#Do you think he wondered if he'd ever see the sun again?

[shikai-the-storyteller]

The only thing that's stopping me from writing a ten thousand page essay on Zulu and the implications from today's lore stream is the simple fact that Luzu hit such a specific special interest niche of mine that if I think about it too much I'll cry

But I will say one thing

Do you think when Zulu went to sleep, curled up all by himself and trapped in a small dark place he couldn't get out of, all he could think about was the sun?

[thevoidstaredback]

"If I turn around and there's a hero, vigilante, anti hero, villain, anything or anyone related in anyway to the Justice League, I'm going to fucking lose."

It was quiet for a second, then, "Don't turn around?"

Red fucking Robin. "What did I just say?" Phantom turned on his heel to face the young vigilante.

The kid threw his hands up, "I told you not to turn around!"

"And yet here we are," he crossed his arms. "The hell do you want?"

"You seem awfully snippy today."

"Seeing as you and everyone under the sun has been stalking me, trying to get answers to questions I'm not going to answer, I think you can excuse my attitude."

With a huff, Red Robin also crossed his arms. "How do you know what I'm going to ask if no one else has been able to talk to you?"

"Because living beings are all the same. Curiosity of the unknown drags you around by your ear." Phantom turned back to continue walking away, "Now go away."

The kid matched his pace. "No way,"

His eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. "I have a meeting soon, kid. You can't come along." That was a total lie. He had nothing going on that demanded his attention now that Constantine had ditched him after getting the demon under control. Maybe he could drop by Fawcett and visit Billy?

"No you don't." This damn kid-! "You've been wandering aimlessly for the past hour."

Phantom turned again to face the vigilante. "First of all, stalking people is hella creepy. Second of all, my schedule is none of your damn business."

"Careful there, kid," Red Robin smirked, "You'll get scolded for having a potty mouth."

"I'm thirty-fucking-eight!"

"You're literally fourteen."

Phantom closed his eyes. "Nocturn give me patience," he then looked Red Robin directly in the eye, "We've had this conversation. I'm dead. I don't physically age. That doesn't change the fact that I have walked this planted for thirty-eight years. Is that simple enough for you to understand or do I need to dumb it down for you?"

Red Robin blinked, his mouth agape. What? Did he just- The nerve! The audacity! "I'll have you know," he huffed, "I'm smarter than Batman."

"He tell you that himself?"

"Yes." It was one of the only times Batman had ever praised him, so that interaction was held particularly close.

Phantom looked Red Robin up and down, his expression reading both 'are-you-serious' and 'what-do-want?-a-medal?' Without a word, he turned back to his path and began his march anew. Any attempts at conversation from Red Robin was ignored, much to the younger's chagrin. Maybe he'd go away if he ignored him long enough.

Phantom and Red Robin wandered for the better part of an hour, not so much as a word passing between them. Neither stopped for any reason, and neither broke the set pace. It could almost be considered a friendly stroll through the city, if one ignored the slight apprehension surrounding the two.

Red Robin took this time to observe Phantom. He'd never spent too much time around anyone from the JLD who wasn't Raven, so he took the opportunity to get to know another on the team.

Phantom insisted that he was thirty-eight, not fourteen, and that the reason he looks as young as he does is because he looks like he did when he died. Not a comforting thought in the slightest. He knew that, though, when B had briefed him on all the members of or associated with the Justice League.

His powerset was almost completely unknown. They'd all seen him use a flight/levitation ability, as well as some form of density shifting and a healing factor, but Red Robin was more than sre that Phantom had more up his sleeve than that. He worked as a part of the JLD team, so he had to have some magical understanding or capabilities. But Raven wouldn't tell him if she knew, no matter how much he pestered her.

Looking at the kid now, Red Robin seriously wondered if Phantom had a civilian disguise. Ether white hair, toxic green eyes, the glow he seems to give off, and the contrasting bright white and vantablack suit and gloves he wore could not be easy to hide.

There was also a slight sense of unease Red Robin felt when looking at or being around Phantom for a long time. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it was as obvious as a neon sign. It was a strange mix of Uncanny Valley and sinking horror. Why was he feeling like this?

Phantom stopped in his tracks in a dead end alley. Without turning around he said, "Alright, spit it out. What do you want to ask?"

Red Robin hesitated for a moment. Surely it couldn't be that easy? Was Phantom really going to answer his questions? He shook his head to snap himself out of it.

"Come on, kid," Phantom pulled a piece of chalk from his front pocket. "I don't have all day."

Red Robin wanted to scoff because he most certainly did have all day. But, he pushed it aside. He was about to get answers that not even the Justice League could get! He decided to start of easy. "When did you die?"

"Try again." was the growled response.

"What?"

"I said 'Try again'."

Okay, okay. Touchy. "Why'd you join the Justice League?"

"I was bored." It was clipped. Phantom's on edge. Why?

"What're the rest of your powers? I know you have more than what you've shown everyone."

Phantom walked to the wall and started to draw a door on it with the chalk. "Next question."

Red Robin rolled his eyes. "Fine. How did you die?"

Every movement from Phantom froze. Every minute, involuntary twitch, even the telling signs of breathing. For a long minute, nothing happened and Red Robin had the dawning sense that he'd just asked something he really shouldn't have.

Phantom drew a circle in the rectangle he'd drawn on the wall, completing the door. "I'm going to give you a piece of advice that you seem to have completely glossed over." The piece of chalk was hidden away as he gripped the now 3D door handle. "If you value your life, don't ask the dead how they died." He opened the door and stepped through before looking back at the red clad vigilante. "They won't be so nice about it." Then, the door closed and the chalk erased itself.

Part 6 Part 8

Tag List:

@zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders @princessbelix @luminanightfall @kgne-k @bianca-hooks123 @reigning-catsanddogs @sassywombatranchhorse @dontfightmecauseillcry @soul-lime @anarinette @serasvictoria02 @the-chaos-goblin-child @confusedshades @caicie @fantasticstoryteller @randomshtickidk @itsberrydreemurstuff @blueliac @i-love-mangoes @nymanders @highimpactemotions @anarinette @sleepingdead96

[shotmrmiller]

A/N: This was supposed to be a small thing cuz i inhale toxic ex's like air but here we are.

Thinking of a toxic ex!Simon that you broke up with almost a year ago. You wanted more than what he was willing to give you— unbelievable fuck aside— and you were just gonna get hurt in the long run. So you ended it.

What hurt the most was how he didn't even try to put up a fight. He just stood in front of you, as impassive as ever.

"If that's what you want." He shrugged.

And that was that. Ever since then, you've focused on yourself and your job. Meaning no dates, no get-togethers, nothing. Just work and lonely nights with a glass of wine. That he hadn't reached out once in all this time certainly rubbed salt on your wounds.

Now you're here. Out with a group of friends at a bar, after being borderline guilt-tripped into coming. A couple of mango martinis in and you're approached by a handsome fellow. Curly, brown locks and sun-kissed skin.

"Can I buy you another one, lass?"

"Sure. I'll never turn down a free drink."

He chuckles and his smooth laughter sends a shiver up your spine. As he turns away to get the bartender, you flick your eyes at your friends. They're giving you cheeky smiles and thumbs up.

Rolling your eyes with a smile, Mr. Handsome comes back with your drink before saddling up next to you on a bar stool.

"So what's a beautiful bird such as yourself doing all alone here?"

"I've been locked up for too long. Needed a change of scenery. And I gotta say, the view's quite nice."

He grabbed the back of your stool and dragged you a little closer to him, before tilting his head to the side— emerald green eyes half lidded and slightly covered by his curly hair.

"Is that right? I gotta say I also like what I'm seeing." Moving his hand from the padding of your stool to hook onto your hip, he says, "How about we move to a more private setting? Do you live nearby?"

He'd be the first guy since Simon that you've shown any interest in. You weren't ready for a relationship yet, but a distraction wouldn't hurt. And his staggering good looks certainly helped his case.

Nodding, you take out your phone from your purse to text your friends that have somehow disappeared when it vibrates, so you unlock your screen.

Take him home and I'm slitting his throat.

You flinch and look around wildly in a panic. Where is he?

"Hey, are you alright?"

Your phone vibrates again and you swallow hard before opening the text.

If his hand doesn't remove itself from your body, it'll be coming off of his.

You squeak before aggressively removing yourself from the stool, tripping over your heels. You weren't as sober as you'd like to be. The guy tries to stabilize you by grabbing your wrist but you jerk yourself away from his grip.

"I uh, I have somewhere to be." You toss on your jacket over your shoulders before running towards the front door and into the cool, rainy night.

Bzzt. Another text.

Good choice. I'd have hated ruining your nice purple comforter. It's one of my favorites.

You turn your body, doing a 360, eyes aimlessly looking for the ghost of your past life, when your phone rings. You frantically press the answer button.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

You hear him tsk. "I'd lower that tone of yours, love. I don't appreciate being spoken to like that," he says condescendingly.

Sighing, "I'm allowing you to continue this delusional 'break' of yours, but my patience runs thin. No one is allowed to touch you but me."

Your heart beats viciously at his audacity and tears start running down your cheeks. In fear, in relief or in anger, you don't know.

"Don't cry, doll. You should've known you'd always be mine. Now go home. I'll keep you safe."

Hanging up, you do as he says, wondering how long he's been keeping tabs on you— haunting you. You make a note to yourself to check your flat for cameras.

[harvatat]

heaven help a fool who falls in love || alhaitham, kaveh, tartaglia, wanderer, zhongli

alhaitham falls for your kindness and bravery- he finds both equally foolish traits, for they are traits that do not help anyone in the end, since they are as volatile as an architect he refuses to name, but when he is the recipient of said kindness and bravery? he has no answer to give. he sees your bravery in completing the most arduous tasks the Adventurers Guild can offer with devastating ease and your kindness in the distance. he sees more kindness in the space you give him when a certain task rubs him the wrong way and in the food you cook for him and the massages you offer him. he has tried so many times to leave you behind in the dust- he is not fit to be a lover, love does not come to him easily, but oh, you leave him weak in the knees and with a heart stuffed to burst, and despite his fears, he finds it hard to let go. 

kaveh falls for your carefree nature- you do not let life hurt you, despite bleeding so many times. If it were him, he would have screamed and cried, and cursed the gods over and over and over and over again until he bled to death. but you are not like that, he surmises when he sees you at Puspa Café, chirping happily like a Dusk Bird with Aether and Paimon. however, your nonchalance does not extend to peers you care about deeply, and somehow, that includes him. you are overly concerned for him, kaveh thinks, and you will only stand to get hurt. everyone has only ever gotten hurt, there has never been anything good for him. but all of that is lost when he sees you in the market, chatting happily and cheering on friends and acquaintances alike, and wonders if you'd do the same for him. 

tartaglia falls in love with your self-worth, or as most people call it, your arrogance. he knows better than to call it that, of course- as a soldier, it is important to be acknowledged for your efforts and rewarded for the pain you go through, and you, despite not being a soldier, demand that from your kith and kin. you would never have to demand it from him, tartaglia thinks as he sees you bow in thanks when the alchemist in inazuma lets you use the booth. you give as much respect as you are given, and that is the trait of a harbinger, a mastermind, no, the tsaritsa herself. such blasphemous thoughts should never be entertained, the delusion on his waist and his blood-red mask remind him, for who can be compared to the god of Cryo herself? she who has advanced snezhnaya and given him a home? but you too, have given him a home, he argues back, his delusion glowing a faint purple, mocking him silently. he attempts to avoid you, running in the other direction when he sees the ends of your hair shine in the sun- until you make your way to him one day, and ask why he'd been avoiding you. maybe the goddess of love would forgive his blasphemy, tartaglia thinks as he cooks up an apology, satisfying you with his silver tongue.

wanderer falls in love with your honesty- you tell him, the scorned one of the Vahumana darshan, about his attitude and how it hurts people, about his apparent good looks, about his intelligence and wisdom, all compliments and insults to which he responds with a scoff. a mere child should not be able to affect him this way, so why does his lead heart stir so uncomfortably when he sees you with your friends, running across darshans to attend madam faruzan or tighnari's lectures? you wish him a good morning, treat him just as horribly as he treats you that day, and have an infuriatingly large amount of self-respect- and he loves you for that. you do not judge him for his past, just his present, and just the 24 hours that reset every day. after everything he had done, everything that had happened to him, he supposes he can let you in, but he could never lie to you, so wait for him until he is honest, please.

zhongli falls in love with your wisdom. no, you would not normally be considered wise, in the typical sense, for your hair is not yet grey, and you do not have wrinkles or crows feet that symbolise a long life well-lived. no, your wisdom shines in the way you treat the people around you, interacting with them with due respect and kindness, with an extra dose of patience for the children. and he fears this flutter in his heart and skip of the beat when he sees you smile. he was never meant to be at peace or be happy, after all. but you draw him in, gently and with open arms, calming like the ocean that draws the sand in and he cannot help but drown in you, your wisdom and inherent sense of understanding comforting him more than his allies who lived and died and fought for him through the archon war and the war against khaenri'ah. maybe one day, he would reveal to you who he truly is, and maybe, he hopes silently, you would love him even then.

another repost lolol (from my old account @.ameleii)

© leichor 2024.

[blkgirl-writing]

Hi, I saw your smut requests post and was wondering if you could write one about touch starved Gale finally being alone with reader/Tav and getting his satisfaction? (Yeah, I got inspired by your nsfw headcanons about him, how could you tell?) Please and thank you!

PS Can I be 🧀 anon?

What happened at the moon lit pond

Gale X Fem!Reader

Baldurs gate 3

It’s been, probably three years since I’ve written a full fanfic? I’ll admit I’m probably a little rusty. Thank y’all for hanging in, and I hope this fulfills our nerdy wizard boy needs. thank you so much 🧀 anon for the request! I hope you stay and request some more.

Important tags: lots of pining, some angst (no sad ending), smutty (male and female Masterbation, male giving female oral), spoilers for gales mid game story, romance, Gale is an anxious mess, The thought of gale brushing his hair from his face got me GOING 😩

Word count: 1.9k

(Part 1.5 HERE) (PART 2 HERE)

(Gale headcanons that inspired this here)

-

Gale didn’t know how to handle these new feelings for you. He makes a fool of himself everyday, it seems. He always offers you a slice of his bread, even if you gave your own, he saves some of his own morning coffee for you, since he wakes up earlier, and even warm it up for you with a spell.

He simply wanted you to like him. That would be all he needed, but anything else that may follow that would be a true blessing. Gale wanted nothing more than to make you laugh, to see your smile and know he was the reason why, to camp and be the first and last person you’d speak to before sleep.

Gale wouldn’t let his mind wander much past that, or he tried to not let it. The occasional dream would slip through where you were his, and he was yours. It simply put him in panic mode In the waking hours, trying to not be obvious, scared you’d find out, what exactly? He wasn’t sure. You were too kind to break his heart so effortlessly, like he feared you would.

Endless scenarios danced in gales head of rejection, humiliation, and what would happen if he let himself go, life he was tasked to do. It wouldn’t take much, to convince him to live. Friendship, a place to call home, even if it was ever moving. Company he could entrust his life to. It was all so appealing. Luring him into life, breathing a new passion into his purpose, one he’d lost many years ago, sometime when he was alone for so many years.

Those thoughts seemed to linger on forever, sweeping over his barely conscious brain to awaken him again, rustling him from what could be a good nights rest. Eventually, Gale decided to just get up and go for a walk.

Camp had been set up in one of the most beautiful places any of you had seen. Waterfalls tinted emerald green, sand fine and shimmering in the light, may it be sun or moon. I’m one of those waterfalls, he found you.

Waist deep in the pond. Skin and hair dripping wet, shining more than usual water would, adding a silver glow to the night. You looked better than a goddess could ever imagine, and still, his eyes never dipped below you shoulders, even though he deeply wanted to look lower. Instead, he stood there, looking like a fucking idiot, gods know how long. Maybe a tree branch snapped, or maybe you finally snapped out of your trance, but your head whipped in his direction, eyes darting across the small beach, only relaxing when you realize only gale stands before you.

“Oh, Gale, it’s just you…” you let out a deep, jagged breath, the anxiety flowing out of your body just as quickly as it racked through it.

“Just? Are you disappointed?” Gale smirked, although his heart raced in his chest, one word and he'd sulk back to camp, but gods he wanted to stay and spend the whole night with you under the stars.

“Far from it, really. I was just thinking about how much you’d enjoy this view if you were here” you tore your eyes away from Gale, focusing on the stars. “I thought it may remind you of waterdeep. You paint a very beautiful picture of home.”

“I can think of a few things much, much more beautiful than Waterdeep,” his voice low, raspier than usual. Easily explained away from the lack of sleep or old sleeping bags, not for what it really was. Deep yearning, wanting, needing.

“I’d love to see them someday, then.”

“We’ll just have to get you a mirror, then,” “All the beauty in the world would reflct

"Gale, I-" You finally looked into his eyes, he wore his heart on his sleeve, at least for a moment. Those puppy eyes, dark bust glistening in the full moonlight, his hair messy from turning in his sleep, he wanted you, in many more ways than one. Gale's emotions could never be that simple, of course.

"Well," you walked towards him, water inching lower and lower, revealing more and more of your body, yet gales eyes stayed on yours. "Why don't you join me for a swim. It's a beautiful night."

"an offer I could not refuse." Gale's face was plastered with that cocky smile, the one that could melt anyone into a puddle in seconds.

He might have been a gentleman and kept his eyes upwards, but you were not so much, Gale untied his robes, gods why were there so many damn layers? It was quite a sight, his little mannerisms that showed more of him to you than he had shown to you. He was nervous, his fingers missing the simple ties frequently, he got annoyed by his hair getting in his eyes, a grimace appearing before he swept his hair behind his ear.

Your eyes lingered on his circle smoke tattoo, his toned arms, his downright massive hands. he was more tan than you realized, To be fair, he's always covered in those loose robes, leaving you to wonder what was underneath. You were more than happy to finally be finding out. But not below the waist.

"Isn't it a bit cold to be this naked?"

"The water is warmer than the air, I promise." You extended a hand out to Gale, even though he was feet away from you. "Come on, Gale from Waterdeep being afraid of some cold water? Sounds redundant."

"You got me there." He finally stepped into the glimmering pond surrounded by rocks and sand, enough to have your own little corner, to lessen the echo if it was needed. The whole camp didn't need to know all of your business. It must've been a magical lake, as both you and Gale noted separately. Unnaturally still, even when you moved freely, small glowing lights pooled at your sides, occasionally bubbling into the air once you leaned against a large, bright rock.

"May I ask what you were doing out here at this hour?" Gale spoke, still much further away from you than he wanted to be,

"Can I not take a mid-night swim?" You raised your brows in a questioning glance his way "A woman needs time to herself. These days and nights have been very stressful."

Gales very audible oh, slipped through the silence. "You don't have to relax alone." His eyes finally gave in to the need, scanning your body with a low moan slipping past his lips. His excitement was immediate, brushing against your lower stomach all the way past your navel.

"You've wanted this." You stated, brushing your hand against his thigh.

"There's plenty of magic around us, I want the Gale right in front of me." You dared to inch even closer, his thigh fully slipping between yours, inches away from touching your pussy. His hands floated inches from your waist, "Let me give you everything"

"Give me everything" With that, Gale's hand grabbed your waist, gently guiding you onto his thigh, motioning your hips down and swaying only him. The sensation sent sparks flying through his body, you were right in front of him, completely bare and rocking with pleasure onto him. Better than any dream he'd thought up, any fantasy that ran through his head even at the most inappropriate of times. Yes even during the throws of battle. Even in hard times like that, he was so drawn to you.

Gales other hand came up to your jawline, tilting your head so he could latch his mouth around your neck. Deep marks left behind while he inches his way in hickeys up your neck, jaw, and finally to your lips. Any semblance of anonymity flew out the window, not a single person could miss what he gave you, artfully placed dark spots painting your skin. "I have never seen such a beautiful being in my life"

"I could say the same about you gale," You said betwixt breathy moans, picking up the pace of your grinding hips against his thigh, his hand on your waist moving between a tight grip on your ass, and a light but so effective caress of your clit. Every time you got so close, his fingers moved, he was teasing you. His cocky smirk felt even through his kiss.

"I want you to come on my mouth." As if he was reading your slightly frustrated thoughts, "I want to taste you in my dreams."

All you could manage was a frantic nod, a mumbled yes, and shakily hoisting yourself up onto a rock that was perfect for gales pretty head to be between your thighs. Gale pushed your thighs apart with one hand, which stayed firmly grabbing onto you. The other sneaked up your thigh, tracing patterns along your skin. "Gale, please," you whispered out of pure desperation. The only warmth coming from your feet still in the water, otherwise your skin exposed to the biting air.

"All you had to do was ask, my lady" Gales fingers easily slid into you, curling up and pumping in and out, while he leaned into your pussy, maintaining eye contact as he placed one kiss just to the right of where you needed him to be. All he needed was to be touched, to touch you. Your legs wrapped around him to get Gale even closer, urging him closer.

"Touch yourself" Barely a whisper, but Gale caught it, and certainly didn't need to be told twice. Secretly, he could cum from this alone, your taste, how soft you were, how loud you could get. It was more than enough to orgasm right there with you, however, that is not exactly how he wanted your first sexual experience to go. His hand clutching your thigh came to his cock, rubbing much faster and harder than he was fingering you. he was eager. He wanted this to last forever, he wanted you to cum again and again and again into his mouth. He wanted his face even more dripping from your juices.

"Gale I can't hold it-" You nearly screamed, his tongue swirling and sucking, lightly biting, it was almost too much. Then, he moaned. A loud, deep moan and that was it. Vibrations running through your body from his mouth. there noise that left your mouth could've been heard across Baldurs gate, you silently thanked this magical pound for being so secluded, as you would be borderline embarrassed if people heard. Gales didn't come back up for hair until he was sure you were finished, getting every last drop of you.

"You certainly are loud" Gales tone was so smug it almost made you laugh. You gripped onto his shoulders as he swept you down from the perch, pressing his whole body to yours. After all that, after her definitely came, he was still so hard, and so pressed against you that you couldn't help but gasp. "I want to hear that again."

"Hear what, exactly?" you teased, lifting a finger to trace his chest.

"To hear you cum," his lips dipped down to your ear, slightly nibbling on it, before he rasped "and to feel you on my cock."

-

Part two, here

(Requests Open)

[bearw-me]

new years kiss hard canons for hazbin? no big deal or anything- (would make my entire year if you did)

sure, no big deal. (this request made my whole year)

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥

𐐒 includes : gender neutral!reader, alastor, charlie morningstar, vaggie, angel dust, sir pentious, husk, cherri bomb 𐐒 cw : fluff, mentions of drinking, kisses 𐐒 summary : to celebrate the new year Charlie + Alastor have thrown together a nice little party for the hotels inhabitants! 𐐒 note : first time hcs for a ton of characters! hope you guys enjoy!

To celebrate the new year, Charlie had come up with a wonderful idea that she had heard about through the angels. A wonderous party filled with spirits and surrounded by the people she treasured most to enjoy some fireworks, hopefully to start off a new year with high hopes!

With Alastor + Vaggie's help, they created a new balcony on the hotel just for the occasion. . . and to watch the fireworks burst and bubble brightly over hell.

➡ Alastor

the kiss would be unexpected on your part completely

after all, the overlord Alastor himself always has to have the upper-hand

what good would a surprise be if you knew he was going to kiss you the moment those fireworks burst and whistled into the sky?

He probably backs you up into a corner out of sight, or if your sitting by the bar he'll have you at the edge of the seat

He smiles wide, reveling in the fact that your squirming

"What's wrong my dear? Feeling uncomfortable?"

Alastor kisses you passionately, but also, as if he's never kissed someone in his life.

You can't even hear the fireworks behind him, just the static in your head and the press of his body against yours

he'd probably bite you too if he found himself enjoying your lips against his

His hand slithering up your back to hold you close, unable to wriggle away or fall back from him.

Immediately after he disappears

after all, he likes to keep you on your toes

➡ Charlie Morningstar

she's very. . . strange all night leading up to midnight

you just accredit it to stress; she's managed this whole thing by herself and wants it to be perfect

Charlie is checking up on you all night, talking fast as a whip and fiddling with her hands as if she's said everything but what she wants to

A half hour before the fireworks happen, you don't actually see her at all

You find the perfect spot on the balcony

Then, like 5 minutes before you're waiting for the fireworks to go off she just- appears- right next to you. Shoulder to shoulder

"Hey! Uh- could we- Could I ask you something?"

"So, So when the angels told me about 'New Years' and what they do to celebrate I kind of stumbled into a new tradition! And I-well I wasjustkindofwondering"

She was rambling again, petting her hair and not looking at you, trying to smile through it.

"Charlie?" You stop her, "Ask me."

And she doesn't really, just kind of takes your hand in hers and stares down at your lips with a mix of anxiety and content.

That's when realization hits you.

Charlie leans in, and its the softest feeling you've ever experienced.

Her kisses feel like the sun against yours, and you can feel her smile into it, already giddy that she's done it!

➡ Vaggie

vaggie is running around with charlie the whole night making sure things go off without a hitch

and in a hotel full of sinners. . . it takes a while

i think vaggie wouldn't kiss someone just for the hell of it

if she wants to kiss you, you mean a whole lot

so new years is a great deadline to give herself to suck up her courage and just do it

she doesn't usually like PDA (its not that she doesn't like it, its just how she is) but if she kissed you on the balcony, it wouldn't matter because everything else would just fall away

she'd have you in her arms, cupping your face and kissing you almost hesitantly, pecking you a few times before she's finally comfortable enough to finally fall into it

➡ Angel Dust

angel always has company with him so it'd be a pretty public thing if you wanted to kiss him (ofc he doesn't mind; just warning you)

would love your company on new years eve, and would keep you close during the cool night

he's drinking with husk for a bit before midnight starts coming around

and by then, he's already very smug, and very flirty with you

hints that you may be his choice of new years kiss (like he tells you and winks)

its a casual thing (i mean, he told you he'd do it when the clock struck midnight)

but when it happens. . . its like he can feel the fireworks in his chest

bonus if you kiss him back right after

its something he wasn't expecting entirely, but it makes him smile like a crushing teenager

tries to brush it off of course

➡ Sir Pentious

he's extremely nervous to ask you

and is all over the place with his ideas and talking to you

he wants to ask for a kiss and builds up the courage all night, coming up to you confidently and burning out the moment he reaches you

he just can't with you looking at him innocently like that

he goes off into a corner to give himself a pep-talk

"You're Sir Pentious! You can do this! You've built gadgets that have toppled crime rings!. . ."

but when it comes to you, all his plans to kiss you just sort of crumble away in his hands

every plan he's had

but he's determined to find one that works out!

You probably hear of his "rant" through the grape-vine and take a stroll over to where he is

you most definitely have to make a first step, no matter how small, just to give him some glimmer of hope to hold onto

He see's you staring at his chest, glancing away when he notices you and he's overwhelmed with his feelings

grabbing you just a few seconds before midnight and kissing you as if its the last time he'll ever do it

➡ Husk

husk is drinking all night

he likes the party over all, just doesn't want to be a part of it and left to his own devices by the bar

wasn't expecting to spend new years eve with you, but he's. . . actually kind of glad you'd sit with him to watch the fireworks

wouldn't tell you that

honestly, midnight goes by for a few seconds, and seeing others kiss he just kind of catches himself scanning the crowd and then glancing over at you

it surprises you both

but its not something he'd fight either

tries to shrug it off and smile when he leans in towards you

his kiss tickles your face, and his lips taste like black licorice from his whiskey

but its not the drinks that have his head buzzing

i really feel like he'd kiss you until there wasn't another breath left in his lungs; silently hoping it wouldn't be the last time he does it

➡ Cherri Bomb

Cherri asking you straight up if you want to make-out with her

she's very picky when it comes to people she likes (or intends to see later in the night) so feel flattered that she's been staring at you

likes to tease you if you get flustered too

"Aw come on! I've seen the way you've been staring at me ya creep!"

"Come on, I won't bite"

Cherri is DEFINITELY the one to kiss you right as the clock strikes midnight

counting down as loudly as she can until its time

she's probably staring at you all night, glancing at your lips and biting hers playfully

a deadly flirt for sure

and she's not afraid to ask you or surprise you either

or just pull you by the chin and smash her lips into yours

her kisses are rough, but in a good way, like its something she's wanted to a while

[thatanimewriter]

COULDA, WOULDA, SHOULDA, DIDN'T (ALTERNATE ENDING).

➳ synopsis: aventurine has never lost. that's what he tells people when he makes bets and in passing conversation about gambling. but every night when he lays in bed, he will always think about the day he almost lost you. angst version.

➳ character/s: aventurine

➳ warnings: 2.1 spoilers, aventurine backstory spoilers, aventurine real name spoilers, mentions of death, slavery (it's not romanticised, you're safe-), mentions of torture, blood, hurt/comfort, marriage, sleeping together (literally), reader described as beautiful

➳ word count: 0.7k

➳ notes: here's the happy version for those who were asking for it LMAO also i jumped on the bandwagon of fic writers inspired by aventurine official art-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

aventurine will never forget the day he met you. he himself didn't know much better than you did as you ran for your lives as children, but he knew he never wanted to see you like that ever again. that night, he thinks he fell in love.

even with the heavy metal cuffs crushing your wrists, he thought you were beautiful. in the most horrible circumstances, you found solace in each other's arms. aventurine made it a habit to kiss your brand mark and then your forehead as he let you use his arm as a pillow. any screams of pain either of you made as you were roughly dragged from your cell to undergo 'disciplining' haunt your minds in the rare moments of emptiness.

the day aventurine was bought away by jade, he's never felt fear quite the same as looking back and seeing you be dragged away by your cuffs, calling out for him as he left while you were pulled further down the abyss of pain and agony.

"i'll come back for you, wait for me!" he yelled behind him. he was desperate, he didn't know if he would ever get to come back for you and ultimately, that scared him more. the idea that his last interaction with you was filled with despair only fueled his desire to rise to the top. he would free himself and ensure that when (if) he freed you, you would have everything you needed immediately.

aventurine remembers the day he came back for you. he'd beat up a lot of guards, and possibly killed a couple, only to find you unconscious and bleeding onto the cold concrete floor in your cell. scrambling to his knees, he held you in his arms and bolted out the door, desperately praying to whatever god would listen that you were alive.

he lived a nightmare as you recuperated in hospital, but nothing came close to making him cry since leaving you than holding your hand and kissing you all over again as if it was your first time. each night as he slept in the chair beside your hospital bed, he wondered what would've happened if he never got to you or was too late.

when he proposed to you, it felt like a fever dream. when he woke up the next morning to see you beside him, ring glinting in the morning sun and cheek pressed into a silk pillowcase rather than dusty concrete. he smiled in adoration, pulling you closer by the waist and chuckling at your sleepy whine of protest before burying your head into his chest and falling back asleep. taking your hand in his, he kissed the ring he'd given to you as a token of your engagement, resting his chin atop your head.

his phone rang and he sighed, blindly reaching behind him to check who was calling him. dr. ratio.

groggily, he answered. "you're calling early, don't you know i'm spending my paid leave with my wonderful fiance?"

aventurine could practically hear the eye roll from dr. ratio over the phone. "i am well aware, i just thought you would want to be informed that i have located your old master that was missing from the premises when you were searching for them," he said, probably polishing one of his marble busts to occupy himself.

"...keep an eye on him. i'll figure out what to do with him when i get more sleep." and with that, aventurine hung up the phone. he returned his attention to you and caressed his thumb over your hip as he pondered this newfound information.

he could've lost you if he didn't get there when he did. he's grateful for that, because he can have you by his side forever and a little bit more. he would've come looking for you to discover you'd died if he didn't push himself harder than recommended to rise to the top. he should've lost you, for that is what the sick gods on some alternate plane of reality deemed reasonable for his kind.

he didn't.

[ghouljams]

(The Day After)Halloween on the Farm (Ghost's Version) Rating: T, there's vague nudity and mentioned sex Word Count: <1k Tags: This is all fluff folks, short and sweet, Ghost x f!OC/reader, very and I mean very minor descriptions of reader, reader has a scar Summary: You spent all night last night policing other people's fun, now you can spend time relaxing in Ghost's company. If he'd come back to bed, that is.

The sheets fall off of you, the sun streaming over your stomach and creeping towards your eyes as it rises. You wake up just enough to toss an arm over your eyes. It takes you a moment of drifting for the scratching of pencil on paper to reach you. It's the only noise in the silence of the room until you groan and go to grab your blanket.

"Don't move," Simon tells you quietly. You smile to yourself and let out a breath, sinking back into the bed. 

"When did you get up?" You ask, settling in to listen to him draw. The soft drag of graphite is lulling, gentle and familiar. Simon is quiet for a long time as he works but you're patient, and you're not going anywhere.

"Hour ago," he says when his pencil stills, his fingers rub against the paper, "maybe."

You stretch a little, arch your back and twist your hips in the quiet. As long as he isn't sketching you can move, and you're quick to settle back into position. It's an attention you'll never get used to. The way you can feel his eyes drag over you, studying you with an open affection, makes you feel more beautiful than anyone ever has. He's not one to show off, but the few times you've seen his sketches they were amazing. His attention to detail is meticulous, every shadow shaping forms and adding softness, weight, to his sketches.

You wait for him to start sketching again. Each short scratch a new shadow that is rubbed soft by his fingers. You could almost doze like this. The soft light of the morning and the warmth of the house threaten to drag you back towards slumber. It's so warm in here, no wonder you barely notice the loss of your blankets. Simon must have turned up the heat after you fell asleep, easier than putting clothes on after sex you suppose. He stops sketching and you seize the opportunity.

"Can I see?" You chance the ask, he grunts and you hear the drag of his eraser.

"Sure." Your heart feels like it's going to burst. You move your arm from your eyes to check its OK to move and catch Simon staring at you. He really must have just woken up, his hair sticks in different directions, and he’s only wearing sweats. He's pulled one of the kitchen chairs to sit next to the bed, his shoulders hunched over his sketchbook. The pencil in his hands looks so small. He raises a brow, and that's good enough for you. He holds the book out to you as you push yourself up, and waits for you to take it from him. 

When you do you have to stop from pressing your fingers against the paper, you can't trace the lines of graphite as desperately as you want to. You don't want to ruin his art, but you can't believe what you're seeing is really you. You're not insecure by any stretch of the word, but the way he draws you… "Am I really this pretty?" You breathe, eyes touching on the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts, the soft part of your lips, the scar along your stomach so adoringly detailed. 

Simon hums, and you glance at him. He’s staring at you, watching you inspect his work. His gaze is so open it almost makes you want to praise him. You think he’d like that.

“No,” He tugs the sketchbook free of your hands and starts scratching his pencil against the page, feathering the strokes along your sketched lashes, “You’re prettier in person, haven’t gotten it right yet.”

You lean forward against your knees with a smile and rest your head on your folded arms to watch Simon work. He’s so gruff, so practical with everything, it never fails to surprise you that his hobby is so delicate. Maybe that isn’t the right word, careful? Meticulous you could buy, but that makes too much sense with Simon. No, you like delicate. It speaks to the care, the consideration in his art. You’ve watched him draw his own hands, so meticulous to trace every vein and scar, and yet looking at the finished product it’s almost appreciative. 

It’s definitely appreciative when he draws you. You know that much. You can see it. His eyes dart to look at you and back down to the paper, each line struck with purpose, each glance a calculation. And again you think that for all the technical parts, it’s loving. His sketchbooks are full of you, pieces of you litter every page, every inch. He’s packed full of you, just like you’re stuffed to the brim with him.

“I love you,” You tell him. He sucks in a breath, the same way he always does, almost disbelieving.

“Love you too,” He mutters, burying himself a little further in his work. 

“We should fuck when you’re done,” You mumble, closing your eyes to enjoy the warm house, the warm affection in your chest. Simon’s sketchbook snaps shut almost as quickly as the words leave your mouth. You peek up at your husband to watch him strip his pants off, and reach to push you back down against the bed.

You move with his insistent hands, and stretch out against the bed again, letting his eyes roam over you with a different sort of appreciation. He pulls your legs up around his waist as you reach for him, tugging him down to kiss him. Simon meets your lips all too eagerly, and you let out a pleased hum as you finally receive a proper good morning.

[baldysgate]

Quiet Moments

HALSIN/GN!TAV SFW || ACT II SPOILERS || CONFESSIONS || FLUFF || 2ND PERSON POV ||

No Warnings just a giant sweet druid and Tav slowly confessing their feelings. Mention of Tav having healing spell.

NOTE: A bit of fluff between ACT II & III for Halsin.

You hear him before you see him, a loud grunt from along the lakes shoreline as you make your daily rounds after a long day. The sun is close to sinking past the horizon, everything bathed in an orange hue. 

The Druid sits on the soft white sand, back against a bit of driftwood that made its way ashore, one arm winding a white cloth around the other as he does his best to stifle the pains that rise up in his chest.

"You know there's spells for that." You say softly as to not startle him, and despite the pain he turns his head with a smile that creases the corners of his lips. 

"Ah, hello." He leans back, the old wood creaking beneath his weight, "afraid I ran out after the last battle." He sighs and even though hes in pain theres still a warmness in the way he speaks. 

And so he came here to lick his wounds? Halsin had joined only a fortnight ago and yet you were learning that the druid did not like taking up space, ironic given his size. It hurt to think he would rather suffer such pain than inconvenience anyone around him. You wondered just how often he'd done this exact same thing as archdruid. 

"Here." You offer, sitting on the driftwood with a soft smile, "Let me see."

His brows turn up slightly, as his lips parted only to close again, relinquishing the cloth to your mercy. 

The bit he had managed to wrap soaked the cloth with red stains, pulling it away from the angered gash ever so softly as to not cause him further discomfort. With you near he seemed to stifle the sounds even more as the wrapping finally came free. The wound was deeper than expected.. had he really intended to hide this?

"It is not as bad as it looks." He seemed to notice your alarm. 

"Halsin, " your voice was soft, but firm, "I need you to take care of yourself. Maybe in the grove things were different, perhaps such things even went unnoticed. But I need you here. We need you here." 

He looked up towards you, grey eyes looking into yours with a look of surprise. As if no one had been concerned for him in years. A pang in your chest to think it had taken so long for someone to care as much as he had done for others. 

"I understand.  Perhaps I have been a bit hasty in my eagerness to lift the shadowcurse..." He admits, "sometimes I let such things cloud my mind."

A gentle admittance, only the surface of something so much deeper. It had only been a few weeks, but you had grown fond of his company. 

"It can't have been easy." You breathe, soft tingles sprouting from your fingertips as they press against the angered skin around his wound, "the shadowcurse. Thaniel. Biding your time in that grove and wishing you could just do *something*. I can understand your impatience… But you must take care of yourself first." 

The faint light glows and the wound begins to lessen, angered flesh slowly mending. It's entrancing to watch the red lines slowly pull together once more until all is left is tanned skin. 

The silence has gone on for too long, glancing up to meet soft eyes beneath heavy brows. Halsin does not look away, as if he had been studying the lines of your face. "I am lucky to be in such wise company." He says softly, still looking into your eyes. 

You chuckle, realizing your hands are still against his now healed arm, the faintest warmth touching your cheeks, "Hardly that. I just know what it's like to be frozen in fear of failure."

He looks away then, as if giving such things words were far too much. Those grey eyes staring off to watch the sun begin to sink and give way to twilight, "I suppose that is what it is. Fear. Pity that I had sought to give words to such hollow feelings for so long and here you are to sum it up in one simple word." He lets out a sound between a laugh and a sigh, "Perhaps I have been afraid all along." 

Feeling the melancholy that radiates in his words you lay a gentle hand against his shoulder, "Archdruid or not, it does not make you unbound to fear. Or any feeling for that matter. Like nature, there is a balance to all things." 

The soft brush of his calloused fingers caress against yours, nearly daring to intertwine with your own. The feeling steals the breath from your lungs. But as quickly as the feeling is there it is gone again and you pull your hand away from him. 

Now was not the time for such thoughts of bodies intertwining and sweet poetry spoken between lovers. It is true the druid had been a steadfast and loyal companion who you had grown to admire perhaps more than you had anticipated. But he had his own goals, as did you. The threat of the Absolute would leave no room for anything else. 

"Your words always have a way of quieting the unsettling of my heart. I am truly grateful." He turns to look at you once again, a soft smile lined his lips. 

"I am always here, should you need me." You smile back. 

"And I, for you." 

The moment feels far more intimate than when his hand brushed against your own, slowly being bathed in a blanket of night. The Moonglow accentuates the lines of his face, each one like a story woven into a tapestry. You recognize- not for the first time- how handsome he is.

"We should get some sleep. Tomorrow we make our way to moonrise towers and break the Shadowcurse once and for all." The confidence is more in your voice than movement, rising up to stand. You knew if you sat any longer there would be more than just words exchanged between you.

"Together I have no doubt it will be so. Go now and rest, dear friend. I need only a few moments to reconvene with nature." His voice is gentle, as if soothing a lover. 

"Goodnight, Halsin." You turn to walk away.

"Rest well."  He says just loud enough for you to hear it. 

—------------  z z  z 

The fight had been unlike any your party had seen before. Hells, who could even have imagined fighting a God mere days ago? And yet here you all sat–tired, but alive. So many things had been revealed it made your head swim. The sounds of chatter between everyone had become overstimulating after a day filled with revelations and adrenaline that you quietly excused yourself and headed for a lone hill just outside of camp's light. 

The land stretched out before you, the soft sounds of crickets and the rustling of nocturnal animals scattering on the hunt were all to be heard. It was a welcome sound after the infernal drumming of the Absolute that echoed in your mind just hours earlier. After such a grim and dark place the world seemed brighter, even if just for a moment. With a deep sigh you sit amongst the grass, back against the lone willow whose leaves danced in moonlight. The air was cool, a welcoming breeze as if thanking you for ridding nature of such a blight. 

Your hand touches the damp grass, a bit of dew from when it had rained earlier, the smell hanging in the air. To your surprise your fingers glide against polished wood, looking down to see the familiar sight of a lute stashed away close enough to be shielded from the weather. It’s a dingy old thing..but someone had taken the time to repair small parts that had decayed or broken. Fingers plucked a string in curiosity and it let out a warbled off tune note. 

“Ah, I see you’ve found my hideaway.” A familiar deep voice says from behind you , turning your head to catch Halsin walking up the hill, the light of camp accentuating his large stature.

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” You are already moving to stand but the druid gestures you to sit as he follows, taking the spot at your side. 

“Not at all, such a place is better with company.” Halsin makes a gruff noise as he sits against the grass next to you. 

“You’re not injured, are you?” You ask, remembering the other night. 

“Far from it.” He smiles, looking out into the forest, “Perhaps a bit sore…But I feel better than I have in quite some time.” His eyes turn to you, the smile even softer still “You truly are remarkable.” 

His gaze sends a shiver through you, hiding behind a chuckle, “I can’t take the credit, without all of you the outcome would have been far more grim.” 

He seems to regard you for a moment, as if mulling over your words, “Perhaps. But without your leadership we would certainly be worse for wear.” 

The familiar heat rises in your cheeks, turning back to look out at the landscape as you press your back against the large willow. There’s a pang of pain and you draw your arm upwards which sends the pain shooting through your shoulder with a hiss. 

Halsin moves to steady you but his hand only hovers against your arm, “Are you alright?” He asks, voice lined with worry. 

You wave to him, “Fine, fine. I think the adrenaline is finally wearing off. Just a bit of an ache, starting to feel my age.” 

He chuckles, a warm sound that’s deep in his chest. He’s older by far, but he makes no mention of it. 

“Here.” He gestures finally, motioning for you to scoot forward. There's an unmistakable trust between you both that makes you follow his suggestion without question. He stands up just enough to nestle himself between the tree and you, long legs coming to rest on each side of your own. The feeling is now burning at your ears, feeling his hands against your back and drawing upwards towards your shoulders. He kneads with his thumbs against your tired muscles and you have to stifle the pained sound that leaves your lips. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks, his voice nearly at your ear as he lessens the strength in which he attempts to worry the knots from tired muscles.

“No, no. Just a little rough going at first” You mutter out, "but it feels nice..." leaning forward as Halsin returns to his efforts. 

The night of the tiefling party darts back into your mind. When spirits were high and the drink was adling everyone's mind. Regardless if you partook, the mood had given you the courage to lay your cards on the table. You had known him less than a day but the strength in which he spoke, the soft reassurance in your brief meeting had made you want him more than anything. 

Which is why it hurt when he had kindly dismissed your proposition. He'd seemed interested enough, but a small part made you wonder if he'd simply meant to let you down easy. That perhaps you had read too far into things since then.

And so the days had gone by, busying yourself with the tadpole and dodging death at every turn. It helped to pry your mind from the rejection but every so often Halsin would praise you with his kindness or look from across the fire and it all came crashing down again. 

And now with his hands against your back, forcing sighs and groans from your throat only furthered your confusion. 

As if sensing your very thought he chuckled, "Do you remember the night of the celebration in the grove?"

It's unfortunate that your shoulders tense, as he feels the tension immediately before you can think to control it. "Yes, very much so." The sound is but a whisper on the wind. 

"I was enamored with you then." He chuckles, unfolding completely, "I had resigned myself to dying in those warg pens, drawing my last breath knowing I had failed to right the Shadowcurse from over a century ago. And yet when the world seemed darkest it gave me you."

Your hand brushes against the leather of his pants, his hands slowing their work as you turn your upper body to look into his eyes, a look of surprise washing over your face.

"But when you asked me to share in a moment of pleasure, well, I was hesitant only in that my mind had been elsewhere. To not give you my full attention then would've been less than you deserved.” His gaze is warm.

“But say it isn’t what you want anymore and I will remain here-as a friend, by your side.” He adds, though there is hesitancy in his words, as if the admittance from you alone would shatter him whole.

You breathe in deeply, smelling the earth and something distinctly Halsin. A smell of blended herbs, wood and moss. Over the past few weeks you had only wanted him more… A man who had already given up so much and was willing to part with more for the ones he loved. Hells, he’d thrown away everything to follow you into the depths of despair only because he had promised you he would. You didn’t want to take anymore, only to give, even if it was for just a little while. He had voiced his propensity to roam in both heart and soul, to be unbound as nature designed. It was enough in this moment to know this was truly where he wanted to be. 

“Halsin.” His name is sweet as it falls past your lips, “ There is nothing I want more.” you smile, readjusting to sit on your knees, turning to him and taking his hand into your own and feeling the rough calluses formed from years of hard work, pressing the palm against your cheek. “We don’t have the luxury of thinking far past today.. but whatever this is- for however long it will be- I want it with you by my side.” 

He breathes a deep sigh of what you can only understand is relief, rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone, “You have no idea how I’ve longed to hear those words.” His eyes are on you, the flecks of gold around his irises bright even with only the stars for company, “Come here, to me.” His voice is low but welcoming. 

You lean in, his hand at your cheek guiding you to him as your lips meet. It feels like the world crumbles in on itself, the kiss first soft and unsure soon growing passionate and desperate. His other hand moves to your back, pulling you into him so that your bodies press against one another. Your heart is hammering in your chest feeling his tongue dance with yours, running your fingers through chestnut brown hair. 

Needing air after what felt like hours you pulled away, a smile pressed against his lips, “That was far better than I could have ever dreamt of.” He admits, his hand against your neck with a soft caress of his thumb against the vein there.

“You stole the words right out of my mouth.” You smile, a fleck of light catches your eye, a glowing ball of green light that draws your attention.

A sea of fireflies dance around the willow, their lights illuminate a sea of stars that swayed with the wind. The sight makes you gasp, watching them grow near before flitting away into the night. 

“It seems Thaniel approves.” Halsin chuckles, pulling you into him so that your back rests against his chest, both of you watching the green lights dance before going out. It only lasted a few long breaths but it is beautiful against the blue of night. You can feel his breathing, a steady rise and fall of his chest that could easily lull you into a soft slumber. 

There was no telling how long you both lay there, stretched out under the willow tree staring up into the stars. His arms found their way under yours, his warmth like the sun as the night began to cool. At some point through the talking and soft touches your eyes began to close, trying to force them back to just feel the moment for just a bit longer. 

"Rest." He whispers your name , breath hot against your ear, "I am not going anywhere."

It's all you need as your eyes finally close and drift off into a peaceful sleep.

[artistsfuneral]

Jaskier meets Death at a forked path. He has never seen them in person before, their face - although incredible kind looking - is not one he's familiar with and yet he instinctively knows who is in front of him.

It's quite the idyllic picture to be honest. The path Jaskier has been following for the past few hours is lined with rough stone walls, the ones that are keeping flocks of sheep from straying too far. The sun is out and shining through the tree's leaves, creating a kaleidoscope of dancing shadows on the fresh grass. Death sits under one such dancing shadow-patch, surrounded by napping sheep. Their left hand is idly petting the spotted fur of a guardian dog, with their right, they're waving Jaskier over to join them.

He silently wonders if he should be scared. Others certainly would be terrified upon seeing Death waiting for them, but Jaskier has always been easily intrigued. Besides, Death is hardly looming over him, it's more like they're waiting for him - like one may wait for an old friend. It could be a trick of course, he muses as he walks over to where Death is sitting, then again it feels like the two of them could have met many, many times before and in much worse situations than this. So who is Jaskier to question Death?

The closer he gets the more he is able to take in. They're tall - taller than anyone he's met before, Jaskier thinks - and incredibly pretty. Not in the perfectly manicured kind of pretty, like some of the most beautiful darlings at court tend to be. No, Death carries a natural loveliness that can only be found and never created, like a special constellation of freckles, an off-center nose, or a small gap between your teeth. Death is everyone Jaskier ever sung of combined in one person, which makes him wonder if they always look like this or if they changed their appearance to please Jaskier's eyes specifically. If the latter, he'd surely feel flattered.

"Come sit with me, sweetheart," Death says and Jaskier is delighted to hear their voice. It's a very nice voice. He wants to hear Death laugh, he realizes as he sinks down next to them on the grass. Their eyes meet his and Death sends him the kindest smile, "It's been a while since I've seen you, sweetheart, I'm glad to see you happy and healthy." Jaskier grins, because what a funny thing for Death to say, but he can hear the honesty in their words. "Oh you know, just the usual aches and pains of my slowly progressing age. Nothing you haven't heard a hundred times before, I'm sure," Jaskier happily chatters back in the same familiar tone. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?" He asks and reaches for his pack. Might as well take his lunch break now, while the fruit he bought earlier this day are still fresh. Death answers his question with an agreeing hum and oh yes, Jaskier might just fall in love with them right then and there.

He focuses on his lunch and wills his foolish heart to calm. "Would you like some?" he asks Death, because his Mama raised him well and eating alone is never quite as enjoyable as sharing a meal. Death looks at him with amusement in their eyes. "I can not eat, but I appreciate the gesture."

Jaskier sighs, "What a pity."

"A small price to pay for a life like mine."

"You're alive?"

"I am here, am I not?"

He looks at Death wide eyed, a hundred thoughts stumbling through his mind at the same time. "I have so many questions."

"And I have a favor to ask of you, sweetheart," Death retords not unkindly. Throughout their short conversation the amusement never quite left their eyes and while Jaskier would normally feel patronized by such a look he somehow knows that Death is simply enjoying his company.

"Are we doing this right? Doesn't this whole asking for a favor thing usually go the other way around?" Death laughs and Jaskier's heart does a little jump, his fingers itch to write a new song. "You read too much, sweetheart."

"I don't believe there's such a thing as reading too much."

"The words of a scholar and a poet."

"At your service."

"Of course. I always get what I want," Death says knowingly, shoving yet another metaphorical box of Pontar towards Jaskier. Lucky for him he has long since learned to not think about these kind of things too much. It does feel a little bit like Death tricked him, though he loves a good repartee. "I have to admit, I am curious indeed. What could I possibly offer to you?"

Death turns their head away from him, looking at the dog in deep consideration. "I need..." Death pauses and Jaskier almost wants to think of it in a hesitant way, "to win a bet." The bard's shoulders drop immediately. "Ah," he says, because the hesitation now starts to make sense. Surely Death must know this of him. "I don't do bets, I'm afraid. It never ends well for the poets caught in between."

"I know," Death agrees easily and not very reassuringly, as a matter of fact. "But I am in need of a song. A song to bring the gods to tears and neither can I write nor sing. What I can do, is offer you my protection."

Jaskier's mind floods with thoughts.

Protection from Death.

The two of them stare into each other's eyes, the world around them timeless, everlasting. Finally, it is Jaskier who breaks the contact and returns to his bundle of food. He bites into a fruit, it's sweet juices run down his chin and drip onto his chemise. "I will make the gods weep," he declares and watches Death smile full of warmth.

[aphroditesmoon]

Hi! I’m not sure if u do smut or not but I was wondering if u could do a Legolas smut with fem!human!reader, like a enemies to lovers kind of thing. Maybe hate sex? <3

too close

legolas greenleaf x reader

summary: legolas has his doubts about who you really are, but is that really why he can never meet your eyes with anything else but anger in himself.

warning: afab reader, nswf, smut 18+, etl, legolas being a jerk, probably bad description of mirkwood

a/n: soo sorry i took ages, I've been taking new meds, also i havent written smut for a while so im a bit dusty, hope u like it<3

○○○○○○

Summer is barely a real season under the protective courts of Mirkwood, you could barely feel the heat or see the sun through giantic starfall tree and at night, the chill through the strong winds gives a hint of winter in its air.

You loved it. Training at night feels easier when your not already sweating through your tits ten minutes in warm ups. And the quiet around you, save the crickets and owls hooting, gave you the solace you seeked for each existing day you lived through.

But despite finding everything well with want you asked for, the universe seems relentless with making sure you'll always be keeping your guard up and your annoyance up higher, with the ever consistent appearance of Prince Legolas Greenleaf.

He stands by the corner near an entrance to the castle, watchful of you while thinking he's quiet. His lack of trust in you makes him believe that you somehow lack in the specialties of elf abilities, like for example, your keen hearing.

"I could hear you for a mile away, prince." You also caught onto his snort, before his footsteps sounds louder. "How did you lnow it was me then?" He asks, less snobby than usual.

He must be drunk, you tell yourself.

"You have that pompous, all knowing kind of stride, it has its own beat when you walk." You expected him to roll his eyes like he usually do, belittling you like a child being reprimanded. But suprisingly he laughs. "That sounds a lot like you're projecting, after all, only pompous, all knowing arseholes are the ones who isolate themselves and train alone."

Ah, there it is. He's sobered up then.

"And what humble, kind enough of an elf, would waste his time stalking other people just to throw insults like a 7 year old?" You snapped.

If he had found your irritants amusing before, now his smile fades altogether,  and he looks the same as when he's about to pull an arrow on an orc.

"The kind of an elf who's trying to protect his kingdom and father." You laughed honestly yet mockingly before dropping your sword altogether to look at him. "You think your doing the king a favor? His majesty has his own mind, he trusts me, so I'd suggest you drop your savior facade and trust him." He shook his head and looks away for a second, as if deep in thought. "My father doesn't trust anyone, let alone random rogue elves who comes out of nowhere."

You raised you brow at his bravery in speech. 'This random rogue elf is the reason your father is alive, if I had even a glimpse of malice in me, I wouldn't have done nothing but serve him well for the last 10 months." You say matter of factly.

And before he could argue again, you wave your hand at him annoyed, and turn your back at the prince. "I practise better when im alone, and now you've ruined my peace, if you don't have anything new or smart to say-"

"You are a witch." He speaks. You actually freezed for a moment, forehead frowned in confusion. "Excuse me?"He repeated his impossible words. 

"Im a witch...because i saved your father's lives?" You ask him, slowly. He looks more frustrated then ever, as if you're the one patronizing him.

"No, you are a witch, because you have bewitched him." You could laugh if you didn't want to punch him. "And how have I bewitched him?" You almost yell. "I don't fucking know!" He yells first.

"My father has never trusted anyone, except for me, yet i see he'd put his life in your hands if he has to. And you know that, you know what you are doing. How you win his praise and trust when you fight, and when you put yourself over him, over the other shooters, martyring yourself."

Your mouth was wide open, your brows furowing, but no words escape you as he continues, inching closer with every word, untik you're both a step away from eachother.

"And you know exactly what you do to me." He was hovering over you, with a glare so intense you've never seen from the mirkwood prince. "I've done nothi-" He cuts you off when you've just gained enough control to speak. "You've bewitched me."

His breath was steady even in such anger, fanning your face gently as he inhales and exhales.  "I don't trust you, and i shouldn't care too much of another fighter in our army, another stranger i shan't waste my time on. Yet one glimpse of you, and you're stuck in my head, like a memory i can't seem to forget."

he was silent after the last confession ends, and you have the stubborn urge to answer to him. "That sounds like a you problem, not mine." He gives a short bitter laugh, looking up to the sky for a second, as if praying to the stars for guidance. "What have you done to me, cruel enchantress."

The rage seemed to lessen in the glare he still holds at you, but something more hungry lays in his gaze. "I've done nothing. Im no witch." You answer, so over all of this cat and mouse game. "And if I was, I wouldn't waste my time on someone so frustrating like you, and your stupid perfect nose, going around acting like you're-" He cuts you off, closing the small space between the two of you with his lips.

It was persistent, the way his mouth pushed over yours, like a strong wave crashing over sands, forcing it to feel the same surge it's being held againts.

When your hands finally found its strength, you place them againts his chest, pushing him off, he startles and moves a step, eyes locking with yours.

His hands that were once on each sides of your face, falls down to his side, fingers flexing as if too empty now. "I hate you." He says. His eyes saying the opposite. Your mind repeats over and over of what he had done and you tell yourself that it can't get any worse or better than this, so you took a move yourself forward, standing on the ground he was on a second ago.

"Then why don't you show me how much."

You don't hesitate to pull his face towards yours, recreating the similar scene as before. His hands move to wrap around your waist, while yours tangle themselves in his untied long white hair.

You gasp when his tongue licks over your bottom lip, giving him what he wanted, your tongues clashes as you two continue kissing eachother like you're out of air. You don't flinch when he backs you up until your back meets the flat of a wall.  His right hand starts to fliddle with the laces tying your leather top on. You help him take it off before your own fingers helps him take his breeches of while he moves his lips to your neck.

"I like you better with your hair down." You manage to gasp out while he's sucking on your neck. "And I like you better with your mouth shut."  Legolas replies before his hands easily turns you around your face meets with the wall.

You barely hold on to the wall when his grip on your hips tighten, your own training tights pulled down before you felt him againts your back.  You squirm and let yourself grind againts his hardness when one of his hands move to your front to squeeze your breasts, flicking your nipple, gently moving lower then from your chest to yoir stomach, grazing your scar filled abs until it gets lower to where you want him the most.

He's still squeezing your left hip while rubbing his hard cock againts your ass.

Finally as he sinks into you without notice,  receiving  a loud whimper from you, his hand over your hips move to grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back againts his chest. His right wandering fingers were still againts your front, rubbing circles on your thighs.

You're too speechless, feeling yourself filled up to the brim by him. He doesn't move at first, head laying low by your neck, hot breathing againts your cheek. You almost cry when he slowly pulls out, until he pushes himself in again, harder tham the first thrust.

He doesn't stop them, pushing into your hole repeatedly, his hands moving up from your thighs to your clit, rubbing over it with a pace that wanted to make you scream.

Legolas finally regains enough strength to start biting and sucking on your neck, marking you, while he doesn't stop pounding into your wet cunt.

The fullness of his cock and pressure of his fingers makes your cunt tighten againts him, he lets out a growl you've never heard if the elf prince before he bites down your sweet spot harshly, making you scream out his name. "Fucking hell." He groans out, fucking out all his pent up anger and tension over you.

.Your hands feels slippery againts the wall, gripping againts nothing while he takes you like a ragdoll, manhandling you take his cock over and over, watching you turn into a crying and moaning mess.

"Legolas, please- uh." You mewl out to him He hears you, pleased he is as he lets out a grin againts your neck. "Please what, my love?" He asks huskily.  Love, thats a new one.

"Need to come-" You beg out to him.  And Legolas, for all his false pretense of hostility before, could never say no to you.

He pushes your face againts the wall again,  both of his palms now back to each side of your hip, tightening againts them as he plunges himself harder inside of you as you scream out his name, shameless of who could've heard them. Your nipples grazes againts the hard bumpy walls, oversensitive to everything now,  you clench againts him so tightly that you could hear him curse out in elvish as he holds on to your bruised sides.

You feel tears brimming in your eyes as he continues fucking you while you explode all over him, your orgasm leaking out of your cunt, all over his leg. "Argh- im going to-" He doesn't finish his words as he finally cums after you, his hot cum leaking into your hole and then lower lines on your arse.

His head leans on your back, his breathing rapid and sweat glistens you both.

Legolas pulls you back by your breast, letting you rest on hus chest while the two of you try to regain some air. His fingers grazing the valley of your tits, head stuck on the side of your forehead. Once you've calmed down from your high, you tilt your head towards him, relishing his warm arms around you.

He leans forward, letting your forehead meets. You let out a small smile.  "Now what?" Your voice gentler then expected. "Now-" He answers, voice hard. "-I'll take you to my chambers, and I'm fucking you again."

[writinginthetwilight]

Neighbour!Eddie x Neighbour! Reader

Knock, knock.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone.

AFAB reader, use of the nickname sweetheart. Eddie pov. Reader pov. Fluff, yearning, awkward flirting, angst, jealous reader, depressive state, comfort, mentions of past toxic relationships, dubious explanations of electricals, stress. Strong language. Nightmares. Whispers in the walls. Horror/creepy vibes.

See Masterlist for full list of warnings.

Author note: Thank you for the love on the last chapter, you beautiful humans. I offer to you a vignette chapter that has a bit of everything, some burning in our slow burn between these two

Featuring some new… guests.

As always, all my love to @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing for writing the original prompt that birthed this weird little world and being wonderful.

Extra thanks to Somna for beta reading and letting me use their green carpet Eddie edit for the header💙.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Love you bye.

Part 7 - Vignette knots in Lachesis's thread.

“They moved the door.” one whispers

“They moved the door?”

“They moved the door.”

“Broke the hinges.” another hisses

“It doesn't fit.”

Drip.

He's not as quiet as he thinks he is.

It's an obvious hush.

One that floats through the silence of the morning, the cadence of his footsteps is soft but he's all elbows and heavy hands, clumsy movements and low mumbling.

The sound travels in under your bedroom door and pulls you gently from a reality you can't recall, you always drift back under once you hear him leave.

The sound of your alarm however, once chosen because of the relatively pleasant sound now grates immediately and has you reaching out blindly to turn it off as quickly as possible.

Stumbling from your room, the morning sun blinds you as it coats the walls in amber.

Cotton mouth and achy joints accompanying you as you stretch your arms above your head, a breath pausing in your chest as you spot the paper sticking out from underneath your front door.

Heavy ink is partially visible through the page as you pick it up, the paper folded twice into a rough square, the creases off centre and you flick the fanned edges which stick out as you start your morning.

You don't read it yet, you wait until there's hot tea and toast which is overdone on one side to accompany his words. Building a little excitement into the morning before the day gets going into a predictable routine.

Your knuckles press into your grin as your eyes finally take it in.

The first read is always a hurried intake of words, greedily consuming what he has to say. You'll read it again with more clarity once the sleep has been washed from you.

But his plans for the day aren't why you're smiling, there's a second page

“Thought I'd make you a character sheet.”

Apparently you're a rogue, and he's drawn you or, a version of you anyway. It's all crude black lines and blue ballpoint shading, you're grinning, nose high.

“Chaotic good.”

He graces you with the ability to make your own back story but.

“Within reason, I've been writing something in case you ever want to play while we're trapped in the planes.”

A rogue.

You look down at yourself, standing in off white underwear and a t-shirt with bleach stains littering the hems.

Sunlight dapples over the paper where your character stares back at you, and your thumb traces the shape of a sun that rests over the chest.

Emotion bubbles up your throat and you shake your head to rid yourself of it.

Your tea is going cold.

“We cannot keep it out.” One says.

“The tide is sprawling.”

“It's imperceptible, they don't know.”

“Like the frog that slowly boils.” says another.

Drip.

A rouge, only dressed in cotton and oversized socks.

He's starting to wonder again if he's made this all up, if you're a character he's imagined. He'd have a little more control over you though if that was the case, right?

“Do you have to go fucking near it.”

You turn to look over your shoulder at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

He doesn't know how you're so calm, it's a dream you keep on saying, but it all feels pretty fucking real to him.

His hands itch to pull you back, keep you away, but instead he chews his lip, arms crossed tightly as he watches you with a frown.

“It's fine, I'm just looking.”

Your socked feet toe the line between the back of your couch and the abyss which hums lowly.

It's a near perfect match for the sound that made him feel like he was going to puke up a lung, but it's low, far away and it's the only thing that has come from it in the weeks since.

He still refuses to get close to it though.

He had graduated from sitting on the floor by the light to sitting on the arm of his couch, it juts out at a 90 degree angle from the centre of your own, far enough away to feel acceptable.

Then you'd said he “looked like Gollum perched there.”

So out of spite, he refuses to even go near it again.

You'd apologised, tried to pull him back over, but he's nothing but dedicated to the bit, or stubborn whichever you want to call it.

“You said it could be another world-”

“Full of shit that will suck out your soul.”

His tempers flaring anxiety making his skin feel too tight as he watches you.

“You're not even a tiny bit curious?”

The feeling evaporates as you approach him, arms falling to his side as he rolls his eyes at the same argument you've had almost every time you've seen him since he showed you those books.

“I just don't want to be sucked into oblivion," he says, pressing his fingers to his chest and leaning toward you.

You raise your eyebrows, a smile escaping through pressed lips “What you're into is your own business. ”

He falters at your words.

“Th..That doesn't even make sense.” he tries, his usual quick comebacks are turning to ash and leaving his mind blank as his back straightens uncomfortably.

You just shrug still smiling, and he avoids your eyes, willing his brain to think of something other than… Shit.

He looks past you, eyes searching for something to stop you looking at him.

A coaster sits on the side and he picks it up, turns it over in his hands, and throws it into the void.

It's swallowed without a sound.

Your head whips around to follow it and he slumps.

“Hey! What the hell?”

He goes to speak, something snarky about being ‘curious’ but the wind’s knocked from him as it comes hurtling back, hitting him square in the chest and bouncing limply onto the floor.

His hand immediately grabs at the place it hit, eyes wide and heart thrumming too quick.

You snort loudly from beside him and his eyes dart to you.

“That's not funny.” He says, voice pinched a little as he still grips his shirt.

Muffled laughter slips between your fingers that are now clasped over your mouth and you shake your head.

His nostrils flare, temples already aching from the frown he's wearing, but the longer he looks at you, mirth crinkling the side of your eyes as you try not to laugh, the more he struggles to maintain it.

He sucks at his teeth, eyebrows raising.

“You finished?”

Your eyes flit to the dark and another bubble of laughter breaks free when you look back at him.

“Can you stop going near it, before something grabs you.”

“Boundaries made by man hold little ground,” says one pacing.

“Broken ones even less, the tides will spill.”

“Fix it.” spits another.

Drip.

The days are still long, office life mundane, but the weeks are starting to pass a little quicker.

Home's finally becoming the reprieve that you desperately need, but today the hours have felt longer than you thought possible.

You'd woken like this, a little numb for no reason, a little frayed and tender despite the 8 hours of dreamless sleep. You couldn't shake it, the feeling of ghosts hanging around your neck all day.

Now, the last strands of you are snapping, coming undone with every minute that you wait for the god damn elevator.

It never arrives, and you drag yourself up the stairs at a snail's pace, passing the metal gate that's ajar on the second floor, taunting you.

You don't get on it out of spite.

Your door looms back at you when you reach it, rough wood and mismatched frame, you swallow harshly.

You thought you would feel better when you got home.

But the door feels heavier than usual, muscles in your arm biting out in protest at the force needed to open it and you wince as you fall in the threshold.

A distant chime makes you pause as you slam it closed.

A warped, ringing.

He didn't.

It rings again

He did.

“You bought a bell.” You exhale the words more than you say them, they're meant to hold laughter, but your voice barely lilts.

“I am but a merciful roommate.” He rings it again. “Found it at a thrift store for a buck.”

The sound floats oddly down to you from the scar, gnarled protrusions singing, it makes your teeth sit on edge.

You try to smile to yourself, wordlessly pulling yourself over to the couch and collapsing back as the silence hangs, thick and suffocating.

“Thought you'd be more into it, unless you're secretly into me scaring you” He laughs, but it's a little hollow and you cringe to yourself.

“No,” you say, squeezing your eyes closed, “thanks it's funny. Sorry.”

The silence drags out again, you know he's still there, the lack of heavy footsteps that follow him everywhere absent as you curl into yourself a little. You just want to be alone, want him to leave, want-.

“You okay?”

The question catches somewhere in your chest, like fabric caught in a zipper,makes your breath feel a little uneven.

Because you are okay, it's just.

“I'm fine, it's just, I'm. I'm probably going to hang out in my room tonight. I won't be much company“

“Oh, yeah, uh sure.”

You sit up, an outline of clothing and belongings left in your wake as you move to close out the world.

“You know,” he starts, voice curling down and around you “I'm like here, if you need to talk, or whatever.”

Your footsteps falter, head turning to look toward the crumbling plaster that stares back.

You hug yourself, willing the feeling away.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks Eddie.”

You crawl into bed, not bothering to fully change, just hoping that you will sleep and the tightness in your chest will be gone when you wake.

Sleep doesn't come though, hours passing with eyes closed, consciously drifting in white noise and darkness.

You're not sure what time it is when you hear it, the faint sound of music playing behind the wall, it makes you adjust from where your head’s been buried beneath blankets.

He's playing guitar.

Something soft and repetitive.

A knock sounds against the wall.

You don't knock back, but the weight around your neck lessons a little.

“It didn't work.” One whispers

“They can't be here, if we know.”

“They do too.” another finishes.

“I can hear them already, their laughter’s like mould.”

Drip.

“Do you write a lot of your own stuff?” Your voice is muffled a little from where your head rests awkwardly against the arm of the couch so you can watch him play.

He's moved the couch, a compromise born of an argument the last time you were here.

He didn't want to be anywhere near the abyss, you wanted to keep an eye on it despite it not doing, well anything lately really.

So the couch was moved, backed up towards the wall of light where you now lie watching Eddie, he’s lying on the threadbear carpet adjacent to where your door should be. Playing songs and telling you stories of teenage boys making noise in a garage somewhere in nowhere Indiana.

“Yeah, but I mean we still play the classics, you know, gets the crowd going when there's something they all know.”

He looks relaxed for possibly the first time, that you've seen. Speaking to you with his head tilted, eyes soft and stories of his life tumbling out as you listen.

His fingers lazily pluck a tune as he pries his eyes from you and stares at the ceiling, a low hum falling from his chest as he plays you a song you don't know.

It's almost peaceful, and you take in the halo of hair around him, black tee riding up so alabaster skin shows the start of a tattoo you can't make out, fingers moving, practised motions over the strings.

You blink away the stare, shifting awkwardly and swallowing as your eyes flit up to his which are now closed.

“So do you think you will get together sometime soon?” You say around your tongue which suddenly feels too big for your mouth.

“Last time I saw Grant he said Ruby’s sleeping now, so hopefully we can get in some practice, but it's whatever.” he sighs, fingers pausing their movements. “Everyone's busy, it's fine.”

“It's nice they're so close though.”

He gives you a thoughtful look. It's only for a moment but you see it.

You'd taken him up on his offer to talk, hand forced slightly after your ex had changed his number and managed to call you one night while Eddie was narrating a game show you'd never heard of.

Then it all came out, he'd been quiet, let you talk until you ran out of breath. Then he'd been, sweet, funny and then a little angry. You'd made him promise to just forget about it and he hadn't brought it up since.

But now, every time he speaks about his friends you can see him remember, his face changing, a pause in his words that tells you he's gone somewhere else in his head.

“Eddie.” you warn pulling him back.

A wet rhythmic sound comes from the abyss cutting you off from scolding him.

It gurgles, pops and slithers from different points and Eddie crawls quickly up onto the couch beside you.

Then it's gone, as fast as it came.

The drip sounds louder than before in the silence that's left behind.

You look over the impersonation of your shared living space for anything that may be lurking and realise, his hands holding your forearm, side pressed against yours, like he's ready to drag you away.

You look from where it rests to his face which is still trained on the darkness.

At least you have him.

Kind of.

“They will see it soon, surely.” One says.

“They must.”

“They ignore it.” says another.

“They blind each other.”

Drip.

“Thought he was just sending a mic, shit.” he mumbles, box heavy in his arms as he takes the stairs two at a time.

He feels giddy like a kid on Christmas, it has been a long ass 6 weeks.

The fact you had been paid and ordered your mic, only for it to be delivered the next day made him antsy, checking the mail every day only to be left disappointed.

He's tired of talking into empty space, your voice dipping in and out while he sits uncomfortably in the spots where he can hear you the best.

He wants it to feel, real.

It's too early for you to be home, but he wants to be ready and he barges into the apartment heading straight for the kitchen.

The drawer rattles loudly as he throws it open, and he lets it hang on its runners as he rams a pair of scissors into the layers of tape at the box's seam.

Thick black words tear in half on the address label.

“Sir Eddie Munson”

A letter rests on top and he disgards it, diving into bubble wrap and more layers of tape, shredding the wrapping until he reveals cables, metal boxes and a short boxy mic with a stand.

He stares at it all, displayed out between the ripped apart wrapping and scratches at his jaw.

He's not sure it will work, but if he could pick up your music when the stereo’s were close and you could pick up his then he doesn't see why you couldn't use it sort of like an amp. Speak through it to each other.

Obviously he couldn't tell Henderson that.

“I don't know why you need all this.”

He rolls his eyes, Dustin's voice ringing out inside his head as he reads the letter.

“It's going to sound like shit. Plus you already have a mic and an amp. ”

Had, he thinks bitterly and swallows the irritation that follows the memory of selling them .

He skims over the rambling, half a page of it before the kid finally tells him how to set it up.

He can't just plug it in; he knows that there's no output but it's still pretty simple compared to the convoluted explanations that Dustin’s written, diagrams and all.

He tests it, his voice coming quietly through the speaker as the green light on the screen sits dimly displaying ‘unknown input.’

The sound of your door opening and slamming against the wall makes him jump, a bolt of excitement coming with it.

He falls over his feet through the living room, whipping around before he spots it.

The bell rings out shrill and loud and your laughter fills the space with it.

“You know the bell's kind of redundant if I can hear you running around trying to find it.”

He grins at your snark, “I guess you don't want to know what came in the mail for me today then.”

“It came?!”

Your excitement sends another thrill through him and he grins as you tell him to wait, your belongings clattering as you drop them and you run to get your own stuff.

“Okay. So we set it up where it was the first time?” You say voice coming back to him.

Last time, it seems like so long ago. Before you'd even strolled into his mind in mismatched pyjamas, when he thought he might be dead, for a minute.

“Ready?”

He flicks it back on, the small screen turning pale green again, and his eyes widen as it brightens, numbers rolling across it in quick succession, the silence crackles.

“Testing.”

Your voice comes out through the speaker strong and close and it almost knocks the wind from him as a grin splits his face.

“Did it work?”

“Shit. Hi.” he says, the grin he’s wearing is already aching.

“It works!” The excitement in your voice is palpable, a slight echo ringing out at the volume of it as it leaks through the air.

“Do you think it's just against this wall? Move over to the other side.”

Before he can say anything the line cuts out, screen returning to normal and his stomach drops.

“Are you coming?” your voice calls out from a little further away.

He laughs to himself, feigning irritation “Gimme a second this thing weighs like 30lbs.” He unplugs the behemoth and piles the wires on top, then stares into the empty space.

“Where are you?”

“Kitchen.”

Excitement runs through him, clumsy fingers and hands arranging things quickly in a rush to hear you again.

The switch clicks on and he leans in ready to speak when screeching static roars out, the numbers flying by on the screen in a blur, its increasing in volume like the sound is crawling down the wires.

He yanks the cord out.

“Okay, not there.” You say, nervous laughter evident in the air around him.

His pounding heart slows as he braces a hand on the sideboard.

“Let's try the bedrooms.” Your voice is hesitant as it drifts away and he looks over the wall before turning around as if he'll see you there waiting, he unplugs everything and walks away.

The bedroom works, he should probably say something about what just happened, but you haven't mentioned it either.

Ignoring it is easy when he's here, the worry soon drowned out by laughter and a soft mattress beneath him.

It's comfortable, simple and he doesn't want to leave.

He's ignoring the time.

But you're not.

“Don't you have work?”

He groans, “Yeah.” he looks at the spot beside him where the stereo leans awkwardly against the pillows.

You should be sitting there.

“Think of the money. Work that Munson charm you always tell me about.”

“Tell you about?” he says, pursing his lips and tipping his head back softly against the wall.

“Mhmmm.” There's a tease there in the sound that makes his inside flicker.

“So, you want me to leave?” he says, pitching his voice a little low and equally teasing, a pause follows making him squint, maybe he's read this completely wrong.

“I didn't say that.” Your voice is soft, a little quieter, he expected laughter or an over the top tease.

It catches him off guard, and he nods to himself as a smile creeps onto his face, it drops as he glances over to the clock, he's going to be late.

He takes one last look over your adjoining wall.

“Sweet dreams sweetheart”

“The threads are fraying.” one says, pacing. 

“Like spider webs.”

“They're caught, wrapped up.” whispers another. 

“Like flies.”

Drip.

Light pours through the dark windows throwing light over him, but he casts no shadow. 

“She got it on her like, second go. I swear, that kid's going to be playing the garden before she's out of highschool”

His feet knock against the cabinets below him, the noise ricocheting around the narrow kitchen as you listen to him ramble from your place leaning against the wall across from him. 

A story about his last lesson of the day has bled into tangents, multitudes of stories pouring from him about teaching Lizzy.

It's cute, and you've listened in rapt attention as he gushes about her, but the longer he talks the more you have to hold up your smile. 

“You care about her a lot,” you say, nails dragging bluntly over a bump on your upper arm, not quite meeting his eye “her mom sounds cool too.”

“Oh fuck yeah, she's the best.” He says leaning forward from where he's sat on the counter. 

“Honestly Lizzy wouldn't play half as good if her mom hadn't started her off, I'm just, refining.”He gives you jazz hands and you manage a small smile. 

You can imagine them all, raucous laughter, easy interactions. Warmth and hot drinks, maybe a couple of beers at the holidays. 

It's making you feel sick. 

And it's stupid. 

You know it is. 

So you swallow it. 

But he's perceptive, irritatingly so and his head tips to the side, as big brown eyes try to catch yours.

You can't let him, he'll see. 

That you're jealous, in the most mundane way. 

Jealous of the people who get to walk down the street with him, go grocery shopping with him, cook with him, watch the skies change over the course of a day with him.

So your feet carry you away, to the end of the room. “Maybe Corroded Coffin and her can go on tour some day.”

You hear his feet hit the floor behind you, plaster and dirt being knocked aside as you draw marks in the dust on the counter,  back facing him. You can feel him looking at you and you peek over your shoulder at him. 

“What?” Your voice is small and you cough to cover it. Smiling in a faux confusion that you're hoping will make him leave it alone, but he only mimics your expression. 

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You're being weird.”

“No I'm not.” You clench your teeth at how defensive your tone is, turning to face him fully and leaning back.

“Yeah, you are. We were talking then you just.” he waves a hand over your face. Eyes lingering on yours and pinning you to the counter 

“What?”

Please leave it be, you plead into your mind and it's like he heard it, saw it maybe, because his eyes flit away.

He flicks up the lid of a pizza box, making a small sound of approval before pulling out a slice. 

“Don't eat that.'' You say nose wrinkled and he pauses, slice mid way to his mouth. 

“It's still good, I had it for dinner.”

“That's not the issue.” Your laugh is small but it's there and the tension in your chest lifts a little at the change of subject. “It's pizza from here.” 

He shrugs, going to take a bite and you pull at his arm. 

“You can't be hungry, we're sleeping.”

“It's fine.” he pulls away his arm and you grimace at him as he takes a bite, his face thoughtful and over exaggerated as he chews. 

“You're going to be sick.” You say as you watch him.

It's a sly grin he gives you after he swallows, and he leans in so his face inches closer to yours. 

He pulls off another bite, chewing around a smile.

“You're gross.” You can't help the genuine smile in your voice and he grins in return. 

Behind the wall away from prying eyes, the darkness twitches at its edges, the scar sparking in time.

“Enough.” says One. 

“They will not listen.”

“They cannot, they do not understand.”

“Make them.” Says another standing.

Drip.

Speaking through the stereo has become the new norm over shouting at each other through the ether.

It's odd that a little clarity in his voice feels like such a monumental change, but the ease of just picking up the mic and knowing you'll be able to sit and speak without straining to hear him makes it so much easier to fall into conversation.

Words that were usually kept for morning letters or when you met in your sleep are said over dinner, he reads books aloud to you when there's nothing good on TV, it's comfortable, easy.

There's always been a disconnect, a barrier of the surreal that meant it was easy to switch off, but now.

It's domestic.

You hear him pad over, back from a shower that was needed, “to wash the last house offa him”.

The mic crackles to life across from you “So.”

“So?” You say leaning into it, eyes still trained on your TV as you look for something to watch.

“You got any plans for, sleeping?”

“Any plans for sleeping?” you tease.

“Yeah you know, I'm just pretty tired so I might not be up for reading and, I mean I'll probably head to bed round… 10. So if you want to, carry on.. ”

“I'm pretty tired,” you say, failing to fight off a smile.

“Yeah? Cool, okay. So, what you doing? ”

It's not like you hadn't arranged to meet up in the planes before, but lately the reasons to meet there were less about wanting to explore what lay there and more just wanting to, be there.

As you drift to sleep and then slowly wake to the sound of the drip it sends adrenaline through you, no longer just because of the nightmare-scape that waits outside your door.

He appears through the light as you walk around the edge of the puddle, still slowly growing outside your bedroom door.

Book in hand, thumb jammed between the pages where you left off and a grin on his face.

He looks warm.

Face flushed, hair a mess, sweats hanging off lanky limbs. Comfortable.

“Shall we continue?” He shakes the book in his hand and nods his head towards the couch.

A whisper, in the back of your head that appears from time to time tells you that you're going to regret this.

This isn't right.

What good could come of this?

You smother it.

It's an awkward dance that proceeds you both taking opposing sides of the couch, both deciding to have your feet up, knees curled against the back pillows.

Then he starts.

The couch cushion’s soft beneath your head as you listen, his rings glinting in the light where he holds the book against his knees.

He forgot to take them off again.

Every character has a different voice, memorised words flowing easily from him and you can tell when he finds himself funny, his eyes lifting to yours to see if his inflection has you grinning.

He was made to tell stories.

You're not sure when it started or who started it.

The slow conscious rearrangement of your legs that's closing the gap between you, but both of your feet are edging, painfully slow towards the centre of the couch.

It's not like you've never touched the guy and you're a goddamn adult but, fuck if this doesn't have you feeling like you're back in high-school, all nervous intention covered up in a nonchalant guise

Striped socked toes stretch and adjust towards you and you pretend not to see.

You wait a few minutes, nerves twitching at the muscles in your legs, you nudge yours a little closer and catch his eyes flitting from the book to your feet, he doesn't miss a word, but adjusts himself so that his foot's now parallel to yours.

You press your foot down into the couch cushion and it moves forward a fraction, a fraction more than you thought it would and your foot’s brushing up the side of his.

His voice falters, and you bite your cheek to stifle the smile that's threatening to break out.

He reads on, his toe coming up to rub gently against your ankle, and you're drowning in petulant butterflies which want to crawl out your throat, you lean into it returning the gesture.

Risking a look up, you watch as he talks through a smile.

Something from the corner of your eye flashes in the dark, but when you turn there's nothing there.

…

…

…

There's a sound.

Is it the sea?

It dips in and out.

Waves.

You can't see, your body erased by dense black.

Your feet carry you forward nonetheless.

There's one light, a thin line which stretches over your head to infinity, both in front of you and behind.

“Hello?”

Your voice ricochets back at you from all angles, varying volumes and delays making you flinch and turn in place.

You keep walking, footsteps making no sound.

Dread builds the further you go, the overwhelming sense of everything being wrong.

It's suffocating.

You try to stray from the path you've been walking, but your feet won't move any faster and the line above you never moves from your line of sight, always stretching out to show you a path to nothing, no matter which way you turn.

Then it starts to shake.

Like somebody's pulling the ends taught, causing it to vibrate. The sound of a storm surrounds you, and you watch in unfounded horror as the light breaks, fraying and falling apart, pieces caught and swept away by gusts that you can't feel.

Then it's gone.

Everything.

No sound.

No light.

No up or down, you're not even sure you can feel your feet on the ground anymore.

You're adrift in nothing.

Panic rises to almost the point of hysteria. You can't even move.

“You're not meant to be here.” Comes a voice spoken against the crown of your head.

The scream that rips out your throat rattles your chest as you thrash in the dark.

Frantic knocking comes from behind you but your blood’s still pounding in your ears.

Kicking away your blankets, you back-up until you meet cold wall and the radio beside your bed crackles to life.

The worlds coming into focus too quickly, pixelated shadows dancing in the dark.

Eddie's calling your name almost as frantic as you.

“Sweetheart, I'm fucking begging you here!”

His voice makes its way to you finally, a sob wracking you as you try to breathe, turning on the light, trembling hands pull his voice towards you as far as wire will permit.

You push your head into your knee cradling the microphone to your chest.

“A dream.” you choke out.

“It was just a dream.”

Drip

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list 🖤

@munsonburn3r @winchester-angel @kellsck @valhallavalkyrie9 @em0220

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @nachtficlibrary @strangersmunsons @vampirestookourblogs

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | two | three | four

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You hadn’t realised moving right along your hemisphere would be enough to change the weather. The UK is cold and often rain-soaked, while Genovia has been nothing but sunny. It's a nice change, and the sun on your skin almost removes the insecurity of wearing a dress that isn’t yours. You feel pretty. You feel as yourself as you have in the days since this whole thing began. 

“Sorry,” James says, standing in the sunshine with his hands crossed primly behind his back, “you’re what?”

You sit up properly in the window seat. He deserves every ounce of respect that you can give him, he’s been nothing but caring and kind since you met. You almost regret your decision to leave, if only because you wont get to witness him and his nice friends. 

Who will be separated once again, your brain adds helpfully. Thanks to you. 

“I'm going home.” Your sketchbook is supple under your hands, a thick and expensive leather bending from the force of your squeeze.  

He has the most professional look on his face you've ever seen from him. “If you’ve forgotten something-”

“James,” you say. You'd said quite plainly only moments ago your intentions. “I can't be a princess.” You soften your tone. “I’m sorry.”

“You are a princess. By blood.”

Sleeping on it hasn't made it a truth that’s any easier to accept. You are biologically the daughter of the late Prince of Genovia. He was your father, and now he’s dead. It is agonising to think of, and so you can’t. You look down at the sketchbook pressed flush to your linen skirts, the fabric plain and yet gorgeously rendered. It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever worn. You wonder if they might let you keep it after you renounce your title. 

“I can't do this,” you say quietly. 

You’re ashamed of yourself, but you really can't do this. You cannot live through your life changing in such a huge way, you aren’t built for it; you've only just learned to function in your tiny flat on your equivalent uni course. You’re finally in a position, as lonely as it might be, where you feel okay with who you are. If you were to accept the task theyre trying to hoist upon you, become a princess, live forever in the limelight surrounded by a better breed of royal, it’ll destroy you.

“You can. Of course you can.”

You look up cautiously. James’ mouth is set in a line. He looked so pleased when he walked in, and he'd given you a compliment subtly and easy as breathing. You worry he wants to take it back now that you’ve thrown in the towel, but he’d never do anything so spiteful. And it’s silly —you’re thinking about a compliment while his life and job are teetering. 

It’s just one of the reasons you aren't cut out for this. 

“It’s your job to be a good judge of character, right? You read people,” you say tentatively. 

He nods. “Yeah. That’s how I know you can do this.”

You set aside your sketchbook and pencil, wringing your hands together as you stand. “You must see it, James. I’m not meant for this, I’m…” Weak, you won't say. There's no use in dramatics. You plaster a smile over your worrying and wear it like you're sure of yourself. “It will be better for everyone if I give up now.”

James looks over his shoulder. Upon his entry, the guard at your side had moved to the doorway to stand with Daniels, and so the room is empty besides the two of you. He takes a step toward you, and he drops his head noticeably. As if he could intimidate you when he's so so sweet. 

“It won't be better for everyone,” he says slowly. “Not for the people of Genovia, they need an heir to take the throne.”

“Julianna–”

“Julianna isn't eligible.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain. But Genovia needs a queen, a good queen, someone with a good heart.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the idea of ruling. “James, you don't even know me. I could ruin everything.”

“You said it yourself, Princess. I’m a good judge of character.”

You fall silent. You don't want to argue with him, you don't have even an ounce of malice for him. 

"You're a princess, you– you haven't even tried," he says pleadingly. 

You trick yourself into thinking James wants you to stay because he wants to be your friend. You know you're desperate for one. Back home, the closest you have to friends are the people who wait at the same bus stop each morning and each night, or your classmates at the college. James could be your friend, you know he would be if you stayed. He's remarkably kind. 

But James wants you to stay for a myriad of reasons. For Genovia. For his friends. 

"I just want to go home," you confess weakly. 

Heat rises to your cheeks and throat, a lump you can't swallow. 

"Okay," James says. "Alright." 

He nods at you, a picture of a perfect professional, and turns to leave. You open your mouth to say something, but you don't have a clue as to what, and by the time he's left the room you've drummed up nothing more than a pitiful, "James." 

You're part way to unexplainable tears when Remus appears. He looks startled at your expression, and you can't make any sense of it yourself, so you mumble, "Please don't ask." 

"Do you want a tissue?" he asks sympathetically. 

You shake your head. 

Remus looks unhappy again, as he had on the plane. His pale skin is nearly grey. You debate asking if he's doing okay, but you've just told him to leave you alone. You assume from his expression he'd prefer the same. 

"Do you want to come have some dinner with me?" he asks. 

"That's okay, I don't think I'll be in need of any etiquette training after all," you say. 

"As friends," he says. "Please. I don't like going down to the kitchen by myself, Marlene harasses me." 

Marlene, a dark haired, dark-eyed girl with a sweetheart shaped face and hands covered in tiny burns, does harass Remus, but not in the way you'd thought. 

"Eat up, Moony," she says, placing yet another plate in front of him, bringing the total up to ten. 

You sit thigh to thigh with him on a small bench set aside in a room just off the kitchens that says 'Staff Only' on the door. Despite this, no one has objected to your sitting down. At least, not yet. 

"Marlene, I physically cannot eat all this." 

"Ah, but the Princess will help." Marlene smiles at you. She seems genuine. "She needs to get used to our cuisine." 

You can't endure the awkwardness of explaining your situation. You smile 'til your eyes crinkle in the corners and take a big mouthful of some mysterious soup rather than speak. 

"Ah, Remus, we've been making bone broth for Her Majesty, it's supposed to do wonders for your heart," Marsha adds. She's the opposite of Marlene but no less beautiful, pale and blonde as cornsilk with fine eyebrows and translucent lashes. In the sun leaking in from the window, she's quite golden. "We can set you some aside whenever we make it for her, love." 

Remus smiles. "Thank you." 

Marsha and Marlene both sequester themselves again behind the huge silver ovens. You've never seen anything like it, a marvel of modern machinery in the industrial instrumentation that heats the room. The windows have been thrown open to combat the thick and fragrant air, but you're still sweating. 

"D'you need a drink?" he asks. 

"I can't get them." 

"Please, Princess. I don't need another person trying to take care of me." He doesn't say it spitefully, but you're sorry all the same. 

"Sorry, I wasn't trying to patronise you–" 

"I know," he says, standing up. "Trust me, I know. You're just being polite, because you're nice." He smiles. "I'll get us a carafe, okay?" 

A carafe. Of what? Do royals drink only from carafes? Is it weird to ask for a coke? You turn your gaze back to the rich foods that have been laid out in front of you and pick up a fork. Then, upon reflection, you swap the fork for the appropriate one, and finish the small portion of chicken ragù you'd set aside. 

"Ah-ha!" a familiar voice calls. "Y/N! Here you are. Is my Remus with you, or are you very hungry?" 

You twist on the bench to face him. "Your Remus?" 

Your question slipped out, really. Sirius grins and sits down to your right. "We have to talk funeral." 

"Oh. Alright." 

He clasps your forearm for a gentle second.

"Sorry. Truly. I'm so sorry for your loss. I promise I'll make this as easy for you as I can, okay? You'll be in the public eye, and I want to make sure you do nothing that anyone can fault you for." 

He has a strange mouth. Not ugly, a million miles from it, but unexpected. It pulls down into a grimace as he talks, his hand patting yours. 

"I won't have to speak, will I?" 

He shakes his head firmly. "No. All you have to do is look pretty and dress well. You're already doing the first part beautifully by yourself, and I will make sure you have plenty of options for the second part, yeah?" 

"Oh, hi, Sirius," Remus says, back with a carafe and two glasses.

"Hello," Sirius says, "did you get asked about the bone broth yet?" 

Remus sits on your other side and huffs. "Yes. Did you put them up to that?" 

"The opposite! I told them not to bug you about it because bone broth sounds a little…" 

"Old-fashioned?" 

"Inhumane." 

You laugh and fail to smother it with the back of your hand. It feels weird because it hadn't explicitly been a conversation involving you, but neither tell you off or give you a funny look. Remus laughs at your laughing and pours your drink for you, a pale orange liquid topped by slices of orange, blood orange and white flowers. 

You take a cautious sip. 

"Have you seen my darling James this morning?" Sirius asks Remus from behind you. 

"Not since he left my room."

You choke on your drink. Hands smashed to your mouth, juice drips down your arms and ruins the bodice of your dress, sticky orange and spit everywhere. The boys either side of you splutter in shock, though Sirius begins to laugh as Remus presses a tissue into your hands. 

"Are you okay?" Remus asks, patting your back. 

"I'm fine," you say hoarsely, wiping yourself down with impressive speed as the heat of embarrassment rises. 

"Something go down the wrong pipe?" 

You're honest by accident, extremely startled by your choking and the subsequent question, "I didn't know James and Remus– that you were– sorry, I was just surprised–" 

"Oh, no," Remus says, sounding almost as embarrassed as you now, "no, we aren't. I mean, he's my best friend. He's like my brother." 

"Oh," you say, squeaking, desperately hoping the ground will open up and eat you whole. 

"We aren't romantically involved," Remus says, and you get the sense that's where he plans to end this conversation. 

"Yet," Sirius whispers in your ear. 

Remus shakes his head at you solemnly. 

Desperate to get away from an awkward conversation despite Sirius' good humour, you stand up from the bench and duck your head at both of them. "Um, I'll just go get some paper towels. Sorry. For spitting." 

"Forgiven," Sirius says easily. 

You rush away from them both out of the alcove and into the main body of the kitchen. Heads turn as you walk, and some staff even take the time to incline their heads to you like a small bow, but you ignore them all and head straight for Marlene. She smiles when she senses your approach, full lips cherry red and shiny as she asks, "Is there something I can do for you, Your Highness?" 

"I'm so sorry," you begin, "I've made a mess, could I get some kitchen towel? Sorry." 

"Of course! Can I have someone come and clean it up for you?" 

"No, please, it's my mess, and you've been gracious enough to allow me in your space. I couldn't have anyone else do it." 

"It's really no problem," Marlene says, but she walks to the utility cupboard south of the huge pantry and produces a roll of kitchen towels for you. 

"Thank you." Then, because you might be leaving soon, and she should know, "I– I've never had so many nice foods at once. I can't cook, at home. Everything I eat is from a jar or a tin," —you cough, worried that was an overshare— "and it's nothing compared to all of this. You guys are amazing." 

Marlene's smile softens. You hadn't realised she was being diplomatic until genuineness welled to the surface of her expression, her eyes suddenly brighter, and her smile unrestrained. "We work hard, and we love what we do. Thank you, Your Highness."

You rub your lips together and nod. Spinning on your heel, you navigate out of the kitchen as quickly as you can without running clean into someone and return to the staff alcove, where Remus and Sirius sit with their heads together, in the middle of a conversation you can't hear. 

You hesitate a few steps away. Remus smiles widely, so widely his face changes completely, and Sirius' hand drifts to his elbow. His thumb presses into the crook, and they both giggle together like kids. You're paranoid that they're laughing at you, and wondering how you could think for even a second that Remus was sleeping with James, when Sirius tucks his hair behind his ear and says, "I can't believe we're finally in the same place again." 

You back away. Not sure what to do with yourself, not sure if what you've already done is the wrong thing. You're guilty, and you're afraid of making the wrong choice, having already made it.

A hand pats your shoulder. 

"Sorry, Mikkelson," you say. 

It's not Mikkelson. James' hand lingers on your shoulder for a half second before he takes a step back. 

"Walk with me?" he asks. 

—

James takes you out to the Palace Gardens. You insist on walking side by side, and he agrees for the most part because here is where you're best protected.

"I'm sorry for leaving so suddenly. I had something to do. How are you feeling?" 

"How am I feeling?" you ask softly. "I don't…" 

"You had some very big news yesterday. So, how are you feeling?" 

You squint in the sun. James supposes you aren't used to it, considering you'd been living in one of the rainiest cities in the UK, which is one of the greyest countries in the world. 

"I feel fine," you say. 

Truth or lie. Probably a lie, but James can't call you out on it, considering your relatively new relationship. A professional relationship at that, the lines of which he has already crossed multiple times. 

He can't help it. You're not weak, you aren't in need of his protection for lack of character —you're quite obviously very brave considering the insane pressure of your situation. Brave, but it's James' job anyhow to be your shield. 

You get this look on your face like you're deep in thought, he's seen it every day since he met you five days ago, and it reminds him of his melancholy friends. He wonders how he's going to get rid of it. 

"I've spoken to our Palace doctor." Even though it is not his job, James seems to have taken on the majority of your care. Your lady in waiting has yet to arrive, and Sirius is rather busy arranging your presence at your father's funeral (and hounding Remus, having missed him dearly). "She would love to have an appointment with you, to assess you, and to adjust for your medical needs. But it's not the physical that I'm concerned about, it's your head." 

"My head." 

"Yes. I would love for you to talk to a counsellor, or a therapist while you're here." 

"What's the point?" you ask sincerely. 

"Your father has passed away," he says. "That takes a toll." 

"I didn't even really know him." You speak so softly to him, like you're worried your voice will disrupt the summer air. 

"I know. That doesn't always make it easier. I want you to experience the compassion and care that you deserve, that's all. If you don't want to talk to anyone, I understand. But if you'll humour me, I'd appreciate it." 

"When… do you want me to see her?" 

"The doctor?" James winces at his own surprise. "You can see her whenever you want to. She's completely at your discretion." 

"Oh, okay. Well, when is best for her?" 

James doesn't smile, but he wants to. "I believe she goes home to pick up her son at six. So before then would probably suit her best. But she's on call twenty four hours a day and paid well, I promise." 

"Okay. Um. Well, how do I do that? Make an appointment, or?" 

"I can make it for you. Or Sirius can."

"I can't make it myself?" 

"No, you can. Do you want me to call for someone to get her? Or you can ask the phone to connect you?" 

You stop walking at your slow pace and turn your body to the beds of flowers lining the path. Small and dainty flowers much like a Californian wildflower bloom contained to rows. 

"Would you mind doing it for me?" you ask. You sound shame-faced. 

"No, I wouldn't mind. When do you want to see her?" James asks. 

"Not today, please. Maybe tomorrow." 

James makes a mental note to ask you about it tomorrow. She really is on call —there's no need to make an appointment. But there's also no need to correct you and no need to worry about it now. 

"The Prince, may he rest in peace, will be buried in five days. You're sure you don't mind staying until then?" He doesn't want you to leave, but the memory of your plea twists his guts. I just want to go home.

"I–yes. Of course. I owe it." 

James doesn't know about that. But the Prince never did any harm to you, though he never made any efforts to take care of you, and so it won't hurt for you to attend. Still…

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. I know that Lily and Emmeline stressed that your presence was desired, but that's political. It's the image of the country, of our country. And the UK, who's royal family, as you know yourself, are deeply embroiled in scandal and, ah, what's thought to be empty rhetoric." 

You're starting to look rather frazzled. James decides to pull back his professionalism a touch. 

"Genovia protects the image of the Royal family because they've seen how ire builds in other countries. Deserved ire. They want it to seem as though you are cohesive, cooperative, and not–" 

"A secret." 

"Yes. If you'd gone to Oxford, they would've lied," —he shouldn't be saying this, for the record— "and said you'd been extradited for your safety. Or spun some tale about a normal childhood." 

"But I'm a drop out who lives in a one bedroom flat." 

"Yes." He watches the side of your face. Your eyes are glued to the flowers and unwavering. "I don't think there's any shame in that." 

"Thanks," you mumble. 

You don't believe him. He doesn't mind. He has plenty of time to convince you of your worth. 

"Would you like to pick some of the flowers?" he asks. 

"I don't want to ruin anyone's hard work." 

"They won't mind." 

You crouch down, reaching for the flowers. Your fingers weave through the dark stems of gorgeous purple and pink flowers, their colours so marvellously vibrant yet their shapes elegant enough to suit. You choose a purple flower with white edges and pick it gently. After a moment, you pick a second. 

You stand, holding the flowers between your thumb and forefinger. 

You clutch your flowers like small lifelines as he walks you back into the palace. You worry audibly about the location of your new sketchbook, and don't seem to like it when one of the guards who'd been watching you this morning seamlessly removes himself from a wall with the book in hand. 

James asks you what you want to do and you don't know. You aren't hungry, you aren't in the mood for movies or music and it might seem disrespectful for you to be seen at the theatre —not that James thinks you would spend much time there anyhow. You don't want to do anything at all, so James suggests that you retire to your private quarters and have some time to yourself. 

He takes up station by the door, listening to the dull scratching of your pencil for a good hour. He wonders if, occasionally, you're talking to yourself: there isn't much to go off of, the suggestion of your voice rather than the reality. You could be humming. You might be clearing your throat. 

An hour later and there's silence. 

James pulls his radio from his shoulder. Guarding you when you aren't up for talking is, unfortunately, rather dull. And he worries what it is you're upto; quiet is indicative of absence. 

"Sirius?" he asks the radio. 

Sirius does not often wear a radio, and he has his pager even less. It's a wonder he gets anything done. 

"James?" Remus asks, his voice crackling over the channel. 

"Hey, is Sirius with you?" 

"He's not. He's assembling a potential funeral wardrobe for Her Highness. Do you want me to go look for him?" 

James almost laughs. "I have people for that. Mikkelson?" 

He can practically hear Mickey's groan at being picked on before the man picks up his radio and says, "Yeah, sir?" 

"Find Mr. Black, won't you? Thank you." 

Hoping Sirius is on his way, James knocks your door. 

He, professionally (and he is trying so hard to be a professional), should call you Princess or Your Highness. But both titles make your skin crawl now that they're fact, so he opts for neither. 

"Are you alright in there?" he asks. 

You don't answer. James sighs and eases open your door. He wouldn't usually, not every silence is ominous, and your privacy is a right, but your safety is the priority and at the moment you're a high level target whether James agrees with that assessment or not. If he were to ignore protocol, and you were annihilated, he would go to prison for a long, long time. 

You're asleep at the desk. 

James is honestly surprised. It can't be comfortable, and your bed is probably one of the comfiest in the world with a state of the art orthopaedic mattress and duck-down pillows and quilts. What's worse, your desk chair is solid wood and likely fifty years old. The crick in your neck and the damage to your back will be extraordinary. 

And yet, it isn't James' job to wake you up. 

Professionally, James should leave. He should go back to his posting at the door. He has no need to wake you. 

You're frowning in your sleep. When you wake, he imagines you'll have graphite rubbed into your cheek. 

James sighs and leaves the room. 

"You wanted to see me?" Sirius asks, sounding spritely as he walks down the hallway toward him. 

"Hello," James says, and if they were in school he would stand up from a slouching pose against the wall and collect Sirius into a bear hug, slapping his back, maybe pulling a lock of his hair while saying something flirtatious. 

He stands at rigid attention. 

"Drop the stance, my love," Sirius says. James snorts. "There's no one here to see you." 

"It's not the point." 

"I know. What did you want? I'm quite busy." 

"Could you start carrying your pager, please? Or better, a radio? Then you wouldn't have to cross the entire building to find me." 

"You could've called me?" Sirius suggests. 

"I don't have a phone while I'm working." 

"Well, that's silly."

"I was…" He lowers his voice. "I'm worried the Princess is lonely." 

"Then go talk to her." 

"I can't. You know as well as I do that the point of my being here is to protect her to the best of my ability, and that requires an unaffected point of view. I can't give her my full attention while giving her safety my full attention, that doesn't add up." 

"Then grab a couple of other men and then go speak to her." 

"This is my job, Sirius. I'm paid to do this." 

"Not paid to make sure she's in company," Sirius says. He smiles at James like he's won the argument and James, brimming with brotherly affection, wants to chop him in the stomach. 

"Her mental health–" 

"Yes, I know. Just as important as physical. And while you wear the badge with pride, James, it still isn't your job." Sirius leans against the wall opposite. The hallways here are huge. It is quite the gap. "I was thinking I'd make her an appointment with Cindy." 

"She said she'll make one tomorrow." 

"Oh, brilliant. You know, Cindy's getting a divorce?" 

"I didn't know that," James says. "How do you know that?" 

Sirius taps the side of his nose before crossing his arms tightly across his chest, looking smug. "She's very single now, Jamie. And very pretty, she's a redhead." 

"Sirius…" 

Sirius stands, stretches and meets James at your doorway. "Okay, fine, I can see you're not in the mood." 

"It's not because of you." 

"I know that, thanks," Sirius says, stepping on James' steel-capped boot as he pushes past him. 

"Sirius–" 

Sirius pulls his hand back from your door handle. "What?" he asks.

"She's sleeping. Try to wake her nicely." 

"If she's sleeping, why does she need company?" 

James nods toward your door insistently. 

Sirius does as he's being asked because he's a sweetheart with entirely too much time for James, despite also being on the clock. James can't see anything from his position, but he can hear your conversation. 

Sirius lets himself into the room. He likely shakes your shoulder with care as he says, "Princess Y/N, poor darling, are you alright?" 

"Sorry," you say scratchily. Here James thinks you might've lifted your head and discovered the crick in your neck. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to be somewhere?" 

"No." There's an unmistakable fondness in Sirius tone, hiding just beneath the practised facade that comes with working for Royalty. "Do you want me to help you into bed? Or call for an attendant?" 

"No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… Sorry. What did you need?" 

"I have some clothes picked out for you to wear to the funeral proceedings. I want your opinion, but I don't need it right now. You can go back to bed if you like." 

"No," you say. James feels for you. No, no, no. "I can do whatever you need me to." 

"Why don't you freshen up, first? James stole you at dinner, I'll go have him order something sweet to the fitting rooms, alright?" 

"Yes. Thank you." 

"You're welcome."  

Sirius emerges from your room and gives James an elbowing. "You could've woken her up. You're not heartless." 

"I'm technically not allowed in there if she doesn't permit me." 

"She doesn't know that, and I'm sure she'd prefer a wake up call than to be left like that." Sirius rubs one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Sorry, I'm not shouting at you. But I really don't think you need to worry about permission and not speaking to her. She's not Julianna," his voice drops to a murmur, "she doesn't think she's above us." 

"I don't care if she does," James says honestly. Not because he thinks you should feel superior, but because he learned a long time ago that people do, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. "Mary's back tomorrow. If she catches even a whiff of how I've been behaving–" 

Sirius holds James' gaze. "Poor girl had pencil on her face." 

"Yes." 

"They're going to eat her alive." 

"Probably." 

"But we won't let them," Sirius says. 

"Not willingly." 

Sirius nods. "Are you coming with us?" 

"Yeah." He checks his watch. "Couple hours left yet 'til six. Are you off at the same time?" 

"No, are you kidding? I finish at three like a normal person." 

"That's not normal. Ever heard the phrase nine to five?" 

"Normal compared to the royals, who work never to never." 

James shushes him. Sirius shushes James back. 

"Are we ready to go?" you ask. 

James grins at the shock on Sirius' face, as if to say, What, you didn't hear her? Even though he'd barely heard your approach himself. A picture of politeness, Sirius ushers you down the hallway with him. 

You trek down onto the first floor, through the huge foyer and into the main section of the palace hiding behind the grand banquet hall. Here resides the fitting rooms, not too far from the servants quarters in case the tailors or maids are required. 

Sirius calls for an attendant despite the horror on your face at the suggestion as he leads you into the biggest fitting room. It's almost like a shop, in that it houses racks upon racks of clothing no doubt loaned in for Sirius' perusal. 

He drags a smaller rack to the centre of the room. 

"How do you feel about trying things on? Do you need a partition?" Sirius looks at you for a few seconds. "I'll call for one." 

You look like you've been slapped. 

James clears his throat. "He knows you're shy," he says. 

You take that much better. "Yeah. I do want the partition. Please." 

James weighs up the possibility of your possible murder and decides the chances are still too high to offer to leave. He truly won't be able to see you behind the partition, and it's not worth the administrative hell in any case. He hates how his job makes him constantly aware of how you might be murdered, but he likes knowing he could protect you with force. It evens out. 

"A fancy education may have helped me be where I am today, but it doesn't account for style or taste." Sirius smiles, propping himself on the arm of a suede armchair. "Which is my saying that you don't have to like what I like, and if you hate stuff just say. I won't be offended, Your Highness." 

"Please, no Your Highness," you murmur. 

"James says I dress like a socialite with too much money and not enough taste." 

"I do say that," James says.

You laugh under your breath. "Well, I'm sure you've better taste than me. I've never been to an event like this, I don't want to embarrass myself, so, um, don't let me." 

"I won't," Sirius says. 

Sirius understands the fashion tastes of the elite even if he doesn't personally enact them. He passes you an outfit, and you disappear behind the propped up partition to change. With the windows closed and the curtains drawn, only the overhead light is in play, and your shadow is reflected onto the floor to the left. James averts his eyes. 

You try on a couple of outfits. James tries very hard to look as though he's not paying attention to your squirming unhappiness at the fit and look of your clothes. You get more and more embarrassed as time moves forward. The attendant Sirius summoned, a tailor named Melinda, offers suggestions of alterations and what she thinks would suit your silhouette most. 

"Do I have one?" you ask.

"A silhouette?" Melinda asks, a push pin in between her teeth. "Sure you do." 

"My stomach–" 

"Is that a problem area?" Melinda asks. 

"I thought so–" 

"If you're worried, we can find something that fits the to the chest and loosens at your abdomen," Sirius says, "but I don't think you need to worry." 

James agrees. You aren't skinny and James isn't stupid, he knows the immense stigma surrounding your body type must have battered your self-esteem growing up, but he thinks you're pretty and that you've a lovely shape to you. The idea that you have to hide certain body parts when there's nothing wrong with them in the first place has him biting his tongue, wanting to comment and knowing he definitely should not. You've looked nice in everything you've put on, smart and proper for an unfortunate event. 

"I don't know," you mumble. 

Sirius has amazing crisis averting senses, having micromanaged a spoiled narcissist for years. You don't require nearly as much petting or fawning, and you aren't throwing a tantrum either way. 

"Let's finish for today," he says. "We can look at everything with fresh eyes, and I'm off at three."   

James cringes and Melinda looks at him like he's grown a second head; you don't mention the end of a shift in front of the royals. He knows this, and he knows that you don't know this, so Sirius is absolutely pushing his luck. You're a thoughtful girl —you immediately agree. 

Though that might be on account of how you look like you've been thrown a life raft. "Okay, thank you," you say, beginning to put clothes back on their hangers. 

Sirius waves you away. "Leave some work for the rest of us, Your Sweetness." 

Again, second head. 

James opens the door and takes you back through the maze of the Palace before Sirius can commit a sackable offence. You're as quiet as you've been all day, your footsteps the only proof that you're present as you climb the steps to the second floor. 

Professionalism, James thinks. 

"I think you looked nice in everything," he says. 

The opposite of professionalism. Oh, he could vault over the bannister. 

He just wanted to see you smile today, a real smile, or at least hear something sure in your voice that proves he's made the right decision. That you won't be totally miserable if he convinces you to take on the mantle. 

"Yeah?" you say, though you don't give him any time to answer. "I don't– I don't want to look good for a funeral, it's a funeral, but I know it'll be on TV, and maybe in the newspapers, so I don't want to be badly dressed and I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to even like…" You nibble your lip for a while before heaving a big sigh. "Sorry, I'm doing this again, I'm giving you jobs that aren't your job." 

"It's relatively easy to tell you that you looked good. It's not a job." 

"You don't have to comfort me, is what I mean." 

"That's also easy… and it will definitely be in the newspapers. For a long time."

"Oh, sugar." 

James holds his hand out as you trip up a short step, but you don't fall, and you don't need his offered help. He tucks his hand behind his back again and follows your lead. 

"Newspapers, the news in general, people, they can all be very, very horrible, but I think the focus will be on your DNA, rather than your outfit. I mean, the gossip rags and tabloids will absolutely pick you apart, but they do it everybody, and I won't let you read those." 

People are cruel. They don't even realise it. 

"Whatever outfit you choose, you'll look good, and people will hate it anyway," he says. 

"That sounds awful." 

"It is. But… they can't stop you from being you. It's better to do what you want to do without worrying about how it'll look to everyone on the outside. You should do what you think is right." 

Okay, he's not exclusively talking about clothes anymore, but his point stands. 

"What if I look like an idiot?" you ask him quietly. 

"You'll look like an exceedingly well-dressed one." 

A sharp veer. Even the word 'professionalism' is starting to annoy him. 

"Don't stress, yeah? We'll work it all out tomorrow." 

You rub your elbow as the two of you approach your room again. "Thanks, James." 

He's on a knife's edge here. Break the rules and face Mary's wrath. Stick to them blindly and drive you further and further from the crown. 

James, selfishly, needs you to want this. And if you need a friend, a real friend, to do that, then he can toe the line. He decides it right there on your door jam.

"Princess," he says, "I have to talk to you about something." 

"Okay… what is it?" 

"When you go home, I'll be coming with you." 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! if you did, I’d love it if you let me know <3 also sry the next part should hopefully be delivered faster lol

[cococaffeinated]

Do you think Jax would routinely check on Kinger and Gangle throughout the night with the worry of them abstracting? And maybe one of them sees him sneaking in or out of their rooms?

Oh for sure! I imagine he's methodical about it. He'd stay awake for an hour... maybe two after the "sun" goes down. Just to make sure he minimizes running into other characters.

But there's always room for the unforseeable scenarios, and Jax may try to be sneaky about it but he's bound to get caught whether he wants to be or not. Characters reacting to finding Jax sneaking around, below:

Ragatha

Assuming this is after the pilot episode, she wouldn't be surprised about Jax going in and out of rooms and sneaking around. I can see her squaring up with the intention of confronting Jax on the spot, assuming his intent is to torment. But curiosity softens her stride when she realizes he's just left Kinger's room with a relieved expression. And even more curious that he seems to be bracing himself to enter Gangle's room. Not one to snoop but needing answers, Ragatha politely waits for Jax to exit Gangle's room to ask, "What were you doing?" Jax would be surprised to find Ragatha, annoyed even, to be caught by her. Mostly because he doesn't want to be truly perceived by the one character who tries so hard to see the good and positive in others. He didn't need that reminder about himself. "Nothing..." He'd say a little defensively, then grin like a chesire cat. "What's Little Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes doing snooping around in other people's business?" It's a deflection tactic, one that works because Ragatha is sure to fluster about being caught snooping. He gets to avoid the topic but his gestures that night is one that's filed away in Ragatha's mind as something to pester him about another time. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Zooble

I'd like to think that Zooble is just naturally low-energy with high-empathy which is why they're seemingly constantly exhausted. They'd probably be be in their room all the time if they could help it. So it will come as no surprise to Zooble when they catch Jax sneaking in and out of Kinger and Gangle's rooms. "Again? You checked the other night too, didn't you?" Zooble's deep and raspy voice makes Jax jump out of his skin. After all the effort he took to close Gangle's door so quietly, Zooble's voice slicing through the silence scares the proverbial asshole out of Jax.

He doesn't bother to mask in front of Zooble if it's just the two of them present. Zooble doesn't normally give a shit— well, they do but they rarely made a big deal of most things which Jax appreciates. They were cool, in ever sense of the word... Except when they're the near constant victim of Caine's outlandish itinerary for the day. "Every night is different, Zoob." Jax simply answers, an easy full-bodied shrug rolling over his shoulder. Zooble eyes him for a moment, seeing the relief spelled across his face. Zooble hums, nodding. "Fair enough... want to smoke a b$@!% in my room?" They finally ask, not poking more than they need to. Another thing Jax appreciates and wonders if he even deserves. But if anyone can let slide a lot of his transgressions, it was Zooble. He could vibe with them most days, they were always such a mood too, if he was completely honest with himself (which he rarely was, at least outwardly). The tension immediately relieved, Jax lets out a laugh, "How did you get a hold of that??" "I can't tell you all my secrets, Jax." (Jax finds out later that Zooble doesn't have anything but a platic toy pipe that dispenses bubbles and it's the closest thing to a joint, unfortunately.) ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Pomni

Poor thing would definitely be sleepless the first few days, so the chances of Pomni being the one to bump into Jax in the middle of the "night" is very high. "Watch where you're going, half-stack!" came out the aggrevated stage whisper from Jax. The words 'I'm sorry' nearly leaves Pomni's lips but she swallowed her own trepidation and frowns deeply at Jax's rudeness. She was trapped in a liminal hellscape, but that didn't mean she was resigned to be a digital circus doormat for the resident jerk. "It's literally @$$ o' clock, I didn't think anyone would be walking..." she huffs, shakes her head and looks at Jax. Really taking him in, he looks less relaxed. More on edge. "What are you... even doing up?" Jax smiles tightly, it looks smug... but it also strained, "If you're not too chicken, you could follow me and find out for yourself. Or go back to your room and mind your own business." And just like that, it seemed like a challenge. Pomni thought Jax was a real piece of work but he seemed equally preturbed that she was still following him around despite his ominous invitation, so that was enough to make coming along with him seem like a win. It surprises Pomni to learn that Jax's goal was just to check on Kinger and Gangle, they were quiet for the most part. Until it was time to part ways. "Sooo..." Pomni starts, but Jax cuts her off. "Shut up, not a single word." "Okay, just one... one question." Pomni asks quickly before Jax can use his long legs to his advantage in walking away real fast. "Fine. Spit it out." "The centipede you mentioned to Ragatha?" Pomni asked, trailing off. Jax raised a brow, a genuinely smug smirk returning to his face. He seemed more natural like that, oddly enough. "I don't know where to get an ant much less a centipede, use that information how ever you want, half-stack. G'night." And with that, the rabbit hurries off. Leaving Pomni with more questions about his true character than answers.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Caine

"My, my! It's quite late for you to play a game of treasure-hunting all by yourself, Jax!" Jax had a hand to his chest, whipping around and looking up in shock. Only to find Caine floating just above him... A rare occurence for the ringmaster to be checking on any of them this late at night. "Caine! Jeezus... yeah I was, just..." Jax sighed, shaking his head. "I told you already... I'm not treasure-hunting." he muttered. Caine simply stared, patiently it seemed, with unblinking eyes betwix a row of teeth. Completely unaffected by Jax's prickly response. "But you also don't like calling it "checking in on others", you made that clear last time I caught you lurking like this," Caine smartly retorted without a hint of malice or sarcasm. Jax grunted, brows furrowing, unsure what to make of Caine. He wasn't a friend... not really, but these few little private encounters with the digital ringmaster were definitely counted for something that resembled a strange sort of friendship. "Right, I did say that, didn't I." Jax responds with a hint of ire, mildly exasperated. "You don't have to go with me, I just want to check on—" "Kinger and Gangle, yes I guessed! I want to tag along! You can't play treasure-hunts all by yourself after all!" Caine insisted cheerfully, giving Jax a conspiratorial wink of an eyeball as if to say no one else would know he secretly worried, and secretly cared. And Jax rolled his eyes in return, flustered perhaps and maybe even appreciative of the company, if he could ever admit that. "Yeah, whatever, just keep it down, will ya. You're gonna wake up the whole circus."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

[mausinly]

Baby fever got me thinking abt ghost and kids <3

Ghost finds himself leaning against a stone wall, fiddling with the straps of his gear as he listens to the bustle of the locals. He's in a more rural part of the city, one half full of shops and restaurants and the occasional pub (of which Ghost is waiting for Gaz and Soap outside of), the other half being a neighborhood on the other side of the cobblestone wall behind him.

It was meant to be a more casual mission, gather some intel and do a bit of a stakeout. Gaz and Soap would chat with a man that has information for them, while Ghost waited outside in case there was trouble or they needed to make a quick escape. After a few hours, he quickly realized this wasn't much of a mission at all.

It was peaceful though, a breath of fresh air compared to the adrenaline and bloodshed of his usual work. He was debating on calling it all a bust and dragging his boys back to base when a small sound hit his ears.

He went silent for a moment before he heard it again, a small whisper of a voice beckoning for his attention.

Ghost lets out a sigh. "The hell...?" He looks around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

"Psst. Up here." A small voice calls from... above him?

Ghost looks up to see a face peering down at him from the top of the stone wall, a few meters above him. A small child, a little girl with short, red curls, peeks over the stone to look at him with big brown eyes.

The two of them just stare at each other for a few beats, observing one another warily until the girl speaks up.

"Are you a soldier?" She asks him with a surprising amount of confidence, speaking with a bluntness that only children seemed to possess.

Ghost pushes himself off of the wall to turn and look at her fully, glancing back at the pub to check for his team before looking back at her.

"Affirmative." He says simply, giving a little nod before falling back into silence.

The girl looks puzzled at the unfamiliar word, but uses her context clues to conclude that it means yes. She steps up a little more, crossing her arms over the top of the wall to look down at him better.

"My nana was a soldier... I think." The little girl says, her tone a little uncertain. "My mum said she used to fly planes and we have a picture of her with a bunch of medals."

"I've never seen a soldier in real life, though." She adds.

Ghost can't help the small chuckle that rumbles from his chest at the child's observation. "That so? Your nan sounds pretty interesting." His eyes crease as he smiles up at her from under his balaclava. "I'll let you in on a little secret... being a soldier's pretty boring a lot of the time."

The girl gives Ghost another quizzical look, blinking those big doe eyes at him. "How? Don't you get to fight bad guys and shoot big guns?"

Ghost supposes she isn't wrong. A lot of his work does include diving headfirst into enemy territory, fighting the desert sun and blowing up old "friends". He still lets out a small laugh at the girl's naivety. Ghost wonders if he'd ever been that innocent once, maybe when he was a toddler and the cruel world his father built hadn't yet beat down on him.

"Sometimes." He says finally. "But there's also a lot of sitting—waiting for things to happen. And paperwork." He tacks on.

The girl makes a face. "Like taxes?"

Ghost nods solemnly. "Like taxes."

The girl makes a soft, long "oh" sound before they fall into silence. Ghost looks back at the pub, half hoping to see Soap and Gaz walk out and half hoping they stay inside so he can keep talking to this silly little kid.

"My names Ginny, by the way." The girl pipes up. "What's yours?"

He debates in his head for a moment. "Ghost." He says finally.

Ginny makes another face. "Ghost? Like a dead person? That's a funny name." She says bluntly. "Is it a nickname? Technically Ginny is my nickname."

Ghost listens as she rambles a little, waiting for her to finish so he can answer her questions. "Yep, like a dead person. And yes, it's kind of like a nickname."

"Do they always give you silly names in the mil-militry?" Ginny tries to ask, scrunching up her face a little as she struggles to pronounce "military".

"Sometimes." He says again. "Sometimes you choose your own, sometimes it starts as a nickname that sticks around."

"Did you choose yours?" She asks.

"No." He replies.

Before Ginny can bombard him with any more questions, a voice calls from somewhere far off, making the girl look behind her. She calls back to whoever is summoning her and turns back to Ghost.

"My mum's home, I've got to go." She says, her tone a little flat as she seems disappointed to leave.

"Alright. I'll see you around, Ginny." Ghost bids her farewell. "Be good for your folks."

"I will! Bye-bye, Ghost." The girl gives a determined nod, waving goodbye to him before stepping down and disappeared behind the other side of the wall.

Ghost stands there for God knows how long, in his own little world until Soap walks up behind him with Gaz in tow. The sargeant claps him on the shoulder about how the mission was a bust and apparently the man didn't have all the info they needed. Thankfully, he'd have what they needed at a later date. All Ghost hears is "we'll be coming back here soon".

[cherrychilli]

MDNI, NSFW, AFAB reader, Steve x Shy reader, inexperienced reader, oral sex(F), light pussy spanking, lil bit fluffy? just a smidge

Very much into the idea of Steve discovering his shy girlfriend's collection of steamy romance novels. I had to add a few lines from the first steamy book I ever read when I realized it was released in the 80's. For funsies and just because it happened to fit well in this little nugget of smut hehe.

On the outside they look just like any other cheesy novel, nothing on the covers that suggested otherwise. Completely ordinary looking with softly colored pictures of sun swept countryside's, flowery English gardens and misty meadows. Steve had never wondered about them, having seen them lined neatly on your shelf for as long as the two of you have been together. Even today, they still hadn't piqued his interest but you were yet to finish your shower and he had grown bored of waiting. He isn't selective when he pulls the nearest book out of its place, not very thick and small in his larger hands. The Bride, he mouths the title, looking and feeling unimpressed. He doesn't bother reading the back, choosing to settle at the foot of your bed and flip through it lazily. He lands on pages at random, face scrunching up at the mentions of highlands and lords and arranged marriages. Not his preferred reading material, he confirmed. He skips further ahead, not giving too much attention to the words until...

She tried to cover her breasts by bringing her knees up and leaning forward. "I don't have any clothes on" she informed him.

Steve paused. He goes back and reads it again, this time more carefully. He then wedged a finger between the pages to keep track of his place, quickly turning the book over to glance at the cover again to see if he'd misremembered it somehow within the last five minutes. It's the same as earlier, completely unchanged from his memory. Sprawling green hills, grazing horses and what looked to be a castle in the distance is all that's pictured. Not the kind of book he'd expected to find mentions of nude women being intruded on. "It can't be", he doubts still, flipping the book back open and reading ahead to see if he was really seeing what he thought he was.

Before she could even think to ask him what in heaven's name he was doing, he had her flat on the bed. She didn't have time to blush...

His brows raise slowly, interest very much piqued now. "Oh Princess", he lets out in a low chuckle, lips stretching into grin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting", you stepped out of the bathroom, smelling of peach scented body wash and dressed in your cotton shorts and pajama top. "What do you want to watch tonight?", you asked the boy who was yet to acknowledge you, only mildly curious to see Steve intently paging through one of your books because you couldn't see the cover with the way it was angled towards his lap.

"How about we read instead?" he lifts up the book to reveal the title to you, his lips pulled into the most smug looking smirk you thought possible.

Your body blazes when realization sinks in, eyes going wide with horror. You never thought to hide any of your raunchy books before. You didn't have all that many to begin with and they blended in seamlessly with the rest with their inconspicuous covers. You didn't see the point of tucking them away, letting them sit on your shelf in plain sight. You realize now that may have been a mistake.

"Sweetheart, you had me all fooled", Steve stared you down, looking so very amused. "Made me think you were some innocent little church mouse and here you are reading about...", he looks down at the book again, reading the first line he sees out loud with the widest grin, "her lips so soft, so pliant and when his tongue finally sank deep inside her warm mouth..."

You release a high pitched squeal, running to him to try and snatch the book away before he can read any more. "Steve no!, put that away!", you yelp helplessly but he holds it above his head and out of your reach with ease, craning his neck to read off another sentence with exaggerated glee, entirely too pleased with the circumstances, "I want to touch you the the way you touch me, please? your body belongs to me as much as my body belongs to you doesn't it?"

"Steeeeve!", you pound your fists on his broad chest, feeling a hundred degrees warmer.

He's laughing still but he takes pity on you then, handing you the book as you take it and clutch it to your chest.

"Baby baby, relax ok?", he places a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, laughter ceasing when he notices the troubled look on your face. "It's no big deal, there's nothing wrong with reading about that stuff, you know that right?". You knew it. Of course you knew it, even if your body betrayed you with a tumbling sense of embarrassment that you had found impossible to shake all your life. You answer with a little sniffle, peering up at him through your lashes. "In fact I'm glad you've opened up to it in a way you're comfortable with. I know when we...try things you're a little reserved", he offered gently.

Your face drops then, worry bubbling inside your belly because the last thing you wanted was for Steve to think that you didn't enjoy yourself with him. "It's not because I don't like it! I do! I really like it when you touch me, Steve!" you jump to reassure him only to reflexively shield your burning face with your hands when you realize how forward your little outburst made you sound. You hear him chuckle in that familiar way that he always did when you worked yourself up, feeling him tug lightly at your hands to pry them away from your face. "That's good because I really like touching you", he lets you know with a tender smile and a quick wink.

You relax a little again, looking at him apologetically, trying to explain. "It's just- I feel.."

"Shy" he finished for you. "I know, baby. I think it's cute", he rubs a thumb over your cheek gently. "And I'm sorry for teasing you", dipping down to place a kiss on your cheek in apology.

You smile for the first time since your stomach flipped at the sight of your not so secret book in Steve's hands. "It's ok", you accept. "I just wish I could be more...you know, assertive? And more vocal about what I like".

He looks down at you thoughtfully, mind working until his eyes light up. "Tell you what. You up for some fun?", he cocks an eyebrow up at you suggestively. "Because your book's given me an idea and I think I could help break you out of your shell a little"

You're more than a little intrigued to find out just what he's come up with. "How?"

"Again", he instructs sternly from between your legs and your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper when his sticky palm connects with your bare cunt again. It's never too hard but it's enough to make you jolt and whine when your swollen clit starts to throb again. "I'm sorry, Stevie", you let out in a shaky voice, breath noticeably shallow. "Go on" he prompts, tracing a finger along your folds. You open your eyes and try to focus on the page, looking for the sentence you stuttered through and struggled to finish. You'd been doing this for close to an hour now, playing the little game he had concocted for you. The rules were straightforward - you needed to read out the sex scenes clearly. No hesitation, no stuttering, no skipping, no mumbling and if you did it properly, he'd eat you out while you read. But if you messed up, he'd have to punish you, spanking you between your legs. You'd messed up a couple of times now, enduring several slaps on your soaked pussy but did notice your inhibitions starting to melt away, even if much of them still remained. Just means you have to keep practicing, right?

Taking in a deep breath, you started reading, keen to have Steve's mouth on you again. "He forced her fingers around his shaft, then thrust his fingers inside her again to rid her of her fear...", your voice starts to tremble as you read on, barely resisting the urge to moan when you feel him lap at your puffy folds again, all sensitive from his skillful tongue and forceful palm. He made it harder for you when he groaned against cunt, teasing your hole, sucking on your clit and flicking it with his tongue but you don't want the feeling to end, gripping the book tight as you continued "she welcomed the rush of blazing ecstasy consuming her..."