#the belt….. I must remove it. its a need……

[naughtydogg]

WOOF 🥵

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Where Darkness Cradles the Light [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x Sorcerer!reader

wc: 13.1k

Summary: You land a full-time job at the Watchtower, and over time, you and Bob grow closer. But the shadows of your past soon resurface—and now it’s Bob who must help you find your way back to the light.

masterlist part 1

an: Okay, I took a LOT of creative liberties with this one. I really like the magical thread of the MCU, and I think it meshes nicely with the aura of Thunderbolts*. It's also a bit long, but it's divided into three sections, in case you want a quick read. I hope you like it, leave me a comment with your thoughts!

warnings!!: mentions of death, mental illness, nightmares, depression, guilt, some pretty graphic descriptions (dead bodies and stuff) Ameena is a non-canon character, Nimvath is a non-canon demon.

The watchtower was quiet. The first light of dawn filtered through the training wing's large windows, bathing the floor in warm hues, and Bob sat alone. Whenever he couldn't sleep, he ended up there. It was more serene than staying in his bed, and he often found the answers he needed in the silence of the room.

But that morning, curiously, he was there because he'd woken up feeling like he was in the mood. Not out of obligation, nor as an escape, but because he felt like being at peace. There was light in his gestures. Slowly, he'd learned to breathe without feeling like the world was collapsing with each inhalation. Even his eyes, once filled with storms, were now clear, though they still hid scars.

Everyone was pleased by the obvious improvement, but sometimes the only look he was truly interested in was yours; something he, until now, didn't know what to call. Sometimes it was as if you communicated in a strange telepathic way, when a gesture was enough for both of you to understand the message.

He'd started physical training a few weeks earlier, which his other friends took care of, and you took the opportunity to finally integrate into that dysfunctional work schedule. Valentina thought it was valuable for her team to be prepared for magical threats, and that's why she'd asked you to train with the rest. Your task was to unbalance them until they strengthened their spirits enough. The Ancient One did this frequently; she'd done it with Stephen, and she'd done it with you too, so it wasn't difficult to establish a rhythm.

To tell the truth, you still found it a bit difficult to live with them and adapt to their chaotic way of life. At Kamar-Taj, what made you strong as a community was the synergy produced by the members; each person trained to their full potential and then contributed to a greater cause. However, what you were experiencing was very different.

When you were with them, each person boasted or lacked certain aptitudes or skills, yet they managed to make everything work. You perceived them as a kind of puzzle, where each piece, although different in shape and size, had its place. That's why it was hard for you to adapt; it was too complicated to conceive of the idea that someone could be there for you if you fell. Even thinking that you were allowed to fall in the first place.

“Someone woke up early,” you muttered, as you entered the living room and noticed the man already there.

Your voice brought him out of his trance, and he smiled unconsciously when he saw you approaching. All this time, you were still wrapped in your ritual garments, as if you feared that removing them would evaporate the respect the others felt for you. That day, you wore an outfit in deep purple hues, with silver-threaded edges that seemed to shimmer faintly with every movement.

The fabric fell elegantly over your body, light yet imposing, like an enchanted second skin. The sleeves were full, but suddenly narrowed at the wrists, allowing you to move with precision while casting. Across your middle, a dark leather belt held small compartments where you kept ritual items, crystals, and a sealed amulet. Your Sling Ring was also there.

He'd learned the hard way that your temple slippers were always reinforced with charms for silence and stability. Around your neck, you wore a discreet pendant: a small moonstone, a gift from Wong, which sparkled whenever a dark presence came too close.

Bob thought that, even with all that mystique, there was something soft about your face that morning. He'd even say vulnerable or… fearful.

“I feel good today,” he announced enthusiastically from his position on the floor. “I wanted to come sooner.”

“Well, that means we'll be done soon. Before lunchtime.”

You sank onto the linoleum, stretching your limbs and reaching for your toes. It was a kind of preparation, probably to get your muscles as awake as your mind.

It was already a routine, but Bob noticed something different about you that day. You moved as if every stretch required a tremendous amount of effort, and he even saw you wince in pain a couple of times, accompanied by massages on what appeared to be your ankles. He thought it would eventually go away, but it didn't.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't recall you hurting yourself before, but judging by your expression and the heavy, frustrated energy you were emanating, he had to ask. Maybe you'd just slept badly.

“I'm fine. I just felt a muscle strain.”

He didn't believe you, but he nodded gently.

Another thing he'd learned was to pay attention to others, because of situations like these. Previously, he'd been locked away in his self-indulgence most of the time and had a hard time interpreting other people's feelings or noticing when something bad was happening, but he'd made the decision to show interest in his loved ones and reciprocate their affection; it meant working on that aspect.

You didn't say anything else, and he assumed you weren't in the mood to talk about it. Training went as smoothly as expected, and when it was over, he took the opportunity to approach you and talk. You must have noticed his obvious nervousness, since this time you were the one who asked him if something was wrong.

“I wanted to talk to you about something. I… huh, I want to start a treatment,” he said suddenly, playing with his fingers.

"Treatment?"

“Psychiatric,” he clarified, “Something to complement this.”

He was referring, of course, to his spiritual breakthroughs. Controlling his energy, breathing techniques, meditation, connecting with his core—all of it had helped him stay grounded. But there were still nights—though less frequent—when The Void whispered from the darkest corner of his mind. It spoke of fear, of ruin, of inevitable destruction. And Bob no longer wanted to give it any space.

“I've been thinking about it these past few weeks. I know he won't like it, but… I'm tired of him dictating what I can and can't do. I tried to do it years ago, but it didn't end well, I think now would be a good time because you're all here to support me, and if something happens, it would be easier to regulate myself. Well, that's what I think.”

Your eyes looked at him with a mixture of surprise and respect. You didn't interrupt him. You remained silent for several seconds, only nodding slightly. You knew how difficult this step was; you'd seen him resist before, justifying his connection to The Void as inevitable, as a curse beyond redemption.

“That’s brave of you,” you replied, finally.

“I don't know if I'm brave. I just know I want to keep moving forward. I want… I want to have a life.”

The last sentence hung in the air, as if he didn't quite know what it meant yet, but desperately wanted it. You understood. Because, even though he never said what he was building with you, you knew that this search for balance wasn't just for him. It was for you too.

“Then don’t be afraid. I’ll be here no matter what, okay?”

Bob smiled a little shyly, but also with relief. The hug he gave you took you by surprise, but you happily responded. The touch was gentle and comforting.

“Thank you for saying that. You're a great friend. Love you.”

You stood still for a few seconds longer than necessary when he pulled away. Not because you didn't like his words... but because you didn't know what to do with them.

Love you.

Two words that shouldn't have meant so much, but that ignited too many things in your mind at once. It was easier for you to interpret spells than feelings. And yet, there you were, standing in front of him, trying to sustain that sentence without something inside you trembling.

You looked at him and nodded with a soft smile, even though inside your heart was racing faster than ever.

You're a great friend.

Friend. The word was sure. Familiar. But it sounded incomplete in his voice, as if it hid something deeper than even he knew what it was.

You didn't want to dwell on it too much. Or let the illusion distract you. But you also couldn't deny what that connection was becoming: something warm, quiet, impossible to ignore.

“Love you too, Bob.”

A second later, he walked over to the window, letting the sunlight spill onto his face. The tranquility of his mind was reflected in his physical appearance, for there, for a moment, he seemed almost unperturbed. With a glance, he silently asked you to join him, and you granted him the pleasure. The two of you stood for a while, watching the city awaken, ready for another day of New York life.

What neither of them noticed was the imperceptible shadow that snaked from the far side of the room, like a fissure in reality, a stain on the harmony. He listened, he always did.

And this time he didn't like what he heard.

He understood, deep down, what the man's decision meant: it wasn't enough to contain him; now they wanted to lock him up. In his twisted, sinister logic, he needed to find someone to blame. And you were the perfect person to place that responsibility.

Without you knowing it, from that moment on, the darkness began to stir more actively. It didn't attack immediately—it wasn't stupid—but rather began to whisper in the crevices, in your dreams, in your subconscious. But this time it wasn't in Bob: it was in you. Before those days, you'd been having nightmares that disturbed your nighttime peace, and you assumed it was just a passing thing; unfortunately, all they did was get worse as the days passed.

The temple halls were in ruins. Fire licked at the sacred walls, and the sky, blackened by smoke, hid any hope of dawn. You ran through the rubble, barefoot, your tunic soaked in ash.

It wasn't a memory, but one of your fears. All around you, apprentices screamed, ran, others vanished. Wong appeared in the doorway—or was it Strange? Everything was blurred—reaching out with his hand. But when you reached for him, you noticed with horror that he had no face. Just a mute, empty mass of flesh that watched you silently as the ceiling collapsed on top of you.

You didn't understand where all that fire was coming from, but something made you believe it was your fault. As if you had unleashed something evil or dangerous and now the rest of your companions were paying the consequences.

Other nights, it was worse. You could feel all the pain in the memories that tormented you, and you woke up sweating, shaking... sometimes you cried. It was difficult to cope with the situation, but you tried to hold it together as steadily as possible.

Of course, Bob didn't know any of that. Yes, he noticed you were a little downcast, your eyelids tired, but he attributed it all to the excuses you gave him, like I didn't sleep well or I was up reading last night. You reasoned with yourself that he didn't need to know that something was chasing you in your sleep, because whoever you assumed was guilty had nothing to do with him. It was too long a story to explain, and painful enough to want to relive.

Your friend, on the other hand, was making considerable progress. Yelena and Bucky had taken it upon themselves to find him one of the best specialists who could provide him with the appropriate care. Sometimes you were with him as he filled out his medical logs, in which he had to write down how he'd felt, his physical reaction to the treatment, his mental state, among other things.

The psychiatrist had warned him that finding the right medication could take time, but he wasn't discouraged by it. And the support you all were giving him made him feel much better.

One afternoon, you were lying on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs and a warm cup in your hands. Outside, the city was beginning to turn orange and blue, but the atmosphere in the common room was cozy and quiet. You hadn't said much all day, and although the others had respected your silence, Bob had noticed that your gaze weighed more heavily than usual.

He entered quietly, carrying two bowls of ice cream—one vanilla with almond pieces, the other chocolate—and sat down next to you without asking permission, as was already customary between you.

“You skipped dinner today,” he said softly, handing you one of the bowls.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you muttered simply. You took the ice cream anyway.

Bob took a spoonful and, without looking at you, began to speak enthusiastically:

“Did you know that vanilla ice cream was one of the first flavors invented? It seems simple, but in ancient times it was a luxury only royalty could enjoy. Imagine having to wait days for ice to make this?”

You gave him a funny look.

“And how do you know that?”

“I saw it on Reddit”

That made you laugh, and he imitated you. Then you ate in silence. He didn't insist, didn't ask questions, didn't fill the air with unnecessary words. He just offered you his company with that naturalness he'd learned to cultivate with you, as if he already knew that forcing calm only drove it away.

Bob took another spoonful of ice cream and gave you a curious look, almost as if he wanted to break the silence without being too pushy.

“Did you meet the original Avengers?”

You shook your head softly, leaning a little further back into the couch as your eyes wandered a little towards the ceiling.

“No, I wasn't that lucky. But I did help Stephen Strange during the battle against Thanos. It was… overwhelming, to say the least. Seeing so many heroes fighting together, seeing the destruction, the sacrifice…”

Bob nodded, slowly chewing his ice cream, as if digesting those words as well.

"It must have been a life-changing experience. Not everyone can say they've been in the middle of something like that."

You sighed and looked down at the ice cream, as if searching for the right words.

“I never thought I would go through that, and honestly, if I had been given the choice, I would have walked away.”

"Why?"

“I don't know. It's just… I mean, I knew there were threats, but being there made me realize it's not just about casting spells or fighting hard. It's much more complicated.”

Bob watched you intently, as if each of your words showed him a new facet of this world he was just beginning to discover.

“What do you mean? Being a hero?”

“Do you think I’m a hero?”

“Don’t you?”

The question fell softly, without pressure. You smiled, but there was a certain hesitation in your expression.

"I don't think I'm that. Sometimes I feel like I'm just doing what I have to do, because otherwise, no one else would. But being a hero... sounds like something big, something I don't know if I deserve."

He shook his head, with a genuine smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“But that's exactly what makes a hero, isn't it? Doing what needs to be done, even if you don't always want to or feel ready. I don't consider myself a hero anywhere near what I should be, but you... you have the strength to face things I can't even imagine.”

He slid a little further in your direction, as if he wanted to break through a physical, but also emotional, barrier.

“What you've been through, what you do, and how you keep going… that makes you a hero in my eyes. Not because of your battles or your powers, but because of your heart.”

The silence that followed was warm and meaningful. In that small space, without the need for grandiloquent words, both of you understood that there was more than just training and duty: there was a genuine bond, a connection that was growing with patience and respect.

Your hand reached out to cup his cheek, your fingers resting gently along the line of his jaw.

“What’s going on with you today?”

“Why?”

“You’re prettier than usual.”

Bob let out a soft chuckle, lowering his gaze, but didn’t pull away from your touch. His cheeks were warm, and when his eyes found yours again, they carried that gentle, trusting light he only showed when he felt safe with you.

“Don’t tell me things like that.”

"Why not?"

"It's bad for my health. I could get an arrhythmia or something."

You weren't expecting a joke like that, so you giggled as you pulled your hand away, letting it fall back onto the blanket. Silence returned, but this time it was different. Comfortable. Shared. The kind of silence that feels more like a wordless conversation.

Bob leaned back a little further on the couch, crossing his ankles, the now half-empty bowl resting on his abdomen.

“I was reading something this morning…” he began abruptly, “about how the mind clings most to moments where someone is simply there. Not to advise, not to solutions. Just… to presence. Sometimes I think that’s why I think about you so much.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously, tilting your face slightly.

"Yeah?"

“Yes. There are days when you don't say much, but you're there. I think that's enough to make your memory stick with me. Like a spell.”

You looked at him, not entirely surprised, but moved by his simple way of expressing himself. There were no grand speeches, no theatrical gestures. It was him, and that was always enough.

“What beautiful words”

Bob smiled, satisfied.

“It's not that big a deal. I'm just learning to express what's happening to me. The doctor says it's important, that verbalizing it helps get what's hurting out.”

“And does this hurt?”

“No,” he replied, after a second’s thought. “It’s the opposite, actually. Talking to you always makes me feel better.”

You smiled again. The cup you'd been drinking from was already cold, but the warmth surrounding you came from somewhere else. He asked if you wanted to watch some TV, one of those boring late-night shows, and you agreed, hoping to distract yourself a little.

Little by little, thanks to the comfortable armchair, the blanket, and the distant murmur of voices, you felt your body give in to the mental fatigue you were experiencing. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, in a rather strange but genuinely comfortable position.

You felt like you'd barely blinked, and then you woke up again. But now Bob was gone.

The room was completely silent, with a chilly air filling the air, and it was completely dark. You thought he might have gone to his room to sleep a while ago. You were about to get up to follow his lead when, suddenly, a voice in the darkness startled you. At first, you thought it was just a misunderstanding. But the second time you listened, you realized it was someone calling your name: clearly and loudly.

“Yelena?” you asked blindly. It was a woman’s voice, it could only be her. “Hello…?”

They called your name again. Your blood ran cold as you recognized the whisper, a voice you thought you'd forgotten.

“Ameena?”

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔?

"What are you talking about?"

𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, she continued, ignoring your question. You couldn't see anything, but you tried to walk in the direction the sound was leading you.

“Where are you?”

𝐼'𝑚 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.

“I can’t see you”

𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢, she replied, her tone soft. Her voice seemed to come from all around, like a piercing echo.

A dizziness settled in the back of your head, and when you felt like you were about to fall, someone caught you. That touch had no warmth or comfort. It was as if something was making sure you wouldn't run away.

The darkness around you began to pulse, almost breathing. And the air—if it could even be called air—became thick; dense. And then you heard it: your name, spoken clearly, from every corner at once.

“Ameena…”

The vision responded with a ragged whisper.

𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢?

The figure emerged from the darkness like a forcibly exhumed corpse. Her robes were torn, blackened by something heavier than ash. Her face was little more than a twisted mask: her lips cracked, the skin on her cheekbones sloughing off in gray threads, as if the flesh had rotted away, leaving no soul free.

But her eyes... the eyes were hers. Or so it seemed. They returned your gaze with a look so broken, so wounded, that it hurt to hold it.

𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙?

She took a step, and the ground shook beneath her as if the plane itself refused to support her.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝑖𝑡. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠… 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛.

“It wasn’t like that… I just wanted to save you…”

Your voice came out small, hoarse. You couldn't tell if you said it or meant it. It made no difference now.

Ameena raised a hand and showed you her arm: burned, corrupted by black marks that pulsed like maggots beneath the skin.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑒.

Her voice was no longer your friend's. It was that of someone caught between planes, a shrill vibration laden with resentment.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒.

The surroundings changed. It was no longer the room. Now it was Kamar-Taj burning again, distorted by a purple sky. You were at the center of the ritual. You could see yourself, younger, your hands trembling, your lips repeating a mantra you didn't remember writing. The invocation circle closed, and at its center, Ameena screamed. But not like someone hurt. She screamed like someone violently torn from the world, someone begging to be let go... and not heard.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟. 𝑂𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝐼'𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑. 𝐵𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑𝑠. 𝐵𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠.

The air thickened. A dark liquid began to rise to your ankles as if the ground were melting into poison.

“T-That’s not true. The spell doesn’t do that…”

𝐴𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤? 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.

“But I know it doesn’t. The spell didn’t work. Meena, I… I never meant to hurt you.”

Ameena stood before you now, but her features twisted like melted wax. Black threads hung from her mouth, falling onto your face.

𝐼'𝑚 𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑏𝑜. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢… 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝐼𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡, 𝑝𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠?

A pressure gripped your chest with an unnatural force. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't move. You knew she was talking about Bob, and the thought that someone might hurt him made you tremble.

That's when you felt Nimvath's presence. Not as a figure. But as an ancient will that forced its way through the emotional rift that had just been inflicted on you. She didn't speak to you, but her power slid like warm oil down your spine.

Ameena grabbed your arms with black nails that were no longer human. She leaned over you, her face distorted.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑚𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠.

A scream broke the silence.

You were back in the living room, where you were supposed to be resting, with the static of the television playing in the background. You had woken up—for real this time—and Bob was now beside you, apparently having fallen asleep just like it had you.

You felt like you were gasping for air, and when he lunged at you, holding you by the shoulders and constantly asking what was wrong, you knew that the scream you heard at the end had come from your chest.

You couldn't explain anything to him, because a second later—sweating and with a cold shiver running through your body—you writhed on the couch until you fell to your knees on the floor. Once there, you threw all the food you had in your stomach onto the floor.

The putrid smell still filled your nostrils and the sensation of dead flesh remained on your skin.

The rest of the tower's inhabitants were quick to appear, probably worried by the noise in the middle of the night, believing there was an emergency. They arrived in attack position, most of them in pajamas, their faces swollen and their hair disheveled. They didn't relax even when they realized you were crying, one hand outstretched as if rejecting the touch Bob was trying to give you. Your whole body was trembling, and your lungs felt like all the oxygen on Earth wasn't enough.

What followed was a bit of a blur. You vaguely remember Bucky and Alexei helping you back to your room while Yelena held your friend back, as he stubbornly tried to reach you. Some say it took you an hour to calm down. Others say the shock lasted twice as long.

What you were sure of was that you didn't sleep at all that night. You were afraid that when you closed your eyes, those horrible visions would return, or that perhaps worse ones would appear. You didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone, afraid of not being able to discern what was real and what wasn't.

A week soon passed. And no one ever spoke about it.

You'd simply said it had been a bad dream, and every time someone wanted to ask you a question, you completely evaded them. Not even Bob received answers beyond monosyllables or the same excuse, so repetitive it felt rehearsed.

On the third day, he gave up, trying to ignore the obvious barrier that now existed between you. A part of him felt guilty and fearful, as if your condition was a consequence of some of his actions. The more unbalanced he became, the more the evil within him manifested itself in your dreams.

One morning, you stood in the kitchen making tea, as if this mundane action could restore some peace of mind. The cups clinked in your cold hands. Your eyes remained sunken, beyond tiredness, beyond insomnia; beyond this plane.

Several members of the team were already awake, but only Bucky's presence accompanied you. You liked being with him because he rarely spoke, and the silence was just what you needed at that moment. You thought you could share a cup of tea with him, perhaps as a silent thank you.

Suddenly, without warning, the air was rent with the unmistakable sound of a portal opening. The echo of the incantation rattled every window, every molecule. You turned, worried, only to find that there was indeed the orange glow of dimensional rings burning in the middle of the kitchen. Your first impulse was to reach out to grasp your ring, ready for whatever was coming.

It was Wong who appeared, his robes barely stirred by the magical wind he carried with him. His eyes fell on you with something akin to urgency, but not surprise.

Your voice was barely audible when you asked him what he was doing there, interpreting his presence as an omen that nothing good was coming. First, he introduced himself—Wong, the Sorcerer Supreme—and then he walked toward you. He asked to speak privately, you agreed.

Once you were in the hallway, you were the first to speak:

“I guess you’re not just here to say hello, are you?”

He sensed the bitter tone in your voice. Neither of you seemed to like the position you were in.

“I need you to accompany me. There’s an imbalance north of the Valley of Sorrows. A rift has opened at the edges of a dormant reality… something that shouldn’t have awakened.”

“A demon?”

“Not just any one,” he replied, not looking at you. That wasn’t a good sign. “There are traces of primal magic. Traces of a force I recognized immediately. Yours. And something more.”

Your breathing stopped for a second.

“Nimvath?”

Wong nodded, though his expression remained impassive.

"If the seal has weakened, it's because someone else is forcing it from within. I need you to come. Not only because you have a connection to that entity, but because you're the only one who can withstand it without breaking completely."

“I’m not sure I’m up to that.”

He looked at you straight on, his features hard.

“That’s why. If you’re weakened… Nimvath knows.”

The metallic taste settled in your throat from the back. You felt like you were going to throw up again.

“I need to break that bond, Wong. I can’t stand it anymore.”

"That's impossible. But you must learn to control it; you learned those lessons at Kamar-Taj."

“But I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“We all have to face the consequences of our choices. Even when we don't want to.”

You swore your knees were going to buckle at any moment and your body would end up on the floor, defeated. The worst part was that you knew he was right.

“Just let me get my things, okay? And then we can go.”

He nodded. You backed away.

When you reached your room, your entire body language exuded resignation; exhaustion. You pulled out a small, enchanted backpack, large enough inside to hold the items needed for a short war. Robes, protective artifacts, minor grimoires, crystals. Everything fit silently, in measured movements.

You didn't know when, but Bob appeared in the doorway. He was silhouetted against the light in the hallway. He didn't say anything at first, just stared at you, watching you pack items he shouldn't recognize... but with a message he clearly understood.

“Are you leaving?” his voice was barely a whisper.

“Bob,” you sighed, turning to look at him. He looked like he had just woken up, still with traces of sleep on his face and his hair in disarray. “Yeah, I'm leaving. Wong needs me.”

“Your Sorcerer Supreme? Where?” he stepped inside. “Where does he need you?”

You packed one last jar of golden seals without immediately responding. Then you slung your backpack over one shoulder.

“It’s not a place. It’s a fracture,” you murmured. “A rift between dimensions that’s… bleeding. And if we don’t stem it, something that should be dormant will come through.”

“And why you?”

“I have an aptitude for that.”

"Did you see anything bad? Is that what you were yelling about the other night?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your throat tightened at the thought of Ameena's voice whispering to you from beyond death. She was just a puppet, a trap to weaken you.

“Are you okay?” he asked then, softer, closer. “Are you going to be okay?”

The question caught your attention. It was honest. Vulnerable.

And that's why it's so dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you answered finally. “But I have to. It’s not optional.”

Bob looked down. He seemed to be struggling with the idea of offering help, but knew this time it wasn't his battle. He didn't even know how he could intervene.

“You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

“I hope so,” you sighed, a hint of sourness in your expression.

“And how will we know if you’re safe?”

You smiled, weakly, with a tired tenderness that wasn't affection, but felt like it.

You approached him. You didn't hug him. You didn't touch him. You just handed him a small, enchanted locket, the size of a coin, with a protective symbol inside. Something simple, subtle enough not to interfere with his… imbalance. Enough so he could tell if you were still alive.

“Take this. It’s like a mirror, it reflects my spirit. If this breaks…” you explained, “it’s because something broke in me.”

Bob took it carefully, his fingers trembling. He nodded without speaking.

"I have to go"

There were no hugs, no goodbyes. You just walked around the side and out into the hallway, not wanting to look back. Because that meant you were accepting the fact that you might not return; that you wanted to burn Bob's image into your mind in case it was the last time.

A week passed.

And with it, the warmth of your presence went too. The common room no longer smelled of incense or old books. The tower seemed emptier, quieter, as if your abandonment had absorbed all the energy that used to circulate through the halls. Bob came downstairs every morning hoping—or denying—to find you sitting there, legs crossed on the sofa, softly humming a tune while you flipped through one of your old texts or jotted something down in a notebook filled with symbols only you understood. But every morning it was the same. No one. Nothing.

Your favorite mug was still on the shelf, untouched. He'd washed it once, as a mechanical gesture, but then put it back there, waiting. He thought that if everything was just as you'd left it, maybe you'd feel less distant.

At first, he tried to convince the others—and himself—that you'd be back soon. That Wong just needed your help with an urgent ritual, or that a minor rift had emerged somewhere in the world that required your attention. You'd said it: I'll be back soon. He clung to those words like a mantra.

Three weeks passed.

And your voice began to live in his memory with a painful intensity. He remembered it guiding him through meditation sessions, when you taught him to breathe more slowly, to find a place of stillness in his mind where The Void couldn't reach him. Even without you, he continued the practice. He would sit in silence for hours, back straight, hands flat on his knees, waiting to hear your voice. Not his real one, but the one in his memory: steady, temperate, patient. That voice was the only thing that sustained him.

He became quieter. He ate less. He slept even less.

Sometimes he would sit motionless in the library, a book open in front of him without having turned a single page. Or he would pause in front of the window, staring up at the colorless sky, as if searching for signs.

Some days, he thought he heard you laughing in the kitchen. Other days, he heard your footsteps descending the stairs in that rhythm he'd learned to recognize. But when he went to check, no one was there.

The others in the tower noticed. Yelena tried to confront him once, asking if everything was okay, if he needed to talk. He only replied that he was meditating, that he felt calm, that he just needed time.

The month arrived when your absence haunted Bob.

It wasn't just nostalgia. It was a feeling that grew like a dark root deep in his chest. The Void, which had remained unusually still for some time, began to creep back into the edges of his mind. At first, in whispers. Then, in images that invaded his dreams: you, trapped in shadows, screaming his name, unable to reach you.

The balance he'd worked so hard to maintain was beginning to falter. And yet, he kept meditating. Every day. In every corner you'd been in, in every space where he could feel your trace. Because deep in his soul, he knew that if he stopped, if he allowed the silence to completely fill his mind, The Void would find him again.

The locket you had left for him rested on his nightstand like a sacred object.

He didn't dare hang it around his neck, as if afraid of breaking the last real bond that tied him to your presence. Every morning, upon awakening, he took it in his hands, delicately opened it, and examined the small symbols inscribed inside: a rune of protection, a seal of containment, and a barely visible trace of your energy. It emitted no light or heat, but it seemed to him that it still held your essence. Sometimes he took it with him to his meditation place, placing it in front of him as an anchor or amulet, and other times he simply held it until he fell asleep, hoping that your magic would protect him even from a distance. It was the only thing that hadn't failed him yet.

The night he dreamed of you again was different.

He didn't wake up screaming. He wasn't covered in sweat or with his hands shaking from a bloody nightmare. It was quieter. Colder.

In the dream, he walked down a corridor without walls. The floor beneath his feet seemed to float on an ocean of thick smoke, and the sky, if such a thing existed there, was tinged with a dirty gray, like wet paper. The silence wasn't peace; it was absence. Of sound, of time, of life.

And then, he saw you.

Not walking. Not standing in front of him with your usual poise and that confident gaze that used to calm everything. No. You were lying on a wooden bed in the center of the room, surrounded by threads of light suspended in the air. A white sheet covered your body up to your chest, and your arms rested motionless at your sides. Your hair spread like ink on the pillow, and your face had the cruel calm of an abandoned sculpture.

It was you. You were there.

Even though he knew he couldn't touch you, he took a step, then another. His gait became clumsy, slow, as if he were wading through thick water. No matter how hard he tried, the bed never seemed to get any closer. The world resisted him reaching you.

But you felt him.

You didn't open your eyes. You didn't turn your face. And yet, your chest moved more forcefully, as if his presence had touched a part of you that was still awake. Your lips didn't move, but he heard your voice clear inside his head, like a melody buried between the folds of memory.

Help me.

You didn't scream. You didn't beg. It was barely a wisp of air, thick with fatigue. It was your voice, but weaker, more broken. As if you'd been repeating that word for centuries without anyone being able to hear it.

He said your name.

He murmured it first. Then he shouted it. He reached out toward you, and then the bed was closer. So close, he could see a small crack above your collarbone, a symbol etched with ancient fire. Although it looked like blood, it wasn't, but magic. A mark he didn't understand, but one that emanated the energy of a warning.

He wanted to touch you, wanted to shake you and tell you he was already there, that you weren't alone. But when his fingers almost touched your cheek, something strange seemed to stop him. He didn't need to look back to realize he was there, a heavy shadow preventing him from moving, though this time it felt like he came with company.

Near you, hovering around your bed, it felt as if a new presence were tormenting you. It couldn't be The Void; it was a heavier energy... more powerful, no doubt.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through his head, the sound piercing his ears painfully, and a vision appeared:

177A Bleecker Street.

He glanced at you, and then everything began to unravel, the ground shaking beneath his feet and a strange smoke rising. The lights went out one by one, and you slowly began to sink into the bed, as if the mattress was silently absorbing you. He screamed, he ran, but he couldn't touch you.

Bob woke with a dry spasm, his lungs empty and his heart like a frantic drum. He realized he was holding the locket in his hand. He had squeezed it so tightly that his fingers were numb, and one of the runes had been etched into his palm. The line still burned. He didn't know if it was from magic or memory, but it burned.

He sat up quickly and grabbed a notebook he'd forgotten on his nightstand, writing down the address still fresh in his memory in uneven strokes. It must have had some meaning if it had appeared in his dream; he was almost certain the vision of your lifeless body had rested there.

Why had you asked for help? Were you in danger? Maybe that's why you hadn't returned, because something had you captured in its clutches.

He wanted to think that if something had happened to you, Wong would have gone and informed him. But he believed more that in that case, he would have known. He would have felt it.

He couldn't sleep a wink for the next few hours, no matter how hard he tried. So first thing in the morning, he was already clean and dressed, ready to leave the Watchtower until he could find you. Without exaggerating, if he went another day without hearing from you, he felt like he was going to go crazy.

The Sanctum Sanctorum looked imposing, just as Bob imagined a building dedicated to safeguarding so many mystical objects would look. Above it was a symbol, which, although he didn't understand, let him know he was in the right place.

Bob knocked on the door. A young man dressed in clothes similar to the one you were wearing greeted him, and when he asked to see the Sorcerer Supreme, he was told to wait in a sitting room.

After a few minutes Wong appeared and, for some reason, he didn't seem surprised by the visit.

“Robert, right?”

“Hello, Miste–Master Wong,” he stood up.

There wasn't much small talk, but he got straight to the point. He told him about the dream, omitting details, simply stating that he thought you might be in danger.

Again, the expression that appeared on the sorcerer's face made him think that this was not new information to him.

“I had a feeling.”

“A feeling about what?”

The sigh that preceded that question worried Bob more than he would have liked.

“Follow me, please.”

The brunette walked through a maze of corridors, trying to keep up with the shorter man. Suddenly, a door opened, untouched, and Bob gasped at the sight before him.

You were lying in bed, just as he'd dreamed. You looked pale, lifeless, almost like a corpse adorned in a pretty white dress. All around you were still those magical inscriptions, and you seemed trapped in a bubble made of hundreds of floating crystals.

Bob wanted to take a step into the room, but Wong stopped him.

“What’s wrong with her?”

His voice came out more broken than he had expected. The situation didn't seem very hopeful.

“It’s a long story. You have to come with me.”

With no other choice, he followed his host once again. They both sat down on the armchair in a room that seemed to function as an office.

Wong inhaled deeply before speaking:

“She hasn’t told you the whole truth. Many years ago when I first met her, she was just a teenager. Seventeen, with a hollowness in her eyes that didn’t befit someone so young. She came alone, with no belongings, the Ancient One having picked her up from the streets where she’d been spending her time. Perhaps she felt sorry for her or wanted to do an act of charity, I… honestly don’t know. When she took her to Kamar-Taj, she responded to the spells with a fluidity that took others months, years, to achieve. The Ancient One said there was fire and fog on her path. That her soul shone, but not without shadows.”

He paused. The light in the room flickered a little with the crackling of the fire.

“The first time I heard her full story, it was during a night when no one could sleep. The energy of a storm was falling on the Himalayas, and most of the students were too restless to rest. She sat next to me, cross-legged, staring into the embers, and began to speak as if narrating something that no longer belonged to her.

»She told me about her mother, an extremely perceptive woman who was constantly paranoid. She described her as mentally ill, but I think she simply had a natural gift for connecting with the occult that she never knew how to use.

Instead of walking away, she somehow wanted to understand. To understand why her mother spoke to people who weren't there, or what those symbols she constantly drew meant. Once she was with us, she turned her mourning into study. She learned dead languages without a teacher, and after a few months she could reproduce energy-containment formulas without tools. A year later, she was drawing summoning circles flawlessly. With those skills, anyone would have thought she was the ideal candidate to become the master guarding a shrine, or even the Ancient One successor as Sorcerer Supreme. She was brilliant, yes, but also intense. She couldn't stand injustice in training and had a sense of duty that sometimes bordered on the reckless. But when she met Ameena, she softened a little. Or rather... she found something that gave her balance.

Wong finally looked at him, with the same seriousness as at the beginning.

“They were both apprentices, and soon they became inseparable. They formed a bond that went beyond friendship, as if they had become a single soul divided into two bodies. She was fine for a while, and Ameena kept her on the straight and narrow. Until one day, we were attacked. And Ameena was seriously injured. Once again, she had lost the only thing she thought she had for sure.”

»I always knew there was a crack in his spirit ever since his mother's accident, but what we never imagined was that the crack would widen so much.

She sought so fervently to reverse the loss that she became susceptible to the oldest temptations, to doors that must not be opened.

"What are you talking about?"

“She wanted to bring Ameena back from the dead. Those spells are dark, advanced magic, but above all, very dangerous and forbidden. Trying to do that corrupts anyone and allows evil entities to take over the caster. We knew what she wanted to do because we found her, with the circle still fresh and her body barely standing. Master Mordo wanted to exile her immediately, but the Ancient One insisted we not do so, or else the entity she had contacted could cause problems in the future.”

»She wasn't the same after that. She had to work hard for many years to deal with what was now trying to possess her, because a bond like that isn't easily broken. And she had been coping well until…"

“Until I showed up”

Bob felt his stomach churn. When he thought he could finally be with someone who wouldn't hurt him, someone who understood him, it turned out it was all a lie.

“It’s not entirely your fault. Nimveth has spent years trying to reach her, just waiting for her guard down to take advantage.”

“And all this has to do with that energy rift, right? The one you were supposed to seal. The mission you asked for her help with.”

Although he didn't mean to, the words came out with a reproachful tone. It was as if he wanted to find someone to blame for your unfortunate situation.

“She's the only one who could manipulate that kind of portal, if anyone else had tried she would probably have died.”

“And she’s not on edge right now?”

There was anger. He didn't know if it was because of how powerless he felt in the face of everything, because you had kept such a catastrophic secret, or because of the possibility that your proximity to The Void was the cause of your condition.

“She's in a spiritual coma. She's fighting an internal battle that she must overcome alone, or else Nimveth will continue to torment her until she gives herself up to death. I'd like to do more, but I can't. No one can.”

“Of course you can! She needs help.”

“It’s not something that I have to offer you.”

"So? You're just going to leave her locked up there until she decides to get up? How long will that take?"

“She could wake up tomorrow. It could be decades. That's not up to me.”

Bob felt like he might cry. You'd helped him out of the hole he'd dug himself so many times that he felt he had to do the same for you. He owed it to you.

There was no further discussion, what had to be said had already been said.

When he was back home, Yelena realized almost immediately that something was wrong with him. The man allowed himself to cry in his best friend's arms as he told her everything, feeling that with each word things became more real; more terrifying. It was too much to handle, especially for a couple of people who didn't even grasp the mystical predicament you were in.

Your words asking for help echoed in his head all the time, a knife twisting deep inside that wanted to bleed him dry.

He wasn't going to give up so easily, because he knew what it was like to find himself in that position. It wasn't until then that, somehow, he realized that Yelena truly understood him when she risked seeking him out in The Void, so many months ago that it seemed like another lifetime. The balance he had now was his merit, but he would never have known how to achieve it without your unconditional support.

A goal was set in his mind. He was going to do everything possible to bring you back from unconsciousness safe and sound.

That night, before going to sleep, he hung your locket around his neck, like an amulet to guarantee the success of his mission. Then he took a deep breath, drank the entire contents of a teapot of meditative herbs, and closed his eyes, hoping to find the path that would lead him to you.

Even if it meant facing his own demons to rescue you from yours.

It took him days to be energetically prepared enough to establish a connection that would last long enough to make a change. It wasn't an easy task, but he didn't stop trying. Until he succeeded.

That space you inhabited—your mind? A prison? He wasn't sure—wasn't at all what he'd imagined.

It was a peaceful place, seemingly a forest, filled with cherry trees whose blossoms fell with every gust of wind. A delicious smell rose from inside a building, something very similar to a ryokan—Bob had read about them on an internet site—and lights flickered as a sign of human presence.

He tried to adjust to the sensation of his body in that dream. When he was more stable, he soon walked to the door, where he knocked a couple of times, perhaps sounding a little too desperate. Someone answered the knock, but a second later his face twisted into a confused grimace.

It wasn't you standing in front of him, but a young woman with Asian features who wore her long black hair in a braid. Judging by her expression, she wasn't too pleased with what she was witnessing either.

“Get out of here. Now.”

“Who are you? Where is she?”                     

Neither of them could say another word because, almost immediately, a third voice appeared.

“Who is it, Ameena?”

Bob managed to recognize two things: first, the name of your dead friend, and then that it was you speaking from inside. He took a hasty step forward, wanting to see you as quickly as possible, but she prevented him from moving.

“Meena?” you exclaimed again. The girl’s eyes had darkened as she looked at Bob. “Hey, what’s up with…?”

Your words were cut off when you reached them. His heart raced when you finally locked eyes and he spoke your name so softly it sounded almost like a prayer.

“Bob…”

“Found you,” he exclaimed reverently, pushing aside the other girl to lunge at you.

His arms wrapped around you below your shoulders and he spun you around in the air, listening to you laugh in his ear. You were soft, fragrant, and your skin felt fresh.

“Bob!  How did you get here? Did Ameena invite you?”

He turned to the aforementioned woman, looking at her. His expression had changed to a less threatening one.

“I knew you’d love some extra company.”

When you looked at him, beaming with joy, you seemed like a different person. Your whole appearance had changed, your skin was glowing again, and your smile was priceless; you were beautiful, to say the least. Nothing even seemed to be troubling you. There was only peace in your features.

“Oh, so wonderful. Come, I have so many things to show you. You’ll see how beautiful everything is here!”

Bob let himself be pulled by you as you held his hand, leading him inside the house. Even with his back to you, he could feel your friend's heavy gaze, as if his presence was disrupting something in the environment and she wanted to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

The whole place seemed like a fantasy world, too perfect to be real. It was strange, but definitely better than the shame housing Bob used to wander through when The Void took over. He supposed everyone expressed trauma differently.

Soon you led him to a room, which he assumed was yours. Once there, he realized that, just like your body in the sanctuary, you were wearing white clothing; too light and with delicate embroidery in strategic places that made you look like an ethereal being.

"What is this?"

“It’s my bedroom, don’t you like it?” you asked innocently. It wasn’t anything like your room at the Watchtower—this one was cleaner and tidier. “I have everything I ever wanted. A big window, silk sheets, sunlight, all these plants, warm nights in the winter and cool nights in the summer.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not much. But Meena says it is, she's lived here longer.”

For a second, Bob wondered if what he was witnessing was the afterlife. That thing after death, where your dead friend must be. But you hadn't died, and neither had he, so it could only be an illusion.

“Is that your friend’s name?”

“Oh, yeah! I’m a fool, sorry. I didn’t introduce you.”

You began to tell him a story, about how you'd met her and how close you two were. But the story was distorted because you'd never been together at Kamar-Taj, and the tiny detail of her death was missing from your timeline.

You were perfectly still in front of him, no cuts, bruises, or pain on your face; but it didn't feel right to Bob. There was something macabre behind it all, and he would have to find out.

He became your guest, and for the next few hours, you devoted yourself to him with the sweetness of someone longing to redeem lost time. Your smile seemed freshly woven by the same sun that bathed the cherry trees, and you frequently offered him a hot drink in a hand-carved cup. Every so often, you drew a sigh from him with your fingers tangled in his.

The forest paths, covered in petals that fell with a serene rhythm, became a space of peace. The flowers never withered. The sky was a constant canvas, neither too bright nor too gloomy, as if the world breathed according to your emotions. You taught her to identify the healing buds, the vines that sang if you got close enough, and the translucent dragonflies that flew in perfect spirals over the ponds.

As evening fell, you walked to a lake so still it reflected even your unspoken thoughts. Fireflies, like joyful souls, danced on the surface with golden sparkles, and you laughed as he tried to catch them, only to have them dissolve like vapor in his hands. In a clearing hidden among the trees, you explained about infusions with herbs that only grew there: leaves of moonlight, petals of memory, roots of silence. Bob couldn't remember the last time someone had guided him with such care, such attention, such contained love.

And yet, he didn’t let his guard down.

Because Ameena was always there, like a shadow of conscience. Her gait was silent, her eyes like bottomless pits. She watched you. Always watched.

You tried to bring the two of them closer so they could find something in common. You invited her several times to sit with you under the ryokan's eaves, where wind chimes made of seashells hung and rang out sweet notes. You offered her space, but she rarely said anything. And when she did, it was like throwing a stone into still water:

“This place wasn’t created to hold doubters,” she once told him, as Bob watched you watch a waterfall of liquid light descending soundlessly. You probably didn’t hear, “The balance is fragile. Don’t break it.”

Bob didn't respond. He just looked at her, suspiciously. Something about her felt wrong, like a familiar face seen in a fevered dream. He didn't believe her calm, her warnings, her permanence. And sometimes, he wondered if you didn't believe her real either.

But you carried on as if you didn't notice the crack, or as if you were trying hard not to notice it. You shone like the first time he saw you. Your laughter became the only reliable constant. And when you brushed his hair or ran your fingers down his arm, he felt his resistance weaken. That maybe, just maybe, there could be peace there.

That night, as the artificial sun sank behind the overly symmetrical mountains, you invited him to dinner with you. The scene looked like something out of a painting suspended in time: soft lights from floating lanterns, a delicately laid tatami mat, silk cushions under a polished wooden table. You had cooked with care that touched on the sacred: aromatic rice infused with jasmine, vegetables covered in a golden sauce, sweets made with candied cherry blossoms, and warm sake that glowed like amber.

You moved with the same grace with which the rain fell in ancient tales, a translucent fabric glided over your skin, subtly outlining your figure, and your hair fell loose, barely held back by a purple ribbon.

He was enthralled with you and constantly had to remind himself that he was there to find a way to free you, to return you to the real world where you lay inert.

“Now that you’re staying…” you said softly as you poured the sake, “everything will be better. I promise.”

Bob took the glass. He held it in his hands for a second, then set it down on the table. He looked at you, and in his eyes there was no anger, but an unshakeable truth.

“I don’t plan on staying,” he said in a firm voice, almost as if he regretted it.

Your hands remained still, still on the tray. A heavy pause stretched in the air, and for a second, the world seemed to hold its breath.

"Why not?"

Your steps were slow, your eyes pleading.

“Because this is not my place”

“But this world is calmer, kinder, don’t you think?” you insisted. Then you took a step toward him, smiling.

You sat down with feline slowness on his legs, so close that the air between you seemed to thicken. Your arms wrapped around his neck with deceptive softness, like a silken bow that doesn't suffocate, but doesn't allow escape either. You looked at him from so close that Bob felt his chest tighten and his heart race. He had to clear his throat to speak:

“It certainly is. But you know it’s too good to be true, don’t you?”

You didn't respond immediately. Instead, you decided to focus on his lips, which your hand had already slid over to caress with your thumb. If he hadn't been so busy reminding himself of his purpose, he would have been able to better appreciate the softness of your touch.

“You’re so cute, have I told you that before? You’re kind, handsome, smart… you’re gorgeous.”

Your lips approached his with exasperating slowness, as if you wanted every millimeter to be etched into his memory. Bob resisted the sensation of your hot breath against his with a willpower that would have surprised anyone. You didn't care and leaned in to kiss him anyway.

There was no rush or hunger in the contact. It was a silent, yet devastating kiss. A touch that didn't seek desire, but something more dangerous: belonging. Bob felt his blood run cold. Every second of contact with your mouth was an invisible cord tangling around his throat. Because it wasn't just a kiss. You were giving yourself away, yes, but you were also asking him to stay; to surrender.

Your fingers moved to the back of his neck, gently burying themselves in his hair, and your forehead rested against his. The warmth of your skin was a promise. The subtle tremor of your breath, a plea that reached beyond his body.

“We could be happy here, Bob. You and me. No reminders of pain. No need to fight. Just who we are… without the world around us. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

Bob took you by the waist and then closed his eyes. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine it: a motionless future among eternal cherry trees, your kisses every morning, your voice whispering that everything was okay. No one else. Nothing else. Just that garden, your laughter, your warmth against his chest.

But then he remembered the echo, Wong, the crack through which The Void whispered in his mind even now, even in this illusory paradise. And then he remembered something else: the real you. The one who didn't run away, the one who didn't need to hide in a perfect dream, and the one he considered a hero.

His forehead was still against yours, he could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Stay with me, baby. Please, I want you to. I need you here, with me.”

“This isn’t real,” he murmured sadly, finally working up the courage. “And even if it were… you wouldn’t be here. You’re not like that.”

Your eyes darkened, almost imperceptibly, but Bob felt it: an invisible fracture running through your aura. Your breathing became shallower and your lips trembled. You didn't respond.

"You're one of those who fight, who face life with your strengths and weaknesses. You do what you have to do, remember? Because that's what helps others."

“I’m trying to help you, Bob. I offer you happiness, and you despise me.”

“I'm not looking down on you, no. This is an illusion. We'll never be truly happy if we stay hidden in this. I want you to come back with me, please. This false utopia is the work of something evil. We can't stay. Please, I need my heroine to come home.”

You didn't say anything, but he felt everything around you falter. It was as if his words had affected you more than you expected, perhaps making you reconsider for a brief second.

Bob looked up, and deep inside the ryokan, from the threshold of the shadowy corridor, Ameena slowly turned her head. Her eyes were like two dead moons. She said nothing, but there was something cold in her gaze. Something that announced that the veil was beginning to fall.

He, in an attempt to help you reason, leaned down again to join your lips. This time there was pleading in his gesture, an impatient caress that wanted to consume you completely, as if with that he could transport you back home.

"Please"

“Bob”

“Come back with me, okay? I'm the one who needs you…”

Your lips barely touched his again, but they were no longer warm. They were cold like stagnant water.

And your eyes… they were no longer pleading. They were watching him.

𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠𝑛’𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙?

The voice that emerged from your mouth was not yours.

Bob opened his eyes with a start. You were still on his lap, but your body had gone inert, as if pulled by invisible strings. The entire ryokan vibrated, as if the building were truly alive.

A sweet, familiar, but horrifying laugh filled the air.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒, Nimvath said, sounding all around mocking. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑝. 𝑈𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒.

Bob gritted his teeth, holding you by the back with a mixture of fury and desperation. Your body felt like a doll's, one he would defend at all costs.

“Where is she?”

𝑆ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, Nimvath replied with false sweetness. 𝐷𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝑆𝑒𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙. 𝐹𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤? 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑. 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛… 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒, 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑠.

Bob shook his head, his throat tight.

“She would never have asked me. Not like this.”

𝑂ℎ, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒. 𝐼 𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒. 𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦. 𝐴𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑠, 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛… 𝐼 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑒. 𝐴 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝐼𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠? 𝐴𝑛 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛?

Nimvath then materialized. Tall, slender, with a figure that seemed human until you looked closely: her arms were too long, her movements too smooth, as if she were floating more than walking. Her skin was pearly gray, cracked like broken porcelain, and through those cracks filtered a violet light that pulsed, alive.

Her face was beautiful, but not the kind of beauty that comforts, but the kind that unsettles. Completely black eyes, shining like obsidian, and a smile that opened wider than natural, perfect and sharp. Her hair floated around her like smoke tinged with purple and blue.

She began to walk around Bob, like a lover planning her last deception.

𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑉𝑜𝑖𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑎 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑡. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝐿𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑒, 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛.

Bob stood up, carrying you in his arms. His voice came out firmer than he'd ever intended:

"No"

𝑁𝑜?

“No. You’re going to leave her alone. And me too, do you understand?”

𝑂ℎ, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑜’𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑒? 𝑌𝑜𝑢?

Nimvath's voice grew harsher, deeper. Around them, the illusion trembled. The floating lanterns flickered with agonizing light, and the ryokan began to crack, like wet paint tearing from its center. Bob didn't take his gaze off you. He held you to his chest, still inert, like an incarnate oath.

“Yes,” he replied in a firm voice, “Me.”

But then, a dark laugh cut through the air, slicing through it like a blade. It wasn't coming from Nimvath. It was coming from within him.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐁𝐨𝐛? 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫? 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲?The Void’s voice emerged from the deepest corner of his consciousness. 𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫.

Bob gritted his teeth. The pressure in his chest increased. One more second, and The Void would break the surface. Nimvath smiled, her lips stained with black magic.

𝐷𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚? 𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜. 𝐻𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝 𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒.

“Shut up,” he growled.

Nimvath raised his hands. Shards of the illusion began to spin like sharp crystals, pointing toward him. Forbidden magic surrounded his body like a hungry gale. There was no trace of humanity left in his eyes.

𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑦, 𝐵𝑜𝑏. 𝐿𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝐺𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑠.

Bob fell to his knees, feeling the pull of the abyss. The Void's voice echoed in his mind, urging him on, pleading. Everything inside him cried out for surrender.

And then, he heard it. Not with his ears, but with his soul. A clear, golden voice; familiar.

ɢᴇᴛ ᴜᴘ.

The light exploded inside him like a pent-up sun. It wasn't fire, it wasn't rage. It was strength, compassion, courage. It was Sentry.

Bob's eyes shone like liquid gold. He stood up, still in your arms, and for the first time, The Void retreated. Not because it had been defeated, but because it had been eclipsed.

“She doesn’t hide,” Bob said. “She fights. And so do I.”

He extended a hand. Golden energy surged from his fingers, pure, incandescent. It wasn't a destructive beam, but a wave that shattered the illusion like smoke in the wind. Every false corner of the world Nimvath created shattered. The cherry trees vanished. The tatami mats turned to earth. The shadows fled.

Nimvath screamed, trying to channel more power, but the golden energy engulfed her. It wasn't destroying her: it was expelling her. Then Bob stepped forward. His shadow was no longer that of The Void. It was another, taller, more luminous. It was Sentry, shining behind him, like a guardian.

The entity writhed, screamed, and struggled to regain control. But it was useless; even it was no match for the energy it faced. One last, thunderous scream was heard before it was sucked into the rift that opened beneath its feet. The false plane collapsed in a crash. Only reality remained.

Bob was back in his room, sweaty, hugging something he thought was your body at first; it was actually a pillow he was holding tightly to his chest.

For the first second, he couldn't think of anything logical, but instead worried at the thought that all his efforts had been for nothing and that you, merely a product of his delirium, had been left behind. That you were probably still bedridden, your vitality seeping through your fingers and your face pale.

But then he felt a stinging sensation in his chest. It was a strange sensation, as if someone were pouring hot metal against his skin. He rummaged through his pajamas until he found the object responsible, the one hanging around his neck.

The man was mesmerized by the dazzling amber color that had flooded your locket, one that illuminated the engravings and revealed a certainty: you were fine. Your connection had escalated to an indescribable astral level, so he trusted it was the truth, because he could feel it. He could feel you.

Bob put on his shoes almost immediately. He didn't even mind going out in his pajamas; he only bothered to throw a jacket over his shoulders to protect himself from the cold. He didn't know if the superhero pack came with an enhanced immune system, but he didn't want to risk finding out.

He felt particularly anxious the entire walk to the Sanctum Sanctorum, which seemed longer than he remembered. Maybe it was just because he was so nervous about finally seeing you, or perhaps because of the unusual schedule. Only a few people were milling about in the streets, most of them homeless or drunk.

When he knocked on the door, there was no immediate answer. He assumed that not many people visited in the middle of the night, so he waited patiently.

No one answered. He knocked again. That second time, someone answered his call.

“Can I help you?”

“Hello. I want to see the Sorcerer Supreme.”     

"Who?"

“The… huh, the sorcerer,” he repeated, suddenly more self-conscious at the man’s imposing presence. “Master Wong.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Robert”

It wasn't the man who answered, but a deeper voice from inside the Sanctum. Wong had appeared over the shoulder of the stranger who had greeted him.

“Let him in”

The door opened slightly, and Bob felt an immediate sense of relief. He crossed the threshold without waiting for another signal. Everything still smelled the same: of incense, scroll, and something older he couldn't name.

“Sorry for the late hour. I’m so sorry to burst in like this, but…” Bob rubbed the back of his neck, searching for words, “I thought something had happened. I couldn’t just keep it to myself.”

“Did you intervene?” Wong asked suddenly, without looking at him. “In the last few days? In dreams, or through meditation?”

“No,” Bob replied quickly. His tone was soft, almost guilty. Anyone would have doubted he was lying.

“Well, she woke up.”

Bob stopped dead in his tracks. His heart leapt.

“Is she awake? Is she okay? Can I see her?”

Wong looked at him with a hard-to-read expression. It wasn't stern, but it wasn't compassionate either. There was something else: a concern he didn't dare show entirely.

“I can’t promise you’ll see the same person you remember,” he replied calmly. “But she’s alive. That, in itself, is more than we expected.”

Bob swallowed. He wanted to say so many things, but it all came down to one plea.

“Please. I just want to see her. I won't say anything. I won't do anything… I just need to know she's okay.”

Suddenly he looked at him, this time with a more human expression. Then he nodded once.

“Follow me”

They walked down a corridor further from the main hall, where the walls seemed to pulse with a suppressed energy. In the end, they entered an upper chamber, where floating candles formed protective circles and the temperature was lower than in the rest of the Sanctum.

You were asleep, or something close to it. Your breathing was slow, your face calm. Bob took a step forward, his heart in his throat.

“Don’t come any closer,” someone ordered firmly, barely raising his hand.

Bob stopped. In front of him stood a handsome man with green eyes and a serious expression. Gray hairs seemed to be sprouting from his temples, neatly combed, gradually extending to the area of his goatee. A burgundy cape hung from his back.

He guessed who it was from the stories you'd told him before. He confirmed it when Wong spoke:

“Stephen”

“She’s stable,” Strange said. “But in a delicate transition. Don’t touch her. Don’t talk to her. Just watch”

Bob took a deep breath, his soul straining.

“What happened to her?”

Strange shook his head, very slightly.

“We're still evaluating it. But it's not physical. Wong asked me to come because this is beyond anything he or I have ever faced with her before. It's not just about healing… it's about containing.”

Bob turned his attention back to you. He wanted to get closer, touch you, reassure you that he was there.

“And is she going to recover?”

Strange watched him for a few seconds, pondering each word.

“Keep fighting. It's the only certainty we have.”

The silence became thick.

“Can I stay here for a moment? Please,” Bob said, almost in a whisper. “I don’t need anything else.”

Strange exchanged a glance with Wong. The master nodded slowly.

“Stay,” he conceded. “But if anything changes… if she reacts, or if the energy shifts, you need to get out.”

Bob didn't respond. He just nodded, his eyes on you.

Wong and Strange left the room silently, without explanation. The doors closed with an almost respectful whisper, leaving behind a strange, delicate peace. The candles remained floating in place, casting soft shadows on the walls.

He stayed beside you for a long moment. He didn't know if he should speak, if he should breathe more quietly, if the slightest movement would break the fragile thread that kept you anchored to that room. Suddenly, he blushed when he remembered you, in his arms, kissing him fervently while you promised him an ideal world.

Disobeying the masters' instructions, he reached out to smooth your hair, lightly stroking your cheek. Then, with a barely perceptible sigh, you blinked.

Your eyelashes fluttered and your eyes opened slowly, as if the light in the room was still foreign to you. When you focused your gaze, it was filled with something between surprise, relief, and a quiet tenderness.

“Bob?”

Your voice was barely an echo, but it was enough to make him lean closer, a soft smile on his lips.

“Yes, it’s me”

You looked back up at the ceiling, disoriented, as if you had just noticed the texture of the air around you.

"Where am I?"

“Safe,” he replied firmly.

There was a brief, lukewarm silence, and then you looked at him again.

“I saw you… in my dreams”

Bob lowered his head a little.

"I know"

“Were you there?” you asked, not with doubt, but with curiosity.

He hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Maybe"

Your lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile. You closed your eyes for a second, as if searching within yourself for something that still hurt.

“I know what you did,” you finally said, your voice weak, but clear. “Thank you.”

Bob let out a small sigh, shaking his head humbly.

“You would have done the same for me,” he murmured. “Someone already did it for me, actually. I just did what had to be done.”

You half-opened your eyes and looked at him with a spark of gentle humor, tired, but alive.

“You already sound like a hero.”

Then you slowly extended your hand toward him, a simple gesture, but full of meaning. Bob took it in both hands, with a tenderness that felt both old and new. He held it for a moment, brought it to his lips, and placed a slow kiss on your knuckles, as if sealing a silent oath.

You swallowed, and although you were still weak, your words came through clearly.

“Can you stay with me? Please.”

Bob didn't answer right away. He just squeezed your hand a little tighter, resting his forehead on it with his eyes closed. You were asking him to stay again, and he smiled, realizing it was real now.

“Of course I’m staying,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And so he stayed. Sitting next to you, like a wordless vigil, like an anchor protecting you from the invisible waves that still dragged you down inside. Outside, the night continued. But inside, for the first time in a long time, the world felt calm.

taglist: (thank u!): @highinhardtown @yesshewrites1 @haydenlizz @tenmaabnesti @qardasngan @serenitybloodmoon @littlemsbumblebee

[tojirights]

Okay this is going to sound like really bad but I did read your rules and saw that dubcon/noncon could be allowed so

please begging for a dub/noncon (up to u which) crumbs where Alastor is tired of reader's stubbornness and thinks it's time to really let her know her place (al owns her soul) and okay thank u bye pwosjdjeidnsj *runs and hides under a rock in shame*

a/n: HAAA YESSS. no this is amazing 😍😍

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, NONCON‼️, alastor is a demon fr, forced penetration, dacryphilia, choking, slight throat fucking

"good morning, would you be a dear and run this to rosie for me?" alastor pops into your room unannounced, as usual. you're tired, he had you up all night on another shitty errand, and you just want to sleep a little longer. "alastor please, can't anyone else do it?" you sigh, irritation bubbling in your chest. he never lets you rest.

alastor raises an eyebrow. "no one else is available." his tone is harsh, and when you meet his eyes, they're darker than they were a moment before. "this is the part where you're supposed to submit, say 'yes sir' and get out of bed." he leans on his staff, glaring red eyes staring through you. "or did you forget?" your eyes widen when you realize what he's about to do. there's a flash of green, and you feel the clasp of that shitty metal collar around your neck.

your deal with alastor backfired, just as he intended it to, and he ended up not having to do a god damned thing in exchange for your soul.

with a sharp tug of his chain, you're forced to sit up. the pull around your neck makes you cough, and you glare back at him. but when you do, you're quickly filled with a certain level of primal fear. alastor was no joke when he was angry, eyes glowing red and those antlers growing from atop his head.

"you need to learn, my dear, that the word 'no' is not a part of your vocabulary anymore." alastor walks with slow, determined strides towards your bed before his knees hit your mattress. he tugs once more, pulling you up and onto your knees. "alastor don't..." your breath catches in your throat. his hand grips onto your jaw, squeezing you uncomfortably. tears prick in the corners of your eyes, and you let out a shaky sigh. "don't?" alastor repeats, laughing. "have you forgotten the fact that i own you?"

you reach for his wrist in an attempt to remove his hand but he's far stronger than you. "i-i'll go, i'm sorry." you hiccup, but alastor has already made up his mind. "mmh, i don't think so. i don't tolerate insubordination, darling." your heart hammers in your chest when alastor's fingers find his belt. "you’re going to learn one way or another." he growls, freeing his half-hard cock and tugging your restraint.

you clench your teeth, and try to look away but alastor's grasp is too tight. his thumb drags along the bottom of your lip before prying your jaw open. "listen and be my good girl, this won't be so bad." you shut your eyes, the only thing you can think to do to cope with alastor forcing the head of his cock between your lips. there's only a moment of hesitation, a sigh from the demon above you, before his cock is being slid further down your throat.

every groan from alastor earns another tear running down your cheek. his hands hold your face steady as he pumps his cock faster, fucking the back of your throat. "so pretty, darling. look at me." he grunts, pulling your eyes up to his. they're glassy with tears, and its almost enough to make alastor cum down your throat in that very instant.

his cock pulses and he's forced to pull out of your warm mouth in fear of releasing before getting to take your cunt too. he taps your cheek gently, watching you cough and recover your breath after having your airways restricted. "strip, then i want you ass up on the bed." your lip quivers, and your body refuses to move even after you tell it to. alastor sighs, shaking his head. "must i do everything?" his words are somehow gentle and harsh enough to pull a sob from your chest.

before you can stand, alastor reaches for the hem of your sleep shirt and tears it straight down the middle to expose your tits. on instinct, you try to cover yourself but alastor's shadow circles both your wrists and pins them to your side. "please alastor... i promise, i-i will do anything you ask. please just don't do this." you plead, but alastor just clicks his teeth with his tongue. "you should've thought about the consequences before this, my dear. i've found that making an example out of someone typically gives the best results."

he does release his shadows, freeing your wrists and watches carefully as you follow his previous instructions. you kick your shorts off with a muffled cry and turn to shove your face into the mattress. ass up, you prepare for whatever alastor has in mind. his fingers find your slit, delving into the wet heat between your thighs. the laugh he releases sends a chill down your spine. "wet as can be darling!" without giving you another moment to process, his cock is pushing thick and hard into your unprepared pussy.

your scream gets caught in your throat, heat coursing through your body in an overwhelming way. "n-no, too much alastor, please stop." you cry, muffled into the mattress as you try to scramble away from him but you feel alastor's shadow come back to pin your arms. you're trapped at this point, completely under alastor's control. there's no choice but to give in, your body going limp as alastor pumps his hips into you.

"good girl." he coos, raking his clawed hands down your back. angry red marks follow in its trail. "see how easy it is to just obey?" every inch of his cock pushes you to your limit. "such a good cunt..." he sighs, his hips stuttering before he pulls out and you feel each thick rope of cum hit your ass. you finally open your eyes, letting every emotion flow through them as alastor empties his balls all over you.

there's a moment of silence while alastor catches his breath. "now... will you be a dear and run this to rosie for me?" he reiterates, and your whole body tenses. is he not even giving you time to recover? to clean up? fuck...

"y-yes sir..."

[cera-writes]

Hi! So I recently got into X Men again after watching Deadpool & Wolverine and by god do I love Gambit! I found your blog and your stuff for him is so good! I do have a request for you if you don’t mind. Could I please get a spicy first time with Gambit and fem!reader? It’s not her first time with a guy but maybe there’s been some tension building up and he wants to show her what a real man can do if you know what I mean lmao. I’ll leave it pretty open ended, I trust you’ll make something awesome! ❤️

A/N: Saaaaame! My obsession with this man is unwavering 🫦 Pairing: Remy LeBeau "Gambit" x F!Reader Tags: sex in the water, pining, fluff, shy!reader, pnv sex Summary: Reader decides to take a swim in the lake by the mansion. Having never had much luck with guys in the sexual department, Remy decides to show the reader how good it can really be and joins her in the water.

A Moonlit Dip

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the tranquil waters of the lake that nestled quietly at the edge of the X-Mansion grounds. You had slipped away from the main building, seeking a moment of solitude and perhaps a bit of refreshment in the cool water. The air was thick with the scent of pine and wildflowers, a welcome respite from the ever-present tension of mutant politics and training sessions.

As you waded into the lake, the water felt like silk against your skin, soothing the day's stresses. The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore was the only sound, save for the distant chirping of crickets preparing for nightfall. You dove under, letting the cool embrace wash over you, feeling more alive than you had all day.

Emerging from the water, you wiped the droplets from your eyes, only to find Remy LeBeau, aka Gambit, leaning casually against a nearby tree, his eyes twinkling with amusement. His usual smirk played at the corners of his lips, and he pushed off the tree, sauntering towards you. You let out an inhuman shriek, startled at seeing his face looking directly at yours. "Jesus, Gambit..." you huffed.

"Bonsoir, chérie," he drawled as he fought back the urge to laugh, his Cajun accent thickening the syllables. "Looks like I ain't the only one who knows how to find a little peace 'round here."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, not expecting company, especially not him. "Just needed a break," you admitted, treading water to keep yourself afloat, suddenly aware of how exposed you must look in the fading light.

Remy chuckled, removing his trench coat and tossing it aside. "Well, since you're already in d'ere, mind if Gambit join you?"

Before you could respond, he was peeling off his shirt, revealing a muscular chest that hinted at countless hours spent training and staying fit. After that came the rest of everything below the belt. Your breath caught in your throat as he stepped into the water, his eyes never leaving yours. The water seemed to part around him, as if welcoming its master back home.

"Ain't no gators in dis lake, mon cher," he teased, swimming closer. "But Remy reckon ya might have somethin' to worry 'bout anyway."

His proximity made the water feel suddenly warmer, the space between you charged with an electric tension that had been building for weeks. You remembered the lackluster dates, the guys who failed to ignite even a spark, and here was Remy, making your heart race with just a look. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't rubbed one out to just the sound of his accent alone as it filled your thoughts when you were by yourself.

"What would that be?" you managed to ask, your voice sounding faraway even to your own ears.

He closed the distance between you, his hands finding your waist beneath the water. "Me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Remy seen you wit' them, chérie. Seen how d'ey couldn't hold a candle to what we could be."

His confession hung in the air, heavy and real. You turned to face him, your hands resting on his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath the smooth skin. "And what is that?" you challenged, though your voice trembled slightly.

Remy's smile was soft, almost vulnerable. "Something real, somethin' hot enough to burn away all those other cold nights." He leaned in, his lips a breath away from yours. "Let Gambit show you, belle. Lemme show you what a real man can do."

The world around you faded into insignificance as his lips met yours, soft at first, then deepening with a passion that took your breath away. His hands roamed your body, exploring, claiming, igniting fires wherever they touched. You responded in kind, your shyness melting away under his confident touch, giving in to the desire that had simmered between you both for so long.

In the water, limbs intertwined, breaths mingled, and the night seemed to hold its breath, watching the two of you explore each other with a hunger that was both new and ancient. Remy broke the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck, his hands guiding you deeper into the water, where the privacy was absolute.

"Tell Gambit whatchu want, chérie," he murmured, his voice husky with need.

You gasped as his fingers found a sensitive spot, your body arching toward his touch. "Show me," you begged, your voice breaking with emotion. "Show me everything, Remy."

With the moon as your only witness, you finally surrendered yourself to him.

With a low growl, Remy obeyed, his actions deliberate, every movement calculated to send you spiraling into pleasure. The water became an extension of his body, caressing you in ways you never imagined possible. You clung hard to him, nails digging into his skin as your world narrowed down to the sensations he elicited, the heat building within you like a dam about to break. You hissed in pleasure when he thrust even harder inside of you, feeling every inch of his hard dick throbbing inside your walls.

"Dass'it, belle," he encouraged, his voice rough with exertion. "Let go for Remy. Lemme see you fly."

And then, with a final, exquisite thrust, you did, soaring through the clouds of ecstasy, your cries mingling with his groans of satisfaction. The world came crashing back, the stars above seeming brighter, the water warmer, and Remy, more breathtaking than ever before.

He held you close, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath. "Was dat good, chérie?" he asked, his tone raw with emotion.

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of sensations he had unleashed.

Remy kissed your forehead, his arms tightening around you. "We should get outta de water, cher. Night's chill settin' in."

You reluctantly had to agree.

His hand found yours as he led you out of the water, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth that had enveloped you moments before. The moon cast a silvery glow over the lake, making the droplets on your skin shimmer like diamonds. You shivered slightly, not from cold, but from the lingering thrill of what had just transpired between you. You'd managed to find your clothes in the dark, quickly dressing as Gambit did the same.

"Here, chere," Remy murmured, draping his coat around your shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body, and it smelled faintly of his cologne—a mix of spice and something uniquely him. "You catch a chill, Gambit'll never forgive hisself."

You smiled up at him, feeling the weight of his concern, and more, the depth of his affection. "Thank you," you whispered, pulling the coat tighter.

He nodded, his eyes soft as they met yours. "Let's walk, yeah? Getchu warmed up proper."

Hand in hand, you strolled along the lakeside, the silence between you comfortable, filled with unspoken words. The crickets had resumed their song, and somewhere in the distance, a whippoorwill, its call echoing through the trees.

"Been wantin' to do dat for so long," Remy confessed suddenly, breaking the quiet. "Ever since dat night at the bonfire when you laughed at my terrible joke and didn't even care dat everyone else thought it was lame."

You chuckled, remembering the event he spoke of. "It wasn't that bad," you defended, though you knew he was teasing.

"Maybe not," he agreed, "but it was enough to make Remy think maybe, jus' maybe, you were different. That'chu saw me, not jus' Gambit the playboy, but Remy."

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice touching a place deep inside you. "I do see you," you admitted, pausing to face him under the moonlight. "All of you. The good, the bad, the Cajun charm... which I love, by the way." You'd confessed.

Remy laughed softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "And here Gambit thought he was bein' subtle," he joked, though his eyes remained serious. "You deserve someone who's upfront, someone who can give you all de fire ya need, chérie."

You leaned into his touch, the vulnerability between you both palpable. "And you think that's you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Gambit know it is," he replied without hesitation, his gaze unwavering. "I wanna be de one to stand by your side, through thick and thin. To show you every day whatchu mean to me."

Tears pricked at your eyes, moved by his declaration. "Remy..." you breathed, searching for the right words.

He shook his head, placing a finger gently against your lips. "No need to say anything now. Jus' think about it, yeah? Let it sink in."

You nodded, understanding his request. This was a moment to savor, to reflect upon, not to rush through with hasty words.

They continued walking, the conversation lightening as Remy regaled you with tales of his youth in New Orleans, the mischief he and his friends had gotten into, and the lessons he had learned along the way. You listened intently, enchanted by his stories, by the man himself. You didn't think it was possible to fall for him even more but he had that charm all the same.

As the path wound closer to the mansion, Remy slowed his pace, his expression turning thoughtful. "Y'know, dere's somethin' I've always wanted to show you," he said, his tone mysterious.

Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him. "What's that?"

He grinned, the familiar glint of mischief returning to his eyes. "A secret spot, up in de hills. It's where I go when I need to clear my head, or jus' feel...free."

Your interest was piqued. "Sounds magical," you mused, imagining the possibilities.

"It is," he confirmed, his hand squeezing yours. "Maybe one day soon, Gambit'll take you de're. Show you de view, letchu feel de wind in your hair."

Excitement bubbled within you at the prospect of sharing such a personal place with him. "I'd like that a lot," you admitted, smiling.

As they reached the edge of the woods, the lights of the mansion peeking through the trees, Remy stopped once more, turning to face you fully. "Tonight was...incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for lettin' me in, chérie."

You shook your head, unwilling to accept gratitude for something so mutual, so transformative. "There's nothing to thank me for," you insisted. "It was...perfect."

His smile widened, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. "Perfect, huh? Well, maybe next time we can aim for legendary d'en," he teased, his eyes twinkling.

Laughing, you nudged him playfully. "Oh, is that so? And what would make it legendary, pray tell?"

Remy leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "How 'bout we find out together?" he whispered, his voice low and inviting.

Your pulse quickened at his suggestion, the promise of what could be hanging in the air between you. "I think I'd like that," you admitted, your voice catching ever so slightly.

With one last, lingering look, Remy turned towards the mansion, tugging you gently along. "C'mon, chere. Let's getchu inside before you turn into an ice sculpture. Gambit'll cook ya up somethin' to warm your soul."

You laughed, the sound carrying on the breeze as you followed him, your steps lighter than they had been in ages. As you walked, wrapped in his coat and his affections, you couldn't help but feel that perhaps, just perhaps, this was the beginning of something truly extraordinary, like the man himself.

[aveli-li]

Sevika + virgin! reader

info: This was a request! i loved receiving it so so much, and I apologize for taking me so long. i hope you have a good time reading as much as I had written! warnings: smut, minors dni, nothing too descriptive, gn! reader/terms (baby & dove), reader has a pussy, , Sevika being gentle, virgin! reader, first-time sex, cunnilingus, strap, and dildo usage. Enjooy :)

Sevika will not push you or try to incite you to do it if you don’t want or don’t feel ready, but the moment you give her the green light and proceed to talk and understand what are the things you most like and don’t. Oh my, you better get ready.

She will be all over you. It is a must to kiss and caress every part of your body. Delicately passing her hand over your face to move down to your collarbone and the curve of your breasts, groping and squeezing one with her human hand while her metal one holds you in place by your hip. She can be a bit rough if she feels you pushing into her touches, the cold feeling battling with the warmer of her human hand against your sensitive parts mixes something in your brain that turns the needy lustful.

Sevika will sit on the bed leaning her back against the metal headboard and have you straddling her muscular thighs, nearly spreading uncomfortably your legs to accommodate both. She must have you on top of her when it’s your first time. It doesn’t matter how you voice your wishes of having her on top of you or any other position. It won’t happen, for now. Sevika needs to watch you, all your reactions, and savor it. The tremble of your lips as she has your bottom lip caged in between her teeth, your eyes dropping to look at her once she releases, she thinks it’s sexy how you look so innocent receiving those stimulations for the first time. From how she does it especially.

Sevika continues to trace your curves, removing your shirt, and the sign she lets out has you growing weaker every time. She wants you, needs you, and she voices and reacts likewise. “Holy fuck baby, let me take this off too please, or will you do it for me. I promise once it’s off you won’t regret it.” And with that you remove the piece that covers your breasts and her hands are immediately on them, passing her thumb over your nipple side with the cold metal feeling over your left and once she’s done playing with her fingers it’s time for her mouth to do the job.

She is a drooler, messing herself over your nipple and leaving it wetter than your panties at that moment. Your hips began to move to search for a form of relief in your pussy, “My baby is getting impatient I see…” Sevika notices and she release your nipple with a wet pop, “Me too baby, you look so fucking hot and I haven’t seen it fully. I need to see more. Would you let me, wouldn’t you?”

Sevika lays you on your back and gets up, once you have your eyes locked in hers she begins to undress, slowly undoing the buttons of her cropped while her metal arms work on her belt and pants, dropping them on the floor and making quick work to do the same with her undergarments and top bra. Your face is burning hot and your legs pressing together, Sevika reaches to finally get rid of that piece of cloth and sees you fully, and the hunger in her eyes once she sees your dripping pussy calling for her she falls on her knees and worships you until you cum for the first time on her tongue.

She will work you open, talking you through it if it hurts, her fingers already feel a lot and the sensation is something you could ever dream of or do it yourself while alone in your room. As if you feel like your head couldn’t get dizzier, she withdraws her actions to get the dildo she keeps beside her bed. The size of it doesn’t scare you, but you sure it would take some time to get used to its stretch.

Contrary to popular belief, Sevika is gentle when she is blanketing you with her larger frame and slowly working her strap inside of you. She can be rough, mean, and even reckless, but for you and for your first time with her, she will adore, give you the delicate and the taste of the waters of it.

Once she sees you took enough to have you whirling and breathing heavily for more, she takes your body on her flesh arm and scoops you so you are on top of her, the new position makes her dildo hit a part deeper that makes your legs weak  to sustain your body. However, Sevika caged you and worked you up and down on her lap, slowly drawing circles on your hip as you picked up your own pace that had you moaning against her neck, blue shiny scars brushing against your lips that send shivers down her spine, and the strap pressing against her clit while you bounced on top of her were inviting breathy moans and praises from her lips.

“That's it dove, doesn't it feel good? Oh, you look so beautiful on top of me, huh.” Your stomach began tightening, your legs burned, but the tip of Sevika’s strap was hitting so good that you couldn't stop. Her strong hands held your hips, briefly taking away the pleasure from you, to rock your hips back and forth against her. The motion made you press against the leather strap that held the dildo in place. The texture against your most sensitive flesh was enough to have you laughing your head back and screaming Sevika's name.

She held you close, helping you go down from your high arms, caging you and laying you back on the bed. Caressing your sore spots and telling you how good you’ve been, helping you cover your nude body and taking you for a shower, maybe a warm bath, but surely after that she will hold you close to her warm body and let you know how much she loves you.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I want mama leech to beat up mama roseheart

But in all seriousness, I want mama Ashengrotto and mama Spade to talk about how much they love their boys and how proud they are of them (bonus points if you have the boys being bashful/embarrassed)

I remember seeing a fan art where Mrs. Rosehearts nags Mrs. Leech about her "indecent" outfit (because she's a mermaid; she's not used to concealing and constrictive clothes)... and then Mrs. Leech calls Riddle's mom an "old bitch" or something 😭Mr. Leech has to step in before the two throw down.

Decided to go with the second prompt because I'd like to avoid (physical) fights on NRC Family Day if possible! ^^

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

"There's this really cool on-campus cafe, mom. Here, I'll take you there for dinner--my treat!"

Well, he had stayed true to his word. His butt was planted in a cushy, plum- colored booth, Dylla seated across from him. She swiveled her head around every few seconds, her glossy mouth agape as she took in her new aquatic surroundings. The jellyfish fixtures overhead, the glass partition separating salt water and seaweed from the eatery, the bar with its shelves of rare tea along one wall.

And their waiter?

"A-Ashengrotto-senpai," Deuce greeted him nervously, "you're working the floor today?"

The merman had shockingly dressed down, casting off his hat, scarf, and the dorm leader's jacket he draped over his shoulders. He was in a violet bowtie and simple white button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, suspenders and a cummerbund accentuating his slight waist. A lightweight, flexible look for squeezing through tight spaces and sliding dishes onto tables before darting away to the next task.

"Yes." His clear blue eyes flicked up from his notepad. With a bare hand, Azul indicated the crowded restaurant. "As you can see, the Mostro Lounge is quite busy today. Normally I work in the back and oversee the establishment--but on days like this, a manager must be willing to roll up his sleeves and walk the talk."

"Oh, it's nice of you to step up like that!" Deuce perked up. "Your parents don't mind you being busy...?"

"Let us say it is a family affair." Azul removed the pencil from behind his ear and tapped it on his note pad. "Now then, do you and your sister need more time to decide what to order?"

"Sister!!" Dylla gasped. "Ahahahah, you didn't tell me your classmates were so funny, Deuce!"

"M-Mom...!!"

"Oya, have I made a mistake?" Azul's lips pulled back into a smirk. His words were slick and sweet--perhaps overly so. "I could have sworn that this beautiful, vibrant young lady was your sister. Your age doesn't show one bit, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you. Deuce-san and I go way back."

"Really?! He didn't really mention you in his calls back home. It was mostly about Ace-kun, Yuu-kun, and Grim-kun... Was I missing something?" Dylla asked, shooting her son a questioning look.

He gulped. Sweat started to bead on his forehead. "E-Er... Ashengrotto-senpai helped me study for the fall finals," Deuce said vaguely. No deals, no anemones, no indentured servitude mentioned.

"Did he? What a helpful senpai!! It sounds like you're keeping real busy between the tutoring and the part-time job."

"You humble me, Mrs. Spade! I wouldn't be able to run as successful of an operation as I do without the support of the rest of my team." Azul's grin grew. "And, of course, without Deuce-san's own efforts. I commend him for his commitment to the pursuit of academics."

"I know, right?" Dylla belted out a laugh and smacked her son--hard--on the arm. "Deuce is the hardest working man I know!! He did so much to turn his life around since his middle school days, went completely clean. It brings a tear to this old lady's eyes."

Deuce was peony at this point, flushed with pride and embarrassment. “I-It wasn’t much,” he mumbled, bashfully scratching his chin.

"Oh, you don't say... I'm intrigued. I would love to hear more about these tumultuous middle school days," Azul purred, leaning forward--his pencil and notepad at the ready, "and how Deuce-san has changed since then."

Cheeks lit aflame and cherry red, Deuce piped up. "M-Mom, PLEASE!! W-We're here to eat. We can't keep holding up Ashengrotto-senpai when he's got so many tables to wait on."

"My bad, kiddo! Can you fault your mom for wanting to chitchat with your classmates?" Dylla chuckled, shuffling her menu. "... I'm just glad you have so many good friends and reliable upperclassmen looking after you at school."

"Reliable upperclassmen? That sounds like my Azul for you. He's always been one to lend a hand to a poor, unfortunate soul in need--takes after his grandmother in that respect."

The octopus merman stumbled, almost dropping his writing implement. A full-bodied woman in a sleek jet-black gown emerged from the sea of guests and wait staff. She ferried a wicker basket piled with warm bread rolls, which she laid out before the Spades with a smile.

"Fresh out of the oven," she chirped, "and complimentary for Family Day, so eat up!"

"M-Mother," Azul sputtered--and was it Deuce's imagination, or was his senior's calm slipping? "I thought we had agreed you would stay in the kitchen and allow me to handle the front."

"You hadn't come in for a while now to pick up the bread rolls for this table, so I thought to come out and deliver them myself. Can't keep the customers waiting, you know!" Mrs. Ashengrotto wagged a finger at him, as if telling off a misbehaving dog.

Deuce and Dylla took a deep whiff of the rolls. They smelled rich and hearty of wheat fields and butter on a warm summer's day. The steam from the basket rolled up, coloring their faces pink and causing them to salivate.

"You made these yourself? They smell so good!" Dylla clapped her hands in delight as she plucked up a roll. "I can only make basic egg dishes! Baking is a whole different set of skills."

"I dabble a bit here and there! Baking is primarily a human thing, dear--but when Azul came back from his land boot camp, babbling about all this 'baking' nonsense, I knew I had to try it with him."

Azul had frozen, his eyes wide with panic. "I think that's enough sharing, mother!"

"So Ashengrotto-senpai was a diligent worker back then too..." Deuce clenched a hand into a fist. "That's so impressive!"

"Isn't it? Azul absolutely loves to learn new things! Didn't have many friends in his youth, so he'd study the day away curled up in his little pot--"

"Aaaaaaah, MOTHER...!" Azul yanked away from her and, placing both hands on her shoulders, attempted to steer her away. "I think I heard a new order being called in! You should tend to that this instant!"

"Wait, I didn't get to finish hearing the story!!" Dylla protested. She had a mouthful of bread, so her pleading was somewhat garbled. "What was that about a pot?!"

“H-Hold on, mom…! Sit down and chew your food first, or you might choke!!”

Their shouts mingled with the noises of the lounge. People, both children and parents alike, sipping slow jazz and eating up the underwater atmosphere, the air spiked with salt. Somewhere along the way, their voices were lost, becoming one with the group—like the many waves of the ocean weaving together in a larger body.

Mothers and sons, the bonds tight as that of the moon and its serene sea.

[omomancer]

omomancer's ultimate dice holding challenge!

so, inspired by @tanyapiankova12 's dice holding challenge, i decided i wanted to make my own that's more suited to my own tastes. its a little meaner if you want something a little harder/more punishing!

you'll need water (obviously), a D6 (a virtual dice roller works best if you dont have one!), clothes youre okay with wetting/leaking in, and diapers (these are optional, dont worry if youre not into that!)

start by rolling the Drink table one or two times. i recommend waiting until you can feel your bladder starting to fill before starting rolls. once you start, unless otherwise instructed, roll your dice every 10-15 minutes!

Firstly, roll one d6 for the table below- afterwards, roll another d6 for the results on the table! the game ends when you either get permission to pee, or, you know, wet yourself.

if you leak without permission, or have an accident, roll the corresponding leak or accident tables. finally, if you do this challenge, feel free to message or ping me in a post and tell me how it goes! <3

as with any holding challenge, listen to yourself and your body! if you start to feel sick, or hurt to the point its not enjoyable, stop immediately! make sure to stay safe!

First Table;

Drink

Wait

Challenge

Clothing

Tease

Relief

Drink;

Drink half a cup of your choice of fluid

Drink a full cup of water

Drink a full cup of diuretic (tea, soda, coffee, etc.)

Drink 2 cups of water

Drink 2 cups of diuretic

Unlucky! Drink a cup and a half of water and diuretic each.

Wait;

Wait an extra 10 minutes before your next roll

Press on your bladder for 30 seconds per minute until your next roll

Wait 30 minutes before your next roll

Roll Drink table, then wait an extra 10 minutes before next roll.

Keep your legs spread until your next roll

No waiting, roll again immediately.

Challenge;

Relax your muscles entirely until your next roll; squirming, holding etc. is fine, but your muscles must not be tensed.

Take an ice cube, or something else frozen, and leave it ontop of your bladder until your next roll.

Place something firm underneath you, and lay with your bladder pressed onto it until your next roll.

Listen to water noises until your next roll.

Squat for a full minute, pressing on your bladder for 5 seconds while you do.

No holding yourself or crossing your legs until your next roll.

Clothing;

Strip to just your underwear. Let out a one second leak- if it hits the floor, you're not allowed to take your underwear off at all for the rest of the challenge.

Put on tight bottoms that squeeze your bladder.

Add an extra layer ontop of what you're already wearing.

Put a diaper ontop of what you're already wearing. If you're already wearing a diaper, double up. If you don't want to wear a diaper or don't have any, put on two layers of pants.

Use a belt, or something similar (rope, string, etc.) to tie your bottoms to yourself. Make sure it's pressing into your bladder. You cannot remove this until the end of the challenge, or to place extra layers on when instructed.

Strip completely nude. If you prefer wetting clothing, or have failed #1 previously, re-reroll this table.

Tease;

Edge yourself once before your next roll.

Rub yourself slowly with your legs spread until your next roll.

Post a detailed description of how you're feeling right now- how your bladder feels, if you're wet or dry, how turned you are. etc.

Hump the nearest soft object to you until your next roll. This can be a pillow, a plushie, a rolled up blanket or towel, etc.

If you have one, hold a vibrator against yourself until your next roll. If not, re-roll this.

Bring yourself to the edge, then roll this table again. If you get 6 again, you can cum. If not, edge.

Relief;

Leak for 2 seconds into whatever you're wearing.

Fill a cup with water, then slowly pour it into the toilet. Doesn't that feel better?

Take a bottle cap, and pee into that. If you overflow, roll leak punishment table.

Sit on the toilet until your next roll, then flush and wash your hands as if you used the bathroom. Do not pee.

Leak until a wet spot appears on the outer layer of your clothing. If nude, leak one second.

Roll this table again. If you get this again, spread your legs and press on your bladder, letting out a 5 second leak. If you manage to stop it, roll this table again. If you get this a third time, congratulations! You have earned permission to pee. Try not to have an accident on the way to the toilet <3

PUNISHMENTS

Leaking;

Post a detailed description of how you leaked, and write about how pathetic you are for failing to control your bladder. Then, roll Drink table.

For the rest of the challenge, you must have something constantly pressing into your bladder. Be it a belt, or something pressing against you while you lay on your stomach, or your hand. Get creative. But your bladder must always be squashed.

For the rest of the challenge, you must listen to loud water noises.

Sit on the toilet fully clothed, and turn on your bathroom sink. Press on your bladder until your next roll. If you leak during this, press harder.

Turn on your bath or shower, and stand next to the running water until your next roll.

You are banned from using the toilet for the rest of the challenge. No matter what, you are going to have an accident. Stay dry next time, and maybe you'll get your toilet privileges back.

Accident;

You failed to hold it, and now you're soaking wet. Clearly, someone needs to teach you a lesson.

For the next 24 hours, any time you need to pee, you must lay down a towel or puppy pad, kneel on it, and pee on it through your underwear. Post about it every time you do.

Roll 1d6. This is the amount of days you are banned from the toilet entirely.

For the next 48 hours, you must hold it until you start to leak before running to the toilet. If you don't make it, post about it.

Clearly, your potty training has failed. For the next 24 hours, any time you feel the urge to pee, you must immediately wet into either your pants or a diaper.

For the next 24 hours, you must hold it until you have an accident every time you need to pee.

Do not pee before bed tonight. When you wake up, you must get permission from someone to pee. If you have an accident before you get permission, or wet the bed during the night, post about it and roll this table again.

[sturniolo04]

We Can't C.S.

Bf!Chris x Gf!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

You sat in yours and chris' room waiting for him to get back from the filming, you knew he was going to be stressed so you thought that you would give him something you know he has been wanting, See Chris is a gentleman and doesn't ask for sex while then again you've never even seen him get flustered or have a spot of lust in his eyes.

"Hey baby what are you thinking about?" you turned to Chris and got out of your thoughts, you walked up to him and gave him a kiss then went and shut the door, "so baby I know you've been stressed lately and I know you've waited so long I want to give you something"

He looked at you weird and smiled a little "okay" you sat him down on the bed then sat on his lap and began kissing him slowly moving down his neck as he placed his hands on your waist, you grinded your hips into his as he slipped out a moan, "not even the best part baby"

He picked you up off of his lap and stood up, "Baby whats up" he said as you sat at the end of the bed looking confused. "Well i want to have sex with you" his eyes went wide like he had never even heard that word before "no baby we cant" you gave him a weird look.

"Im sorry why not?" He sat down and grabbed your hand and interlocked them with his, "baby i don't know how, I've never done it" This time your eyes went wide "What about when we would sext?, you seemed like you knew what you were doing there"

"Well the internet is very helpful but when it comes down to real life I don't know where to stick it, if I put it in the right hole. If you really do like it, if its really hurting you, I don't know how to do anything and I don't want to get to do it with you and completely kill it" you laughed a little at how cute he was.

"Chris its okay everybody needs a teacher, how about I teach you everything you need to know about my body?" He smiled at you and nodded, you laid back "first give me your hand, now its easy for you to get horny rather than for me to so foreplay is a must, I'm going to show you what to do with your fingers are you okay with that" he nodded his head

you placed his hand in your pants as you helped his fingers find your clit and slowly rub circles, you let out a small moan as Chris moved fast "Fuck Chris" he smiled as you dragged his fingers down your slit and slipped two in your core making his fingers go in and out of you to your liking. "I love it when you moan" I smiled as he moved his fingers faster and faster as you felt a knot feeling in your stomach "Chris I'm about to cum" as he still continued to move his fingers you came on them and he removed them as he licked them clean.

"Well see you made me cum with your fingers how do you feel?" He looked down at his dick and he was definitely hard,"horny" you smiled down thinking about how you was going to suck his dick for the first time.

Small moan as he shook his head no.

"Has any girl ever put their hands on it?" Again he shook his head no as you undid his belt and took his underwear and shorts off letting his dick spring free and he was huge. You lick his tip and began sucking only on his tip as you jerked off the rest moving down more and more before he came in your mouth.

"How are you so hot" He brought me into a kiss "do you want to continue?" He thought about it as he shook his head no "I want it special not here with my brothers and them being able to walk in at any moment but sometime soon I would like to do that to you again because you looked so hot"

you kissed him as we got dressed and cuddled, Nick burst through the door as he looked at us and smiled " Matt why don't you ever knock we could have been doing something" he let out a small laugh "Chris you don't even know how to get to second base" he walked out as you let out a small laugh.

"Jokes on him we got there today" you laughed as you kissed him and we laid down to go to sleep as Matt ran back into the room "you made it to second?" you looked at Chris as he threw his hands up. "Who told you?" Matt let out a little laugh as he walked in "rule number one always check whos around" you rolled my eyes as you cuddled into Chris' chest and fell asleep.

Taglist

@adirtylittleheart @mintsturniolo @wh0resstuff @wh0resstuff @aaliyahsturn @stayingstromboli

[c0wgurlz]

Trouble On My Left, Trouble On My Right

Chapter 2: Operation, Find Caroline a Cowboy

gif by @bodybebangin

Kayce Dutton x Reader/OC - Friends to Lovers

He doesn't even have to take half a step to catch back up with me. “Come on Caroline, you know I’m just teasing you.” He pats my back as a peace offering. “Although,” Okay, maybe not. “I have it on good authority that I can please the ladies, so save a horse and all that.” Winking flirtatiously, he belts out a laugh, finally removing his hand from my bare back. And what a blessing that is, because if he had kept touching me while talking about… that, I’d be liable to combust.

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Chapter 1

Sorry it took me so long to update! I'm a teacher and my free time is fairly limited. We're at a point in the school year now though that is much less stressful, so expect fairly regular updates, at least for the next few chapters.

Comments are so appreciated! I'd love to know what ya'll like and what ya'll think I could improve upon.

As always: I do not own Yellowstone (2018) or any of its characters. This work is not monetized.

THIS FIC IS CROSSPOSTED TO AO3. It is not posted to any other site. I am lookingcold on AO3 and that is all. I do not give permission for my work to be posted by others to any other platform.

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We don’t talk for the rest of the walk, but the silence is comfortable, like it always is between us. Kayce and I have never asked too much of each other, have always read each others’ moods as if they were our own, and that apparently hasn’t changed from the five years we’ve spent apart. It’s glaringly obvious to us both that neither is up for idle chit chat. 

And while I’m really not up for small talk, the silence does, unfortunately, give me entirely too much time to overthink. What felt like such a natural decision, what felt like fulfilling my duty this morning, now feels foolhardy, and quite possibly too risky. Now this isn’t to say that I’m doubting my choice. Helping Mr. John, helping Kayce, helping the family and ranch that raised me, that picked up my pieces and glued me back together over and over, is a no brainer. Helping the people and the place I love most in the world feels as natural as breathing. But smoothing over a murder? That’s- No, I’m not doubting my choice, but I’m sure as hell doubting my sanity. When I said the Duttons needed a criminal defense lawyer, not a PR specialist, I wasn’t exaggerating. And if I’m being honest, this job feels more like that of an accessory than a public relations consult.

The front porch of the big house comes into view well before I’m ready. This dinner may be a reunion of sorts, but it’ll undoubtedly be a business meeting as well. Steeling my nerves for such talks doesn’t come quite as naturally to me as it once did. I feel like a knight with rusty armor. Weak at critical points, weak where it matters. More aptly, I feel like a little girl again, staring into the headlights of a train with no way to move and no way to stop it. I’m no coward, please don’t think that of me, but you know that feeling of impending doom? The one that makes your spine tingle and your stomach drop to your knees? Dread is probably the best word. That’s all I can feel as I stand at the bottom step of the Dutton’s porch. 

I must hesitate for too long, or stare off into space, or look absolutely fucking terrified, because in a flash Kayce is back down the two steps he’d already taken and by my side. He doesn’t say anything, you’d think we’d taken a vow of silence, but just looks at me imploringly, resembling a curious puppy so much I almost crack a smile. And then Kacye, sweet Kayce, wraps his calloused hand around mine and tucks it against his chest, over his heart, before tipping his head, ushering me up the stairs. Once I’m half way up I get a fond, “Atta girl,” and what woman doesn’t love being praised like an obedient mare. I snort in response and kick out my foot to trip him, but only a little bit, on the last stair. Can’t have hime getting too full of himself.

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Dinner is nice, but rather awkward if I’m totally honest, mainly due to the fact that Beth and Jamie are in attendance. Let’s just say Gator clears the table well before dinner should truly be over. To my surprise, we don’t talk business, but rather I’m questioned, interrogated really, over what I’ve been up to the past five years and why haven’t I called and would it really kill me to send a text every few months. Beth is the one who leads this inquiry. Jamie and I were never particularly close, so he remains silent for the most part, and he leaves in a huff shortly after Beth throws a fork like it’s a trident directly at his forehead. Can’t say I blame him, even I can only handle so much of Beth when she’s at her worst.

My interrogation is blissfully, or so I thought, cut short by Mr. John when he asks, “So, ya’ll have any plans tonight?” He folds his napkin meticulously, trying to look nonchalant but missing the mark by a shameful amount. If I thought that feeling of dread had left me, I was wrong.

I narrow my eyes and prepare to defend myself against an interrogation of a different kind. Before I can grit out a suspicious, “No, why,” however, Beth pipes up. “Actually Daddy, since you asked,” at this she turns to me, “Caroline, how do you feel about heading into town and getting gloriously drunk and then gloriously fucked? You’ve been gone far too long, so you’ve got to be re-initiated, re-tainted if you will.” She looks me up and down, assessing. “You’re far too shiny, like a little cherub.”

Jesus Christ, I think she’s suggesting I fuck a townie. And Mary and Joseph I haven’t even so much as kissed someone since my divorce - ok, well maybe a peck or two here or there, but that’s besides the point. Here I was, so worried about talking business, about skirting around the subject of murder, only to be blindsided by an age old Dutton scheme. Operation: Find Caroline a Cowboy. Well if Beth thinks I’m about to get biblical with some rando she is absolutely, positively looney tunes. Now, how to communicate all of that in a tactful way? Taking a shallow breath, I part my lips and prepare to spout some placating, buzzword bullshit. Something along the lines of, “Well, as fun as that sounds, I’m actually really tired. Maybe later this weekend?” or “How about we just kick back in the bunkhouse tonight, save the salaciousess for this Saturday?” Before I can even utter a word though, Kayce butts in on my behalf.

“Do you maybe think you could save the corruption for later, Beth? I’ve already promised the boys that I’ll bring Caroline around for cards tonight.” While his voice is calm, casual even, Kayce gives himself away the moment he begins to bounce his leg, the tap tap tap of the heel of his boot loud in the otherwise quiet room. He’s uncomfortable, maybe even irritated, which aren’t we all at least a little bit when speaking to Beth, but there’s something else. A boyishness to his demeanor that I haven’t seen since high school. There’s also the fact that we had decidedly made zero plans to visit the bunkhouse tonight. So. Interesting.

I’m certainly not the only one to notice his odd shift in behavior, as Mr. John’s lips curl into a smirk and Beth’s face arranges inself into a pleased, self-satisfied expression. She frequently wears the look of someone who knows enough to destroy literally any given person’s life, but this look is more playful, one of a cat that’s pinned a mouse by its tail. Ignoring Kayce, she turns her attention back to me. “Caroline, sweetheart, don’t even think about screwing any of those cowboys. I know old habits die hard, but trust me when I say not a single one of them is worth a ride.” Now, to be clear, Beth knows, I know, Mr. John knows, and even Kayce knows that Beth has only ever screwed one of said cowboys out in that bunkhouse, still, her dig elicits the desired reaction from Kayce. And furthermore, she makes it clear that she’s not just trying to set me up with any old cowboy. I’m on to her. Operation: Find Caroline a Kayce.

With a cringe of disgust and a flushed face, he exclaims, “Fuck’s sake Beth, I’m not taking her out there to pimp her out.” He’s stopped smoothing the tablecloth, but now he’s exasperatedly running his hand through his still damp hair. Shit, Kayce. You think he’d have learned by now how to not play into Beth’s hand. Some people just have to learn the hard way I suppose. 

Beth’s eyebrows lift and the corner of her mouth quirks. “Well you’re not a very good bestfriend then, are you?”

“Fuck you.” Kayce mutters, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms petulantlly.

“Maybe you should be saying that to her.” Beth points at me with her napkin, dropping it onto her plate as she rises from the table. “This has been fun. Possibly the best family dinner we’ve had all year.” Planting a kiss on Mr. John’s cheek she says, “Love you Daddy, have a drink with me later, will you? I think we should talk.” Then, rounding the table to me, she strokes my hair, almost motherly, “Caroline, sweetheart, clear your schedule Saturday. Me and you are going to paint the town red.” Finally, reaching Kayce, she sighs, “Goodnight, dummy. Let me know if you’d like help finding your balls.” And just like a tornado, she’s there wreaking havoc one moment, and gone the next.

The dining room is uncomfortably silent for a beat after she exits, until Mr. John blessedly breaks the awkwardness yet again. “Beth’s antics aside, I don’t think ya’ll should be going out anywhere tonight. We’ve got several important meetings lined up tomorrow morning and I need both of you sharp. Especially you Kayce, tomorrow will require you to tell a very particular version of events and I can’t risk you fucking that up. Alright, Son?”

Looking slightly cowed, Kayce nods his head in agreement. “Alright.”

Having determined this hell of a dinner has gone on long enough, I begin to make moves to excuse Kayce and myself. “Dinner was delicious Mr. John, thank you for having me. And thank you for such fine company.” I may be lying out of my ass, but my momma didn’t raise me to be rude.

Mr. John exhales a dry laugh and rises from the table. It’s moments like this where his and Beth’s resemblance is striking. “No need to thank me, honey. You’re family, you’re welcome at my table anytime.” Pushing in his chair he surveys Kayce and I with calculating eyes. “Why don’t you two head on home, you both look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”

Gee Mr. John, I wonder the hell why?

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Our walk back isn’t nearly as silent as our walk to the house. To say Kayce is pissed would be putting it lightly. “What in the actual fuck was all that? I mean, Beth was no surprise, but what shit is Dad trying to pull?”

“Kayce, your daddy barely said a word.” I’m more focused on the words left unsaid.

“He didn’t have to say anything Carrie, he sat there like a smug bastard and let Beth say it all for him.” Kayce may as well be pitching a fit the way he kicks at the ground, arms hugged tight to his chest like a wronged toddler. Honestly, the image is kind of amusing, so much so that I have to stifle a laugh. I must not do a good enough job, because I can feel the glare that Kayce shoots through the side of my head. “What?”

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, I’m quick to hide my growing grin. “Well first off, I’m gonna overlook the fact you pulled out my forbidden nickname. But second, do you remember that Christmas when we were thirteen? How Beth hung mistletoe from literally every single doorway, and how your daddy actually enforced the kissing rule?” I raise my eyebrows high, daring him to conveniently “forget” an awkward moment from our childhood as he often pretends to do.

The tips of his ears turn pink, but he sighs his agreement. “Yeah I remember, we must’ve kissed two dozen times. At the time I thought dying would’ve been a kinder fate.”

Asshole. I punch him in the arm, hard. “Wow. Thanks a lot. The sentiment is shared.” Rolling my eyes and checking for invisible dirt beneath my nails, I continue. “Anyways, what they’re doing now, Beth and your daddy, is just an enormous escalation of what they did then. I don’t think Mr. John will rest in his grave until I give him a grandbaby - with you.” I look at Kayce pointedly. It’s no secret that Mr. John, and Beth by extension, have been holding out hope that me and Kayce would fall madly in love and have lots of babies. When Kayce married Monica the teasing and hinting stopped, after all Mr. John would never disrespect their marriage in such a way, and when I married Judd it was almost like a fence went up between us, between myself and the Duttons that is, but now that both of our spouses are out of the picture? I’m certainly not surprised the trouble has started back up.

I expect Kayce to splutter and turn a darker shade of red. Despite his gruff exterior he’s always been reserved and easy to embarrass. He surprises me though when he mutters, “Maybe we should just give him what he wants then. Get him and Beth off our backs.”

I shock myself with the cackle that bursts its way out of my body. It bubbles out partly because of the utter glee I get from Kayce having a sense of humor for once and partly from the insanity of such a suggestion. “So you’re telling me, that your solution to getting your daddy and Beth to leave us alone, is to have a baby together? Yeah, because they definitely would have no interest in our love lives after a stunt like that.” I bump his hip with mine. “I can just hear Beth now, ‘I’m thinking a Fall wedding, you look horrible in bright colors and nobody wants to wear a suit in eighty-eight degree weather.’ We’d never hear the end of it.”

Kayce shrugs, shooting me a wry grin. “Hey, if we marry each other at least we’ll know what we’re getting into. No surprises.”

“Yeah, and no sex,” slips past my lips before I can swallow it down. What a stupid fucking thing to say. Good job Caroline, talk about fucking, or not fucking, your best friend some more why don’t you. Now I’m the one who’s blushing. Pink from the roots of my hair to my chest. And what a fatal mistake I’ve made by opening my fat mouth. My whole life I’ve had to be one step ahead of Kayce, embarrassing him before he can embarrass me worse, yet here I am giving him a golden opportunity.

His grin only widens. “I hate to break it to you Carrie, but to make a baby people have to have sex.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, adding insult to injury. “You know when a man loves a woman…”

I elbow him in the ribs before he can continue. He laughs at my embarrassment just as much as he groans from the pain. “Oh shut up.” Now I cross my arms, increasing my stride so that his arm falls from my shoulders.

He doesn’t even have to take half a step to catch back up with me. “Come on Caroline, you know I’m just teasing you.” He pats my back as a peace offering. “Although,” Okay, maybe not. “I have it on good authority that I can please the ladies, so save a horse and all that.” Winking flirtatiously, he belts out a laugh, finally removing his hand from my bare back. And what a blessing that is, because if he had kept touching me while talking about… that, I’d be liable to combust. If Kayce had always been shy and reserved in his day to day life, where I had been bright and obnoxious in mine, the topic of sex is where we switched places. I think calling myself a prude may be a tad harsh, but I certainly have never been one to broadcast my sexual business. Kayce on the other hand has never shied away from flirting, or kissing, or having sex in nearly every one of Mr. John’s pastures - you don’t get someone pregnant at nineteen by keeping it in your pants after all. 

Playing the game I had with Kayce in the bathroom earlier today had felt safe, probably because I was the one in control, but this battle of wills feels altogether different, like someone is poking at an insecurity, at a bruise I didn’t even know I had. It’s confusing at best and humiliating at worst. Throwing his words back at him, I huff, “Now Kayce Dutton, you know this conversation is entirely improper, so I suggest you drop it. And also,” I whirl around on the step I’ve just taken. Thank God we’ve reached the foreman’s house because I don’t know how much longer I can participate in this back and forth before I’m forced to will myself out of existence. “Who says I’d even want to have a baby with you? Good authority or not. I know ya’ll’ve gotten new ranch hands since I’ve last been here, all of whom I haven’t gotten to size up yet. You never know, maybe one of them is babydaddy material.” I poke him firmly in the chest. “Don’t assume I haven’t got options.” Before Kayce can respond I storm up the remaining steps and into the house, kicking my boots off perhaps a bit too aggressively before striding into the kitchen. What I plan to do in the kitchen, I don’t know, but I still don’t know which room I’m staying in and the living room feels too cozy to stew in, so the kitchen it is.

Kayce saddles in much more calmly, but his fierce expression gives his true feelings away. “Are you serious?” He grunts, and if I wasn’t so embarrassed, mad, confused, hurt - for some reason that alludes me, I might have found the rocky timbre of his voice sexy. 

“Serious about what?” I avoid his gaze petulantly, pouring myself a glass of water for a lack of anything better to do.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He groans, tipping his head back and rubbing at his eyes. “Are you really picking a fight over whether or not we should get imaginary married, have imaginary sex, and have an imaginary baby? You do hear how crazy that sounds?”

“So now I’m crazy?” My voice is cool, and serious, even though at this point I realize I’ve lost the argument. Even though I’ve realized there never should’ve been an argument in the first place.

Any fight Kayce had left in him drains away. I see the moment that it leaves his body, his eyes softening and his shoulders relaxing. “Caroline, honey, what’d I do?”

Almost as if there’s an invisible string connecting us, my body relaxes too. I blow out a breath, dump my water down the drain, and come to stand in front of him. No island between us. “You didn’t really do anything, just poked at a sore spot, that’s all.”

Sensing that this may be a conversation best saved for later, Kayce graciously changes the subject. Scratching at the back of his neck with one hand and gesturing towards the bathroom with the other he murmurs, “Well uh, if you still wanna have that spa night we should probably get going, we’ve got a early morning tomorrow and if I’m gonna let you take my spa virginity we’ve gotta do this thing right.” That earns him a hard exhale, the ghost of what could’ve been a laugh. But he must know not to expect much else, that I’m still nursing my bruised ego, because he carries on. “So why don’t I go get that bubble bath started and you can sort through your uh lotions and potions, decide on how best to pretty me up. And then maybe we could talk, about anything you want.” He begins to walk backwards, making his way towards the bathroom. It’s odd to hear the soft pad of his socked feet on the hardwood and not the click of his boots, but also kind of nice, endearing.

“Okay,” I breath, “Yeah, that’d be - that’d be nice.” I move to walk past him, into the hall where I’d left my bags. “I think you’ve got a bit of a sunburn so I’ll see if I’ve got an aloe mask for you. If you plan on putting yourself back on the market you’d better start taking care of your looks.”

I’m very purposefully facing away from him, so I don’t see the melancholy on his face so much as I hear it in his voice. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s likely to happen. My days of chasing tail are definitely over.” I don’t reply, not too keen on opening that can of worms further, and so an uncomfortable silence settles over us. It’s only broken when Kayce sighs, “Well, I’ll uh, I’ll be in the bathroom whenever you’re ready.”

Still looking down, I pause the mindless shuffling I’d been doing through my bags, “Alright, just give me a few minutes.” Having found the masks I was looking for well before now, I finally rise from out of my crouch, left knee popping in protest. “Like you said, you deserve a proper first spa night,” I turn my body to reveal my profile, pretending to check the label of the plastic tub in my hands, “I’ve gotta make sure I pull out all the stops. You know I don’t half ass anything.” Feeling generous, I finally offer him a small smile, turning to fully face him.

The relief in his eyes catches me off guard. “Don’t I know it.”

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I don’t know what I expected when Kayce said he’d go run a bubble bath. Too absorbed in my own thoughts, I didn’t consider that such an activity is typically done alone, certainly not with a friend, and even more certainly not with a totally platonic, albeit sexy, boy bestfriend. When I finally make my way into the bathroom however, I’m greeted by the sight of Kayce settled into the comically large clawfoot tub, chin tucked to his chest so that bubbles cling to his beard, eyes unfocused and contemplative. “Didn’t realize I invited Santa Claus.” I joke, at a loss for anything else to say. Too scared to say the wrong thing or ask the wrong question.

At the sound of my voice his head jerks up, the sudden movement sloshing water just shy of the lip of the tub. “Santa Claus?” He furrows his eyebrows. He really does look like a puppy.

“You’ve got bubbles,” I gesture to my chin, miming a full beard.

He chuckles, “Oh, yeah, I guess I just got bored and,” he shrugs, “I’ve gotten used to playing with Tate in the bath. You’re lucky I didn’t break out the bubble mohawk.”

“The bubble mohawk?” I giggle, “I don’t know, I think I’d like to see that actually. Just make sure I’ve got a camera on me when you do break it out, yeah?” Lining my “lotions and potions” up on the counter, I look away, still trying to figure out what exactly is going on here, or what Kayce expects me to do, to say.

He must sense my hesitancy because he volunteers, “I hope I got the water hot enough. I know how you women like to scorch your skin off, but I’m afraid I’m just a bit too delicate.” He’s pushed himself into a full sitting position now. The water pools just under his chest and it takes everything in me to meet his eyes.

“So we are taking a bath together then?” I huff. “Because that’s not weird at all.” Still, I move to pull my blouse up and over my head, clipping my hair up so that it no longer hangs down my back. “And if you’re not actively in pain, then no, you don’t have the water hot enough. But that’s alright, I’ll manage.”

Ignoring my comment about the water, his eyebrows furrow once again in confusion. “Why’s it weird? You’re the one that suggested it.”

“No. I didn’t.” I shoot some side eye at him, because who in their right mind would suggest such a thing. Hopping around to remove my socks before balling them up and tossing them into the hall so that they don’t get wet, I continue, “And it’s weird because usually when grown adults take a bath together it’s only because something else is gonna follow.”

Rolling his eyes, he insists, “Yes. You did. You said you normally take a bubble bath for spa nights, so here we are, taking a bubble bath. And it’s not weird. I’m wearing my underwear, and I assumed you’d wear yours too. It’s no different than going swimming together.” He sounds way too exasperated for a conversation that is this stupid.

Remember how I said Kayce and I have never had trouble reading each other? Yeah I take that back. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I sigh, “That was not a suggestion. That was a statement. But thank you for the clarification. Now before I literally die of embarrassment, would you like the lavender hair mask,” I forcefully lift one colorful jar into the air, and then another, “or the apple?”

Looking as fed up as I feel, Kayce responds gruffly, “The lavender.”

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Tag List: @cheneyq @targaryenpower @starset21 @darlingmunson30 @ilovemrytleturtle @screechingtriumphtiger @chlo-feigh @twoheartedfool @softi92 @hannahufflepuff @its-moonblr

[jjkeremika]

talk down to me

armin arlet x fem!reader (NSFW)

armin likes when you talk down to him. interestingly enough, it seems to be a kink reserved for you.

you assumed it was something his ex manipulated him into. you’ve met his ex-girlfriend, the one with the emotionless expression and the beady eyes, the one who looked like she wanted to punch you when you ran into her once. it wouldn’t have surprised you if she had been the one to belittle him in bed, antagonize and shame the bright minded man; the one who must have convinced him it was something he deserved, feeling shameful and alone.

but instead it was the change in your tone, the lower octave reserved for when you tsked him, when he said the wrong things and made the wrong choices.

“armin,” you started, hands on your hips, feet solid on the floor, staring at him with a new light in your eyes—brighter than polaris in the night sky. “in the nicest way, are you stupid? what were you thinking?” you asked him in that disapproving tone, the not good enough attitude. “were you even thinking? that was really bad, armin, you could get in serious trouble for that.”

the corner of his mouth twitched subtly, threatening a smile as his brain sent a signal to his heart, ordered his dick to hoard the blood supply, to double its size.

“stupid for you,” was all he said, his eyes shadowing with an unmet need and a newly unveiled desire. his hands moved to his own neck, started tugging on and removing his tie.

you thought nothing of it. “no, clearly you’re just stupid. intelligent, but crazy stupid. you could be killed! erwin and levi don’t stop at just imprisoning traitors.” you shifted uncomfortably at the thought of losing armin, felt your heart stop at having called your kind, loving, loyal boyfriend a traitor (which, he was technically a traitor to the scouts, selling secrets to the military police, but, still).

armin’s hands reached for his belt, easily slid it off as he spoke, “call me stupid again.” he dropped the belt to the floor, took a step towards you. “im serious, y/n. call me stupid. dumb. incompetent.” he pulled his shirt off by the collar, his tasteful developing abs on display, his trained yet relatively thin physique salivatingly appetizing. his warm hand cupped your cheek. “i want you to.”

“minnie, i, i don’t know,” you stuttered, the foreign idea unsettling, and he smiled eagerly at the endearing nickname.

“baby, please.” he pressed a slow, light kiss to each cheek. “you usually speak of me so highly.” he kissed your forehead and nose. “but i like when you’re above me.” he knelt onto the ground, his hands coming up to and caressing your thighs. “in more ways than one.”

his mouth started trailing up your exposed thighs, each kiss tickling and evoking a giggle. he sucked on the spot below your shorts, biting at the fabric and moving his hands to hold onto the waistband.

he pressed his mouth to your covered crotch, the fabric uncomfortable on his tongue but the smell of you peeking through was divine.

you felt his smirk at your airy chuckle. “oh, min, baby,” you moaned softly, one hand running through his hair while the other rested on his shoulder.

“come on, baby, please,” he pleaded, lightly biting at your crotch, a new and awkward and intriguing sensation given the protection of the fabric.

“too stupid to undo my pants?” you asked unsurely with a red blush, feeling the uncomfortable heat building inside as you acclimated to this new role he wanted you to play.

he looked up at you with the widest, brightest smile and the most dilated, sultry eyes you’ve ever seen. on anyone. and you’ve seen the way eren gawks at mikasa. that means something.

“oh fuck yeah, baby, thank you.”

you smiled as his hands started playing with the button on your shorts, pulling the zipper down and swiftly slipping the shorts off. his mouth connected with your underwear-covered crotch, just above your lips, his open mouth covering your clit to the tip of the short hairs.

“oh, baby,” you admonished, your hands tightening in his hair, “use that pretty head, love, the panties come off too.” you were breathing with an open mouth. your stomach was churning as your brain struggled to find what to say, what dirty talk he’ll respond to.

he did what you told, and you purred out a soft, “good boy. so so good. learn so well all things considered.”

he chortled and smiled against your clit, the vibration sending shivers up your spine, settling the nervousness at being good for him, at being enough for him, at titillating him to completion.

“start thinking of punishments for me, love,” his voice, muffled from his position against your groin, sounded through your ears, “because i’m about to cum so fucking fast.”

[thewardenisonthecase]

Join Me

Lucanis Dellamorte x Rook (Dawn Thorne)

Read on AO3

Summary: Lucanis needs a bath after arriving from a run in with a Venatori. Unfortunetly, or fortunetly, for him, the bathtub is already being used.

A/N: this is based on the prompt Time for a Bath from the @loveofdragonage 2025 event.

I'm not too crazy about how this turned out but its whatever i guess.

“You could join me. If you want to.” Was all Dawn had said. 

Lucanis had just returned from a meeting with Viago and Teia, and after a run in with the Venatori, he was in need of a bath. 

He didn’t expect, however, that Dawn would already be in use of it. Lucanis had barged into the bathroom without thinking and quickly began to apologize when he realized what he had done, saying he’d return later.

But she only laughed and said those eight words. 

He put his hands on his hips, staring at her, a brow raised. “Do you want me to get in?” 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” 

He chuckled and then sighed. “You do realize we’ve never…seen each other like that, right?” 

Dawn shrugged. “There’s always a first time for everything.” 

That he couldn’t deny. He took a deep breath before turning around, fully closing the door, and started the process of removing his clothes. 

In truth, no one had ever seen Lucanis like this - naked and vulnerable. Before Dawn, he had never even been this close to someone before, at least to someone who wasn’t part of his family. 

It was a strange feeling, to know that in a way, he was exposing himself. But if there was anyone to know him intimately, he was glad it was Dawn. 

“Lucanis, if you take any longer the water is going to run cold.”

He smirked and tsked. “You Wardens are so impatient, all of the time.” He said, as he undid the belt of his pants and let them drop. From behind him, he heard Dawn gasp as he slowly turned around, naked. 

Her eyes widened as she looked at him from head to toe, and Lucanis took a deep breath. 

“You’re…very handsome. I must say.” 

Lucanis smirked and walked towards the tub.

Dawn put a hand up and stopped him. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“If I get to see you naked then I guess it's only fair if I…” the sentence died in her mouth as she inhaled a breath and abruptly stood up from the bath, the water dripping from her naked body. 

Lucanis mouth opened in the slightest as he realized he had also never seen Dawn naked before. He had seen the burn scars on her arms and near her chest before, but he had never been aware of how extensive they were. 

She had yet to mention how she acquired them. Lucanis never pressed the issue, but he did wonder what happened. Were they caused by an accident? Had someone done this to her, and if so, who and had they been stabbed yet? 

Regardless, the scars did not distract him from how beautiful Dawn was.

“Maker…” He whispered, and he didn’t know how long he stayed like that - staring, mesmerized, until Dawn cleared her throat. 

“The water’s getting cold.” She extended a hand and he shook his head, before walking towards her and taking it. This close, it was then he realized how red her face looked. 

They slowly submerged into the water, one on each side of the tub. They helped clean the other - Dawn rubbed the soap on his back, on the parts he couldn’t reach, and Lucanis had helped with her hair. Once the two were done, they didn’t immediately leave. 

Dawn shifted around, until her back was on his chest. Due to the position, and her height, her legs were falling off the tub, probably wetting the floor. For a moment, Lucanis hesitated, but then his arms went around her and grabbed her waist and he put his head on her shoulder. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, until the water had run completely cold and they inevitably left. But one thing was sure - they would never take a bath alone again.

...

Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging it and leaving a comment, they're extremely appreciated!

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

A Hero's Welcome

I am super duper unhappy with this. I just can't get it right, but if I don't post it, I'll get stuck in a rut. As always, please drop a comment below, they are loved and cherished.

This can be read as a The Way the Stars Love the Heavens one-shot or as a standalone, so you don't need to read my series to read this!!

Contains: Fluff, smut (oral sex M and F receiving, fingering, p in v).

2.2K words of pure smut.

Simon comes back after an op and you're happy to welcome him back to base.

It was the soft sound of his tac boots on the hard floors that gave Simon away. Despite how quietly he would always move, the long days of waiting for him to return to base had left you on edge and listening out for every sound that came by your door.

You didn't want to wait any longer, ladylike behaviour be damned, so when the footsteps got close enough to let you know he was right by your dorm, you yanked him into the room. He was still wearing all his tac gear, and he was already grinning when he laid eyes on you, ever the observant soldier, he must have been ready for your reaching arms the second he heard the creaking of your door. "Well hello lovely, did you miss me?"

You all but ripped his mask off his face and pressed your lips to his as your reply, and Simon smiled against your lips as you started to pull his vest off. Your fingers moved haphazardly, and he grabbed one shoulder strap as it fell from his chest. With the vest discarded, you started on the various weapons strapped to his body, finally needing to break away from his lips and look as the task grew.

"You need a hand?" He watched you remove the knife from his hip, your fingers unfocused and rushed, and you nodded as he unbuckled the holster from his other hip and placed it and the gun it held on the ever-growing pile. You reached towards the small of his back, gripping the wad of metal pressed against his skin and pulled it free from the tiny pouch protecting his body.

You laughed when it came into view, and Simon's easy grin had your heart fluttering. "What the hell do you need a trench knife for? The world wars ended a long time ago, dearest."

"The knuckles detach, you know, in case the knife gets stuck." He took it from you and separated the pieces. "See?"

You shook your head and sighed. "Alright then."

You dropped down to your knees to remove his shoes, and he smiled down at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm really getting to gold star treatment, aren't I love?"

"Of course." The knife on his left ankle went first, then the gun on his right and you made your way back up his body to take off his belt. He stopped you, wrapping his hand gently around your wrists before placing your hand on his shoulders and leaning down to kiss you. You felt him grip the edge of your shirt and you lifted your arms as he pulled it over your head.

"Fuck you're so fucking beautiful. I'm the luckiest man on Earth." His lips found your neck, and the added roughness of his beard from being in the field for a week without shaving had you taking in a sharp breath as the texture sent shivers down your spine.

His shirt went next, and he took two steps back to accommodate the height you didn't have so you could pull it off his body. You fought back a giggle, and he brushed his fingers over the apple of your cheek as he looked at you fondly. "What it is love."

"I was hoping I'd find a razor blade taped somewhere." The look on his face told you all you needed to know, and your suspicions were confirmed when he started to undo his belt with a smile. You helped him, pushing his camo pants off his hips and down to a pile on the floor. He had something long and impossibly thing strapped to his thigh, and your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion as you went to undo the strap.

"It's a KGB concealed blade, you know, in case of a pat down." Nevertheless, it joined its brothers and sisters on the pile on your table, and Simon thanked you for all your hard work with another kiss as he removed your bra.

You nipped his lower lip, and one hand went from your hip to your breast so he could play with your nipple. He wasn't as gentle as he usually was, and it had you gasping through the kiss as the roughness of his battle-hardened fingers danced across your sensitive skin. You slid your hand down his body and palmed his cock, and he grunted when you rubbed him through the fabric.

You pulled away from his lips and pressed yours to his cheek, then his chin, then you dipped your head to kiss his neck, stopping briefly from sucking a mark on his throat. "I think I should show you how much I missed you."

His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he used his fingertips to draw circles on your breast. "And how are you going to do that, lovely?"

You smiled and slowly dropped to your knees, pressing kisses to his chest and abs as you went. "I have some ideas."

One of his massive hands found the back of your head as you pulled his boxers down. You used the precum beading at the head to slick your way down as you stroked him, and he groaned when you tightened your hand on the upstroke. You smiled up at him before leaning in and licking him from base to tip like an ice cream, and you felt his fingers tense as he stopped himself from digging them into your hair.

You sucked the tip into your mouth, and he took in a breath as the heat of your mouth made his toes tingle. His head fell back, and his breath quickened as you took him further in, one of your hands moving from his hip to play with his balls. He moaned, his chest rumbling as his hand squeezed your shoulder rhythmically.

He started to rock his hips, a slow and steady back and forth that still let you set the pace, and you could tell by the force of the hand on your shoulder that he was holding back. You took your hand off his balls and moved it to the part of his cock that your mouth couldn't reach, and Simon grunted and a breath left his chest. "Fuckin' ell love, you're gonna kill me."

You hummed an affirmative and pulled back, using both your hands to take the place of your mouth. "Death by blow job, what a way to go."

He shook his head and huffed. "You're asking for it now." He pulled your hands off of him and lifted you up by your upper arms, manhandling you to the bed. "What makes you think it's ok to give me so much lip."

You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing, and he took in your expression before ripping your trousers off, the buttons flying everywhere as you protested. "Hey, those were my favourite."

"I'll repair them for you, don't worry love." He knew he would and the vision of him sitting on the bed with a tiny sewing needle in his hand made you giggle. The sound of ripping pulled you away from your thoughts, and you looked towards his hands, there was no way he could fix your panties, he had torn them in two.

He dropped down and knelt on the floor before manhandling you again, throwing your legs over his shoulders and diving in, licking you from entrance to clit as he moaned. He went in like a man eating his last meal, and you knew you would have bruises in the morning with how hard his hand were squeezing your thighs.

With your ass off the edge, Simon had to support the weight of your legs and he took full advantage, using his massive arms to maneuver you so you couldn't move away from growing pleasure as he increased his efforts with his mouth. He dropped one of your legs but shifted to maintain control as his hand slid up your inner thigh and to your core and moved his mouth to focus solely on your clit.

"Fuck, oh fuck." The feeling of his fingers sliding inside you was wonderful, and the slow pace juxtaposed to the enthusiastic one he had taken with his mouth meant that you felt every ridge of his digits. He crooked his fingers to rub your G-spot and you arched toward his mouth as you grew closer to the edge.

You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle your growing moans, aware that the walls could only keep so much away, and you didn't want your friends to hear how desperate you must have sounded as Simon touched you. Suddenly, everything stopped and the hand he was using to pleasure you was wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth. "None of that Love, I want to hear you."

"But…" You couldn't really think of a response, not when he was looking at you like he wanted to swallow you whole.

"No buts, be good for me Love and let me hear how good I make you feel." He dove right back in, and your fingers gripped the sheets as the sensations picked up exactly where they left off. You tried to muffle the whimpers, but you were rushing towards the peak like a runaway train.

Your hands found his head, and you scratched his scalp and pushed his head into you, and with one more stroke to your G-spot, your vision went white as the pleasure overtook you. The vibrations of his moans only made the feeling stronger, and he didn't seem to mind the way you were yanking his hair as the orgasm slowly faded.

He didn't stop, and you pushed his head away softly as he chuckled. "Simon, enough."

He pulled away and wiped his face with his hand before standing up with a grin. "You right there love?"

You blinked in indignation. "Am I right? What kind of question is that?"

He was smug, his handsome face twinkling with ego. "I'm just making sure."

You yanked him downwards and used the momentum to flip yourself on top of him, his hands moving to your hips as you settled on top of him. "The bed's too small to flip again, so what are you going to do now?"

He ran one hand up and down your leg while the other moved to your cheek to pull you down for a kiss, and he nipped your lower lip as the kiss deepened. He pulled back, only far enough to speak through his smirk. "Absolutely nothing."

You nodded and brought your hand from where it was resting on his chest to wrap around his cock, jacking it a few times before holding it still so you could slide down slowly. He was always just a little too much, but like this, he was overwhelming, hitting every single space you had until it felt like you were going to burst.

You took in a breath and started to rock slowly, moving your hips back and forth while Simon rubbed gentle circles on your thighs with his thumbs. "You're doing so good for me, Love." You bent at the waist and kissed him, and he ran his hands up and down your back as he started to match your pace.

The kiss turned rough, and he bent one knee to gain more leverage as he overtook the pace. You found yourself unable to straighten back up as he angled his hips to hit your G-spot, and then he was taking your hand off his heaving chest and placing it between your legs. "Touch yourself for me, Love."

You did as he asked, rubbing small circles on your clit as he gripped your hips so tight you knew you'd have bruises by the time the night was up. Simon was grunting like an animal as thrusts increased in force, and your body rocked with each one as your skin started to tingle with release once again. Your head fell into the crook of his neck, and his hands moved to the backs of your thighs for more leverage as you started to clench around him.

"Come on Love, I know you're close, I can feel it, just let go for me." You could tell by the glint in his voice that he was close behind you, and your fingers sped up on your clit as he pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans like a man starved as you fell over the edge. His hips stuttered and he held you to him as he pulsed inside you.

With his hips still, you rested on top of his chest to catch your breath while he ran his hands over any skin he could reach. "You need anything from me Love?"

You sighed and turned your head so you could rest your ear against his chest as a steady thumb filled your ear. "No dearest." You smiled softly and rubbed his nose with yours. "Welcome back."

He grinned and kissed you, it was full of love and affection, and your heart swelled as he held your face while his lips moved against yours. He pulled back with one last peck and put his forehead on yours with a sigh. "It's good to be back. I love you y/n."

You mirrored his sigh, enjoying the intimate contact as you grew sleepy. "I love you too Simon."

Fin

@chaos-4baby @shuttlelauncher81 @carma-fanficaddict

[oh-theatre]

I wamna hear about timbart

Why thank u I have so much about them I love them bart is my blorbo

Tim always notices when Bart is getting quiet or overstimulated in conversation or other such situations. He offers comfort or grounding, whether it’s a distraction, fidget or removing him from the conversation

Tim is Barts lightning rod, when part gets really in his head and is speeding around or talking too fast or blurring and he’s not really there Tim can ground him (he offers physical touch, if Bart needs/wants it)

Counter: sometimes bart needs to run or pace around and just exhaust himself but tim never leaves, he will sit and watch and wait he’s there for bart

Tim calls Bart goose and lightning bug and Bart calls him Timmy

Bart has a lot of nicknames for Tim actually, most of them funny (Timtam, Timbit, Timothy Chalamet)

Bart is just about the only person who can get tim away from his work, and he’s got a sense for it.

Every time they get spotted in public they make up a different role for Bart in Tim’s life.

personal assistant, chauffeur (does not have a car, should not drive), his chef, bag carrier, etc.

Bart mindlessly fidgets with Tim’s hands and fingers, Tim let’s him

Tim frequently falls asleep on Bart and he does not move, he also makes a point to make sure no one else disturbs Tim

Tim stocks his utility belt with new snacks for Bart every week

Tim will flirt incessantly with Bart on missions and he just short circuits

They!! Wear !! Each others!! clothes!! “Isn’t that Tim’s hoodie?” “Not anymore”

Bart will go all around the world to bring Tim food and when asked about it he lies and says it was just a restaurant in central, Tim knows he’s lying

Bart thinks alot more then he says things out loud, Tim notices this and coaxes his thoughts out

Tim loves Barts hair, he will consistently put his hands in Barts hair sometimes without knowing and Bart just lets him, sometimes he’ll find tiny braids that must have come from tim

Tim gets really quiet after a mission gone badly, he’ll isolate himself or pour himself into work. Bart will sit in silence with him, he can sit still for this, for tim. He waits as long as he needs until Tim reaches out he always doea

They are so smart and often on the same wavelength and on missions rarely do they need to talk they just know what the other is thinking.

Bart is one of the few people who can boss tim around or challenge him without fallout

They listen to eachother ramble and rant fully invested and offering questions. They are autistic and adhd <3

I think it takes a really long time before they kiss. It’s a lot of “we don’t like each other we’re just really close besties, pals even” but then they almost lose each other on a mission or one gets badly hurt and oh no they are so much more then best friends, this is their person, the mere thought of losing the other person makes them completely break

Bart is the type of person to come up with a wild solution to something and Tim lets him try it

They like to be in each other’s presence even if they aren’t talking, sometimes they can’t talk but they want to be in eachothers space. Tim will be reading or studying while Bart lays on him playing a video game

Bart has a warped sense of life and death, and he doesn’t see death as a bad thing but more of an escape (he has trauma from his past (time in the future)) but the thought of losing Tim will send him into a spiral

whenever Tim gets sick or injured (like needs bed rest) bart will stay with him at the manor or in his room at the tower the entire time

bart speaks so many languages and loves to call tim petnames in other languages, tim melts everytime.

they love to cook for eachother and together, alfred has banned them both from the kitchen however

bart loves forehead kisses tim wil cradle his face and its so gentle, tim can feel when bart speeds by him and gives him a kiss it tickles but hes gotten used to the feeling and loves it

Tim hates when Bart gets stuck in the speedforce but hes always the one to bring him back (lightning rod!!!!!!!)

Bart, on multiple occasions, has stood up to Bruce after him and tim have a confrontation.

With that, hes always there to combat everything Bruce has said and uplift tim and reassure him in very plain blunt words that he is enough, and he is a person worth the world

i have so much please keep talking to me about bart allen, timbart, bart allen **bart allen**

[hotreadingwitch]

Regulus x Reader - Date Night (Modern AU)

A/N - This is a trans!regulus (afab) chapter!! Though much of my writing is queer, writing characters that are trans specifically is new for me as I am not trans myself, so please feel free to slide into my messages and let me know if there is anything that feels harmful/incorrect. I know many people in this fandom adore the trans!regulus headcannon, which is why I wanted to hop on and try to write a chapter of my own (I couldn't resist, he's just so hot)! It also must be said that I will not be tolerating ANY transphobia in this comment section, ALL hateful comments will be immediately deleted.

Content Warnings/Kinks: hickeys, hair pulling, choking, praise kink, light degradation, face slapping, daddy kink, oral sex (cunnilingus and a blowjob), light gagging, use of sex toys, penetrative sex (strap-on) 

Date Night 

Yes, Y/n knew that Regulus was hot, and yes, she knew he wanted to sleep with her based on the messages they'd exchanged on the dating app that they'd matched on. If anything, she had been genuinely surprised when he had actually asked her out on a date first instead of just inviting her over to his flat. In fact, throughout their date, which had 'ended' just mere minutes ago, they had engaged in totally pleasant chit-chat, Regulus proving himself to be quite the gentleman. 

All that seemed to be out the window, however, as he currently had her pinned up against the grimy brick wall of the alley with his hands gripping her waist and hers pulling at his perfectly messy curls. The alleyway was murky and, as it was already quite late at night, dark too. Deliciously-scented smoke billowed out of the Chinese restaurant's vents and water dripped from the exposed pipes. 

"Regulus" Y/n whimpered, out of breath as his salivating mouth made its way south to the crook of her neck, likely leaving a small mark.

"My place." he breathed, pausing for only a second, "Let's go." 

"Okay," she agreed, ridiculously pleased with the direction the night was taking.

~

His mouth was on her the second her back hit the mattress, kissing her like his life depended on it, making her moan in satisfaction. He tugged at the bottom of her shirt, grinning when he successfully removed it from her body, leaving her breasts exposed to him. 

"Beautiful" he murmured, a cold hand tracing down from her neck to her belly button, making her shiver. 

She slipped hers down slightly as they reconnected, kissing with passion, only for a hand to reach out and stop her before she could even reach his belt buckle. 

"I—" he paused, taking a breath as she waited patiently, "There's something I need to tell you before we sleep together" 

"Oh, we can use a condom if you want, it's no problem" she smiled, her hair mussed and fluffy. 

"No, it's not that" he replied with a secret smile of his own, "I'm trans" 

"Okay, that's great" 

"I—you think that's great?" he seemed slightly bewildered by this. 

"I suppose I do. It's great that you told me, thank you by the way, but it doesn't change anything for me is all I mean..." she blushed, "I just want to sleep with you really, quite urgently actually" 

"Well, that can definitely be arranged" he smirked. 

And with that, they were back to it. He pulled her jeans off, quickly followed by her panties. She pressed up against his chest, kissing down his neck as she removed his grey tee and pants in return. After their clothes were discarded all over the floor, Y/n's senses felt heightened. She found that everything was turning her on, Regulus' mouth grazing across her cheek and down her neck, the sight of his handsome body before her, even the scent of his heady cologne. 

"Fuck" she murmured. 

They pressed together, him getting rougher by the second, biting at her jaw and her attempting to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from her lips the more he teased her. Regulus then pushed her down, dragging her with one smooth pull to the edge of his bed. He spread her legs, hunger in his darkened, green eyes as he took in the sight of her dripping wet cunt.

"You're sure?" He questioned.

The sight of Regulus waiting patiently between her legs broke her restraint, if she'd even had any to begin with, "Yes, please" 

The first flick of his tongue was godly, causing Y/n to promptly moan for him. 

"Your tongue, Regulus, fuck your tongue" she cried out with a hiss, gripping her hands in his hair instantly for stability's sake, making him chuckle cool breath onto her cunt. He continued, licking languidly upwards from her hole before slowly making his way up to her clit.

"That feel good baby?" He snarked, making her release a disbelieving huff. 

"You know it does" she shot back. 

His hands massaged the outsides of her warm thighs, bedroom eyes set on her and only her, "Yeah, but I still like to hear you say it in that whiney little voice for me"

"I like it" she blushed, giving him what she knew he wanted. 

"That's better" he replied before returning to her. 

With one more lick, Regulus proceeded softly, carefully yet with such a deliciously perfect amount of pressure it made Y/n see stars. He was clearly experienced and she knew he knew it considering his immense cockiness which, of course, only made him even hotter to Y/n than he already was before. 

As he continued, his tongue flicking and his mouth sucking, he really was teasing her, pushing her to her limit. Each lick seemed to have a purpose, he'd poke at one spot around her clit for a while before switching it up and tasting her needy hole, leaving her wanting more with every second that passed. But, never once did he take his amazing mouth off of her. 

She looked down at him, taking in the lust of his gaze, the lust she realized was for her and only her in that moment. Fuck, this man was too much. Too good at eating pussy, too sexy, too everything. He sped up the pace of his tongue, making her arch her back, almost curving at an unnatural angle. 

"I fucking hate you" she cursed him through gritted teeth as his lips formed a suction around her clit, making her shudder. 

He stopped for only a second only for her to beg, incredulous, "Don't stop!" 

Hesitantly, he reconnected to her, making her release a broken sound again, somewhere between a whimper and a groan, "'Makes me so fucking mad how good you are at that..." 

Finally understanding, he broke away from her to grin and shake his head before the licking continued. His strong hands gripped the outsides of her thighs, supporting her shaking limbs as he pleased her until she burst. 

"Fuck!" She cried out as her cunt pulsed, the orgasm overwhelming her body, making her gush with cum. 

He continued, licking at that perfect spot, flicking it over and over until the intensity subsided and she was left a boneless mess on his bed. 

"Fuck, I need to feel how wet you are" he groaned, reaching a hand down, completely turned on by her moans and arched back, "Soaking wet baby. Shit, you're so fucking wet for me. Do you think you can take a cock in that perfect little cunt of yours?" 

"Mmm," she murmured, blissfully consenting as Regulus went over to his bedside drawer, pulling out a simple black strap-on. He put it on, making quick work of the complicated process. 

"C'mere" she ordered lightly when he returned, sinking to her knees before him, placing gentle hands on each of his thighs. 

"You want to suck me off?" 

"Is that alright?" She returned his question with one of her own. 

"Fuck" he groaned, tilting his face to the ceiling, as if in disbelief, "Yeah, yeah I want that baby. I want to see you suck it for me" 

Y/n spat onto the tip, swirling her tongue around its head, never once breaking away from Regulus' intense gaze. His eyes pierced her, intently watching every action as she began to lick slowly up and down his shaft. 

Her hand slid further up his leg, curving inward toward the space between his thighs. 

"Can I touch you too?" she asked, wide doll eyes enticing him. 

"Yes, fuck yes baby" he replied, his voice becoming breathier the more he watched her tease his strap with her pretty mouth. 

He groaned, biting down on his pouty lip, as she reached between his thighs. She gathered some of the wetness that was coating his entrance, smearing her fingers in it. His eyes widened as she took her now wet digits and spread his slick all over the shaft of his strap. She then began to really suck on it, shoving it as far as she could into her obedient mouth, bobbing up and down, moaning at the taste. The sight was almost too much for Regulus, let alone the feeling of Y/n sliding her delicate fingers across the area that was most sensitive for him. He bucked his hips, overcome by the feeling, making Y/n gag. 

"Such a pretty girl on your knees, playing with me while you take my cock so deep in your pretty little mouth" he praised, "Keep going baby, show me how much you want it" 

She moaned onto the plastic again, bobbing up, taking in how it was now covered with a mix of his delicious slick and her spit before going down on him again. Her fingers swirled around and around his clit as she sucked up and down his cock. She sped up, taking as much of him as she could, proving just how much she wanted him to fuck her. As she continued, things got messier, salvia coating the plastic and Regulus' wetness covering her fast fingers. 

"Are you still wet for me baby? Are you dripping down onto my floor?" she gagged on his cock in response as he continued breathily, "Yeah, I bet your slick is just spread all over your pretty cunt right now, getting so wet and ready for me to fuck you" 

She gagged and gagged, the way Regulus' cock was hitting the back of her throat making her eyes roll back in pleasure. He might love the sight of her sucking him off but she was sure she loved doing it more. 

"Fuck" he growled as he approached his orgasm, "Keep gagging baby, yeah, keep touching me" 

She obeyed, flicking at his sensitivity with two fingers, swirling around it until he burst, never once taking her mouth off of the massive strap. 

When he'd finished, thighs shivering from his orgasm, Y/n came off of it, standing for a second before straddling him on the edge of the bed. "Fuck. Me. Now" she commanded, her eyes full of pure lust as she pushed his chest so that he was lying down with her on top of him, "...I need to feel it in me" 

"So needy baby" he chuckled, still out of breath. 

He caressed her thighs, her ass cheeks, every inch of warm skin, taking a second before they continued. 

"Please Reg..." 

"Put it in baby, yes, put it in" he ordered. 

Regulus' jaw ticked as he watched her lower herself onto his cock. She was just as wet as he had thought, easily sliding all 8-inches inside her soaking, primed hole. She gasped, not because of the large size, or because of how he immediately started thrusting slowly up into her, but because of the way it fit so perfectly within her, as if their connecting was something the stars had foretold. 

"Shit, you feel so good inside me" she moaned. 

"I can see how wet you are baby" he groaned, gaze zeroed in on her cunt, "Fuck—fucking splashing all over this cock for me" 

She ground down onto Regulus, taking the lead by bouncing her ass back and forth, hands pressed on his chest. Her thighs spread wider across him as she kept lowering herself, taking more and more as she rocked against him. She was so full, so thoroughly filled, it was hard to not cum right then and there. 

"Fuck you feel so—ahh" she moaned, her nose scrunching as she rode him.

Y/n continued, bouncing up and down. The movement was tiring but so worth it. She'd moan, gasp, or groan, each time she sunk fully down onto him and shiver each time she came back up, her cunt gripping the length. But her pleasure wasn't the only reward, the sensual, feral way Regulus looked at her made her skin heat even more. 

"Look at how well you're taking me..." he praised, his hands gripping her hair then, pulling harshly at the messy mass, forcing her back to arch, "Can you keep being a good little slut for me, baby?" 

"Mm hm," she nodded, whimpering. 

A harsh blow landed on her cheek, causing her to cry out in pain, "Use your words pretty girl, unless you want to be punished even more." 

In the haze of the pleasure that she was feeling, her cheek still stinging, she vaguely considered continuing to disobey just so that he would in fact punish her again but decided against it at the last minute, instead trying something new that she thought might just please him even more...

"Yes Daddy," she mewled, her voice low and full of all that she was feeling.

Regulus groaned, instantly gripping her hips and thrusting more harshly up into her, matching her tempo and how she bounced down onto him. Her moans were loud as he fucked her and she fucked him, yet she had no feelings of shame, not then and definitely not when she moaned even louder as one of his hands circled her throat. Fuck, she thought, he truly was too good to be true. 

"Grind down on me" he instructed, his hands gripped in the flesh of her ass, "Yes that's it. You like how that feels on your clit baby?" 

She squirmed, gasping as her clit ran back and forth against the flat of his stomach. Y/n arched forward, chasing the feeling of her cunt rubbing against Regulus' skin. Her thighs were shaking, getting sorer by the second but Regulus held her up, gripping her ass with his long, nimble fingers, helping her to grind down onto him as he repeatedly pushed himself upward, meeting her every movement. 

"You can do it baby" he groaned his encouragement, "You gonna cum for me? You gonna cum on my cock?" 

"Yes, fuck Regulus, yes" she moaned back. 

She ground herself down onto Regulus, angling herself so that her clit got attention and the cock was as deep as possible inside of her. Eventually, the feeling overcame her. She started to shake as his hips snapped against her ass cheeks. 

"Yeah baby, cum for me" his eyes pierced her as he squeezed tighter on her throat, the tense pressure adding to the heat of the moment. 

"Ahh—ah" her breath hitched, "Fuck, fuck" 

He cupped her face, cradling her cheek as she shivered, "You're so pretty when you cum for me baby, so pretty" 

She slowed, her grinding interrupted only by her own shivering waves of pleasure. The feeling continued to wash over her, even as she stilled. Regulus took over then, bouncing her slightly up and down on his cock and rubbing gentle circles around her clit. She threw her head back, exposing the column of her throat to him even more, shuddering when he attacked the sensitive skin with soft kisses. 

"Yes," she breathed, her breath quickly turning to a gentle, tinkling laugh.

"What?" Regulus questioned, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. 

"Did I tell you I hated you?" 

"I believe you did" 

She hid her face in her hands, "Well just know I don't really. I maybe just hate how you're somehow so good at everything." 

"I don't know about everything"

"No. I've declared it so it must be true. Regulus Black is good at everything" 

He chuckled at that, giving her a roguish smirk, "...Maybe I've just had a lot practice" 

"Slut!" She joked, pushing gently at his shoulder. 

"C'mon let's get you cleaned up...unless you want me to keep proving to you just how much of a slut I really am" 

[thefollow-spot]

You Saw Death Touch Me Once

|| Lancelot/Merlin ● T+ ● 4.7K ● No Warnings ||

Alternate Tile: Joyous Gard

Summary: Merlin and Lancelot escape Camelot in the wake of a disastrous magic reveal, and must contend with the difficult aftermath. // Written for Day 6 of @mercelotweek 2025, for the prompts, 'Angst' + 'BAMF!Lancelot'.

---

A wind picked up that night, tearing over the tall wild grasses of the Northern Plains. A storm; it had teeth to rip plants out by their roots. Inside the walls of a ruined castle, Lancelot and Merlin sheltered, and heard it howling: picking at the crumbling mortar, scraping against the dilapidated battlements. But here would have to do, for now; it was too dark to ride any farther.

In one of the towers, Merlin cleaned blood off of Lancelot’s face with a wet rag. Lancelot didn’t feel the cold on his skin, but stared straight ahead, treading through his own mind like a man clawing his way out of a house fire. The cloth stung Lancelot’s cut lip, and he flinched.

“Are you back with me?” Merlin said. Lancelot heard him from far away.

The storm—forced through arrow slits and windows built for sieges—whistled in alarm. They felt the gust, too, in Camelot, where Arthur looked out over the lower town, and watched one by one as lights were snuffed and shutters closed. And meanwhile, in the ruined tower, Lancelot saw Merlin as if for the first time: the cloth, Merlin’s hand, his raw-red wrists. He reached up to touch him: quickly, but un-harsh—in no way other than as a lover.

“…Lancelot?” Merlin said.

“Merlin.” He startled. Shook himself. “I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t know what…” The fog over Lancelot started to lift. Merlin’s hand was in his, and he examined the shackle-marks on Merlin’s skin, and winced, then released him.

The glooming tower was indifferent to its guests. It had seen battles and refugees and bandits. Had sheltered travelling innocents and fleeing murderers alike, and it cared little about the two men huddled in it now: on its rotting benches, lit by the bleak cast of a miniature glowing moon. Merlin’s doing.

“I’m sorry,” Lancelot said, shaking his head. “Something was over me. It’s… it’s clearing.”  

“Is it?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m… I’m alright, now.”

“…Yeah,” Merlin said. “You were a bit… I don’t know. You weren’t yourself.”

“I… I know. But I’m fine now.”  

Merlin wasn’t convinced. His brow was furrowed, examining Lancelot’s face. He wiped away one last smudge below Lancelot’s ear, then called that finished and lowered the cloth.

“I found somewhere for the horse,” Merlin said. “On the lower levels. And… and here seemed best for us to spend the night. So.”

Lancelot looked around, evaluating the turret room. He did his best to seem discerning, but Merlin knew him too well. He saw walls, and dust, and heavy curtains on tarnished rods, and felt distinctly swallowed by something bigger than himself.

“Are you hurt?” Merlin said.

“No.”

“Let me look.”

He let him, willingly. They didn’t speak as Merlin undressed him; he was practiced at disrobing a knight, especially Lancelot. Removing his belt with sword and scabbard, mail, gambeson. He peeled up Lancelot’s shirt, and found an ink-spill of bruises, so dark he could’ve wet his fingertips. Merlin frowned, prodding at Lancelot’s ribs.

“Can’t you feel any of this?”

“No.”

“You’re not in pain?”

“No.”

“…Shock,” Merlin decided, and pulled the shirt back down to cover him. He got up to fetch Lancelot’s cloak, and drape it around his shoulders. “You need to rest. You’ll feel it soon.”

Lancelot watched him go across the room, and return with the knight’s cloak. He felt like that man again: choking in the dirt of his yard after escaping the burning house. Parched, and begging for a drink.

When Merlin leaned down to adjust the cloak on his shoulders, he couldn’t help surging up to kiss him. Merlin startled, but surrendered as much as he could, and kissed him back.

They clutched at each other with shaking hands, breathing the same air. Finally, they broke apart—staying close, touching foreheads, shuddering. Merlin was taut as a bowstring, and Lancelot traced his shoulders, his chin, his arms. Got soot on his fingers.

“I didn’t sleep all last night,” Lancelot confessed. “I feared I’d fail. That you’d be—”

Merlin shushed him. “No. No, it’s alright.”

“That I’d have to watch…”

“I’m alive.” He held Lancelot’s face and made him see him. “Because of you. I’m still here.”

“Thank God,” Lancelot said, even though he’d given up praying years ago. “Oh, God.”

They embraced. Sometimes, he still offered praise upwards, for lack of any alternative direction, and imagined bits of his faith disappearing across a vast, empty sky.

Clouds moved fast above the castle, silent, and Merlin and Lancelot held each other; Lancelot pressed his face to Merlin’s chest, and Merlin bent over and clutched him. Like a bird on a branch, engineered by nature to hold tightest to its perch while exhausted.

“They won’t come after us,” Merlin said. “Not until Arthur can… can work through what’s happened.”

He knew, because Lancelot had left utter carnage in his wake, and Arthur would be reeling. In Camelot’s courtyard, over a dozen corpses waited for burial under furiously rippling white sheets. Men were already talking of hunting, of justice, of revenge.

“This is wrong,” Merlin said. “It’s all—this wasn’t supposed to happen…”

“Merlin…”

Merlin inhaled sharply, and held his breath to stop tears from coming, but it was a lost cause. He shook, and swallowed hard. Lancelot tried to soothe him, and leaned upwards. Kissed his cheeks, tasted salt.

“This’s my fault,” Merlin said. “I was stupid. I was…”

“It’s not your fault.”  

“I should have seen—And Agravaine is back there, still. Arthur doesn’t realize the danger. What if he—what if now that Camelot is vulnerable…? And now I’m… we’re…”  

“Arthur will be alright,” Lancelot said, forcing steadiness. “He’s smart and capable, and as soon as we can come up with a plan, we’ll put this right. We will, my love. I swear.”

“You can’t promise that,” Merlin said, miserably.

Lancelot had no response.

“It’s all ruined,” Merlin said. “All of it.”

He put his forehead on Lancelot’s shoulder, and shook and shook. The angle was wrong and his neck ached, but Merlin didn’t care. Lancelot’s hand went to the nape of his neck, stroking carefully. He smelled of steel-polish, and sweat, and rust; Merlin breathed him in in gulps.

“Tell me what happened,” Lancelot said. “No one would speak with me long.”

Instead of answering, Merlin tangled their fingers at the base of his skull. Four days ago—which could well have been a different life—the two of them were close just like this, and Lancelot had made Merlin promise not to get into trouble while he was away. Merlin thought how he was exposed as a solemn liar twice in one wretched week.

“When did you get back?” he said, in a small voice.

“Yesterday.”  

“How was your hunt?”

Lancelot laughed, mirthlessly. “I don’t think that matters now.”

“Tell me, anyway.”

Lancelot paused, then indulged him.

“Sir Gareth shot three hares,” he said. “I shot five.”

“Hm. Braggart.” Even though Lancelot was many things—arrogant, dead last.

Lancelot should’ve had some quip to serve in return; at least, he should’ve laughed. When he did neither of these things, Merlin pulled away, bracing himself. He didn’t want to be the one to start.

“They said you’d attacked Gwen,” Lancelot said. He’d known it wasn’t true—and Merlin knew he knew. Still, Merlin’s face crumpled. He sat on the bench next to Lancelot, and gripped it so hard that his fingertips hurt on the peeling wood. Their shoulders touched.

“It was Agravaine,” Merlin said. “I’m sure of it. He—poisoned her. I practically saw him administer the cursed nightshade.”

“Cursed nightshade?” Lancelot was grave. “When was this?”

“The day you left, she collapsed in the corridor. Elyan found her. I saw Agravaine the day after that, by her bed. Arthur had had her moved to Morgana’s tower, and he had no reason to be in there.”

“He was poisoning her?”

“When I caught him, he left in a hurry. A vial fell from his pocket, and I took it to Gaius. The poison—it was this… this enchanted tincture of nightshade. Could only be cured by magic.”

Lancelot nodded, slowly. “So… you did what you had to.”

“I… I thought I was.”

In the hours after this conversation between lovers—once the sky turned black, Agravaine would sneak from the castle, and take a horse galloping out to the thick of the woods. And Morgana would wait, pensive and unsleeping, for news to celebrate to. She would hear of what had happened, and laugh.

“I snuck past the guards after sunset,” Merlin said. “I should’ve realized that there weren’t enough in the corridor—not while Gwen was sick. Arthur cares too much about her. But I was stupid. And I got in there, and everything was so still. I couldn’t even see her breathing, Lancelot. I just—I should’ve checked. I should’ve been more careful. But I didn’t. I went to her bed, and tried to cure her. With—with sage, and…”

“Like you did with Uther?” Lancelot said.

“Yes,” Merlin said, very quietly. “It was like that.”

And while Morgana was laughing, Arthur would bolt awake to the sound of a windstorm, seized with terror and pain, and climb the stairs to where Guinevere waned with grey pallor. He would sit at her bedside all night, until the morning came and nothing wrong in the world was yet different.

Merlin went on, “The sage was smoking in my hands. It was working. And then I felt this—this hand, on my wrist. And somehow, I knew it was Arthur, before I’d turned around. I didn’t want to face him, but there was nothing else I could do. And when I looked around, it was—it was Arthur. The room was so dark. For a moment, I thought he was doing some spell, because the magic in my eyes was so bright it reflected in his. I didn’t realize they were like fires.”

“They are,” Lancelot said. “Every time.”

Merlin curled over, shaking. Undone by the tenderness in Lancelot’s voice.

“It wasn’t just Arthur. Agravaine was behind him. And Leon, and a dozen other men. They’d been hidden behind the damn curtains. The same place I hid the Druid boy, once. I hadn’t even checked—I was such a fool.

“I should’ve fought, but I didn’t. I let—I just let Arthur arrest me. Held out my hands when he told me to. I felt—felt numb. He wouldn’t even look at me. Mostly it was Leon, giving all the commands. And Agravaine, he said something like, there you have it, sire. We’ve found the traitor. And I couldn’t even say anything. I just stood there like a coward. Or—or like a traitor. I suppose. I suppose Arthur thought that’s what I was.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Lancelot struggled to take it in, and Merlin hung his head. It hurt that, even now, Lancelot stayed with him like he was natural to love. It felt like another way he was forced to lie about who he was and what he was worth.

“It was a trap,” Lancelot said, finally.

“Yeah,” Merlin replied. “I only saw that after.”

“You can’t be blamed, Merlin…”

“They were ready—even had special irons. The cuffs, they stopped my magic. I was powerless.” And he’d been terrified, but he didn’t say that part. Lancelot heard it, anyway.

“Agravaine was clever,” Lancelot said, at length. “He must have forced Arthur to assign all those men, so he would have no choice but to arrest you with them watching.” Merlin shifted uncomfortably.

“He arrested me because he saw that I have magic.”

“I know,” Lancelot said, “but if he had been alone. If it had just been up to him, he wouldn’t have—”

“You don’t know that,” Merlin said. Lancelot started to protest. “You don’t know. In case you forgot, I’ve been lying to him for years, for all the time I’ve known him. Every time I’ve told him to trust me; I’ve been betraying him. Men or no—he had plenty of reasons to put me in chains.”

“Merlin—”

“Just stop! There’s no point saying it could’ve been different!”

Then there was silence, and in one of the lower rooms, something fell over and crashed—succumbing to the wind. Lancelot received Merlin’s shouting, and his expression turned stony.

They didn’t get angry with one another—they’d never practiced and didn’t know how.

He stood up—perhaps to go somewhere else until he was wanted. Merlin broke.

“Wait—” He reached for him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—please.”

In Camelot, Elyan and Percival shouted at each other, perhaps would’ve come to blows if the day hadn’t already seen such violence.

“You’ve been… you’ve been nothing but good to me,” Merlin said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

It was easy to stop Lancelot from going. He sighed, and sat back down, near-imperceptibly shaking. Fatigue was setting in; shock was wearing off.

Merlin put his face in his hands. “I’ve been so stupid,” he whispered.

Lancelot bloomed with hurt: the bruises, and Merlin’s despair. It was wrong that Merlin should cry and Lancelot could do nothing for him. He tried anyway, and embraced him.

“I’m with you,” he said. “My love. My lord.”

“My knight,” Merlin answered, hollowly.

Maybe he thought Lancelot was right, but it was too painful to admit: things could have been different, another way. In another life, his magic was presented in a planned, private audience. In another, it spilled out on a whim while Merlin did his chores. In another, he saved Arthur’s life in a frightening show of power, and left bodies on display. In yet another, he confessed weeping over a war-wound he couldn’t prevent or heal.

In this life, none of that.

“What… what was it for you?” Merlin said. “Tell me what happened when you got back.”

Lancelot took a deep breath.

“I heard from Leon that you’d been arrested, for sorcery, and that there would be no trial because it was witnessed. But he wouldn’t say any more. And Arthur wouldn’t speak to any of us. I heard he was shut in his chambers.”

In another life, Lancelot stood behind him while he told Arthur, and his secret was accepted quietly, peacefully, while Arthur mulled over what concessions he could make in the law. In another, they argued and argued until it became clear that no matter how they raged against each other, they were bound like binary stars. In another, Arthur became terrified of him, and in another, the whole ordeal ended at a lake.

In this life, “I was allowed to visit Gwen, but the guards were ordered not to let me see you,” Lancelot said. “Even after I tried to pull rank. Apparently, they had been instructed specifically to keep me out.”

“I was missing you.” Merlin swallowed. “I wondered where you were. If you’d heard.”

“I had,” Lancelot said, grim. “And then, last night, Agravaine came to my chambers. He said he knew that I’d tried to see you. And he threatened me.”

“He threatened you?”  

“He said it would be a shame if Arthur had to discover you hadn’t acted alone. I was angry. I wanted to strike him. It was a near thing.”

It scared Merlin, Lancelot’s anger. It was a new shade to him, and made him foreign.

“And…” Merlin said, “what happened this morning?”

“I remember looking into the courtyard, and seeing the pyre,” Lancelot said. “And… I remember thinking to take a horse, and supplies. Thinking… thinking I had to prevent it all. And then… I don’t know. It’s like something possessed me—I don’t remember. I know I fought for you. That’s all I know.”

He reached for those hours in his memory, and it was like staggering through mist towards the edge of an unseen cliff. Shuffling his feet and listening for any signs: scattering pebbles, rocks breaking down bluffs. Anticipating the drop.

“The guards came to fetch me at dawn,” Merlin started. “When they brought me out into the square, I looked for you. But I wasn’t sure you’d come back at all, so… so. I kept imagining you’d return after it was done, and someone would have to tell you what had happened. I’d been thinking that all night.

“I looked for Arthur, and saw him high up, on the king’s balcony. Everyone else was there. Leon, and Elyan, and Percival. But they weren’t right up against the pyre. More… more outside the crowd. I don’t know who stationed them there, or why. And maybe they tried to look at me, but I don’t know. I couldn’t look at them. I didn’t want them to see… to see…”  

“See what?”

“That I’d been crying.”

Hours behind them, in the aftermath, Arthur collapsed to his knees in the courtyard, burning his eyes on smoke and staining the knees of his trousers in blood. He almost wept openly, but was aware of his audience of injured knights, and didn’t.

Merlin shuddered. “My ears were ringing. I couldn’t hear anything as the man tied me to the pole. And then, just as he lit the pyre, there was a sort of—commotion. I couldn’t see what. The air was thick from the heat, and it was starting to smoke around me. A horse came bolting into the courtyard.

“People tried to get out of the way, but I think it trampled many of them. The rider was going so fast. And then… then I realized it was you. When you drew your sword, and the fire reflected in it, you looked like an angel in wrath.

“The townsfolk scattered, but the knights—Arthur’s men—they drew their swords to stop you. There was chaos. I thought something was wrong when one of them knocked your helmet off, and you barely flinched at the blow. I’d never seen you fight like that. You must have killed nearly two dozen men, all on your own. Leon led the finest against you.”

“Even Percival?” Lancelot said.

Merlin heard him, and hesitated, then nodded.

“You fought him. And Leon, and Elyan. And—Gwaine. You wounded Gwaine. Badly, I think. Very badly. It was as if you didn’t recognize them. I saw Arthur rush inside, off the balcony, once he realized what was happening. He had his sword drawn, but… I didn’t see him in the courtyard.”

Here was the precipice. Lancelot went over it, plummeting blind.

“I remember pulling you onto my horse,” Lancelot said, stricken. “Your hand, your weight. I remember thinking, I can’t let him fall off the horse. All I remember is you. Everything else is… is…” He trailed off. Merlin touched his shaking hand.

“Sometimes,” Merlin said, “men go to war, and don’t remember the things they do on the battlefield. I’ve seen it, once or twice.”

Lancelot went quiet. “It’s like when I was a boy,” he said. “I don’t remember seeing my parents cut down. I remember seeing one of the raiders approach them with his axe. And then, nothing. I only remember the bodies.”

There was no proper response to that, and Merlin let the words be, holding Lancelot’s hands, which were white in his lap. Neither of them spoke; the wind redoubled, and the massive structure around them heaved in cold breaths.

In Camelot, several knights gathered in the council chambers without Arthur knowing. They were furious, and wanted Lancelot punished. In the morning, they would band together, and pressure the King to declare Sir Lancelot and his sorcerer consort prime enemies of the kingdom, whose capture was the highest priority.

“Gwaine wasn’t with the rest of them,” Merlin said, after a long moment.

Lancelot looked at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Before you arrived,” Merlin said, “I saw him standing aside. He seemed angry, but not at me. I s’ppose I’m being stupid—but when the wood was lit, I saw him reaching for his sword. I think he wanted to do something. Help me, I mean.”

Understanding dawned on Lancelot.

“It was only when you went at Percival, that Gwaine…” Merlin went quiet. “Only to defend him, I think.” Lancelot waited for more, but there wasn’t any.

“…I harmed him,” he said. “And I shouldn’t have. You think I shouldn’t have. That’s what you’re saying.”

Merlin blinked. “That’s—not what I meant.”

“I see how you’re looking at me.”  

“I—what? How am I looking at—”

“I don’t know, Merlin. How are you looking at me? After seeing what you say—seeing what I did. What do you think of it? Of me?”

His tone was sharp, and Merlin was taken aback. If Lancelot was angry at him, he couldn’t stand it. He was all Merlin had.

“I… I don’t…”

“I didn’t see—” Lancelot said, “I mean, I didn’t know. If I’d known—”

He needed to move, and stood up from the bench. Every muscle in his body protested, but he forced himself to stand. And he paced like a caged creature. His eyes landed on his sword, sheathed and carefully set on the floor, and it occurred to him that if he’d done everything Merlin had said, the sword would have blood on it. Blood he hadn’t had the presence of mind to wash off. Blood belonging to his friends.

 In a burst of panic or anger or fear—he couldn’t say which—Lancelot picked up his sword and threw it across the room, scabbard and all. It hit the wall and clattered loudly. Merlin flinched; his eyes were wide. Lancelot was a dangerous man, and somehow, he was just now realizing it.

“You were tied there!” Lancelot said. His voice broke. “You looked afraid. You looked—looked vulnerable! And—and—and—I remember putting my sword so hard through something, that the blood got on my knuckles. The tip of it broke bone. And someone screamed. Someone… someone… oh, God. Someone—”

“Stop—” Merlin said. He didn’t want to hear this, and he didn’t want to fight. “Just—stop, alright? I wasn’t saying anything. I wasn’t—I didn’t mean anything.”

“I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean…”

All at once, his body gave out, and Lancelot collapsed to his knees, wracked and unsteady. At the same time, leagues away, Camelot’s court physician rinsed out another blood-soaked cloth, and tended his patient. All the while, he prayed to any Old gods who would forgive him: begging them to keep Merlin safe.

“How badly was he wounded?” Lancelot said.

Merlin was silent. “Gaius is a good physician,” he said, hushed.

“Merlin.”

“He’ll save him. I know he—”

“Merlin, please.”

When they met eyes—Lancelot on his knees, Merlin standing at the bench—Merlin’s eyes were wide and manic. He choked on his words:

“Your sword went through him.”

Lancelot blinked as that hit him. He floated for a moment in a cushioned, distanced calm. Then the blow found its mark, and he lurched, clutching his middle because something had gone wrong inside him—it must have, to feel like this. Lancelot folded over, unable to get enough air.

He stayed there for a long time, shaking badly.

Merlin went to him, and knelt, and wrapped his arms around him, desperate to dosomething, anything useful. He cast around.

“Are you cold?” he said. “I’ll find wood somewhere… start a fire.”

“I love you,” Lancelot rasped, but it didn’t sound sweet. It wasn’t affection, but an excuse: pleading not-guilty because he wasn’t in his right mind. He was in love: an affliction as dangerous as any curse.

Merlin felt so, so lost. “I love you, too.”

“I couldn’t stand any harm coming to you.”

“I know.”

“My life would have been worth nothing if—”

“Don’t talk like this.”

“—if you’d burned. If I’d done nothing.”

“Stop, please.”

“I swore I’d be yours. What kind of man would I be?”  

Merlin was frustrated. He didn’t care about Lancelot martyring his honour for him. Maybe Lancelot thought it was romantic, or hoped it was. Needed it to be. But for Merlin, it was simply more guilt he didn’t want on him.

“Your life wouldn’t have been worth nothing,” Merlin said. “Don’t say that.”

At last, Lancelot went silent. Crouched on the ground, any heat either of them had bled out to feed the aging stones. Perhaps Merlin should’ve started a fire after all. It was freezing in here.

Lancelot waited for Merlin to give up, and let him go. He thought, eventually, Merlin would see his actions for the horrors they were. He would become disgusted: in an hour, a week, a month. Abandon Lancelot somewhere and flee. When it came to that, Lancelot resolved to leave first and save Merlin the trouble.

The little moon hanging above them began to dim, and Merlin looked up at it: stared until his eyes glowed like kindling. Reluctantly, it grew brighter in another long quiet.

Lancelot breathed raggedly, then too-fast, and finally he settled.  

“Do you… remember the Isle of the Blessed?” Lancelot said, soft. He drew himself up better, to sit on his knees, and Merlin frowned. “When you fought the Cailleach, and forced her to close the Veil. And no one had to die? It was a miracle.”

Merlin remembered. “Afterwards, that’s when you kissed me.”

“I did. I realized I’d wanted to, for a long time.”

“Me?” Merlin said. “I’m nothing special. I’m just…”

Lancelot kissed him, tenderly and sweet, to show him what he thought of that. When he pulled away, he smiled the way only dead loved ones do, in memories.

“I was going to die for you,” he admitted. “If you couldn’t prevail… if a sacrifice had to be made. I was going to make sure it was I.”

What could Merlin say to that? He shook his head, lips pressed tight.

“I’d never considered dying for someone before,” Lancelot said, “until you talked about finding something more important than anything. Merlin, you were everything I wanted to be. I was enamoured by it. I knew then, I would die for it.”

“Don’t,” Merlin said.

“I love you.”

Merlin didn’t want to talk about death and dying and sacrifice. He shook his head again, firmer. Touched Lancelot’s chest. He closed his eyes tight, because he couldn’t cry again; he was too exhausted to do this.

“Go back to talking about afterwards. Please,” Merlin said, voice thin. “About why you kissed me.”

Lancelot heard him, and paused. He couldn’t deny him, and sighed—long and deep and worshipful.

“After you vanquished the Cailleach,” he said, obliging, “you seemed like a god. There was a storm above your head, like a black crown. I thought how my mother told me once that the Devil would come in disguise, like something beautiful. And I understood, just then. You seduced me with the dark specks on your cheeks, standing tall like something wild.”

“Poet,” Merlin whispered.

“But later, at the feast, you seemed a different sort of deity. The kind that blesses harvests and puts life in flowers.”

“…Yeah?”

“Setting up for the feast where I was honoured for your deed, I saw you drop a spool of ribbon, and you got this… this look on your face. You watched it roll like it was made of gold, and you were resigned to a fate of ruin: having to ravel it all back up. It was only ribbon, but you looked so grave that I laughed aloud. I don’t think you noticed, but I’d never felt anything so pure for anyone in my life.”

“Because I dropped a spool of ribbon?” Merlin couldn’t feel charmed, or indignant, or incredulous; he couldn’t feel anything but cold.

“I wanted to go over and wrap both our hands in it,” Lancelot said. “I wanted to kiss you right there.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I should have.”

Lancelot fell silent again. Merlin’s chest ached so hard he lost his breath, and he reached for Lancelot. They locked together, like if they could strain fiercely enough, their edges would disappear. The wind wailed.

In Camelot, Arthur and Percival sat around the bed in Merlin’s abandoned room, where Gwaine lay slack-faced and white-skinned, breathing shallow and shallower.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Lancelot said.

“Yes.” Merlin sounded faint. “I think he’ll be alright.”

[scavengerssuccotash]

“You know: that actually might work.”

“Yeah I’m thinking we have a problem “

Somewhere in the Amazon forest.

Strike Team Delta hangs precariously off the edge of a waterfall with Clint anchored on the overhang and Natasha dangling in midair. His reflexes had saved her life just in the nick of time, but his hold wouldn’t last, and neither would his quiver which slips a few millimeters more every time Natasha panics.

“It’s going to work, just trust me!” Clint shouts over the roar of the water and repositions his hold around his quiver so he can ever so carefully slide out an arrow.

Natasha shoots him an incredulous look. “I’m not going to let you drop me off the edge of a waterfall! Are you insane!?”

“I’m not going to drop you! We’ll go together!” Clint licks water from his lips, sputtering as watery foam splashes across his face. “Like—like a slinky!”

Her eyes widen in fear. “A what?!”

Well, at least he knows what he’s getting her for Christmas now.

“Doesn’t matter, can you reach into my pants—“

“Really? Right now?”

Clint rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, Nat I thought a quick jerk in midair would be a good way to go!” He quips sarcastically, the irritation finally getting to him. Natasha glares clearly unamused in the face of impending doom, which does worry him. She’s usually rather glib in the face of death. That was when he realized that she was actually scared for once, truly scared. The thought only makes him angrier and more determined to get them out of this.

Feeling even more determined, Clint explains with all the patience he is able to muster in the moment. “Baby I need you to trust me completely right now, okay? I promise I will get us out of this!”

He watches with pleading eyes as Natasha looks down and then back up at him. Natasha nods, the grip she had around his forearm tightening.

“Good, now in my back pocket I have a spare cable I need you to attach that to both of our belts and let the slack fall between us.”

Natasha nods and with some coordination and Clint’s sheer strength manages to clip each end onto the carabiners included with their suits, tethering them together. Clint nods approvingly.

“Now, I have four cable heads left—“ Clint shouts, as he carefully bites down on the fletching end of the arrow, the pointed end facing Natasha. He stares down at her, hoping that she would be able to intuit what he had in mind.

Natasha stares up at him, her eyes wide but trustful and nods. Clint drops it, watching with his heart in his throat as the arrow seems to fall in slow motion.

Natasha catches it with one hand and Clint’s never felt prouder.

“Good, very good baby. Now, unscrew it. I made some modifications with Stark, turn the base of the arrowhead counter clock-wise until you hear three clicks and then drop it.” Clint explains. Natasha does as she is told, using her teeth to hold the arrowhead in place to remove the shaft. They both watch as the now useless shaft spirals to its death before disappearing into the misty depths below them. Natasha then twists the base three times before letting the arrowhead drop from her mouth.

It falls roughly fifty feet below them, before exploding and shooting a line of cable across the width of the waterfall. It anchors into the rock face on either side with a satisfying thunk.

Now comes the difficult part. Acting decisively, Clint fishes out the remaining three cable arrows and places them between his teeth, biting down hard. He stares down into the face of the love of his life, praying that his plan would actually work. Natasha must’ve sensed his worry, must have seen the fearful furrow of his brow and reassures him.

“It’ll work!”

And with that, Clint swings Natasha away from the waterfall and lets go. They fall, their leap of faith lasting for what felt like hours but in reality was mere seconds until they catch on the cable with a sudden painful jerk. The cable tethering them together gets twisted in the momentum and their combined weight, sending Strike Team Delta spinning in midair until they collide together face to face. Now with both their hands free Clint takes the arrows from his mouth and grins.

“Okay, I guess it was more of a newtons cradle, but it worked! Now, I’m going to drop and use my weight to pull you to the top, do you think you can manage to flip over the line so we are on the same side, without getting pulled over?”

Natasha nods shakily. “Yeah, I get the slinky reference now.”

“Okay, good. I’ll set this one for a hundred feet this time.” Clint says, as he unscrews arrowhead and discards the shaft. He twists the base until he hears it click four times and drops it. A new line appears in the mist a hundred feet below them.

Then he replaces the remaining two arrows back between his teeth. Together they manage to untwine themselves so that Clint’s heavier weight slides Natasha skyward.

Once there she flips over the side, using both hands to hold onto the cable line, as Clint dangles in midair, a good twenty feet beneath her. “Ready?”

Clint nods and Natasha swings her self forward and lets go using to momentum she’s gains by doing so to ensure that the slack between them will catch on the next line. They fall again, snag, and collide together, before repeating the process again. Slowly but surely they work together to descend, until they are only fifty feet from the roaring base of the waterfall.

Natasha looks fearful, as he instructs her to lock her legs around him. “Clint I dont—“

“I’ve got you, baby. Think of it as a little swim alright, but we can’t go in still hooked together.” He says, taking the precious few seconds to kiss her, before releasing the end of the cable tying her to him. Without her weight as a counterpoint the pair plummet and plunge into the murky waters below.

They resurface together coughing and spluttering before swimming to the riverbank. Natasha collapses beside him, clearly exhausted from the descent and subsequent treacherous swim, but overall she seems to be okay. She even makes a comment about needing to thank Stark for the improvements made to Clint’s cable arrowheads.

“Yeah,” Clint coughs a bit, rolling onto his back. The tree line above him swirls in a dizzying mix of green and blue. “Well, I think we have another problem, Nat.”

“What now?!”

Clint waves a lazy hand towards the sky, and turns his head to look towards Natasha who looks every bit like a drowned rat. “Where the fuck are we?”

Thank you dear!! That was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy!