#prompt: separation/reunions

[dent-de-leon]

pulled some cards from the moonweaver deck out of curiosity and I got Death, the Soldier, and Love--

[moonstruckme]

hi congrats on 10k this is sooo deserved!!!! i was wondering if you could write a blanket fort poly!marauders drabble w the prompt “i didn’t have anywhere else to go”? if you already have an idea in mind for this please write whatever you would like to but if you’re open to having something to go off of i was sort of thinking of pureblood!reader maybe crashing a sleepover at potter manor after deciding to leave home because of a similar situation to what sirius went through

Thank you <3

cw: implied family abuse (both for Sirius and reader, though it's left vague what that entailed), takes place after hogwarts, insanely cheesy narration sorry not sorry

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You don’t actually knock. 

You’re planning to. Or, you think you were planning to. You don’t actually know that you had a plan. You just—you apparated here on panic and adrenaline, but Merlin, what the fuck? You’re a mess. It’s the middle of summer, and you’re shaking, your bones rattling around in the hollowness of your body like coins in a tin cup. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. They won’t want to see you. A crushing loneliness digs its fingers into your gut, and you turn to go, but the door just—opens. 

An older man stands on the threshold with a rubbish bag in his hand. His eyes widen to find you in his path, a warm, familiar brown. He says your name. 

You’re surprised that Monty would remember you. You only met once, and you were a child then, trailing behind James and Sirius down Diagon Alley, trying diligently to keep up with their long-legged pace and rapid-fire jokes. He does, though. Monty says your name with a familiarity you didn’t realize you shared and a warmth that makes your chest ache. It feels like you blink and then you’re inside the Potter’s home with him closing the door behind you. 

You can hear the boys in the next room. It’s that unceasing jabber that seems to accompany the marauders wherever they go, sometimes cut through with a bark of laughter or a shout of mock offense, voices rising and falling and overlapping in a cadence you feel like you know even now, but it sounds distant, like the echo of another life. Still, you move towards it. 

Remus spots you immediately as you come around the corner of the kitchen. James and Sirius are too caught up in whatever they’re making—half of the pantry shoved into a blender, by the look of it—but Remus’ eyes lock on yours, the both of you stilling. Ultimately, it’s his aburpt silence that gets the attention of the other two. Monty’s quiet throat-clearing helps. 

Sirius reacts much the same as Remus. Freezing, like he can’t make sense of you here and he doesn’t trust it. James, though—Godric, he looks just like his father when his eyes flare like that. They’re all older than you left them, more adult, and though you’d known they would be it pangs in a way you hadn’t expected. James breathes your name like it belongs to a ghost. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Monty has disappeared—it will never feel less strange to you, how much liberty the Potters give their son with his privacy—so there’s nothing between you and the door. You think it’s best if you go back from where you came. 

“What?” Sirius’ brows furrow in a way that wavers between bemusement and upset. “Why are you—what are you doing here?” 

Isn’t that the question of the evening? You don’t know, either. 

You think James sees this on your face, sees that you’re about to run, because he steps around the counter with his hands held out in a pacifying gesture. “We’re just surprised to see you,” he says. 

And, well, that’s fair. You haven’t seen any of them since your parents collected you at Kings’ Cross after your last year. You haven’t seen much of anyone, honestly. And while you were locked up at home, thinking of your friends and fantasizing about leaving, they were off living their own lives. Now, reunion stings. It reminds you that there was a separation in the first place. 

Your voice shatters as you finally answer Sirius’ question. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” 

James’ arms come around you, and you become aware of the rattling again. You’re rattling yourself apart. He holds you together as best he can, though not tightly. It reminds you that this isn’t his first time. You’re not the first wounded stray to come to the Potters’ doorstep, and James knows how to handle you. 

“It’s okay, you’re alright,” he says into the side of your head, letting you grip him so that your fingers bunch in his shirt. “You can always come here.” 

“I’m—I—” Your breaths come harshly. You taste salt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” 

“Shh. Sweetheart, it’s alright. Why don’t we have some tea, yeah?” 

You’re transferred smoothly into another set of arms. The worn knit of Remus’ jumper wraps around you. He rubs your back and ushers you into a seat. 

Sirius stands over you. He cups your face, that same confusing furrow between his brows. “Are you hurt?” he asks. 

“No.” You want to shrink, but his eyes trap yours. “Not…not in a way that’s…” 

Pain flickers in Sirius’ expression. “Right. Okay, I understand. You’re okay, darling.” 

His touch slips to the back of your head, and it’s all your need to drive you forward, your hands clutching his hips as your face buries itself in his chest. Sirius holds firm as you break down. 

“I know. I know. You’re safe now, baby. We’ve got you.” 

His voice tightens and strains, and you think of the peace you’d stolen from them by coming here. It makes you cry harder, broken apologies stuttering out your lips. 

“Shh, breathe.” Remus rubs between your shoulders. His touch is heavier than the others’, lacking their same awareness of the state of you, but you welcome the ache. “Deep breaths. We want you here. We always want you here.” 

“I just—when I left, I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking—” 

“Hey, didn’t you hear Remus?” There’s a gentle teasing to Sirius’ tone now. “Breathe.” 

You don’t feel like you deserve to, but you try for their sake, forcing air in and out of your nose. Sirius’ shirt smells like laundry detergent. You wonder if James’ mother washed it for him. 

“There we go.” His nails scratch at your scalp rewardingly. “I think we’re all glad that you didn’t think, sweetness. However you ended up here, we’re happy about it. Okay?” 

You sniffle. The clink of porcelain against the table turns your head. James is setting a cup of steaming tea in front of you, diluted with cream to just the color you like. 

“I wasn’t invited,” you croak, just to him. “Your parents…” 

His eyebrows lift. “My dad brought you in, didn’t he?” 

You have no reply to that. 

James smiles. It’s not his happiest, but the sight of it lightens something in you anyway. “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart. Consider it an open invitation, alright?” He nudges the cup toward you. “Have some tea.” 

So you pick up the tea James made for you, with Remus’ hand on your back and Sirius lingering by your side like he plans to stand between you and the outside world. It tastes like coming home.

[bixels]

Learning that fans hated Applejack and called her "boring" is crazyyy to me because I genuinely, unironically believe AJ's the most complex character in the main six.

Backstory-wise, she was born into a family of famers/blue collar workers who helped found the town she lives in. She grew up a habitual liar until she had the bad habit traumatized outta her. She lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age, having to step up as her baby sister's mother figure. She's the only person in the main gang who's experienced this level of loss and grief (A Royal Problem reveals that AJ dreams about memories of being held by her parents as a baby). She moved to Manhattan to live with her wealthy family members, only to realize she'll never fit in or be accepted, even amongst her own family. The earlier seasons imply she and her family had money problems too (In The Ticket Master, AJ wants to go to the gala to earn money to buy new farm equipment and afford hip surgery for her grandma).

Personality-wise, she's a total people-pleaser/steamroller (with an occasional savior complex) who places her self worth on her independence and usefulness for other people, causing her to become a complete workaholic. In Applebuck Season, AJ stops taking care of herself because of her obsessive responsibilities for others and becomes completely dysfunctional. In Apple Family Reunion, AJ has a tearful breakdown because in she thinks she dishonored her family and tarnished her reputation as a potential leader –– an expectation and anxiety that's directly tied to her deceased parents, as shown in the episode's ending scene. In The Last Roundup, AJ abandons her family and friends out of shame because believes she failed them by not earning 1st place in a rodeo competition. She completely spirals emotionally when she isn't able to fulfill her duties toward others. Her need to be the best manifests in intense pride and competitiveness when others challenge her. And when her pride's broken, she cowers and physically hides herself.

Moreover, it's strongly implied that AJ has a deep-seated anger. The comics explore her ranting outbursts more. EQG also obviously has AJ yelling at and insulting Rarity in a jealous fit just to hurt her feelings (with a line that I could write a whole dissection on). And I'm certain I read in a post somewhere that in a Gameloft event, AJ's negative traits are listed as anger.

Subtextually, a lot of these flaws and anxieties can be (retroactively) linked to her parents' death, forcing her to grow up too quickly to become the adult/caregiver of the family (especially after her big brother becomes semiverbal). Notice how throughout the series, she's constantly acting as the "mom friend" of the group (despite everything, she manages to be the most emotionally mature of the bunch). Notice how AJ'll switch to a quieter, calmer tone when her friends are panicking and use soothing prompts and questions to talk them through their emotions/problems; something she'd definitely pick up while raising a child. Same with her stoicism and reluctance at crying or releasing emotions (something Pinkie explicitly points out). She also had a childhood relationship with Rara (which, if you were to give a queer reading, could easy be interpreted as her first 'aha' crush), who eventually left her life. (Interestingly enough, AJ also has an angry outburst with Rara for the same exact reasons as with EQG Rarity; jealous, upset that someone else is using and changing her). It's not hard to imagine an AJ with separation anxiety stemming from her mother and childhood friend/crush leaving. I'm also not above reading into AJ's relationship with her little sister (Y'all ever think about how AB never got to know her parents, even though she shares her father's colors and her mother's curly hair?).

AJ's stubbornness is a symptom of growing up too quickly as well. Who else to play with your baby sister when your brother goes nonverbal (not to discount Big Mac's role in raising AB)? Who else to wake up in the middle of the night to care for your crying baby sister when your grandma needs her rest? When you need to be 100% all the time for your family, you tend to become hard-stuck with a sense of moral superiority. You know what's best because you have to be your best because if you're aren't your best, then everything'll inevitably fall apart and it'll be your fault. And if you don't know what's best –– if you've been wrong the whole time –– that means you haven't been your best, which means you've failed the people who rely on you, which means you can't fulfill your role in the family/society, which makes you worthless . We've seen time and time again how this compulsive need to be right for the sake of others becomes self-destructive (Apple Family Reunion, Sound of Silence, all competitions against RD). We've seen in The Last Roundup how, when no longer at her best, AJ would rather remove herself from her community than confront them because she no longer feels of use to them.

But I guess it is kinda weird that AJ has "masculine" traits and isn't interested in men at all. It's totally justified that an aggressively straight, misogynistic male fandom would characterize her as a "boring background character." /s

At the time of writing this, it's 4:46AM.

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 What If....

You ask him to leave the uniform on? 🥵🥵🥵🥵

I am feral over this. FERAL. Literally chewing on my own arm because I need to calm down. Your prompts always get me going. I totally blame you for this. Now, I went with a little variety here. We've got Kyle in formal military dress, John coming home from deployment, Johnny returning on break for a quickie, and Simon playing out a pre discussed fantasy. Enjoy!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, CNC, breeding, restraints, welcome home sex, quickies, formal events, semi-public sex, unprotected piv, sex in a car, dirty talk, brief knifeplay, light degradation

Word Count: 3.3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John’s return is delayed.

He was supposed to come home to you a month ago. But it wasn’t him that notified you about his postponed reunion. Someone from SAS contacted you via the post. The envelope held a singular piece of paper. No apology. Just black ink on a white sheet with an official letterhead. John has always been good about making sure you know when he’ll return. It's something you constantly worry about.

While on a mission, you won't hear from him—this you know. But whenever he is able, John makes an effort to let you know when to expect him or if he's okay.

To not hear from him is odd, and it stirs up all sorts of emotions, pushing your brain toward any number of possibilities. Each scenario appears briefly before sliding into another. They worsen—and then you’re sick, stomach twisted into a tight knot.

That piece of paper is on the kitchen counter. Untouched—but not forgotten. It said yesterday. And yesterday, John did not return.

You’re chewing on your fingernails. Pacing. Stressing.

It's the familiar squeak of the doorknob from the front door that finally stalls your racing thoughts. All that mental energy becomes physical. You're sprinting, throwing yourself at John the moment he enters.

He chuckles—the sound is pleasant and soothing to your heart.

“Didn’t think you’d be home,” he says, drawing you close.

Your answer is to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, and seize a kiss from him that says so much. You need John to know how much you’ve missed him—how worried you’ve been.

His hands on your hips tighten, squeezing slightly as he melts under your kisses. Each one is desperate. Needy. You savor him like you’ll never know this again. John's grip on you is firm, and much stronger than you can resist. He draws you away from him—not enough to create a separation—but enough to talk.

“Slow down, love. Let me look at you.” His hands move to your face, cradling your cheeks. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," you reply. You pull him close again. "Need you." Just a murmur, hardly audible, but John hears it.

He does not resist. He gives in, accepting your love, answering every kiss and touch with one of his own. Hands roam, fingers cling, and yet you're not nearly close enough. You need him on his back with you atop him.

John breaks away, breathing heavy, lips slightly puffy from kissing you. "Bedroom."

You shake your head. "Right here,” you reply, going in for another kiss. “Uniform stays on.”

The middle of John's brow scrunches slightly in confusion, but your fingers are already looping in his belt buckles, guiding him into the living room. That brief moment of confusion morphs into a sultry smirk.

John allows you to guide, allows you to push him onto his back on the sofa. His hands never leave your body, they roam constantly even as you undo the front of his pants and shimmy them down to mid-thigh.

You have him in hand instantly, coaxing him to hardness quickly. The need for him is a driving force, positioning yourself above him, ready to impale yourself.

John's hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your center. "Your—fuck." The sound of your slickness greets him and John groans.

Placing your hands on his chest, John palms the base of his cock, lining it up. You don't slowly ease down. You drop, accepting every inch of him in one go. There is a brief flare of pain from the rapid intrusion, and then it's gone, replaced with the fullness of him inside you.

With your palms splayed wide, you're able to rock your hips, moving up and down his length in a steady movement that has both of you groaning.

"I missed you," he murmurs as you come back down on him. "Fuck—I missed you."

Your thighs start to burn with every bounce. John's fingers dig into your hips, dragging downward before ascending again. With the next roll of your hips, John meets you, thrusting up. It cuts a sharp gasp from your lips.

He grips harder, taking control. You cling to the front of his uniform, fisting the fabric as John brings you down just as he thrusts upward. It is not sweet. It is brutal and desperate. Each connection drags more pleasure out of you until your head falls back and you clench around him.

With a deep groan, John sits up, and effortlessly flips you over onto your back. Pinned beneath him, there is nowhere to go. All you can do is take what he gives.

John buries his face against your neck. "Love you so much."

You hook your heels behind his legs, urging him on. "Love you," you manage to gasp.

It is all sweat and heat. John's lips graze the line of your throat and then your chin. You turn toward him, the two of you meeting as he holds his body against yours, his release flooding your pussy.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle drapes his arm over your shoulder, tugging you against him, the noise of the function receding with every step. Usually when the two of you attend a formal function together, Kyle is in a suit, but this attendance was requested by Kyle's superior officer, Captain John Price.

Instead of a suit, Kyle wears his formal military dress. The uniform is freshly steamed and free of wrinkles. His shoes are polished to perfection. Like this, he's incredibly handsome. You've been admiring him all night, resisting the urge to touch him too much around people he works with on a regular basis.

"Can't wait to take this bloody thing off," sighs Kyle, lightly tugging on the neckline of his uniform.

You rest your head against his shoulder, savoring his warmth. "I think you look rather dashing."

"Dashing?" he laughs.

As the two of you enter the parking garage, you snag his hat, placing it on your head. Kyle's smile widens. He leans in for a kiss, greedily accepting what you offer him. Removing the car keys from his pocket, Kyle hits the button to unlock the vehicle. The SUV beeps, headlights coming on.

Kyle takes his hat back, holding it with one hand instead of putting it back on his head. He offers his mouth again and you close the distance.

"Can't wait to get that dress off you, love," he murmurs against your lips. “Been thinking about it all evening.”

You place your hand against his chest. "I think I'd like it if you leave the uniform on."

Kyle nearly chokes. "What?" he draws back slightly.

With a mischievous grin, you tug Kyle around the side of the SUV. The vehicle is in a corner spot, leaving the two of you tucked between it and a cement wall. There is no camera and no light. Both of you are hidden in shadow.

No one will notice the two of you unless they come looking.

You lean in slowly, offering your mouth. Kyle places his hand on the side of your throat, thumb slowly rubbing against the front of your neck. The kiss is honey-sweet, and tinted with seductive need. You seek another, and yet another until the two of you are gasping for air.

"Not here," murmurs Kyle, drawing back slightly.

Your hand slides downward, pausing at his belt. Kyle whispers your name, but there is no fight in it. If anything, it is lustful. Fingers toying with the belt, you kiss him again, loosening the buckle and then the front of his pants.

Reaching your hand inside, you find him hard and wanting.

"Someone will see," he groans, grabbing your wrist.

"Who will see us?" you reply softly. Kyle's gaze shifts outward to the parking garage.

"No one is around." You start to descend, opening his pants further.

Kyle's attention returns to you. His pupils expand as you take him in hand, painting your bottom lip with a pearly bead of cum. You present your glossy mouth to him, and Kyle brushes the pad of his thumb across it.

You lightly nip at that thumb, and then take him into your mouth. Kyle stifles his groan, but it comes out as a muted whimper. He gently cups the back of your head as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks when you come back up.

This is just a tease. You want his resolve to slip.

Kyle doesn't break eye contact. He is completely focused on watching you. His dick twitches in your mouth, and Kyle grunts.

"Fuck, love. Come here."

With gentle tenderness, Kyle grasps the back of your neck, easing you off him. You extended your legs, leaning into him.

His voice is slightly husky. "I can't wait until we're home."

Kyle opens the rear passenger door and helps you up into the seat. You slide backward to the other end, Kyle following. With a hand on your throat, he pushes you onto your back. These next kisses are rough and possessive. Hungry. Claiming. You open for him, wanting to consume.

His free hand is gripping your dress, shoving it upward where it collects at your hips. Your tongue meets his the moment his fingers slip between skin and underwear. It is brief, and then he's drawing back only to bury his face between your legs.

Digging your heels into Kyle's back to stabilize yourself, you give in, moaning loudly as his tongue swirls a path up and down your sex. He teases just like you teased him. But it is short-lived.

Kyle is desperate for you. He finds your clit and stays put, tongue working quickly to send you over the edge. Your body shudders, a breathy groan escaping you as the orgasm hits. Still on your back, Kyle ascends, one hand pressed to the inside of your thigh while the other finds leverage against the car door just above your head. You lift your hips slightly, presenting your pussy to him.

He takes the hint, thrusting deep.

He does not go slowly. It is skin slapping against skin. It is all low groans and desperate fingers. His body weight keeps you pinned, and if anyone were to open door they'd have a clear view of his bare ass.

"Don't stop," you beg. "Please."

Kyle's answer is to seize your mouth, to force his air into your lungs, to firmly press his body to yours and swivel his hips, pelvis grinding against clit. Your hands fall on his ass, and then he's transformed. An animal. Rutting.

Surely, the car is shaking, but you hardly care. You only want him to finish. To give you every drop of his release.

You feel his muscles tighten under your hands, and then your bodies are sealed.

There is a small pause between then and the moment he kisses you, this time tenderly.

"So much for waiting," you tease.

Kyle’s exhalation is a pleased one. "Just wait until we get home."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

Johnny's smile is devilish. "Came to see you."

"Me?" you laugh. "You just saw me this morning."

"And it wasn't nearly enough," coos Johnny, grabbing hip and waist, tugging you against him. "Missed you the whole time. Couldn't stay away."

Before you can form a reply, Johnny is lifting you up and onto the kitchen counter. He pushes everything up and out of the way, revealing your pussy to him.

"Johnny!" you exclaim.

With one hand on your thigh, Johnny uses his other hand to remove his belt and undo the front of his pants.

"I came home to fuck my wife." You instantly feel your cheeks grow hot. With a sultry smile, Johnny leans in but doesn't close the distance. "Would you like that?"

You nod. "Yes," you reply, voice nearly a whisper. "But—"

"But what?" he asks. You gesture at him. "The uniform? That stays on, love."

Guiding you wider, Johnny circles your clit with the pad of his thumb. The touch is electric, making you shiver as he toys with your sensitivity.

"Look at that," he purrs. "Look how wet and ready you are for me."

You whimper as Johnny tests your pussy with a finger.

"I think this deserves something bigger. What do you think, love?" He inserts a second and you whimper again. "Use your words."

"I want you inside me."

"I am inside you," he teases, pumping both fingers.

You shake your head, gasping as his thumb toys with your clit. "Your dick, Johnny."

"That I can do." His fingers are gone instantly, replaced with the head of his cock. He holds himself just inside, inching slowly until you've taken him to the base. "We'll have to make this quick. Can't be late and disappoint Price."

Johnny lightly swivels his hips, and then he's holding you in place, thrusting steadily. He kisses your lips, then your cheek. Resting his forehead against your temple, Johnny boxes you in, using your pussy for himself.

"You take me so well," he says softly. "Watch. Want you to watch."

Your gaze shifts downward, locking on to where your bodies meet. Keeping one hand on the countertop to stabilize yourself, you bring the other between your legs, fingers lightly playing with your clit.

"That's it," purrs Johnny. "Come for me."

A brief swirl and you're gone, squeezing hard around Johnny. He fucks you through it, grunting as he increases his pace. With a moan that claws up his throat, Johnny seals your bodies together, and his warmth floods your pussy. He thrusts lightly and stills.

A beat of silence, and then you both burst out into laughter.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, shaking his head.

"You came all this way on a break just to have sex with me?" you laugh.

Johnny leans back, grinning sheepishly. He glances down at his watch, smile fading. "Shit."

He pulls out and steps back, fumbling with his pants.

"Are you going to be late?" you ask teasingly.

Johnny tightens his belt and then helps you off the counter. With a quick kiss to the cheek, he heads out the door.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Every light in the house is off. The blinds are closed and it's completely dark except in one particular room.

The deep red glow calls out to you like a siren song. You stride toward it, moving through the hall silently like a shadow. The bedroom door stands open, revealing the blood-tinged space. From your point of view, nothing is out of place. All is calm and as it should be.

But Simon is here somewhere. Lurking. Watching.

This is what you wanted after all. An idea you passed off to Simon with the hope that he'd indulge your fantasy. Clearly, he took it to heart.

Adrenaline spikes in your blood as your gaze focuses on the bed. Attached to each corner are wrist and ankle cuffs. To be immobile and bred at Simon's pleasure is all you asked for, and here it is.

As you step forward, a large gloved hand slides over the front of your throat, squeezing. Simon is right behind you, and you feel every inch of him. Without even having to look, you know Simon is in full tactical gear. Parts of it dig into your back.

The leather of his gloves squeak as his fingers adjust against your throat. With a little pressure, he tilts your head back and you meet his whiskey-brown eyes. It's all you can see of his face. The rest is shrouded behind a balaclava.

"Do as I say," he growls. "Or you'll make this harder on yourself."

His command sends a bolt of need straight to your clit. Already, you feel a growing slickness between your thighs.

"Answer me if you understand."

"I understand," you murmur.

Simon makes a pleased sound deep in his throat. His thumb rubs a gentle line back and forth over the same spot.

His head tilts, lips pressing against your ear through the balaclava. "Then be a good little slut and get on your back."

Using his leverage on your throat, Simon lightly shoves you toward the bed. This time you turn around, facing him completely for the first time. He's dressed in all black tactical gear. Every inch of him is covered except his eyes, and his large frame fills the doorway.

When you take a step back, he takes a step forward. The backs of your thighs hit the bed, and you push yourself up and on, reclining until you're nearly horizontal. Simon saunters, gaze predatory and observing. His gloved hands hover just above your legs, pausing there before he bends slightly, reaching for an ankle cuff.

Simon glances between it and you languidly. You're not sure what his intentions are, not until he grabs your ankle with his other hand and tugs hard. You yelp, surprised, and then you kick out, attempting but failing to free yourself as Simon attaches the cuff into place.

"You said you understood," he growls, as you sit up to swing on him.

Simon snatches your wrist right out of the air. He hops onto the bed, kneeling as he grabs one of the cuffs for your wrists. Still, you fight and still you fail as he latches it in place.

You're not immobile but you're more restrained than before, movement restricted enough that you can't fight back like you want to. Not that you want to escape.

With a fluidity that surprises, Simon removes a knife from his boot and hooks it under the hem of your shirt. A sharp tug and the fabric surrenders to the blade. Simon tears it further, removing the garment completely.

As you use your one free arm to lash out, Simon is already prepared, blocking the blow and forcing it back to the bed. He attaches the cuff and returns the knife to your clothes, splitting your pants and tossing the remains aside.

You're on your back, completely naked and cuffed to the bed.

Simon's hand wraps around your throat, the knife tip dangerously close to your face. "I was going to worship your pretty pussy," he murmurs. "But I think I'll just take what I want."

It's all a game—a scene. You want Simon to use you, to fuck you ceaselessly, to do whatever the fuck he wants because he can.

Simon flips the knife and imbeds it into the bed above your head. Slowly, he removes his belt, tossing it aside. When he opens the front of his pants and eases them down a fraction, you nearly groan at the sight of his hardness. Simon palms the base of his cock.

"I won't be gentle," he says, gloved fingers pressing against your pussy.

He rubs back and forth, easing a little more from your body before grabbing your hips and slamming home. There is a brief flare of pain from the intrusion and then nothing at all except excitement.

"Your body is mine," he growls as he fucks you. "And for the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to breed this pussy until I'm satisfied."

You are unable to move, unable to do much but take it. Simon is situated between your spread legs, and you have a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of you. If you want an orgasm, Simon will have to grant it. Begging for it won't get you anywhere. You need to be good, and then he'll reward you.

Simon grunts as he thrusts, pace increasing as he nears his end. Watching him is lovely. His groan is lust-drenched, his orgasm sending a little shudder through him that you feel in your core.

Simon's gaze shifts to between your legs where he slowly pulls out. "What a fucking sweet sight," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His cum pools at your entrance, threatening to drip out. Soon you'll be overly full, a mess between your legs and on the bed.

Already Simon is stroking himself back to hardness. "Think that cunt of yours needs a bit more.

[unicornpopcorn14]

Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt during the Lovecraft fight has always been so interesting to me...

Because it's the kind of worry you'd never expect from a character as gruff as Chuuya, who had displayed nothing but hostility towards Dazai so far. Usually, characters that are labelled as "angry" or "anger issues" (which Chuuya is much more complex than that but you get my point) act more as a tsundere type of way when the one they "don't care about" gets hurt. And show their care in very, very subtle ways (ex. their eyes widen, their mouth parts and closes again, etc) before putting up their front once more.

Chuuya, however, is open, and vocal about it. His worry is clear not only to us, but to Dazai himself, the one he shouldn't be displaying the concern to (as per the cliche). Shouldn't it be some sort of secret that Chuuya does care? Isn't that what skk's dynamic has been shaping up to be until now?

I'm telling you- the way my mind blanked when Chuuya just casually.... showed concern not once, but twice, was a sight to see.

Besides, the context makes it much more confusing, because Dazai isn't some rookie, and Chuuya knows that more than anybody. He was the youngest executive in Port Mafia's history, of course he can handle a hit or two. Of course he'd seen him handle a hit or two, sometimes without batting an eye.

Heck, Chuuya himself was hurling Dazai like a ragdoll in their reunion, which was their last meeting. And you could argue that he was going easy on him, but Dazai has mostly withstood the same damage (as far as I could see), and Chuuya was as bitter as ever.

So that kind of contradicts both what we knew of Chuuya so far, and how their dynamic was shaped to be. I mean, that just makes Chuuya a hypocrite, yeah? What makes him care now, all of a sudden? What makes him care at all?

Well, to me, this backasswards reaction implies one (or more) of the following:

- Dazai rarely got physically hurt during their partnership and thus this is an unexpected thing for him to see (during a mission).

- The four years of separation made Chuuya unsure of how much Dazai can withstand physically now. Also the fact that he isn't in the mafia anymore, aka fighting enemy organizations on the weekly, would naturally make Dazai lose his touch in a way, what prompts Chuuya's reaction.

- Dazai getting taken off guard took him off guard which led to panic. Especially since the situation was (momentarily) out of their depth. Seriously wtf even was Lovecraft?

- During the dungeon scene Dazai was an enemy, while in the Lovecraft fight he was as an ally. The difference might be significant to Chuuya.

- This has always been Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt regardless of the situation.

- "Only I can hurt him like that" ahh logic

- Asagiri was still experimenting with their dynamic and thus there are some inconsistencies.

This scenario didn't play out again (after their reunion) for me to exactly determine which one is more plausible, but it is 100% canon for Chuuya to shamelessly show his concern and run to Dazai to check on him before properly dealing with their opponent, which I find to be such an appealing layer to their dynamic, and a good spin on the type of character he gets stereotyped as.

Bonus: Dazai also becomes a softy when Chuuya's hurt, especially post corruption. Dead Apple alone displays that multiple times.

All in all, Skk are doing a terrible job at maintaining their 'hostile' and 'antagonistic' relationship post their reunion. Freaks.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life. 

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 

Your face gains heat. 

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 

You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 

The man forces a weak huff. 

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[fiadoesart]

Day 1: Reunion

Jumping on the lovely prompts for @captastra Illarios appreciation week to try and illustrate some scenes of my fic about these two broken silly little men.

Under the cut I'll put a small section of the fic to give context to this scene

Also sorry if it's messy, English is not my first language and this part was not betad

Illairo finds himself running and scanning through the makeshift first aid camp that the crows helped set up in Minrathos. His heart was beating slightly less than when he was checking between all the fallen. Dust was settling on the ruins of the city and what remains of the blight emanated a faint red light that made him uneasy.

His breath hitched when he finally spots the familiar golden locks between a couple of healers and his feet stop working. They hadn't seen each other since he'd been banned to Salle after the fight with Lucanis.... After Illairo had almost killed his lover after that fool had stepped in front of his cousin.

A pair of lilac eyes were now fixed on his, Illairo hadn't even noticed that his body was trembling when Xerxes started stumbling towards him pushing the healers aside.

Illario's legs finally remembered how to work again and he throws himself at Xerxes, holding him tightly into a deep hug... tears soon follow.

"I....I thought I'd never see you again...."

"It's ok Illario... I'm here, we'll be ok..."

"I'm sorry....for everything..."

"I know..."

The pair stayed in the hug until they are separated by the healers who insisted on checking Illario's injuries as well.

[botchedsundoll]

requests still open? insomniac anon is back

re fluff hcs with a reader who's on a trip? family, work, any reason; just some temporary absence/reunion scenarios

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; absence/reunion hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none!

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; bought ps plus iusy to play ff7 and ff15 again ermmmmm, this is mostly random bs i thought of on the spot😁, also i always think of re5-re6 chris and og re4 leon when writing these but its up to u😘😘, no proofread yikes

C. OLIVEIRA

you’d think he was grieving your loss by the way he was acting

doesn’t necessarily let it show too much into his daily life (for exp. work) but you can still notice he’s not as up beat as he usually is

sends you random photos of the things he gets up to whilst your gone, and half the time they’re things that make you regret even leaving him alone - such as something he’d made in the oven all over the floor as he dropped it by accident, captioned with a single ‘oops’

but you get some heartwarming videos here and there amidst all the chaos and random bullshit. like him fixing the piece of jewellery you’d complained about breaking for so long, or something as simple as him trying to learn to cook your favourite dish to welcome you back

sends you photos of him brushing his teeth every morning. send one back.

yet once you’re back? it’s as if nothing ever happened. INSISTS on being the one to pick you up, no ifs or buts

absolute bone crushing hug, spins you around whilst he’s at it before attacking your face with kisses. he’s missed you, okay?

L. KENNEDY

he tries to ignore your absence as much as possible

tries to keep his hands and mind busy at all times, simply to not think about you not being with him

sends a message daily, asking how you are and if everything’s alright. he’d prefer to call you, but he refrains from doing so as he doesn’t want to disturb you in any way ;(

but whenever you call, you best believe he answers literally on the first ring (if he’s not at work, yet even if he is he manages to somehow answer the phone) and has a small smile on his face basically the whole time you’re speaking with him

tends to start taking less care of himself once you’re gone due to him overworking himself to keep his mind off things. it’s a bad habit, he knows, and he’s guaranteed to have a lecture from you once you’re back

but he doesn’t mind like at all - subconsciously does it on purpose so you dote on him once you’re back but you didn’t hear that from me

long ass hug once you’re back, face buried in your neck as he simply takes in the scent of your perfume once more - until you comment on his eyebags and the lecture begins

a small smirk tugged on his face and a ‘what, worry that much ‘bout me?’

C. REDFIELD

workaholic at heart. so he works even more to make up for your absence

calls you twice a day without fail - once in the morning, once at night just to simply hear your voice and ask you about what you’ve been up to

won’t ever admit it, yet going to bed without you now feels strange. sure, he might sleep flat on his back half the time and be out cold most of the time when you’re just getting into bed, but he can’t help but miss the thought and feeling of you throwing your leg over his hips and snuggling against his bicep. he’s a simple man

hates when you leave because your cooking’s gone. there is genuinely nothing this man loves more than a meal home cooked by you, and having that stripped away from him is, to him, worse than having to deal with all the BOWs and shit at work

claire’s always asking him when you’re back for 2 reasons; 1, she genuinely wants to know to see you again and 2, she loves reminding chris of the fact you’re gone and winding him up about it. sibling love

will literally decide himself that he’s picking you up. whether that be the airport or a whole different city, he’s coming for you himself. you get no say in it

you come running at him and throw yourself against his chest, which prompts him to wrap his arms around you with a small grin on his face

[saleeba]

fool ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)

a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)

you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.

on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off. 

it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.

it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.

instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?

no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.

with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person. 

a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.

jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)

jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤

he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad. 

you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.

you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤

you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.

***

and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends. 

as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.

“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.

“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for. 

“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”

the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.

“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”

you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.

he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.

“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”

jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.

“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.” 

this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it. 

you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.

“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words. 

upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.

***

not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.

“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.

the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though. 

“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”

he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.

instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.

his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other. 

it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel. 

you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.

you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests. 

your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.

you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again. 

the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.

the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.

***

you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude 

you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.

running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.

a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late. 

trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole  – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry. 

“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”

your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”

you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head. 

“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.

you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home. 

“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”

you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.

“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up. 

jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.

he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.

“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,” your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision. 

“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.

jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.

he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.

“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.

he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs. 

once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now. 

“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.

“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely. 

he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.

jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy. 

you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s. 

“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.” 

his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release. 

“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,” 

jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste. 

“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”

the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once. 

“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”

jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.

“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions. 

jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.

a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.

“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.

you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.

“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones. 

“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.

a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.  

he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail. 

the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.

after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.

“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.

“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.” 

you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.

you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.

[grandline-fics]

A Moment On The Lips

DESCRIPTION: Their favourite moments to kiss you

WARNINGS: just fluff

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Kid

WORDS: 696

A/N: Haven't posted in a week and sadly my energy has been super low. I didn't want to post a request and be unhappy or feel like I was forcing something out so here's something quick and hopefully you all like it.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

MIHAWK

One of his favourite kisses with you requires his least favourite circumstances in order to get it; a separation. As independent as you both are, neither of you can deny how much you love and savour the time you spend together. So whether you have your own work to do or he finds himself away on a mission, the long drawn out wait of returning home is made worthwhile in that reunion kiss you share. This time Mihawk has been gone for a month so when he finally sees the outline of  Kuraigana coming into view, his hands twitch in the anticipation he knows all too well and doubts he will ever tire of. 

Entering the castle he shares with you and calls home, he walks the same steps he could take blindfolded until he’s outside the living room he knows you’ll be in. Mihawk pushes the door open and strides inside, a small smile tugging at his lips to see you lounging comfortably on the sofa, the vision of contentment and beauty. You aren’t surprised to see he’s returned but your eyes still light up with joy. You have no need for pretence and don’t hide your happiness as you get up from your relaxed position and approach, always meeting your lover halfway. 

When his hands slip around your waist and yours cup his face, you both melt into the feeling of being in each other’s presence once again. This is what keeps you both going on your time apart and you both know how to savour every second. Mihawk pulls you close and you smile up at him, lowering one hand to curl your fingers around the golden cross on his chest, never moving your gaze from his even brighter eyes. It isn’t until his lips claim yours that you let your eyes slide closed and you respond in a slow deepening of the kiss, letting it build as all the silent ‘welcome home’, ’I missed you’s, and ‘I love you’s come pouring out in the embrace.

KID

Kid’s larger than life presence and spontaneity branches across all aspects of his life, including his romantic relationship with you. He can’t find anything better than the moments he shares with you. To him, you’re everything that matters and the key thing that brings him both excitement and stability. He never wants to just become a predictable partner for you so he loves to catch you off guard when it comes to his affection. So now it’s become a challenge for himself. Every morning when he wakes, he picks a number and that’s how many surprise kisses he has to give you before you both turn in for the night. 

On this particular morning he wakes to see that you’re still sleeping soundly beside him and a wicked grin stretches across his lips. Today the number is one. It’s perfect because you’ll be expecting a number larger than that and you’ll never see this coming. Just as he predicted, you don’t see this coming. You wake with a slow stretch and blink in confusion to find your Captain has already risen for the day and your lips slip into a pout. Normally he gets the first kiss out of the way immediately. You smirk and shrug to yourself, enjoying the mix up. 

By late afternoon however you’re staring at the red haired man suspiciously from across the ship. Still nothing and you know he’s in a good mood so you aren’t worried that you or anyone in the crew had done something to sour his mood. Still you had no idea what he was up to and you sure as hell weren’t going to confront him and demand a kiss, well at least not yet. You had a stronger will than that. 

When you were heading to the dining room for dinner Kid finally launched himself at you. His arm caught you swiftly and spun you around to face him and kissed you hungrily. Nothing truly compared to the way your eyes always shone in the surprise of being pulled towards him before softening and melting entirely into the feeling of his lips against yours. 

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TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa

[cloveroctobers]

CUT TIES — Terry Richmond [Fall Crumbles] 🤎

A/N: There’s enough Terry to go around right? This is inspired by two things…OFC a song + taking another chance at writing something influenced by Love is Blind. Who saw that wasteful reunion?! Anyways that is what this is so get ready for angst.

WARNINGS: Reference to a intimate moment but a line at best?

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11:32pm

FROM: T. Richmond

I Need To Hear Your Voice…Can You Call Me?

Was the text message he sent you, which made you let out a long exhale.

11:43pm

TO: T. Richmond

I’m at work T [Deleted] Terry.

11:44pm

FROM: T. Richmond

I’m Aware. I’ll Feel Better When I Hear Your Voice…And I Know You’re Probably Saying That I’ve Got A lot Of Nerve To Say That To You Right Now…Yet This Will Always Be True, No Matter How Things Ended.

You were glad Terry can acknowledge that he did in fact have nerve requesting a call from you, when the both of you already had that final closure conversation weeks ago…however here he was back again, entering your life whenever he pleases.

Picking up your phone, after watching it ring for a while you debated about letting it go to voicemail honestly. You really didn’t need to hear many more angles about whatever situation Terry got fucked over in. Things seemed to be going well lately though, at least that’s what he tried to portray on social media…which was also new for him.

Always the type of man to be lowkey and out the way but after the exposure of being contestants on a certain love show, he stepped out just a little. It was never too much, Terry wasn’t the type of man to be in your face about his blessings but if things went south, then he had no problem stepping to you if common ground couldn’t be located.

“Hey,” He starts, his deep tone sounded as if he was ready to go to sleep, possibly lying down, whereas you were wired on your night shift, “Sorry for bothering you—

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but to let it slip through your lips, “Are you though?”

He hummed, “Nope, can’t say that I am, to be real with you.”

“Well, can’t ever say you failed at honesty.” You replied with a hint of sarcasm which made Terry chuckle humorlessly, “What’s up? What was so important that you needed to be on my hotline right now?”

It was Terry’s turn to roll his natural underlined eyes but he’s not trying to pick a fight or even think about you with someone else, “…the house is too quiet and I couldn’t sleep. The first person I wanted to talk to, to ease the loud silence…is you. I believe that’s how it’s always gon’ be.”

Not long after you called it quits, Terry closed on a house that he’s been eyeing long before he decided to go on the show. It was meant to be if they couldn’t get it sold. He of course talked to you about it once you were out of the pods, saying how some rooms needed Reno and asked your thoughts on if that could be your main home once married. Thankful that you already had your home that you owned at such a young age, You spoke about how much you already invested in your home and how you had no plans of selling just yet even if you two chose to get married.

Which isn’t something that he wanted you to do but questioned how this would work. He wasn’t down with sleeping in separate houses, although Terry knew it would take time to get everything right, the house he bought was livable and he wanted that with you.

Something that Terry always admired about you is, that you had your own mind and drive to do what you felt was best for you. He respected it, had to really learn how to when you said you two needed to put some distance between you after a final argument got too heated.

“…I’m sure you’ll get used to it at some point.”

“I don’t know if I agree with that.”

Terry listened to you sigh.

“I’m going to say something you won’t want to hear but I’m saying it anyway,” you start as you lightly flick your feathered pen back and forth at the desk, “You’re going to have to get comfortable being alone in that house, Terry. I know you’ve been used to being a lone wolf majority of the time…but you officially settled somewhere now and you’re building a life outside of the danger you once knew. Which I’m proud of by the way but you’re going to have to start finding comfort elsewhere or with yourself because I’m not going to provide that to you anymore.”

Terry was afraid that you were going to say this one day. Usually you both were good at having balance when your relationship was solid, giving each other the space needed and showing up when needed. Everything just took a turn once the chaos showed up again at Terry and his cousin, Mike’s business. This was the first time Terry ever lied to you and that came at multiple costs. It blew up in his face because leaving you in the dark and not communicating with his fiancée? led to being stalked and a home invasion that still haunted you.

Terry would always be sorry for that.

From bliss to passion to heat to closure to yearning. It was all stages of what this relationship was, for Terry it was the process of your love story whereas for you, it was part of your origin story.

“What if I say…I’m finding that’s not what I really want?” Terry speaks, “…That I don’t see much of a future without you in it? We talked through that hurdle, we wished each other the best after the reunion but what if that’s not enough for me? What if we’re each other’s best?“

This was another side you predicted would happen. One thing about you is, your mind was always turning just like the earth spinning on its axis. Which took another turn in your argument, speculating things that weren’t true once you found out that Terry lied about some new men targeting him. You predicted that once you both tried to move on and live without each other, the other would crack. It happened before, a month after the reunion when his aunt invited you to her forty-fifth birthday party. Your friends told you not to go and that night made you weak for Terry Richmond.

So weak you couldn’t feel your legs for days, Terry knew your body so well, had no problem burrying himself deep downstairs in his aunt’s basement, green hues trained only on you, while having your legs in the perfect V over his shoulders, and that man was a mountain.

A dangerous one.

Now it was your turn to fully stand on business and the year was coming to a close so you didn’t need Terry to find new ways in.

That was supposed to be understood but you both fumbled that at the party.

You had enough time to figure out what was best. Of course you experienced the what if’s yourself, been as loyal as they came but a structured life of constantly looking over your shoulder was just not it to you. To no longer feel safe with the man you thought you would grow old with. Now you had the world weighing in on what they’ve seen on their tv’s and online—you can handle challenges—you worked as a nurse on the oncology floor, however you have to be smart enough to realize when it was too much and that was enough to walk away.

“At a time we were,” you finally answered before reassuring, “Everything you’re feeling is valid. I hear you. I’ve been there and got through that. You will too.”

Terry’s silence was as potent on the phone as what he probably felt like the inside of his home was. The scratching of the branch that was too close to his bedroom window was similar to the clawing you were doing to his heart. He didn’t want to lose you for good, call him selfish but he didn’t want to just forget the unique connection you built.

Although he felt disrespected with the way you spoke (yelled) to (at) him during your breaking point, he was willing to come back and work through it but ultimately it felt like there was no trust there anymore. Terry did feel like you were looking for a way out because you two were “too” good together, unfortunately this was too big of a situation to come back from.

The stubborn one out of the two, Terry can sense that you already had your mind made up. Two tough conversations were had, one behind the scenes and another for streamers to dissect and formulate their own opinions on, should have been enough but Terry always kept his cards close. You were his most precious one, yet you were telling him how to store it away back into the deck for good.

“Is this really what you want? To fully walk away?”

A hint of annoyance hits you and could be felt as you start, “We went over this—

“So us going two rounds that day meant nothing?”

Sure it did.

“Terry that was goodbye, you had to have known that. The last hurrah. So let me make it clear this time without raising my voice because I know you hate that—and I’ve been working on it—I’m cutting ties.”

Half expecting the line to go dead, you still find yourself holding your breath as the quiet goes deadly silent. Until you hear shuffling on the other end, Terry’s sitting up on the edge of the bed now, feeling a stress headache arrive right on both sides of his temples which then radiate to the back of his neck.

“I don’t want this to come off the wrong way…but I love you. I need you to know that.”

That was obvious but again, sometimes love isn’t enough.

“Don’t do that.”

“What’s that?”

“Trying to find other angles to make this work. We tried after the big argument—that spark isn’t the same and would never be the same.”

Terry huffs, “Maybe we didn’t try hard enough.”

Grasping at straws, was not necessarily in Terry’s nature. He also knew that statement was just not true. Both of you put your hearts on the line and this was something the both of you would have never taken so lightly.

“…don’t let your loneliness overshadow what can’t be managed. We been made our decision but this is me finally enforcing a boundary.” You inhale air through your teeth before continuing, “You are headstrong, very structured and lived a life that I know nothing about if it comes knocking at our door again. What happens if we brought kids into that? It’s not that I don’t believe you couldn’t keep us safe, it’s the fact that our lives would always be at risk even if it’s not something you intentionally brought to the table.”

“We take risks every time we step out the door. That’s what life is,” Terry tried to reason, “I tried to leave the life I lived prior behind me, which is why I like to keep to myself and not open up. You changed that. I know we’ve been over this countless of times…I just don’t know if I’m ready to completely cut the rope. To never have you around is…a scary thought.”

In a minute, it wouldn’t just be a thought.

“It’ll be as if before we met. I’m not saying it’s easy by any means but I’ve accepted the art of letting go. Ending access to each other for real this time, does not automatically mean we never loved each other or there isn’t any more love there. If we fell back into each other, it would be a repeat of all the pieces we wouldn’t want to live with. It’ll be hard to fake and deal with.”

“Deal with?” Terry echoed in a tone that oozed frustration, “I’d be willing to be a team.”

“Then why wasn’t that taken into consideration when those men shot up your business? Or me being stalked by one of those men at work? Then being followed home.” You felt your blood pressure rising at what you thought you forgave—but everything is a process, “Or when Summer and I went out to lunch, just to find out that she knew about the drive by before I did? Or how I almost got ran over on purpose in the parking garage at work? That didn’t feel like team work. I was in the dark when we needed to continue to be a piece of each other’s light from the damn sun rays. Being the last to know often, did not make me feel like a priority. I feel like that part of you, you wanted to shield me from all the time…so now I’m going to be a shield on my terms.”

Terry Richmond never wanted to be responsible for changing the trajectory of someone’s entire life in a negative way. Although you said the love shared wouldn’t just vanish, it did feel like you thought about it and had time to sit on it.

He could make this easy and give you what you wanted, should have and it was once something he actually agreed to. However people change their minds all the time and he never saw himself falling out of love with you.

It wasn’t about being trained, it was about being in love.

He clears his throat, “I had no intentions on making this conversation out to be difficult…I knew I’d get push back, it’s one of the things I love about you,” Terry says, “I just wanted to let you know that I miss you, that your voice is actually what makes me feel safe and probably always will. And that I hope I’d get the chance to love you more in every lifetime. That was part of what I wrote to you in our vows by the way and I still stand by those words. If I had more time, those words would be actions. I’d make up for it, if you just let me.”

Him saying that over the phone, did make you feel a way. It made the back of your eyes burn but the shield was already in the works of being fully up. You didn’t need to hear this, you never doubted Terry’s love for you but it was over, you had the scissors slowly running along what kept you connected. Terry didn’t get the choice to go back on the agreement, yes people change their minds all the time but there was no time to compromise.

“There’s no use in crying over spilled milk, Terry.” Is all you can say, leaving each other to listen to each other’s breathing before the man is finally hit with the call ending.

He’s left holding on tightly to his phone, taking in the sound of autumn’s whipping air outside of his home. Tossing the phone behind him on the bed, Terry gets to his feet, determination shining his in his eyes while he begins to put his mind elsewhere opposed to holding onto you.

As you sat at the front desk, you snapped out of the dissociation that wanted to creep in, to place your phone on charge. Then grabbed onto some scissors returning back to the craft project you were working on to help decorate this level of the hospital for the holidays.

Snip!

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More autumn anthology prompts here.

[acesgayhusband]

Kinktober 2024 (One Piece)

List from @dreamlandcreations

Every day has been filled! Tysm for all the requests!

Also I did replace some but it’s kinktober which means I can do what I want and some of those prompts I just didn’t wanna do.

1. First time (Zoro)

2. Wet Dream (Garp)

3. Foreplay (Sanji)

4. Biting/Marks (Bartolomeo)

5. Forced Orgasm (Marco)

6. Reunion Sex (Ace)

7. Spanking (Crocodile)

8. Praise Kink (Law)

9. After Care (Sanji)

10. Orgasm Denial (Zoro and Ace) (separately)

11. Choking (Law)

12. Authority Kink (Shanks)

13. Pregnancy (Shanks)

14. Makeup Sex (Zoro)

15. Overstimulation (Ace)

16. Begging (Law)

17. Fingering (Law)

18. Face Fucking (Smoker)

19. Hate Sex (Ace)

20. Body Worship (Corazon)

21. Thigh Riding (Kid)

22. Size Difference (Katakuri)

23. Sleepy Sex (Shanks and Mihawk) (Separately)

24. Forced Marriage (Law)

25. Somnophilia (Zoro)

26. Breeding (King)

27. Accidental Stimulation (Sabo)

28. Lactation (Sanji)

29. Edging (Ace)

30. Age Difference (Crocodile)

31. Sex Pollen (Zoro)

[bloodstainedsapphic]

bartender mattheo riddle

i'm a slut for AUs and this one quickly shot up to being one of my favorites for mattheo.

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge, the prompt i went off of was 'firewhiskey/butterbeer'

3.7k words | nsfw | minors dni | f!reader implied | drink responsibly | wrap it

As you tread the once-familiar cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, the rhythmic click of your shoes provides a temporary distraction from the storm swelling inside your thoughts. For such a lively village, the action around you feels distant, too far in the past to offer any respite similar to the steady cadence beneath your feet. 

To outside viewers, you appear as any young person donning a modest party dress and looking for a casual spot to unwind for the evening. They wouldn't know this was your first visit to Hogsmeade in over five years since you finished your schooling at Hogwarts. You had left the highlands, your small hamlet, for bigger, better things—or so you had thought. 

Reality didn't guarantee such promises you had dreamed of in those few years. Currently barely making ends meet and running on a general sense of uncertainty, you decided it was as good a time as any to revisit your hometown and the magical communities surrounding it, including this cheerful wizarding town you had frequented throughout your adolescence. 

You first tried your luck with the Three Broomsticks, but the bustling atmosphere proved too overwhelming for the discreet return you aimed for. With the decision between the rundown Hog's Head inn and a newer, more upscale establishment called 'Celestial Sips,' you opted to see what this new 'fancy-schmancy' spot was all about. 

You stealthily step through the polished entry doors to scan the venue, which is dimly lit beside faint golden lights. It is adorned with oddly shaped furniture more suited for artistic expression rather than usability. It appears far more modernized than the traditional charm most common with Hogsmeade’s businesses, young wizarding folk undoubtedly curated it with heavy inspiration coming from muggle cocktail lounges. 

The existence of the bar itself in a place such as Hogsmeade wasn't the most earth-shattering part of this night out. It was when your eyes met with the lead bartender, and a flood of memories filled your senses as you realized it was none other than Mattheo Riddle.

His dark curls were unruly as ever but fell in such a way that made him irresistible. His piercing dark gaze caught yours, sparking with recognition. The scar across the bridge of his nose was just as prominent as it was six years ago, as vivid as the day you had dragged him to the hospital wing to get his split nose mended after a particularly grueling fistfight. 

That memory also reminds you just how close you and him once were. While you had never officially dated, you did everything a couple would and then some. You shared countless fun late nights, as well as having been there for each other during the more trying ones. And although sexual intimacy didn't come until after graduation, the passion of those post-school days also remains etched in your memory. It was your decision to pursue "bigger things" that had cut that short, leaving you with a lingering sense of what might have been.

Despite the distance between you as you reeled from the shock of encountering him here, you couldn't help but notice the changes in Mattheo over the past five years. Mattheo exuded a confidence far from the troubled boy you once knew at school. He had grown taller, broader, and even more handsome than before. He was also now littered with tattoos that only added to his allure, tempting you to bridge the distance separating you further. 

Your knee-jerk reaction would have been to flee the scene, but since you had already met eyes and he was actively beckoning you forward to the bar as you battled with your thoughts, you had no choice but to participate in the unexpected reunion. 

You sat at a bar stool, and Mattheo quickly welcomed you with a warm but distinctively husky tone. It was clear that Mattheo was struggling to mask his excitement over seeing you as he tried to maintain some professionalism while behind the bar. 

"The greatest stroke of luck I've encountered since taking the job at this fancy joint," Mattheo started with genuine delight, "I can't believe it's you. You look fantastic," his quick work of sweet-talking you did the trick as your cheeks flushed, though still totally sober. Mattheo was also swift in amending that, sliding a vodka cranberry before you with a nod, "On the house. Let me know if you want something more 'refined' for the setting; I just went with an old favorite." 

You let out a soft giggle, drawing the straw to your lips to sip the drink. The sweetness of the juice masks the burn, perfectly balanced to not overwhelm from either end. 

With Mattheo's excellent job of putting you at ease, you finally replied. "Indeed, you always teased me for not being a whiskey drinker. Old habits die hard," you quipped, taking another sip before continuing. "But, look at you! A bartender? Mattheo, I must say, I'm thrilled to see you here and not, well.." your words lingered away at the implication, realizing it might not sound as encouraging as intended. There were all sorts of rumors of him headed to a life of dark wizardry, so seeing him here was a relief. But he didn't have to hear about any of that, not now. Quickly shifting your approach, you perked up to suggest, "And at this luxurious place? While I appreciate the old favorite, I would love to see what magic you could conjure up in a cocktail glass."  

Mattheo laughed and shook his head momentarily before piping up again. "Seems your confidence has skyrocketed. I'm glad to see that, princess," he teased with a cheeky smirk, earning an eye roll from you that only amused him further. You again feel a little heated at the nickname, opting not to question it. You could see that the mischievous glint in his eyes was alive and well as he began meticulously combining various expensive-looking drinks and mixers just for you. Simultaneously, Mattheo tended to other existing patrons, expertly traversing the sprawling bar to ensure everyone's needs were met and drinks stayed filled. 

Observing how Mattheo carried himself with such assuredness only heightened your attraction. Each movement he made to speak with patrons and craft drinks allowed you to appreciate his muscled physique. You were no better than a groupie ogling his toned, tattooed arms, his hands still bearing faint scars from his past. The sight of his veins flexing with every motion ignited a fire in your stomach that you hoped wouldn't consume you entirely.

His broad shoulders and slim waist were accentuated by his dark button-up dress shirt. That caught your attention, as did when your gaze moved downward and drifted over his perfectly sculpted behind. You were abruptly snapped from your desirous stupor when the object of your admiration set a much fancier cocktail before you. 

"Like what you see?" Mattheo asked with a smug, teasing tone, causing you to want to disappear into the ground beneath your stool. You must have been less-than-subtle about checking him out, but he didn't seem to mind as he continued without further ribbing. "Try that. It's the Mattheo special," he said, watching you intently to see how you reacted to the first sip.

You smirked at the oh-so-creative name and then inspected the drink itself. It was rather extravagant, a lavender purple hue with swirls of gold shimmering with every swish of the glass. 

Without hesitation, you lifted the glass and took a small sip. A delightful combination of blueberry and lemon overtook your tastebuds, almost completely shielding the strength of the alcohol in the drink. Hell, you were prepared to question if it was mixed at all had you not watched him pour at least a shot's worth of vodka into it.

You gave him a smile of approval, to which Mattheo grinned widely, clearly pleased to see you liked it. With the other patrons momentarily tended to, Mattheo rested his elbows on the counter, surprising you with his sudden proximity as he leaned forward, suggesting he had something enticing to say. 

"I hope this isn't too forward, but I'd really like to catch up," Mattheo spoke in a hushed tone. It sounded innocent enough, but the question, paired with his gaze lingering on your figure, told you he meant anything but. "Would you consider sticking around till close?"

Yes, yes, yes! Your internal monologue screamed. On the outside, you locked eyes with him and smirked, your expression conveying you understood his intentions well. "I don't have anywhere else I want to go; I can stick around." 

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

You were cautious with your drinking to avoid getting too intoxicated for your later plans with Mattheo. As the closing time for Celestial Sips approached, you remained near the counter, bantering with other patrons. Mattheo delegated cleaning duties to other employees while he called for final rounds and closed tabs. Each time your eyes met, a shared twinge of excitement passed between you.

After another hour or so, Mattheo finally shut down the lit 'open' sign, leaving you two together alone. While this is what you wanted, your nerves welled up upon the realization that it was just the two of you here. A hint of insecurity came over you. He had grown to be such an attractive, confident man, and you could only hope he found you equally appealing. That line of thought was interrupted when Mattheo began approaching you. His expression, filled with hunger, was directed at you. His captivating eyes combined with the deep-brown locks drooping over his forehead implored you to swoon from where you sat.

"Merlin, princess, you have no idea how much I've missed you," Mattheo murmured, his voice brimming with seduction as he closed the distance, his hands finding their place on the curve of your waist. “Please let me know if you want me to slow down at any time." His words echoed in your ears, bringing you comfort even though you felt wholly prepared to surrender to all of his desires. 

Mattheo advanced until your back pressed against the front of the counter. His lips found the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with a trail of wet kisses in their wake. A moan escaped your lips as his actions ignited your longing for more; everything you had wished his hands on you would feel like coming true. However, the heat was cut short far too soon when Mattheo suddenly took a pause from all of the heavy petting.

"You seem tense," Mattheo remarked with a hint of concern. You promptly reassured him with affectionate pecks to his cheek before admitting, "I just hope I'm good for you." His eyes briefly darkened as if displeased by your hesitancy. Suddenly, both of his hands moved to cup your cheeks, and he gazed deeply into your eyes.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on. I meant every word when I said I fantasized about a moment like this with you for years," he confessed. The sincerity in his voice compelled you to trust him, leaving you with no doubt about whether he wanted this. 

Seeing you take his words to heart, Mattheo's expression then lit up, clearly having a lightbulb moment. "If you're ready, this place is chock full of drinks to help us both loosen up a bit," As soon as he mentioned it, you felt almost silly having overlooked the idea, realizing that some liquid confidence was the answer to easing your nerves. You nodded, and Mattheo took his hand in yours and gently guided you behind the bar counter.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, and you instantly replied, "I do."

In one swift motion, one hand made its way to the back of your head and the other to the small of your back so he could pull you into a passionate kiss. Your tongues found each other in a dance, his dominant side quickly winning over as his tongue protruded into your mouth. When you briefly pulled away to catch your breath, your cheeky side showed itself when you gently tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. He moaned slightly, to your satisfaction, and you took advantage of the moment to run your hand over his chest, feeling the muscles underneath that dress shirt. You finally had Mattheo Riddle all to yourself, and you wanted all of him.

Without warning, he grabbed you by the hips, pulled you close, and spun you around to bend you over the counter. One hand curled around your hair to create a makeshift ponytail, the other wasting no time grabbing a bottle of fire whiskey within arm's reach and placing it beside you. 

"I'm sorry, doll. I know you love vodka, but whiskey is perfect for tonight." 

You looked up at him with doe-like pleading eyes as he gripped your hair, nodding as much as you could though restricted by his hold. He grinned wickedly over your enthusiastic consent before looming over you with a dominating presence. "Open up that mouth, princess."

Your lips slightly parted as Mattheo brought the open bottle of whiskey to your mouth. He poured a shot's worth down your throat, the intense heat burning on your tongue without anything to chase it down. Yet, as Mattheo force-fed you the drink and whispered praises in your ear about how you 'take it so well,' the burn of the whiskey transformed into a divine sensation, exhilarating in the best way. The bar counter was the only thing stopping you from melting to the floor as you became weak in the knees, your aroused state especially susceptible to his praise.

Mattheo lifted the bottle away from you to take a swig, holding you to the counter with a heavy palm against your back. He sighed, satisfied by the burn.

After a moment, he turned his attention back on you and pulled your hair to the side, hastily marking your neck with suctioned kisses and nibbles. At the same time, Mattheo's fingers ghosted down your back, caressing your ass and jolting you with a swift spank, finally reaching underneath your dress to stroke your cunt through your slick panties.

"Merlin, princess, after seeing the way your lips wrapped around that bottle, I wanted to fuck that pretty mouth so bad. But feeling how goddamn wet you are for me, I'm not sure either of us can wait for my cock to be inside your perfect, tight pussy."

His long fingers moved away from your aching core, reaching up and now brushing against your lips. "Will you wet my fingers a little more for me?" he asked in a voice too enticing for such an indecent request. You immediately allowed him to intrude your mouth, his fingers already covered in your taste though he had just barely begun to touch you. "We have to prepare that pussy don't we?" he groaned into your ear. You were distracted as his hardened cock ground into your ass between the fabric of your dress and his trousers.

You could tell he was beginning to lose himself as he seemed enamored by the way your mouth slipped over his fingers, swirling your tongue around them in a show of desperation to please.

Once content with your wetting of his fingers, he pulled them from your mouth and went back to exploring your panties, pushing them aside to tease your folds before slipping the first of his fingers in. It was seamless, not surprising for you, having lusted over him the entire night.

"Fuck, you're still so tight, doll. I have to stretch you out, so this feels as good for you as it will for me."

After a few moments, he introduced a second finger to your soaked cunt. He didn't move at first but gradually began pumping them inside. He could have cum on the spot witnessing your frenetic response to just two fingers.

"Careful, princess. If you want to come on my fingers, you need to beg for it." The words sent a shudder of desperation through your entire body, legs threatening to give out from underneath you as the artful use of his fingers in tandem with his dirty talk brought you toward your first orgasm, unable to resist it even if you tried. Mattheo kept his movements steady as your eyes rolled back and your walls clenched around him, a deep voice leaving the back of his throat to growl, "that's it, ride my fingers, you little slut," His tone this time was demanding, you knew he was displeased by your disobedience. His untamed, hungry expression evolved into something more conniving as he contemplated how to punish you for cumming without permission.

"You like that, huh? A slut who couldn't wait to beg? I should put my cock inside you and make you cum until you can't stand it anymore, then, hm? Do you want that? Cry for it, princess, or you're not getting it." 

You quickly fulfill this command with desperate pleas, "Please, Mattheo, please, fill me with your cock." 

"Fucking hell, princess--if I wasn't about to bust, I'd have you begging more. Desperation sounds fucking delicious rolling off your tongue," Mattheo growled against your ear as one of his hands haphazardly moved back to his trousers, hastily unbuttoning them to allow his needy length to spring free and press against you. The relief of finally freeing himself caused a deep groan to slip past his lips which only seemed to increase his urgency as his hands quickly found their place on your body again, yanking your dress up over your ass and delivering a forceful slap to your exposed flesh. You yelped and squirmed reflexively from the sting, much to his delight. "That's my fucking ass, don't forget it," he groaned with a certain smugness at the sight of his handprint forming on your skin.

"Please, Matty, please fuck me," you pleaded with a nearly pathetic level of desire. With that, Mattheo decided not to waste another second before indulging you. He took hold of your hips, guiding his cock to your slick folds, and slowly started to ease himself inside of you. 

You gasped at the intrusion, reveling in the stretch, but Mattheo cooed praises to relax you enough so there was little discomfort as you adjusted to his size. "Fuck, you fit around me so well. perfect pussy, perfect girl." he groaned as he could feel your wet warmth surround him. “is this okay?"

"Yes, please keep going."

Mattheo used the makeshift ponytail of your hair to lift your head and press his full weight against you onto the counter. His hips began to move, thrusting slowly to start until he was absolutely sure you could take him. With you now sandwiched between his body and the cold surface, he worked up to fucking you at a relentless pace, the base of his cock clashing against your ass as he bottomed out inside of your cunt. The hand steadying you by the hip reached up to wrap around your throat, squeezing at the sides enough for you to feel his strength but not enough to cause pain. It seemed almost to be a reminder for himself not to completely lose to the animalistic urges as he continued to increase the intensity. Your pelvis clanging against the bar didn't matter; you always like it rough, and he knew it.

"Princess, oh gods, I don't know if I'll last." He moaned into your ear paired with short, hot breaths. "You feel so fucking good; I wanted this for so..fucking...long." he sang his praises between each punctuated thrust that hit just the right spot inside of you again and again. The repeated stimulation triggers your second orgasm, your walls clenching around his cock as a choked moan barely escapes your lips- the sound being caught by his firm hold on your neck. 

"We're fucking meant for each other, babe," Mattheo grunted as you rode through your wave of pleasure. All you could do in your cockdrunk state was mewl in response, which fueled his ego. "Perfect dumb slut for me, you love taking my cock, don't you? Tell me how much you love my cock," his dirty talk turned more degrading as your most depraved desires inched closer to showing themselves on the surface. 

"Love your cock Matty.. mhm so good..." 

"Good slut. Now, say you're mine," he commanded, completely frenzied with his pacing. 

"I'm yours." you babbled with complete devotion. Mattheo groaned as you so willingly gave into his possessiveness, the very idea of owning every part of you being the tipping point to let his release out inside of you. His rutting became erratic and slowed as he rode through his orgasm, the last few pumps matching your third orgasm in stride. 

He then laid limp on top of you, letting out heaving exhales to regain his composure. For the moment, he left his cock to twitch inside of you, relishing in the warm feeling. Once convinced he could get up properly, he pulled out, leaving your pussy dripping with his cum as his entire body lurched over you.

"That was perfect, you were perfect. Best stroke of luck in ages," he mused with a throaty chuckle, recalling his first words when you locked eyes at the beginning of the night. "Can you walk?" he asked, mostly teasingly because the shaking of your legs answered that question without a doubt. 

"No," you spoke softly, the giggles you had at the beginning of the night starting to return even if your mind wasn't still fully there from the back-to-back stimulation. 

With this, Mattheo decided to hold you for a while longer. You had a lot of catching up to do and piecing together both of your stories to find out how, after so many years, you still ended up right here. But for now, the shared presence was enough. 

------------------ huge thankies to @slytherinslut0 for coaching me through this. i was very spooked to share. love y'all <3

[kataang-week]

Kataang Week 2025 Prompt Voting has begun!

You can vote for your seven favorite prompts HERE.

A huge thank you to everyone who submitted prompt ideas and shared the announcement post!  There were roughly double the number of responses this year, which was incredible.

And please do not be discouraged if prompts you submitted or voted for get cut - as always, there will be a free day in addition to the seven main prompts.  This means you can use any of the prompts that were initially listed - or come up with your own ideas!  

Voting will close at the end of the day on Sunday, June 15th! This is to ensure that there are six weeks to work on the prompts.

Please reblog and spread the word!

Prompts that were similar to each other have been combined, just separated with a slash. For example: Glow/Glowing. Some submissions were longer than the one to two words/short phrases limit, so those longer phrases were not accepted.

In total, we had nearly 300 prompts submitted and then consolidated into 194 prompts this year. Thanks again to everyone who submitted!

Due to the delays (apologies again), this will be the only round of voting. If there are not 7 (or a few more) clear favorites, the Tumblr and Twitter mod teams will select the remaining prompts for this year.

We have tentative plans for another event later this year and intend to begin planning Kataang Week 2026 at the usual time next year (January/February) so that there will be plenty of time to submit prompts, go through multiple rounds of voting, and give everyone ample time to work on as many of the prompts as they want.

- The Mods

Prompts cut because they were identical or too similar to prompts of the last three years (we have had Jealousy, Cultural Exchange, & Reunion twice in the last three years).

Jealousy

Protectiveness

Disguise(s)

Cultural Exchange/Culture Sharing

Parenthood/Mom & Dad/Shared Parenting

Healing/Healing Hands

Proposing

Rain

Confession/Confessing Love

Drunk

Reunion

Injured

Traditions

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 6.9 K Warnings: flashbacks to THAT NIGHT. Prompt: Why is it that potions is always so problematic? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Not proofread

Chapter 67: What’s On My Mind

“Hey, hey!” Remus said as he tried to catch up with you. “Wait, Luv, please.” 

You turned around to look at him. He had hastily left the potion on the table and followed right behind. “Sorry,” you muttered, as he caught up with you. You were already a few metres away from the door. 

“What he said,” Rem started, “It’s not true.” He’d been listening in to the entire conversation as he packed things. 

“It feels true,” you said bitterly. “I mean, when you actually think about all the things that happened that night; if I had stayed with Reggie, my mother would be alive.” 

“You would have never allowed them to torture Nina. No one in their right mind would.” 

“But back then, I was the only one in the right mind, which is the same as being the only crazy one.” 

“What?” he asked, slightly confused.

“Perhaps a lunatic is simply a minority of one… He might be alone in holding that belief, and if alone, then a lunatic,” you quoted.  

“That’s…” he said as he stared at you and then muttered, “from 1984.” He then turned back to look at you, and almost accusingly he said, “I gave you that book!” 

“Exactly!” you retorted. “If I hadn’t done anything, only one would be dеad.” 

“If you hadn’t done anything, you wouldn’t be able to live with that choice.” 

“But I can barely cope with the one I made anyway!” You said, a little louder this time. Tears were prickling your eyes. 

“If you could turn back time, would you let it happen?” 

“I wouldn’t have caused the fire. I would have thought of something else, I could have–”  Remus pulled you into a hug before you continued to ramble about it. “I’m sorry,” you said. Not needing Rem to repeat the words he’d already told you. 

In a different situation, you might have never gotten out of there alive.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” you repeated as you hugged him a little tighter. “It’s just… I miss them.” 

“I know,” he said as he held you a little closer. He looked back at the door, and he saw some other students leaving the classroom as well, he knew you wouldn’t want anyone to see you crying, so he nudged you softly. “Come, let’s go somewhere else.” 

“Yeah, okay,” you said as you separated from the hug and blinked away some of the tears that had stubbornly fallen from your eyes. You still hated crying in front of people, but it was, for some reason, much easier to cry in front of Remus and Sirius than it was to cry in front of anyone else. 

Remus walked you to one of the seemingly infinite secret passages of the school, and the two of you started walking towards the little nook with the fireworms. 

“It feels a little lonely now that they’re not here,” you said as you looked at the empty house you’d built for them.

“I know,” he said as he too looked at the emptiness. He wasn’t sure if you meant Nina and your Mother or Pyro and Nummie. 

After the prank, the professors called in an expert to relocate all the fireworms into a special place in the forest where they could continue to grow, undisturbed. Some 7th-year students who wanted to go for magizoology were the only ones allowed to visit them. And although Jennifer Folly, from the reading club, was attending them, you hadn’t had time to ask her if she’d let you visit Pyro, after all, reading club reunions were only twice a month, and you wouldn’t see them until the end of the month. Not to mention everyone was still shaken about what’d happened. 

You stared at the empty spot a little longer, thinking back of the amorentia you’d made, and then you started laughing. Remus turned to you with a slightly worried expression. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah…” you said as you waved your hand to reassure him. “It’s just– I was thinking of our potion.” 

“And you think it’s funny?” 

“I’m just wondering if I would have figured out I was into you after smelling it or if I would have still been ridiculously blind to my feelings for you.” 

“You would have been confused,” he said. “It took me some time to accept I liked two people at the same time.” 

“Yeah, or perhaps I would have continued in denial. I mean I should have known after the SlugParty. I didn’t stop ogling you all night, I thought it was the potion I saved James from, but I never ogled James or Lily, and we both know they’re hella attractive as well.” 

“How would you even deny amortentia?” 

“Probably would have assumed it was an animagus thing, or the fact that Sirius smells like you half the time.” 

“You think?” He asked with an eyebrow rise. “You never actually told me what you were thinking about that night.” 

“And you never told me what was on Sirius’ drawing that made you have the reaction you did,” you retorted in the same suggestive tone. The way he cleared his throat was enough for you to know he was at least a little nervous.

“You didn’t ask him?” he asked, as calmly as he could. 

“Sirius? No.” 

“Well, he’s the one that drew it.” 

“You’re the one with the interesting reaction.” 

“Well, that’s because. I– I thought it was a live portrait,” he stammered. “At least until I realised you had no idea what it might have been.” 

You hummed in return. “And… you’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?” 

“The what?” 

“A live portrait.” He narrowed his eyes at you. “Perhaps while it’s being made…” 

“You’re unbelievable,” he smiled. “You were all mopey just seconds ago and now you can’t stop teasing me.”

“Perhaps I’m like Tinkerbell, can only hold one emotion at a time,” you said. Although there was a part of you that was conscious that what you were doing was trying to drive your thoughts in a different direction, there was another one that had gone awfully needy after that class. You’d wanted to kiss Remus one too many times while preparing the potion, and now that there was nobody around, deep inside the corridors, you knew you could. 

“I don’t think that applies to normal-sized fae,” he retorted with a smile. “Let alone to a quartered blood one.”

“No?” 

“It’s not in the books.” 

“Maybe you’re not reading the right books.” 

He scoffed, although he was smiling. “That night, what did you think?” 

“Your shirt looked amazing.” 

“Just that?” 

“The way you laughed while dancing was intoxicating. I wished I could see you laugh a lot more often.” 

“I like the way you laugh too,” he admitted. “Did you ever… “ he seemed to think about what he would say next as he licked his lips. “Did you think about kissing me?” 

“I thought of much more than just kissing you,” you teased. “And when we came back to sleep, with Sirius on the bed too. It was almost overwhelming.” 

“Imagine what I felt every single night,” he retorted. 

“Did it–” you lowered your gaze. “Did it feel like torture?” 

“Never,” he retorted. “But I was always craving for more.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” 

“I’m happy you noticed now,” he said before pulling you into a kiss. A hungry kiss, the likes of which Remus had never given you. But you were kissing back with as much hunger. There was certainly something about inhaling so much amorentia that affected you both who were already rather sensible to the way things smelled.

He was hungry, but his hands on your face were soft. For someone so strong, to hold you with such tenderness, it had you melting under his touch. He smelled of a combination of potion ingredients and his natural smell, the one you’d gotten in Amortentia, and was only driving you closer to him. There was something magical about the way he kissed you, it made everything else slip from your mind. Much like Sirius’ kisses, they were like a gentle potion made of Lethe Water. Soft, tender and mind-numbing like dream sand. 

But unlike dream sand, it was also exhilarating, exciting and arousing. Kindling a need for more, for his lips in you, for your lips on him, for everything. And it was addicting. Every time you kissed him, you wanted to kiss him again, and again, and again, until your lips were raw and he was delirious with the numbingness that your very kiss brought to him as well. There was something about how much he’d waited for the kisses, to be able to press his lips against yours. Surviving of the sole memory of how soft they’d been, of the pressure of not being able to have you because Sirius was there glueing you onto his lap, glueing you onto him. 

From the moment he met you he’d known Sirius liked you, which is why it had been torturous to slowly fall for you, in the same way it had been to fall for Sirius, desperate for your lips while kissing any other that offered a chance. 

But things were different now, and he loved how different they’d become. Remus had placed one of his hands under your shirt, resting his thumb just above the hem of the skirt and feeling your warm skin when the two of you heard something clash in the hallway. 

You instantly pulled apart from the kiss, and then heard another clash, like something had fallen on the floor. You looked at Remus with a frown and lit your wand as you silently exchanged a look. A small nod and a serious gaze. He tilted his head to the side just slightly and the two of you walked towards the source of the sound. It was a simple movement, but you were so attuned to his movements after so many nights of sneaking around with the marauders, that it was as if he was telling you the words themselves.

You’d been both rather worried, your hearts beating loudly against your chest and not only because of the kissing. You remained alert, not wanting anyone to discover what you’d been doing since it would have only caused further trouble –as if what Severus had seen hadn’t been enough. 

You walked together, shoulder to shoulder. Your wand illuminating the way, he’s ready to defend or attack in case whatever had caused the sound was dangerous. You weren’t sure what you expected to find, but you certainly weren’t expecting what you got. 

As you lowered your lit wand to the sound, you spotted a Hufflepuff boy, kneeling down on the floor while hastily picking some things up. He looked horrified and leaned back and covered his face when he saw the light. 

“Aiden?” Remus asked with a frown.

He lowered his hands from his face and looked at the two of you. He said your name, almost in a question, and then he looked at your partner. “Remus?” 

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you leaned down and started helping him with the things he had. 

“I was looking for you,” he explained. “Professor Nightshade asked me to pick you up from potions so you were in her classroom a little earlier today. But you weren’t there and–“ he took some collection cards scattered on the floor and placed them in his pocket. “When I asked the portraits if they’d seen where you’d gone, one told me you’d walked behind the statue and disappeared. I remembered you and Remus liked to go around passage hunting after study club, so I assumed it was one. But it was ridiculously dark, and I kept  tripping.” 

“Why didn’t you try Lumus?” asked Remus kindly. 

“I did!” he said, looking rather exasperated. “I tried, at least. But I couldn’t remember the name of the spell. I thought it was lighmus.” Aiden wasn’t good with memory, that’s why he’d joined the study club. He was excellent at charms, but only with a book in hand. No light meant he couldn’t check his journal, and therefore, he couldn’t cast a good spell. 

“So, what is the right spell?” you asked. 

The boy sighed, and took his wand out, “Lumus,” he said, and his wand lit up, as blindingly bright as yours was. “Sorry if I bothered you,” he said with a small frown, head down and looking between you and Remus with genuine regret. “If you want me to leave the study club–“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Remus said as he patted the boy’s back in a reassuring manner. “You’ve gotten so much better at remembering other charms since you joined.” 

“But, am I not a nuisance?” he asked, looking up at Remus, genuinely sorry for what he’d done, which made you wonder if perhaps he had seen more than he let on. 

“Not at all,” you reassured. “Besides, you’ve been helping that Ravenclaw boy with potions, you wouldn’t want to leave him hanging, would you?” 

“Well, I guess not,” he said with a frown as he scratched his head. Then he looked up. “Do you know how to get to the charms classroom from here?” 

“Yes, I can take you,” he said as he looked at Aiden. “You should probably go to Nightshade.” 

“Right, yeah,” you said with a nod, not actually wanting to part ways with him. You started leaning onto him for a short goodbye kiss –the kind Sirius always wanted– but stopped yourself once you remembered you weren’t alone. “You uh… had some dust here,” you said as you brushed his shoulder, gave him a bit of a strangled smile and then patted his shoulder. 

 He smiled at that, trying not to look as smug as he felt which was, in reality, not all that successful. “Thank you, Luv,” he said politely. 

“No problem,” you retorted with a smile. “See you around, Aiden!” you added with a small wave. 

“See you,” he said with a smile. “And good luck!” 

“You too, tell Flitwick you were with us in case they ask around. Don’t mention the passage.” 

“Course not,” he added with a smile. 

Remus placed a hand on Aiden’s back and motioned him to walk forward. He was much taller than the little boy, and you thought he looked too cute as he helped the smaller boy. He then turned his head and raised his eyebrows at you when he noticed you were still staring. 

“Need anything?” he asked with a knowing smirk. 

And while you had been slightly caught off guard, you recovered almost instantly. “Your shirt is untucked,” you responded and turned back towards one of the diverging sections of the path. Once you took the first turn, it was almost instinctive the way in which you continued to walk from one path to the other until you exited the passageways. After going inside them so many times for Nummie and Pyro, you’d memorised the map Remus had made for you all those months past. 

You exited through the portrait of some nature mortes, as Sirius insisted on calling the cheese, bread and wine board painted in the canvas and made sure it was closed thoroughly as you continued with your way. That exit was the closest to the DADA classroom, you’d only have to walk one set of stairs, a hallway, and you’d be right outside. 

Once outside her office, you placed your hand over the door, but it opened itself before you even had the time to touch it. You let out a short blow of air, it was a rather complicated spell, not that indispensable to add to doors, and sometimes they were connected to the caster’s mind, to allow only the people that they were expecting to enter. Too complicated for a rather small payoff, it looked incredibly cool though, and it was definitely the kind of spell Seraphina would use. 

“I believe Mr. May found you,” she said as she looked up from the book and placed an elegant metal bookmarker in between the pages she was reading before closing the book. 

“Not without some setbacks,” you replied, as you stood on the other side of her desk. 

“Sit, darling, sit,” she said as she waved her hand and a chair floated right behind you. You did as told, and remained silent, looking at her. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened.” 

“You already know all of it,” you told her. “You read the letter, yes?” You’d given Dumbledore a letter for her that day before going to the Lupin cottage. 

“Indeed,” she said as she pulled it up. Your handwriting had been slightly messy, and there were a few blotchy stains of black ink all over the parchment. A simple, and yet obvious testament of the state of mind you’d been on when you wrote it. You bit your lip and looked somewhere else, trying not to remember how much it hurt to get all those words out and into paper. “But, Darling, it was a dreadful thing you went through.” 

“Yeah, I know,” you said as you avoided her gaze. “I don’t fancy talking about it.” 

“I assumed as much,” she said as she looked at you. But even if her words were a little harsh, the way in which she uttered them was soft and sympathetic. She looked at the way in which you avoided her gaze and then sighed. 

“Did you call me to talk about it?” you asked, almost hesitantly.

“No, I did not,” she said simply. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I am okay.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, and then sighed, closing her eyes, as if she wasn’t ready to do or say what she was about to. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” she added.

“Like this, how?” you asked apprehensively. It was the tone she used when you were about to learn a spell or defence that was complicated and, or painful. 

She sighed again and turned to look at you much more dourly. “Who am I?” 

You frowned but answered, “Seraphina Nightshade.” 

“How do you call me?” 

“Professor Nightshade.” 

“All the time?” 

“I call you Seraphina when you’re tutoring me.” 

“What did you think the first time we met?” 

“That you were beautiful, like a ballerina,” you said honestly. 

She seemed to be caught off guard by that but recovered quickly. 

“I meant when I asked you to come to the classroom after the incident with Mr. Rosier.” 

“That day? You asked a few interesting questions. I thought you might have been a dark wizard.” 

“And you still talked to me?” 

“I was disgusted by the idea, but I held you in high regards already. I was willing to hear whatever it was you had to say.” 

“Does anybody know about your private classes with me?” 

“My friends, although they think they’re about duelling training.” 

“Anyone else?” 

“I haven’t told anybody else.” 

“Would you be willing to confirm that with veritaserum?” 

“You don’t… trust me,” you retorted, an almost disappointed look on your face that made Nightshade gulp. 

“It’s not that,” she tried to reassure. “Would you take it?” 

“And if I didn’t?” 

“Our classes would cease.”

You stared at her apprehensively. You did not want your classes to cease, not when you’d seen the danger of being incapable of self-defence. Not in the middle of a war. “I would.” 

She opened a drawer on the side of her desk and pulled out a small vial. The tag “veritaserum” was perfectly clear. You reached for it and picked it up, breaking the wax seal at the top. You smelled the contents of the bottle. There was a faint smell of stewed mandrake root which confirmed that she’d actually given you veritaserum. She smiled when she noticed how weary you were, even with her. 

You took down half of it, and passed the bottle back at her, “I’ve left some for you.” 

She raised an eyebrow your way. “I gather you need to confirm I am who I say I am,” you started. “I’m afraid I’ll say compromising information if you are not who you say you are.” 

She nodded, and took the vial, drinking it in one go. “You know, that alone was almost convincing enough… What’s your name?”

You gave her your full name. “And yous?” 

“Seraphina Alessandra Nightshade.” 

“Alessandra?” you asked with a frown. 

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “I don’t use it… Have you taken any polyjuice lately?” 

“Define lately.” 

“Anytime this year.” 

“No. You?” 

“Me neither,” she retorted. “Have you been cursed?” 

“Yes.” 

“By what? Any unforgivables?” 

“Crucio,” you retorted. 

“Not imperio?” 

“No.” You paused. “You?” 

“I haven’t been cursed.” 

“Well, you’re quite lucky then.” 

She sighed, biting her lip and turning back to you. She looked a lot more relaxed now, but she seemed to still have a few questions left. “Did someone use imperio and command you to lie about it?” 

“No.” 

“Did they use any other tricky command that would prevent you from telling the truth right now?” 

“There was no imperio and there were no commands.” 

“Good. Would you lower your mind shields for me? It will not be pleasant if I break them.” 

“It will not be pleasant either way,” you retorted, knowing that she would look through the memories of that night. “Will it?” 

“I’m sorry,” she said. And you knew she meant it. Not because she was under viritaserum, but her expression was telling enough. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, a member of the order insisted.” 

You scoffed, you weren’t surprised at all. You took a deep breath, your chest tightening as it stretched outwards and then back down, you closed your eyes, your teeth clashing against themselves as you tried to steady yourself, and then you nodded. A slow nod accompanied by a simple exhale. “They’re down.” 

You could feel her tugging at your mind as she got in. You could feel the way she searched through your memories at the party. You didn’t hide anything from her, but you trusted she would maintain the same discretion you had with the things you’d figured out that day. It would be pointless to try and hide the stuff with Evan’s dad, it would be suspicious if you did. 

You shut your eyes when she got to the scream, to the time you crouched down on the balcony, hearing the muggle screams and doing nothing, to the moment you recognized Nina’s and jinxed Regulus. She looked through everything that happened that night. In detail, the faces of the people in the room, the clothes they wore, the wands they used. She saw the way Bellatrix cursed you, and then three more times, to make sure the words she said were the ones you claimed she had. She followed you into the maze and saw what happened inside, with Lucius and with the other Slytherin boys. She saw Barty help you up and shake you, he saw the two of you run until you appeared outside the shack, and she probably felt along with you the moment in which Barty jinxed you per your request.

“Was that enough?” you asked as you stared at her. Your eyes were glassy with unshed tears but your face and voice were steady, almost devoid of emotion. You wondered how many times you’d have to relive that dreadful night. Not only in nightmares but also in retellings, and in tests. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again, much quieter now. “We had to make sure.” 

“I know,” you said simply. You weren’t mad at her, but you were mad at the situation you’d been thrown into. You wondered how it was to live in a time before the war if people didn’t have to go through horrible things like this. Perhaps in the future, when the war was over, you’d know what that was like. 

She hesitated before she spoke again. “I could– you know I could help you forget about all that.” 

“About that night?” 

“If the memories are too painful, we could obliviate you.”

You had thought about it. Plenty of times, especially before the mirror. Perhaps all you needed was to forget about it, to leave, back then when you were alone and you thought you had no one. You’d considered getting a potion, leaving England and lying to yourself about everything that’s happened. A gaslighting so powerful inflicted on yourself and by yourself that all the pain would fade into oblivion. But if the mirror had taught you anything, if that night had taught you anything, then it was that the less you knew, the more danger you’d be in. 

If you had known better then the results of that night would have been different. If you hadn’t allowed yourself to be distracted by the broken floor, you would have blocked Lucius’ spell, and then things would have been different. You hadn’t known that then, but you did now. And just as you were after it happened, you were determined to never allow something like that to ensue again. 

“No,” you said. “I can’t protect the ones I love if I don’t know what I’m facing.” 

You looked at each other for a few seconds and she sighed, “I wouldn’t have expected anything different from you…” There was a small silence, she looked at her desk, she pulled a parchment from the bottom of her book. “Dumbledore wants more people to join the order, to extend the network.” She moved the list your way. “What do you think of this selection?”

You stared at the list, there were some names you recognised, some others which you’d heard in school but you hadn’t officially met.  A few names jumped at you on the first read. James, Lily, Remus, Sirius, Marlene and Dorcas. You knew neither of them would deny the invitation, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be in danger by being members. You wanted to protect them, that’s why you’d joined. 

“Most of my friends are here,” you said. 

“You have incredibly talented friends.” 

You sighed. You’d never cared much for the danger you put yourself in, but you would never ask them to do the same. “If you want me to ask them–” 

“That’s not what we want.” 

“I wouldn’t have,” you said blankly. “So far the one time I tried to do anything to help it ended in a massacre. And it wasn’t even an official request.” 

“You would never be alone on official order business.” 

“Doesn’t make it much better, does it? I wasn’t alone there either.“

“So, do you agree they would be good members?” 

You wanted to say no, you wanted to lie and tell her that they would be terrible. That Sirius was bad at charms, that Lily couldn’t duel, that Remus looked smart but wasn’t. That Marlene and Docas’ only talent was flying and that James was selfish and conceited. But with the veristaserum still running through your system, you couldn’t lie. You swallowed. “They… would all be excellent members…” 

Seraphina nodded in agreement. “What about the other names?” 

“I don’t know them very well. I’ve heard Emmeline Vance is brilliant in charms, and I know Fabian and Gideon from the duelling club, but I believe I’ve never gone against either of them.”

“Is there anyone else you’d think would be fit?” 

You gave her a reproachful look in return. That was like suggesting who to enlist in a war. 

“They would still have to go through a tough reviewing process.” 

“Minho, Beth, Tom,” you started. “Neil, Nox and… Regulus.” 

“Regulus Black? Wasn’t he at the–” 

“Not by choice,” you interrupted. 

She sighed. “I don’t think he would be accepted. They almost left Sirius out because of his parents… Having said that. It wouldn’t hurt for you to keep him as an ally.” 

“He’s my friend.” 

“Do you think he’d be willing to act as a secret informant?” 

“Depends on who asks.” 

“What about the rest? Would they want to join?” 

You hesitated, you weren’t sure about everyone’s possible reaction, but you did know about some of them. The Marauders though, you assumed they’d be more than eager to join especially when they were told the reason for the fight. James and the rest of them all believed in equality, and he was particularly irked when anyone said anything regarding blood purity. He knew how hard it had been for Lily now, and he was ready to jump on anyone who dared to say anything that could make her feel bad. 

“Yes,” you said with a sigh. “At least most of them will.” 

She seemed to be about to say something else, but then the bell rang, and you knew it was time for her class to start. “Thank you,” she said as you stood. “I know it was hard for you.” 

If your veins weren’t oozing with truth serum, perhaps you would have answered with something like “It’s fine” or “no problem”. But you couldn’t lie, and it wasn’t fine. Although you understood the necessary evil it had been to have you go through it. Although the rational part of you agreed that it was the best, and perhaps the only logical course of action. And that they should have actually done it much earlier, the other part of you, the more emotional one, was pissed. Because you were forced to go through the pain again because she didn’t trust you to take your word for it. 

“Who was it?” you asked instead. 

“Who was what?” 

“Who insisted that I should go through this?” 

“Alastor Moody,” she responded simply. 

“Right,” you said, remembering the man that you’d met once a few years back in a dinner with your parents. He had light brown hair and a round worried face. He’d looked older for his age and had shown your father a thick scar he’d gotten on his chin after a fight with some magical being. He’d just turned into an auror back then. Although you had a faint memory of the man, you’d seen him again on the papers more than once, since he was one of the most important authors of the Ministry. Last year he’d recorded the highest hunt and imprison toll since Ominis Gaunt at the beginning of the century.

Being who he was, and from what you’d read about him, it made sense that he would ask her to do that to you or kick you out of the order entirely, especially when the only thing he knew about you was the fact that you were Silas’ daughter.

“Will you be okay?” she asked as you walked towards the door. 

“I’m much better now,” you said honestly. “What you saw… it was awful. Thinking about it hurts still. But back here, in school, with my friends… It feels safe.” 

“Good.” She said with a nod, and then, almost as an afterthought leaned down and took a small vial from her drawer. “Drink this.” 

“What is it?” you asked as you took it in your hands. 

“Antidote,” she explained. “I assume it’d be rather inconvenient to have to tell the truth all day when you have a secret society to hide.” 

And that wasn’t your only secret. 

“Thank you,” you said. And then, just out of spite added, “Alessandra.” 

“I don’t really fancy that name.” 

“I didn’t fancy you getting into my head either, but sometimes we must compromise, don’t we?” 

She laughed, “Get out, or I’ll give you a Dreadful on the next evaluation.” 

“That’s abuse of power, Miss Nightshade.” 

“Perhaps, but you wouldn’t report me. I’m your favourite teacher, after all.” 

You took the liquid and pocketed the vial. “I don’t know, Professor Kettleburn is up there.” 

She laughed again, and you left her office before people started walking inside the classroom. You didn’t bother to leave, and the boys were outside just minutes afterwards. 

Her class went by rather uneventfully. She focused on counterspells and strong defence spells, some that required extreme concentration and others that used other items in the surrounding vicinity as a shield. She mentioned that, although very useful, and relatively easy to perform, those kinds of spells were always at risk of not being powerful enough, since the defence depended on the item’s structure, and not on the wizard casting it.

If the opponent’s spell, whatever it might have been, was more powerful than the item you chose, you would likely get hit by the spell, and be forced to withstand a good part of the damage. 

“How do we know if an object is powerful enough to defend us?” asked Marlene. 

“That’s the problem,” Seraphina explained. “Unless you have studied the item previously, or for other reasons know its properties, be it magical or muggle, there would be no way of knowing.” 

“What about an item with a strong witchcraft residue?” asked Tom. 

“Those could be very useful, but be careful, sometimes people cast spells on items in their house or territory so that whenever a wizard tries to use them as a shield, it backfires.” 

“Is there a detection spell for that?” 

“Certainly,” she said as she waved her hand and a floating piece of chalk started writing on the board, a page and the name of a spell. “Unfortunately, taking the time to cast revelio malignus is rarely practical in a duel or fight. Not because the spell takes too long, but rather because you could get attacked while you’re at it.” 

Beth raised her hand. “But there are some that can detect those things naturally, right?” 

“Yes and no,” she said as she tilted her head. “It’s not that they are born with the ability to detect bewitched or cused objects, but rather,  they are better at perceiving magic than others, which in turn allows them to notice when an object has been cursed without having to use revelio malignus.” 

“Can we train to do something like this?” asked Terix, one of the Hufflepuffs.

“Curse breakers go through extensive training to stay safe in their jobs, and even though all wizards can detect magic, not everyone has senses keen enough to detect a well-concealed coursed object.” 

“And the best course breakers are already born with that ability, right?” said Lily.

“Indeed,” said Seraphina, smiling. “You know of an example?” 

“Matilda Weasly,” she retorted. 

“Brilliant. In fact, she’s recorded as the most sensible witch in regards of detecting coursed objects. She passed the  CORSE with a perfect score.” 

“What’s the CORSE?” asked Mary. 

“Cursed Object Recognition and Sensory Evaluation,” responded Lily politely. “I made an essay about Matilda in History of Magic last year,” she added when she noticed some of the looks she got from students. 

“Precisely, thank you, Miss Evans,” she nodded at Lily and then turned to the rest of the class again. “Any other questions regarding the blocking spells?” Once she made sure there wasn’t any, she proceeded. “Now if we don’t use items, what’s the other spell we can use?” 

“Protego,” replied Bash Heartly. 

Seraphina smiled, “And how do we make protego the most effective?” 

“We use Protego Maxima?” asked Janice. 

“Well…” 

“You have to cast it right before it hits you,” you said. “You can cast it at any point in a fight, but the longer you have the protecting bubble up, the more energy it takes and the less effective it becomes.” 

“Exactly,” she said, and then out of nowhere she pulled her wand out and shot a stunning spell. She probably noticed you had your wand in your hand because you barely had enough time to deviate the spell with an alternate version of protego she’s taught you in your private classes. The red beam of the spell had gone to the side and clashed against the Hebedrian skeleton, causing it to rattle and subsequently, for the jaw to fall off. 

Janice screeched as it was about to fall right on top of her when Peter –of all people– was fast enough to push it towards one of the windows instead. The glass broke as the head fell downwards a few floors, and then a loud thud as it crashed against the grass. 

“Sorry,” you muttered as a few students leaned over their desks and looked through the window. 

“Brilliant reflexes, both of you,” she said as she looked in between you and Peter, the latter was beaming with pride at having saved someone. 

“I should have used protego, not deflecto.”

“However, deflecto, is the best spell to use when a fight is starting,” she countered. “Especially when you are not expecting to be attacked, it consumes less energy than protego and instantly tells your opponent that you are not someone to mess with it.” She’d taught you that already, which is why you hadn’t even hesitated as you waved your wand.

“Mr. Lupin, would you mind bringing that head back up here with a levitation spell?” 

“Yes, Miss,” he retorted as he stood up and walked towards the window. There were already some kids from 2nd year on their break looking at the jaw curiously. 

“What’s this?” One of them shouted as he noticed Remus on the window.

“It’s a Hebridean Black,” he explained. 

“Blimey, Jace, it’s a dragon’s!” A small brunette next to him said as she patted him on the side, leaning down to get a closer look. 

“Why do you have a dragon's jaw, Mister?” 

“It’s not mine,” Remus replied patiently. “It’s Professor Nightshade’s.” 

“It’s not mine either,” she replied from behind. “Dinah Hecat left it here about a hundred years ago.” 

“Professor Nightshade?” the boy asked.

She nodded, also leaning on the window, “I thought it was you, Jace,” she retorted. “I can tell you all about the Hebridean Black and Professor Hecat in our next class.” 

“You would do that?” asked the girl. 

“Of course Miss Finch,” she retorted. “Now, if you’d allow Mr. Lupin to bring that jaw back up, it would be delightful.” 

“Yes, Miss Nightshade, sorry for inconveniencing your class, Miss.” 

“I value curiosity, Jace. Never apologise for it,” she smiled. The little boy beamed and walked back to the courtyard where he’d been playing with the old brooms. 

Remus flicked his wand, the jaw steadily floated all the way up, through the window, and later was levitated towards the front of the classroom. 

“Thank you very much, Mr Lupin,” she said with a smile, and then turned to the floor and delicately waved her wand, a clear as day remnant from her time as a ballerina. The window suddenly took back its form, the small shards of glass gently placing themselves back on the spot, the jaw went back to the rest of the dragon’s skull, along with two small bone-coloured nails that helped its fixing. 

“That’s 15 points for the Gryffindors,” she said as everyone settled, “5 for each.” 

There were a few cheers and some thumbs up thrown your way and Peter’s. Peter, although he was quite capable, had always been a little clumsy, and he rarely earned house points, which made him even more thrilled about the entire situation. The pats on the back he got from some other Gryffindor’s had clearly made him ecstatic. 

Even when you had all walked towards the Great Hall, he couldn’t let go of it. “Poor Janice, if I hadn’t been there, who knows what might have happened, right?” 

“You were really fast, Pete,” James said with a supportive smile. “And you threw it right out of that window.” 

“Yes!” Peter added. “And you?!” he said as he turned to you. “How on earth did you manage to block so fast? Did you expect her to do that? Is that why she called you in earlier? Was it planned?” 

You tried not to wince at the fact that Seraphina could have very well told you about her little plan for the class, but you suspected she had omitted the information to test you, as if she wanted to see which spell you would use. Anyone else would have used protego, since that was the spell you were practising, but you would have instinctively gone for deflecto, because it was what you’d practised in her classes more than once.

“Eh… not really. But I had my wand in my hand.” 

“You reckon you could have thrown her jinx towards someone else?” 

“I deflected upwards on purpose, but I suppose it was possible. I wasn’t thinking much further than not being instantly stunned.” 

“Yeah, I totally get it,” Pete responded, “I wasn’t thinking of the window either, just shook my wand. Had the Window not been there, perhaps it would have clashed against the wall.” 

“Maybe your instincts knew there was a window?” Remus offered. “Like unconsciously.” 

“Right! That must have been it!” Peter said with a rather eager nod. “Either way, I think I deserve a good meal after it.” 

You all laughed. Peter’s appetite had gone up recently, and you’d often hear him talking about food. You were sure Sirius had teased him about gaining weight, but James had put a stop to it before it got out of hand, since he noticed Peter was actually feeling bad about it after he tried to tease him as well.

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A/N: Vixen Really cannot catch a break. Can she?

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[doumadono]

ainful sunday!!

thinking about izuku coming back from a long, agitating mission and just fucking his girlfriend for hours on end due to the fact he couldnt fuck her for two months..

Warnings: aged-up Izuku

SINFUL SUNDAY

The door swung open, revealing a dimly lit bedroom bathed in a soft glow emanating from a little lamp placed on a nightstand. The atmosphere was both calming and intimate, a thoughtful touch from someone who knew him all too well.

Izuku's eyes widened as he spotted your silhouette by the window, your gaze fixed on the city skyline. The scent of a familiar perfume hung in the air, triggering a wave of nostalgia and warmth. He cleared his throat, not wanting to startle you.

You turned, your eyes widening in surprise before giving way to a radiant smile. "Izuku," you breathed, crossing the room in swift strides. Your embrace was a testament to the longing that had built up over the weeks of separation, the relief of being back in each other's arms.

"I missed you so much," you murmured against his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his hero costume.

The sensation of your touch grounded him, a stark contrast to the chaos he had faced on his long mission.

As you pulled away, Izuku's eyes met yours, gratitude and love reflected in the depths of his green orbs. "I missed you too, Y/N," he confessed, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and genuine affection. "It felt like an eternity out there."

You led him to the bed, urging him to rest while you fetched a glass of water.

Sitting there, he found solace in your presence, the weight of the world momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

You spoke of the challenges faced, the victories achieved, and the moments of doubt that had haunted his journey.

"Coming back to you makes everything worth it," Deku admitted, his gaze unwavering.

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. "You're my hero, Izuku, in more ways than one."

Izuku enfolded you in a snug embrace, his lips leisurely planting tender kisses across your face. After delicately removing his gloves, his calloused fingers traced a gentle path along the nape of your neck. Amidst the soft caresses, he murmured affectionate words against your lips, "My babygirl, my little love."

Soon, he found himself pinning you down onto the mattress, his adept hands delicately removing your nightgown. His slightly chapped lips planted kisses along your exposed shoulders, traced the neckline, and lingered in the valley between your breasts.

Effortlessly, Izuku shed his hero uniform, the sound of zippers echoing in the room. Your laughter bubbled as you witnessed his struggle, prompting you to assist. A small smile graced your lips as your fingertips traced the contours of his toned body, a tangible reunion after the prolonged absence.

Foreplay was unnecessary - you were already drenched, just for Izuku.

Deku encountered no obstacles entering your pussy - your slick wetness facilitated an easy slide of his aching manhood right into your snug core.

He started with deliberate slowness, his thrusts mirroring the measured precision of his heroics.

Your quiet moans intertwined with his labored breaths, marking the end of a prolonged hiatus from your sex sessions. Despite your initial tightness, the reunion felt blissful for both, a testament to the longing that had built up during your time apart.

"Oh, Izuku, I've been dreaming about this moment for so long," you whispered, arms enveloping his neck.

He grunted, gazing down at you, hands cradling your face. "Me too, babygirl. Missed your warmth."

As pure passion took hold, Izuku found himself completely consumed by desire, his thrusts quickening in response to the escalating intensity of arousal.

In no time, you succumbed to pleasure beneath him, becoming a moaning mess. Every thrust seemed to expertly target those incredibly sensitive spots, sending waves of pleasure through you as the tip of his dick brushed against your spongy walls.

After a particularly forceful thrust, you screamed his name as your head tilted back onto the pillows. Overwhelmed by the intense sensation, you instinctively wrapped your leg around his hips, drawing him closer and subtly altering the angle for heightened pleasure, allowing Deku to penetrate your pussy even deeper than before.

Following his climax, you soon experienced your own, your body spasming from overstimulation.

Deku, catching his breath, tenderly kissed your forehead before withdrawing his cock out of your snug cunt. He then requested you to turn to your side. As you complied, he positioned himself behind you and reentered your pussy; his cock got hard again in no time.

Breathless, you gasped and bit your lower lip, feeling the intensity of his thrusts and a bulge his cock formed within your lower tummy whenever he pushed in, the tender kisses of his mouth placed to your cheek, and the warm breath fanning the back of your neck and ear as he grunted, quickening his pace.

In this specific position, Izuku could easily cup your breasts while reaching maximum depth with his dick buried in you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each of his thrusts.

Time blurred, but when Izuku cum yet again, emptying his balls in your pussy, he settled beside you on the bed, and slid his hands under his head with a smirk. "It was amazing, babygirl," Deku whispered, gratitude evident. "Thank you for the warm welcome."

You nestled against his robust chest, cheeks flushed as you felt your mixed cums trickling down your thighs. "Thank you for taking me to heaven, Izuku," you whispered, kissing his chest lightly.