calls out your name.

The floorboards creak under your feet when you go to investigate through the peephole. A powder blue eye stares back.

“Who is it?” you call out, voice shriller than you’d like.

“Open the door, please? I’ll explain inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“I don’t let strangers in, sorry. Who are you?”

The rain answers in a familiar timbre that sends shivers down your spine. “Trust me, just this once.”

The doorknob clatters in surprise at the twist of your wrist, and swings open to reveal the man from your TV set, now escaped and peering at you through dewy lashes the pixels had hidden. Your eyes flit across his features: it’s the very same jawline, black suit identical to the one on your screen. Exactly the man your brain had tried hushing your heart from recognizing.

Your hold on the doorknob trembles.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Leon offers you a ghost of a smile as the storm pelts down his shoulders. “May I come in?”

“You watch the news a lot?” he ventures after a few minutes.

“Huh?”

Once the initial shock of Leon’s appearance subsides, something acrid settles in your bones. The silence between you two stretches like taffy waiting to be pulled. It sticks in your throat without much coming out to abate it. What else can you do when the dead rejoin the world of the living?

Make light conversation. You can do that. 

“Leon, I thought you died.” Or not.

He shoots you a half-grin. “I wouldn’t die on you just like that, you know.”

“You practically did,” you retort, voice going thick. 

You find old habits hard to break. It’s nothing new. You’re perched on the armrest of your couch, a familiar penchant Leon had smiled at when he shut the front door behind him. His habit of shaking his hair dry like a puppy also hadn’t gone away, much to the traitorous delight of your heart. You’d almost giggled when he accidentally sprayed you with rainwater doing it. 

Now, you’re watching him fold his suit jacket over one of your kitchen chairs with his back turned to you, an odd bulge in its left pocket threatening to send the whole thing crashing to the floor at any moment. Other secrets hang in the air like ghosts. Leon’s tie sits drying on top of your radiator. You think you should tell him to peel off his soaked dress shirt, he might catch a cold otherwise, but are you allowed to say that anymore? 

Worse still, why do you want to?

“I saw you on the news. That’s why,” you reply a beat too late. “You told me in your last letter that you were going to work for the government. Something to do with the President, and ever since then I…I turn it on when something big happens.”

Leon stops fiddling with his jacket, turning to you with wide eyes. “That was-”

“Two years ago?” You swallow. “I know.”

The letters sit burning holes in a box under your bed, all stamped and postmarked with no return address since 1998. The last day you’d seen him alive and breathing. 

Leon was the boy you’d hold hands with under desks in high school, a high school sweetheart as textbook as they come. You’d ditched prom to wish on shooting stars in the back of his first car, let him be the first to slip off your spaghetti straps when kissing grew too chaste to convey the giddiness in your chest. 

Puppy love turned into something perennial. Real. He’d carried moving boxes up the stairs of your first apartment, and you right after. You’d watched him rise through the ranks of the Academy. Cheered front row at his graduation, let him spin you in your highest heels right in front of your parents. Blushed when he’d squeeze your hand tighter walking past the jeweler’s at the mall. 

And you’d soaked Leon’s chest with tears before he rushed off to Raccoon City that September night so long ago, steely resolve in his eyes and a promise on his lips to come right back after doing his sworn duty.

Leon never returned. His letters did, though. 

Envelopes from seemingly nowhere – blacked out epistolary updates you’d read on your bathroom floor that grew briefer as weeks spiraled into months. 

What you could piece together from what wasn’t censored under an increasingly watchful eye was that Leon was under a government contract, fighting tooth and nail in some kind of training program that couldn’t have been any run-of-the-mill police kind. Something he had as little agency over as the frequency of his letters, he’d promised you. He was going to come home one day. Just one more month of training, one more mission, one last test. 

Leon was furious in his final message when he found out about the deal with the White House. The censor didn’t go through as much as it should have; you’d never been more grateful for the oversight as you tilted the page to read his scribbles in the margins.

Then came a terrifying radio silence. 

You waited each month afterwards for the postman to stop by your mailbox. Waded through a snowstorm in January to make sure the post office had your new address when you moved in 2003, practically begged the lady at the counter to check if they’d mixed up your letters with anyone else’s in the meantime. Nothing. 

“Two years, Leon,” you grit out, digging your nails into the leather of your couch. The tail end of his name takes on an ugly shape in your mouth when you rise to your feet, “I waited two years not knowing if you were alive or not.”

No one had answers to his disappearance except for the one you’d endured ever since he left: move on. 

The way he holds his tongue now, too, sets sparks alight in your throat. “And you want to know what happened to me since then?”

“Tell me,” Leon says softly.

Your voice falters. 

A dead man walking would take the breath out of you in any case, but it does even more so now that Leon looks larger than life – no longer an afterimage on TV and coming over to where you stand. Even with his shirt sleeves plastered to them from the rain, Leon’s arms look used to heavy duty; there’s a broadness in his shoulders he didn’t have out of the Academy. 

His mouth pinches when he stops a tentative foot away from you. “Tell me,” he repeats, frowning at your averted gaze. 

He’s waiting for you to speak. So close you could touch him, blood pumping through his veins just like you’d once prayed for until your breath ran out.

And it pisses you off. 

He doesn’t get to have it this easy.

“No.” 

Confusion colors his exclamation. “No?”

“No.” You smile bitterly at the ground when he backs off an inch, raising your chin to look him in the eyes as your own start to sting. “You don’t get to be the good guy. You don’t get to come barrelling back into my life, how’d you know I live here anyway…”

“I found out as soon as I could, you don’t think I’ve been worried sick about you-”

“Not after you cut me off!” 

“It’s not that simple!”

Two years. 730 days. Your throat so hoarse from crying the night before that you’d called off work some mornings. 

“You know what I think, Leon? I bet you thought I’d wait on you forever.”

He blinks fast, taken aback. “I wouldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you.”

“So you’d have come back even if I didn’t?”

Didn’t. A flicker of something soft crosses his face. “Really?”

With your heart beating out of your chest, you cross your arms and spit out a haughty, “Of course not.”

Leon stares.

The resulting silence stretches half a minute.

It’s a tepid standoff at first, made worse by you searching his person up and down. You wrack your brain for his old tells: a jumping muscle in his jaw, a furrow of his brow. Angry, pink cheeks accompanied by a crestfallen pout. 

Nothing. He’s dead silent.

So you double down. 

“My friends told me to settle down, said it wasn’t safe living alone,” you sniff, rocking on the balls of your feet. “So unless you-mmf!”

Lips, crashing onto yours. Burning warm. Two seconds of affection before a tongue flicks brashly over the seam of your stunned mouth. Your brain in overdrive. Leon no longer a foot away but pressed so fiercely against you that your camisole starts going see-through from the water still saturating his shirt. 

Your hands feebly come up to his chest, not to push him off like you should, but to cling to his collar. Old habit.

Fuck. 

“You’ve gotten mean, sweetheart,” Leon grins razor sharp, whispering into the corner of your mouth. “It’s a good look on you.”

“I’m not…” God, he’s kissing the sense out of your head. Your lungs suck in his breaths like a failed attempt to go cold turkey.

“Sure you are, lying to me like that. Watching the news just in case I’m there.” 

Rough hands dig under your thighs. Hoist you up like you’re made of feathers.

“Only your shoes on the shoe rack. Heels I bought you.”

Your feet dangle in the air, your head’s not used to the drop in air pressure this high. You’re being lifted – where? 

“You think I’m that dense, baby?” 

The sound of wooden scraping scratches your ears as you register one of your kitchen chairs being dragged to the middle of the living room. You’re plopped unceremoniously down. 

And with your vision swimming, you notice Leon finally taking off his shirt. Unbuttoning it with fervor, throwing the fabric onto the floor so hard there’s a wet thwack!, and suddenly, he’s knelt at your feet, looking up at you with teeth chattering from the chill and a blizzard brewing in his eyes.

The raging storm outside nearly quiets for him to tell you, “We’re gonna do it this way.”

A cocktail of resentment and curiosity churns in your stomach. You stare daggers at the ceiling. Leon snatches his tie off the radiator and wraps it around his hand, checking if it’s dry by now. 

It is. Good. 

“Since you don’t want to look at me so badly,” he hisses, “you won’t need to look at me at all.” He unfurls the tie and lays it flat against his palm. “This is going over your eyes so I can actually get something inside your head. And you’re going to feel everything I say, okay?”

“I feel cold. You got my shirt wet,” you spit back.

“Then take it off,” Leon says smoothly.

How rude. Utterly uncouth. 

You’ve never flung off an article of clothing faster. You’ve got nothing to hide, you’re fucking better than to play meek to his games. Your bra barely hides how your nipples pebble in the frigid air, and Leon sucks in a breath at the sight. You’re wearing blue lace. His favorite.

His tone softens a fraction of a degree when he instructs, “You say ‘stop’ and it’s over. Tell me you understand.”

“I do.”

The silk wraps gentler around your eyes than you expect. The living room disappears into velvet, and your fingers twitch, itching to fly at your face and investigate the cause of this new pitch black.

“Hands down. I need them more than you do.” 

Leon’s voice ripples in the darkness. Oh God. That must be why people do this sort of thing. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, almost in awe.

Fuckfuckfuck. He wasn’t supposed to tell this early. 

“...a little.”

Your hand gets lifted into the air, your index and middle fingers separated from the rest. Leon touches their tips to the hollow in the middle of his collarbone, and right here, you feel the flutter of life. Wingbeats matching the race of your own heart. 

So is he.

There’s movement, butterfly wings brushing against your cheek when he reaches up to press a kiss there. Your fingers fall away from the base of his throat and land on a raised patch just below his right shoulder. It’s…almost star-shaped. Rough. 

“You have a scar here,” you breathe. “How’d you-”

“Bullet wound, 1998. I want you to keep going.”

You could’ve dug your nails into it. Scratched off one more reminder of the day Leon left you in the dark. His tie leaves you blind, but you don’t need sight to feel the trust Leon still has in you as he invites your fingertips to his chest. You go gentle into the good night with his voice to guide you.

“Knife scar,” he whispers. Soft, like how you trace over the mark. 

Your fingertips shake over his ribs.

“Burns from saving a little girl. She had eyes like yours.”

The trek is arduous, nonlinear. The same injuries show up again and again, scattered across his body like fireworks. You think you’re fine, using one hand for the job and clutching the other to your heart so it won’t break, and then you slip, grab onto his shoulders for support, and your palms fall over the flat of his back.

Two symmetrical gashes spread across his shoulder blades – Icarus’ wings singed off.

“I’ve tried saving a lot over the years, sweetheart,” Leon goes quiet, a new grief clogging his flow of explanation. “Thought I could have it all at first, you and this job. I wrote you less, told myself you’d already moved on, but you’re right, I…I wanted to keep you.” You discover tears sound thick when he laughs. “I’ve lost so fucking much these six years and I don’t know why I can’t bring myself to lose you too.”

“The kids in high school,” trembles your own voice, “they said I’d run away with you, but you ended up running from me.” 

“When you’re all I have left?” Leon brings your palm to his cheek. “How could I?”

“But you did!” you sob, banging weak fists against his chest.

You remember the pity, the snide judgment. Declining invites and frustrating friends when you’d flake on blind dates set up to get you out of the house. Switching excuses every time somebody back home called and inevitably asked, So when are you and Leon going to visit? Warring against logic (of course he’s fucking dead) and the arrested development of your heart as you rolled dice on his return. Four years in a stupor of when, two of what now?

Spending all that time at odds with yourself and the world turned you into a real tough kid. A callous bitch. Eventually, you forced yourself to explore your options like a grown woman should. Tried your hand at anything legal to forget the sinking feeling in your chest. Had a phase where you’d wake up in a stranger’s bed only to go home and collapse, rereading Leon’s letters in the cardboard box under your own. If it was steel that marked his back like this, yours is streaked with flint.

And that’s exactly what you tell him. 

Immediately, his shoulders straighten. “So you’ve gone on a few dates.”

If he wanted to be polite about it, yes.

“Did they fuck you as good as I did?”

You splutter. A cold zephyr breezes over your breasts when Leon exhales. There’s a rattle of metal – his belt, you register faintly – and your eyes squeeze shut behind your blindfold when he rises from his kneel, leaving the space between your thighs empty. 

“That is one hell of a greeting after six years, sweetheart.” His chuckle is dark, delightful. “Hands behind your back.” 

“You’re not fucking arresting me right now, Leon, I don’t know what you’re playing at,” you squeak when he loops leather over your wrists. Annoyingly, they fit perfectly in his palm. “Have you lost your mind? You- I still can’t see!”

Leon’s hold goes still. “Is that a stop?”

You huff indignantly. 

He shakes your wrists. “I don’t mess with that shit. Do you want me to stop?”

“…no.”

“Good. Comfortable?”

Embarrassingly enough, the back of your kitchen chair isn’t half bad to have your arms around. Giving your newly bound hands a wriggle, you answer Leon with a quick nod, and he presses his lips to the back of your head in confirmation. He circles back between your thighs, a vulture in the dark. Your knees shove open courtesy of two calloused palms. 

“Lift your hips,” is your next instruction. And then, “These are coming off.” 

Your bottoms slide off in a fleeting caress down your legs. A cushion pushes between the surprised arch of your back and the chair’s straight one, leaving your bare, trembling- oh God. 

Oh God. He’s-

“You’re going to hold perfectly still and let me say hello to my favorite girl, sweetheart. Poor thing hasn’t gotten any attention since I’ve been spoiling you with all my talking.”

A kiss falls onto your clit. Your hips jerk up – oh shit! 

Leon seizes the opportunity to lick into your entrance before further coherent thought can form in your brain. 

He must’ve planned it, counting on your brainless reflexes to push your hips further into his scorching mouth. You get points for being brave, though: swallowing screams, pretending your thighs aren’t fighting to clamp around his head, attempting an escape to your happy place when really, this is it – this painstakingly sweet suction on your nerves.

He pops off with a wet smack! magnified by your blindfold. Slurs, “Missed this pussy so fuckin’ much,” dives back to trace figure eights around your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

You pretend the icy air is curling your toes for ego’s sake. Try and stave off morbid curiosity. “You…didn’t see anyone? All this time – hah!”

“Do you have any idea,” suck, “how many times I’ve come into my hand thinking of you?”

Your heavy head falls back with a wail.

“How many times I’ve fucked my fist to your name?”

“Leon!”

He pulls away at your keening cry, deaf to any begging to come back. “You just never know what’s good for you, baby. You don’t listen to your friends, you let me tie you up like this, fuck yourself on my face…” 

There’s rustling, and your living room bursts with color as a sharp tug untwists the knot of Leon's tie behind your head. You enter the world in tears all over again. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, I was so close-”

And when the darkness subsides, you’re free to lay eyes on the perpetrator. 

Leon.

Leon with his hair mussed to high heaven, pushed to his forehead by the greedy grind of your hips. Ocean eyes surveying you over a mouth flushed red with cheeks to match. A fallen angel at your feet, working his sinful tongue inside his mouth as he breathes.

Blood thumps through your veins. Your chest heaves. The chair is sticky, uncomfortable; entirely your fault. Your hands writhe behind your back as you struggle to sit up properly against the pillow and salvage some of your pride.

Leon’s gaze fixes on the floor. “I didn’t. Didn’t have time, didn’t want to. Whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, throat swelling with thorns, and he groans like you kicked him in the ribs.

He rises to his knees as you slump; reaches behind the chair to unbuckle your restraints, shaking his head. “Yeah, I should be. I put you through hell for six years. I came back from Spain expecting to introduce myself to your fiancé or something, you know? Should’ve brought flowers at least.”

A hot tear slides down your cheek. 

It was Leon. On the news. The President’s daughter, the rescue. 

The hero.

This is how you welcome a hero home?

Spying your arms wilted at your sides, Leon takes the opportunity to press his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. This time, it’s a warming salve when he kisses into your skin, unlatching only to move an inch and repeat, sucking roses the shape of his mouth onto the softest parts of you.

He rasps into your slick flesh, “Just let me have this, and I promise I’ll go.”

And he noses his way back into your folds, quickly giving up on flowery notions to feast like a man starved. You’re lulled to sleep by the lap of his tongue before he starts working it with the prowess of a Swiss knife, soothing and scalding in turns as it digs into your now oversensitive cunt. The scrape of his 5 o’clock shadow on your inner thigh makes for a maddening mix.

It all sends you crumpling over his head with a cry. 

His hungry hand pays no mind, scrambling under the lace of your bra to knead at your tender breast, thumbing at your nipple. You pay back the favor, fisting chunks of his hair as your arousal drips down his chin, and Leon’s thanks arrive in the form of guttural whines you’d forgotten you could wrench from him. 

So goes Leon’s last meal. You’d be enjoying it too if your brain hadn’t finally caught onto what came out of his mouth before he turned it into a decoy.

I’ll go.

Good luck fighting the itch to interrupt. 

You yank hard, and he moans complaint through a mouthful of pussy. “It’s not gonna work,” he gasps when you wrench his face from between your thighs, demanding explanation. 

“So you’re just going to walk out on me again?” you snap through a haze of tears. “What about what I want?”

“You want this?” 

Leon shoves your hands deeper still, wincing when he purposely digs your nails into his scalp. 

“Pull. Make it hurt,” he swallows, voice cracking. “Tell me to get the hell out. Tell me you hate me for breaking your heart. Find someone who’s in your life enough to love you right, and let me set you free, sweetheart, please. I can’t take it.”    

By all means, you should take his offer. 

Pull out every damn strand of hair on his head. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Go on for God’s sake. What happened to drinking yourself to half to death, trying to water down the fear that Leon beat you to its doorstep?

Think about never having to wake up to the cold side of your bed again. Don’t think about how perfectly Leon’s cheek cradles into your thigh. How he lets you map the moles on his neck when you have trouble falling asleep.   

Finally having a shoulder to cry on, someone who sweeps you off your feet, inside jokes that confuse everyone but you two. Forget how Leon won your heart as a teenager doing exactly that. 

Getting called pet names that make you blush in front of your friends: baby, angel, darling, sweetheart. Don’t you dare imagine each one rolling off Leon’s tongue the first time he crowned you with them.

Do not, above all circumstances, remember that wrapped in your arms right now is the boy who, after saving the President’s daughter all by himself, ran back to you within hours of his return. Who’d waited for you in his own way.

Your hands drop to cup his cheeks. Wetness makes your thumbs slip when you brush them across — the rain had to have dried off long ago. And with eyes misting shut, you thread your fingers as tenderly as you can through Leon’s hair, and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“You’re really doing this?” Leon’s whisper wavers a decibel above hope.

Hotel citrus stings your nose, and you wonder how long it’ll take to replace it with the scent of your shampoo. 

You’ve missed this. Missed him. 

“The clearance I have after this mission, it’s insane,” he’s twenty-one again at the touch of your lips, gushing in disbelief over his badge coming in the mail with you at the kitchen table, “I-I couldn’t believe I got them to let me go right after the press release. Alone! I can’t be home all the time but it won’t be like before, I can actually come back, and if you want me to-”

But unfortunately, the relentless throb between your legs forces you to school your expression into anything except elated at the unfolding prospects.

“Leon.”

His grin flashes white. “Yeah?”

“If you came back just to eat me out, I’ll kick you out for real.”

It must be fun, you gripe, thinking straight without soft breaths fanning embers between your legs like a sadistic bellows for the past ten minutes; ruining your cushion beyond hope of wash or repair. 

Leon lets out a barking laugh, head thrown back, and aghast, you bat at his chest. 

“Mean really is a good look on you. You don’t want to talk details?” he teases, pulling you in for a kiss that tastes like desire – like you.

“Not when you’re- you know-” you splutter, antsy.

“Oh, come on. Say it.”

“You used to be nice to me!” 

Sadly for you, you’ve kissed him giddy, and giddy turns him cocky real fast. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want if you tell me, angel. Four words.” He grins, tucking a hand between your thighs to interrupt your squirming and raising the other to count, “‘Leon. Please…’”

“Fuck me already!” you cry, and it’s three, but he sweeps you up in a blur of limbs anyway.

Bra strap falling off your shoulder. His mouth sealing onto yours. Pussy sobbing for attention over the crotch of his dress slacks. Leon groaning at the feeling of you soaking through fabric covering a held-off arousal so hard there’s no way it doesn’t hurt. His endurance training had come in handy, it seems.

There’s a blind fumbling in the dim light as he grits out a “Gladly,” and stumbles out of your living room in a mad rush, sacrificing his shoulder to several walls for the sake of kissing you breathless.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking like Bambi. You sure you can make it?”

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t take me to bed right this second…” 

“And here I was trying to be nice. Bedroom?”

“On the right,” you pant, clawing his mouth back onto yours again. 

He follows through, no reconnaissance training needed to find the door you direct him towards with your foot. Either the heat’s better here, or it’s every cell in your body buzzing with anticipation when he flicks the nearest lamp to life. You pull him onto the bed with you, silk sheets caressing your bare skin as you scooch to make space for Leon to crawl up and over you. 

The sharp rasp of a fly zipping undone cuts through the air. He hisses in frustration, patting his pockets. “Shit, I don’t have a-” 

“Condom?”

“Yeah. You still keep them in your nightstand?”

You worry your bottom lip. “Not for a while, I haven’t, um, done anything in a bit, but I’m on the pill and I’m clean.” Please, please, don’t let this be a dealbreaker. “Is…that okay?”

“Holy shit.” Leon whooshes out a breath, grinning as he leans back on his knees. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

It’s a go. Your stomach swoops with rollercoaster adrenaline.

He balls up his slacks, kicks off his sodden boxers (your chest puffs with pride as he tosses it to the floor), and parts your trembling legs painstakingly slow in comparison. Sharp eyes rove over the love bites littering your thighs, admiring his handiwork. You bite the inside of your cheek, devil on your shoulder itching you to tease, and let your hands skitter across over the juncture of your thighs where Leon’s focus lingers.

“Spread yourself for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You do. Let your fingers dip into your arousal, gasp at the cold air kissing your folds when you bloom for him. Roses all over your thighs when you’re his prettiest one. He leans down and kisses the bud at your center, sending the most pleasant electric tingle running up your spine. 

“You promised,” you whine, craning your neck to see his face framed between your thighs again. “Need you inside. Please.”

For once, Leon indulges you, but not without himself too. 

“Turn over for me. Oh, I know,” he coos at your pout and the upset buck of your hips, “give me a chance, angel. I’ve been dreaming of this for years. Planned out every fucking detail.”

You flip over with a huff. One broad palm lifts your pelvis into the air, easy as anything, and the other slips a pillow between your thighs, making sure the plump cotton nestles right up against your swollen clit. You give your hips a tentative grind and promptly gasp at the shot of pleasure. Friction at your command, leaving Leon free to run wild.

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Good?”

“Mhm...”

You face the headboard, stomach to the sheets and blood roaring in your ears. Blind again to what he has in store for you. Slick pumps sound from behind – Leon finally planning to make good on his word – and the head of his cock nudges at your weeping entrance, teasing the now-fraying nerves lining your slit, so close to where you need him that your breath audibly catches.

He waits. Pulls your strings taut –

Hisses, “I’m gonna fuck out every memory of anyone you’ve been with while I was gone.”

– and cuts them loose.

Your scream ricochets off the walls when he plunges in.

It shouldn’t be pretty. There’s nothing pretty about the haze of green that clouded Leon’s vision for a selfish second while yours was at his mercy not long ago. Your one-night stands translated to competition in his head. He’s only a man. But there’s something undeniably pretty about the divine arch of your back that has him spellbound when your cunt swallows him to the root in a single go, suffocatingly sweet.

“Goddamn, you’re tight!” 

Leon’s fingers sink into the fat of your hips as he fights for balance. You’ve got a mattress to claw; he’s only as stable as his pride. He lets you catch your breath after the first thrust, has your addled brain waxing poetic when you swear you feel his dick throb in time with his heartbeat inside you. 

It doesn’t help that he’s got a mouth on him. “Pussy sucking me in like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he gasps when you clench.

Your fingers curl proudly into your bedsheets. 

It’s a game of push and pull from here. Leon’s hips drag back, and with all the agony of too many nights with his right hand and your name for company, he starts carving into the meat of your ass. 

You make a strangled noise, and eventually improve to, “Oh, ohmy- ohmygod!”

He can’t keep his hands off you. They span your lower back, cup your breasts in turns, explore the drenched underside of the pillow you rut against in time with his thrusts. You’re handled with just enough precision to keep you speared on his dick, all so Leon can watch, gobsmacked, how your drooling pussy opens up for him. In-out, in-out. A scene out of his wet dreams.

Your cries syncopate with the slam of his thighs against yours, an embarrassing, pornstar-worthy, “Ah-ah, ah-ah!” that you’d have more shame over if you weren’t busy getting the brains fucked out of you. 

Leon realizes the beauty of the present tense with each inch of his length you coat in your arousal over and over again. 

“Look so pretty taking me like this, my perfect girl, doing so fucking good, look at you…” 

The pressure building in your stomach rears its head. Threatens to push you over.

“I missed you so much,” you sob into the sheets, “so fucking much, I can’t, I don’t know how to- oh!” 

“Won’t leave you ever again,” Leon pants, tilting your chin so he can see your pretty face. “Never- oh my God, you’re close, aren’t you?”

Call it intuition, instinct. If you were close before, Leon’s fingers rushing to your clit cement your theory; he’s never been wrong about it, even as a rookie.

Your hands scramble to claw at the back of his neck.  

“Fuck, you are!” he exclaims.

Home stretch. Leon’s hips threaten to stutter, so he sinks his teeth in your shoulder in a desperate bid to keep them steady. 

For you, the pain of it is primal, flavored with a need for connection that has you groping blindly to lace his fingers through yours. Instinct all over again. 

For Leon, it’s how you kept him going all this time; you’ll keep him grounded now. He’s not going to last otherwise. 

You listen, face planted to the bed. Wait for the last thread to snap, for Leon’s gasp at the final flutter of your cunt around him. Your orgasm doesn’t come in a babbling, sputtering, break of the sound barrier, no – it comes as a gentle push.

A trust fall off the edge with Leon right behind.

You see bright light. Nothing of the abyss you plunged into when he left. There’s a jerk behind your navel, and pleasure starts curling upwards from your stomach like the licking of a comfortable fire. Your ears pop from the ecstasy flowing through your veins and it’s almost as if you can hear its crackling embers right here, right now as Leon fits so perfectly inside you. 

In and out. In and out. In-out, in-out. You breathe, and he breaks. 

He spills into you warmer than sunshine. Molten gold, filling your cracks like kintsugi. The air admits, “I love you”, having trouble telling apart which of you said it first.

He’s got a week on his hands. A week of wonders stretches in front of you, seven whole days to figure out how this new arrangement will work. 

“It’s as much as they’d let me call off on such short notice, but we’ll take it from there,” Leon murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

He’s back in your arms where he belongs. Morning peeks through your blinds with the sun’s face washed clean from last night’s rainstorm, and if you open your window right about now, you could say hello to all the flowers blooming in celebration. 

You can get to that later. You’ve got more pressing matters on your hands, like taking headcount of the constellation of moles dotting Leon’s chest and introducing yourself to the new ones. You have a feeling you’ll learn them by heart real soon.

“We can figure it out together,” you hum, content with your head propped against the headboard. 

An exhilaratingly real concept. 

“Together.” Leon breathes lightly. “Yeah.”

“And you know, I think that’s more than enough time to buy me real flowers.”

He chokes back a not-so-subtle cough. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“If you want to make up for how I’ll have to wear pants and turtlenecks to work for the next week, yes,” you poke into his chest, fighting the smile tugging at your lips.

“But you hate flowers! You say they always die on you!”

“No girl actually hates flowers, Leon!”

“At least I didn’t show up empty-handed. Give me a sec, sweetheart, I almost forgot.”

Leon pecks your forehead, slipping out of bed to pad to the living room. He comes back, having fetched his now dry suit jacket with the curious bulge still threatening to spill out of its left pocket, and hands it to you like a cat would a dead bird at your doorstep.

You give the creased clothing an unimpressed stare.

“Look in the pocket,” he insists, climbing back under the comforter.

You pull out a half-melted pack of Ferrero Rocher.

“Okay, well, they weren’t supposed to do that and I think I left them by the radiator…”

He’s lucky they taste just as delicious melted. You’ll have to give him a lesson in gifting before the holidays roll around because he’ll be here to celebrate them for the first time in six years – a thought sweeter than the chocolate-flavored kisses you peck onto his cheek. 

And in between the shining candy wrappers and Leon’s blond hair tickling your neck when he presses you into the bed again, this time, you think everything gold might just stay. 

fun (and spicy) fact about chocolate, and psst, find more of my work here!

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated, they keep fics from dying out <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/adornedwithlight

[charliemwrites]

Part 1

Finally finished this! I think I put way too much pressure on myself to get this just right and it gave me some major writer's block. Anyway, please enjoy!

Content: Wet dreams, Somnophilia (sort of), Identity Porn, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy (through dreams), Uncomfortable Situation, Pushy/Predatory behavior (brief)

“Bad dreams again?”

Drowsy and sluggish, you blink at your aunt. She’s as sleek and coiffed as always, pressed business attire and shiny hair. Shoulders back, spine straight. A woman people respect and heed without question.

Your mother’s voice whispers in your ear, that lovingly patronizing tone. See how professional she looks, dear? Isn’t that nice?

It’s not Aunt Katie’s fault though. She does look professional, and it is nice. It suits her.

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “They’re not bad, really. Just… intense.”

She hums, elegant fingers tracing the edge of your borrowed desk. “They can’t be very good if they’re keeping you up.”

You’re tired enough that you almost correct her a second time. The problem is that the dreams are too good. You wake up panting, sweating, halfway to – well. You’re not about to discuss the finer points of a kinky wet dream with your CIA aunt. Besides, it’s silly to get so defensive of something that affects you seemingly negatively.

“Maybe,” you reply, rubbing at your heavy eyes. It feels like you’re trying to look through clear jelly.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Aunt Kate suggests.

You frown, a pang of guilt striking your empty tummy. “No… no, I’m okay. It’s not even lunch yet.”

She smiles at you. The same fond smile she’s always graced you with, on holidays and birthdays, whenever she could escape the secretive walls and red tape to be with family.

“You’re already ahead on paperwork. You’re not a bad employee for getting a little sun.”

Your eyes flick longingly to the door.

Apparently, the government doesn’t believe in things like windows or sunlight. Your little desk is at the very end of a long, half-empty hallway in the middle of a concrete cube and drowning in awful blue fluorescence. You can’t even bring yourself to drag a plant to this crappy little island because you’d feel too guilty putting it through this.

“Okay… maybe just for a few minutes,” you allow.

Her smile widens as she nods for you to follow. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. I think the dogs will be free for some enrichment.”

Well, that certainly gets you out of your squeaky office chair.

Honey sunlight drizzles over your neck and shoulders, dripping syrupy-slow down your spine. It diffuses through your chest, chasing away the artificial chill of the office. The sleepy haze retreats like frost melting from glass.

You sigh into the fresh air, ignoring the tang of gunpowder lingering on the breeze, and turn your face to the sun. Summer is coming to an end, the heat broken into mellower warmth. There won’t be many days like this left before autumn bites down and shakes the leaves from the trees. A shame you’ll likely waste most of them in your administrative prison. 

The dogs stretch out in the grass around you, tongues lolling and eyes bright, keeping you company. A furry bouquet of black and tan in the manicured grass, their ears and tails like stalks to strange plants.

You bury your fingers in Zeus’s coat and get a fuzzy white tummy for your efforts. He’s a young and handsome thing, the newest addition to the K-9 unit, still a bit fluffy around the ears. You try not to think of how that will fade and harden, just like the older dogs in the unit, just like his human counterparts. Just scratch at that itchy spot by his ribs and smile when his hindleg kicks.

Friga stands and stretches on your right side, leaning her shoulder into yours. Then picks her way around the others to sniff at Zeus. Offended by her interruption, he flails onto his stomach and nips at her, one big forepaw thumping the ground.

She goads him into playtime, and you watch with the older pack members as they begin to romp. They tumble and grumble around you, heedless of bumping into any of the others. You laugh, bright and loud—

The back of your neck tingles.

You glance around, not even sure why. Until you see a figure across the field. He’s standing by the track where about two dozen men are jogging. Recruits, you guess. But he’s not observing them or barking orders. No, he’s clearly turned to face you. It’s too far to make out any features, apart from what seems to be an unusual haircut.

You quickly glance away, surreptitiously trying to determine if the man’s attention was on something else that happened to be in your direction. But there’s little else but you and the dogs in this field, the kennels noticeably off to the left.

Then again, someone sitting in the grass with half the K-9 unit is a bit unusual. He’s probably trying to decide if it’s something that needs investigation. You hope it’s not.

Still, you can’t shake the discomfiting sense that he’s looking at you.

You ignore him until it’s time for the dogs to go back - but that prickly feeling of being watched never subsides.

That night, in the guest room of your aunts’ house, the dreams take on new life.

It starts as it always does. A dark room. A lush bed. Silky sheets. Moonlight seeping through blinds like smoke. And him.

He’s behind you. A broad body so solid you’d think he was a wall if not for the heat. It’s so intense this time, like a wildfire raging out of control, crawling from his skin beneath yours. You sense more than feel the big hand around your jaw. Rough fingers clutch at the plush of your thigh. Hot breath fans across the back of your neck, rippling shivers down your spine.

There’s a voice in your ear. No words you can discern, just a thunder-deep rumble with smoky edges. Stubble scrapes the delicate skin of your neck and catches in your hair.

A thick, heavy cock is buried deep inside you, kissing the entrance to your womb. Your pussy twinges a sweet-sharp ache with each deliberate grind of his hips. He’s spreading you open to get as deep as he can, throbbing balls pressed up tight to your sopping entrance.

Your own hands are all but useless. One twists desperately in the sheets, the other clutches at the meaty swell of his ass. Pleasure upends anything like sense or thought, even hazy dream logic. There is just this man fucking you like he owns you, two of his fingers in your drooling mouth, petting your tongue. A ring clicks against your teeth.

“Found you,” he whispers.

You jolt, eyes flying open. The powder blue ceiling of your borrowed room greets you. You’ve kicked the cotton sheets into a tangled mess around your ankles, tiny shirt ridden up your chest. Your panties are soaked.

The taste of metal lingers behind your incisors.

It’s a busy day. For once, you’re free from the confines of your sad little nook. Aunt Kate must have taken pity on your sorry state the day before and has procured busy work. Files that need hand delivery, or physical reports for you to gather. You don’t care if it’s just something to get you out of the office, you relish the stolen moments outside between buildings.

If there’s a downside, it’s the glances you attract. Everything about you projects civilian, despite the access card prominently pinned to the lapel of your blazer. It draws curious once-overs at best and suspicious scans at worst – or speculative appreciation at the very worst. Every time a fresh-faced recruit or overly decorated middle-aged man lingers as you pass, you hear your mother’s voice again.

Don’t you know what those military men are like? Practically animals. I couldn’t possibly let you be exposed to them.

It’s long ingrained to keep your eyes forward, head level, and try to keep your hips from swaying as much as possible. You’re grateful for whatever bit of paperwork you can clutch to your chest, just to hide your figure and have something to do with your hands.

You’re picking up some personnel files from the infirmary, smile brightly at the receptionist as she passes them over. Mallory is only a couple years older than you, and she’s been working here a year already.

“Lunch in the mess today?” she asks, spinning a pen between her fingers.

“As if you even need to ask,” you tease. “Noon?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

She blows you a kiss as you leave, counting the number of files to be sure you have them all. Your eyes skim over one of the names, a white label on the folder fin. “MacTavish, J.” in blocky typewriter font. You shuffle them back into a neat stack and pivot for Aunt Kate’s office.

You’re not in the moonlit bedroom this time. A half-moon grins down from a starry sky, wearing smoky nebulas for lipstick. Beneath you lays cool grass and soft earth, rich and loamy in your heaving lungs. Petals blooming in the dark kiss your overheated skin, little relief for the burn in your veins.

The change in scenery is almost as dizzying as the man between your thighs. Almost.

But it’s not the dew-saturated breeze that muddles your bewildered thoughts. It’s the hot, wet, clever tongue lavishing your drenched pussy. He licks in broad stripes from your aching hole to your throbbing clit, only ever pausing to indulge a slow suck to the bundle of nerves, before resuming that hypnotic circuit.

One thigh is hooked over a wide shoulder, your heel dug into the flexing muscles of a broad back. The other is spread by a big, calloused hand, giving him unfettered access to the softest, neediest parts of you.

You mewl desperately, hand darting down to his bobbing head. Your nails scrape shorn stubble, eliciting a gravelly groan that sends electricity up your tingling spine. It’s nothing compared to the growl you earn when your fingers twist into the longer, soft strands at the top.

For the first time, you’re able to voice more than helpless moans and wanton whimpers.

“Please,” you sob softly, “please.”

You feel him smirking, a wicked curl against your fluttering cunt. Then he focuses the tip of that awful, dexterous tongue on your clit, flicking in purposeful little strokes.

M-A-

“S-so close,” you whine, hips twitching. He pins you flat, pace never faltering.

V-I-

You shudder as your pussy clenches and spasms, finally, finally—

You wake with a sharp sound, head spinning. Your orgasm washes away like the tide, leaving disappointment and exhaustion behind. You nearly scream into your pillow as you press your thighs together. Still half asleep, it even feels like you have beard-burn.

You’re in line at the mess with Mallory, listening to her complain about some rude colonel that just had to share his opinion about her acrylics. She does the best impressions, and you’re grinning and laughing as the two of you shuffle through the options. You’re reaching for a scoop of rice when the conversation behind you catches your attention.

“—came in a couple days ago.”

“The whole squad?”

“With Braveheart himself.”

A snort. “You better not let MacTavish hear you say that. He’ll—”

“Helloooo?” You blink at Mallory, who arches her brows and waves a bagel at you. “Want one?”

“Oh, uh… sure, why not,” you answer.

“Atta girl!” she cheers, tossing it in the toaster. “Carbs for days.”

You giggle but can’t help glancing behind you. The two men have already moved on though. Not that it was any of your business – or anything interesting. You’re not sure why that caught your attention. Men are just loud, you suppose, snatching a couple to-go packets of cream cheese.

As you’re leaving the mess, you happen to glance over your shoulder. A pair of sharp blue eyes catch yours from one of the tables. A group of men, just about to sit. Mallory tugs your shirt to keep you from clipping the doorjamb and you hurry after her.

There’s heat at your back. Not from a body this time, but a fire burning low and hot in a hearth. No, the body is in front of you this time, filling up your watery field of vision. Peachy skin and coarse dark hair, an old scar slashing across a sharp hip, miles of lean muscle.

Not that you have much opportunity to ogle with tears blurring your sight. The fat cock bullying the back of your throat makes it hard to do anything but choke. You dig your nails into a thick thigh and pull back, writhing your tongue along a puffy vein as you go. The leaking head rests on your drenched tongue as you catch your breath. Smoke and leather and musk saturate your lungs, cloud your empty head.

He smells so good; you don’t even like cigars.

A rough thumb caresses your cheek, a silent request for you to continue. You can practically feel the lust-drunk moans vibrating in his chest – so deep, they’re barely audible over the crackling fire.

You hiccup as deep a breath as you can manage and swallow him down again. He’s silky on your tongue, you sigh softly through your nose as the blunt head flirts with your gag reflex. You slacken your jaw despite the ache already crawling into the joint. Even then, your teeth scrape the base a bit, but that only makes him twitch against your soft palate.

“Look here, love.”

Your lashes flutter as you try to focus your gaze, scrolling your eyes up his body. Most of the details are lost either in the haze of desire or the vagary of dreams, but the blue eyes that greet you are sharper than real life.

You jolt back to consciousness with a dry cough, the scent of him still haunting your senses. You stumble to the restroom for water. Don’t even realize that you’re glancing in the mirror over your shoulder, expecting someone to be there, until you realize you’re alone.

Oddly bereft, you trudge back to bed and try to focus on the clean soap smell of your aunts’ detergent.

In moments like this, it’s hard not to blame yourself.

Not because you’ve done anything wrong, or even feel like you have. It’s because the situation is so frustratingly out of your control that it’s almost easier to tell yourself that one decision or another would have avoided this outcome. A sharper response, a frown instead of a smile, a different walking route.

(There’s also your mother’s voice, always. Saying to be smart, to pay attention, to not “put yourself” in a vulnerable position. You silence that voice viciously this time.)

Still, the fact of the matter is, there’s no personal choice you could have made to keep Corporal Callahan from cornering you in this supply closet. You just wanted a box of tissues.

“Look, I know you’re Agent Laswell’s niece, but I don’t see why we can’t go out because of it,” he reasons. As if that’s the reason you’ve been trying to gently dissuade his attempts.

“It’s not that—” you begin, shifting. He’s standing too close, but you refuse to back yourself any deeper into this tiny space. The doorway is right there, he’s just taking up all of it.

“Then just say yes,” he chuckles. His tone is all smooth and easy, meant to be charming maybe? “Just one date, that’s all I’m asking.”

Except you’re not asking, you think with helpless frustration. The sharp words get trapped behind your teeth, cutting up the roof of your mouth. Your heart is beating so hard and loud you can barely hear his “romantic” overtures.

“I’m not really…” You’re not even sure what to say this time; you’ve already told him you’re not looking to date. He’d said some vaguely predatory line about changing your mind.

In the absence of a finished statement, Callahan takes the opportunity to continue cajoling.

“C’mon,” he sing-songs, “I’m not letting you out of there until you say yes.”

You pry your jaw open, about to agree to it just for the sake of getting free. Deal with the fallout later.

There’s a rush of air and suddenly the doorway is empty. You briefly see Callahan against the opposite wall, face blank in unpleasant surprise. Then a big body blocks your view of him. Broad, bunched shoulders and thick thighs. A shock of brunet hair shaved close at the sides and long at the top. Your entire body locks up.

“You come near her again, they won’ stop findin’ pieces of ya, aye?” A growl, low and rough, Scottish accent thick. You shiver.

Callahan stutters something, a few garbled syllables through a strained and winded voice. You think you might hear “captain” in there somewhere. The bigger man shifts, you hear a muffled thump – Callahan hitting the wall again, you think. Then, with seemingly no effort, your savior tosses Callahan to the side like trash. He stumbles, catches himself.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid.”

Callahan flicks one last frightened glance your way then hurries off, proverbial tail tucked between his scrawny legs. You don’t even watch him go, eyes glued to the stranger’s muscular back. He rolls his wide shoulders, cracks his neck, and finally turns.

Familiar blue eyes pin you in place as he steps closer. The scent of cigar smoke and leather teases your nose.

A voice you’ve known for months rumbles in his chest. “Found you.”

Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[blastoqueen]

Sunrise.

Chapter 4

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationships: Noa x Mae (Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes)

Content warnings: None

Comments: English is not my first language. The chapter problably has a lot of bad english, but in my defense I wrote this with a terrible headache. Anyway this doesn’t have a lot of plot, I just wanted to write something sweet between them

When Noa looked at Mae, the first thing that came to mind was her eyes. Bright blue, looking deep into his soul. Next thing he thought of was her long hair, entangled and dirty, he often wanted to tell her that she should just cut it all.

“If you are going to be a hairless being, do it right” he never dared to say those words out loud, but the need was strong.

There was a part of him, a confusing and strange part of him, that wanted to touch the brown hair and detangled every not. He has seen Mae do that with her hands.

It had been two weeks since Mae settled in the village. Noa never told the human, but it took a lot of convincing and yelling for the elders to accept her permanently into their clan. He felt almost embarrassed when he had to make an announcement to the rest of the apes, telling them that Mae was a part of them now, and that they should respect her as long as she did her part in the community. Of course, there were disagreements, but eventually most of them came to accept the Echo in the Eagle Clan.

“But going back to her hair…”

------------

“Why only females… come with you?” Soona asked Mae. They were at the lake, getting clean.

“Actually, humans don´t shower next to each other… ideally” the human responded.

“Why?” Case, Soona´s friend interrogated.

“We are shy”

Mae removed her clothes and step into the water, joining the other two females, who were fighting playfully.

“Are you mom?” Case asked.

���What?”

“Your chest”

Mae felt self-conscious, she braced herself, covering up her breast and looking away.

“No, I´m not a mom”

“Oh. Echo thing then”

Soona pinched her friend.

“Chest is big” Soona explained, trying to get Mae out of her shy shelf “Only moms get chest that big… to feed”

“Oh” the human girl said, she uncovered herself, starting to scrub the dirt out of her skin “Yeah, for humans is normal. Most girls have this. You don’t have to be a mom”

They continued getting clean, and when they were done, they relaxed in the grass, watching the sunset.

“I know nobody… sees beauty in you” Case said “but I do. I think you are… pretty”

Mae stayed silent for a few seconds, not sure if she should feel offended.

“I see the beauty too” said Soona “Your body… is different, hairless, thin. But there is beauty… in that. Even if you… are not like ape”

The human smiled, she felt safe, appreciated, loved.

She felt also pretty. And that was nice

--------

“Where were you, Mae?!” Noa asked. He came running to her and almost hug her. Luckily, he stopped in time “Hair is wet”

“Calm down. I was taking a shower, with the girls” Mae said, almost ignoring him and passing by him

“What? You took shower recently” the ape started to follow her into her room in one of the towers.

“Yeah, humans need to shower often. Be grateful, otherwise you would be begging me to take a shower”

When they got into her shared room, she stopped him right at the entrance.

“Goodnight Noa” she said with a smile. This would be fun.

“Wait what?” the male got confused, she wasn’t going to let him in? Maybe chat a little bit like other nights?

“I share this room, Noa. I can´t just invite a boy whenever I want” she had this grin on her face… the ape catch on her game.

“Oh, I see. Well, if I cannot come in, maybe you should come out” he responded back, leaning into the wall.

“And go where?” Mae asked with a funny smile.

“You´ll see”

“Would there be climbing? You know I prefer walking”

“Do not worry. We take horses” he said. Mae closed the door of her room, ready to follow the Eagle Clan leader.

She started to walk when a hand stopped her.

“And by the way, if we climb, just get on my back, Echo” Noa whispered in her ear.

-------

“Are you allowed to run away in the middle of the night?” Mae asked.

They were in a green field with knee-length grass walking under the moon light and a torch.

“I am not running away” the ape said distracted, looking down to the grass, concern in his face.

“What´s wrong?”

“They should be dancing”

“What?”

“I wanted to show you the lighting dancers”

Mae stared at the ape. Was he loosing his mind?

“Wait!” Noa spoke “They are here”

Right when the girl was about to make a sarcastic comment, a firefly emerge from the grass, shining bright. Then, more of them started to fill the air. Dancing.

“Have you seen one of these?” Noa asked her

“No. I read about them. But I have never… woah”

The human watched fascinated how those little insects were producing light and just flying around, illuminating the dark night. It was truly amazing.

“Thank you for showing me this” Mae said with happiness.

“Anytime”

The fireflies kept dancing and Noa kept falling.

[jq37]

Aelwyn is sixteen and preparing for midterms at Hudol. Uniform pressed and starched, head full of incantations and spell components. She doesn't mean to bump into Adaine and get orange juice all over her shirt but today isn't the day she's going to start showing weakness.

"You know, you really should watch we're you're going," she says archly, playing off the clumsy mistake as a purposeful jab.

Playing it off a bit too well because, the next thing she knows, Adaine is flipping her off and a bolt of queasy looking, green energy is coming towards her. Ray of Sickness. And she can't spare the spell slot for Counterspell because she needs it for her exams.

"You little bitch!" Aelwyn says once she's emptied the contents of her stomach down the front of her shirt.

"Good luck with your exams," Adaine says sweetly.

Aelwyn is eighteen and the oldest, mangiest cat she's ever seen in her life has just vomited on her shoes.

"My," she says, casting a shield spell around her ankles to stop the cat from clawing at them. "You weren't kidding. He is a little bastard, isn't he?"

The shelter volunteer looks mortified. "Oh, gods! I am so sorry. I tried to warn you--I mean, not that I'm blaming you but--"

"No, it's alright. I did ask you to show me stragglers."

The shelter worker gestures to another pen on the other side of the room. "I can show you the kittens we just got in or there are some very well behaved older cats as well if you'd--"

But Aelwyn cuts her off, scooping up the old cat--though she holds him at arm's length for now, just to be safe. "No need. I haven't changed my mind. I'll take this one." She looks at the tag on his collar. "Hector."

Aelwyn is three and, as of a month ago, no longer the youngest Abernant.

She's had baby dolls in the past but never a baby sister and this is exciting new territory. She's full of questions. When is she going to be able to walk? When is she going to be able to talk? When will she be old enough to have lembas bread instead of formula?

Her parents seem less fascinated by the new addition to the family than she is but her mother is amused when she slaps away the hand of a colleague of her father's who tried to touch Adaine before sanitizing his hands, standing between the much larger man and her sister.

"So defensive. Perhaps she'll be an abjurer."

When Aelwyn asks what that is, her mother says that it's a kind of magical protector and she likes that a lot. That sounds like a good thing to be.

At night, Adaine cries. Except, she doesn't hear it because the mobile above her crib is etched with runes that cast the Silence spell.

"But what if she gets hurt?" Aelwyn asks.

Her father brushes her off. That's what the Unseen Servants are for. But she thinks that's what an abjurer might be for too and even though she isn't one yet, that doesn't mean she can't start practicing.

So, every night, Aelwyn waits until her parents have put Adaine down for bed and then tiptoes into her room. She checks to see if Adaine is silently wailing and if she is (and even sometimes if she isn't) she presses her face between the bars of the crib and sticks her little hand over Adaine's face.

"Don't cry," she says, even though the Silence spell mutes her words as completely as the tears. "Mum said I'm an abjurer. Nothing will get you. Don't cry, baby."

Adaine grabs her hand with impressive grip strength for something so small and, within a few minutes, she's trancing peacefully.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her sister is off to save the world again. This time from a Night Yorb--whatever that is.

It feels cruel that Adaine should have to go risk her life again so soon after she just almost died--not almost died, she did die before being raised by her cleric.

She wants to come with, to help in some way. Surely she could be helpful--last quest they brought Gilear for Helio's sake!

But Adaine doesn't ask her and she can't bring herself to say the words she needs to have the conversation she wants. So, instead, she lightly whaps Adaine on the shoulder with her spellbook as she's packing for the quest.

"I know you haven't done much studying lately what with your grades being based on how many hobgoblins you kill or whatever ridiculous system Aguefort has cooked up," Adaine rolls her eyes at that, "But if you don't mind a little cram session before you leave tomorrow, I can show you how to cast Teleport like I said. Might help you stay a touch less dead on your quest."

Her tone is light but her eyes betray her: Please, please, please don't die again.

Adaine's expression softens but then she scoffs, playing her half of their game. "I don't know what a Hudol dropout who's been in jail for the past year is gonna teach me but do your best."

Aelwyn is seven and her father is cross with her.

"Really Aelwyn," he says and even though they're talking via crystal she can feel the frost of his glare. "You thought it was appropriate to call me at work for no good reason? How many times have I told you and your sister to not bother me while I'm working."

She hates the word bother. She doesn't want to be a bother. She tries very hard not to be. Maybe she just didn't explain herself well enough.

"I know, father. But Addy got really scared and panicky on the playground. She was breathing really hard and--"

Her father makes a noise of disgust. "I don't have time for this. She is in primary school now. Stop coddling her. And her name is Adaine, not Addy. Please speak properly. I'm raising you better than that."

He hangs up before she can say anything else.

Aelwyn is eighteen and most of the claw marks on her arms have healed, which is nice. On her lap asleep is Hector who has apparently decided he likes her enough to use her as a radiator but not enough to submit to medical treatment without using her arms as a scratching post.

"You little heat vampire," she says as she slides her thumb across the screen of her crystal, searching for a video that will help her out. Eventually she finds one that looks promising and she calls it up.

On the screen, a halfling is standing next to a cat who is actively shredding her sweater with its claws. "You're going to be tempted to use some kind of a shield spell when applying the ointment," says the halfling. "But cats can smell abjuration magic and they don't love it. You won't get close enough to do the job. Isn't that right my darling?"

In response, her cat hacks up a hairball.

"Darling indeed," she says under her breath.

But even laced with sarcasm, the word is sweeter against her tongue than she anticipated.

She sinks her hand into Hector's fur and scratches his back for a few moments before tentatively speaking aloud. "Sleeping well, my darling?"

Hector says nothing--he's asleep and a cat. But warmth blooms in Aelwyn's chest--more than enough to make up for what Hector is leeching from her.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her father has just given her the most horrible command she's ever received in her life--and she's counting being made to sink a ship full of people in that calculation.

She knows her father doesn't expect her to delicately extricate the knowledge he needs from Adaine's mind. He expects her to get it at all costs. To ransack and pillage the memories if necessary with no heed of the consequences on her psyche. He'd probably prefer it that way--the more broken Adaine is, the easier it will be to mold her into a version of herself that is more useful to him.

Aelwyn is usually a smooth talker and a convincing liar but now, she stumbles all over her words, babbling out a stream of deflections and pleas as her heart squeezes tighter and tighter in her chest until she can't hold back the truth that she's been suppressing for years anymore.

"Adaine's just…she's a baby."

Aelwyn is eighteen and her apartment is full of cats.

She's always thought that the phrase, "One thing led to another" was a bit of a cop out--clearly there were key steps between point A and point B being glossed over--but in this case, there is truly no better way for her to articulate how she went from zero cats to ten cats in such a short amount of time.

She's sure that if she was still living with Jawbone, he'd have something to say about it but that's exactly why she isn't currently living with Jawbone.

She portions out food for all of the cats, saving Hector for last because he likes to eat curled up next to her.

"My darling baby boy," she says, lifting him onto the couch with her because the jump up is a bit much for him and his old bones. She kisses him on the top of the head and then pulls out her crystal. She scrolls mindlessly for a bit before checking her messages despite the fact that there's conspicuously no notifications.

Not that she has many people to expect texts from but she hasn't heard from Adaine in a few weeks and it's unsettling. When they weren't getting along, they were still living under the same roof. She was able to keep tabs on her, more or less. Now, they're closer than they've been in ages but barely talking.

I'm the older sister, I suppose, Aelwyn thinks. I should take the initiative.

She pets Hector with one hand and drafts a message with another: Are you alive, bitch?

She's about to press send but then she frowns and deletes the draft. After a few moments of thought, she taps out a new message: Can't believe I'm gonna say this. Miss my little sister. Everything all right?

Aelwyn is seventeen--though she doesn't feel like it.

Her mind is telling her that she's sixteen and that she was just been broken out of a jail cell in Solace but Adaine is telling her that she's just been broken out of an entirely different prison after being tortured for months even though she doesn't remember any of that.

But her body feels frail and Adaine says she's been in her mind which means she must have used the hard reset.

She's suddenly feeling very vulnerable--not because of the disorientation or the of the levels of exhaustion she can feel weighing on her like leaden chains. No, it's because of the fact that Adaine using the reset means that she must have read the treacle-y note that she left there for her to find.

It was just an insurance policy, she tells herself. There was wisdom to buttering up your savior to make sure she'd do what you needed her to do.

She manages to mostly believe it. But the small, truthful part of herself that knows how deeply she meant the words is so uncomfortable that she antagonizes Adaine until she's annoyed enough to hit her with a spell, sending her into blissful unconsciousness.

Aelwyn is nineteen and she's going to kill her mother.

Well, not alone of course. Adaine deserves the kill at least as much as she does if not more. It'll be a group effort.

It's a strange mix--the cold fury at her mother mixed with the warmth she feels for her sister, sitting across the table from her. She summons a flame to her palm, a preview of what their mother has waiting for her. She watches Adaine's eyes harden with resolve and she sees the face of her baby sister, left to wail alone silently for hours, soothed by her presence. "Let's get her."

"Yes, my dear," she says, the endearment coming freely as if this has always been their dynamic. "We'll get her."

But there will be time for that later. Right now, it's time for ice cream and seeing Adaine so content in such a simple pleasure causes the warmth in her to surge so suddenly that it would be startling if it wasn't so pleasant. The urge to voice it is so powerful that she doesn't know that would have been able to stop it at any point in life, let alone now.

"I hope we get to eat ice cream and cast magic forever," she says, words that would have been impossible for her to say one short year ago and impossible not to say now.

And, to her delight, Adaine agrees.

[enderlovez]

Advent Calendar

Spencer Reid x Kindergarten Teacher Reader WORD COUNT: 628

Summary: You've always been the kind of teacher who goes out of her way to make sure her students have a good time, so it's no surprise to Spencer when he finds you awake in the middle of the night making little advent calendars for your kindergarteners.

Content Warning: literally none, this is so cute

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Your hands are smothered in glitter and paint and globs of colorful glue, some even beginning to dry on your clothes and into your hair as you keep absentmindedly pushing loose strands out of your face.

Spencer thinks you look absolutely adorable, as you struggle to assemble a tiny paper reindeer, tongue poking out in concentration, but he knows you wouldn't appreciate having glue stuck in your hair.

You're not yet aware of Spencer's presence in your apartment, since he came in using the spare key you gave him a few weeks ago.

The faintest creak of the floorboards across the room pulls your attention away from the paper reindeer, fingers freezing mid-glue as you look up and settle your gaze on Spencer.

"Don't mind me," he says, his voice laced with quiet amusement. "I'm just observing a master at work."

You jump to your feet, cheeks already heating. "What are you doing here?" you question frantically, wiping your glittery hands on your shirt—something to worry about later.

He holds up the spare key, his lips twitching into a small smile. "You mentioned you were doing something for your class. Thought I'd stop by to check on you."

"Check on me, or make fun of me?" you retort, brushing a stray bit of glitter off your face—though it only works to smear the sparkles further, eliciting a frustrated groan from the back of your throat.

"Both, maybe," he teases, stepping closer and tucking the key safely into his pocket. His gaze quickly sweeps over your workspace—the piles of tiny candies, neatly folded ribbons, and mismatches piles of construction paper. "You really go all out for your kids, don't you?"

It's not even really a question, because Spencer already knows you do. This isn't the first time he's visited you in the midst of creating something special for your students.

You shrug, the defensiveness melting from your voice. "They deserve it," you murmur as you drop back down onto the couch. "It's just... nice to give them something to look forward to. Some of them don't have the same privileges as others."

Spencer nods, his expression softening as he kneels to your level, inspecting the chaos. "You've got paint in your hair, by the way. And glitter," he points out, lightly tugging at a stray, glitter-dusted lock.

"Great," you mutter, grabbing for a damp cloth you set aside in advance, but Spencer stops you with a chuckle.

"Leave it. It suits you."

The warmth in his tone tends a flutter through your chest. He reaches past you to pick up one of the fifteen half-finished advent calendars, his long fingers careful not to smudge your work—and a lot of work it is. "You know, statistically, kindergarten teachers are some of the most dedicated professionals in their field."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "And statistically, how often do FBI agents barge into their girlfriends' apartments in the middle of the night to watch them drown in glitter?"

Spencer grins, setting the drying calendar back down. "I think you're a unique case."

You narrow your eyes at him in mock offense, but the smile forcing its way onto your face gives you away.

"Well, don't just stand there and watch, Doctor Reid. Grab some scissors and glitter," you say, resuming where you left off on the little paper reindeer. "If you're going to interrupt, you might as well help."

His eyebrows lift in false surprise, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he plops down beside you on the sofa, his own hands soon joining yours in the mess of paper and glue and glitter.

He's much more efficient than you in terms of how quickly he can put together a tiny paper reindeer, is all you have to say about the experience.

[777heavengirl]

voulez-vous

remus lupin x reader one-shot ! warnings: none (?) word count: 4,083 masterlist

        It was hard to look at him sometimes. To be fair it was also incredibly hard not to look at him. Remus and his sandy brown hair, the way he always shot you a sweet smile and even sweeter words. You could never tell if he just said them to get a rise out of you, but you hoped they were sincere nonetheless. The thin scars that crossed his face, his body. You would like to trace them with your fingers if he laid his head on your lap. 

It was more difficult to tear your face from his face than it was to brew polyjuice potion. He wasn't as attention-seeking as his friends. He was soft and mild-mannered, but you knew he was secretly just as destructive, snappy, and naughty as the rest of the Marauders. He teased you often, the words rolling off his tongue sweetly but they always poked at you. But his presence always caught your attention. It was like an unspoken competition of who would give in first. It was a competition with grades and ability and who could get a rise out of the other. 

His careful doll's and cheeky smiles during defense against the dark arts as you walked up to duel never failed to make your belly flutter. The professor always loved to see your duels, pairing you often. Finding entertainment in the give and take between the two of you. There was no malice, unlike when he paired Sirius or James with some Slytherin he had overheard them shit-talking. Professor Abbott loved dramatics. Or the ridicule that came with pairing Lily against poor James who'd freeze at the thought of directing a single spell towards her. Lily always won those. 

This was different, the way that Remus and you looked at each other. Calculated yet with affection. You could push each other's buttons better than anyone else, predicting each other's curses before they left the other's mouth. Your skin felt warm as you stood on the dueling platform, almost as if a fire was crawling its way up your body. Bloody hell. 

Remus had a small smirk on his face as if repressing a smile, the bastard. It wasn't easy for you to duel against him, it took a lot out of you. He was smart as a whip and fast in his wand movements. Enchantments and curses pouring from his lips were second nature. All the Latin reading had paid off. It wasn't as if you were bad, you had beaten James who was absolutely brilliant more times than you could count, it was safe to say you were a fair contender. But dueling Remus always made you uneasy.

His eyes always caught yours in a competition of 'who's looking away first', with a twinkle in his eye like he knew something you didn't. Like he could read your thoughts. 

"Go!" had hardly left Abbott's mouth as you shot a spell at Remus, three in succession to be precise. The dashes of bright blue and green deflected easily. So the pull and push started. It was great practice really. The war had started reverberating through your lives inside and outside of Hogwarts, people were going missing, and the gloom of the impending fights that would soon follow all of you was tearing apart any semblance of normalcy. The whispers in the halls never seemed to seize and relations tensed as you never knew what people believed in. So yes this was good practice, His followers wouldn't wait for you to gather the confidence or finesse to say a certain incantation. You just had to do it. 

"They really are brilliant aren't they," Lily muttered to Alice, as they watched in awe as the two of you shot against one another. Professor Abbott released a quick chuckle at her comment, fascinated as well. Both of your movements were nothing short of rapid, almost wordless spells falling from your panting lips at this point. Neither had managed to knock down or disarm the other and the two of you were growing increasingly tired. You knew you wouldn't hold on for much longer. It was difficult to keep this up, especially because neither of you wanted to use something truly harmful. You cared too much. Maybe that was the lesson behind this you thought. 

You went faster, and faster, the only thing you could focus on was his eyes. His hazel irises slowly widened as the speed of your spells overwhelmed him ever so slightly. It was exhausting, desperation crawling at your clammy skin. Your wand movements were precise, yet frantic. 

"They might as well be shagging right now Evans" Lily slapped Sirius' shoulder, his whisper had been low enough to go unnoticed by most but not by James who let out a snort next to him. Sirius and James stood behind the two girls, their heads popping in between the two girls as they leaned forward ever so slightly, as they continued to tease and snicker about the tension between you and their Moony. 

"You don't have to be such a pig Sirius," 

It wasn't long before both of the girls had joined their giggles. It was obvious, to everyone but you and Remus, that there was an underlying infatuation between the two of you. The way your eyes were always trained on each other, even when you weren't dueling, even when you weren't looking at each other's eyes. The way his gaze trailed after you, and your heart-aching habit of studying his movements. Two leaves dancing around each other in the wind. 

Their giggles were interrupted as your voice raised, finally disarming the brown-haired boy. Your chests heaving up and down, sweat covering your foreheads. A wide grin overtook Remus's lovely features, as he squatted down in exhaustion, his arms wrapping slightly around his knees keeping him balanced. You broke out in bubbling laughter as your classmates cheered. It had been exciting, Remus couldn't help but laugh as well, your joy was nothing short of contagious.

He would lose a thousand times more if it meant he'd get to see this much joy pour from your face.

- 

Remus knew you knew he was looking at you. You knew he knew as well.

Sirius was seriously over his head, the alcohol in his system was probably borderline poisonous and James wasn't doing any better as they both screamed the lyrics to the muggle vinyl someone had popped on. The two marauders didn't take winning a quidditch match lightly, neither did the rest of the house. Too much pent-up energy, the stress, the joy, the anxiousness of everything that wrapped its hands around most young wizards' necks these days. It needed somewhere to go. 

Nothing young people did best besides cope adequately. With alcohol.

The match had been intense, Ravenclaw wasn't exactly an easy opponent anymore, not when the incredibly competitive new sixth-year captain had taken hold of the team. James couldn't stand her, Sirius swore he'd get a date by the end of the season. As always you had sat next to Lily who as much as she denied it, had taken a liking to James finally and never missed a match anymore. Remus sat on your other side, his knuckles grazing yours for more than half of the game, usually pushing them as he leaned towards your ear to tell you about the current strategy Gryffindor was employing. Goosebumps plagued your skin the whole game. 

Your own cup swirled with the mysterious light green liquid some seventh-years had concocted. One of said boys had been whispering in your ear half the party. It wasn't anything crazy, no declarations of love left his lips but he was funny enough and handsome enough, and the alcohol was definitely hugging your insides like a warm blanket. So you giggled and laughed at the half-baked jokes that came from his lips. He wasn't half as witty as the scarred boy that made your heart clench, but the alcohol pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

His attempts to woo you didn't exactly go unnoticed and drunk or not Sirius had no filter and was concerningly comfortable with his friends. "If you don't go get her soon, I do believe our dear Y/N will be IN bed," Sirius enunciated the last words painfully slow and loud, "with Mr. Bones over there, by the end of the night" he lightly giggled at the idea, although Sirius didn't like it much either. He thought Cassius Bones was a brat.

Ironic, but not wrong.

Remus felt a frown twisting his features. Sirius brazen nature didn't help but he had been trying to gather the guts to drag you away from the prat all night. The way his hands fiddled with a piece of your hair that rested on your shoulder, his smile widening as you said something back to him. Your eyes were glazed over and your movements were a bit sloppy and loose. You were always the rigid type, not in a bad way but in the sense that you were a little anxious, enough that Lily had been muttering to relax your shoulders your entire Hogwarts career. Your muscles naturally tensed, your body forever trying to catch up to your brain. Your brain forever trying to work out every problem in the world at once. Tonight that girl was gone, your posture slouched onto the wall, he could tell you had a lazy smile grazing your features and if you had been sober you would've cursed Cassius Bones across the room the second he approached.

Remus thinks about how he would've liked to see your satisfied smile after doing so. He also thinks about how you so deserved to let loose.

His stomach turned while he watched you talk to Bones. Your bodies closer than they had been an hour ago, he could see his face directly, his eyes flying to your lips and Remus knew that it wouldn't be long before the brat tried to make a proper move. His other hand was already playing with the loop of your formfitting jeans. He felt a light touch on his arm and turned, finding a certain redhead giving him a soft smile.

"She would leave the entire world behind for you Remus," he couldn't help but let out a sigh. She nodded and slightly pushed him in your direction, letting James whisk her away to dance shortly after. 

You honestly weren't focused on Cassius or his words, his cologne was a tad too overwhelming, and although he had an award-winning smile, it felt insincere. It felt like he was going to eat you alive any second. But you were too sluggish to move, your eyes glanced around hoping to catch someone's gaze, anyone who could come help you. James eventually glanced your way, as he spun Lily around the room, but all he did was shoot you an overexaggerated wink before he disappeared into the crowd. You wondered if Cassius ever shut up, he babbled on and on about what his father thought of the war, about some Hufflepuff he went out with who "by the way was so under my league, figures why it didn't work out"

His words were sobering you up, they were boring and made your head spin and anxiety spark. Nothing more alcohol couldn't fix, you thought as you downed the rest of your drink. He laughed as you scrunched your face, it was a nice hearty laugh, the type you hear from across the room and roll your eyes at. You pondered briefly if that's what other people thought of your friends. It was a shame that he was sort of handsome though, the second he opened his mouth it was kind of ruined. He must've misunderstood the glaze over your eyes and the far-away stare as some sort of signal to kiss you because one second he was talking and the next he was closing in, his hand on the back of your head. 

"Y/N," you felt a strong hand on your shoulder, turn and pull you away, just out of Bones's grasp. A sigh of relief escaped as you heard Remus's voice. Thank Godric. "we gotta go, remember?" 

You had not a single clue or inkling as to what he was talking about, but you could see the scowl that formed over Cassius's face, and took this interruption as a blessing. 

"Oi, Lupin I was talking to her, you don't get to monopolize her time you lost your chance," His words were too loud and too aggressive for this time of night, and you honestly couldn't care less. You wonder what Bones meant by that. Lost your chance. But something in his words snapped you briefly from the alcohol-fueled haze you were in, turning to sneer at him.

"He can monopolize my time all he wants Bones, there's a reason you only get to talk to me when I'm drunk," 

"Whatever, look for me when he inevitably leaves you alone" This seemed to strike a chord with Remus as he pulled you closer, his arm already over your shoulders. You mumbled a 'forget about it' as you pushed for the two of you to move away. You couldn't tell if it was the two refills the twat had served you or the fact that you were so close to Remus but suddenly the room felt unbearably hot. You couldn't help but notice the way he rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up, his skin touching yours as he pulled you even closer, trying to make his way onto a corner where maybe you could hear yourself think. His scent encompassed you and you couldn't help but smile at it. His cologne was on the fresh side, it was a welcome change from the toxic fumes that seemed to emanate from Cassius. Remus smelled like amber and vetiver, sweet and fresh, a light woody scent underlying the whole of it. You hadn't truly looked at him tonight. 

His normally very well-groomed hair was a bit out of place, sweat from the room making it stick to his forehead ever so slightly. It was messy and shaggy, it was obvious he had been fidgeting with it, combing it with his fingers. You wondered when it had grown so long. You'd think you'd notice. He was barely biting his bottom lip as he pushed through the crowd and the dark array of lights seemed to paint his worried features blue, yellow, and red. He glanced at you and nodded towards the door of the common room and you nodded. Maybe you'd be able to think clearly if you breathed cool air and stopped swaying along with the mass of underage drinkers. 

He guided you with his warm, calloused hand through the passage. Air rushing in your lungs and your face as you exited. A smile immediately spread across your lips, quickly spreading to Remus's face as well. You started walking slowly, your hand still in his. You didn't want to let go, you hoped he didn't either. 

"I'm sorry I pulled you away so abruptly," He pressed his lips at the thought, he desperately hoped that you hadn't wanted Bones to kiss you. He thinks you would've said something by now. You would've stayed, you wouldn't have told him off. He dropped the thought there.

"It's okay Moons, I was looking for a way out anyway," You swung your linked arms, a bit too fast but you simply blamed the alcohol. Not the nervous pit that had formed at the bottom of your tummy. It was hard not to get nervous, you suddenly couldn't look at him again. You feared the color in your cheeks would give you away, maybe the way your pupils would blow if you looked at him. He was observant like that. The two of you had been toying with the line of friendship or more for ages, light touches and whispers, flirty jokes that didn't seem very funny while you looked up at the ceiling of your four-poster bed at two in the morning. Alice was often awake too. No doubt thinking about Frank Longbottom. It was obvious they'd end up together. 

"Hey," Your gaze diverted back to him, as you stopped walking, all fear gone with the wind. You had reached the section of the hall with windows, the soft light of the moon reflecting off of your faces. He stared straight at you, your hands still dangling between the two of you. You couldn't help but wonder how many days 'til the full moon. He didn't seem to be thinking about that.

"You were brilliant in defense against the dark arts today,"

You couldn't help but laugh, cheeks shaded red. You knew your victory had been one born out of desperation to be finished. But it was a victory nonetheless. 

"No I'm serious, you were wicked good" He had taken a step closer, his voice lowering to barely above a whisper,

"You flatter me too much Remus," He poked a finger at your cheek

"Yeah, I should stop," His lips curved into a smirk "We wouldn't want that going to your pretty head, now would we" His nimble fingers brushed a stray hair out of your face. Your lips couldn't help but twitch. Maybe this was it. 

"If it is any consolation, I still think you're better than me" You shrugged slightly, your tone of voice as low as his, "It was just dumb luck," 

He shook his head at this. Remus genuinely thought you were radiant and clever. Your skills were fine-tuned and you worked like a well-oiled machine. He had never seen anything like it, he often felt as if he struggled to catch up. 

"You can't be serious doll," the saccharine nickname fell off his lips too naturally. You wondered when he had become this smooth and confident in his words. That was definitely the Marauder's doing. You wondered if he called anyone else that. You had only ever heard him call his friends darling or honey under sarcastic pretenses. James and Sirius always retorted with a similar quip. Peter always looked like he had been caught red-handed. 

Remus wasn't the type to parade women around like Sirius was, as far as you knew he had only had a small fling some months ago with a Ravenclaw a year below you. A couple of dates, nothing more, the boys had joked Remus just couldn't attach himself to only one girl. The roll of his eyes had told you it wasn't the case. You wondered if he had ever called her anything.

"Why that face hm? Where'd you go?" he poked again at your cheek, a small smile blooming from your lips. "is it because I called you doll?" 

Bastard.

You felt as if you'd have to look into occlumency lessons.

"You only ever make that face when I call you some nickname," his brows furrowed ever so slightly in worry. "Do you not like it?" his words came out a mere whisper, but as the halls were more than empty and the common room had been left a good thirty feet down the hall, you caught it. 

"It's not that," you huffed a bit, the frustration of this dance the two of you had been doing biting at your heels. One of you would just have to force the cat out of the bag. 

"Then what is it love?" His knuckles traced the shape of your cheek. You wondered if the chill down your spine was from his ministrations or the gush of wind that had passed through the window. 

"Why'd you come to my rescue?" You could see the wheels turning behind his hazel eyes. He wondered if he should come up with some excuse. I noticed you looked uncomfortable, James told me, Bones is a man whore, Truth was,

"I got jealous," you were taken by surprise, you feel like he also didn't expect it to come out of his mouth. He wouldn't meet your eyes, deciding a spot on the wall behind you was much more interesting. 

"Oh,"

"Yeah, oh" He sounded disappointed, maybe he had misread your actions, his hold on your hand started loosening but you gripped it tighter. His eyes flickered back to you at this motion. He always thought you were quite lovely. It was hard to not look at you. The darker hue of your lips, even when they were bare of any products made him want to eat you up in kisses even in the middle of classes. The way your eyes crinkled in the corners when you laughed really hard. He pictured your reddening features when it snowed last January, the cold biting at your cheeks. He had held your hands for the first time that winter, warming them up. Like a good friend does of course. He hoped it would get cold quickly.

Your mind raced, body tingling under his gaze. Goosebumps spread over every inch of skin.

You couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or the adrenaline of finally hearing a small glimpse of his feelings for you. But you pulled the collar of his shirt softly, lowering his towering figure closer to you. The material of his shirt was soft and pliable under your fingers, you could feel the cold spots where it had once been damp. You prayed he'd close the gap.

And that he did. 

Months of dancing around each other, everything you’d ever wanted to say to him, every glance, every touch, every unspoken word was fighting to come out of you. Remus tasted the apple-like concoction that you had been sipping on your lips. You could feel the slight traces of firewhiskey on his. He kissed you the way you had daydreamed. His hands clutching your waist, pulling you close to him. Your hands traveling up to bury your fingers in his hair at the back of his neck. 

It was sweet and a little sloppy, and although neither of you was as drunk as the majority of your house your movements were still marked by a sort of looseness only alcohol can drag out. Your balance was nothing short of wobbly as you stood on your tip-toes to kiss him. His tongue slightly touched your bottom lip and you obliged, deepening the kiss. You wouldn't trade it for the world.

You sighed as you split up, burying your face in his chest. You could feel how a laugh reverberated from deep within his chest. Yet you couldn't form any words, an enormous smile blooming from your lips.

Whoops and hollers echoed throughout the hall. You slightly parted to look as James and Sirius wobbled through the hall, poor Peter in the middle trying to keep the two rowdy men upright. It was comical, the way the shorter boy tried steering the other two, uncontrollable as they already were. Both you and Remus couldn't help but hush them, indignation from being interrupted and the increased probability of getting caught irritating the both of you. 

“Thank Godric, I didn’t think I would stand this whole mating dance the two of you were doing any longer,” Peter breathed out as they caught up, swiftly dropping Sirius and James. The other two agreed with him with screams and congratulatory laughter from the floor. They didn't seem to mind their newfound position. 

A harsh shush fell from your lips once again as their voices echoed, not wanting to get caught. Remus couldn’t help but chuckle with a squeeze to your sides. He turned towards you a smile gracing his features and you couldn’t help but mirror it, squeezing his arm back. You finally felt light, the joy of your friends, even if they were idiots, the delight of the boy you have so adored having you in his arms.

Nothing could beat this.

[findmeinforks]

Stay - Paul Lahote X Fem!Reader

Happy 2024! I honestly didn't know what to call this, but I just kept writing and now I'll probably need a part 2 🙃 enjoy 💕 2.8K words

"You have no idea how excited I am. I mean just how long have I been begging you to come live with me?" Emily grinned into the phone that was tucked between her shoulder and ear. She paced the kitchen while whisking a bowl of brownie mix, mindlessly chatting away.

"I must warn you though that the house does get chaotic. But the boys are pretty good about keeping up after themselves," she said while swatting away Embry's hand that almost made a dip in the bowl. He put his hands up in self defense as she rolled her eyes.

"Sounds great. Sam will pick you up at the airport tomorrow at noon. Let me know if you need anything else, and have a safe flight. I love you!" She she set the bowl on the counter, hanging up the phone.

"Was that Y/N? She's moving in tomorrow?" Quil questioned from the table with a mouth full of chips.

"Yes, and I trust that you boys will be on your best behavior in welcoming her..." Emily raised her eyebrow as she pointed a dripping whisk of batter at all the men now surrounding the kitchen.

"Depends, is she hot?" Embry snickered as he sat down.

"Oh....she is." Quil emphasized with wide eyes.

"Get it Embry!" Paul snorted as he clapped him on the back, reaching over into Quil's bag of chips.

"They WILL be on their best behavior. And no one will be 'getting' shit." The booming voice of Sam emerged behind Emily, wrapping his arms around her torso.

He reached his head over her shoulder as she let him lick what was left on the whisk, earning a disgusted "Seriously?" from Quil.

"Hey, but what if she's my imprint??" Embry held his up his finger to argue.

"You know that would be a different story...but we know already she isn't Quil's" Sam smirked at the youngest pack members now disappointed face.

"You guys are kidding right? I've seen pictures. Shes insanely out of all your leagues." Jacob quipped as he strolled to the living room.

"Anything is better than my crushes newborn infant..." Embry muttered under his breath, making all the boys cower in laughter.

"Oh yeah? You wanna say that again?" Jacob challenged.

Sam walked around in between them, looking from side to side at them both.

"THIS is what Emily is talking about. Keep the fights outside boys. I mean it. Just because Y/N knows about the pack doesn't mean she won't get scared if you clowns nearly phase in the kitchen. Are we clear?"

The two reluctantly nodded, Jacob sulking away to the living room.

"But come on, that was kinda funny.." Embry whispered, making the other boys giggle.

Paul shook his head with a smile at his little brother, leaving the room to shower before dinner.

-

There was something about the conversation that stuck with Paul throughout the night. Since Sam had met Emily, all of his brothers wanted imprints. They all saw what it was like to have one up close, and craved it desperately. He grimaced at the thought. The idea of a "soulmate" sounded ridiculous to Paul.

The problem wasn't that he didn't believe in it. Anybody could see the intense love that imprints had for one another, their bond growing with them until old age.

But Paul was not familiar with the term love. He never did get to see the love between his father and mother. She had been his imprint, but passed long before Paul could remember much about her. He watched his father struggle emotionally, never being able to get through the grief of her loss. Sure, he raised Paul as best he could, but deep down it was his mother that would have filled the void in their quiet house.

Things did get a little brighter when Paul joined the pack. For the first time he truly felt like he was part of a real family. He came home to hot meals, genuine laughter, and lively conversation. Not only had he gained a group of brothers, but ones with unwavering loyalty. None of them ever strayed away when Paul lost control of his temper, and were the first ones to help him learn to control it.

Maybe that was the reason he never looked for anything serious when it came to women. What was the point? One little outburst and they were out the door quicker than they had come in. He didn't allow himself to feel anything for them, because they'd end up leaving, and he was saving himself the heart break anyways.

Paul lay awake that night certain about one thing, he didn't need an imprint.

-

You inhaled the crisp fall air. Smiling wide as you looked up the steps to the new home awaiting you, the patio adorned in different flowers and cutesy outdoor decor.

"Oh Em it's just how I remember. You always make it look so cozy," you said as you squeezed the arm of your cousin beside you.

She returned your same smile.

"You're too sweet. I just can't believe you're really here. Come on, I'll introduce you to the boys."

You followed her up the steps, walking through the door to the warm smell of baked goods, no doubt that Emily had been up all night. You chuckled to yourself as you remember how she would go overboard on food whenever she was excited about something and couldn't sleep.

What you weren't used to, however, was being greeted by the several shirtless men. All incredibly in shape with tattoos on their arms, you might have been intimidated if it weren't for their cheesy smiles.

Emily gestured to each of them,

"You remember Quil, and that's Embry, Jacob, Seth, andddd well," she looked around puzzled for a moment. "I guess I'll introduce you to Paul whenever he comes around."

You waved at Quil and shook the other's hands.

There must have been some sort of inside joke, because as you finished with introductions you saw Sam laugh while they collectively let out a small sigh.

You don't think you were meant to hear it, but you caught Sam whisper at Embry,

"Better luck next time kid."

Emily didn't make a big deal of whatever it was, guiding you to your room.

After you got settled in, you found yourself strolling the hallway, looking over all the framed pictures on the wall. You had been over the moon when Emily had found Sam. You've never seen her so happy before, and you could tell he looked at her in the exact same way.

Not paying attention when the bathroom door opened, you collided with a large bare chest that stepped into the hall.

You gasped as two strong arms to match caught you before you fell, luckily, and you embarrassingly faced the one man you of course had no former introduction with.

"I am so, so sorry. I-"

"No no it's fine, are you-"

Both of you started and stopped mid sentence. Your attention had been captured when you two locked eyes. It was like you had been anchored to the floor by them. This warm, fuzzy energy had your entire body buzzing. It was so silent that you could hear your own blood flow in your ears. You furrowed your eyebrows in the haze. What the hell...

"ARE YOU SHITTING ME??"

A loud voice cut through the trance and you flinched at the abrupt sound. The man held you slightly tighter for a moment, as if he was about to protect you from whatever had interrupted you both in this hypnotic state.

Turning around so you both could see that the voice had been Embry, the man looked back and quickly dropped his arms, as if he just realized he had been holding you that whole time.

An unfamiliar emptiness lingered when he let go. He quickly averted his gaze, mumbling another apology before brushing past you, into a room, shutting the door.

-

His imprint. Right there. In the hallway of his own home.

Paul couldn't breathe.

He sat on the edge of his bed, nervously running his hands through his hair in a panic.

You were beautiful.

Breathtaking.

Your smell was intoxicating and your skin was so, so very soft. Your voice sounded like an angel. Your hair-

No.

No, he couldn't let himself think like this. He didn't need an imprint. Didn't even want one in the first place.

Was this some kind of sick joke the universe was playing on him? This girl could have anyone she wants. Why him?

Emily's call for dinner had him taking deep breaths. He could do this. They could live amongst eachother and not have to talk. There's ton of people in this house, it would be rare that the two of them would ever be alone. Right? Right. He could do this.

He walked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. Wake up. It's just some girl. No different than the many that he had been with. Hell, if he could have sex with someone and never think of them again, he could do it. They had barely exchanged a sentence. Barely touched. He would be fine.

-

You sat down at the table, trying to behave as normal as possible. What happened in the hall was nothing. Whiplash. Yes, it was probably the whiplash from running into him. The poor guy seemed shy, and he was most likely just as shook up as you. It was a small accident and nothing more. He certainly didn't seem angry or upset, just caught off guard.

But wow....was he handsome. Certainly more attractive than any lousy guy you'd ever been with. He had this aroma of sandalwood and forest that was enchanting.

Okay, slow down Y/N. Let's not walk in on the first day and jump on some guy. After all, you two are going to be living together. Maybe don't make him uncomfortable in his own home. You shook your head to yourself. Just forget about the whole thing and it will be fine.

Luckily, Emily had started conversations around the table, easily able to take your mind elsewhere.

That was, until he came in the room. There was a beat of silence when he entered, the other boys seeming to look at him like they were anticipating something. When he didn't make a sound or even look up to anyone, slumping at the table and taking a plate, the conversations arose again.

Dinner was excellent as usual for Emily's cooking, and besides your beating heart constantly begging you to look at the man near the end of the table, it was almost normal.

It was when Emily put delicious brownies on the table, that it took a turn for the worse.

"I'M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU AGAIN. SHUT THE FUCK ALONE ABOUT IT" Everyone's head turned to the angry voice. It was him. He was so visibly upset that he was shaking, staring daggers at Embry beside him. Slamming his fists on the table as he stood up, you let an audible gasp slip.

That's when he looked at you for the second time that night. It was a far reach, but somehow you saw his eyes soften. The crinkles of anger in his eyebrows vanished, and he swallowed, before bolting out the door. Sam immediately followed, and Emily sighed, reaching out to touch your arm.

"I'm sorry about Paul. He's very.....expressive sometimes."

Paul.

-

"Leave me alone Sam."

Paul sighed through the mind link, his large wolf racing through the trees.

He didn't mean it. He never means it. But Embry would simply not stop talking. First it was meaningless. He asked what imprinting felt like. Paul had shrugged it off as nothing crazy, hoping he'd drop it there. Then, he had asked him if he planned on pursuing the imprint. Of course he told him he wasn't. He didn't need a soulmate. No matter what his instincts told him. But then, Embry had smiled and thanked him, telling him that you were now "fair game".

That had been when he lost it.

He stopped on the edge of a cliff, breathing in the fresh water air. Sam slowly approached his side.

"Embry only said that to get a rise out of you, you know."

Paul scoffed.

"He can do whatever he wants. I don't care about her."

"Oh you don't?" Sam didn't sound so convinced.

"Even if I did, she wouldn't want me. Did you....did you see the look on her face when I yelled?" Paul replayed it over and over. You had looked absolutely frightened.

"There is a reason she was chosen to be your imprint Paul. You don't know Y/N. She is patient, and most of all understanding. If you talked to her-"

"I don't need to talk to her. I am perfectly fine alone. I don't need a woman, and I definitely don't need an imprint."

Sam sighed.

"Paul. You can do what you want. I'm not the type of alpha to force you to love someone. But believe me when I say that I had a dark past. I was also comfortable with being alone. Emily is the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Having a conversation with her doesn't mean there will be wedding bells tomorrow. All I'm saying is you don't know unless you try."

Paul nodded, and Sam left him with his thoughts.

-

You stared at the numbers on your phone screen. 2:00am. You huffed in frustration. Your mind had been a constant replay of the events today, your mind spiraling. You had settled on the fact things around here were weird, when you had visited Emily and accidentally caught sight of Sam in wolf form. But this energy couldn't have anything to do with that. Could it?

You decided to make yourself some tea to try and relax. Knowing Emily you knew there had to be some in the kitchen. You tip toed in the dark, your body stiffening as you recognized a familiar muscular back that sat at the kitchen table in a dim light.

You were ready to retreat back to your room when he turned his head around to look at you.

Damn, wolves must have good hearing.

"I was just....going to make some tea.." you pointed to the cabinet awkwardly.

He nodded, looking back down at what appeared to be a cup of coffee.

He couldn't sleep either?

You mindlessly tapped your fingers against the counter as you awaited the kettle, praying that if you stared at it long enough, it would speed up the process.

-

Fuck, was this torture. You were like a goddess, standing there in your pajamas, hair astray and up in a haphazard bun. He imagined walking up behind you, wrapping his arms around you, soaking in your warmth while he pressed gentle kisses on your neck. He wondered what it sounded like to hear you laugh...

STOP STARING. Say something. Anything. Just. Try.

He cleared his throat. It must have startled you because you quickly turned to face him.

"I'm...sorry. About what you saw earlier. That's not like me. I-Embry, he can get under my skin sometimes," he rubbed the back of his head.

"But that's no excuse. I'm-um, Im Paul, by the way."

He lifted his hand up in an almost wave. Why was he so awkward? He was never this way with women.

You giggled, and suddenly, he felt like he was in heaven.

"Y/N. And no worries at all, Emily said you can be....'expressive' sometimes."

He chuckled.

"That's one word for it. But I just don't want to scare you off..."

"Well. I think if knowing that you can all turn into a large creatures who can rip me apart and that doesn't scare me away, I think you were okay." You smiled. He could look at that smile forever.

-

He was actually talking to you. Man, was his laugh so perfect. You could talk with him forever.

The kettle screeched, and you reluctantly made your tea.

"Well....I guess I'll see you around, Paul." You took your mug and headed for your room.

-

His name on her tongue. He wanted her to say it again.

"You can stay. If-if you want. I, uh, I don't...know much about you."

You smiled.

"I'd like that."

To be continued......

[a-b-riddle]

check tags for warnings

In the mood to write angst. Imagine you’re the conscientious observer who accidentally sees how your team talks about you behind your back.

Your morals were… complicated. You didn’t believe in killing anyone. Your faith told you that killing someone is wrong and even if it’s to save your life, handling a gun is something that doesn’t sit well with you. You’ve been to gun ranges. Mandatory for your position in the military that you have basic fire arm knowledge. But having something in your hands that could so easily take a life made you uneasy.

You were pescatarian, but tried to limit meat. Cried anytime you saw chickens in those trucks heading toward their demise. You fed stray cats around your house back home. You tried to be kind and cherished life in all most of its forms. The exception being garlic butter shrimp that was too good to give up and anytime of bug resembling a cock roach. And yes, palmetto bugs were still cock roaches.

And wasps.

Fuck wasps.

At the same time, you were pro-choice. Initially, you were pro-choice for other women, but you didn’t think you would have the strength to get an abortion. It wasn’t until you were holding your friend’s hand as she got her D&C that your views on your own body autonomy changed. It didn’t have to be medical to be necessary.

But you still refused to hold a weapon. Which is why even though you were a very talented medic, you were always judged for not carrying any sort of defense while in the field.

But no one on base would dare say anything to you about it. At least not to your face…

You got stuck instructing a training seminar when your phone continued to buzz in your back pocket. But even with the consistent messages, you didn’t falter by showing the newest members how to give basic first aid until health could arrive.

Nearly two hours later, you finally fish your phone out to see what’s going on.

Dozens of text messages in a group chat between you, Captain Price, Johnny, Kyle and Simon. You had gotten close to them over the last few months. You were halfway through your contract and were already dreading leaving knowing they were staying behind until the job is done.

You open it, your phone taking you to the first unread message.

Cpt.: Hows the arm healing up?

Soap: Fine. Hen did a good job of keeping the sutures nice and even. Should barely scar.

Gaz: Wouldn’t have a scar if she just fucking carried.

Soap: You think she honestly would even know what to do with a gun if you gave her one Garrick 😂

Ghost: Still think she’s a liability. Someone who won’t raise arms against an enemy isn’t meant to be on the team.

Cpt: Already tried. Laswell says we need the numbers. As long as she does her job there’s nothing I can do. We can’t be down a medic and it’s either her or nothing.

You shook as you continued reading the conversation.

Liability. Coward. It went on and on about how weak you were. Why couldn’t you just carry a small pistol instead of expecting everyone else to keep you safe.

It then switched to your personality. No one should be that happy. Annoying. A yapper. Couldn’t get a word in most of the time.

On and on they went until you realized they spoke so freely because they didn’t realize you were in this group chat. What did they say when you weren’t around?

You felt like a fool having extending more than just trying to be a civil coworker, but a friend. Taking on tasks that weren’t your responsibility simply to help them.

Getting a floral arrangement delivered for Johnny’s sister after she had given birth. Talking on the phone to the nursing home where Price’s mother resided trying to sort out her insurance. Taking priority Kyle when he was injured after falling out of a plane (both times) over your other patients. And always having the electric kettled going in the morning so Simon could have his tea without waiting too long.

You were helpful. Just because you had one boundary didn’t mean their words held any merit. But still you couldn’t help the deep feeling of just… betrayal? Rejection? You weren’t sure there was a word fitting enough to sum up how utterly stupid you felt.

Maybe they were right. This wasn’t a civilian setting. This wasn’t just life and death for your patients, but for you. You were out in the field with no form of protection except from others.

You weren’t abandoning your morals. You couldn’t. Not when every fiber of your being told you to remain steadfast. There was only one solution.

You didn’t have much to pack. Uniform was issued to you. Your stethoscope and some other tools came out of your own pocket. Your laptop, phone, charges. You packed all your lounging clothes and miraculously everything fit into a military duffle. Which wasn’t actually anything impressive given how big those things are.

You were confident in your decision even if it made you feel like a failure.

As you stood outside the office door you returned back to the group chat. One by one you proceeded to block all of them. You knew when you left the group they would know that the notification would pop up and they either wouldn’t give a shit that you finally knew what the actually thought of you or they tried messaging you to make amends to cover their asses. You weren’t sure which was worse.

Once you had blocked the last one, you left and knocked on the door that you had been idling in front of. A faint ‘come in’ was granted before you walked through.

“Hey, Kate.” You greeted. “Can we talk?”

[a-hazbin-reader]

Please. Alastor x single mom?

Oh my god and imagine how he’d give her the best Mother’s Day ever after years of just her waking up to a normal day aside from her baby giving her a macaroni necklace or a card and now she’s waking up to a breakfast in bed and a day to relax I’m not getting emotional you are

Okay, but y'all are giving me baby fever fr with these asks

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: F L U F F, A little bit of sex towards the end but a very small amount

Description: ☝️⬆️

Whether or not you were a mother when you were alive, you certainly were one now. You took in and protected as many children sinners you could because nobody else would

You took care of toddlers all the way up to teenagers, it was an exhausting and thankless job but you don't think you could ever quit

Not when one of your kids comes crying to you because they scraped their knee, or they had their first heartbreak, or they had a nightmare

How any of them ended up down here was baffling to you, especially the youngest ones

You protected your family fiercely and have even gone toe to toe with overlords to keep your kids safe, earning you a reputation for being a mama bear

You loved being their mother and wouldn't give it up for anything, no matter your own sins

So when one of your little ones goes missing, you're panicking and searching everywhere for her. You spend all day trying to find her and asking anybody if they've seen her

After hours of searching, one of your teenagers calls you, telling you they found her but that you need to come home immediately. You don't need to hear anything more

When you get home, you find your little girl sitting in the lap of Charlie Morningstar, Hell's Princess. All your kids are gathered around her while she tells them about her hotel

Something you had been trying not to let them know about because you didn't want to get their hopes up only to be heartbroken. It was cruel

Not to mention the shady characters that probably stay there.

So imagine your irritation when all your children suddenly swarm you and start begging to stay at the hotel. Each one excited and hopeful to learn how to go to heaven

You can't tell them no so you try to dissuade them but they insist on going so you allow it. It's very reluctant agreement though.

You try to keep all your children close to you once you enter the hotel and see the others. Let's see, an angelic exorcist, a p0rnstar, a tiny murderous maid, a drunk bartender and one of the most deadly overlords around

You were unimpressed, and it showed as you held your kids a little tighter, not even hearing Charlie excitedly telling you about all the amenities

You have a difficult time letting your kids sleep so far away from you, all of them excited to get their own rooms. You often check on them throughout the night

More than once, Alastor has caught you peeking into their bedrooms to make sure they're still safe in their beds

You startle when you hear his amused laughter, nearly bumping right into his chest as you close the door behind you

"Nobody is going to eat them while they're asleep, you know."

You can't help but feel defensive, crossing your arms and giving Alastor a withering look

"That's not funny coming from you."

His smile only gets wider, gripping your chin and tilting your head up as he leans in close

"Darling, it's even funnier because it's coming from me!"

You insist on making sure your children eat a good diet, often making it yourself because you don't trust anybody else to do it. That and some of your little ones can be picky eaters

Often, Alastor stops by the kitchen to watch you, curious about what you're making and how much of it you plan to make

"My my~ That smells absolutely delicious, my dear~! What are you making?"

You're guarded, setting down the plates on the table a little harder than you meant to

"It's just an old family recipe, nothing special."

So imagine your weary surprise when he starts to help you cook, helping with the food preparation and even setting the table. You start to get used to his help, relaxing a little more each time you two stand hip to hip, cooking

He's even taken to sitting down to meals with you and your family, an amused smile on his face as he watches all of you interact. Eventually, he joins in the conversations, and your youngest ones get comfortable enough to even eat off his plate

"Don't take food from his plate! That's rude..!"

"It's quite alright, my dear~ I find it endearing~"

He's even in your corner when your picky eaters rise up and try to say they don't like what you made. Pushing their plates away and pouting

"Mom, I don't like it..."

You can't help but sigh and roll your eyes, exasperated and annoyed that you have to go through this again

"Yes you do, you've eaten this before and you gobbled it up... Just try it, baby."

They whine and try to refuse when Alastor speaks up, pushing their plate back towards them gently

"Now, now, your mother worked hard on this meal... We don't want her good efforts to go to waste, do we?"

"No..."

Your child whines but reluctantly takes their fork and begins eating, Alastor giving you a triumphant grin as he sits back down

You take a bite of your own food to hide the fond smile that wants to creep up onto your face

The hardest, scariest moment at the hotel for you was when you and one of your older girls got into an argument in front of Alastor

It all started over a party and a boy, you wouldn't let her go and in typical teenage fashion, she started to fight with you. The more you held your ground and said no, the worse it got

"Young lady, that is not a good environment for you! It is a disgusting den of perverts, drugs and uninhibited violence!"

You tried to stay calm and reason with her, but her emotions were running too high

"We're in HELL! There's no place here that's good for any of us! Why do you have to be such a bitch!?"

Before you can even open your mouth to reply, Alastor places a hand on her shoulder, his smile twitching and the sound of static buzzing

Your heart drops as you fear he's going to hurt her, instinctively moving forward to stop him

"Alastor-"

"Dear one, it's bad manners to talk to your mother like that. She only worries for you and wants to keep you safe. I suggest you go to your room and calm down, then come back to apologize to her. Hm~?"

He pats her head and nudges her to go to her room, turning to you and tilting his head. She looks embarrassed and a little ashamed, seemingly taking Alastor's words to heart

"Ah, teenagers~ Always so temperamental even when dead~"

You do your best to ignore the sudden heat on your cheeks, the way Alastor handled the situation having you feel some type of way

If Alastor were to have a type...he would have to say he's definitely drawn to the motherly type, it's a weakness of his

So when Charlie drags you and your gaggle of children to the hotel, Alastor has an inkling of the kind of trouble he's in for the moment he sees you

He's seen how you've come running out of your room in the dead of night because you heard one of your little ones crying from a nightmare. How you spend the rest of your night awake and rocking them back to sleep

Alastor has watched you run yourself ragged trying to get all of your children ready to go out for the day, juggling your teenagers yelling at you because they can't find their clothes and your little ones tugging on your clothes for your attention

He's noticed how you'll shield your family from sinners at least twice your size without fear. Not even he himself was an exception from your intense protectiveness

In the earlier days of your family moving in, Alastor had picked up one of your younger kids to stop them from touching something and you had panicked

He'll never forget how you had tore your kid away from him and held them tight, giving Alastor a intense look as you poked his chest

"Never do that again."

He had tried to brush it off and charm you with a smile, acting unbothered

"Darling, your family is in no danger here. I can assure you-"

"Bullshit. There's no such thing as a safe place or someone you can trust, not here."

You had stormed off after that and Alastor was left with a warm feeling building in his chest that has yet to leave

Your soft smile whenever one of your kids snuggled with you, the way you sighed and put your hands on your hips when they argued with you. Your voice when you sang your littlest ones to sleep

It was all so addicting for him, he found himself wanting to be a part of your family and the love within it

Without even realizing it, Alastor had begun filling the role of the father in your family, ending up getting attached to each of your kids

He learned what made them happy, what made them sad or scared, which ones needed hugs and which ones preferred words

Both you and Alastor began to work together as a team, and most people outside of the hotel just assumed you two were a married couple. A married couple with a small army of kids

You stop one child from bumping into someone, and Alastor scoops up the other two before they can do the same

Alastor will cook dinner and you'll clean up the mess while you both sneak the dessert that the kids don't know you have

All of you will hang out together in the lobby of the hotel, Alastor humming to himself and pretending to nap while your girls play with his hair and paint his claws

Your boys will all be cuddled up around you while you read a story to them, both of you enjoying the domestic bliss

There's a building tension between you and Alastor that everyone can sense, even the kids but nobody comments on it

Except Angel but he doesn't dare bring it up around you two

Your kids start pulling little stunts to get you two to end up together, offering to make you both dinner only for it to be classically romantic with candles, flowers and your children pretending to be waiters

Or asking embarrassing questions in front of the two of you, like if Alastor thought you looked pretty or if you liked Alastor's voice

Or wanting both of you to tuck them and give them goodnight kisses at the same time

The worst part is...it was totally working

The tipping point came when one of your boys woke up crying in the middle of the night, both you and Alastor barging into the bedroom

He was inconsolable, having obviously had a nightmare and repeating that he didn't belong here. He only quieted down once you and Alastor wrapped your arms around him

The three of you were cuddled up on a bed that was far too small for all of you, you couldn't contain your blush once you realized this

So Alastor offered up his room for the night, and the three of you snuggled together in his bed, Alastor's arms wrapping around you

You both woke up with more kids in the bed than you remember going to sleep with, your little boy having climbed onto one of his sisters instead

Leaving you tucked under Alastor's chin with your face in his neck, Alastor's strong arms around your waist and his face buried in your hair

The two of you had pulled away out of embarrassment, making eye contact before suddenly melting back together, soft smiles on your faces

"Alastor..?"

"Hm~?"

"I really want to kiss you right now..."

You two are unofficially, officially a couple after that. Grossing out your children by kissing each other, saying sappy things, just embarrassing them with how in love you are

It's so painfully domestic, but Alastor wouldn't give it up for anything. Not when the youngest ones grab his legs and try to hold him down, not when the teenagers get snarky with him. Not when you two bicker over what's best for the family

Even the more embarrassing moments, like when you two are in bed together, Alastor chasing his release as you lock your legs around him and dig your nails into his back

He's nearly about to spill inside you when there's a tentative knock on the door, making the two of you freeze and whip your heads towards the sound

"Papa..? Mama? I keep hearing scary noises, and I can't sleep..."

It's an awkward untangling of limbs and soft cursing before you two start laughing at how absurd it is

Or the softer moments when he looks into the bedroom to see you singing your kids to sleep, feeling himself grow relaxed and sleepy at the sound of it

His life has nearly completely changed since meeting you and your family, but he wouldn't change anything even if he could

Rosie often teases him about how much he's softened up for his family. It's all good-natured, though, she just as attached to them as he is

"So Alastor~ How's that little family of yours doing? Did your girls finally stop fighting over that boy?"

"They're lovely as always, but unfortunately, that boy seems to have been scared off."

"Such a shame~"

"Quite~"

Honestly, the only thing Alastor needs now is to find you a ring

@valerie-is-in-the-cupboard I know we talked about you writing a lil' something about this, so I tried to twist it up because I didn't want to inadvertently take any ideas you had!